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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15148-8.txt b/15148-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0daab5a --- /dev/null +++ b/15148-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8207 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Six Feet Four, by Jackson Gregory + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Six Feet Four + +Author: Jackson Gregory + +Release Date: February 22, 2005 [EBook #15148] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIX FEET FOUR *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + SIX FEET FOUR + + by Jackson Gregory + + 1917 + + + + +TO E. M. GREGORY + +"HERE'S YOUR BOOK" + + + + +CHAPTER + + I The Storm + + II The Devil's Own Night + + III Buck Thornton, Man's Man + + IV The Ford + + V The Man from Poison Hole Ranch + + VI Winifred Judges a Man + + VII An Invitation to Supper + + VIII In Harte's Cabin + + IX The Double Theft + + X In the Moonlight + + XI The Bedloe Boys + + XII Rattlesnake Pollard + + XIII The Ranch on Big Little River + + XIV In the Name of Friendship + + XV The Kid + + XVI A Guarded Conference + + XVII Suspicion + + XVIII The Dance at Deer Creek Schoolhouse + + XIX Six Feet Four! + + XX Pollard Talks "Business" + + XXI The Girl and the Game + + XXII The Yellow Envelope Again! + + XXIII Warning + + XXIV The Gentleman from New Mexico + + XXV In the Dark + + XXVI The Frame-Up + + XXVII Jimmie Squares Himself + + XXVIII The Show Down + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE STORM + + +All day long, from an hour before the pale dawn until now after the +thick dark, the storm had raged through the mountains. Before midday it +had grown dark in the caņons. In the driving blast of the wind many a +tall pine had snapped, broken at last after long valiant years of +victorious buffeting with the seasons, while countless tossing branches +had been riven away from the parent boles and hurled far out in all +directions. Through the narrow caņons the wet wind went shrieking +fearsomely, driving the slant rain like countless thin spears of +glistening steel. + +At the wan daybreak the sound filling the air was one of many-voiced but +subdued tumult, like the faraway growling of fierce, hungry, imprisoned +beasts. As the sodden hours dragged by the noises everywhere increased +steadily, so that before noon the whole of the wilderness seemed to be +shouting; narrow creek beds were filled with gushing, muddy water; the +trees on the mountainsides shook and snapped and creaked and hissed to +the hissing of the racing wind; at intervals the thunder echoing +ominously added its boom to the general uproar. Not for a score of +years and upward had such a storm visited the mountains in the vicinity +of the old road house in Big Pine Flat. + +Night, as though it had leaped upon the back of the storm and had ridden +hitherward on the wings of the wind all impatience to defy the laws of +daylight, was in truth mistress of the mountains a full hour or more +before the invisible sun's allotted time of setting. In the +storm-smitten, lonely building at the foot of the rocky slope, shivering +as though with the cold, rocking crazily as though in startled fear at +each gust, the roaring log fire in the open fireplace made an uncertain +twilight and innumerable ghostlike shadows. The wind whistling down the +chimney, making that eerie sound known locally as the voice of William +Henry, came and went fitfully. Poke Drury, the cheerful, one-legged +keeper of the road house, swung back and forth up and down on his one +crutch, whistling blithely with his guest of the chimney and lighting +the last of his coal oil lamps and candles. + +"She's a Lu-lu bird, all right," acknowledged Poke Drury. He swung +across his long "general room" to the fireplace, balanced on his crutch +while he shifted and kicked at a fallen burning log with his one boot, +and then hooked his elbows on his mantel. His very black, smiling eyes +took cheerful stock of his guests whom the storm had brought him. They +were many, more than had ever at one time honoured the Big Pine road +house. And still others were coming. + +"If Hap Smith ain't forgot how to sling a four horse team through the +dark, huh?" continued the landlord as he placed still another candle at +the south window. + +In architectural design Poke Drury's road house was as simple an affair +as Poke Drury himself. There was but one story: the whole front of the +house facing the country road was devoted to the "general room." Here +was a bar, occupying the far end. Then there were two or three rude pine +tables, oil-cloth covered. The chairs were plentiful and all of the +rawhide bottom species, austere looking, but comfortable enough. And, +at the other end of the barn like chamber was the long dining table. +Beyond it a door leading to the kitchen at the back of the house. Next +to the kitchen the family bed room where Poke Drury and his dreary +looking spouse slept. Adjoining this was the one spare bed room, with a +couple of broken legged cots and a wash-stand without any bowl or +pitcher. If one wished to lave his hands and face or comb his hair let +him step out on the back porch under the shoulder of the mountain and +utilize the road house toilet facilities there: they were a tin basin, a +water pipe leading from a spring and a broken comb stuck after the +fashion of the country in the long hairs of the ox's tail nailed to the +porch post. + +"You gents is sure right welcome," the one-legged proprietor went on, +having paused a moment to listen to the wind howling through the narrow +pass and battling at his door and windows. "I got plenty to eat an' +more'n plenty to drink, same as usual. But when it comes to sleepin', +well, you got to make floors an' chairs an' tables do. You see this here +little shower has filled me all up. The Lew Yates place up the river got +itself pretty well washed out; Lew's young wife an' ol' mother-in-law," +and Poke's voice was properly modified, "got scared clean to pieces. Not +bein' used to our ways out here," he added brightly. "Any way they've +got the spare bed room. An' my room an' Ma's ... well, Ma's got a real +bad cold an' she's camped there for the night. But, shucks, boys, what's +the odds, when there's fire in the fire place an' grub in the grub box +an' as fine a line of licker as you can find any place I know of. An' a +deck or two of cards an' the bones to rattle for them that's anxious to +make or break quick ... Hap Smith _ought_ to been here before now. You +wouldn't suppose...." + +He broke off and looked at those of the faces which had been turned his +way. His thought was plain to read, at least for those who understood +recent local conditions. Hap Smith had been driving the stage over the +mountains for only something less than three weeks; which is to say +since the violent taking off of his predecessor, Bill Varney. + +Before any one spoke the dozen men in the room had had ample time to +consider this suggestion. One or two of them glanced up at the clock +swinging its pendulum over the chimney piece. Then they went on with +what they were doing, glancing through old newspapers, dealing at +cards, smoking or just sitting and staring at nothing in particular. + +"The last week has put lots of water in all the cricks," offered old man +Adams from his place by the fire. "Then with this cloud-bust an' +downpour today, it ain't real nice travellin'. That would be about all +that's holdin' Hap up. An' I'm tellin' you why: Did you ever hear a man +tell of a stick-up party on a night like this? No, sir! These here +stick-up gents got more sense than that; they'd be settin' nice an' snug +an' dry like us fellers, right now." + +As usual, old man Adams had stated a theory with emphasis and utterly +without any previous reflection, being a positive soul, but never a +brilliant. And, again quite as usual, a theory stated was naturally to +be combated with more or less violence. Out of the innocent enough +statement there grew a long, devious argument. An argument which was at +its height and evincing no signs of ever getting anywhere at all, when +from the night without came the rattle of wheels, the jingle of harness +chains and Hap Smith's voice shouting out the tidings of his tardy +arrival. + +The front door was flung open, lamps and candles and log fire all danced +in the sudden draft and some of the flickering flames went out, and the +first one of Hap Smith's belated passengers, a young girl, was fairly +blown into the room. She, like the rest, was drenched and as she +hastened across the floor to the welcome fire trailed rain water from +her cape and dress. But her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks rosy with +the rude wooing of the outside night. After her, stamping noisily, glad +of the light and warmth and a prospect of food and drink, came Hap +Smith's other passengers, four booted men from the mines and the cattle +country. + +To the last man of them in the road house they gave her their immediate +and exclusive attention. Briefly suspended were all such operations as +smoking, drinking, newspaper reading or card playing. They looked at her +gravely, speculatively and with frankly unhidden interest. One man who +had laid a wet coat aside donned it again swiftly and surreptitiously. +Another in awkward fashion, as she passed close to him, half rose and +then sank back into his chair. Still others merely narrowed the gaze +that was bent upon her steadily. + +She went straight to the fireplace, threw off her wraps and extended her +hands to the blaze. So for a moment she stood, her shoulders stirring to +the shiver which ran down her whole body. Then she turned her head a +little and for the first time took in all of the rude appointments of +the room. + +"Oh!" she gasped. "I...." + +"It's all right, Miss," said Poke Drury, swinging toward her, his hand +lifted as though to stop one in full flight. "You see ... just that end +there is the bar room," he explained nodding at her reassuringly. "The +middle of the room here is the ... the parlour; an' down at that end, +where the long table is, that's the dinin' room. I ain't ever got +aroun' to the partitions yet, but I'm goin' to some day. An' ... Ahem!" + +He had said it all and, all things considered, had done rather well with +an impossible job. The clearing of the throat and a glare to go with it +were not for the startled girl but for that part of the room where the +bar and card tables were being used. + +"Oh," said the girl again. And then, turning her back upon the bar and +so allowing the firelight to add to the sparkle of her eyes and the +flush on her cheeks, "Of course. One mustn't expect everything. And +please don't ask the gentlemen to ... to stop whatever they are doing on +my account. I'm quite warm now." She smiled brightly at her host and +shivered again. + +"May I go right to my room?" + +In the days when Poke Drury's road house stood lone and aloof from the +world in Big Pine Flat, very little of the world from which such as Poke +Drury had retreated had ever peered into these mountain-bound +fastnesses; certainly less than few women of the type of this girl had +ever come here in the memory of the men who now, some boldly and some +shyly, regarded her drying herself and seeking warmth in front of the +blazing fire. True, at the time there were in the house three others of +her sex. But they were ... different. + +"May I go right to my room?" she repeated as the landlord stood gaping +at her rather foolishly. She imagined that he had not heard, being a +little deaf ... or that, possibly, the poor chap was a trifle slow +witted. And again she smiled on him kindly and again he noted the +shiver bespeaking both chill and fatigue. + +But to Poke Drury there had come an inspiration. Not much of one, +perhaps, yet he quickly availed himself of it. Hanging in a dusty corner +near the long dining table, was an old and long disused guest's book, +the official road house register. Drury's wandering eye lighted upon it. + +"If you'll sign up, Miss," he suggested, "I'll go have Ma get your room +ready." + +And away he scurried on his crutch, casting a last look over his +shoulder at his ruder male guests. + +The girl went hastily as directed and sat down at the table, her back to +the room. The book she lifted down from its hanging place; there was a +stub of pencil tied to the string. She took it stiffly into her fingers +and wrote, "Winifred Waverly." Her pencil in the space reserved for the +signer's home town, she hesitated. Only briefly, however. With a little +shrug, she completed the legend, inscribing swiftly, "Hill's Corners." +Then she sat still, feeling that many eyes were upon her and waited the +return of the road house keeper. When finally he came back into the +room, his slow hesitating gait and puckered face gave her a suspicion of +the truth. + +"I'm downright sorry, Miss," he began lamely. "Ma's got +somethin' ... bad cold or pneumonia ... an' she won't budge. There's +only one more bed room an' Lew Yates's wife has got one cot an Lew's +mother-in-law has got the other. An' _they_ won't budge. An' ..." + +He ended there abruptly. + +"I see," said the girl wearily. "There isn't any place for me." + +"Unless," offered Drury without enthusiasm and equally without +expectation of his offer being of any great value, "you'd care to crawl +in with Ma ..." + +"No, thank you!" said Miss Waverly hastily. "I can sit up somewhere; +after all it won't be long until morning and we start on again. Or, if I +might have a blanket to throw down in a corner ..." + +Again Poke Drury left her abruptly. She sat still at the table, without +turning, again conscious of many eyes steadily on her. Presently from an +adjoining room came Drury's voice, subdued to a low mutter. Then a +woman's voice, snapping and querrulous. And a moment later the return of +Drury, his haste savouring somewhat of flight from the connubial +chamber, but certain spoils of victory with him; from his arm trailed a +crazy-quilt which it was perfectly clear he had snatched from his wife's +bed. + +He led the way to the kitchen, stuck a candle in a bottle on the table, +spread the quilt on the floor in the corner, made a veritable ceremony +of fastening the back door and left her. The girl shivered and went +slowly to her uninviting couch. + +Poke Drury, in his big general room again, stood staring with troubled +face at the other men. With common consent and to the last man of them +they had already tiptoed to the register and were seeking to inform +themselves as to the name and habitat of the prettiest girl who had ever +found herself within the four walls of Poke Drury's road house. + +"Nice name," offered old man Adams whose curiosity had kept stride with +his years and who, lacking all youthful hesitation, had been first to +get to the book. "Kind of stylish soundin'. But, Hill's Corners?" He +shook his head. "I ain't been to the Corners for a right smart spell, +but I didn't know such as _her_ lived there." + +"They don't," growled the heavy set man who had snatched the register +from old man Adams' fingers. "An' I been there recent. Only last week. +The Corners ain't so all-fired big as a female like her is goin' to be +livin' there an' it not be knowed all over." + +Poke Drury descended upon them, jerked the book away and with a screwed +up face and many gestures toward the kitchen recalled to them that a +flimsy partition, though it may shut out the vision, is hardly to be +counted on to stop the passage of an unguarded voice. + +"Step down this way, gents," he said tactfully. "Where the bar is. Bein' +it's a right winterish sort of night I don't reckon a little drop o' +kindness would go bad, huh? Name your poison, gents. It's on me." + +In her corner just beyond the flimsy partition, Winifred Waverly, of +Hill's Corners or elsewhere, drew the many coloured patch work quilt +about her and shivered again. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE DEVIL'S OWN NIGHT + + +Hap Smith, the last to come in, opened the front door which the wind +snatched from his hands and slammed violently against the wall. In the +sudden draft the old newspapers on one of the oil-cloth covered tables +went flying across the room, while the rain drove in and blackened the +floor. Hap Smith got the door shut and for a moment stood with his back +against it, his two mail bags, a lean and a fat, tied together and flung +over his shoulder, while he smote his hands together and laughed. + +"A night for the devil to go skylarkin' in!" he cried jovially. "A night +for murder an' arson an' robbin' graveyards! Listen to her, boys! Hear +her roar! Poke Drury, I'm tellin' you, I'm glad your shack's right where +it is instead of seventeen miles fu'ther on. An' ... Where's the girl?" +He had swept the room with his roving eye; now, dropping his voice a +little he came on down the room and to the bar. "Gone to bed?" + +As one thoroughly at home here he went for a moment behind the bar, +dropped the bags into a corner for safety and threw off his heavy outer +coat, frankly exposing the big revolver which dragged openly at his +right hip. Bill Varney had always carried a rifle and had been unable to +avail himself of it in time; Hap Smith in assuming the responsibilities +of the United States Mail had forthwith invested heavily of his cash on +hand for a Colt forty-five and wore it frankly in the open. His, by the +way, was the only gun in sight, although there were perhaps a half dozen +in the room. + +"She ain't exactly gone to bed," giggled the garrulous old man Adams, +"bein' as there ain't no bed for her to go to. Ma Drury is inhabitin' +one right now, while the other two is pre-empted by Lew Yates' wife an' +his mother-in-law." + +"Pshaw," muttered Hap Smith. "That ain't right. She's an awful nice girl +an' she's clean tuckered out an' cold an' wet. She'd ought to have a bed +to creep into." His eyes reproachfully trailed off to Poke Drury. The +one-legged man made a grimace and shrugged. + +"I can't drag Lew's folks out, can I?" he demanded. "An' I'd like to see +the jasper as would try pryin' Ma loose from the covers right now. It +can't be did, Hap." + +Hap sighed, seeming to agree, and sighing reached out a big hairy hand +for the bottle. + +"She's an awful nice girl, jus' the same," he repeated with head-nodding +emphasis. And then, feeling no doubt that he had done his chivalrous +duty, he tossed off his liquor, stretched his thick arms high over his +head, squared his shoulders comfortably in his blue flannel shirt and +grinned in wide good humour. "This here campoody of yours ain't a +terrible bad place to be right bow, Poke, old scout. Not a bad place +a-tall." + +"You said twice, she was nice," put in old man Adams, his bleary, red +rimmed ferret eyes gimleting at the stage driver. "But you ain't said +who she was? Now..." + +Hap Smith stared at him and chuckled. + +"Ain't that jus' like Adams for you?" he wanted to know. "Who is she, he +says! An' here I been ridin' alongside her all day an' never once does +it pop into my head to ask whether she minds the name of Daisy or Sweet +Marie!" + +"Name's Winifred Waverly," chirped up the old man. "But a name don't +mean much; not in this end of the world least ways. But us boys finds it +kind of interestin' how she hangs out to Dead Man's Alley. That bein' +kind of strange an' ..." + +"Poh!" snorted Hap Smith disdainfully. "Her hang out in that little town +of Hill's Corners? Seein' as she ain't ever been there, havin' tol' me +so on the stage less'n two hours ago, what's the sense of sayin' a fool +thing like that? She ain't the kind as dwells in the likes of that nest +of polecats an' sidewinders. Poh!" + +"Poh, is it?" jeered old man Adams tremulously. "Clap your peep sight on +that, Hap Smith. Poh at me, will you?" and close up to the driver's eyes +he thrust the road house register with its newly pencilled inscription +so close that Hap Smith dodged and was some time deciphering the brief +legend. + +"Beats me," he grunted, when he had done. He tossed the book to a table +as a matter of no moment and shrugged. "Anyways she's a nice girl, I +don't care where she abides, so to speak. An' me an' these other boys," +with a sweeping glance at the four of his recent male passengers, "is +hungrier than wolves. How about it, Poke? Late hours, but considerin' +the kind of night the devil's dealin' we're lucky to be here a-tall. I +could eat the hind leg off a ten year ol' steer." + +"Jus' because a girl's got a red mouth an' purty eyes ..." began old man +Adams knowingly. But Smith snorted "Poh!" at him again and clapped him +good naturedly on the thin old shoulders after such a fashion as to +double the old man up and send him coughing and catching at his breath +back to his chair by the fire. + +Poke Drury, staring strangely at Smith, showed unmistakable signs of his +embarrassment. Slowly under several pairs of interested eyes his face +went a flaming red. + +"I don't know what's got into me tonight," he muttered, slapping a very +high and shining forehead with a very soft, flabby hand. "I clean forgot +you boys hadn't had supper. An' now ... the grub's all in the kitchen +an' ... _she's_ in there, all curled up in a quilt an' mos' likely +asleep." + +Several mouths dropped. As for Hap Smith he again smote his big hands +together and laughed. + +"Drinks on Poke Drury," he announced cheerfully. "For havin' got so +excited over a pretty girl he forgot we hadn't had supper! Bein' that's +what's got into him." + +Drury hastily set forth bottles and glasses. More than that, being +tactful, he started Hap Smith talking. He asked of the roads, called +attention to the fact that the stage was several hours late, hinted at +danger from the same gentleman who had taken off Bill Varney only +recently, and so succeeded in attaining the desired result. Hap Smith, +a glass twisting slowly in his hand, declaimed long and loudly. + +But in the midst of his dissertation the kitchen door opened and the +girl, her quilt about her shoulders like a shawl, came in. + +"I heard," she said quietly. "You are all hungry and the food is in +there." She came on to the fireplace and sat down. "I am hungry, too. +And cold." She looked upon the broad genial face of Hap Smith as upon +the visage of an old friend. "I am not going to be stupid," she +announced with a little air of taking the situation in hand. "I would +be, if I stayed in there and caught cold. Tell them," and it was still +Hap Smith whom she addressed, "to go on with whatever they are doing." + +Again she came in for a close general scrutiny, one of serious, frank +and matter of fact appraisal. Conscious of it, as she could not help +being, she for a little lifted her head and turned her eyes gravely to +meet the eyes directed upon her. Hers were clear, untroubled, a deep +grey and eminently pleasant to look into; especially now that she put +into them a little friendly smile. But in another moment and with a half +sigh of weariness, she settled into a chair at the fireside and let her +gaze wander back to the blazing fire. + +Again among themselves they conceded, what by glances and covert nods, +that she was most decidedly worth a man's second look and another after +that. "Pretty, like a picture," offered Joe Hamby in a guarded whisper +to one of the recent arrivals, who was standing with him at the bar. +"Or," amended Joe with a flash of inspiration, "like a flower; one of +them nice blue flowers on a long stem down by the crick." + +"Nice to talk to, too," returned Joe's companion, something of the pride +of ownership in his tone and look. For, during the day on the stage had +he not once summoned the courage for a stammering remark to her, and had +she not replied pleasantly? "Never travelled with a nicer lady." +Whereupon Joe Hamby regarded him enviously. And old man Adams, with a +sly look out of his senile old eyes, jerked his thin old body across the +floor, dragging a chair after him, and sat down to entertain the lady. +Who, it would seem from the twitching of her lips, had been in reality +wooed out of herself and highly amused, when the interruption to the +quiet hour came, abruptly and without warning. + +Poke Drury, willingly aided by the hungrier of his guests, had brought +in the cold dishes; a big roast of beef, boiled potatoes, quantities of +bread and butter and the last of Ma Drury's dried-apple pies. The long +dining table had begun to take on a truly festive air. The coffee was +boiling in the coals of the fireplace. Then the front door, the knob +turned and released from without, was blown wide open by the gusty wind +and a tall man stood in the black rectangle of the doorway. His +appearance and attitude were significant, making useless all conjecture. +A faded red bandana handkerchief was knotted about his face with rude +slits for the eyes. A broad black hat with flapping, dripping brim was +down over his forehead. In his two hands, the barrel thrust forward into +the room, was a sawed-off shotgun. + +He did not speak, it being plain that words were utterly superfluous and +that he knew it. Nor was there any outcry in the room. At first the girl +had not seen, her back being to the door. Nor had old man Adams, his red +rimmed eyes being on the girl. They turned together. The old man's jaw +dropped; the girl's eyes widened, rather to a lively interest, it would +seem, than to alarm. One had but to sit tight at times like this and +obey orders.... + +The intruder's eyes were everywhere. His chief concern, however, from +the start appeared to be Hap Smith. The stage driver's hand had gone to +the butt of his revolver and now rested there. The muzzle of the short +barrelled shotgun made a short quick arc and came to bear on Hap Smith. +Slowly his fingers dropped from his belt. + +Bert Stone, a quick eyed little man from Barstow's Springs, whipped out +a revolver from its hidden place on his person and fired. But he had +been over hasty and the man in the doorway had seen the gesture. The +roar of the shotgun there in the house sounded like that of a cannon; +the smoke lifted and spread and swirled in the draft. Bert Stone went +down with a scream of pain as a load of buckshot flung him about and +half tore off his outer arm. Only the fact that Stone, in firing, had +wisely thrown his body a little to the side, saved the head upon his +body. + +The wind swept through the open door with fresh fury. Here a lamp went +out, there the unsteady flame of a candle was extinguished. The smoke +from the shotgun was mingled with much wood smoke whipped out of the +fireplace. The man in the doorway, neither hesitating nor hurrying, +eminently cool and confident, came into the room. The girl studied him +curiously, marking each trifling detail of his costume: the shaggy black +chaps like those of a cowboy off for a gay holiday; the soft grey shirt +and silk handkerchief to match knotted loosely about a brown throat. He +was very tall and wore boots with tall heels; his black hat had a crown +which added to the impression of great height. To the fascinated eyes of +the girl he appeared little less than a giant. + +He stopped and for a moment remained tensely, watchfully still. She felt +his eyes on her; she could not see them in the shadow of his hat, but +had an unpleasant sensation of a pair of sinister eyes narrowing in +their keen regard of her. She shivered as though cold. + +Moving again he made his away along the wall and to the bar. He stepped +behind it, still with neither hesitation nor haste, and found the two +mail bags with his feet. And with his feet he pushed them out to the +open, along the wall, toward the door. Hap Smith snarled; his face no +longer one of broad good humour. The shotgun barrel bore upon him +steadily, warningly. Hap's rising hand dropped again. + +Then suddenly all was uproar and confusion, those who had been chained +to their chairs or places on the floor springing into action. The man +had backed to the door, swept up the mail bags and now suddenly leaped +backward into the outside night. Hap Smith and four or five other men +had drawn their guns and were firing after him. There were outcries, +above them surging the curses of the stage driver. Bert Stone was +moaning on the floor. The girl wanted to go to him but for a little +merely regarded him with wide eyes; there was a spreading pool on the +bare floor at his side, looking in the uncertain light like spilled ink. +A thud of bare feet, and Ma Drury came running into the room, her night +dress flying after her. + +"Pa!" she cried wildly. "You ain't killed, are you, Pa?" + +"Bert is, most likely," he answered, swinging across the room to the +fallen man. Then it was that the girl by the fire sprang to her feet +and ran to Bert Stone's side. + +"Who was it? What happened?" Ma Drury asked shrilly. + +The men looked from one to another of their set-faced crowd. Getting +only silence for her answer Ma Drury with characteristic irritation +demanded again to be told full particulars and in the same breath +ordered the door shut. A tardy squeal and another like an echo came from +the room which harboured Lew Yates's wife and mother-in-law. Perhaps +they had just come out from under the covers for air and squealed and +dived back again ... not being used to the customs obtaining in the +vicinity of Drury's road house as Poke himself had remarked. + +Hap Smith was the first one of the men who had dashed outside to return. +He carried a mail bag in each hand, muddy and wet, having stumbled over +them in the wild chase. He dropped them to the floor and stared angrily +at them. + +The bulky mail bag, save for the damp and mud, was untouched. The lean +bag however had been slit open. Hap Smith kicked it in a sudden access +of rage. + +"There was ten thousan' dollars in there, in green backs," he said +heavily. "They trusted it to me an' Bert Stone to get across with it. +An' now ..." + +His face was puckered with rage and shame. He went slowly to where Bert +Stone lay. His friend was white and unconscious ... perhaps already his +tale was told. Hap Smith looked from him to the girl who, her face as +white as Bert's, was trying to staunch the flow of blood. + +"I said it," he muttered lugubriously; "the devil's own night." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BUCK THORNTON, MAN'S MAN + + +Those who had rushed into the outer darkness in the wake of the +highwayman returned presently. Mere impulse and swift natural reaction +from their former enforced inactivity rather than any hope of success +had sent them hot-foot on the pursuit. The noisy, windy night, the +absolute dark, obviated all possibility of coming up with him. Grumbling +and theorising, they returned to the room and closed the door behind +them. + +Now that the tense moment of the actual robbery had passed there was a +general buzzing talk, voices lifted in surmise, a lively excitement +replacing the cosy quiet of a few moments ago. Voices from the spare bed +room urged Ma Drury to bring an account of the adventure, and Poke's +wife, having first escorted the wounded man to her own bed and donned a +wrapper and shoes and stockings, gave to Lew Yates's women folk as +circumstantial a description of the whole affair as though she herself +had witnessed it. + +After a while a man here and there began to eat, taking a slab of bread +and meat in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, walking +back and forth and talking thickly. The girl at the fireplace sat stiff +and still, staring at the flames; she had lost her appetite, had quite +forgotten it in fact. At first from under the hand shading her eyes she +watched the men going for one drink after another, the strong drink of +the frontier; but after a little, as though this had been a novel sight +in the beginning but soon lost interest for her, she let her look droop +to the fire. Fresh dry fuel had been piled on the back log and at last a +grateful sense of warmth and sleepiness pervaded her being. She no +longer felt hunger; she was too tired, her eyelids had grown too heavy +for her to harbour the thought of food. She settled forward in her chair +and nodded. The talk of the men, though as they ate and drank their +voices were lifted, grew fainter and fainter in her ears, further and +further away. Finally they were blended in an indistinguishable murmur +that meant nothing.... In a doze she caught herself wondering if the +wounded man in the next room would live. It was terribly still in there. + +She was in that mental and physical condition when, the body tired and +the brain betwixt dozing and waking, thought becomes a feverish process, +the mind snatching vivid pictures from the day's experience and weaving +them into as illogical a pattern as that of the crazy quilt over her +shoulders. All day long she had ridden in the swaying, lurching, jerking +stage until now in her chair, as she slipped a little forward, she +experienced the sensations of the day. Many a time that day as the +racing horses obeying the experienced hand of the driver swept around a +sharp turn in the road she had looked down a sheer cliff that had made +her flesh quiver so that it had been hard not to draw back and cry out. +She had seen the horses leaping forward scamper like mad runaways down a +long slope, dashing through the spray of a rising creek to take the +uphill climb on the run. And tonight she had seen a masked man shoot +down one of her day's companions and loot the United States mail.... And +in a register somewhere she had written down the name of Hill's Corners. +The place men called Dead Man's Alley. She had never heard the name +until today. Tomorrow she would ask the exact significance of it.... + +At last she was sound asleep. She had found comfort by twisting sideways +in her chair and resting her shoulder against the warm rock-masonry of +the outer edge of the fireplace. She awoke with a start. What had +recalled her to consciousness she did not know. Perhaps a new voice in +her ears, perhaps Poke Drury's tones become suddenly shrill. Or it may +be that just a sudden sinking and falling away into utter silence of all +voices, the growing still of hands upon dice cups, all eloquent of a new +breathless atmosphere in the room had succeeded in impressing upon her +sleep-drugged brain the fact of still another vital, electrically +charged moment. She turned in her chair. Then she settled back, +wondering. + +The door was open; the wind was sweeping in; again old newspapers went +flying wildly as though in panicky fear. The men in the room were +staring even as she stared, in bewilderment. She heard old man Adams's +tongue clicking in his toothless old mouth. She saw Hap Smith, his +expression one of pure amazement, standing, half crouching as though to +spring, his hands like claws at his sides. And all of this because of +the man who stood in the open doorway, looking in. + +The man who had shot Bert Stone, who had looted a mail bag, had +returned! That was her instant thought. And clearly enough it was the +thought shared by all of Poke Drury's guests. To be sure he carried no +visible gun and his face was unhidden. But there was the hugeness of +him, bulking big in the doorway, the spare, sinewy height made the +taller by his tall boot heels, the wide black hat with the drooping brim +from which rain drops trickled in a quick flashing chain, the shaggy +black chaps of a cowboy in holiday attire, the soft grey shirt, the grey +neck handkerchief about a brown throat, even the end of a faded bandana +trailing from a hip pocket. + +He stood stone-still a moment, looking in at them with that queer +expression in his eyes. Then he stepped forward swiftly and closed the +door. He had glanced sharply at the girl by the fire; she had shaded her +eyes with her hand, the shadow of which lay across her face. He turned +again from her to the men, his regard chiefly for Hap Smith. + +"Well?" he said lightly, being the first to break the silence. "What's +wrong?" + +There are moments in which it seems as if time itself stood still. +During the spellbound fragment of time a girl, looking out from under a +cupped hand, noted a man and marvelled at him. By his sheer physical +bigness, first, he fascinated her. He was like the night and the storm +itself, big, powerful, not the kind born to know and suffer restraint; +but rather the type of man to dwell in such lands as stretched mile +after unfenced mile "out yonder" beyond the mountains. As he moved he +gave forth a vital impression of immense animal power; standing still he +was dynamic. A sculptor might have carved him in stone and named the +result "Masculinity." + +The brief moment in which souls balanced and muscles were chained passed +swiftly. Strangely enough it was old man Adams who precipitated action. +The old man was nervous; more than that, bred here, he was fearless. +Also fortune had given him a place of vantage. His body was half +screened by that of Hap Smith and by a corner of the bar. His eager old +hand snatched out Hap Smith's dragging revolver, levelled it and +steadied it across the bar, the muzzle seeking the young giant who had +come a step forward. + +"Hands up!" clacked the old man in tremulous triumph. "I got you, dad +burn you!" And at the same instant Hap Smith cried out wonderingly: + +"Buck Thornton! You!" + +The big man stood very still, only his head turning quickly so that his +eyes were upon the feverish eyes of old man Adams. + +"Yes," he returned coolly. "I'm Thornton." And, "Got me, have you?" he +added just as coolly. + +Winifred Waverly stiffened in her chair; already tonight had she heard +gunshots and smelled powder and seen spurting red blood. A little surge +of sick horror brought its tinge of vertigo and left her clear thoughted +and afraid. + +"Hands up, I say," repeated the old man sharply. "I got you." + +"You go to hell," returned Thornton, and his coolness had grown into +curt insolence. "I never saw the man yet that I'm going to do that for." +He came on two more quick, long strides, thrust his face forward and +cried in a voice that rang out commandingly above the crash of the wind, +"_Drop that gun! Drop it!_" + +Old man Adams had no intention of obeying; he had played poker himself +for some fifty odd years and knew what bluff meant. But for just one +brief instant he was taken aback, fairly shocked into a fluttering +indecision by the thunderous voice. Then, before he could recover +himself the big man had flung a heavy wet coat into Adams's face, a gun +had been fired wildly, the bullet ripping into the ceiling, and Buck +Thornton had sprung forward and whipped the smoking weapon from an +uncertain grasp. Winifred Waverly, without breathing and without +stirring, saw Buck Thornton's strong white teeth in a wide, good +humoured smile. + +"I know you were just joking but..." + +He whirled and fired, never lifting the gun from his side. And a man +across the room from him cried out and dropped his own gun and grasped +his shoulder with a hand which slowly went red. + +Now again she saw Buck Thornton's teeth. But no longer in a smile. He +had seemed to condone the act of old Adams as a bit of senility; the +look in his eyes was one of blazing rage as this other man drew back and +back from him, muttering. + +"I'd have killed you then," said Thornton coldly, his rage the cold +wrath that begets murder in men's souls. "But I shot just a shade too +quick. Try it again, or any other man here draw, and by God, I'll show +you a dead man in ten seconds." + +He drew back and put the bar just behind him. Then with a sudden +gesture, he flung down the revolver which had come from Hap Smith's +holster and more recently from old man Adams's fingers, and his hand +flashed to his arm pit and back into plain sight, his own weapon in it. + +"I don't savvy your game, sports," he said with the same cool insolence. +"But if you want me to play just go ahead and deal me a hand." + +To the last man of them they looked at him and hesitated. It was written +in large bold script upon the faces of them that the girl's thought was +their thought. And yet, though there were upward a dozen of them and +though Poke Drury's firelight flickered on several gun barrels and +though here were men who were not cowards and who did not lack +initiative, to the last man of them they hesitated. As his glance sped +here and there it seemed to stab at them like a knife blade. He +challenged them and stood quietly waiting for the first move. And the +girl by the fire knew almost from the first that no hostile move was +forthcoming. And she knew further that had a man there lifted his hand +Buck Thornton's promise would have been kept and he'd show them a dead +man in ten seconds. + +"Suppose," said Thornton suddenly, "you explain. Poke Drury, this being +your shack.... What's the play?" + +Drury moistened his lips. But it was Hap Smith who spoke up. + +"I've knowed you some time, Buck," he said bluntly. "An' I never knowed +you to go wrong. But ... Well, not an hour ago a man your build an' size +an' with a bandana across his face stuck this place up." + +"Well?" said Thornton coolly. + +"At first," went on the stage driver heavily and a bit defiantly, "we +thought it was him come back when you come in." His eye met Thornton's +in a long unwavering look. "We ain't certain yet," he ended briefly. + +Thornton pondered the matter, his thumb softly caressing the hammer of +his revolver. + +"So that's it, is it?" he said finally. + +"That's it," returned Hap Smith. + +"And what have you decided to do in the matter?" + +Smith shrugged. "We acted like a pack of kids," he said. "Lettin' you +get the drop on us like this. Oh, you're twice as quick on the draw as +the best two of us an' we know it. An' ... an' we ain't dead sure as we +ain't made a mistake." + +His candidly honest face was troubled. He was not sure that Thornton was +the same man who so short a time ago had shot Bert Stone. It did not +seem reasonable to Hap Smith that a man, having successfully made his +play, would return just to court trouble. + +"If you're on the square, Buck," he said in a moment, "throw down your +gun an' let's see the linin' of your pockets!" + +"Yes?" retorted Thornton. "What else, Mr. Smith?" + +"Let us take a squint at that bandana trailin' out'n your back pocket," +said Smith crisply. "If it ain't got deep holes cut in it!" + +Now that was stupid, thought Winifred. Nothing could be more stupid, in +fact. If this man had committed the crime and had thus voluntarily +returned to the road house, he would be prepared. He would have emptied +his pockets, he certainly would have had enough brains to dispose of so +tell-tale a bit of evidence as a handkerchief with slits let into it. + +"Maybe," said Thornton quietly, and she did not detect the contemptuous +insolence under the slow words until he had nearly completed his +meaning, "you'd like to have me tell you where I'm riding from and why? +And maybe you'd like to have me take off my shoes so you can look in +them for your lost treasures?" Now was his contempt unhidden. He strode +quickly across the room, coming to the fireplace where the girl sat. He +took the handkerchief from his pocket, keeping it rolled up in his hand; +stooping forward he dropped it into the fire, well behind the back log. + +Then for the first time he saw her face plainly. As he had come close to +her she had slipped from her chair and stood now, her face lifted, +looking at him. His gaze was arrested as his eyes met hers. He stood +very still, plainly showing the surprise which he made no slightest +effort to disguise. She flushed, bit her lip, went a fiery red. He put +up his hand and removed his hat. + +"I didn't expect," he said, still looking at her with that intent, +openly admiring acknowledgment of her beauty, "to see a girl like you. +Here." + +The thing which struck her was that still there were men in the room who +were armed and distrustful of him and that he had forgotten them. What +she could not gauge was the full of the effect she had had upon him. He +had marked a female form at the fireside, shawled by a shapeless +patchwork quilt; out of it, magically it seemed to his startled +fancies, there had stepped a superb creature with eyes on fire with her +youth, a superlatively lovely creature, essentially feminine. From the +flash of her eyes to the curl of her hair, she was all girl. And to Buck +Thornton, man's man of the wide open country beyond the mountains, who +had set his eyes upon no woman for a half year, who had looked on no +woman of her obvious class and type for two years, who had seen the +woman of one half her physical loveliness and tugging charm never, the +effect was instant and tremendous. A little shiver went through him; his +eyes caught fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE FORD + + +"These little cotton-tail rabbits," he said to her slowly, without +turning his eyes from hers to those of whom he spoke, "haven't any more +sense than you'd think to look at them. Once let them get a notion in +their heads.... Look here!" he broke off sharply. "You don't think the +same way they do, do you?" + +"No!" she said hurriedly. + +Hurriedly, because for the moment her poise had fled from her and she +knew that he must note the high colour in her cheeks. And the colour had +come not in response to his words but in quick answer to his look. A +young giant of a man, he stood staring at her like some artless boy who +at a bend in the road had stopped, breathless, to widen his eyes to the +smile of a fairy fresh from fairy land. + +And her "No," was the true reply to his question and burst spontaneously +from her lips. Her first swift suspicion when she had seen the bulk of +him framed against the bleak night had been quite natural. But now that +she had marked the man's carriage and had seen his face and looked for +one instant deep into his clear eyes, she set her conjecture aside as an +absurdity. It was not so much that her reason had risen to demand why a +successful highwayman should return into danger and the likelihood of +swift punishment. It was rather and simply because she felt that this +bronzed young stranger, seeming to her woman's instinct a sort of breezy +incarnation of the outdoors, partook of none of the characteristics of +the footpad, sneak thief or nocturnal gentleman of the road. An +essential attribute of the boldest and most picturesque of that gentry +was the quality of deceit and subterfuge and hypocrisy. Consecutive +logical thought being, after all, a tedious process, she had had no time +to progress from step to step of deduction and inference; he had asked +his question with a startling abruptness and as abruptly she had given +him her answer. The rest might believe what they chose to believe. She +for her part, held Buck Thornton, whoever he might be, guiltless of the +earlier affair of the evening. And, moreover, she could quite understand +the impulse that sent an innocent man to toss a handkerchief into the +fire and let them ponder on the act's significance. The act may have +been foolhardy and certainly had the youthful flavour of bravado; none +the less in her eyes the man achieved through it a sort of magnificence. + +He stood looking at her very gravely and gravely she returned the look. +And it was borne in upon the girl's inner consciousness that now and for +the first time in her life she had come face to face with a man +absolutely without guile or the need thereof. He was in character as he +was in physique, or she read him wrongly. He thought his thought +straight out and made no pretence of hiding it for the simple and +sufficient reason that there was in all the universe no slightest need +of hiding it. As she looked straight back into his eyes little flashes +of impressions which had fastened upon her mind during the day came back +to her, things which he suggested, which were like him. She was very +tired and further she was overwrought from the nervous excitement of the +evening; hence her mental processes were the quicker and more prone to +fly off at wild tangents.... She had seen a tall, rugged cedar on a +rocky ridge blown through by the tempest, standing out in clear relief +against the sky; this man recalled the scene, the very atmosphere. She +had seen a wild swollen torrent hurtling on its way down the +mountainside; the man had threatened to become like that, headlong with +unbounded passion, fierce and destructive when a moment ago they opposed +him.... Again she bit her lip; she was thinking of this huge male +creature in hyperboles. Yes; she was overwrought; it was not well to +think thusly of any mere male creature. + +And yet she but liked him the better and her fancies were smitten anew +by what he did now. Having filled his eyes with her as a man athirst may +fill himself with water from a brook, he turned abruptly away and left +her. He did not tarry to say "Thank you," that she had been almost eager +in asserting her belief in his innocence. He did not go back to a futile +and perhaps quarrelsome discussion with Hap Smith and old man Adams and +the rest. He simply dropped everything where it was, shoved his big +revolver out of sight under his left arm-pit and went to the long dining +table. There, his back to the room, he helped himself generously to cold +meat, bread and luke-warm coffee and ate hungrily. + +She sank back into her chair and let her eyes wander to his breadth of +shoulder, straightness of back and even to the curl of his hair that +cast its dancing shadows upon the wall in front of him. She had never +had a man turn his back on her this way, and yet now the accomplished +deed struck her in nowise as boorish or rude. He had paid her the +tribute of a deep admiration, as clear and strong and unsullied as a +racing mountain stream in spring time. The few words which he deemed +necessary had passed between them. Then he had withdrawn himself from +her attention. Not rude, the act savoured somehow of the downright free +bigness of unconvention. + +"It's silly, jumping to conclusions, any way," she informed herself. +"Why suspect him just because he wears the costume of the country, has +the usual red handkerchief in his possession and is tall? There are half +a dozen big red handkerchiefs in this room right now ... and this would +seem to be the land of tall men." + +Only once again did he speak to her that night and then just to say in +plain matter-of-fact style: "You'd better lie down there and get some +sleep. Good night." And this remark had come only after fifteen minutes +of busy preparation on his part and curiosity on hers. He had gone out +of the room into the night with no offered explanation and with many +eyes following him; men began to show rising signs of excitement and to +regret audibly that they had not "gathered him in." But in a few minutes +he was back, his arms filled with loose hay from the barn. He spread it +out in a corner, down by the long table. The table itself he drew out of +the way. On the hay he smoothed out her quilt. Then, after a brief word +with Poke Drury, he made another expedition into the night, returning +with a strip of weather beaten, patched canvas; this he hung by the +corners from the nails he hammered into a beam of the low ceiling, +letting the thing drop partition-wise across the room. It had been then +that he said quietly: "You'd better lie down there and get some sleep. +Good night." + +"Good night," she answered him. And as it was with his eyes that again +he told her frankly what he thought of her, so was it with her eyes that +she thanked him. + +The night passed somehow. She lay down and slept, awoke, moved her body +for more comfort, slept again. And through her sleep and dreams and +wakeful moments she heard the quiet voices of the men who had no beds to +go to; that monotonous sound and an occasional clink of glass and +bottle neck or the rustling of shuffled cards. Once she got up and +looked through a hole in the canvas; she had taken off her shoes and +made no noise to draw attention to her spying. It must have been chance, +therefore, which prompted Thornton to lift his head quickly and look +toward her. The light was all on his side of the room; she knew that he +had not heard her and could not see her; the tear in her flimsy wall was +scarcely more than a pin-hole. He was playing cards; furthermore he was +winning, there being a high stack of blue and red and white chips in +front of him and a sprinkling of gold. But she saw no sign of the +gambling fever in his eyes. Rather, there was in them a look which made +her draw back guiltily; which sent her creeping back to her rude bed +with suffused cheeks. He was still thinking of her, solely of her, +despite the spoils of chance at his hand.... + +All night the storm beat at the lone house in the mountain pass, +rattling at doors and windows, whistling down the chimney, shaking the +building with its fierce gusts. The rain ceased only briefly when the +cold congealed it into a flurry of beating hail stones; thereafter came +the rain again, scarcely less noisy. And in the morning when she awoke +with a start and smelled boiling coffee the wind was still raging, the +rain was falling heavily and steadily. + +In the dark and with the lamps burning on palely into the dim day she +breakfasted. Together with several of the men she ate in the kitchen +where a fire roared in an old stove, and where a table was placed +conveniently. Ma Drury was about, sniffling with her cold, but cooking +and serving her guests sourly, slamming down the enamelled ware in front +of them and challenging them with a look to find fault anywhere. She +reported that in some mysterious way, for which God be thanked, there +were no dead men in her house this morning. Bert Stone was alive and +showed signs of continuing to live, a thing to marvel at. And the man +whom Buck Thornton had winged, beyond displaying a sore arm and +disposition, was for the present a mere negligible and disagreeable +quantity. + +Hap Smith came in from the barn while she was eating. He was going to +start right away. There was no use, however, in her attempting to make +the rest of the trip with him. His other passengers would lie over here +for a day or two. She looked at him curiously: why should she not go on? +It certainly was not pleasant to think of remaining in these cramped +quarters indefinitely. + +Hap Smith, hastily eating hot cakes and ham, answered briefly and to the +point. Mountain streams were all up, filling their narrow beds, spilling +over. A rain like this downpour brought them up in a few hours; it would +stop raining presently and they'd go down as fast as they had risen. +Just two miles from the road house was the biggest stream of all to +negotiate, being the upper waters of Alder Creek. It was up to Hap to +make it because he represented a certain Uncle Samuel who was not to be +stopped by hell or high water; literally that. He'd tie his mail bags +in; leave all extras at Poke Drury's, drive his horses into the +turbulent river high above the ford and ... make it somehow. It was up +to her to stay here. + +He gobbled down his breakfast, rolled a fat brown cigarette, buttoned up +his coat and went out to his stage. Before he could snap back his brake +she was at his side. + +"My business is as important to me as Uncle Samuel's is to him," she +told him in a steady, matter-of-fact voice. "What is more, I have paid +my fare and mean to go through with you." + +He saw that she did mean it. He expostulated, but briefly. He was behind +time, he knew that already they had sought to argue with her in the +house, he recognized the futility of further argument. He had a wife of +his own, had Hap Smith. He grunted his displeasure with the arrangement, +informed her curtly that it was up to her and that, if they went under, +his mail bags would require all of his attention, shrugged his two +shoulders at once and high up, released his brake and went clattering +down the rocky road. The girl cast a quick look behind her as they drew +away from the road house; she had not seen Buck Thornton this morning +and wondered if he had been loitering about the barn or had turned back +into the mountains or had ridden ahead. + +Alder Creek was a mad rush and swirl of muddy water; the swish and hiss +of it smote their ears five minutes before they saw the brown, writhing +thing itself. The girl tensed on her seat; her breathing was momentarily +suspended; her cheek went a little pale. Then, conscious of a quick +measuring look from the stage driver, she said as quietly as she could: + +"It doesn't look inviting, does it?" + +Hap Smith grunted and gave his attention forthwith and solely to the +dexterous handling of his tugging reins. He knew the crossing; had made +it with one sort of a team and another many times in his life. But he +had never seen it so swollen and threatening and he had never heard its +hissing sound upgathered into such a booming roar as now greeted them. +He stopped his team and looked from under drawn brows at the water. + +"You'd better get out," he said shortly. + +"But I won't!" she retorted hurriedly. "And, since we are going to make +the crossing ... go ahead, quick!" + +He winked both eyes at the rain driving into his face and sat still, +measuring his chances. While he did so she looked up and down; not a +hundred paces from them, upstream on the near bank, the figure of a man +loomed unnaturally large in the wet air. He was mounted upon a tall, +rangy horse that might have been foaled just for the purpose of carrying +a man of his ilk, a pale yellow-sorrel whose two forefeet, had it not +been for the mud, would have shone whitely. She wondered what he was +doing there. His attitude was that of one who was patiently waiting. + +"Hold on good an' tight," said Smith suddenly. "I'm goin' to tackle it." + +She gripped the back of the seat firmly, braced her feet, set her teeth +together, a little in quick fear, a great deal in determination. Smith +swung his team upstream fifty paces, then in a short arc out and away +from the creek; then, getting their heads again to the stream he called +to them, one by one, each of the four in turn, saying crisply: "You, +Babe! Charlie! that's the boy! Baldy! You Tom, you Tom! Into it; into +it; _get up_!" + +With shaking heads that flung the raindrops from tossing manes, with +gingerly lifted forefeet, with a snort here and a crablike sidling dance +there, they came down to the water's edge at a brisk trot. The off-lead, +Charlie, fought shy and snorted again; the long whip in Hap Smith's hand +shot out, uncurled, flicked Charlie's side, and with a last defiant +shake of the head the big bay drove his obedient neck into his collar +and splashed mightily in the muddy current. Babe plunged forward at his +side; the two other horses followed as they were in the habit of +following. + +The girl, fascinated, saw the water curl and eddy and whiten about their +knees; she saw it surge onward and rise about the hubs of the slow +turning wheels. Higher it came and higher until the rushing sound of it +filled her ears, the dark yellow flash of it filled her eyes and she +sat breathless and rigid.... A quick glance showed her the man, +Thornton, still above them on the bank of the stream. She noted that he +had drawn a little closer to the water's edge. + +They were half way across, fairly in midstream, and Hap Smith, utterly +oblivious of his one passenger, cursing mightily, when the mishap came. +The mad stream, rolling its rocks and boulders and jagged tree trunks, +had gouged holes in the bank here and there and had digged similar holes +in the uneven bed itself. Into such a hole the two horses on the lower +side floundered, with no warning and with disastrous suddenness. Then +went down, until only their heads were above the current. They lost all +solid ground under their threshing hoofs and, as they rose a little, +began to swim, flailing about desperately. Hap Smith yelled at them, +yanked at his reins, seeking to turn them straight down stream for a +spell until the hole be passed. But already another horse was in and +engulfed, the wagon careened, was whipped about in the furious struggle, +a wheel struck a submerged boulder and Hap Smith leaped one way while +Winifred Waverly sprang the other as the awkward stage tipped and went +on its side. + +She knew on the instant that one had no chance to swim here, no matter +how strong the swimmer. For the current was stronger than the mere +strength of a human being. She knew that if Hap Smith clung tight to his +reins he might be pulled ashore in due time, if all went well for him. +She knew that Winifred Waverly had never been in such desperate +straits. And finally she understood, and the knowledge was infinitely +sweet to her in her moment of need, why the man yonder had been sitting +his horse so idly in the rain, and just why he had been waiting. + +She did not see him as his horse, striking out valiantly, swimming and +finding precarious foothold by turns, bore down upon her; she saw only +the yellow, dirty current when she saw anything at all. She could not +know when, the first time, he leaned far out and snatched at her ... and +missed. For at the moment a sucking maelstrom had caught her and whipped +her out of his reach and flung her onward, for a little piling the +churning water above her head. She did not see when finally he succeeded +in that which he had attempted. But she felt his two arms about her and +in her heart there was a sudden glow and, though the water battled with +the two of them, strangely enough a feeling of safety. + +Perhaps it was only because he had planned on the possibility of just +this and was ready for it that she came out of Alder Creek alive. He had +slipped the loop of his rope about the horn of his saddle, making it +secure with an additional half hitch; when he was sure of her he flung +himself from the saddle, still keeping the rope in his hand as he took +her into his arms. Then, swimming as best he could, seeking to keep her +head and his above the water, he left the rest to a certain rangy, +yellow-sorrel saddle horse. And as Hap Smith and his struggling team +made shore just below the ford, Buck Thornton and Winifred Waverly were +drawn to safety by Buck Thornton's horse. + +Just as there had been no spoken thanks last night for a kindness +rendered, so now on this larger occasion there was no gush of grateful +words. He released her slowly and their eyes met. As he turned to help +Hap Smith with the frightened horses entangled in their harness, the +only words were his: + +"A couple of miles farther on you'll pass a ranch house. You can get +warm and dry your clothes there. This is the last bad crossing." + +And so, lifting his hat, he left her. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE MAN FROM POISON HOLE RANCH + + +Dry Town never looked less dry. As Buck Thornton drew rein in front of +the one brick building of which the ugly little village could boast, the +mud was above his yellow-sorrel's fetlocks. But the rain was over, the +sun was out glorious and warm above the level lands and in the air was a +miraculous feeling as of spring. It is the way of Dry Town in the matter +of seasons to rival in abruptness its denizens' ways in other matters. +The last great storm had come and gone and seeds would be bursting on +every hand and eagerly now. + +Because he loved a good horse, and this rangy sorrel above others, and +because further he had been forced to ride the willing animal unusually +hard all day yesterday, Thornton today had travelled slowly. So, long +ago, he had watched the stage out of sight and now, when finally he drew +up in front of the bank, he saw Hap Smith's lumbering vehicle standing +down by the stable. From it he let his eyes travel along the double row +of ill kept, unpainted houses. Fifty yards away a stranger would have +marked only his great height, the lean, clean, powerful physique. But +from near by one might have forgotten this matter of physical bigness +for another, noting just the man's eyes alone. Very keen, piercing, +quick eyes just now, watchful and suspicious of every corner and alley, +they more than hinted at a stern vigilance that was more than half +positive expectancy. + +Only for a moment he sat so. Then he swung down from the saddle and with +spurs clanking noisily upon the board sidewalk went into the bank +building. + +"I want to see Mr. Templeton," he said abruptly to the clerkly looking +individual behind the new lattice work. The words were very quietly +spoken, the voice rather soft and gentle for so big a man. And yet the +cashier turned quickly, looking at him curiously. + +"Who shall I say it is?" he demanded. + +"This man's town is getting citified mighty fast," the tall man grunted. +"I should have brought my cards! Well, just tell him it's Thornton." + +"Thornton?" + +"You got it. Buck Thornton, from the Poison Hole ranch." + +He spoke lightly, his voice hinting at a vast store of good nature, his +eyes, however, losing meanwhile no glint of their stern light as they +looked at the man to whom he was talking and beyond him watched the door +through which he had entered. The cashier regarded him with new +interest. + +"You are early, Mr. Thornton," he said, rather more warmly than he had +spoken before. "But Mr. Templeton will be glad to see you. He is in +his private office. Walk right in." + +Thornton stooped, his back to the wall, and swiftly unbuckled his spurs. +Carrying them in his left hand he passed along the lattice work +partition which shut off the cashier with his books and till, and threw +open the door at the end of the short hallway. Here was a sort of +waiting room, to judge from the two or three chairs, the square topped +table strewn with financial journals and illustrated magazines +indiscriminately mixed. He closed the door behind him, standing again +for a moment as he had stood out in the street, his eyes keen and +watchful as they took swift inventory of the room and its furnishings. + +Before him was a second door upon the frosted glass top of which were +the stencilled words: J.W. TEMPLETON, President, Private. He took a step +toward the door and then stopped suddenly as though the very vehemence +of the voice bursting out upon the other side of it had halted him. + +"I tell you, Miss Waverly," ... it was Templeton's voice, snappy and +irritable, ... "this thing is madness! Pure and simple, unadulterated +madness! It's as devoid of sense as a last year's nest of birds; it's as +full of danger as a ... a ..." + +"Never mind exhausting your similes, Mr. Templeton," came the answer, +the girl's voice young and fresh and yet withal firm and a little cool. +"I didn't come to ask your advice, you know. And you haven't given me +what I did come for. If you ..." + +Thornton pushed the door open, sweeping off his hat as he came in, and +said bluntly, + +"I don't know what you folks are talking about, but I judge it's +important. And there's no sense in loose-endish talk when you don't know +who's listening." + +The square built, square faced man tapping with big square finger ends +at the table in front of him whirled about suddenly, his gesture and +eyes alike showing his keen annoyance at the interruption. Then when he +saw who it was he got to his feet, saying crisply: + +"I'm glad it's you. This young woman has got it into her head ..." + +"You will remember, Mr. Templeton, that this is in strict confidence?" + +Templeton's teeth shut with a click. Thornton turned from him and, with +his spurs in one hand, his hat caught in the other, stood looking down +upon the owner of the voice that was at once so fresh and young, so +coolly determined and vaguely defiant. And as he looked at her there was +much speculation in his grave eyes. Odd that he should stumble upon her +the first thing. Odd and--natural.... + +The girl's back was to him. For a moment she did not shift her position +the least fraction of an inch, but sat very still, leaning forward in +her chair, facing the banker. Then after a little when it was evident +that Templeton was going to say nothing more she turned slowly to the +new comer, her lashes sweeping upward swiftly as her eyes met his full +and steady. And the man from the Poison Hole ranch, his own eyes looking +down into hers very gravely, noted many things in the quick, keen way +characteristic of him. + +He saw that her mouth, red lips about very white teeth, was smiling +softly, confidently; and yet that the brown-flecked grey of her eyes was +as unsmiling, as gravely speculative as his own eyes were. He saw that +her skin was a golden brown from life in the open outdoors, that she had +upon the heels of her boots a pair of tiny, sharp rowelled spurs, that a +riding quirt hung from her right wrist by its rawhide thong, that her +cheeks were a little flushed as though from excitement but that she knew +the trick of forbidding her eyes to tell what her excitement was. He saw +that her throat, where her neck scarf fell loosely away from it, was +very round and white. He saw that while her grey riding habit covered +her body it hid none of her body's grace and strength and slender +youthfulness. + +While his eyes left hers to note these things her eyes had been as busy, +running from the man's close cropped dark hair to his mud-spattered +boots. And there came into her look just a hint of admiration which the +man did not see as she in her swift examination noted the breadth of +shoulder, the straight tallness of him, the clean, supple, sinewy form +which his loose attire of soft shirt, unbuttoned vest grey with dust, +and shaggy chaps, black and much worn, in no way concealed. + +"I have come," he was saying now to Templeton, speaking abruptly +although his voice was as gentle and low-toned and pleasant as when he +had spoken with the cashier, "three days ahead of time. It won't take me +a minute to get through. And if you and the young lady will excuse me +I'll say my little speech and drift, giving you a free swing for your +business. Besides, I'm in a fair sized hurry." + +"Certainly," said Templeton immediately, while the girl, smiling now +with eyes and lips together, unconcernedly, made no answer. "Miss +Waverly is planning to.... Well, I want to talk with her a little more. +Well, Thornton," and only now he put out his hand to be gripped quickly +and warmly by the other's, "what is it? I'm glad to see you. +Everything's all right?" + +"Yes. I just dropped in to fix up that second payment." + +"Shall I go out while you talk?" The girl had gotten to her feet +swiftly. "If you are going to say anything important ..." + +"No, you'd better stay," Thornton said, and added jestingly: "I've got +nothing confidential on my mind, and since I'm just going to hand Mr. +Templeton some money, an almighty big pile of money for me to be +carrying around, maybe we'd better have a witness to the transaction." + +The banker looked at him in surprise. + +"You don't mean that you've got it with you now? That you've just +ridden in from the range and have brought it with you ... in cash!" + +For answer the cattle man slipped a bronzed hand into his shirt and +brought out a small packet done up in a piece of buckskin and tied with +a string. He tossed it to the shining table top, where it fell heavily. + +"There she is," he said lightly. "Gold and a few pieces of paper. The +whole thing. Count it." + +Templeton sank back into his chair and stared at him. He put out his +hand, lifted the packet, dropped it back upon the table, stared again, +and then burst out irritably: + +"Of all the reckless young fools in the county you two are without +equals. Buck Thornton, I thought _you_ had some sense!" + +"You never can tell," came the quiet rejoinder from unsmiling lips. "I +saw a man once I thought had sense and I found out afterwards he ran +sheep. Now, if you'll see my bet I'll travel." + +Templeton's desk shears were already busy. He jerked the packet open +flat on the table. There were many twenty dollar pieces, some fives and +tens and a little bundle of bank notes. He counted swiftly. + +"It's all right. Five thousand dollars," he said crisply. "In full for +second payment due, as you say, in three days. I'll note it on the two +agreements. And I'll give you a receipt." + +The tall man's deep chest rose and fell to a sigh as of relief at having +done his errand; he placed his spurs in his hat and his hat upon a +chair and began to roll a cigarette. The banker wrote quickly with +sputtering pen in a book of receipt blanks, tore out the leaf and passed +it across the table. + +"There you are, Buck Thornton of the Poison Hole," he said with an +increase of irritability in his curt tones. "And now you listen to me; +you're a fool! Or else you're so far out of the world over on your ranch +that you don't know what's going on. Which is it?" + +"I hear a good deal of what's happening," returned Thornton drily. + +"Then I suppose you realize that a man who rides day and night, through +that country, carrying five thousand dollars with him, and when +everybody in the country knows that according to contract he is about +due to make a five thousand dollar payment, is acting like a fool with a +suicidal mania?" + +For a moment Thornton did not answer. He seemed so engrossed in his +cigarette building that one might almost suppose that he had not heard. +And then, lifting his head suddenly, his eyes keen and hard upon +Templeton's, he said casually, + +"I dropped in three days ahead of time, didn't I?" + +"And the wonder is," snapped Templeton, "that you haven't dropped clean +out of the world! If you do a fool thing like this, Buck Thornton, when +your last payment is due, you can do it. But I won't go near your +funeral!" + +Thornton laughed easily, tucked the receipt into his vest pocket, and +reached for his hat and spurs. + +"I'm obliged, Mr. Templeton," he acknowledged lightly. "But we've got to +admit that I got across all right this time. And, as you've heard, I +suppose, right under Mr. Bad Man's nose, since I was carrying that +little wad last night when Hap Smith got cleaned at Poke Drury's. Well, +I'll be going. Just give that rattlesnake Pollard the five thousand and +an invitation from me to keep off my ranch, remembering that it doesn't +happen to belong to him any more." + +He nodded and went to the door. There he turned and looked back at the +girl. She had risen swiftly, even coming a step toward him. + +"I haven't thanked you ... I ..." + +Templeton looked on curiously, an odd twitching at the corners of his +large mouth. Thornton threw up a sudden hand. + +"No," he said hastily. "You haven't spoiled things by thanking me. +And.... We'll see each other again," he concluded in his quietly +matter-of-fact way. And, his nod for both of them, he went out. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WINIFRED JUDGES A MAN + + +There was a puzzled frown in her eyes, a faint flush tingeing her cheeks +as, withdrawing her regard from Thornton's departure, she looked to +Templeton and asked quickly: + +"Why did he call Henry Pollard a rattlesnake?" + +A faint smile for a moment threatened to drive the sternness away from +Templeton's lips. But it was gone in a quick tightening of the mouth, +and he answered briefly. + +"He didn't know that you knew Pollard." + +"I don't know him," she reminded him coolly. "You will remember that I +haven't seen him since I was six years old. I hardly know what he looks +like. But you haven't answered me; why did your imprudent giant call him +a rattlesnake?" + +"They have had business dealings together," he told her vaguely. "Maybe +they have disagreed about something. Men out there are a little given to +hard words, I think." + +She sat silent, leaning forward, tapping at her boot with her quirt. +Then quickly, just as the banker was opening his lips to speak of the +other matter, she demanded: + +"Why did you call him a fool for bringing the money here? It had to be +brought, hadn't it?" + +"Yes! That's just it. It had to be brought and there is not a man in all +of the cattle country here who does not know all about the terms of the +contract Thornton and Pollard made. Ten thousand down, five thousand in +three days from now, the other five thousand in six months. Why, right +now I wouldn't attempt to carry five thousand dollars _in cash_ over +that wilderness trail if there were ten times the amount to come to me +at the end of it! It's as mad as this thing you want to do." + +"He did it." + +"Yes," shortly. "He did it." He gathered up the loose money, pushed a +button set in the table, and upon the prompt appearance of the cashier +said crisply, "Five thousand to apply on the Pollard-Thornton agreement. +Put it in the big safe immediately." + +"He looks as though he could take care of himself," the girl said +thoughtfully when the money had gone. + +Templeton whirled about upon her, his eyes blazing. + +"Take care of himself!" he scoffed. "What chance has a man to take care +of himself when another man puts a rifle ball through his back? What +chance had Bill Varney of the Twin Dry Diggings stage only three weeks +ago? Varney is dead and the money he was carrying is gone, that's the +chance he had! What chance has any man had for the last six months if he +carried five hundred dollars on him and any one knew about it? They +chased off a dozen steers from Kemble's place not three days ago, you +yourself know what happened at Drury's road house last night, and now +Buck Thornton rides through the same country with five thousand dollars +on him!" + +"He did it," she repeated again very softly, her eyes musing. + +"And one of these days he's going to find out how simple a matter it is +for a gang like the gang operating in broad daylight in this country now +to separate a fool and his money! The Lord knows how a simple trick like +coming in three days ahead of time fooled them. It won't do it again." + +"He is the type of man to succeed," she went on, still musingly. + +Templeton shrugged. + +"We have our own business on our hands," he said abruptly, looking at +his watch. "The stage leaves in half an hour. Are you going to be +reasonable?" + +Then she stood up and smiled at him very brightly. + +"The stage is going its way, Mr. Templeton. I am going mine." + +Templeton flung down his pen with an access of irritation which brought +a flicker of amusement into the bright grey eyes. But the banker's grim +mouth did not relax; there was anger in the gesture with which he +slammed a blotter down on the big yellow envelope on which his wet pen +had fallen. After his carefully precise fashion he was reaching for a +fresh, clean envelope when the girl took the slightly soiled one from +him. + +"Thank you," she said, rising and smiling down at him. "But this will do +just as well. And now, if you'll wish me good luck..." + +She went out followed by a look of much grave speculation. + +Meanwhile Buck Thornton, leading his horse after him, crossed the dusty +street to the Last Chance saloon. At the watering trough he watered his +horse, and then, slackening the cinch a little, he went inside. In the +front part of the long, dreary room was the bar presided over by a +gentleman in overalls, shirt sleeves and very black hair plastered close +to his low forehead. At the rear was the lunch counter where two +Chinamen were serving soup and stew and coffee to half a dozen men. +Thornton, with one of his quick, sharp glances which missed nothing in +the room, went to the bar. + +"Hello, Blackie," he said quietly. + +The bartender, who in a leisure moment had been bending in deep +absorption over an illustrated pink sheet spread on the bar, looked up +quickly. For a short second a little gleam as of surprise shone in his +shoe-button eyes. Then he put out his hand, shoving the pink sheet +aside. + +"Hello, Buck," he cried genially. "Where'd you blow in from?" + +"Poison Hole," briefly. He spun a silver dollar on the bar and ignored +the hand. + +Blackie reached for bottle and glass, and putting them before the cowboy +bestowed upon him a shrewd, searching look. + +"What's the news out your way, Buck?" + +"Nothing." He tossed off his whiskey, took up his change and went on to +the lunch counter. Several men looked up at him; one or two nodded. It +was evident that the new owner of the Poison Hole was something of a +stranger here. He called an order to the Chinaman at the stove, told him +that he'd be back in ten minutes and was in a hurry and went out to his +horse. The bartender watched him go but said nothing. + +Within less than ten minutes Thornton had left his sorrel at the stable, +seeing personally the animal had its grain, and had come back to the +saloon. Blackie, idle with his gazette unnoticed in front of him, saw +him come in this time. + +"In town for a little high life, Buck?" he queried listlessly. + +"No. Business." He passed on down toward the lunch counter, and then +swinging about suddenly came back. "Bank business," he added quietly. "I +just paid my second instalment of five thousand dollars cash!" + +For a moment he stood staring very steadily into the bartender's eyes, +a great deal of significance in his look. Blackie returned his stare +steadily. + +"You're lucky, Buck," he offered colourlessly. + +"Meaning to get the Poison Hole? Yes. It's the best cow range I ever +saw." + +"Meanin' to pack five thousan' aroun' in your tail pocket an' get away +with it with this stick-up gang workin' the country." + +Thornton shrugged his shoulders. + +"There isn't any gang," he said, speaking as a man who knew. "It's one +man with a confederate here and there maybe to keep him here. Every job +that has been pulled off yet was a one man job." + +Blackie polished his bar and shook his head. + +"Jed Macintosh got cleaned out night before last," he retorted. "He'd +made a clean-up right in here playin' stud. They got his wad before he'd +gone to the end of the street. That was more than a one man job." + +"Did Jed see more than one?" demanded Thornton sharply. + +"No. Jed didn't see nothin', I guess. But we all seen the trail their +horses made goin' through Jed's hayfield. There was three horses any +way." + +With no answer to this Thornton turned away, washed at the faucet near +the back door, and settled his tall form upon one of the high stools at +the counter. He ate hungrily, with no remark to the men upon right and +left of him. But he heard their scraps of talk, noting that the one +topic of conversation here in Dry Town was the work of the "stick-up +party" manifesting itself in such episodes as the robbery and murder of +Bill Varney, stage driver, the theft of Kemble's cattle, the "cleanin'" +of Jed Macintosh and, finally, the affair of last night at Poke Drury's. +He listened with what seemed frank and only mild interest. + +"It's a funny thing to me," one little dried-up old man with fierce +moustaches and very gentle eyes was saying, "what we got a sheriff for. +This sort of gun play's been runnin' high for nigh on six months now, +an' Cole Dalton ain't boarded anybody in his little ol' jail any worse'n +hoboes an' drunks for so long it makes a feller wonder what a jail an' a +sheriff is for." + +"Give him time, Pop," laughed a young rancher at his side. "You know all +that's the matter with Cole Dalton is he's got his election on the +Republican ticket, an' you ain't never saw a man yet as wasn't a +Demmycrat as you'd admit was any 'count. Give him time. Cole knows what +he's doin', an' when he does git his rope on Mr. Badman he ain't goin' +to need no jail. Cole'll give him a firs' class funeral an' save the +county a board bill." + +Pop grunted, sniffed, and got to his feet to go to the door and watch +the stage pull out. At the rumble and creak of the great lumbering +vehicle and the quick thud of the hoofs of the four running horses +several men left the lunch counter and followed him. Buck Thornton, +finishing his own meal swiftly, went with the others. + +Hap Smith took on fresh mail bags in front of the post-office, slammed +back his brake, and with his long whip cracking like pistol shots over +his leaders' heads, drove on until he had passed the Last Chance. And +then he came to a halt again, his coach rocking and rolling on its great +springs, in front of the bank. + +"Hi, there," he yelled mightily. "Git a move on, will you? I'm half a +day late now." + +Mr. Templeton himself appeared on the instant at the door, a small +strong box in his hands. He tossed it up into the ready hands of the +bull-necked, round-shouldered guard who sat at Hap Smith's side with a +rifle between his knees, the two passengers craned their necks with much +interest, the guard bestowed the box under the seat, the driver loosened +his reins, threw off his brake, and the stage rocked and rumbled down +the street, spattering mud on either hand, racing away upon the last leg +of its two hundred and fifty mile trip to the last town upon the far +border of the great state. + +"And Templeton called me a fool!" mused the tall cattle man, a look of +vast contempt in his stern eyes. + +He stood a little behind the other men, looking over their heads. For +only a fleeting second had his glance rested upon the stage at the bank. +Then he looked swiftly at the man in front of him. It was Blackie, the +bartender. When Blackie turned abruptly Thornton looked squarely into +the black eyes, seeing there an unusually beady brightness, something +of the hint of a quick frown upon the thin slick line of the eyebrows. + +"Driver and guard will both be needing their shooting irons before they +see the border, Blackie," Thornton said quietly. + +And then with a short, insolent laugh he returned for the hat he had +left hanging upon a nail. Blackie, making no answer, followed, going +behind his bar. A little dusky red had crept up into his shallow face, +his eyes burned hard into Thornton's as the man from the Poison Hole +came by him. + +"When you goin' back to the range, Buck?" he asked sharply. + +"I'm going to start as soon as I can roll a smoke and saddle a horse," +Thornton answered him, a little smile in his eyes. And then, as an after +thought, "I follow the stage road for about ten miles before I turn off +on the trail. Wish I could stick with them clean through." + +"What for?" demanded Blackie in the same sharp tone. + +"Oh, just to see the fun," Thornton told him lightly. "So long, +Blackie." + +"You seem to be mighty sure something's goin' to be pulled off this +trip." + +Thornton hung upon his heel, turning slowly. + +"I am, Blackie," he said carelessly. And then, "Say, did you notice the +two passengers in the stage?" + +"No." He put a great deal of emphasis into the denial. "Who was it?" + +"I thought you might have noticed. One of them was that crooked eyed +jasper I saw you staking to free drinks the last time I was in town." + +He stared straight into the smaller man's eyes, saw the colour deepen in +his cheeks, shrugged his big shoulders and went to the door. Several of +the men who had come back into the room looked after him curiously, then +as though for explanation, into Blackie's narrowed eyes. The bartender's +hand dropped swiftly out of sight under his bar. Thornton's back was +turned square upon him. And yet, as though he had seen the gesture and +it had been full of significance to him, he whirled with a movement even +quicker than Blackie's had been, and standing loosely, his hands at his +side, looked coolly into the bright black eyes. For a moment no man +moved. Then Blackie, with a little sigh which sounded loudly in the +quiet room, brought his hand back into sight, letting his fingers tap +upon the bar. Thornton smiled, turned again and stepped quickly out of +the door. + +"As long as they don't get any closer to the Poison Hole it's none of my +funeral," he muttered to himself. "But if they do, I know one little man +who could do a powerful lot of squealing with the proper inducement!" + +Not turning once he passed swiftly down the street toward the stable, +his meditative eyes upon the rocking stage sweeping on to the +south-east, already drawing close to the first of the wooded foothills. +He waited ten minutes, watching his horse eating, and then saddled and +rode out toward the hills. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +AN INVITATION TO SUPPER + + +It was hardly noon. Here the county road, cutting straight through the +rolling fields, was broad, wet and black, glistening under the sun. Out +yonder in front of him the stage, driven rapidly by Hap Smith that he +might make up a little of the lost time, topped a gentle rise, stood out +briefly against the sky line, shot down into the bed of Dry Creek and +was lost to him. A little puzzled frown crept into Thornton's eyes. + +"A man would almost say old Pop was right," he told himself. "This state +is getting too settled up for this kind of game to be pulled off so +all-fired regularly. Cole Dalton must be blind in his off eye.... Oh, +hell! It is none of my business. Any way ... not yet." + +He pulled his horse out into the trail paralleling the muddy road, +jerked his hat down lower over his forehead, slumped forward a little in +the saddle, and gave himself over to the sleepy thirty mile ride to +Harte's Camp. He rode slowly now, allowing Hap Smith's speeding horses +to draw swiftly away ahead of him. He saw the stage once more climbing a +distant ridge; then it was lost to him in the steepening hills. A little +more than an hour later he turned off to the left, leaving the +county road and entering the mouth of the canyon through which his trail +led. He would not see the road again although after a while he would +parallel it with some dozen miles of rolling land between him and it. + +Behind him lay the wide stretch of plain in which Dry Town was set; +about him were the small shut-in valleys where the "little fellows" had +their holdings and small herds of long horns and saddle ponies. Before +him were the mountains with Kemble's place upon their far slope and his +own home range lying still farther to the east. There were many streams +to ford in the country through which he was now riding, all +muddy-watered, laced with white, frothing edgings, but none to rise +higher than his horse's belly. + +Here there was a tiny valley, hardly more than a cup in the hills, but +valuable for its rich feed and for the big spring set in the middle of +it. He dismounted, slipped the Spanish bit from his horse's mouth, and +waited for the animal to drink. It was a still, sleepy afternoon. The +storm had left no trace in the deep blue of the sky; the hills were +rapidly drying under the hot sun. Man and horse seemed sleepy, slow +moving figures to fit into a glowing landscape, harmoniously. The horse +drank slowly, shook its head in half tolerant protest at the flies +singing before its eyes, and played with the water with twitching lips +as though, with no will to take up the trail again, it sought to deceive +its master into thinking that it was still drinking. The man yawned and +his drowsy eyes came away from the wood-topped hills before him to the +moist earth under foot. For the moment they did not seem the eyes of the +Buck Thornton who had ridden to the bank in Dry Town a little before +noon, but were gentle and dreamily meditative with all of the earlier +sharp alertness gone. And then suddenly there came into them a quick +change, a keen brightness, as he jerked his head forward and stared down +at the ground at his feet. + +"Now what is she doing out this way?" he asked himself aloud. "And where +is she going?" + +Though the soil was cut and beaten with the sharp hoofs of the many +cattle that had drunk here earlier in the day, it was not so rough that +it hid the thing which the quick eyes of the cattle man found and +understood. There, close to the water's edge and almost under his own +horse's body, were the tracks a shod horse had left not very long ago. +The spring water was still trickling into one of them. There, too, a +little to the side was the imprint of the foot of the rider who had +gotten down to drink from the same stream, the mark of a tiny, high +heeled boot. + +"It might be some other girl," he told himself by way of answer to his +own question. "And it might be a Mex with a proud, blue-blooded foot. +But," and he leaned further forward studying the foot print, "it's a +mighty good bet I could tell what she looks like from the shape of her +head to the colour of her eyes! Now, what do you suppose she's tackling? +Something that Mr. Templeton says is plumb foolish and full of danger?" + +He slipped the bit back into his horse's mouth and swung up into the +saddle. + +"She didn't come out the way I came," he reflected as for a moment he +sat still, looking down at the medley of tracks. "I'd have seen her +horse's tracks. She must have made a big curve somewhere. I wonder what +for?" + +Then slowly the gravity left his eyes and a slow smile came into them. +He surprised his horse with a touch of the spurs. + +"Get into it, you long-legged wooden horse, you!" he chuckled. "We've +got something to ride for now! We're going to see Miss Grey Eyes again. +There's something besides stick-up men worth a man's thinking about, +little horse!" + +He reined back into the trail, rode through the little valley, climbed +the ridge beyond and so pushed on deeper and ever deeper into the long +sweep of flat country upon the other side. Often his eyes ran far ahead, +seeking swiftly for the slender figure he constantly expected to see +riding eastward before him; often they dropped to the trail underfoot to +see that her horse's tracks had not turned to right or left should she +leave this main horseman's highway for some one of the countless cross +trails. + +The afternoon wore on, the miles dropped away behind him; and he came to +the end of the flat country and again was in low rolling hills. Her +horse's tracks were there always before him, and yet he had had no sight +of any rider that day since leaving the county road. Again much gravity +came back into his eyes. + +"Where's she going?" he asked himself again. "It looks like she was +headed for Harte's Camp too. And then on to Hill's Corners? All alone? +It's funny." + +Twenty miles he had come from Dry Town. He was again riding slowly, +remembering that his horse had carried the great weight of him many long +miles yesterday and today. Now the hills grew steep and shot up high and +rugged against the sky. The trail was harder, steeper, narrower where it +wound along the edges of the many ravines. Again and again the ground +was so flinty that it held no sign to show whether shod horse had passed +over it or not. But he told himself that there was scant likelihood of +her having turned out here; there was but the one trail now. And then, +suddenly when he came down into another little valley through which a +small drying stream wandered, he came upon the tracks he had been so +long following. And he noted, with a little lift to the eyebrows, that +here were the fresh hoof marks of two horses leading on toward the Camp. + +"Somebody else has cut in from the side," he pondered. "Lordy, but this +cattle country is sure getting shot all to pieces with folks. Who'd you +suppose this new pilgrim is?" + +Once or twice he drew rein, studying the signs of the trail. The tracks +he had picked up at the stream with the print of the tiny boot were the +small marks of a pony. This second horse for which he was seeking to +account was certainly a larger animal, leaving bigger tracks, deeper +sunk. There was little difficulty in distinguishing one from the other. +And there was as little trouble in reading that the larger horse had +followed the pony, for again and again the big, deep track lay over the +other, now and then blotting it out. + +A man, with a long solitary ride ahead of him, has much time for +conjecture, idle and otherwise. Here lay the hint of a story; who was +the second rider, what was his business? Whence had he come and whither +was he riding? And did his following the girl mean anything? + +Thornton came at last, in the late afternoon, to the last stream he +would ford before reaching Harte's Camp. Another half mile, the passing +over a slight rise, and he would be in sight of the end of his day's +ride. He crossed the stream, and then, looking for the tracks he had +been following, he saw that again the pony was pushing on ahead of him, +that the horseman had turned aside. He jerked his horse back seeking for +the lost tracks. And presently he found them, turning to the south and +leading off into the mountains. + +With thoughtful eyes he returned to his trail. He rode over the little +ridge and so came into sight of the three log cabins under the oaks of +Harte's place. Beyond was the barn. He would go there, find her horse +at the manger. Then he would go up to the cabin in which the Hartes' +lived and there find her. + +Twenty minutes later, his face and hands washed at the well, his short +cropped hair brushed back with the palm of his hand, he went to the main +cabin. The door was shut but the smoke from the rough stone chimney +spoke eloquently of supper being cooked within. But he was not thinking +a great deal of the supper. He had found the pony in the barn, had even +seen a quirt which he remembered, knew that he had not been mistaken in +the matter of ownership of the trim boots that had left their marks at +the spring, and realized that he was rather gladder of the circumstance +than the mere facts of the case would seem to warrant. And then, with +brows lifted and mouth puckered into a silent whistle, he read the words +on a bit of paper tacked to the cabin door: + +"We've gone over to Dave Wendells. The old woman is took sick. Back in +the morning most likely make yourself to home. W. HARTE." + +He paused a moment, frowning, his hat in his hand. It seemed to be in +his thought to go back to his horse. While he hesitated the door was +flung open and a pair of troubled grey eyes looked out at him +searchingly; a pair of red lips tremulously trying to be firm smiled at +him, and a very low voice faltered, albeit with a brave attempt to be +steady: + +"Won't you come in... Mr. Thornton? And ... and make yourself at home, +too? I've done it. I suppose it's all right...." + +And then when still he hesitated, and his embarrassment began to grow +and hers seemed to melt away, she added brightly and quite coolly: + +"Supper is ready ... and waiting. And I'm simply starved. Aren't you?" + +Thornton laughed. + +"Come to think of it," he admitted, "I believe I am." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +IN HARTE'S CABIN + + +There was a rough board table, oilcloth-covered, in front of the +fireplace. There were coffee, bread and butter, crisp slices of bacon, a +dish of steaming tinned corn. There were two plates with knife and fork +at the side, two cups, two chairs drawn up to the table. + +"You see," she said, gaily and lightly enough, "you _have_ kept me +waiting." + +He glanced swiftly at her as she stood by the fireplace, and away. For +though twilight in the wooded country had crept out upon them he could +see the look in her eyes, the set of the red lipped mouth. And he knew +downright fear when he saw it, though it be fear bravely masked. + +"Let's eat," he answered, having many things in his mind, but no other +single thing to say to her just yet. + +She flashed him a quick look and sat down. Thornton dragged back the +other chair, flung his hat to the bunk in the corner of the room, and +disposed his long legs uncomfortably under the small table. Inwardly he +was devoutly cursing Dave Wendell for allowing anybody at his place to +choose this particular time to get sick and the Hartes for going to the +assistance of a ten-mile distant neighbour. + +He watched the girl's quick fingers busy with the blackened coffee pot, +realized at one and the same time that she had no ring upon a particular +finger and that it was idiotic for him to so much as look for it, never +allowed his glance to wander higher than her hands and attacked his +bread and butter as though its immediate consumption were the most +important thing in all the world. And she, when she felt that he was not +watching her, when his silence was almost a tangible thing, looked at +him with quick furtiveness. The something in her expression which had +spoken of terror began to give place to the look of amusement which +twitched at her lips and flickered up in the soft grey of her eyes. And +since still he gave no sign of breaking the silence which had fallen +over them, she said at last: + +"Didn't you know all the time who I was?" + +Then he looked up at her inquiringly. And when he saw that she was +smiling, a little of his sudden restraint fled from him and his eyes +smiled back gently a little and reassuringly into hers. + +"All the time?" he asked. "Meaning when?" + +"Back there. On the trail," she told him. + +"Well," he admitted slowly, "I guess I was pretty sure. Of course I +couldn't be dead certain. It might have been anybody's tracks ... that +is," he corrected with a quick broadening of the smile, "anybody with a +foot the right size to fit into a boot like that." + +"Like what?" she asked in turn. + +"Like the one that made the tracks by the creek where you came into the +main trail, where you stopped to drink." + +"You saw that?" + +"If I hadn't seen it how was I to guess that it was you ahead of me?" he +demanded. And when she frowned a little and did not answer for a moment +he gave his attention to the black coffee which she had poured for him. +"You sure know how to make coffee _right_," he complimented her with a +vast show of sincerity. "This is the best I ever tasted." + +"I'm glad you like it," she retorted as the frown fled before a hint of +laughter. "I found it already made in the pot and just warmed it over!" + +"Oh," said Thornton. And then with much gravity of tone but with +twinkling eyes, "Come to think of it it isn't the _taste_ of it that a +man notices; it's the being just hot enough. I never had any coffee +better warmed-up than this." + +"Thank you." She stirred the sugar in her own cup of muddy looking +beverage and without glancing up at him this time, went on, "You mean +that you didn't know who I was when you saw me?" + +"At the bank in Dry Town?" + +"Of course not. Back there on the trail." + +"I didn't see you," he told her. + +Now she flashed another quick upward glance at him as though seeking for +a reason lying back of his words. + +"I saw you" she said steadily. "Twice. First from the top of a hill +half a dozen miles back when you got down to look at your horse's foot. +Did he pick up a stone?" + +His eyes opened in surprise. + +"I didn't get off to look at my horse's foot. And he didn't pick up +anything." + +"The second time," she continued, "was just when you had come to the +last stream. I thought that you were going to turn off into the caņon. I +saw that your horse was limping." + +He shook his head. She must have seen that other fellow whose tracks +Thornton had for so long seen following the tracks of her pony. + +"What made you think you recognized me?" he asked. + +"I didn't think. I knew." + +"Then ... how did you know?" + +The surprise showing in her frankly lifted brows was very plain now. + +"You were hardly five hundred yards away," she retorted. "And," with a +quick, sweeping survey of him, "you are not a man to be readily mistaken +even at that distance, you know." + +"Meaning the inches of me? The up-and-down six feet four of me?" He +shook his head. "I'm the only man in this neck of the woods built on the +bean pole style." + +"Meaning," she returned steadily, "your size and form; meaning the +unusually wide hat you wear; meaning your blue shirt and grey +neck-handkerchief ... grey handkerchiefs aren't so common, are they?... +meaning your tall sorrel horse that limped, and your bridle with the red +tassel swinging from the headstall! Now," a little sharply, a little +anxiously, he thought, "you are not going to tell me that I was +mistaken, are you?" + +She saw that his surprise, growing into sheer amazement as she ran on, +was a wonderfully simulated thing if it were not real. + +"You made a mistake," he said coolly. "I saw in the trail that there was +another man following you. If I had known his get-up was so close to +mine, I'd have done a little fast riding to take a peep at him. He +turned off at the last creek, as you thought." + +"You saw him?" she asked quickly. + +"I saw his tracks. And," he added with deep thoughtfulness as he stared +past her into the smouldering fire in the fireplace, "I'd sure like to +know who he is." + +Again, as she watched him, an expression of uneasiness crept into her +eyes; then as he turned back to her she looked down quickly. + +"Is it far to the Wendell place?" she asked abruptly. "Where the sick +woman is?" + +"Ten miles. Off to the north." + +"Not on our trail?" anxiously. + +"You're going on, further?" + +"Yes. To ..." she hesitated, and then concluded hurriedly, "To Hill's +Corners." + +He sat silent for a moment, his strong brown fingers playing with his +knife and fork. And his eyes were merely stern when he spoke quietly. + +"So you're going to Dead Man's Alley, are you?" + +"I said that I was going to Hill's Corners!" + +"And folks who know that quiet little city," he informed her, "have got +into the habit of calling it by the name of its principal street.... I +wonder if you've ever been there?" + +"No. Why?" + +"I wonder if you know anything about the place?" + +"What I've heard. What Mr. Templeton tried to tell me." + +"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I don't know that I blame him for trying +to turn you into another trail. He must have told you," and he was +watching her very keenly, "that the stage runs there from Dry Town?" + +"Yes. But I chose to ride on horseback. Is there anything strange in +that?" + +"Oh, no!" he said briefly. "Just a nice little ride!" + +"I have ridden long trails before." + +Again for a little while she watched him with intent, eager eyes; he was +silent, frowning into his own cup of coffee. + +"Dead Man's Alley," he volunteered abruptly, "is the worst little bad +town I ever saw. And I've camped in two or three that a man wouldn't +call just exactly healthy on the dark of the moon. I guess Mr. +Templeton must have told you, but unless it's happened in the last +month, there isn't a man in that town who has his wife or daughters +there. If I were you," and he lifted his cup to his lips as a sign that +he had said his say, "I'd rope my cow pony and hit the home trail for +Dry Town!" + +"Thank you," she said as quietly as he had spoken. "But really Mr. +Templeton gave me enough advice to last me a year, I think. I have made +up my mind to go on to ... to Dead Man's Alley, as you call it." + +"Well," he grinned back at her as though the discussion had been of no +moment and now was quite satisfactorily ended, "I ought to be glad, +oughtn't I? Since my trail runs that way, and since the Poison Hole +ranch is only twenty miles out from the Corners. Maybe you'll let me +ride over and see you?" + +"Of course. I'll be glad to have you. That is," and her smile came back, +a very teasing smile, too, "if you'll care to call at the house where +I'm going to stop? I'm going to stay with my uncle." + +"The chances are that I don't know him. I don't know half a dozen folks +in the town. What's his name?" + +"His name," she told him demurely, "is Henry Pollard. I think you know +him." + +He flushed a little as she had hoped that he would. He remembered. He +knew that he had spoken this morning at the bank of Henry Pollard from +whom he was buying his outfit, knew that he must have called him, as he +always did when he spoke of him, "Rattlesnake" Pollard. And Henry +Pollard was her uncle! + +"I didn't know," he said slowly and a little lamely, "that he was your +uncle. But," he added cheerfully, his assurance coming back to him, "you +can't help that, you know. I don't blame you for it. Yes, I'll ride over +from the ranch. It's good of you to let me." + +They finished the meal in a rather thoughtful silence. Thornton made a +cigarette and went to the door to look for the upclimbing moon; the girl +carried her chair to the fireplace and sat down, her hands in her lap, +her eyes staring into the coals. + +The man was asking himself stubbornly why this girl, this type of girl, +dainty, frank-eyed, clean-hearted as he felt instinctively that she was, +was making this trip to that dirty town which straddled the state border +line like an evil, venomous toad and sneered in its ugly defiant fashion +at the peace officers of two states. He was trying to see what the +reason could be that carried her through this little-travelled country +to the house of such a man as not only Buck Thornton but every one in +this end of the cattle country knew Henry Pollard to be; trying above +all to seek the reason for her making the trip on horse back, alone, +over a wild trail, when the stage for Hill's Corners had left Dry Town +so little after her and must reach its journey's end well ahead of her. + +And she, over and over, was asking herself why this man whom she was so +certain she had seen twice that day upon the trail behind her, denied +that he had been the man who got down to look at his horse's foot, who +later had ridden a limping mount aside into the caņon. For she felt very +sure that she had not been mistaken and, therefore, that he was lying to +her. She frowned and glanced over her shoulder. She was a little afraid +of a man who could look at her out of clear eyes as he had looked, and +lie to her as she was so confident he had lied. She knew nothing of him +save that this morning he had come to her assistance at a moment of +great peril and that he was suspected by some of a certain robbery and +assault.... + +"Are you very tired?" + +She started. He had turned at last and came back to where she sat. + +"No, I am not tired. Why do you ask?" + +"There'll be a moon soon. We can let the horses rest a bit.... I have +ridden mine pretty hard the last few days ... and then after moon-up we +can ride on. There's another shack where a man and his wife live just a +little off the trail and about seven miles further on. It'll be better +than trying to make Wendell's place." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE DOUBLE THEFT + + +After that there were no more uncomfortable silences in the Harte cabin. +Thornton found a lamp, lighted it and placed it on the table. And with +the act he seemed to take upon himself the part of host, playing it with +a quiet courtesy and gentleness fitting well with the unconscious grace +of his lithe body and with the kindliness softening his dark eyes. He +told her of his ranch, of the cowboys working for him, of the cattle +they were running, of little incidents of everyday life on the range, +seeking to make her forget that in reality they were strangers very +unconventionally placed. And he did not once ask her a direct question +about herself or concerning her business. That she was quick to notice. + +For an hour they chatted pleasantly. Now, when Thornton got to his feet +again, and went to the door to see what promise the night gave of being +cloudless and to note the moon already pushing up above the jagged +skyline where the trees stood upon the hill tops, she watched him with +an interest that was not tinged with the vague suspicion of an hour ago. +She saw that as he stood lounging in the doorway, his hands upon his +hips, one shoulder against the rude door jamb, he had to stoop his head +a little, and knew that he was a taller, bigger man than she had +realized until now. + +"If I were as big as you are," she laughed at him, "I'd be in constant +fear of bumping my head in the dark." + +He laughed with her, told her that he was getting used to it, and came +back for his hat. + +"If you'll be getting ready," he told her, "I'll go out and bring in the +horses. If you're rested up?" + +She assured him that she was, noted again how he stooped for the +doorway, and watched him move swiftly away through the shadows cast by +the trees about the cabin. She put on her hat, buckled on the spurs she +had dropped on the table, and was ready. Then, before he could have gone +half way to the barn, she heard swift steps coming back. + +He had forgotten something; but what? She looked about her expecting to +see his tobacco sack or some such article, a block of matches, maybe, +which he had left behind. But there was nothing. She lifted the lamp in +her hand so that the weak rays searched out the four corners of the +cabin. Then she turned again toward the door. + +Out yonder through the clear night came on the tall figure with the long +free stride of the man of the outdoors. In a patch of bright moonlight +his head was down as though his mood were one of thoughtfulness, and the +shadow of his wide hat hid his face and eyes from her. In the black +shade under the live oak before Harte's door he lifted his head +quickly; here he came for an instant to a dead halt, half turning. It +struck her abruptly that he was tense, that the atmosphere was suddenly +charged with uneasiness, that he was listening as a man listens who more +than half expects trouble. + +"What is it?" she called. She could not make out more than the vague +outline of his figure now as he stood still, his body seeming to merge +into the great trunk of the tree. He did not answer. Again, head down +and hurriedly, he came on. On through the thinning fringe of shadow and +into the full bright moonlight. + +A sudden formless fear which in no way could she explain was upon her. +His actions were so strange; they hinted at furtiveness. He had been so +outright and hearty and wholesome a moment ago and now struck her as +anything but the big free and easy man who had supped with her. She drew +back a little, her underlip caught between her teeth as was her habit +when undue stress was laid upon her nerves, her breath coming a trifle +irregularly. After all she was just a girl and he was a man, big, strong +and perhaps brutal, of whom she knew virtually nothing. And they were +very far from any other human beings.... + +He came straight on to the open door; as the lamp light fell upon him +her formless fear of a moment ago was swept up and engulfed in an access +of terror which made her sick and dizzy. All of the time until now, even +when appearances hinted at an inexplicable duplicity, she had felt safe +with him, trusting to what her natural instinct read of him in his eyes +and carriage and voice. And now she clutched at the mantel with one hand +while in the other the lamp swayed precariously. + +The reason for her agitation was plain enough; had it been his sole +purpose to strike terror into her heart he could hardly have selected a +more efficient method. Across the face, hiding it entirely, leaving only +the eyes to glint through two rude slits at her, was a wide bandana +handkerchief. The big black hat was drawn low, now; the handkerchief, +bound about the brow, fell to a point well below the base of his throat. + +"Easy there," he said in a voice which upon her ears was only a tense, +evil whisper. "Easy. You know what I want.... Look out for that lamp! +Making it dark in here, even setting the shack on fire, isn't going to +help much. Easy, girlie." + +"You ... you ..." she panted, and found no word to go on. + +He came in and strode across the room, taking the lamp from her and +setting it on the mantel. She had come near dropping it when his hand +brushed hers. Again she drew back from him hastily, her eyes running to +the door. But he forestalled her, closed the door and stood in her way, +towering above her, his air charged with menace. + +"You pretty thing!" he muttered, his tone frankly sincere though his +voice was still hardly more than a harsh whisper. "If I just had time to +play with you ... I said you'd know what I want. And don't get funny +with the little toy pistol you'd be sure to have in your dress. It won't +do you any good; you know that, don't you?" + +She did know. Her hand had already gone into her bosom where the "little +toy pistol" lay against that which she had vainly thought it could +guard, a thick envelope. The man came quite close to her, so close that +she felt his breath stir her hair, so close that his slightly uplifted +hand could come down upon her before she could stir an inch. + +"You can tell Henry Pollard for me," he jeered from the secure +anticipation of his present triumph, "that the unknown stranger names +him seven kinds of fool. To think he could get across this way and sneak +that little wad by me! And by the by, it's getting late and if you don't +mind I'll take what's coming to me and move on." + +Then she found her tongue, the fires blazed up in her eyes and a hot +flush came into her pale cheeks. + +"Big brute and cur and coward!" she flung at him. "Woman-fighter!" + +"All of that," he laughed insolently. "And then some. And you? Grey +eyed, pink beauty! By God, girl, you'd make an armful for a man! Soon to +be queen of Dead Man's Alley, eh? I'll see you there; I'll come and pay +my respects! Oh, but I will, coward that I am! But now...." + +"There! Take it! Take it! Oh...." + +She shuddered away from him, her face went white again, she grew cold +with the fear upon her. Just then she cared infinitely little for the +sheaf of banknotes in the yellow envelope which the banker had given to +her. She jerked the parcel out from her dress and tossed it to him, her +fingers fumbling with the button of the thin garment under which her +heart was beating wildly. And the little "toy pistol" she could have +hurled from her, too. Against this physical bigness, against this +insolent bravado and this swift sureness of eye and muscle, she knew the +small weapon to be a ridiculous and utterly insufficient plaything. + +He caught the envelope and thumbed it, tore off an end and glanced +swiftly at the contents and then stowed it away inside his grey flannel +shirt. Again his eyes came back to her. + +"I'm in a hurry," he said swiftly. "But there's always time for a girl +like you!" + +She had foreseen how it would be. Now that she struggled to draw her +tiny revolver and fire he was upon her, his long arms about her, his +muscular strength making her own as nothing. And though he was breathing +more quickly still he had his quiet insolent laugh for still further +insult. Though she sought to strike at him he held her in utter +helplessness. Slowly he lifted her face, a big hand under her chin. The +lamp was close by; he blew down the chimney and save for the moonlight +across the threshold it was dark in the cabin. With his other hand he +lifted his crude mask from the lower part of his face. She sought again +to strike, to batter his lips. But her heart sank as the relentless +rigidity of his embrace baffled her attempt. He brought his face closer +to hers, slowly closer until at last she knew the outrage of a violent +kiss.... + +From outside came a little sound, not to be catalogued. It might have +been only a dead twig snapping under the talons of a night bird +alighting in the big oak tree. But suddenly the arms about her relaxed, +the man whirled and sprang back, whipped open the door and silently was +gone into the outer night. + +Moaning, swaying, dizzy and sick, she crouched in a far corner. Then she +ran to the door and looked out. There was nothing moving to be seen +anywhere. Just the white moonlight here, the black patches of shadow +there, the sombre wall of the forest land a few yards away. Her nausea +of dread, her uncertainty, had passed. With never a glance behind her +she ran down toward the barn. She knew that she would be afraid to go +into the black maw of the silent building for her horse and yet she knew +that she must, that she must mount and ride.... She had never until now +known the terror of being alone, utterly alone in the night and the +wilderness. + +Suddenly she stopped to stare incredulously. About a corner of the barn, +coming out into the bright moonlight, leading his own horse and her own, +was Buck Thornton. She was so certain that he had gone! For the instant +she could not move but stood powerless to lift a hand, rooted to the +spot. She noted that his face was unhidden now, his black hat pushed +far back on his head, while from his hip pocket trailed the end of a +handkerchief which may and may not have had slits let in it for his eyes +to peer through. + +"You ... here? Yet?" she found herself stammering at him. + +"Yes," he answered heavily. "I have been all this time looking for the +horses. The corral was broken; they had gotten out into the pasture." + +"A likely tale!" she cried with a sudden heat of passionate fury at the +man and his cold manner and his mad thought that she was fool enough to +be beguiled from her knowledge of what he was. And then a fresh fear +made her draw back and widened her eyes. She had not thought of madness +but ... if the man were mad.... + +But he was not mad and she knew it. His were the clear eyes of perfect +sanity. He was simply ... an unthinkable brute. + +"Look," she said as his horse moved nervously. "Your horse _does_ limp!" + +His answer came quickly. And there was a queer note in his voice, harsh +and ugly, which sent a shiver through her shaken nerves: + +"A man did that while we were in the cabin. With a knife." The moon +shone full in his face; she had never seen such a transformation, such a +semblance of quiet, cold rage. If the man were just acting.... + +"I've just got the hunch," he said bluntly, "that I know who he is, too. +And, for the last time, Winifred Waverly, I am interfering in your +business and advising you the best way I know how to turn back right +here and right now and forget that you've got an uncle named Pollard!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +IN THE MOONLIGHT + + +She stood there in a bright patch of moonlight looking up into his face, +seeing every line of it in the rich flood of light from the full moon, +wondering dully if she had lost her sense of the real and the unreal. It +seemed to her so rankly absurd, so utterly preposterous that he should +seek to pretend with her. For, now that she had seen the limping gait of +his big sorrel, was she more than certain that this was the man whom she +had seen following her in the afternoon. And as she noted again the +sinewy bigness of him, the garb of grey shirt, open vest and black +chaps, she told herself angrily that he was a fool, or that he thought +her a fool, to pretend that he knew nothing of that thing which had just +happened in the lonely cabin. Even the grey neck-handkerchief, now +knotted loosely about the brown throat, was there to give him the +lie.... With shame and anger her cheeks burned until they went as +crimson as hot blood could make them. + +It was all so clear to her. She had refused to believe that he had +robbed Hap Smith's mail bags. Why? She bit her lip in sudden anger: +because he had fitted well in a romantic girl's eye! Fool that she was. +She should have put sterner interpretation upon the fact that Thornton, +coming rudely into the banker's private office, had admitted hearing +part of her conversation with Mr. Templeton. Now she had no doubt that +he had heard everything. + +"Have you ever been over this trail? As far as the next ranch, seven +miles further on?" he asked at last, his hard eyes coming away from the +horse that stood with one foot lifted a little from the ground, the +quick twitching of the foot itself, the writhing and twisting of the +foreleg, speaking of the pain from the deep cut. + +"No." + +There was so much of hatred in the one short word which she flung at +him, so much of passionate contempt, that he looked at her wonderingly. + +"What's the matter, Miss Waverly?" he asked, his voice a shade gentler. +"You seem all different somehow. Are you more tired than you thought?" + +She laughed and the wonder grew in his eyes. He had never heard a woman +laugh like that, had not dreamed that this girl's voice could grow so +bitter. + +"No," she told him coldly. She jerked her pony's reins out of Thornton's +hand. "I am going to ride on. And I suppose you will ride that poor +wounded horse until it drops!" + +"No," he said. "That's why I asked if you knew the trails. I didn't +notice he limped out there where I put the saddle on. It was dark under +the trees, you know." + +"Was it?" she retorted sarcastically, drawing another quick, searching +look from him. + +There was no call for an answer and he made none. He stepped to his +horse's head, lifted the wincing forefoot very tenderly, and stooping +close to it looked at it for a long time. The girl was behind the broad, +stooping back. Impulsively her hand crept into the bosom of her dress, +her face going steadily white as her fingers curved and tightened about +the grip of the small calibre revolver she carried there. And then she +jerked her hand out, empty. + +She saw him straighten up, heard again the long, heavy sigh and marked +how his face was convulsed with rage. + +"I don't know why a man did that." He was only ten steps away and yet +she turned her head a little sideways that she might catch the low +words. She shivered. His voice was cold and hard and deadly. It was +difficult for her to believe that in reality he had not forgotten her +presence. + +"No, I don't know why a man did that. But I'm going to know. Yes, I'm +going to know if it takes fifty years." + +"Where is my trail?" she called sharply. "I am going." + +"You couldn't find it alone. I'm going with you." + +Her scorn of him leaped higher in her eyes. It was her thought that he +was going to ride this poor, tortured brute. For she knew that there was +no other horse in the barn or about the camp. But he was quietly +loosening his cinch, lifting down the heavy Mexican saddle, removing the +bit from his horse's mouth. + +"What are you going to do?" She bit her lips after the question, but it +had leaped out involuntarily. + +"I'm going to leave him here for the present. The wound will heal up +after a while." + +With the saddle thrown over his own shoulders, he ran a gentle hand over +the soft nose of his horse which was thrust affectionately against his +side, and turned away. She watched him, expecting him to go back to the +barn to leave his saddle and bridle. But instead he set his face toward +the hills beyond the cabin, where she supposed the trail was. + +"I'll pick up another horse at the next ranch," he offered casually by +way of explanation. "And we had better hit the trail. It's getting +late." + +Wordlessly she followed, her eyes held, fascinated by the great, tall +bulk of him swinging on in front of her, carrying the heavy saddle with +as little care to its weight as if he had been entirely unconscious of +it, as no doubt such a man could be. She knew that already he had ridden +sixty miles today and that it was seven miles farther to the ranch where +he would get another horse. And yet there he strode on, swiftly, as +though he had rested all day and now were going to walk the matter of a +few yards. + +She could not understand this man, whom, since she must, she followed. +Had he not told her there in the cabin when he had played at hiding his +identity from her, that he knew she was armed? And yet, encumbered with +the saddle upon his shoulder, his right hand carrying the bridle, he +turned his back square upon her with no glance to see if she were even +now covering him with her revolver. And had she not called him a coward, +thought him a coward? Was this the way a coward should act? + +Again and again during those first minutes her hand crept to the bosom +of her dress. Did he know it? she wondered. Was he laughing at her, +knowing that she could not bring herself to the point of actually +shooting? But then, she might cover him, call to him that she would +shoot if he made her, and so force him to return the money he had +stolen. + +"He would laugh at me," she told herself each time, her anger at him and +at herself rising higher and higher. "He would know that I could not +kill him. Not in cold blood, this way!" + +So Buck Thornton strode on, grim in the savage silence which gripped +him, on through the shadows and out into the moonlight beyond the trees, +and she followed in silence. There were times when she hated him so that +she thought that she could shoot, shoot to kill. His very going with her +angered her. Was it not more play-acting, as insolent as anything he +could do, as insolent as his kissing her had been! She grew red and went +white over it. It was as though he were laughing into her face, making +sport of her, saying, "I am a gentleman, you see. I could stay here all +night, and you would have to stay with me! But I am not taking +advantage of you; I am walking seven miles over a hard trail, carrying a +pack like a mule, that you may sleep tonight under the same roof with +another woman." + +Now she was tempted to wheel her horse, to turn back, to camp alone +somewhere out there in the woods, or to ride the thirty miles back to +Dry Town. And now, remembering the bank notes which had been taken from +her, remembering the insult in the cabin, she held on after him, +resolved that she would not lose sight of this man, that she would see +him handed over to justice when she could taunt him, saying: "I didn't +shoot you, you see, because I am a woman and not a tough. But I have +given you into hands that are not woman's hands, because I hate you so!" + +Her horse carried her on at a swift walk, but she did not have to draw +rein to keep from passing Thornton. His long stride was so smooth, +regular, swift and tireless that it soon began to amaze her. They had +passed through the little valley in which Harte's place stood, and +entered a dark caņon leading into the steeper hills. The trail was +uneven, and now and then very steep. Yet Thornton pushed on steadily +with no slowing in the swift gait, no sign to tell that he felt fatigue +in muscles of back or legs. + +"He must be made of iron," she marvelled. + +In an hour they had come to the top of a ridge, and Thornton stopped, +tossing his saddle to the ground. He had not once spoken since they left +the Harte place. Now with quick fingers he made his cigarette. She +stopped a dozen paces from him, and though one would have said that she +was not looking at him, saw the flare of his match, glimpsed the hard +set lines of his face, and knew that he would not speak until she had +spoken. And the lines of her own face grew hard, and she turned away +from him, feeling a quick spurt of anger that she had so much as looked +at him when he had not turned his eyes upon her. He smoked his +cigarette, swept up saddle and bridle, and moved on, striking over the +ridge and down upon the other side. + +It was perhaps ten minutes later when she saw, far off to the left, the +glimmer of a light, lost it through the trees, found it again and knew +that it told of some habitation. They came abreast of a branch trail, +leading toward the lighted window; the girl's eager eyes found it +readily, and then noted that Thornton was passing on as though he had +seen neither light nor trail. She spoke hurriedly, saying: + +"Isn't that the place? Where the light is?" + +"No," he told her colourlessly and without turning. "That's the Henry +place. We're going on to Smith's." + +"Why don't we stop here? It's nearer. And I'm tired." + +"We can stop and rest," he replied. "Then we had better go on. It's not +very much further now." + +"But why not here?" she cried insistently in sudden irritation that upon +all matters this man dictated to her and dictated so assuredly. "One +place is as good as another." + +"This one isn't, Miss Waverly. There's a tough lot here, and there are +no women among them. So we'll have to make it to Smith's. Do you want to +rest a while?" + +"No," she cried sharply. "Let's hurry and get it over with!" + +He inclined his head gravely and they went on. And again her anger rose +against this man who seemed over and over to wish to remind her that he +was a gentleman. As though she had forgotten any little incident +connected with him! + +Again they made their way through lights and shadows, down into ragged +cuts in the hills, over knolls and ridges, through a forest where +raindrops were still dripping from the thick leaves and where she knew +that without him she never could have found her way. And not once more +did they speak to each other until, unexpectedly for her, they came out +of the wood and fairly upon a squat cabin with a light running out to +meet them through the square of a window. + +"Smith's place," he informed her briefly. + +Already three dogs had run to meet them, with much barking and simulated +fierceness, and a man and a woman had come to the door. + +"Hello," called the man. "Who is it?" + +"Hello, John. It's Thornton. Howdy, Mrs. Smith." Thornton tossed his +saddle to the ground, pushed down one of the dogs that had recognized +him and was leaping up on him. "Mrs. Smith, this is Miss Waverly from +Dry Town. A friend of the Templetons. She'll be grateful if you could +take her in for the night." + +Man and wife came out, shook hands with the girl, the woman led her into +the cabin, and Smith took her horse. Then the rancher saw Thornton's +saddle. + +"Where's your horse?" he asked quickly. + +"Back at Harte's. Lame." + +In a very few words he told of a deep knife cut beneath the fetlock, +explained Miss Waverly's presence with him, and ended by demanding, + +"Who do you suppose did that trick for me, John? It's got me buffaloed." + +Smith shook his head thoughtfully. + +"By me, Buck," he answered slowly. "Most likely some jasper you've had +trouble with an' is too yeller to get even any other way. I haven't seen +any of your friends from Hill's Corners stickin' around though. Have +you?" + +"No. But Miss Waverly saw somebody on the trail the other side of +Harte's this afternoon. Mistook him for me until I told her. A big man +about my size riding a sorrel. Know who it was?" + +Again Smith shook his head. + +"Can't call him to mind, Buck. It might be Huston for size, but he +hasn't got a sorrel in his string, an' then he's took on too much fat +lately to be mistook for you. Go on inside. You'll want to eat, I +guess. I'll put up the lady's horse an' be with you in two shakes." + +"Thanks, John. But I had supper back at Harte's. Can you let me have a +horse in the morning? I'll send him back by one of the boys." + +"Sure. Take the big roan. An' you don't have to send him back, either. +I'm ridin' that way myself tomorrow, an' I'll drop by an' get him." + +"Which way are you ridin'?" + +"To the Bar X. I got word last week three or four of my steers was over +there. I want to see about 'em. Before," he added drily, "they get any +closer to Dead Man's." + +Thornton's nod indicated that he understood. And then, suddenly, he +said, + +"If you're going that way you can see Miss Waverly through, can't you? +She's going to the Corners." + +Smith whistled softly. + +"Now what the devil is the like of her goin' to that town for?" he +demanded. + +"I don't know the answer. But she's going there." And as partial +explanation, he added, "She's Henry Pollard's niece." + +For a moment Smith pondered the information in silence. Then his only +reference to it was a short spoken, "Well, she don't look it! Anyway, +that's her look-out, an' I'll see her within half a dozen miles of the +border. You'll turn off this side the Poison Hole, huh?" + +"I'll turn off right here, and right now. I've got a curiosity, John," +and his voice was harder than Winifred Waverly had ever heard it, "to +know a thing or two about the way my horse went lame. I'm going to sling +my saddle on your roan and take a little ride back to Harte's. Maybe I +can pick up that other jasper's trail in the caņon back there." + +The two men went down to the stable, and while the rancher watered and +fed the pony Thornton roped the big roan in the fenced-in pasture. Ten +minutes after he had come to the Smith place he had saddled and ridden +back along the trail toward Harte's. + +The two women in the cabin looked up as Smith came in. + +"Where's Mr. Thornton?" his wife asked. + +"He's gone back," Smith told her. He drew out his chair, sat down and +filled his pipe. Before Mrs. Smith's surprise could find words the girl +had started to her feet, crying quickly: + +"Gone back! Where?" + +"To Harte's. A man knifed his horse back there." He stopped, lighted +his pipe, and then said slowly, with much deep thoughtfulness, "If I +was that man I'd ride some tonight! I'd keep right on ridin' until +I'd put about seven thousand miles between me an' Buck Thornton. An' +then ... well, then, I guess I'd jest naturally dig a hole an' crawl +in it so deep nothin' but my gun stuck out!" + +"What did he say?" she asked breathlessly. + +"That's jest it, Miss. He didn't say much!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE BEDLOE BOYS + + +All thoughts of denouncing Buck Thornton before these people fled before +the girl had followed the rancher's wife into the cabin. They spoke of +him only in tones warm with friendship and with something more than mere +friendship, an admiration that was tinged with respect. They had known +him since first he had come into this country, and although that had +been only a little more than a year ago, they had grown to know him as +men and women in these far-out places come to know each other, swiftly, +intimately. + +He was a favourite topic of conversation and they talked of him +naturally, readily, and Mrs. Smith, fluently. She recounted, not +guessing how eagerly the girl was listening to every word, many an +episode which in the aggregate had given him the reputation he bore +throughout these wild miles of cattle land, the reputation of a man who +was hard, hard as rock "on the outside," as she put it, hard inside, +too, when they drove him to it, but naturally as soft-hearted as a baby. +She wished _she_ had a boy like him! Why, when she and John hit hard +luck, last year, what with the cattle getting diseased first and her and +John getting laid up next, flat of their backs with the grip, that man +was an angel in britches and spurs if there ever was an angel in +anything! He'd nursed them and cooked for them, and lifted her out of +her bed while he made it up himself, just as smooth and nice as you +could have done, Miss. And he rode clean into town for a doctor, and +brought him out and a lot of store stuff that was nice for sick folks to +eat. And he'd paid the doctor, too, and laughed and said he'd come some +day and borry the money back when he got busted playing poker! + +"And then, all of a sudden, when you'd have thought he was soft that way +clean through," she went on, her eyes blazing now at the memory of it, +"them Bedloe boys come over lookin' for trouble. An' Buck sure gave it +to them!" + +"Tell me about it," the girl said quickly. "Who are the Bedloe boys? +What did they do?" + +"The Bedloe boys," Mrs. Smith ran on, eager in the recounting, "belong +over to the Corners. Or the Corners belongs to them, I don't know which +you'd say. Never heard of them boys? Well, most folks has. There used to +be lots like the Bedloe boys when I was a girl, Miss, but thank gracious +they're getting thinned out powerful fast. First an' last an' all the +time they're rowdies an' gunfighters an' bad men. There's more of their +kind in Hill's Corners, but these are the worst of the outfit. They keep +close in to the Corners, seeing it's right on the state line, where they +can dodge from one state to another when it comes handy. Which is right +often. + +"There's three of 'em. Charley an' Ed an' the youngest one everybody +calls the Kid. That's three an' I guess there's a good many more would +be glad of the chance to shoot Buck up. I guess the Bedloes heard that +time that John was sick. Anyway, they come over, all three of 'em, +hunting trouble. Buck was out in the barn, feeding the horses, an' they +didn't know he was on the ranch. The Kid, he's the youngest of the mess +an' the worst an' the han'somest, with them little yeller curls, an' his +daredevil blue eyes, come on ahead, riding his horse right up to the +door, yelling like a drunk Injun an' cussing so it made a woman wonder +how any woman could ever have a son like him. He tried to ride his horse +right in the door, an' when it got scared of me an' John lyin' in bed, +an' rared up, the Kid hit it over the head with the gun in his hand, an' +slipped out'n the saddle, laughin' at it stagger. + +"But he come on in an' Charley come in, too. Ed Bedloe was out in the +far corral, gettin' ready to throw the gate open an' turn out the cows +an' stampede 'em off'n the ranch. What for?" She lifted her bony +shoulders. "Oh, nothin'. They'd jus' had trouble with my John about six +months before, an' was taking a good chance to smash up things in +general about the ranch. They swore they was going to burn the cabin an' +the barn an' scatter the stock an' do anything else they could put their +hands to. An' while they was in here, cussing an' abusing my John, who +couldn't even get up an' grab his shotgun in the corner, an' insulting +me all they could lay their dirty tongues to, there's a step at the +door right behind 'em, light as a cat, an' here's Buck come in from the +barn. + +"I wish you'd seen that man's eyes! Then you'd know what I mean when I +say he gets hard, hard an' bitter sometimes. An' his voice--it was so +low an' soft you might 'a' thought he was putting a baby to sleep with +it! There was two of them boys, big an' ugly-mean, an' they both had +guns on, in sight. There was jus' one of Buck Thornton, an' I didn't +know yet he ever toted a gun. He uses his hands, mostly, I reckon, Buck +does. He didn't say much. He just got them two hands of his on Charley +Bedloe's neck, an' I thought he was goin' to break it sure. An' Charley +got flung clean out in the yard before the Kid had finished going for +his gun! You wouldn't believe a man could be that quick. + +"Quick? It wasn't nothin' to his next play. I tell you the Kid's hand +was on the way to his gun an' Buck didn't have a gun _on_ him, you'd +have said. An' then he _did_ have a gun, an' John an' me didn't even see +where he got it, an' he didn't seem to be in a hurry, an' he'd shot +before the Kid could more'n pull his gun up!" + +"He killed him?" + +"He could have killed him just as easy as a man rolls a cigareet! There +wasn't six feet between 'em. Only men like Buck Thornton don't kill men +unless they got to, I guess. But he shot the Kid in the arm, takin' them +chances as cool as an icicle; an' when the Kid dropped his gun an' then +grabbed at it with his other hand, Buck shot him in the left arm the +same way. An' then, using his hands, he threw _him_ out. An' I don't +believe Charley Bedloe more'n got on his hands an' knees outside! An' +then somehow Buck has a gun in each hand, and has stepped outside, too. +And I reckon the Bedloe boys saw the same thing in his eyes me an' John +saw there when he come back in. Anyway, they got on their horses an' we +ain't seen hide nor hair of 'em since." + +Miss Waverly sat very still, leaning forward a little, her eyes big and +bright upon the eyes of this other woman. The man, despite her calmer +judgment, appealed to her imagination.... + +"You'd think," Mrs. Smith went on, "that that man would be tired enough +for one day, wouldn't you? Ridin' all day, walking seven mile toting +that big saddle on his back; an' now he goes an' starts out to ride the +Lord knows how far. What do you suppose a man like him is made out'n?" + +Smith answered her out of the corner of his mouth from which a slow curl +of smoke was mounting: + +"Sand, mostly." + + * * * * * + +No, the girl could not say to these people that which she had to say of +Buck Thornton. She switched the conversation abruptly, asking them to +tell her of Hill's Corners. + +She knew something of the place already. Mr. Templeton had told her a +great deal when insistently urging her not to do the thing she had +determined to do and she had thought that he exaggerated merely in order +to turn her aside from her purpose. She had even heard far-reaching +rumours of the border town in Crystal City, where her own home had been +for the five years since the deaths of her parents. These rumours, too, +she had supposed inflated as rumours will be when they are bad and have +travelled far. Now it was a little anxiously that she asked for further +information, and not altogether because she sought some new topic. + +"She's Henry Pollard's niece, Mary," Smith said rather hurriedly. The +girl glanced at him sharply. There was something in his tone which told +her that he was warning his wife, cautioning her to speak guardedly of +Pollard or not at all. + +When, an hour later, she went to bed, she lay long sleepless, wondering, +nervously dreading the morrow. For these people who should know gave +Hill's Corners the same name that Mr. Templeton had given it, the same +name it bore as far as Crystal City and beyond. It was one of those far +removed towns which are the last stand of the lawless, the ultimate +breastwork before the final ditch into which in his hour the gunfighter +has finally gone down. Desperate characters, men wanted in two states +and perhaps in many more, flocked here where they found the one chance +to live out their riotous lives riotously. Here they could "straddle" +the line, and when wanted upon one side slip to the other. And +hereabouts, for very many miles in all directions, the big cattle men, +the small ranchers, the "little fellows," all slept "with their eyes +open and their gunlocks oiled." + +But, she tried to tell herself, Henry Pollard had sent for her, he was +her own mother's brother, he would not have had her come here if it were +not safe. He had written clearly enough, had told her in his letter that +he could not leave the Corners, that he must have the money, that there +were hold-up men in the country who would not hesitate to rob the stage +if they learned that he had five thousand dollars in it, that she could +bring the bills which Templeton would have ready for her and that there +would be no suspicion, no danger for her. And she would believe her +uncle, would believe that these people had had trouble with the Bedloes +and perhaps others in the town, and that they warped the truth in the +telling. For was any more faith to be put in the word of the Smiths than +in that of Buck Thornton himself? And did she not know him for what he +was, a man who was not above assaulting a defenceless girl, not above +robbery? + +Wearied out, she went to sleep, her last waking thoughts trailing off +through the night after a man who could laugh like a boy, whose eyes +could grow very gentle or very, very hard and inexorable. + +In the morning John Smith's first words to her drove again a hot, angry +flush into her face. For he told her that Thornton, before he would ride +away last night, had made sure that Smith would accompany her, showing +her the way and "taking care of her." She bit her lip and turned away. +She was grateful that soon breakfast was eaten, the horses saddled and +once more she was riding out toward the south-east. Smith rode at her +elbow. + +All morning they rode slowly, over rough trails in the mountains where a +horse found scant foothold, where they wound down into deep, close +walled canyons where the sunlight was dim at noon, where the pines stood +tall and straight in thick ranks untouched by an ax. They came out into +little valleys, past a half dozen ranch houses, saw many herds of cattle +and horses, crossed Indian Gully, topped another steep ridge and at last +looked down upon the Poison Hole ranch. + +The ranch lay off to the east as they looked down upon it, a great sweep +of rolling hills sprinkled with big oaks looking like shrubs from their +vantage point, cut in two by the Big Little River, along the banks of +which and out in the meadow lands many herds of cattle ranged free. +Rising in his stirrup Smith pointed out to her the spot near the centre +of the big range where Buck Thornton's "range house" was, a dozen miles +away over the rolling country. And then he swung about and pointed to +the south, saying shortly: + +"Yonder's the country you're lookin' for. We strike due south here along +the edge of the Poison Hole ranch. When we get to that next string of +lulls you can see the hills of three states, all at once and the same +time. And you can see the town you're headed for; it sets on top a sort +of hill. Down yonder," and he swung his long arm off to the south-west, +"is the Bar X outfit; that's as far as I'm going. But, if you want +company, one of the boys will sure be glad to ride on with you. The +Corners is only about a dozen mile from there on." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +RATTLESNAKE POLLARD + + +IT was barely noon, the air clear, the sky cloudless, when Winifred +Waverly rode into Hill's Corners. She had shaken her head at the +suggestion of further escort. Here, in the open country and in the full +sunlight, she was grateful for the opportunity of being alone. + +At the foot of a gentle eminence she entered the narrow, winding street +of the town, a crooked little town physically both in the matter of this +meandering alley-like thoroughfare and in the matter of the hastily +builded, unprepossessing houses; a crooked town in its innermost +character, it was easy to believe. On either hand as she rode forward +were low, squat, ugly shacks jammed tight together or with narrow +passageways between their unlovely walls, these spaces more often than +not cluttered and further disfigured by piles of rusty tins, old +clothing and shoes and other discarded refuse. As she rode farther she +saw now and then the more pretentious buildings, some with the false +fronts which deceived nobody, the houses appearing shoddy and aged and +sinister, one here and there deserted and given over to ruin, +disintegration and spiders spinning unmolested in dark corners. + +The next peculiar impression created upon her was that some evil charm +was over the place, that in the sweet sunlight it lay drugged, that in +those rows of slatternly shacks where the sunlight did not enter men +either hid in dark secrecy or lay in some unnatural stupour. The whole +settlement seemed preternaturally quiet; the fancy came to her that the +town had died long ago and that she merely looked on its ghost. + +She had shrunk before now at the thought of men coming to the doors to +stare after her, and perhaps even to call coarsely after her; now it +seemed the dreariest thing in all the world to ride down this dirty, +muddy street and see no man or woman or child, not so much as a saddled +horse at a hitching pole. She came abreast of the most pretentious +building of Hill's Corners; its swing doors were closed, but from within +she heard a low, monotonous hum of languid voices. Upon the crazy false +front, a thing to draw the wondering eye of a stranger, was a gigantic +and remarkably poorly painted picture of a bear holding a glass in one +deformed paw, a bottle in the other, while the drunken letters of the +superfluous sign spelled: "The Brown Bear Saloon." Almost directly +across the street from the Brown Bear was a rival edifice which though +slightly smaller was no less squat and ugly and which bore its own +highly ambitious sign: a monster hand clutching a monster whiskey glass, +with the illuminating words beneath, "The Here's How Saloon." That the +two works of art were from the same brain and hand there was no +doubting. In the inscriptions the n's and s's were all made backwards, +presenting an interesting and entirely suitable air of maudlin +drunkenness. + +The girl hurried by. There were other saloons, so many, so close +together that, used as she was to frontier towns, she wondered at it; +she saw other buildings whose signs informed her they were store and +post-office, drug store, blacksmith shop and restaurant. And now the +first visible token of life, a thin spiral of smoke from "Dick's Oyster +House." She passed it, pushing her horse to a gallop. She had seen the +two or three men upon the high stools at the counter taking their coffee +and bacon. They had swung about quickly, like one man, at the cook's +grin and quiet word. One of them even called out something as she +passed; another laughed. + +As she rode down the tortuous street, fairly racing now, the blood +whipped into her face, she caught a glimpse of a man standing by his +horse, preparing to swing up into the saddle. His eyes followed her with +a look in them easy to read and unpleasant; something too ardently +admiring to be trusted. She had seen the man's face. He was a big man, +broad and straight and powerful, builded like a Vulcan. He was branded +unmistakably as a rowdy; his very carriage, a sort of conscious swagger, +the bold impudence of his face told that. The laughing face stood out +before her eyes as she rode on, evil and reckless and handsome, with +very bright blue eyes and hair curling in little yellow rings about the +forehead from which the hat was pushed back. It was her first glimpse of +the youngest of the Bedloe boys, the worst of them the "Kid." + +She knew that she would find her uncle's house at the end of the street. +Mr. Templeton had told her that, and had described it so that she could +have no trouble in knowing it. And as she rode on, making the curve of +the long, crooked lane which had come to be known as Dead Man's Alley, +she found time to wonder that such a town could be so silent and +deserted with the sun so high in the sky. For she had not learned that +here men did in their way what men do in larger cities, that they turned +the day topsy turvy, that the street seethed with surging life through +late afternoon and night and the dark hours of the morning, that the +saloons stood brightly lighted then, that their doors were filled with +men coming and going, that games ran high, voices rose high, while life, +as these men knew it, ran higher still. + +At last she came to Henry Pollard's house. It stood back from the street +in a little yard notable for the extreme air of untidiness the rank +weeds gave it and for its atmosphere of semi-desertion among its few +stunted, twisted, unpruned pear trees. The fence about it had once been +green, but that was long, long ago. The doors were closed, the shades +close drawn over the windows, the house still and gloom-infested even in +the sunlight. + +Stronger and higher within her welled her misgivings; for the first +time she admitted to herself that she was sorry that she had tried to do +this thing which Mr. Templeton had told her was madness. She hesitated, +sitting her horse at the gate, with half a mind to whirl and ride back +whence she had come. And then, with an inward rebuke to her own +timidity, she dismounted and hurried along the weed bordered walk, and +knocked at the door. + +There came quick answer, a man's voice, heavy and curt, crying: + +"Who is it?" + +"Are you Mr. Pollard?" she called back, her voice a little eager, more +than a little anxious. + +"Yes." There was a note as of excitement in the voice. "Is that you, +Winifred?" + +"Yes, uncle. I ... I ..." + +She faltered, hesitated, and broke off pitifully. She had heard the +eagerness in Pollard's voice, guessed at what it was that he was +thinking, knew that now she would have to tell him that she had failed +in the errand which he had entrusted to her, that she had let a man rob +her of the five thousand dollars of which he stood so urgently in need. +Oh, why had she attempted to do it, why had she not listened to Mr. +Templeton? And, now, what would her uncle say? + +"Just a minute, Winifred. I'm a little under the weather and am in bed. +Now." She heard no footsteps; yet there was the noise of a wooden bar +being drawn away from the door. "Come in. You'll pardon me, being in +bed, my dear. And fasten the door after you, will you, please?" + +She stepped across the threshold and into the darkened house, her heart +beating quickly. As she slipped the bar back into its place she saw that +there was fastened to the end of it a cord which passed through a pulley +over the door and then ran down the hallway, disappearing through +another door at the left. So, following the cord, she went on slowly. + +The outside of the house had given her a certain impression. Now, in a +flash, that impression was superseded by a new one. Here was the home of +a man of means, the heavy, rich furniture spoke of that, the painting +there in the living room into which she glanced, the tastefully papered +walls, the thick carpet muffling her footfalls. If only the curtains +were thrown back, if only the sun were looking in upon it all! + +And now the man. Henry Pollard, whom she had not seen since she was a +very little girl and then only during his short visit at her father's +house, struck her as being in some way not entirely unlike this +habitation of his. A gentleman gone to seed, was that it? + +His manner was courteous, courtly even, his speech soft, his eyes gentle +as they rested upon her, gentle and yet eager. There was something fine +about his face, about the eyes and high forehead, and yet alongside it +there was something else which drove a little pain into the girl's eyes. +The mouth was hard, there were deep, set lines about it and about the +eyes there was a hint of cruelty which not even his smile hid entirely. +And though she strove to smile back bravely as she came forward to kiss +him, she knew that she was disappointed, and a little uneasy. + +She knew that Henry Pollard must be about fifty; she saw that he looked +to be sixty. He had pulled himself up against his pillows and had drawn +on a dressing gown to cover his shoulders. He was well groomed; he had +had a shave yesterday; he did not look sick. But he did look old, like a +man who had aged prematurely and suddenly; and he did look worried and +tired, as though he had not slept well last night. + +"I am alone just now," he smiled. "Mrs. Riddell is keeping house for me, +but I heard her go out a little while ago. For something for breakfast, +I suppose. You are looking well, Winifred. I knew you would be pretty. +Now, sit down." + +No word yet of her errand, no query as to its success. She was grateful +to him for that. She wanted a moment, time in which to feel that she +knew him a little bit, before she could tell him. But she saw in his +eyes that he was curbing his eagerness, and that she would have to tell +him in a moment. + +"I am sorry that you are sick, Uncle Henry," she said hastily, taking +the chair near his bed. "It isn't anything serious, is it?" + +"No, no." His answer was as hasty as her question had been. "Just +rheumatism, Winifred. I'm subject to it here of late." + +Then she saw that he had sat stiffly, that his shoulder, the left +shoulder, was carried awkwardly and was evidently bandaged. + +"I'm sorry," she said again. And then, determined to tell him before he +should ask, "Uncle, I...." Oh, it was so hard to say with him looking at +her with those keen, bright eyes of his! "You should have got some one +else to help you. I have failed.... I have lost your money for you!" + +She dropped her face into her hands, trembling, striving to keep her +tears back, feeling now, as she had not felt before, as if she had been +altogether to blame for all that had happened, as though it had been her +carelessness that had cost her uncle his five thousand dollars. And when +at last he did not speak and she looked up again, she saw that his eyes +had not changed, that there was no surprise in them, that if he felt +anything whatever he hid it. + +"Don't cry about it, my dear," he said gently. He even smiled a little. +"Tell me about it. You were robbed of it? Before you had more than got +out of light of Dry Town?" + +"How do you know?" she cried. + +"I don't know, my dear. But I do know that the stage came on through, +with no attempt at a hold-up, and I guessed that our little ruse didn't +fool anybody. When I got the empty strong box from the bank I knew +pretty well what to look for." + +"But," she told him, flushed with her hope, "we'll get it back! For I +know who robbed me, I can swear to him!" + +Pollard's hand, lying upon the bed spread, had shut tight. She noticed +that and no other sign of emotion. + +"And _I_ know!" he said harshly. "Yes, I'll get it back! Now, tell me +how it happened." + +"It was a man named Buck Thornton...." + +She saw the quick change of light in his eyes and in the instant knew +that if Buck Thornton hated Henry Pollard he was hated no less in +return. Further, she saw that back of the hatred there was a sort of +silent laughter as though the thing she had said had pleased this man as +no other thing could have pleased him, that in some way which she could +not understand, this information had moved him as he had not been moved +by news of his heavy loss. And she wondered. + +"You are ready to swear to that?" he asked sharply, his eyes searching +and steady and eager upon hers. "You will swear that it was Thornton who +robbed you?" + +"Yes," she cried hotly as she remembered the insult of a kiss and in the +memory forgot the robbery itself. + +"I'll get him now," he muttered. "Both ways; going and coming! Tell me +all about it, Winifred." + +She began, speaking swiftly, telling him of her meeting with Thornton +at the bank, of her suspicion that he had overheard her talk with the +banker. Then of her second meeting with the man after she had seen him +on the trail behind her, the encounter at the Harte cabin.... A sudden +banging of the kitchen door, and he had stopped her abruptly, putting +his hand warningly upon her arm. + +"Later. It can wait. That is Mrs. Riddell. She will show you to your +room. And it will be better, my dear, if you say nothing to her. Or to +any one else just yet." + +She got to her feet and went to the door. Turning there, to smile back +at her uncle, she saw that his pillows had slipped a little and that +under them lay a heavy revolver. And she surprised upon the man's face a +look which was gone so quickly that she wondered if she had seen right +in the darkened room, a look so filled with malicious triumph. Instead +of being profoundly disturbed by the tidings of her adventure, the man +appeared positively to gloat.... Now, more than ever, did she regret +that she had come to the town of Dead Man's Alley. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RANCH ON BIG LITTLE RIVER + + +Buck Thornton had returned to the Poison Hole ranch. But first he had +ridden from the Smith place down the trail to Harte's, where he made +swift, careful search for some sign to tell him who was the man who had +lamed his horse maliciously and seemingly with no purpose to be gained. +Further, he had sought for tracks to tell him from where this man had +come, where he had gone. When he had found nothing he went, he hardly +knew why, to the cabin, pushed the door open and entered. And instead of +learning anything definitely now he was merely the more perplexed. By +the fireplace lay a chair, overturned. There had been some sort of +hurried movement here, perhaps a struggle. The table had been pushed to +one side, one leg catching in the rag rug and rumpling it. He struck a +match, lighted the lamp and sought for some explanation. When had this +struggle, if struggle there had been, occurred? It must have been after +he and Miss Waverly had set out on the trail to Smith's, he told himself +positively. Then there had been two people here in the meantime, for it +takes two people to make a tussel. And they had gone. Who could it be? +Was he after all to find a clue to the man who had maimed his horse? + +Looking about him curiously it chanced that he found something that +drove a puzzled frown into his eyes. It had caught in the frayed edge of +the rug, and to have been so caught and so left meant that it had been +done during the struggle he had already pictured. He took it up into his +hand, trying to understand. For it was the rowel of a spur, a tiny, +sharp, shining rowel that had come loose from a spur he remembered very +well. And he remembered, too, that Winifred Waverly had had her spurs on +when she came out to him at the barn! + +"It happened while I was out after the horses!" He sat down, the shining +spiked wheel lying in the palm of his hand, his brows drawn heavily. +"While I was out there ... it happened. Some jasper came in here, there +was some sort of a tussle ... and she didn't say a damned word about +it!" + +Yes, he was certain now that something had happened during the brief +time between his going out for the horses and the girl's coming to him +at the barn. Something that had changed her, that had killed her +friendliness toward him, that had made her cold and cruelly different. + +"The same man who slipped his knife across my horse's foot came in here +and saw her while I was out for the horses," he said slowly. "The same +man. It must have been. And she could tell me who it was and she +didn't. Why? After they had struggled here, too! Why?" + +He could see no reason in it all, no reason for her silence, no reason +for a man's malicious cruelty to a horse. Nor were these the only things +which he could not understand. Groping for the truth, he began carefully +to run over the things which had seemed strange to him and which now +struck him as being connected in some plan darkly hidden. + +The girl was Henry Pollard's niece. He began with that fact. She was on +her way to Pollard's and on an errand which the banker Templeton had +called mad and dangerous. Some man had followed her, a man whom she had +twice seen on the trail and whose outfit resembled Thornton's, resembled +it too closely to be the result of chance! The same headstall with the +red tassel, the same grey neck-handkerchief, a sorrel horse.... + +"By God!" whispered the cowboy, a sudden light in his eyes, "he lamed my +horse so it would limp the same as his! So she'd be sure she had seen me +on the trail behind her! And when she came out and saw my horse limping +she knew I had lied to her!" + +But why? Why? What lay back of all this? + +In the end he put out the light, slipped the spur rowel into his vest +pocket, and went out to his horse. Then when an hour's search brought +him no nearer to the hidden truth for which he was groping, he gave up +trying to pick up this other man's trail in the rocky soil about +Harte's place and turned back toward the south-east and his own ranch. + +"I'm going to have a talk with you, Miss Grey Eyes," he said softly. +"I've got to give you back your spur, and I'm going to ask you some +questions." + +He rode late into the night, stopped for a few hours under the stars +with saddle blanket for bed, and in the dawn pushed on again. + +For the few days which followed he had, in the stress of range work, +little time for thought of the riddle which had been set for him to +solve, and when he had time after the day's work he was tired and ready +for sleep. He was working short handed now for the very simple and not +uncommon reason that he was spending no dollar which he did not have to +spend. The payments he had already made to Pollard had been heavy for +him, and there was yet another five thousand dollars to be forthcoming +in six months. The contract was clear upon the point, and he knew that +if he failed to meet his obligation Henry Pollard would be vastly +pleased, being in a position to keep the fifteen thousand which had been +paid to him and to get his range back to boot. + +Perhaps because Henry Pollard had never lived upon the ranch during the +twenty years he had owned it improvements were few and poor. There was +the barn, too small now, which must come down in another year; there was +the old corral which was little used since Thornton had had the newer, +bigger one builded. Then, for ranch house, there was a single room +cabin, its walls of heavy logs from the hills at the head of the Big +Little River, its door of great thick planks rough and nail studded, its +roof of shakes. A hundred yards from it, at the foot of the knoll upon +which the ranch house stood, was a similar cabin, a dozen feet longer, +serving as the men's bunk house. + +Big Little River wound about the foot of the knoll, separating +Thornton's cabin from the bunk house, three or four feet deep here and +spanned by a crude footbridge. In its windings it made a sort of +horseshoe about the knoll so that looking out from the door of the +cattle man's cabin one saw the sluggish water to east, west and north. + +Upon the third morning after his return to the range Thornton rose +early, scowled sleepily at the little alarm clock whose strident clamour +had startled him out of his sleep at four o'clock, kicked off his +pajamas and with towel in hand started down to the river for his morning +plunge. Subconsciously he noted a scrap of white paper lying upon the +hewn log which served as doorstep, but he paid no heed to it. He had his +dip, diving from the big rock from which most mornings of the year he +dived into the deepest part of the stream; and in a little came back +through the brightening daylight rosy and tingling and with the last +webs of sleep washed out of his brain. Again he noted the paper; this +time he stooped and caught it up. For now he saw that it was folded, +carefully placed where he must see it, pinned down with a sharp pointed +horseshoe nail. + +"Now who's sending me letters this way?" he demanded of himself. + +And he flushed a little and called himself a fool because he knew that +he half expected to find that it was a note from a certain girl with +unforgettable grey eyes. But before he had read the few words, as soon +in fact as his eyes had fallen upon the uneven, laboriously constructed +letters of the lead-pencilled scrawl, he knew that this did not come +from her hand. The signature puzzled him; it consisted of two letters, +initials evidently, a very large j, not capitalized, followed by a very +small capital C. + +"Now, who's J.C.?" he muttered. "I can call to mind no J.C. who would be +writing me letters!" + +As he read the note a look of astonishment came into his eyes. It ran: + +"Deer buck, I am shure up against hard luck. Dont know nobody but you +can give me a hand remember that time down in El paso I was yore freind. +Come to old shack by Poison hole tonight & dont tell nobody & bring sum +grub Buck remember El paso. + +"j.c. + +"p.s. I was yore freind buck." + +Thornton remembered. He went slowly about his dressing, turning again +and again to look at the note he had placed upon his little pine table. +That had been five years ago. He was riding between Juarez and El Paso, +having just sold a herd of steers from the range he had owned in Texas +then. He had been detained in the Mexican town until after dark, and +before its lights had ceased winking behind him he had known that though +his precaution of taking a check instead of gold had saved his money to +him it had not saved him from coming very close to death. There were +still three scars, two in the shoulder, one in the right side, to show +where the bullets had bitten deep into him, from behind. He had been +searched swiftly, roughly, his clothing torn by the hurried fingers of +the man who had shot him. + +It had been close to midnight when his consciousness came back to him. A +little man, hard featured but gentle fingered, was working over him. It +was Jimmie Clayton. And Clayton had found the crumpled check in the +darkness, had gotten the wounded man on his own horse, had taken him to +El Paso, and finally had saved his life, nursing him, working over him +day and night for the two weeks in which his life was in danger. + +Since then Thornton had seen little of Clayton. He had known even at the +time of the shooting that the man was as hard a character as his +close-set, little eyes and weasel face bespoke him; he had come to know +him as an insatiate gambler, the pitiful sort of gambler who is too much +of a drunkard to be more than his opponent's dupe at cards. He had found +him to be a brawler and very much of a ruffian. But though he did not +close his eyes to these things they did not matter to him. For +gratitude and a sense of loyalty were two of the strong silver threads +that went to make up the mesh of Buck Thornton's nature, and it was +enough to him that little Jimmie Clayton had played the part of friend +in a town where friends were scarce and at a time when but for a friend +he would have died. + +It was not alone the fact of Clayton's turning up here and now that +surprised the cattle man; it was the fact of his turning up anywhere. +For he had thought that Clayton, weak natured and so very often the +other man's tool, was serving time in the Texas penitentiary. For, three +years ago, rumour had brought to him word of a sheriff's clean-up, and +the names of three men who had been working a crude confidence game, +bold rather than shrewd, and Jimmie Clayton's name was one of the three. +He had heard only after the men had been convicted and sentenced for +five years apiece, and had at the time regretted that he could not have +known sooner so that in some way he might have returned the favour he +had never forgotten. + +At last having dressed, he shoved the letter into his pocket, and went +down to the bunk house for breakfast. To the cook and to the three men +already at the table he had little to say, so full were his thoughts of +Jimmie Clayton. He was wondering what "hard luck" the little fellow had +run up against, why he was hiding out at a place like the Poison Hole +shack, how he had gotten the letter to the range cabin, and, if he had +brought it himself, why he had not made himself known last night. + +He gave his few, succinct orders for the day, made his hurried meal, +and went to the corral for his horse. And all that day he rode hard out +in the broken country where the eastern end of the range ran up and back +into the gorges of the mountains, shifting herd, collecting stragglers, +bringing them down into the meadow lands where the feed was abundant now +that he had sold the cattle he had had ranging there in order that he +might raise the money to make up the five thousand dollars for Henry +Pollard. + +As he rode he spoke seldom to the horse running under him or to the boys +with whom he worked, his thoughts flying now to another horse, lamed +from a knife cut, now to a girl whose spur rowel he carried in his vest +pocket, now to a man whose appealing letter he carried in another +pocket. And he was glad when the day was done and the boys raced away +through the dusk to their supper. + +Not infrequently did he ride on after he had told the others to "knock +off," working himself harder than he could ask them to work, riding late +to look at the water holes or find a new pasture in some of the little +mountain valleys or to bring in a fresh string of saddle horses for the +morrow's riding. So now, as darkness gathered, he watched the boys +scamper away to their food and smoke and bunks, and rode on slowly +toward the north. + +He chose this time, the thickening darkness before moonrise, for he had +caught the insistent plea for secrecy running through the lines of the +letter. And so, though he was not a little impatient and curious, he let +his tired horse choose its own loitering gait, willing that the night +draw down blacker about him. + +He crossed the Big Flat, rich grassy land watered by the Big Little +River, and struck off into the hills that closed in about it, following +the river trail. It was very still, with no sound save the swish of the +water against the willows drooping downward from its banks, no light +save the dim glimmer of the early stars. For two miles he followed the +stream, then left it for a short cut over the ridge, to pick it up again +upon the farther side. Now he was in a tiny valley with the mountains +close to the spot which gave its name to the range. + +Big Little River writhed in from the east, twisted out to the south. And +in the shut-in valley it made and left behind it to all but cover the +entire floor of the valley a lakelet of very clear water not over a +quarter of a mile from edge to edge, but very deep. Upon the far side, a +little back and close under the overhanging cliffs, there was a great, +jagged-mouthed, yawning hole, of a type not uncommon in this part of the +western country, from which heavy, noxious gases drifted sometimes when +the wind caught them up, gases which for the most part thickened and +made deadly the dark interior. There were skeletons to be seen dimly by +daylight down there, ten feet below the surface of the uneven ground, +the vaguely phosphorescent bones of jack rabbits that had fallen into +this natural trap, of coyotes, even of a young cow that had been +overpowered before it could struggle upward along the steep sides. And +the odour clinging to the mouth of the hole was indescribably foul and +sickening. + +Not a pretty place, and yet some man many years ago had builded him a +habitation here that was half dugout, half log lean-to. The door of the +place faced Poison Hole, and was not two hundred yards from it. The +hovel had been in disuse long before Buck Thornton came to the range +save as a shelter to some of the wild things of the mountains. + +From the southern shore of the lake Thornton stared across the little +body of water trying to make out a light to tell him that Clayton was +expecting him. But there was no fire, and the stars, reflecting +themselves in the natural mirror, failed to show him so much as the +outline of the lean-to in the shadows of the cliffs. He turned down into +the trail which ran about the shore, passed around the western end of +the lake, and riding slowly, his eyes ever watchful about him as was the +man's habit, he came at last to the deserted "shack." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IN THE NAME OF FRIENDSHIP + + +Twenty yards from the door he drew rein, sitting still, frowning into +the darkness. Not for the first time was he realizing that the note +might not be from Clayton at all; that some other man could have known +of his debt of gratitude to the little fellow who had befriended him +five years ago; that the name might have been used to draw him here, +alone and very far from any ears to hear, any eyes to see, what might +happen. He could name a half dozen men who were not above this sort of +thing, men who had, some of them, sworn to "get him." There were the +Bedloe boys, the three of them. There were two other men who do not come +into this story. There was Henry Pollard. + +"And it would be almighty like Pollard to put up a job like this," he +told himself grimly. "He could afford to pay a man a good little pile to +get me out of the game, and keep the money I've paid him and get back +his range besides. And I reckon the Kid would be one of a dozen who +would take on the job dirt cheap!" + +He reined his horse a little deeper into the shadows. Then he slipped +swiftly from the saddle, one end of his thirty-feet rope in his hand, +the other end about the horse's neck, and with a quick flick of the +quirt sent the animal trotting ahead to swing about and stop when the +rope drew taut. He half expected his ruse to draw fire from somewhere in +the darkness. Instead there came a low voice, sharp and querulous, +through the open door. + +"That you, Buck?" + +"Yes. That you, Clayton?" + +"Yes. Are you alone?" + +"Yes." + +Then Thornton came on swiftly, coiling his rope as he walked. For he had +recognized the voice. + +"What's the matter, Jimmie?" He was at the door now, peering in but +making nothing of the blot of shadows. + +"Come in," Clayton answered. "An' shut the door, Buck. I'll make a light +when the door's shut." + +He stepped in, dropping his rope, and moving slowly again, his back +against the wall. For after all he would not be sure of everything until +there was a light, until he saw that he was alone with Clayton. + +A match sputtered, making vague shadows as it was held in a cupped hand. +It travelled downward to the earthen floor, found the stub of a candle, +and then the greater light, poor as it was, drove out the shadows. And +Thornton saw that it was Jimmie Clayton, that the man was alone, and +that evidently his note had put it mildly when he had said that he had +struck "hard luck." + +The man, small, slight and nervous looking, lay upon a bed of boughs, +covered with an old saddle blanket, his eyes bright as though with fever +or fear. The skin of his face where it was seen through the black +stubble of beard looked yellow with sickness. The cheek bones stood out +sharply, little pools of shadow emphasizing the hollowness of his sunken +cheeks. Above the waist he was stripped to his undershirt; a rude +bandage under the shirt was stained the reddish brown of dried blood. A +quick pity drove the distrust out of the eyes of the man who saw and who +remembered. + +"You poor little devil!" he said softly. He reached out his hand +quickly, downright hungrily, for Jimmie's. + +Clayton took the hand eagerly and held it a moment in his tense hot +fingers as his eyes sought and studied Thornton's. Then he sank back +with a little satisfied sigh, lying flat, his hands under his head. + +"I'm sure gone to seed, huh, Buck?" he demanded. + +"It's tough, Jimmie. Tell me about it." + +The broken line of discolored teeth showed suddenly under the lifted +lip. + +"It ain't much to tell, Buck," Clayton answered slowly as the snarl left +the pinched features. "But it's somethin' for a man to think about when +he lays in a hole like this like a sick cat. But, Buck," and he spoke +sharply, "didn't you bring no grub with you?" + +"Yes, Jimmie. Wait a minute." Thornton stepped outside, not forgetting +to close the door quickly after him, jerked the little package from his +saddle strings where it had posed all day as his own lunch, and brought +it back into the dugout. "I didn't know just what you wanted, but here's +some bread and a hunk of cold meat and here's some coffee. We'll get it +to boiling in a minute, and..." + +"An' a drink, Buck?" eagerly. "You brung a flask, didn't you?" + +"Yes, Jimmie," Thornton assured him with a quiet smile. He whipped the +flask from his pocket and removing the cork held it out. "I remember +that you used to say a meal without a drink wasn't any use to you." + +Clayton put out a swift hand for the flask, shot it to his lips, and the +gurgle of the running liquor spoke of a long draught. + +"Now, the grub, Buck." He sat up, a little healthier color in his +cheeks. "Let the coffee go; it'll come in handy tomorrow." + +Thornton made a cigarette and leaning back against the door watched this +outcast who bore the brand of the hunted on his brow, whose eyes were +feverish with a hunger that was ravenous. + +"Poor little old Jimmie," he muttered under his breath. + +Clayton picked over the contents of the little package with hasty +fingers, pushing the bread aside, eating noisily of the meat. When at +last he had finished he rolled up the remainder of the lunch in the +greasy paper, thrust it under the corner of his blanket, and put out his +hands for the tobacco and papers. + +"I ain't even had a smoke for three days, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I +ain't." + +"Now, Jimmie," Thornton suggested when both men were smoking, and +Clayton again lay on his back, resting, "better tell me about it. Can't +I move you over to my cabin?" + +"No, Buck. You can't. An' I'll tell you." He broke off suddenly, his +eyes burning with an anxious intensity upon Thornton's. Then, with a new +note in his voice, a half whimper, he blurted out, "Hones' to Gawd, I'll +blow my brains out before I let 'em get me again! But you wouldn't give +me away, Buck, would you? You'd remember how I stuck by you down in El +Paso, won't you, Buck? You wouldn't give a damn for ... for a reward if +they was to offer one, would you, Buck? 'Cause you know I'd shoot myself +if they got me, an' you don't forget how I stuck to you, do you, Buck?" + +"No, Jimmie," came the assurance very softly. "I don't give a damn for +the reward and I don't forget. Pull yourself together, Jimmie." + +"Then here it is, an' I'll give you my word, s'elp me Gawd, that every +little bit of it is like I'm tellin' you. I ain't stringin' you, Buck, +an' I am puttin' myself in your hands, like one friend with another. +That's right, ain't it?" + +"That's right, Jimmie. Go ahead." + +"They had me in the pen, then; you knowed that, Buck? Run me in, by +Gawd, because I happened to be havin' a drink with a man named Stenton +an' a man named Cosgrove an' a dirty Mex as was all crooked an' was +wanted for somethin' they pulled off back down there ... I don't know +rightly what it was, damn if I do, Buck! But they wanted _somebody_, an' +they got the deadwood on them jaspers, an' me bein' seen with 'em, they +put me across, too. Put me across three years ago, Buck! An' it was +hell, jes' hell, that's all. Hell for a man like me, Buck, as is used to +sleepin outdoors an' the fresh air blowin' over the big ranges, an' +horses an' things. An' ... well, I stood it for three years, Buck. Three +years, man! Think o' that! _You_ don't know what it means. An' then, +when I couldn't stand it no longer," and his voice dropped suddenly and +the look of the hunted ran back into his eyes, "I broke jail. An' I got +this." + +He touched his fingers gingerly to the bandaged side, wincing even with +the gesture. + +"Two bullets," he muttered. "Colt forty-fives. An' I been like this nine +days. Or ten, I ain't sure. An' nights, Buck. The nights ... Gawd!" + +Thornton, his lips tightening a little, watched the man and for a moment +said nothing. And then, suddenly, his voice commanding the truth: + +"Don't hold back anything, Jimmie," he said. "It'll be all over the +country in a week, anyway. How'd you make your get-away? Did you have +to kill anybody?" + +He had his answer in the silence which for ten seconds Clayton's +twitching lips hesitated to break. When spoken answer came it was broken +down into a whisper. + +"I ... I wasn't goin' to hurt anybody, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I wasn't. +An' then, then I got hold his gun, an' I seen he was goin' to fight for +it, an' I ... I _had_ to shoot! I didn't go to kill him, Buck! An' he +shot me firs' with the other gun ... you oughta see them holes in my +side!... an'...." He stopped abruptly, and then, a little defiance +sweeping up into his eyes, rushing into his voice, he ended sulkily, +"The son of a ---- had it comin' to him!" + +For a long time Buck Thornton, sunk into a deep, thoughtful silence, +said nothing. Jimmie's account of an adventure of this kind was sure to +be garbled; considering it in an attempt to get to the truth at the +bottom of it was an occupation comparable to that of staring down into +muddy water in search of a hidden white pebble. He knew Jimmie Clayton. +He knew him as perhaps Clayton did not know himself. The man had been +sent to state's prison, not because of the company he kept, but because, +in Jimmie's own words, "he had it comin'." He had known long ago that +Jimmie Clayton would end this way, or worse. Now Clayton was giving his +own version of the killing of the guard, and this version would probably +be a lie. But through all of these considerations which Thornton saw so +clearly there was something else; something seen as clearly, looming +high and distinct above them: Jimmie had played the part of friend when +but for a friend Thornton would have died. That counted with Buck +Thornton. And now Clayton had sent for him, had entrusted into his hands +all hope of safety. And he was not this man's judge. + +While the cowboy sat silent and thoughtful Jimmie Clayton was watching +him, watching him with anxiety brilliant in his eyes, his tongue +moistening, constantly moistening the lips which went dry and parched +and cracked. Thornton knew, without lifting his eyes from the pool of +shadow quivering at the base of the candle stub. + +"You ain't goin' back on me, Buck!" The wounded man had drawn himself up +on his elbow. "I'll leave it to you, Buck, if I didn't stick by you when +you was in trouble. Remember, Buck, when I found you, out on the trail +between Juarez and El Paso. And you don't care a damn about the reward, +Buck; you said so, didn't you?" + +"Jimmie," said Thornton slowly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet +both the pleading and the terror in Clayton's, "I'm going to do what I +can for you. But I don't quite know what is to be done. They're going to +be on your trail mighty soon if they're not on it now. Can you ride?" + +"I can't ride much, Buck." And yet Clayton's voice rang with its first +note of hope. For if Thornton knew him, then no less did Clayton know +Thornton. And Buck had said that he was going to help him. "I rode them +two hundred miles getting here, me all shot to hell that away. An' I +rode into your camp las' night to leave the letter. An' I guess if it +had been half a mile fu'ther I wouldn't never have made it back." + +"Why didn't you come in at my cabin? I'd have fixed you up there." + +"I come awful near it, Buck! I wanted to. But I didn't know. There might +'a' been some of the other boys bunkin' there an' I wasn't takin' +chances." + +"I see. Now, let's see what we're goin' to do." + +He stood whipping at his boots with his quirt, trying to see a way. This +lonely place might be a safe refuge for a few days. But range business +sometimes carried his men this far, and soon or late some one would +stumble upon Clayton's hiding place. Clayton's voice, eager again and +confident, broke into his thoughts. + +"I got to find somebody as'll give me a lift, ain't I? A man can't go on +playin' a lone han' like I'm adoin' an' get away with it long. Now, I +got to be laid up here four or five days, anyway, until I can ride +again. You can keep your punchers away from here that long, can't you?" + +"Yes. I can give them plenty to do on the other end." + +"That's good. An' you can ride out again, at night, you know, Buck, an' +smuggle me some more grub, can't you?" + +"Yes. But...." + +"Wait a minute! I know a man in Hill's Corners as'll give me a han'. I +done him favours before now, same as I done for you, Buck. An' he knows +the ropes up here. You can git word to him, can't you? An' then I'll +drift, an' he'll look out for me, an' you'll be square with what I done +for you, Buck. Will you do it?" + +"Yes, Jimmie. I'll do it. I'll ride in and see your man at the Corners. +Who is it, Jimmie?" + +"An' you won't tell nobody but him, will you, Buck?" + +"No. I won't tell any one else. Who is it?" + +"It's a man as may be crooked with some," said Clayton slowly. "But he's +awful square with a pal. It's a man name of Bedloe. They call him the +Kid." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE KID + + +So the next day Buck Thornton rode away to the south and to Hill's +Corners. + +He had planned to have his errand over early, to have seen the Kid and +to have turned back toward the ranch before noon. For he knew the town's +habit of late sleeping and he wanted to be gone from it before it was +awake and pouring into its long street and into its many swinging doors +the stream of men whom he had no wish to see now. Perfectly well he knew +how easily he could find trouble there, and it seemed to him that he had +enough on his hands already without seeking to add to it. + +But the press of range business kept him later than he had thought it +would. And then the one horse on the range he would ride today had to be +found out in the hills and roped. + +"For," he told himself grimly, "if I'm going to stick my nose in that +man's town I'm going to have a horse between my knees that knows how to +do something more than creep! And when it comes to horses there's only +one real horse I ever saw. I got you, Comet, you old son-of-a-gun!" + +And his rope flew out and its wide noose landed with much precision, +drawing tight about the neck of a great, lean barrelled, defiant-eyed +four-year-old that in the midst of its headlong flight stopped with feet +bunched together before the rope had grown taut. The animal, standing +now like a horse cut from a block of grey granite, chiselled by the +hands of a great sculptor who at the same time was a great lover of +equine perfection, swung about upon its captor, its eyes blazing, just a +little quiver of the clean-cut nostrils showing the red satin of the +skin lining them. The mane was like a tumbled silken skein, the ears +dainty and small and keen pointed, the chest splendidly deep and strong; +the forelegs small, so slender that to a man who did not know a horse +they would have seemed fragile but only because they were all bone and +sinew like steel and muscle hardened and stripped clean of the last +milligram of fat, as exquisite as the perfect ankle of a high bred +woman. + +"Part greyhound and part steam engine and part devil!" Thornton muttered +with vast approval shining in his eyes. "And _all horse_! A man could +ride you right through hell, Little Horse, and come out the other side +and never smell your hair burn!" + +He drew saddle and bridle from the animal he had been riding and turned +it loose. Then coiling his rope as he went, he came up to Comet's +high-lifted head. With much evident distaste but with what looked like +too much pride to struggle in an encounter in which he knew that he was +to be overcome, the big grey accepted the hard Spanish bit. He allowed, +too, the saddle to be thrown on him, only a quick little quivering of +the tense flanks and a twitching of the skin upon his back showing that +he felt and resented. And then with his master's weight upon him, his +master's softened voice in his ear, a hard hand very gently stroking the +hot shoulder, Comet shook his head, a great sigh expanded the deep +lungs, and he was the perfect saddle horse with too much sense to rebel +further at the knowledge that after all he is a horse and the man who +bestrides him is a man. And Buck Thornton, because he knew this animal +and loved him, slackened the reins a little, sensed the tensing of the +powerful muscles slipping like pliant steel through satin sheaths, +turned the proud head toward the south and felt the rush of air whipping +back his hat brim, stinging his face as they shot out across the rolling +hills. + +When Comet had had his run, racing through the other herds that flung up +their heads to look at him and the first half mile had sped away behind, +Thornton coaxed him down into a gentle gallop, swearing at him with much +soft and deep affection. + +"Easy, Little Horse," he soothed. "Easy. We're going to Dead Man's. +We'll go in slow and watching where we put our feet, all rested and +quick on the trigger and ready to come out ... if we _want_ to! ... like +winning a race." + +And Comet, snorting his dislike of any conservation of strength and +energy, nevertheless obeyed. So it was a little after three o'clock +when they entered the crooked, narrow street which gives a bad town a +bad name. + +The town had shaken off the lethargy of its morning sleep: there were +many men in the street, some riding back and forth, disdaining to walk +the distance of a hundred yards from a saloon they had just left to the +saloon to which they were going, some sitting their horses in the shade, +lounging in the saddle as a man may lounge in an arm chair, some idled +on foot at the swinging doors, while many others made a buzz of deep +throated voices at the bars and over the gaming tables. As Buck +Thornton, riding slowly, his hat back upon his head, his eyes ranging to +right and left, came into the street where Winifred Waverly had entered +it last week, more than one man lifted his eyebrows on seeing him and +wondered what business had brought him here. For the memory of his +meeting with the Bedloes was still green, the scars which the Kid wore +on his right wrist and his left arm were still fresh, and this town was +the Bedloes' town in more ways than one. + +He nodded to a few men, spoke to fewer, for here was he more a stranger +than he was in Dry Town. Riding straight to the Brown Bear Saloon he +swung down. He left his horse, trained to stand by the hour for him, at +the edge of the board sidewalk, the bridle reins caught around the horn +of the saddle, moved at an even pace through the men at the door and +went inside. + +A dozen men stood at the long bar, big men and little, dark men and +light, of this nationality and that, but alike in the one essential +thing that they were of the type by which the far-out places are wrested +from the wilderness of God and made part of the wildness of man, hard +men of tongue, of hand, of nature, hard drinkers, hard fighters. Gunmen, +to the last man of them, who live with a gun always, by a gun often +enough, who are dropping fast before the onrush of the civilization for +which they themselves have made the way, but who will daily walk over +their graves until the glimmer of steel rails runs into the last of the +far places, until there be no longer wide, unfenced miles where cattle +run free and rugged mountain sides into which men dip to bring out red +and yellow gold. + +Thornton's eyes ran down the line of them, swiftly. There was no man +there whom he knew. He stepped a little to one side, the door at his +left, the bare front wall at his back. He stood loosely, carelessly to +judge from the little slump of the shoulders, the burning cigarette in +the fingers of his left hand, the thumb of the right hand caught in his +belt. + +The bar was at his left, the bare floor running away in front of him, +sawdust covered, the string of gaming tables stretched along the wall at +his right. As by instinct his eyes lighted upon the man whom he sought. +First a round topped table where three men cut and dealt at "stud"; +then a faro lay-out with its quick-eyed dealer, its quick-eyed look-out +upon his stool, its half dozen men playing and looking on; then the +"wheel"; then a second table with six men busy at "draw." There, at this +table, with his broad back to him, sat the Kid. And as usual, to complete +the youthful swagger of him, he wore his two guns in plain sight. + +Still the cattle man made no move, still his eyes ran back and forth, +seeking, showing nothing of what they sought or of what they had found +already. He marked every man in the place; saw that there were only two +of them besides the Kid whom he had ever seen before, one the bartender, +one a man with whom he had had no dealings; noted that neither Charley +nor Ed Bedloe were in the house. He saw too that the bartender had +leaned a little over his bar, saying something swiftly to the man whom +he was serving; that the man turned curiously to look toward the door; +while at the same time the man across the table from the Kid had given +warning, and the Kid's hands had come away from his cards, dropping down +into his lap. + +Then Thornton came on, walking slowly, passing about the first poker +table, then by the faro table, the roulette wheel, and finally to the +table where the Kid sat. Bedloe had not moved again: he had not turned, +his cards lay unheeded before him. The other men were silent with a jack +pot waiting for their attention. + +"When he turns," Thornton was telling himself, "it's going to be in the +direction of his gun, and he's going to come up shooting." + +There were many men there who sensed the thing he did. Not a man in the +saloon whose eyes were not keen and expectant as they ran back and forth +between the two, Thornton who had shot Bedloe before now, Bedloe who had +sworn to "get him." A chair leg scraped and many men started as if it +had been the first pistol shot; it was only the man across the table +from Bedloe moving back a little, ready to leap to his feet to right or +left. Somebody laughed. At the sound though Bedloe's big thick body +remained steady like a rock his fingers twitched perceptibly. + +"Bedloe," and Thornton's voice was cool and low toned, with no tremor in +it, no fear, no threat, no hint of any kind of expression, "I want a +talk with you." + +He was not five short paces behind the brawler's back. The Kid turned a +little in his chair, slowly, very slowly like a machine. His eyes came +to rest full upon Thornton's. And Thornton, looking back steadily into +the hard eyes, steely and blue and fearless, low lidded and watchful, +knew that the man had fully expected to see straight into the barrel of +a revolver. For a moment it was as though this place had come under such +a spell as that in the tale of the Sleeping Beauty, with every man +touched by a swift enchantment that had stilled his blood and turned his +body to stone. + +Thornton saw that Bedloe's hands were tense with tendons standing out +sharply under the brown skin, the fingers rigid, curved inward a little, +and not three inches from the grips of his guns. And Bedloe saw that +Thornton carried a burning cigarette in his left hand, that his right, +with thumb caught in the band of his chaps, was careless only in the +seeming and that it, too, was alert and tense. And he remembered the +lighting quickness of that right hand. + +"What do you want?" + +No bluster, no threat, no fear, no hint of expression in the voice which +was as steady as Thornton's, with something in it akin to the steely +steadiness of the hard eyes. + +They spoke slowly, with little pauses, little silences between. The man +whose chair had scraped looked uncomfortable; the muscles of his throat +contracted; his hand shut tight upon his cards, cracking the backs; then +he pushed back his chair again, swiftly, and got to his feet. His deep +breathing was audible when he stood to one side where, if there was to +be shooting, he would no longer be "in line." No one noticed him. + +"I want a quiet talk," was Thornton's reply. "I'm not here to start +anything, Bedloe. Will you give me a chance to talk with you?" + +Bedloe pondered the words, without distrust, without credence, merely +searching for what lay back of them. And finally he answered with a +brief question: + +"Where?" + +"Anywhere. In yonder," and Thornton's nod indicated the little room +partitioned off from the larger for a private poker room while his eyes +clung to Bedloe's. "Or outside. Anywhere." + +Again the Kid pondered. + +"I'm playin' poker," he said presently, very quietly. "An' I ain't +playin' for fun. There's one hell of a lot of money changin' han's this +deal, an'," with the first flash of defiance, and much significance to +words and look alike, "my luck's runnin' high today!" + +"I'll wait until you play your hand," returned Thornton without +hesitation. "I'll step right over here." + +As he spoke he moved, walking slowly with cautious feet feeling for an +obstacle over which he might stumble and so for just the one vital +fraction of a second give the Kid the chance to draw first, his eyes +upon the eyes which followed him. He stepped, so, about the table, to +the other side, so that Bedloe, once more sitting straight in his chair, +faced him over the jack pot. + +The big blue eyed man didn't speak. It was his move and he knew it, knew +that all men there were looking at him. He studied Thornton's eyes as he +had never studied a man before, taking his time, cool, clear headed. He +could get his gun in a flash; he could throw himself to one side as he +jammed it across the table, shooting; he could do it before most men +there could even guess that he was going to do it. He knew that very +well. And he knew too, that although he was quick and sure on the draw, +here was a man who was just that wee, deadly fraction of a second +quicker. + +As though he would find a flicker in the steady eyes of the other man to +tell him what he wanted to know, he moved his hand, his left, a very, +very little, so little that save at a time like this no man would have +seen. There came no change in Thornton's eyes. The Kid lifted the hand, +laying it with still fingers upon the table before him. Still nothing in +Thornton's eyes to tell that he had seen or had not seen. One second +more the Kid sat motionless, pondered. Then he had decided. The right +hand came up and lay beside the left on the table. + +A man at the bar set down his glass and the faint noise against the hard +wood sounded unnaturally loud. Another man ordered a drink, and the low +voice breaking the silence sounded like a shout. Men who had stood in +tense, cramped positions moved, games that had stopped went on. The +strain of a few moments was gone, though still no one lost sight for +more than an instant of Thornton and the Kid. + +Bedloe dropped his eyes to his cards, merely turning the corners as they +lay flat on the table. The man who had gotten hastily out of his chair +came back. The game went on as the others were going, silently and +swiftly. The jack pot was opened, "boosted," and grew fat. Bedloe played +a cool hand, and the impression until near the show-down was that he was +not to be reckoned with. Then, a little impudently, as was his way, he +shoved his pile to the centre of the table. + +"See that or drop out," he said curtly. + +The nervous man dropped out. Two men saw it. They both lost to the Kid's +full hand. + +He swept up the gold and silver and slipped it into his pocket, his +hand going very close to his gun during the process but never +hesitating. Then he got to his feet. + +"Let's go outside," he said, turning toward Thornton. + +He led the way, swinging about so that the broad of his back was to the +man who followed him and the man whom he had sworn to kill. Walking so, +a few paces between them, they passed by the bar, through the clutter of +men about the door and out upon the narrow sidewalk. Still the Kid did +not stop. He strode on, not so much as looking to see if he were +followed, until he came to the middle of the narrow street. Then he came +to a quick halt and turned. + +"Now," said the Kid, "spit it out. If you want to finish what we begun +at Smith's start in. I'm ready." + +"I told you," Thornton answered him, "that I am not looking for trouble. +When I am I know where I can find it." He dropped his voice yet lower so +that by no possibility could any one of the men upon the sidewalk hear +him, and ended, "Jimmie Clayton sent me." + +"An'," asked the Kid coolly, "who the hell is Jimmie Clayton?" + +"He's a poor little devil who is in need of a friend, if he's got any," +Thornton returned. "And he said you were the only friend he had here." + +"Maybe I am an' maybe I ain't." The sharpness of suspicion was still high +in Bedloe's eyes. "What about him?" + +"You knew he was in the pen?" + +"I ain't answerin' questions. Go ahead." + +"He broke jail a few days ago. He killed his guard and got himself +pretty badly shot up. I guess they're on his trail now. And he's going +to swing for it if they ever get him." + +"Where is he?" asked Bedloe sharply with no lessening of the suspicion +and ready watchfulness. + +"In the old dugout at the Poison Hole." + +"How's it happen you know so much about it?" + +"Jimmie was a friend to me once when I needed a friend. He got this far, +he held out to ride to my cabin night before last and left a note. I +took him out some grub last night. It's all I can do for him; I haven't +any way to hide him out. And he's in too bad shape to ride." + +"Well, where do I come in?" + +Thornton shrugged his shoulders. + +"That's your business, yours and Jimmie's. He said that you were a pal +of his, and," he added bluntly, with a keen curious look into the Kid's +steel-blue eyes, "that you never went back on a pal." + +Behind him in the street Thornton heard the clatter of horses' hoofs +coming on rapidly. He paid no attention until they were close to him, so +close that from the corner of his eye he caught the flutter of a woman's +skirt. Then he knew who it was before she passed on. One was Pollard +looking white and sick; the other, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, was +Winifred Waverly. + +A quick smile drove the sternness from his eyes and he swept off his hat +to her, ignoring the presence of Pollard. But into her expression as she +returned his look for the moment in which she was flashing by, there +came no vague hint of recognition. He turned back to Bedloe, a little +flush of anger in his cheeks. The two men were very near only battle +just then. For the Kid smiled. + +"How do I know you're tellin' me the truth?" They had gone back to +Jimmie Clayton, Bedloe speaking suspiciously again. "How do I know you +ain't puttin' up a game on me? It's a nice lonely place, where that +dugout is." + +The flush died out of the cowboy's tanned skin as swiftly as it had run +into it. + +"I guess you can't tell," he retorted. "Unless you go and find out. And +you know if I wanted to get you I could have got you in there, and I +could have got you that time at Smith's. And," with an impudence to +match Bedloe's, "I could get you now!" + +The Kid passed over the remark, his brows knitted thoughtfully. + +"Well," he said in a moment, "you've shot your wad now, ain't you? I +guess there ain't no call for me an' you to talk all day." + +"That's all. What'll I tell Jimmie?" + +"You can tell him he ain't made no mistake. You may be lyin' an' you +may be tippin' me the straight. But he is a pal of mine an' a damn +decent little pal, an' I'll take a chance." + +"You'll get him?" + +"If he's there I'll get him." + +"When?" + +"You'd like the time o' day to the minute, I reckon!" He laughed softly. +"Jus' the first show I get, which'll be in three or four days." + +"If you want a horse for him after a while, a good horse, I'll give him +one. That's the best I can do. And I guess that's all, Bedloe." + +Thornton stepped back toward his horse. Bedloe turned abruptly and +strode through the crowd of men on the sidewalk and back to the saloon +and his game, no doubt. Thornton swung up into the saddle, and riding +swiftly, passed down the street and back toward the range. As he went he +felt little satisfaction in an errand done, little relief to have it +over. For he was thinking of the look in a girl's eyes, and again a +flush ran up into his cheeks, the bright flush of anger. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A GUARDED CONFERENCE + + +With flaming eyes Winifred Waverly whirled upon her uncle. + +"Why do you suffer it?" she cried hotly. "The man knows that I was not +deceived by his idiotic mask, he knows that I have told you, and still +you let him go free where he pleases, swagger about with brawlers like +that horrible Kid Bedloe, and dribble your money over the bars for drink +and over the poker tables! Why do you suffer it?" + +A fleeting smile of deep satisfaction brightened Pollard's eyes. They +had ridden home in silence and now, with the door barely closed behind +them, she had turned upon him with her indignant question. + +"I am waiting," began Pollard. + +"Waiting for what?" she demanded. "Until he can have had time to +squander what is rightfully yours, until there be no chance of getting +it back or bringing such a man to justice!" + +"You little fire-eater!" he laughed at her. "Come with me in here." He +turned and led the way into the room just off the hall and at the front +of the house where he had his office. When the door was closed behind +him he dropped into a chair, his face a little white and drawn from the +exertion of his ride, the first he had had since the girl had come. "I +want to talk with you, and I don't want anybody, Mrs. Riddell in +particular, to overhear. She's too fond of talking." + +Winifred stood across the room from him, her quirt in her hand switching +restlessly at the carpet, her eyes showing a little sympathy for his +illness but more anger at Buck Thornton. + +"You ask why I don't bring that man to reckoning, and I tell you that I +am waiting. Then you ask, for what?" He leaned a little forward, and she +saw again in his eyes the look she had surprised there on that first day +she had come to Hill's Corners, a look of hate and of a sinister +satisfaction. "Waiting for the time when I am sure there will be no +loophole for him to crawl through! You are ready to go into a court room +and swear that he robbed you; that is a great deal and it will go a long +way toward convicting him. But it isn't enough. It's only your word +against his; don't you see? He will swear that he did _not_ rob you, +won't he? We can prove that you left Dry Town with the five thousand +dollars; we might even prove that you didn't bring it on to me. But we +couldn't prove, beyond the last shadow of doubt, that you didn't lose +it, or that somebody else didn't rob you of it." + +"But," she asked, frowning in her perplexity, "what good will it do to +wait?" + +"Your evidence," he went on slowly, as though working the thing out for +himself, "is enough to convince eleven jurors out of the twelve; now we +must make sure of the twelfth. How will we do it? One way is to find the +lost bank notes in Thornton's possession. The other way is to get other +evidence to add to yours, cumulative evidence all of which will point +one way, to one conclusion!" + +"To one conclusion?" she repeated after him, prompting him, so eager was +she for him to go on. + +"To the fact that Buck Thornton is the man who, for six months now, has +been committing the series of crimes, running the gamut from the murder +of a stage driver to the theft of cattle from Kemble's place! That is +the thing I am waiting for!" + +She frowned. A mental picture of the cowboy rose quickly and vividly +before her. She saw the clear, steadfast eyes, the free, upright +carriage, the flash of a smile that was like a boy's. She had come to be +firm in her belief that he was the man who had robbed her, had forced +the insult of his kiss upon her, but it was hard, with that picture of +him before her, to think him a murderer, too. But then, as though to +sweep away her last shred of doubt, the vision widened and into it came +another man: she saw Buck Thornton as she had seen him only a few +minutes ago, in seeming friendly conversation with the youngest Bedloe +whose eyes soiled the woman they rested upon, whose name had travelled +even to her home in Crystal City and beyond as a roisterer, a brawler, +a man of unsavoury deeds done boldly and shamelessly. + +"I am a little sick of it all," she said wearily. "I want to go back +home, uncle." + +He had looked for that and had his answer ready. + +"I know, Winifred. And I don't blame you. But I want you to stay a +little longer, won't you? Your evidence is going to be the strongest +card in our deck. Will you stay and give it?" + +"How long?" + +"Not long now. I expect Dalton here today." + +"Who is Dalton?" + +"Cole Dalton, the sheriff. He is as anxious as I am to get his hands on +Thornton. The whole country has been growing hotter in its criticisms of +him every day for the last six months, blaming him for not rounding up +the man who has committed one depredation on top of another, and gotten +away with it." + +"And you are sure," she hesitated a little in spite of herself, +repeating, "you are sure ... that Buck Thornton is that man?" + +"Yes. I guessed it a long time ago. I know it now that he has robbed +you. You will wait a few days, won't you?" + +"Yes, I'll wait. But, oh," she cried out with sudden vehemence, swinging +about when half way to the door, "I hate this sort of thing! Get it over +with quick, Uncle Henry!" + +She left him then and went upstairs to her own room where for a little +she tried to concentrate her wandering thoughts upon a book. But in the +end she flung the volume aside impatiently and went to her window, +staring down into the neglected tangle of the front yard and the glimpse +of the street through the straggling branches of the pear trees. She +tried to see only that men like Kid Bedloe and Buck Thornton were not to +be thought of as men, but rather as some rare species of clear-eyed, +unscrupulous, conscienceless animals; that they were not human, that it +would not be humane but foolish to regard them with any kind of +sympathy; that the law should set its iron heel upon them as a man might +set his heel upon a snake's flat, venomous head. + +And she felt a hard contempt of self, she hated herself, when again and +again there rose before her mind's eye the form and face of the man who +surely was the worst of the lot, and yet who looked like a gentleman and +who knew how to carry himself like a gentleman, who knew what courtesy +to a woman was when he wanted to know, who had in a few hours made upon +her an impression which she realized shamefacedly would stay with her +always. + +She had been in her room for an hour, driven by her loneliness had run +downstairs to chat a few minutes with Mrs. Riddell in the kitchen and, +unusually restless, had gone back upstairs. As she came again to her +window, she saw two men leave their horses at the front gate and turn +toward the house along the walk under the pear trees. Both were men whose +very stature would have drawn one's thoughts away from even pleasant +preoccupation, and Winifred Waverly's thoughts were sick of the channel +in which they had been running. + +One, the one who came on slightly in front of his companion, was very +broad and heavy and thick. Thick of arm, of thigh, of neck. He was not +short, standing close to six feet, and yet his bigness of girth made him +seem of low, squat stature as she looked down upon him. She did not see +his face under the wide, soft hat but guessed it to be heavy like the +rest of him, square jawed and massive. She noted curiously that his +tread was light, that his whole being spoke of energy and swift +initiative, that the alertness of his carriage was an incongruity in a +man so heavily built from the great, monster shoulders of him to the +bulging calves. + +The face of the other man she saw. His hat was far back upon his head +and as he come on his dark features fascinated her. He was tall, as tall +or nearly as tall as the Kid or Buck Thornton, she thought, slender, +full of the grace of perfect physical manhood. There was a dash to him +that, to the girl, was not without its charm. It spoke from the finely +chiselled lips, curved to a still, contemptuous smile, from the eyes, +long lashed, well set far apart, from the swinging careless stride. A +handsome devil, as handsome in his own way as the Kid in his, as defiant +an insolence in his smiling eyes, as cool an assurance and a vague added +charm which was not so readily classified. + +The two men came to the door. She heard Pollard greet them, calling +them by name, and thus learned that one was Cole Dalton, the sheriff, +one Broderick. Then there came up to her the hum of voices from her +uncle's office, the heavy, rasping voice which she was certain belonged +to the thicker-set man, the light, careless pleasant tones of the taller +man. She found herself listening, not for the words which were lost in +the indistinct hum, but to the qualities of tone, idly speculating as to +which man was the sheriff, which Broderick. She wondered if now they +were going to arrest Buck Thornton and if Broderick were a deputy? And +again she hated herself with a quick spurt of contemptuous indignation +that she allowed a feeling of sympathy for the tall cattleman to slip +into her heart. + +For a long time the low toned conversation in the room below her +continued. At first it was her uncle who did the greater part of the +talking, his utterances at once emphatic and yet guarded. She had the +uneasy feeling that the tones were hushed less because of Mrs. Riddell +whom she could hear clattering with her pots and pans in the kitchen, +than because of herself. A little hurt, half angry that he should think +of her as a possible eavesdropper, she took up her book again, turning +the pages impatiently in search of the place which she had a great deal +of trouble in finding since she had understood so little of what she had +read that day. And even then one half of her mind was on the men below +as she wondered why they should not want her to know what it was they +said. + +Evidently Pollard had finished what he had to say. She supposed that he +had been telling them of his loss and her robbery. Then the heavy, +rasping voice, Cole Dalton's she was right in guessing it to be, as +guarded as Pollard's had been, broke in and for several minutes it was +the only sound that came to her, save twice when a low laugh from +Broderick interrupted. She frowned at that; to her it seemed that in +this stern discussion which had for theme crime and retribution there +was no place for a man's laughter; even then her dislike for Ben +Broderick had begun. + +Then Cole Dalton had finished and Broderick was talking. It was as +though each man in turn were making his report to the others. As before +not a word came to the ears which she strove futilely to make +inattentive. A certain quality in the speaker's voice drew fresh +speculation from her. He spoke quietly, with no single interruption from +the others and with a positiveness that was like a command, as though he +whom she had thought possibly a deputy were coolly telling both Pollard +and Cole Dalton what they should do, when they should do it and how. The +voice was arrogant, cool and confident. + +Again the sheriff's voice floated up to her, raised a little, rasping +out what sounded like a protest. And Broderick's answer was another +short laugh, full of contempt and followed by a few emphatic, crisp +words which she did not catch. + +That ended the consultation. She knew it from the silence which +followed the curt finality of Broderick's retort and from the scraping +of chair legs followed by the sound of the men pacing back and forth and +speaking in new, unguarded tones. Now their conversation came to her for +the first time. + +"You'll be going out tonight, Dalton?" Pollard asked. + +"No. The first thing in the morning." + +"And you, Broderick?" + +"I'll trot along tonight, Henry. But not," the cool voice carelessly, +"until I've had something to eat. I know you're going to ask me to stay +to supper!" + +"What do you want to stay for, Ben?" demanded Pollard with something of +irritation in the question. "Haven't you got enough on your hands...." + +Broderick's ready laugh, slow, easy, vaguely insolent, rose clearly to +Winifred's ears. + +"You're sure a hospitable cuss," he retorted. "Don't be a hog on top of +it, Henry. I want to see that pretty niece of yours." + +The girl's cheeks went red at the light tone. She waited to hear her +uncle's short rejoinder. And she heard nothing beyond the sheriff's +rasping chuckle. + +When Mrs. Riddell called from the foot of the stairs that supper was +ready Winifred had fully made up her mind that she would not go down. +She heard the three men chatting lightly and decided that she would get +something to eat after they had finished and gone. But as though her +uncle had caught her thought he too came to the foot of the stairs, +calling to her. + +"Winifred," he was saying, "supper's ready. Sheriff Dalton is here, and +Mr. Broderick, a friend of mine. I want you to tell them what you have +told me." + +She hesitated a moment, biting her lip. Then she answered, "All right, +Uncle Henry; I'll be right down." She went to her wash-stand, arranged +her hair swiftly, saw that the flush had gone out of her cheeks, that +her eyes were cool and told nothing, and went down to join the three men +who had already taken their places at the dinner table. + +As she came through the door, her head up, her lips a little hard, +Broderick was the first to see her and was upon his feet in a flash, as +graceful as a cavalier, as debonair in his big boots and soft white silk +shirt as though he had been a courtly gentleman dressed for the ball, +his eyes frankly filled with the appreciation of her dainty beauty. +Pollard, remembering, rose too, and last of all Cole Dalton, his shrewd +eyes intense and keen upon her. Winifred's gaze passed by Broderick as +though she had not seen him and travelled to her uncle while she waited +for the introductions. + +Dalton, who was first to be presented, put out a big, hard, square hand, +capturing and releasing Winifred's suddenly as though it were a part of +the day's work to be done and over with. He had stepped forward and now +stepped back to his chair, his keen, watchful eyes never leaving her +face. + +Then Broderick took the hand which she did not like to refuse to her +uncle's friend and guest and yet which she disliked giving him, saw the +little flush which his gaze drove into her cheeks, and with a hint of +laughter in his eyes bowed over it gallantly, murmuring his happiness in +knowing her. And it was Broderick who stepped quickly to her chair, +drawing it out for her to be seated. She found herself wondering where +this man had learned to do these little things which are no part of the +training of the far out cattle men. + +During the first half of the meal there was no reference to the +happening at Harte's Camp. Broderick, with a mood contagiously care free +and sparkling, did the greater part of the talking, and though he +elicited from the girl rare words beyond a brief "yes" or "no," he +seemed content. And he interested her. He talked well, with little slurs +of grammar that seemed rather due to the man's carelessness of nature +than to ignorance, his vocabularly not without picturesque force. It +seemed natural that he should do the talking, that he should address +himself largely to her, and that Pollard and Cole Dalton should listen +and watch him. + +Within ten minutes she gleaned that Broderick was a miner, that he had a +claim of some sort in the mountains back of Hill's Corners, to the +eastward, that a couple of years ago he had made his "pile" in the +Yukon country and that he had lost it in unwise speculation, that he +knew more than the names of the streets of the chief cities of both +coasts, that he had strong hopes of making a strike where he was and of +selling out at a good figure to a mining concern with which he was +already corresponding. And yet this light miscellany of information was +so brightly sprinkled into the flow of talk upon a score of other +matters that it did not seem that the man was ever talking of himself. + +Finally Pollard, catching a sharp look from Sheriff Dalton, got up and +stepped into the kitchen where Mrs. Riddell was. The woman went out into +the yard and Pollard came back. Before he had taken his chair again +Dalton said abruptly, turning upon the girl: + +"Pollard mentioned your seeing the stick-up man at Harte's cabin. Tell +us about it." + +She told him swiftly, eager to have it over with, conscious that the +eyes of all three of the men watched her with a very intense interest. +From her account she omitted only that which concerned her personally +and alone and of which she had not even spoken to her uncle. + +"You're sure it was Thornton?" demanded the sheriff when she had +finished. "Dead sure?" + +"Yes," she answered resolutely, defiant of her own self that hesitated +to fix on an absent man the crime of which she believed him guilty. + +Dalton sat still save for the drumming of his thick fingers upon the +table cloth. Presently his big stocky body turned slowly in his chair as +he looked from Broderick to Pollard, the hint of a smile merely making +his eyes the harder. + +"So," he said, his wide shoulders rising to his deep breath, "it looks +like all we got to do is just go out and put our rope on Mr. Badman!" + +"It looks like it, Cole," laughed Broderick gently. "Only when you get +ready to pull off your little roping party I wish you'd let me know. He +don't look like he's the kind to lie down and let you hog-tie him, does +he, Miss Waverly? They say he's half Texan an' the other half panther. +You want to be quick on the throw, Cole. Remember the way he got the Kid +last winter!" + +"The only wonder," growled Dalton, "is that the Kid hasn't taken him off +our hands and got him long ago!" + +"But," put in Winifred hastily, "they're friends now. Uncle Henry and I +saw them talking together this afternoon." + +She saw the start that her words gave the sheriff, and turning toward +Broderick glimpsed a look, steely and hard and glittering with suspicion +that had driven the smile from his eyes. + +"If Bedloe...." began Dalton sharply, his great fist clenched. But he +stopped short. He saw and understood the warning glance Broderick shot +at him; Winifred saw, too, but did not understand. + +"Let's go into the other room," the miner said carelessly, "and see what +Henry's cigars are made out of." + +They rose and went back to Pollard's office. And Ben Broderick, who had +suggested cigars, was the only one of the three men who rolled his own +cigarette, rolled it slowly and with deep thoughtfulness. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SUSPICION + + +After all it seemed that for some reason the time was not yet ripe for +Cole Dalton to put his rope on "Mr. Badman". For the days ran on +smoothly for Buck Thornton, the weeks grew out of them and he rode, +unmolested, unsuspicious of any threatened interference, about his own +business. + +He had gone a second time to the dugout at Poison Hole, carrying +provisions enough to last Jimmie Clayton several days. Clayton seemed +assured that Bedloe would look out for him now and insisted that there +was danger of some of the range hands learning of Thornton's trips here. +So, for a week he did not ride near the man's hiding place, and when one +day he did visit the dugout again there was nothing to show that Clayton +had been there and no hint of how or where he had gone. Thornton felt a +deep sense of relief, believing that the episode, so far as he was +concerned, was closed. + +Another week and he was close to forgetting Jimmie Clayton altogether. +The demands of the routine of range work kept him busy every day, early +and late, and as though that were not enough to tax his endurance there +came a fresh call upon him. + +The stage had not been robbed that day he had seen it leaving Dry Town, +and he had begun to persuade himself that the epidemic of crime from one +end of the county to the other was at an end; that the highwayman had +left the country while he could. But now came news of fresh outlawry, +news that ran from tongue to tongue of the angered cattle men and miners +who demanded more and more loudly that Cole Dalton "get busy". + +Rumour flew back and forth, indignant, voluble, accusatory. It stacked +crime upon crime; it mouthed the names of many men whom the county would +be glad to entertain in its empty jail, the names of the three Bedloe +boys, of Black Dan, of Long Phil Granger, of certain newcomers to Hill's +Corners who, naturally, were to be looked upon with suspicion. It listed +the depredations committed during four weeks with a result that was +startling. It told of the theft of a herd of steers from Kemble's place; +the shooting of Bert Stone and the looting of Hap Smith's mail bags; the +robbery of Seth Powers who left the poker table at Gold Run at two +o'clock one morning with seven hundred dollars in his overalls and was +found at eight o'clock beaten into unconsciousness and with his pockets +turned wrong-side out; the stage robbery in which Bill Varney of Twin +Dry Diggings had been killed; the robbery of Jed Macintosh in Dry Town. +A hundred and fifty miles lay between the most widely removed of the +places where these things had happened, but no two of them had occurred +within a time too short for a man to ride from one to the other. + +And now came the list of the bold crimes committed since the day, four +weeks ago, when Buck Thornton had ridden into Dry Town with the five +thousand dollars. Kemble, to the westward of the Poison Hole, told of +again losing cattle, seven big steers run off in a single night, nothing +left of them but their tracks and the tracks of a horse which +disappeared in the rocky mountain soil; Joe Lee, of the Figure Seven +Bar, to the north of the Poison Hole, reported the loss of nine cows and +two horses, all picked stock; Old Man King of the Bar X grew almost +speechless with trembling wrath at the loss of at least a score of +cattle. And Ben Broderick, the mining man who was working his claim to +the eastward of the Poison Hole, admitted quietly that a man, a big man +wearing a bandana handkerchief as a mask, had slipped into his camp one +night, covered him with a heavy calibre Colt, and had taken away with +him a six hundred dollar can of dust. + +As yet no single loss had been noted by the Poison Hole outfit. But +Thornton believed that he saw the reason: now, there were few nights +that found him at the range cabin or his cowboys in the bunk house. His +cattle had been brought down from the mountains, herded into the open +meadow lands, and the night riders kept what watch they could upon the +big herds. Many a night he lay in his blankets close to the border of +his range upon the south, knowing that here and there upon other +borders, watching over his cattle, guarding the mouths of caņons down +which a rustler might choose his way, his men lay. He began to wish that +his property might be attacked, feeling secure in his alertness, +thinking that an over bold "badman" might come suddenly to the end of +his depredations here. And yet no attack came, not so much as a +wandering yearling was lost to him. + +Men of the stamp and calibre of these ranchers who were hearing of a +neighbour's losses only as a sort of prelude to their own, were not +patient men at the best, nor did such lives as they led permit of lax +hands and natures without initiative. It was in no way a surprise to +Thornton, upon riding to the Bar X, to learn that the cattle men were +now rising swiftly and actively to a defence of their own property. Many +of them lifted frank and angry voices in condemnation of their county +sheriff, many of them more generously admitted that Dalton was up +against a hard proposition and was doing all that any one man could do. +But they were unanimous in saying that what Cole Dalton couldn't do they +would do. + +This morning Thornton found old man King saddling his horse in the Bar X +corrals and snapping out orders to his foreman and the two cowboys who +sat their horses watching him with speculative eyes. His recent loss had +driven him to a towering rage and his voice shook with anger in it. + +"Twenty head they've took from me," he spat out angrily. "Twenty head +in one night an' they think they c'n git away with it an' go on doin' +jest what they damn please!" He jerked his cinch tight, climbed into his +saddle and as his young horse whirled about Thornton saw that he had a +rifle under his leg. + +"Them cows," he went on wrathfully, merely ducking his head at the new +comer, "will average a hundred dollars a head. Two thousan' bucks gone +like a fog when the sun's up! What in hell do you fellers think I'm +payin' you for?" + +"It ain't goin' to happen one more time," growled Bart Elliott, the +foreman whose wrath under the direct eyes of the "Old Man" was no less +than King's. "I jes' wish they'd try it on again...." + +"Ain't goin' to happen again, ain't it?" retorted King. "That's got to +satisfy me, huh? Jest so long as they take a couple thousan' dollars +out'n my pockets, an' then don't come back for _all_ I got, it's all +right, huh? Now you boys can jest nacherally take the glue out'n your +ears an' listen a minute: I'm goin' to know who took them cows an' where +they went, an' I'm goin' to have 'em back, every little cow brute of +'em! Git me, Elliott? An' you, Jim an' Hodge? If you fellers are lookin' +for jobs where you ain't got nothin' to do you better look somewhere +else. Now, listen some more." + +He told them that they would find two more rifles and a shotgun at the +range house. To this information he added that they could pack up some +grub and hit the trail along with him. For he was going to bring his +cattle back if he had to ride through three states to get them and back +through hell to drive them home. + +The men rode away to the range house talking among themselves, and King +swung about upon Thornton. + +"Hello, Buck," he said shortly. + +"Hello, King. Anything I can do?" + +"Not for me," said King drily. "How about yourself? Lost any cows off'n +the Poison Hole?" + +"Not a one. The rustlers seem to be giving me a wide berth. I've had my +men out every night, though. Maybe they've got wise." + +King looked at him sharply. And Thornton was vaguely aware in that swift +glance of something which made but little impression on him at the time, +something which he forgot even as he saw it, imagining he had misread +but something to be remembered in the days that followed: it was a cool, +steely look of suspicion. + +"Mebbe," King grunted. "It's happenin' all _aroun'_ you. I wasn't sayin' +much so long's it didn't come too close the Bar X. An' now I ain't goin' +to _say_ much." + +Thornton finished his errand with Old Man King and saw him with his men +ride away into the little hills of the range. Then he was turning back +toward the Poison Hole when young King, riding around the corner of the +barn, called to him. + +"Hello, Bud," Thornton said casually. "What's the word?" + +Bud King rode up to him before he answered. Then, sitting loosely in +the saddle, his eyes meditative upon one free, swinging boot, he +answered. + +"There's a dance over to the school house tonight, for one thing. +Coming, Buck?" + +Thornton shook his head. + +"No. Hadn't heard of it and I guess I'll be busy enough without prancing +out to dances." And then, a little curiosity in his even tones, "How +does it happen you're not out hunting rustlers with the old man?" + +Young King lifted his head and again Thornton saw in a man's eyes a +thing which was so vague that it went almost unnoted, a look of veiled +suspicion. + +"The old man hunts his way and I hunt mine," Bud King said briefly. "And +besides, I haven't been to a shindig for six months." + +A little flush ran up into his face under Thornton's level glance, and +Buck laughed softly. + +"Who's the girl, Bud?" he challenged. + +"Aw, go chase yourself," Bud flung back at him, but with a reddening +grin. To Thornton came a swift inspiration. + +"Wonder if Miss Waverly will be over from the Corners?" he asked. + +"Dunno," Bud replied innocently, so innocently that Thornton laughed +again. + +Thornton rode back to the Poison Hole. And as he went, his thoughts ran +now to the mission upon which old man King had set forth, now upon the +wisdom of shaving, putting on his best suit and new hat and going to a +dance.... + +"It isn't so much I want to see her again," he told himself, "as I want +to give back her spur rowel!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE DANCE AT DEER CREEK SCHOOLHOUSE + + +Deer Creek schoolhouse stood in a tiny, emerald valley half a dozen +miles from Hill's Corners, some fifteen miles from Thornton's cabin, its +handful of barefooted pupils coming from the families scattered through +the valley. It was a one roomed building with two low doors and six +square windows. And yet it offered ample enough floor space and bench +accommodations for the valley dances, its one room being twenty-four +feet long and twelve feet wide, certainly over large for the single +"school marm" and her small flock, having been constructed with an eye +to just such social gatherings as the one tonight. + +The teacher's desk had been taken outdoors by willing hands; the pupils' +benches stood along the walls for the "women folk" during the +intermissions; upon the slightly raised platform at one end of the room +were the chairs for the musicians, fiddler and guitarist. And upon the +floor was much shaved candle. For light there were the four coal-oil +lamps with their foolish reflectors against the walls, and a full moon +shining in through door and windows. + +Thornton came late, late that is, for a country dance. It was after +nine o'clock when, riding Comet, he saw the schoolhouse lamps winking at +him through the oaks and heard the merry music of fiddle and guitar in +the frolic of a heel-and-toe polka. Already he made out here and there +the saddle horses which had brought so many "stags" so many miles to the +dance, and which stood tied to tree and shrub. Also there were the usual +spring wagons that had brought their family loads of father, mother, +son, daughter, hired man and the baby; while the inevitable cart was in +evidence speaking unmistakably of mooning couples whose budding interest +in each other did not permit of the drive in the family carry-all. + +Thornton noted the vehicles as he passed them, and turned to look at the +saddle horses, saying to himself, "So-and-so is here from Pine Ridge, +So-and-so from the Corners." For hereabouts a man knew another man's +horse and saddle, or wagon, as well as he knew the man himself. So when +Thornton saw the buckboard near the door with its two cream-coloured +mares, there was at once pleasure and speculation in his eyes, and he +told himself, "Somebody is here from Pollard's." + +He loosened Comet's cinch, flung the tie rope over the low limb of the +big oak near Pollard's team, and leaving his horse in the shadows, went +on to the open door. + +Already the polka had come to its giddy end. Men and women, boys and +girls, old folks with white hair and young folks in knee breeches and +short skirts, laughing and talking crisscrossed the floor this way and +that seeking seats. The girls and women sinking affectedly or plumping +in matter-of-fact style down into their places, with languishing upward +looks if they be young and in tune with the moon outside, with red faced +jollity and much frankness of chatter if they were married and perhaps +had a husband and children likewise disporting themselves, made long +rows about the walls of the schoolhouse, looking for the world like +orderly flocks of bright plumaged birds in their bravery of many hued +calicos and ginghams; a gay display of bold reds and shy blues, of +mellow yellows and soft pinks, with the fluttering of fans everywhere +like little restless wings. + +The men had left their partners, as custom demanded, and had gone to the +doors, energetically mopping their brows with handkerchiefs as various +in colour as the women's dresses; red and yellow silk, blue and purple, +and the eternal gaudy bandana. Thornton paused at the door, losing +himself among the men who had come out to stand there smoking or to +wander a little away in the darkness where earlier in the evening each +had hidden his personal flask under his particular bush. There would be +a good deal of drinking tonight, but then that too was custom, and there +was no more danger here of drunkenness than in those more pretentious +balls in town where men and women partake together of heady punch. + +Thornton passed words of greeting with many of these men, ranchers for +the most part whom he knew well. There was Bud King, his tie a vivid +scarlet, his store clothes a blue-bird-blue, the wide silk handkerchief +mopping his flushed face a rich yellow; there was Hank James from the +Deer Creek outfit speeding away with long strides to his own bottle +under his own bush where he might conceal the tremor of the new +happiness he had but come from and drink to the big-eyed girl in the +pink dress with the cascades of baby-ribbon; there was Ruf Ettinger with +his new overalls turned back the regulation six inches from the bottoms +in a cowboy cuff that permitted of the vision of six inches of grey +trouser leg below; there was Chase Harper of Tres Pinos in the smallest +boots man ever wore, with the highest heels, their newness a thing of +which in their pride they shrieked manfully as he walked; and there was +Ben Broderick, the miner, quietly dressed in black broadcloth, looking +almost the man of the city. To him Thornton merely nodded, briefly, +knowing the man but little, liking him less. But Broderick put out his +hand, saying cordially: + +"Hello, Buck. Going to shake a leg a little?" + +"I might." They were just outside the door, and the cowboy's eyes +running on past the miner sought up and down the lines of chatting women +for the girl who had tempted him to his first dance in many months. He +had seen Pollard's team, but he had not seen Pollard or his niece. +Broderick watched him, smiling a little. "Have a drink, Buck?" he asked, +seeming not to have noticed the other's curtness of word and manner. +"I've got something prime outside." + +"Not thirsty right now, Broderick," Thornton returned coolly. + +Then he heard a man's voice from the shadows at his back, and without +turning knew that Henry Pollard was out there, just behind him. At the +same instant his busy eyes found the girl he sought. + +Winifred Waverly's days in Hill's Corners had had little enough of the +joy of life in them for her; she had felt that she breathed an +atmosphere charged with forces which she could not understand; upon her +spirit had rested a weight of uncertainty and uneasiness and suspicion; +the men she saw had hard, sinister faces and seemed cast for dark, +merciless things; even her uncle appeared a strange sort of stranger to +her and she shrank from following her natural train of surmise and +suspicion when now and then she surprised a certain look upon his face +or when she saw him with the type of man with whom he mixed. + +Tonight it was as though after a long period of gloomy, overcast skies, +a storm had passed and the sun had broken through. About her were light +and music, the merry faces of children and girls with everywhere joyous, +full throated, light hearted laughter. And the spirit of her ran out to +meet the simple joy of the dance, glad just to be glad again. + +Thornton knew that he had found her before she turned her face toward +him. He recognized the trim little figure although now the riding habit +was discarded for a pretty gown of white which he guessed her own quick +fingers had fashioned for the dance; he recognized the white neck with +the brown tendrils of hair rebelling from the ribbon-band about her +head. And then, when she turned a little, he stared at her from his +vantage in the outside darkness, wondering if she had grown prettier +than ever in the few weeks since he had seen her, or if it were the +dress and the way she wore her hair with a white flower in it, or if he +had been half blind that other time. + +There was a warm, tender flush upon her cheeks telling of her happiness. +Her eyes shone, soft in their brightness, and her lips were red with the +leaping blood of youth. She had turned to speak with Mrs. Sturgis, the +stoutest, jolliest and altogether most motherly woman in the valley, and +Mrs. Sturgis, watching her eyes and lips and paying no attention to her +words, put out her plump hands suddenly, crying heartily: + +"You pretty little mouse! If I had just one wish I'd wish I was a man, +an' I'd just grab you up in my arms an' I wouldn't stop goin' until I +set you down in front of a preacher. Come here an' let Mother Mary kiss +you." + +"There's a woman with brains for you, Buck," chuckled Broderick. + +Thornton, though he agreed very heartily just then, did so in silence. + +"It's Winifred Waverly," went on Broderick carelessly. "She's Henry +Pollard's niece, you know. A little beauty, don't you think?" + +Thornton nodded. Again he had agreed but he did not care to discuss her +with Ben Broderick. The miner laughed lightly, and added for Thornton's +further information, + +"As keen a dancer as she is a looker. And a flirt from the drop of the +hat! Had the last dance with her. Which reminds me I better hurry and +down my booze and get back. I'm going to rope her for the next dance, +too." + +Broderick went his way for his bottle. Thornton did not speak, did not +turn, did not move that a man might see. But the fingers of the hand at +his side twitched suddenly and for a moment were tense. + +"Pollard can't help being mostly rattlesnake," he muttered angrily. "But +he ought to be man enough to keep his own blood kin away from Ben +Broderick's kind. Lord, Lordy, but it's sure enough hell folks can't +help having uncles like Ben Pollard. Poor little girl!" And then, +thoughtfully, his eyes filled with speculation as they rested upon +Winifred Waverly, "Mother Mary Sturgis was absolutely right!" + +Now the fiddler was tuning with long drawn bow, and the patting of the +guitarist's foot told that he was ready. Thornton, tossing his hat to +the teacher's desk just outside the door, entered the building and +strode straight to the girl. Other men were hurrying across the floor +eager to be first to ask this or that demurely waiting maiden for the +dance, but Thornton was well in the lead. He nodded and smiled and spoke +to many of the women whom he knew, but he did not stop until he came to +Winifred Waverly and Mrs. Sturgis. There he was stopped by the older +woman who had not read his intentions, and who, thinking that he was +going by, took his arm in her two plump hands. + +"Why, Buck Thornton, you rascal, you!" she cried heartily. "Where you +been all year? I ain't seen you since I c'n remember. An' where you +think you're goin', stampedin' along like a runaway horse?" + +"Howdy, Mother Mary," he returned as they shook hands. "I was headed +right here to see you and Miss Waverly. Howdy, Miss Waverly." + +The eyes which the girl turned upon him were wide with surprise. She had +had no thought that he would come here tonight. Surely he must know that +her uncle, the man whom he had robbed, was here! And Broderick, +too--another man whom he had robbed! And how many others? And yet he had +come, he seemed careless and without uneasiness, he dared to speak with +her quite as if that which had happened in Harte's cabin had never +occurred outside of his own imaginings. He even had the assurance to put +out his hand to her! As though she would touch him!... + +"Take your pardners for a waltz!" cried Chase Harper of the Tres Pinos, +he of the small boots, coming in through the door, wiping his mouth and +resuming his duties as "caller" of the dances. "Shake a leg, boys!" + +The hurried progress of men in search of "pardners" became a race, boots +clumped noisily against the floor, the cowboys swooped down upon the +line of women folks, often enough there was no spoken invitation to the +waltz as a strong arm ran about a lithe waist, the fiddle scraped, the +guitar thrummed into the tune, and with the first note they were +dancing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SIX FEET FOUR! + + +Winifred Waverly looked steadily into Buck Thornton's eyes, suddenly +determined that she would see in them the guile which must be there. +Surely a man could not do the things which this man so brazenly did, and +not show something of it! And she saw a glance as steady as her own, +eyes as clear and filled with a very frank admiration. In spite of her, +her color rose and her eyes wavered a little. Then she noticed that Mrs. +Sturgis's keen eyes were upon her, and swiftly drove the expression from +her own eyes and returned Thornton's greeting indifferently. Some day +her uncle would accuse this man, but she did not care to give her +personal affair over to the tongue of gossip, nor did she care to have +her name linked in any way with Buck Thornton's. + +"May I have this dance, Miss Waverly?" + +He had put out his arm as though her affirmative were a foregone +conclusion. She stared at him, wondering where were the limits to this +man's audacity. Then, before she could reply, Mrs. Sturgis had answered +for her. For Mrs. Sturgis was a born match maker, Buck was like a son to +her motherly heart, Winifred Waverly was the "sweetest little thing" +she had ever seen, and they had in them the making of such a couple as +Mrs. Sturgis couldn't find every day of the week. + +"Go 'long with you, Buck Thornton!" she cried, making a monumental +failure of the frown with which she tried to draw her placid brows. +"Here I thought all the time you was goin' to ask me!" + +Then she jerked him by the arm, dragging him nearer, playfully pushed +the girl toward him, and before she well knew what had happened Winifred +found herself in Thornton's arms, whirling with him to the merry-fiddled +music, putting out her little slipper by the side of his big boot to the +step of the rye-waltz. And Mrs. Sturgis, drawing her twinkling eyes away +from them and turning upon Ben Broderick, who had arrived just too late, +with as much malice in her smile as she knew how to put into it, +remarked meaningly, + +"A little slow, Mr. Broderick! You got to keep awake when there's a man +like Buck around." + +And she seemed very much pleased with the look in Broderick's eyes, a +look of blended surprise and irritation. + +"Thornton and her uncle are not just exactly friends," he retorted +coolly. + +"If they was," she flung back at him, "I'd think a heap sight more of +ol' Ben Pollard!" + +Mrs. Sturgis's manoeuvre had so completely taken the girl by surprise +that as she floated away in the cowboy's arms she was for a little +undecided what to do. She did not want to dance with Thornton; it had +been upon the tip of her tongue to make the old excuse and tell him that +she was engaged for this waltz. In that way the whole episode would have +passed unnoticed. But now, if they stopped, if she had him take her to +her seat and leave her, everybody would see, everybody would talk, +gossip would remember that when she had first come to Hill's Corners +John Smith had ridden with her as far as the Bar X, and that Smith had +told there how Buck Thornton had ridden as far as his place with her; +and then gossip would go on into endless speculation as to what had +happened upon the trail which now made her refuse to dance with him. + +That was why she hesitated, undecided, at first. Then Thornton began to +speak and she wanted to know what he was going to say. Besides, she +admitted to herself, begrudgingly, that she had never known a man dance +as this man danced, and the magic of the waltz was on her. + +"I had to return something you left at Harte's Camp," were his first +words. "That's the reason I rode over tonight." + +"What is it?" she asked quickly. + +Now suddenly there rose up into her heart a swift hope that after all he +was not entirely without principle, that he had grown ashamed of having +taken from a girl the money with which she had been entrusted and that +he was bringing it back to her. If he were man enough to do this ... the +blood ran up higher in her cheeks at the thought ... she could almost +forgive him for that other thing he had done. + +So they moved on in the dance, her hand resting lightly in his, his +fingers closing about it with no hint of a pressure to tell her that +again he would take what small advantage he could, his eyes looking +gravely down into the eyes which flashed up at him with her question. + +"Didn't you lose anything that night?" he countered. "In the cabin after +I went for the horses?" + +"Well?" she countered, the quick hope leaping higher within her. + +"You did?" + +She wondered why his eyes were so grave, so stern now, why they had +ceased to say flattering things of her and merely hinted of a mind at +work on a puzzle. How could she know that while she was thinking of a +yellow, cloth lined envelope, he was thinking of a horse lamed with a +knife, and hoping to learn from her something of the man who had wounded +the animal? + +"Well?" she asked again, hardly above a whisper. Did he dare even talk +of it here, among all these men and women? She glanced about her +anxiously to see if Pollard were in the room. "You are going to give it +back to me?" + +Her wonderment was hardly more than Thornton's. Why should she show this +eager excitement, because of a lost spur rowel? + +"I rode over to give it to you," he answered, swinging her clear of an +eddy in the swirl of dancers and to the edge of the crowd. "First, +though, I want you to tell me something. A man came into the cabin about +three minutes before you came out to the barn, didn't he?" + +She had lowered her eyes, aware that people were noticing them, her +looking up so earnestly, him looking down into her face so gravely. But +now, in spite of her, she looked up at him again. + +"Why do you ask that?" she demanded with a flash of anger that he should +continue this useless pretence. "Do you think I am a fool?" + +"No. I am asking because I want to know. It's a safe gamble that the man +you had a tussel with is the man who lamed my horse." + +"Is it?" she asked with cool sarcasm. "And it's just as safe a gamble +that he is a coward and a ... brute!" + +"I don't know about his being a coward, and I don't care about his being +a brute," he told her steadily. "But I do want to know what he looks +like." + +Again she called herself a little fool and bit her lip in the surge of +her vexation. She had been glad and over eager just now to restore her +faith to this big brut of a man; at a mere word from him she had been +ready to condone a crime and forgive an insult.... She felt her face +grow hot; he had kissed her rudely and she had been willing to find +excuses, she had even felt as odd sort of thrill tingling through her. +And now this eternal play-acting of his, this insane pretence.... + +"Mr. Thornton, this is getting us nowhere," she reminded him coldly. "If +you care to be told I can assure you that I know perfectly well who the +man was who ... who came into the cabin that night. And I think that it +would be for the best if you returned ... my property!" + +"I'm going to return it. Now, will you answer my question? Will you tell +me who that man was?" + +"Why do you pretend in this stupid way?" she demanded hotly. + +"Why don't you tell me who he was?" he returned, frowning a little. + +For a moment she did not answer. Then, her voice very low, she said, +speaking slowly, + +"I don't tell you, Mr. Thornton, because you know as well as I do!" + +She saw nothing but blank amazement in his eyes. + +"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you," he informed her. + +Again she looked up at him, their eyes meeting steadily, searchingly. + +"You say that you don't know who it was?" she challenged. And the eyes +into which she looked were as clear of guile as a mountain lake when he +answered: + +"No. I don't know!" + +Then through lips which were moulded to a passionate scorn no less of +self than of him, in a fierce whisper, she paid him in the coin of her +contempt with the one word: "_Liar_!" + +She saw the anger leap up into his eyes and the red run into his bronzed +skin, she felt the arm about her contract tensely until for one dizzy +second she thought that he would crush her. And then they were swinging +on through the dance to the merry beat of the music and above the music +she heard his soft laugh. + +He did not look at her, nor did she again lift her eyes to his. But both +of them saw Broderick where he stood near the door, his hands shoved +down into his pockets, his tall, gaunt form leaning against the wall. +His eyes had been following them, and there was in them an expression +hard to read. It might have been anger or distrust or suspicion. + +And both Thornton and Winifred as they turned in the dance caught a +quick glimpse of the face of another man. It was Henry Pollard. He had +evidently just come in and as evidently had not seen Thornton and his +niece dancing together until this moment. And the look in his eyes +springing up naked and startled was a thing easy to read. For it was the +look of fear! + +Winifred Waverly tried to tell herself that it was fear for her, at +seeing her in Thornton's arms. But she knew that it was not. Nor was it +fear for himself, not mere physical fear of Thornton. Already she knew +of her uncle that the man was no coward. It was not that kind of fear; +it was a fear that was apprehension, dread lest something might happen. +What? "_Dread that something he did not want her to know might become +known to her in her talk with Buck Thornton!_" + +It was as though a voice had shouted it in her ear. Where so many things +were muddled in inexplicability this one matter seemed suddenly +perfectly clear to her. He had not wanted her to talk with Buck +Thornton! Why? + +Thornton, with no further word to her, had bowed to her, his eyes hard +and stern, and taking a paper-wrapped packet from his vest pocket had +given it to her, and had walked swiftly to the door near which Broderick +stood. In spite of her her eyes had gone down the room after the tall +figure. And then something happened which could have meant nothing to +any one else in the house, but which brought leaping up into the girl's +heart both fear and gladness. And, at last, understanding. + +Broderick, smiling, had said some light word to Thornton, laying his +hand upon the cowboy's shoulder. For a moment, just the fraction of a +second the two men stood side by side in the open doorway. Until they +stood so, close together, a man would have said that they were of the +same height. Now Winifred marked that there was a full two-inch +difference and that Thornton was the taller. + +Together they stepped out through the doorway. The door was low, Buck +stooped his head a little, Broderick passed out without stooping! It +seemed only last night that she had made her supper in the Harte camp +with Buck Thornton. She remembered so distinctly each little event. She +could see him now as he had sat making his cigarette, could see him +going to the door to look at the upclimbing moon. She had marked then +the tall, wiry body that must stoop a little to stand in the low +doorway. She had jested about his height; the six-feet-four of him, as +he called it.... + +She could see again the man who had come in, masked, the man whose +clothes were like the clothes of Buck Thornton even to the grey neck +handkerchief. She could remember that this man had stood in the same +doorway, that his eyes had gleamed at her through the slits in the +handkerchief,... that he had held his head thrown back, that he had not +stooped! + +"It wasn't Buck Thornton!" she whispered to herself, her hands going +white in their tense grip upon the parcel they held. "A man did lame his +horse, a man who wanted me to think all the time that it was Buck +Thornton. And that man," with swift certainty, "is Ben Broderick! Uncle +Henry's friend. And Uncle ... knows!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +POLLARD TALKS "BUSINESS" + + +The promise of the night flat and stale in his mouth, Thornton turned +his back upon the merriment in the little schoolhouse and strode away to +his horse awaiting him under the oak. He tightened the cinch with a +savage jerk, coiled his tie rope and flung himself into the saddle. Did +he not already have enough on his hands without running after a girl +with grey eyes and a blazing temper? Had he not already enough to think +about, what with guarding his range interests from a possible visit from +the marauder who was driving wrath into the hearts of the cattle men and +terror into the hearts of the isolated families, what with scraping +every dollar here and there that he might be on time with his final +payment to Henry Pollard? Must he further puzzle over the insolent whims +of a captious girl? + +Which was all very well, and yet as he turned Comet's head toward the +Poison Hole ranch the blood was still hot on his brow, his thoughts were +still busy with Winifred Waverly and the enigma she was to him, while +his mind, still touched with the opiate of the loveliness of her, was +filled with the picture she made in the moment of her flaming +accusation. + +"I have been calling her Miss Grey Eyes!" he mused angrily. "That name +doesn't suit her. Little Blue Blazes would be better!" + +"Mr. Thornton!" + +It was Henry Pollard's voice, and for a moment Thornton had no thought +of heeding it. But the voice called again, and he drew an impatient +rein, waiting. + +"Well," came his answer shortly. "What do _you_ want?" + +"I want to talk business with you or I wouldn't stop you," Pollard +returned coolly. He came close to Comet's head and in the same, cool, +impersonal voice continued. + +"When time comes for your last payment are you going to be able to make +it?" + +"Until time does come," Thornton snapped at him, "it's my business what +I'm going to do." + +"Certainly it's your business. But since you've put fifteen thousand +into it already I guess you won't slip up on the last five thousand. Now +it's nearly five months until that payment falls due, isn't it?" + +"Well? Talk fast, Pollard." + +"I want to make you a proposition. I need money, and I don't mind saying +that I need it bad! I've got a chance for something good, something big, +in a mining speculation, and I'm short of cash. If I could raise the +money within thirty days..." + +Thornton laughed. + +"Nothing doing, Pollard," he cut in. "When your money's due you can +come talk to me. Not before." + +"I said I had a proposition, didn't I?" went on Pollard evenly. "I see +where I can make by it, and I'm willing for you to profit at the same +time." + +"Spit it out. Where do I get off?" + +"You owe me five thousand yet." + +"Five thousand with interest, six per cent...." + +"Forget the interest; I don't want it. And I'll carve five hundred +dollars off the five thousand too, if you'll raise it within thirty +days. That is my proposition. What do you say to it?" + +For a little Buck Thornton was silent, thinking swiftly. For the life of +him he could not but look for some trickery in any proposition which +might come from "Rattlesnake" Pollard. And when Pollard coolly offered +to give away eight hundred dollars, five hundred of it principal, three +hundred interest, Thornton had an uneasy sense that there was something +crooked in the deal. But at the same time he knew that a year ago +Pollard had been short of funds and for this reason had been driven to +sell the Poison Hole. Hence it might be that now Pollard was telling the +truth when he said that he needed money. + +"You mean," he said presently, speaking slowly, trying to see Pollard's +face in the shadows, "that if I come across with four thousand five +hundred dollars in thirty days you will give me the deed to the Poison +Hole?" + +"That's what I mean," agreed Pollard bluntly. "It's a proposition you +can take or leave alone. Only you have got to take it right now if you +want it. What do you say?" + +"I've got out the habit of carrying forty-five hundred around in my vest +pocket...." + +"You've got an equity of fifteen thousand in a range that is worth a +whole lot more than you are paying for it, young man! The bank in Dry +Town would advance you the money and never bat an eye." + +Again Thornton asked himself swiftly if there were some trap here +Pollard was setting for him to blunder into. But he could see none, and +he could understand that matters might stand so that the smaller sum +_now_ would be worth more to him than the larger amount in five months. + +"This is the fifteenth," replied the cowboy. "On the twenty-fifth I'll +have the money ready at the Dry Town bank." + +"I don't want it in the bank," Pollard told him shortly. "I want it in +my fist! It's just about time for the stage to get held up again, and +I'm taking no chances on this bet. You bring the money to _me_ or the +bet's off." + +"An' _I_ take the chances of gettin' held up!" grunted Thornton. + +"You take all the chances there are. You stand to make eight hundred +dollars, and you can take it or leave it! If you take it you can have +the papers made out in town, deed and receipt and all, and I'll sign +them. You can bring them to me at the Corners, or," with a little sneer +creeping into his cool voice, "if you don't like the Corners, anywhere +you say. And you can have half a dozen witnesses if you like." + +"Why don't you ride with me into Dry Town?" + +"Because I don't want to! Because, if you agree to put this thing over, +I'm going to be mighty busy getting my deal in shape here and on the +other side of the line." + +"All right. I'll take the chance," Thornton said crisply, his voice as +cool as Pollard's had been. "I'll raise the money and I'll get the +papers made out. I'll bring them to you at Hill's Corners on the morning +of the twenty-fifth." + +He reined Comet about, turning again toward the range, and gave him his +head. Pollard watched him a moment, then swinging about upon his heel, +went back toward the school house. Chase Harper's voice from within rose +above the fiddle and guitar, calling for the quadrille. Broderick came +forward to meet Pollard. + +"Well?" he asked quickly. "You made him your proposition?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he say?" Broderick's voice and eyes alike were eager. + +"He swallowed it whole," laughed Pollard. + +Broderick laughed with him, and then suddenly, the laughter going out of +his voice, his hand shutting down tight upon Pollard's arm and drawing +him away further from the door, deeper into the shadows, his words +almost a whisper, he said: + +"He danced with Winifred. You saw that?" + +"Yes, damn him. That's what he came for. But I don't think that they +said anything...." + +"Shut up, man! Don't you suppose I know what you mean? I don't know what +they said. It's up to you to find out. He gave her something, a little +parcel done up in paper. I don't know what. That's up to you, too. And, +what's more," and his voice grew harsh with the menace in it, "it's up +to you that they don't see each other again! I don't think that any harm +was done tonight. He went away red-mad. When I stopped him at the door +for a minute he hardly knew I was there. They didn't say a word to each +other the last half of their dance. She said something to him, and her +eyes were on fire when she said it, like his when he went out; that put +an end to their talk. They didn't even say good night." + +"I've got a notion to send her away," muttered Pollard sullenly. "It was +a fool idea to drag a woman into this." + +"Send her away ... now?" cried Broderick sharply. "You're the fool, +Pollard. She's the best bit of evidence we've got. Keep her here, but +for God's sake, man, keep her close! And let's jam this thing through to +a quick finish." + +"You're right, I suppose, Broderick." Pollard ran his hand across a wet +forehead. "We've got to put the whole thing across in a hurry. Ten days, +and we'll wind it up.... What's Cole Dalton doing?" + +"He's getting mighty hot under the collar," said Broderick grimly. "He's +got to get somebody in his little old jail damn' soon, or he'll have a +bunch of wild men in his hair. And he knows it. Now we can get our crop +planted and things will be ripe for him to gather in in eleven days." + +"Let's go inside." Pollard turned toward the front door. "I want to see +Winifred. I want to see how she looks before she gets through thinking +about Thornton." + +And Winifred Waverly, who, after her stunned hesitation when she had +seen Thornton and Broderick standing side by side in the doorway, and +who had hurried out through the back door, hoping to find Thornton +before he had gone, got to her feet in the black shadow where she had +crouched by the school house wall, her face dead white, her eyes wide +and staring, her heart pounding wildly. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE GIRL AND THE GAME + + +She did not fully understand, she could not grasp everything yet, she +was filled with doubts and suspicions and a growing terror. What had her +uncle said to Thornton, what had the cowboy "swallowed whole"? What was +the whole scheme which connected the two men, which envolved Thornton +and the sheriff, which seemed clear in one moment only to be a tangle in +the next? + +One thing only was perfectly clear now to the girl. And seeing it, she +gathered up her skirts in her two hands and ran, ran back along the +wall, keeping in the shadows, drawing close about her the dark cloak she +had thrown about her white dress. She must get into the house before +they came in, she must let her face show nothing, she must have time to +think before she spoke with them. So she came to the back door, paused a +brief moment, commanding her nerves to be steady, then slipped in, +letting the cloak fall from her shoulders. She saw Bud King standing +with his back to the wall watching the dancers, and going swiftly to +him, putting her hand lightly upon his arm, she summoned a smile into +her eyes as she cried breathlessly: + +"Will you dance this with me?" + +Young King looked at her in quick surprise, startled at the nearness of +the girl for whom his eyes had been seeking, and a little flush ran up +into his cheeks, a sparkle of gladness into his eyes. + +"Sure," he grinned happily. "I been looking for you, Miss Waverly." + +He ran his arm about her, she bent her head a little so that he could +not see the whiteness of her face, and they caught the beat of the +music. She lost the step, purposely that she might have a little more +time before they pass down the room toward Pollard and Broderick, +hesitated, taking her time to catch it, laughed at his apology for the +mistake, noted that her own laugh sounded free and natural, caught the +step, and swirled away into the crowd, daring now to look up laughingly +into Bud's face unmindful of the havoc she was working in his soul. The +two-step was lively; the room was warm, and the colour rose high in her +cheeks. But still she was careful to turn her head a little as they +whirled by the front door. But when, for the second time, the dance +carried them to the end of the room where Pollard and Broderick were, +she was so sure of herself that she sent a quick, laughing glance at her +uncle. And a little of the tightness about her heart was gone as she saw +the look of relief in his eyes. + +King, reckless with the wine of her, demanded the next waltz, claiming +that this had been only half a dance, and she gave it to him laughingly, +the more pleased that she saw Broderick coming toward her and that this +was the second time tonight that he had been a little too late, and that +she saw a frown in his eyes as they followed her and King out upon the +floor. + +But she knew that if she play her part as she must play it until she +could have time for the definite shaping of plans, she must dance again +with Broderick. When he came for her she nodded carelessly, let him take +her into his arms, and even looking up at him, forced a smile. For +surely, if these men could do what they were doing and give no hint of +it, she could play her part with clear eyes and a steady heart. She knew +now that Ben Broderick was a highwayman, that he had forced upon her the +insult of his kiss; already she suspected him of being the man who had +murdered Bill Varney, who had committed crime upon crime. But she knew, +too, and with as clear a knowledge, that she must give no slightest sign +of what her thoughts were. And as a result Mrs. Sturgis, watching her, +vowed to herself that "that Win Waverly was a little devil of a flirt!" + +It seemed an endlessly long time until midnight. The lunches which had +come in baskets and boxes were spread out upon the benches, coffee was +made outside and brought in in steaming, blackened coffee pots to be +poured into tin cups, and the supper was a noisy, successful affair. The +girl so wanted to slip away, to get back into her own room at Pollard's +house where she might drop all pretence and think, think, think! But she +knew that she must seem to enjoy the dance, she must not let her uncle +guess that the night had grown bitter in her mouth as it had in Buck +Thornton's. + +The benches were cleared and pushed back against the walls, the +musicians were at it again, when Pollard came to her. + +"Don't you think, Winifred, we'd better be going?" he asked quietly. "It +is late, we've got a good ride ahead of us and I have a lot to do +tomorrow." + +But she pleaded for one more dance, and then one more, and finally with +much seeming regretfulness allowed her uncle to slip on her cloak for +her. + +"I may be a hypocrite," she told herself a little sternly, as she sat in +the buckboard at her uncle's side. "But they are playing me for a little +fool! And ... and if they knew that I guessed...." + +She shivered and Pollard asked if she were cold. + +It was a swift drive with few words spoken. Winifred, her chin sunk in +her wraps, seemed to be dozing much of the way, and Henry Pollard had +enough to think about to make the silence grateful. The cream-coloured +mares raced out across the level land of the valley, with little thought +of the light wagon and much thought of the home stable and hay. And, +racing on, they sped at last through the long alley-like street of +Hill's Corners, into the glaring light from the saloons, by many shadows +at the corners of houses, their ears smitten by much noise of loud +voices and the clack of booted feet upon the board sidewalks. When +Pollard jerked in his team at his own front gate, the girl slipped +quickly from the buckboard, saying quietly: + +"I think I'll go right up to bed, Uncle Henry. I'm a little tired. Thank +you for taking me." + +And when he said, "Good night, Winifred," she called back her good night +to him, and hurried under the old pear trees to the house. In the hall +she found her lamp burning where Mrs. Riddell had left it for her, and +taking it up she climbed the stairs to her room. + +At last she was alone and could think! Her door was locked, her light +was out that no one might know she was awake, and she was crouching at +the open window, staring out at the night. + +Out of a tangle of many doubts, suspicions and live terrors there were +at first two things which caught the high lights of her understanding, +standing clear of the shadows which obscured the others. Buck Thornton +was absolutely innocent of the thing she had imputed to him, and +unsuspecting of the evidence which was being piled up against him. And +her own uncle was the friend and the actual accomplice of the real +criminal. + +Her thoughts harked back to the beginning of the story as she knew it, +reverting to that night when she had first seen Buck Thornton at Poke +Drury's road house. From that she passed in review all that she knew of +him; how he had come in while she was talking with the banker about the +errand which was to carry her over a lonely trail to her uncle. At first +she had been quick to suspect that Thornton had overheard a part of +their conversation, that he had known from the first that she was +carrying the five thousand dollars. Now she realized with a little +twinge of bitter self-accusation that she had been over hasty in judging +the man who had been kind to her. + +She remembered how, on the trail from Dry Town, she had seen a man +following her, a man whose face, at the distance he maintained, was +hidden from her by his flapping hat brim, but whom she believed to be +Thornton. Upon what had she founded her belief? Upon the matter of his +being of about the size and form of the cowboy, upon the fact that he +rode a sorrel horse and that his clothes, even to the grey neck +handkerchief, were the same! How easy, how simple a matter for another +man to have a sorrel horse and to wear clothes like Thornton's! + +She remembered that the cowboy's surprise had seemed sincere and lively +when she had told him she had seen him; she recalled his courtesy to her +in the Harte cabin, his willingness to walk seven miles carrying his +heavy saddle that she might have a night's rest under a roof with +another woman. Not to be forgotten was the wrath in his eye and voice +when she had come upon him with his limping horse, and now, at last she +knew why his horse had been lamed and by whom! For that seemingly wanton +cruelty had accomplished that which it was planned to do, making her +certain beyond a doubt that Thornton had lied to her, that he had been +the man whom she had seen following her, hence that he it was who had +robbed her and had kissed her into the bargain. + +Now, in an altered mood she cast in review all that John Smith and his +wife had told her of him, and she knew that her first judgment there in +the storm-smitten road house, when she had deemed him clean and honest +and manly, had been the right judgment; that he was a man and a +gentleman; that he could be all that his eyes told of him, gentle unto +tenderness or as hard as tempered steel but always ... a man. + +But there was so much which she did not grasp yet. She heard Henry +Pollard return from the stable where he had left the horses and enter +the house, passing down the hallway to his room. Still she sat, never +stirring save for the little involuntary shiver which ran over her from +head to foot, as her uncle came into the house. And still she worked at +the patchwork of her puzzle, putting it together piece by piece. + +"Buck Thornton didn't do it," she whispered to herself, looking up at +the stars flung across the sky above the ugly little town. "Ben +Broderick did do it. He robbed me of Uncle's money. And Uncle knows! I +don't understand!" + +But at last she thought that she did understand. Thornton was buying the +Poison Hole ranch from Pollard. Already he had paid fifteen thousand +dollars into the deal. Now, what would happen if it were proven that +Thornton had stolen back from Pollard's emissary five thousand of that +money? Thornton would go to jail and for a long time, and then.... + +But why was Pollard waiting? Why was Broderick waiting, urging +the sheriff to wait? She saw it all in a flash then! They would +prove ... they thought that they were sure of proof through her! ... that +Buck Thornton had robbed her of the five thousand dollars. They would +prove that Buck Thornton had killed Bill Varney; that he had robbed Hap +Smith at Poke Drury's road house; they would prove that Buck Thornton was +the man the whole country wanted, the man who had committed crime upon +crime! She knew that he was a new man here, that he had lived on the +Poison Hole ranch for only a year and that the evidence of which her own +word was to have been a part, would be sufficient to prove to the +countryside that Buck Thornton was the daredevil marauder they sought. +And how undeniably strong would that evidence be if all crime ceased +abruptly upon the arrest of this one man! + +"It would not be the penitentiary for Buck Thornton," she thought +suddenly, her face whiter than it had been when she had overheard +Pollard and Broderick. "The ranch would come back into Henry Pollard's +hands, the men who have committed these crimes would be able to keep the +thousands and thousands of dollars they have taken from stages and +stolen cattle, and Buck Thornton would go to the gallows!" + +It was unbelievable, it was unthinkable, it was impossible! And yet.... + +"And yet," she whispered through her white lips, "it is the truth!" + +She sprang to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes +blazing. Buck Thornton had been good to her and in return she had done +much to give him over into their hands, she had insulted and reviled +him, she had sworn to the sheriff that he had robbed her. Now suddenly +she felt that she could never sleep again if she did not atone to him. + +She was already at the door, her hat and gloves in her hand, ready to +run down stairs, to saddle her horse, to ride to Thornton with word of +warning, when a new thought came to her. + +They were waiting, they were going to wait ten days; that much she had +overheard. Waiting for what? For some new crime, for the monster crime +of all, for the last play for the last and biggest stake? + +She, too, would wait. Not ten days but until she might slip away without +this danger of being seen, of her errand being guessed. In the meantime +she would learn what she could. + +She had not forgotten that Henry Pollard was her uncle. The thought +added its bitterness. But she remembered, too, the look she had seen +upon Pollard's face when she had told him that Thornton had robbed her, +she remembered the look of cruel satisfaction she had surprised there +more than once, and she knew that were he more than uncle, closer than +uncle, she could not act otherwise than she must act now. + +Then, suddenly, she sank down upon her bed, alone and lonely in the +thick darkness, weary and vaguely afraid. + +"Buck Thornton," she whispered, "I am afraid I need your help as much as +you need mine now!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE YELLOW ENVELOPE AGAIN! + + +Old man King, red eyed with wrath, had gone out after the cattle +rustlers in his own direct fashion, seeking to follow the trail of +running steers through the mountain passes, his eye hard, his rifle +ready, his mind eager to suspect any man to whom that trail might lead. +But he found only confused tracks which ran toward the state border line +and which vanished before even his sharp eyes, leading nowhere. + +Young Bud King, his own anger little less than his father's, went forth +on another trail, not after the running steers but after a man. And he +went to the town of Dead Man's Alley. Mentally he had made his list of +the men to whom one might look to for the commission of the crime which +had driven the Bar X outfit to action. Being no man's fool, young King +planned to go first to the source of the stream, as it were, and thence +to travel downward seeking to see who had muddied the waters. And his +"one chief bet" was that the source was in Hill's Corners. + +The result of Bud King's investigations, so far as he was concerned, was +little different from that of his father's and negligible. But his +journey to the town of the bad name was of vast importance to others. + +Winifred Waverly, upon the morning after the dance, came down late to +her breakfast, and found that Pollard had waited for her. Although he +was not in the habit of offering her this little courtesy, she thought +nothing of it at first, having enough of other matters in her brain, +perplexing her. But before the meal was over she knew why Henry Pollard +had waited for her. + +It was plain to her that he realized that some real importance might be +attached to the matter of her having seen Buck Thornton last night, of +having danced and talked with him. On the ride home he had not referred +to the cattle man nor had she. Now, in great seeming carelessness but +with his eyes keen upon her, he spoke lightly of the dance, mentioned +that he had seen Thornton talking to one of the men at the schoolhouse +door and wondered why he had gone so early. + +She managed to look at him innocently and to say carelessly as he had +spoken: + +"I had a dance with him. He didn't say anything about leaving so soon." +She even achieved a little laugh which sounded quite natural, ending, +"He seemed rather put out that I did not receive him like an old +friend!" + +"You did not accuse him of having robbed you?" + +"Not in so many words," quietly. "But I was certainly not polite to him! +For a little I thought that he was going to return your money to me." + +"Why?" Pollard asked sharply, and now she was sure of his readiness to +suspect her of holding back something from him. + +"He said," she went on, her interest seeming chiefly for her bacon and +eggs, "that he was returning something to me I had left at the cabin at +Harte's place. I couldn't think of anything but your money." + +"What was it?" + +"A spur rowel. It had been loose for several days, and dropped out in +the cabin. He brought it back to me." + +From this they passed on to speak of other incidents of the dance and of +other people, but the girl saw that her uncle's interest waned with the +change of topic. Then, her heart fluttering in spite of her, but her +voice steady enough, Winifred said lightly: + +"I think I'll go for a little ride after breakfast. My horse needs the +exercise, and," she added laughingly, "so do I." + +"Good idea," he returned, nodding his approval. But then he asked which +way she was riding, and finally volunteered to go with her, assuring her +smilingly that he had nothing of importance to do, and adding gravely, +that he would feel safer if she were not out alone in this rough +country. + +So he rode with her and after an hour of swift galloping out toward the +mountains, for the most part in silence, they came back to the town. +Pollard left her at his own gate and rode back through the street, "to +see a man." But he returned almost immediately and for the rest of the +day did not leave the house. It was a long day for the girl, filled with +restlessness and a sense of being spied upon, of being watched almost +every moment by her uncle. And before the day was done, there had come +with the other emotions a little thrill of positive, personal fear. + +It was midafternoon. The silence here at this far end of the street hung +heavy and oppressive. She had gone up and down stairs half a dozen +aimless times, eager for something to do. The long hours had been hers +for reflection, and after weighing the hundred little incidents of these +last few weeks, now there was no faintest shadow of a doubt that Henry +Pollard was at least guilty of criminal complicity in a scheme to send +an innocent man to the penitentiary if not to the gallows; she was more +than half persuaded that Pollard was in some way seeking to shield +himself by using Thornton as a scapegoat; she had got to the point where +she began to wonder if Henry Pollard and Ben Broderick shared share and +share alike both in the profits of these crimes and in their actual +commission. + +She came down stairs for a book, having at last finished the one in her +room, resigned to inactivity for another day, perhaps for two or three +days, until her uncle's watch upon her movements was less keen and +suspicious. She reflected that if she read something she might coax her +thoughts away from considerations which he could not understand in +their entirety, and which terrified her when she thought that she did +understand. + +In her quest she passed down the hall and to Pollard's office at the +front of the house. The room was by no means private; she had gone into +it many times before; sometimes it was used as a sitting room. She had +thought that her uncle was in it, but when she came to the open door she +saw that it was empty. + +She went to the long table at which Pollard wrote his few letters. Upon +one end of it, at the far end from the pen and ink, were some books and +old magazines, piled carelessly. Yesterday she had seen here a fairly +recent novel the title of which promised her an interesting story. A +glance showed her the book, lying open, where Pollard had evidently been +reading it. And in the same careless glance she saw something else which +sent the blood into her face and made her turn swiftly, apprehensively, +toward the door. + +There, beside Pollard's chair, was his waste paper basket, filled to +overflowing with crumpled papers. And, thrusting upward through the +papers, catching her eye because the papers were white and it was +another colour, was a long, yellow envelope. An envelope exactly like +the one in which Mr. Templeton had put the bank notes she was to carry +to her uncle! + +Obeying her swift impulse she stepped to the basket and drew the +envelope out. It was not only like the one she knew, yellow and cloth +lined, but it was the same one! She knew that beyond a hint of doubt. +For she remembered how, while sealing the thing for her, Mr. Templeton +had laid it down on his table, upon his ink-wet pen, how he had +carelessly blotted it. And here was the blot! + +She came swiftly around the table. Her back was toward the open door. +And.... + +Henry Pollard was standing behind her, watching her! She did not see +him, she could not be sure that she had heard his soft step on the hall +carpet, but she knew that he was there. She seemed to sense his presence +with the subtle sixth sense. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +WARNING + + +She felt her heart beating wildly ... if at that second he had spoken to +her she could not have found immediate voice in answer were it to save +her life. But further, she knew that if he gave her one second longer +she could control herself. For the first time it came upon her in a +flash that she had a personal interest in what these men did. They +sought to play her for their dupe, their fool; they counted upon making +her a sort of innocent accomplice, they dared to count upon her to help +them. To make their own positions safe they were dragging her into the +dirty mess that they had made. + +Her anger steadied her. Her brain had gone hot with it; now it went +cool, cold. She was holding the envelope in her hands when Pollard came +to the door; now she tossed it back to the basket carelessly and still +kept her back to the door. She was humming a little song softly when she +picked up the book she had come for and turned with it in her hand as +though to leave the room. + +But in spite of her second of preparation she started when she saw Henry +Pollard's face. She had known that it could look hard and cruel, that it +could grow dark and threatening. But she saw now a look in the hard +eyes, about the sinister mouth, which sent a spurt of terror up into her +heart. Here was a man who could kill, would kill if he were driven to +it. She read it in his eyes in that flash of a glance as she might have +read it in big printed letters. If he came to believe that there was +actual danger to him from her knowledge he would find a way to keep her +silent. + +"Well?" Pollard said steadily. + +He came into the room and closed the door softly behind him. Now there +was no tell-tale expression in his tone and all expression had gone out +of his eyes. + +Even then, though her heart beat quickly and the colour wavered in her +cheeks, she managed to look at him steadily and to answer collectedly: + +"It looks like I'd been playing Paul Pry, and that you'd caught me, +doesn't it?" + +She even laughed softly, and went on: + +"I came down for a book. Then I noticed this." She picked up the +envelope again, holding it out toward him. "You see I recognized it!" + +"There are lots of yellow envelopes," he answered colourlessly, his eyes +sharp points of light upon hers. "What about it?" + +"I am not a lady detective," she smiled back, taking a sudden keen +delight in the knowledge that she had taken the right tack, and that she +was puzzling Pollard. "But it is quite obvious that you've got your +money back! Why didn't you tell me?" + +"There are lots of yellow envelopes," he repeated, speaking slowly, and +she knew that his brain was as busy as her own. If the moment held +danger for her, then it held danger no less for him. "They are common +enough. What makes you think that this one..." + +"Oh, but I know," she broke in lightly. "You see I remembered Mr. +Templeton getting this smudge of ink on it. He called my attention to +it, the dear, precise old banker that he is, and wanted to give me a +clean one. Did Mr. Thornton get frightened and bring your money back?" + +For a moment he did not answer. She knew that he was measuring her with +those shrewd eyes of his, looking for a false sign, just the twitch of a +muscle to tell him that she was playing a part. And she gave no sign. + +"No," he said at last. "Thornton did not bring it back. And even if you +were a lady detective you might make a mistake now. I haven't seen a +cent of the money." + +She lifted her eyebrows in well simulated surprise. + +"But the envelope?" + +Now he spoke swiftly and she knew that he had made up his mind that she +was hiding nothing, that she knew nothing, for there was a note of +relief in his words. + +"I had his cabin searched last night, while we all were at the dance. It +was found there. There was no sign of the money!" + +Again she tossed away the envelope as though it no longer had any +interest for her. + +"A man," she said contemptuously, "who would not destroy a piece of +evidence like that, is a fool!" + +The matter was dropped there; one would have said it was forgotten by +both of them. For the rest of the day Winifred Waverly appeared to be +much interested in her book, Pollard seemed busy in his office or upon +the street. But the girl realized that the man was taking no chances and +that there was going to be little chance of her riding the twenty miles +to the Poison Hole without his knowing of it. She let the day go with no +thought of making the trip, satisfying herself with the knowledge which +she had gleaned from the conversation she had overheard at the +schoolhouse, and with the comforting thought that she had ten days yet. + +Upon the second day following the dance she saw Broderick and Pollard +talking earnestly out under the pear trees. Broderick, at his boots +whipping impatiently with his riding whip, did not come to the house as +was his custom, but going back to the gate flung himself upon his horse +and rode away. That same afternoon he came again, and this time Cole +Dalton, the sheriff, was with him. They were met by Pollard at the front +door, and for an hour the girl in her room could hear their low voices +in the room below her. + +The third day came and went and she saw no one but Pollard and Mrs. +Riddell. Pollard was unusually silent, and again and again she saw that +his eyes were hard, his mouth cruel. She began to forget that he was +kin to her; she began to see only that here was a man playing his game +with high, very high, stakes, that he was watchful and determined, that +he was not the sort to let anything, no matter what, stand between him +and the thing he had made up his mind to do. She saw that he was growing +nervous and sensed that he was in that frame of mind when men act +swiftly and unscrupulously. She took no step about the house that +Pollard did not know of it. + +The fourth day came, and her own nerves were strained to snapping. If +she could only do something! She must do something. But what? If +Broderick were the guilty man, and from a score of little things, she +knew that he was, then Henry Pollard was no less guilty. If Pollard were +a part of the horrible scheme, how about Cole Dalton, the sheriff? She +began to think that she saw why the months had gone by and Dalton had +made no arrests! If he was one of them, if the man paid by the county to +defend the county against outlawry were hand and glove with the outlaws, +to whom then could she turn? + +But at last, upon the evening of the fourth day, when her spirit was +ready for some desperate measure unless fate came to help her, fate did +help and young Bud King called. He had spent the day in Hill's Corners +upon the quest of any information which might tell him who the man was +who had run off his father's cattle. Having learned nothing, and being a +wise young man after his fashion, he had determined not to go home +entirely profitless, and so came to see Pollard's niece. + +She saw him as he rode slowly down the street. In a flash she guessed +that he came to see her, divined too that Pollard would give her little +opportunity of talking to young King or any other man, alone. She was at +her window where she sat so often. Before Bud King's horse had been tied +at the gate she had written a hasty note, had thrust it into an +envelope, and had scrawled on the outside: + +"Please carry this right away to Buck Thornton. Don't let any one see. +It is very important." + +Then she ran down stairs, slipping the note into the bosom of her dress, +hastening to be at the door when the Bar X man knocked lest Henry +Pollard turn him away, saying that she was not at home. + +As she opened the door, and Bud entered, hat in hand and flushed of +face, Pollard came to the door of his office. Winifred, shaking hands +warmly, asked King in, and remarking that her uncle was only reading, +invited him into the office. Pollard, she knew, had no reason to suspect +what she had in mind, and she would give him no reason. Before Bud left +she would find a way to give him the note. + +The three sat down, and Bud, never letting his wide hat out of his +hands, sat twirling it and shifting his boots and looking and talking +for the most of the time at Pollard. He was a young man, was Bud; girls +had been few in his life, and this calling upon a young woman in broad +daylight was a daring if not quite a devilish thing. + +Winifred found room here for smiling amusement. Pollard did not want to +be bothered with King and showed it so plainly that had King not been so +alive to the presence of the girl at whom he looked with the tail of his +eye and so nearly oblivious of the presence of the man whom he sat +facing, he must have noted it before he had been in the room five +minutes. Bud did not care to talk with Pollard, whom he agreed perfectly +with Buck Thornton in calling a rattlesnake, and yet he talked rather +wildly to him of branding and fence building and stray horses and +hold-up men and the weather and last year's politics. And Winifred, for +a little, watched both men with mirthful understanding. + +But as the minutes slipped by and Pollard gave no sign of leaving the +room, as silences fell which were too awkward to go unnoticed and which +the girl had to fill, she began to be afraid that Pollard's watchfulness +was going to prove too much for her and that she would fail in the plan +which had seemed so simple. But she must not fail! Four days of the ten +had gone. She must find some way to keep Bud King here until something +carried Pollard out of the room if only for a moment, and during that +moment she must give the note to King. + +She was sure that Pollard did not, could not suspect that she meant to +say anything to King, or that she counted on having him carry a message +for her. But she knew, too, that Henry Pollard was taking no chances he +did not have to take. He was a man to play close to the table. + +She had time to determine that she _would_ succeed in this one vital +point, time to hope, to fear, to lose hope a dozen times, before her +chance came. She heard a step on the walk under the pear trees, +Broderick's step, she thought swiftly, despairingly. Usually Pollard +kept the front door locked; she had not locked it after she had let Bud +King in. Pollard would know it was Broderick and would merely call, +"Come in," not even leaving the room for the one necessary moment. +Broderick would come in, Bud King would go soon and she would have no +chance of doing the thing she had sworn to herself that she would do. + +Her one hope was that she had mistaken the step and that it was not +Broderick. When the man outside came up the steps, she heard his spurs +jingle on the porch and saw that Pollard too was listening intently. + +"Come in," called Pollard. "The door's open, Ben." + +Why, why hadn't she locked the door? Now there would be two men to watch +her, now it would be impossible... + +But fresh hope leaped up into her heart, though she could scarce believe +her ears when Broderick's voice in answer was like the snarl of a beast, +harsh with anger, snapping out his words fiercely: + +"Come out here. I want to talk with you outside. And, for God's sake, +man, hurry!" + +Pollard, too, started. Bud King looked up with wondering eyes from his +swinging hat. Pollard, with the briefest sign of hesitation, went out of +the room and to the front door. + +No sooner had he gone than the girl, her face flushed, her eyes +brilliant with the excitement in them, snatched the paper from the bosom +of her dress and, tiptoeing to King, forced it into his big hand. Not a +word did she speak, not so much as a whisper. But she laid her finger +upon her lips, glanced from him toward the door, and tiptoed back to her +seat. And Bud King understood in part while he could not understand in +full, and thrust the note into his pocket. + +When a moment later King rose to go she went with him to the door. She +caught a glimpse of Ben Broderick's face, though he hid it from her +instantly, whirling about upon his heel; she felt sick and dizzy with a +sudden dread of she knew not what. For his face was dead white and +horribly drawn with the rage that blazed in his eyes and distorted his +mouth, and she saw, standing up in his soul, that thing which one may +not look upon and misread: that rage that drives a man to kill. And she +saw, too, that a white bandage was tied about his head, under his hat +brim, and that the bandage was red with blood. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM NEW MEXICO + + +Thornton returned rather early that night to the ranch cabin. That he +came in at all, instead of remaining far out upon the range border as +his men were doing, was because tomorrow he planned on riding to Dry +Town where he would raise the four thousand five hundred dollars for +Henry Pollard, and he wanted to make an early start. + +He left his horse at the barn, passed the bunk house and was crossing +the little footbridge which spanned Big Little River, going straight to +his cabin upon the knoll, when he saw that while the bunk house was dark +there shone a light from his cabin window. Wondering who his guest might +prove to be he strode up the knoll. The cabin door was open, he could +see his lamp burning upon the table, and sitting upon his chair, hands +clasped behind head and cigar smoking lazily, was a man he had never +seen before. + +He came on, still wondering, until his tall form passed through the +doorway and stood over the smoker. The man turned a little, watching him +as he drew near. + +"Howdy, Stranger," Thornton said quietly. + +"Mr. Thornton?" smiled the other. "You see I've been making myself at +home." + +He rose and put out a hand, a small, hard, brown hand which the cowboy +accepted carelessly and released marvelling. Its grip was as strong as +his own, the muscles like rock. + +The man was of medium stature, looking small beside the towering form of +his host. He was dressed quietly and well, trousers still preserving the +lines left by the tailor's iron, his coat fitting closely about the +compact muscular shoulders, his soft shirt white and clean. He was a +sandy haired man of forty, perhaps, clean shaven, square jawed, with +very bright, very clear brown eyes. + +All this Thornton saw at one swift glance. He tossed his hat to the +table, pulled another chair toward him, and sat down. + +"Glad you made yourself at home," he said then, "Find anything to eat?" + +The stranger nodded. + +"I've been here three hours, and I was hungry. So I raided the bunk +house." + +"That's right." He brought out his paper and tobacco, making his +cigarette slowly, his eyes alone asking the other his business. + +"I want a little talk with you, Mr. Thornton. But maybe I'd better wait +until you've eaten?" + +"Had my supper an hour ago," Thornton replied. "Made camp with the boys +before I came in. Fire away, Stranger." + +"All right. First thing, my name's Comstock." + +The keen eyes which had measured the cowboy as he came through the door +were very bright upon him now. Thornton nodded. The name meant nothing +to him. + +"Don't get me?" laughed Comstock. "Well, well, it's a shock to vanity, +but after all one's fame is a poor crippled bird that doesn't fly far." +He paused a moment, then added quietly, as though this other information +might help his bird "to fly." "My stamping ground's New Mexico." + +Thornton's look showed nothing beyond a faint curiosity; one would have +said that he was as little interested in this man's stamping ground as +in his name. + +"One more try," laughed Comstock easily, "and I'll give up. Two-Hand +Billy Comstock.... Aha, I get you now!" + +For now Buck Thornton started and his eyes did show interest and a +sudden flash of surprise. For fifteen years Two-Hand Billy Comstock, +United States Deputy Marshal, had been widely known throughout the great +South-west, a man who asked no odds and gave no quarter, one whose name +sent as chill a shiver through the hard hearts of the lawless as a sight +of the gallows would have done. And this man, small, well dressed, quiet +mannered, as dapper as a tailor's dummy.... + +"If you are Billy Comstock," grunted Thornton, "well, I'm damn' glad to +know you, sir!" + +"If I am?" grinned Comstock. "And why should I lie to you?" + +"I'm not saying that you are lying," returned the cowboy coolly. "But +I'm getting in the habit these days of being suspicious, I guess. But if +you are that Comstock and want to see me, I'd come mighty close to +guessing what you want. But before I do any talking I want to know." + +"Sure," Comstock nodded. And then, smiling again "Only, Mr. Thornton, +I'm not in the habit of carrying around a trunk full of +identifications." + +"You don't need them." + +Billy Comstock's name he had made himself, and it had carried far. There +were few men in half a dozen States in this corner of the country who +did not know why he was called "Two-Hand Billy" and how he had earned +his right to the nickname. His fame was that of a man who was absolutely +fearless, and who carried the law where other men could not or would not +carry it. To him had come the dangers, the sharp fights against odds +that had seemed overwhelming, and always he had shot his way out with a +gun in each hand, and no waste lead. + +"I never saw the man who could beat me to my gun," went on Thornton +quietly, no boastfulness in his tone, merely the plain statement of a +fact. "If you are 'Two-Hand Billy Comstock' you ought to do it." + +The two men were sitting loosely in their chairs at opposite sides of +the room, the table with the lamp between them. Comstock's hands were +again clasped behind his head. Thornton lifted his arms, clasping his +own hands behind his head. + +Comstock smiled suddenly, brightly, seeming to understand and to be as +pleased as a child with anew game. + +"I'll count three," said Thornton. "We'll both go for our guns. If I get +the drop on you first," with a smile which reflected the other's, "I've +a notion to shoot you up for an impostor!" + +"If you get the drop on me first," grinned Comstock, "and don't shoot me +up, I'll make you a present of the best gun you ever saw." + +Thornton counted slowly, with regular intervals between the words. +"One," and neither man moved, both sitting in seeming carelessness, +their hands behind their heads. "Two," and only their eyes showed that +every lax muscle in each body grew taut. "Three," and then they moved, +the two men like two pieces of the same machine driven unerringly by the +same motive power. + +Not the hands alone but the entire bodies, every muscle leaping into +action in a swiftness too great, too accurate for it to have been fully +appreciated had there been a third man to see. Thornton slipped sideways +from his chair, dropping to his knees upon the floor, and his two hands +flashed downward. The left hand sped to the opening at the left hip of +his chaps, and to the pocket beneath; the right hand into the loose band +at his stomach. And the hands seemed not to have disappeared for a +fraction of a second when they were flung out in front of him, and two +heavy double action revolvers looked squarely into Comstock's smiling +face. + +Comstock had scarcely seemed to move. He still sat loosely in his chair, +its front legs tilted back supported by his heels. But his hands had +gone their swift, unerring way to the pockets of his coat, and into the +barrels of the revolvers looked the blue steel barrels of two big +automatics. And both men knew that, had this been no play, but deadly +earnest, there would not have been the tenth of a second between the +pistol shots. + +"Pretty nearly an even break," laughed Comstock, dropping his guns back +into his pockets. + +Thornton rose and stood frowning down into the uplifted eyes of his +visitor. + +"It doesn't take a bullet long to go ten feet," he said a little +sternly. "One man doesn't have to get his gun working half an hour +before the other fellow." He came around the table and put out his hand. +"Shake," he said. "You could have got me. And I guess you're Two-Hand +Billy, all right." + +Comstock's eyes were bright with frank admiration. + +"I don't know so well about getting you," he answered. "I played you to +slip out on the other side of your chair. And," with his frank laugh, "I +wouldn't care for the job of going out for you, Mr. Thornton." + +"Real name, Buck," laughed the cowboy. "And now, let's talk." + +"First name, Billy," returned Comstock. "And we'll talk in a minute. +First thing though, there's some mail for you!" + +Thornton's eyes went the way of Comstock's, and saw a piece of folded +notepaper upon the table, held in place by the lamp. He took it up, +wondering, and read the few words swiftly. As he read the blood raced up +into his face and Comstock smiled. + +"I must see you," were the hastily written words. "I have wronged you +all along. I haven't time to write, I am afraid to put it on paper. But +there is great danger to you. Come tonight. I will be under the pear +trees in the front yard, at twelve o'clock. + +"WINIFRED WAVERLY." + +Thornton whirled about, confronting Comstock. + +"Where'd this come from?" he demanded sharply. + +"Special delivery," smiled Comstock. "A young fellow, calling himself +Bud King from the Bar X, brought it." + +"When?" + +"About an hour ago. He said he couldn't wait and couldn't take time to +look you up, and I told him that I'd see that you got it." + +Thornton read the short note again, frowning. This girl, only a few +nights ago, had called him a liar, had angered him as thoroughly as she +knew how, had sent him from her vowing that he was a fool to have ever +thought of her, and that he'd die before he'd be fool to seek again to +see the niece of Henry Pollard. And now this note, speaking of having +wronged him, telling him that she was afraid to write all that she +wanted to tell him, warning him of danger to him, asking him to meet her +in Hill's Corners ... at her uncle's house ... at midnight! + +He knew nothing of the danger to which she referred, but he did know +that for him there was danger in going into Dead Man's Alley even in +broad daylight. There came to him a swift suspicion that this note had +never been written by the girl whose signature it bore, that it had been +dictated by a man who sought to lure him to a spot where it would be an +easy matter to put a bullet in him in safe, cowardly fashion. Suppose +that he went, that he entered Pollard's place, and at such an hour? +Pollard, himself, could kill him, admit the deed and claim that he was +but protecting his own premises. Any one of the Bedloe boys could shoot +him and who would know? + +Another suspicion, allied to this one, came and darkened the frown in +his eyes. Was it possible that Winifred Waverly had written it, acting +at Pollard's command? that she was but doing the sort of thing he should +look to one of Pollard's blood to do? + +Comstock, saying nothing further, now seemed entirely engrossed in his +cigar. Thornton, the note in his fingers, hesitated. A third time he +read the pencilled words. Then he folded the paper and slipped it into +his pocket. + +"If a man wants to know anything real bad," he said at last, "it's up +to him to go and find out, huh, Billy Comstock?" + +Comstock, turning his cigar thoughtfully, answered: + +"That's right, Buck." + +Thornton glanced at his little alarm clock. It was not yet half past +eight. + +"I've got to be in the Corners by twelve o'clock," he said as he went +back to his chair. "I'll ride Comet, though, and can make it handily in +two hours. Now, what's the line of talk?" + +Comstock's look trailed back to his cigar. + +"I'm after a man," he volunteered. + +"That's a safe bet. What man?" + +"Not poor little Jimmie Clayton," smiled Comstock. "He's only a weak +little fool at the worst, and wouldn't be a bad sort if he had somebody +around all the time to steer him right." + +"Who is he?" retorted Thornton steadily ... remembering. + +"He's the man you owe a debt of gratitude to," laughed Comstock. "He put +some bullets through you one night down Texas way, found that he'd +slipped up and that you'd put your money into a check, and then played +safe by nursing you through it! The man who broke jail a month or so +ago, and beat it up here to you to see him through. I'm _not_ after +him." + +"You seem to know a whole lot," answered Thornton noncommittally neither +voice nor face nor eye showing a hint of surprise or other emotion. And +yet he was thinking swiftly, that if this man spoke the truth he had a +score to settle with Jimmie Clayton. + +"Oh, it's my business to know a whole lot," resumed Comstock, answering +the look in Thornton's eyes. "I just say that I'm not after Jimmie +Clayton as I don't want you to think that you'll be giving away anything +on a friend. The man I want," and he tilted his chair back a little +farther, drew up his carefully creased trousers with thumb and +forefinger and crossed one leg over the other, "is a man who got away +from me seven years ago. Down in New Mexico." + +"Name?" asked Thornton bluntly. + +"His name doesn't matter, I guess. He had three during the time that I +knew him, and I suppose he's had half a dozen since." + +"Before you go any further," interrupted Thornton, "tell me why you came +to me at all?" + +"Banker Templeton of Dry Town is a friend of mine. We went to school +together. He's the man who led me to believe, to hope," he added softly, +"that the man I want is working this country now. I told Templeton that +I wanted to make a little visit to this neck of the woods. And he gave +me your name." + +"I see. Now, about your man?" + +"I'm going to ask you a string of questions, Thornton. We haven't over +much time and any way there wouldn't be any use now in my stopping to +explain just what I'm driving at and why I want to know this and that. +If you'll just answer what I ask..." + +"Fire away." + +For a little they smoked on in silence, Two-Hand Billy Comstock's +expression suggesting that he was planning precisely the course his +inquiries were to take before beginning. + +"Let's start in this way!" he said at last. "What men around here do you +know real well, well enough to call friends?" + +"I've been here only a year," Thornton told him. "I don't know many men +here real well. Friends? Outside Bud King and the boys working for me I +don't know any I'd call friend." + +"Then," placidly suggested, "how about enemies? A man can make a good +many enemies in a year and not half try." + +"If you'll change that to men I know pretty well and don't like, and who +don't like me, I can name a name or two." + +"Let's have 'em." + +"There's Henry Pollard, to begin with." + +"The man you're buying from. First, how old a man is he and what does he +look like? Next, what do you know about him?" + +Thornton described the man, guessed at his age, and told what he knew of +"Rattlesnake" Pollard. Comstock seemed interested in a mild sort of a +way, but neither now nor later, as Thornton spoke of other men, did he +give any sign of more than mild interest. + +"Who are Pollard's friends?" was the next question. + +Thornton named Ben Broderick, two other men who do not come into the +story, and Cole Dalton, the sheriff. And as he named them, Comstock +asked him to give an estimate at their ages, to tell what he knew of +them and to give as close a personal description as he could. + +Having finished with Pollard and his friends he spoke of the Bedloe +boys. And United States Deputy Marshal Comstock listened throughout with +the same mild interest, merely asking questions, offering no opinions. + +"One last question," he said finally. "If you had a guess who'd you say +was the bad man this county wants?" + +"If any stock's missing from my range," was the blunt answer, "I'd look +up the Bedloe outfit." + +Comstock, offering no opinion, smiled and sank into a thoughtful +silence. + +At half past nine o'clock Thornton got to his feet and took up his hat. + +"I'd better be riding," he said, putting out his hand. "Make yourself at +home." + +But Comstock came to the door with him. + +"If you don't mind I'll ride along," he offered carelessly. "I think my +trail runs into Dead Man's, too. And by the way, Thornton," he added a +little sharply, "my name's just plain Richard Hampton for the present. +And my business right now is ... my business!" + +Thornton nodded that he understood and together they left the cabin. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +IN THE DARK + + +It was a pitch black night, the stars hidden by dense drifting clouds, +and intensely still. Buck Thornton and Two-Hand Billy Comstock, riding +side by side with few words, turned straight out across the fields, the +marshal reining his horse close in to that other horse he could scarcely +see and leaving to the cowboy the task of finding their way. + +They rode slowly until they turned into the level county road and then +swifter that they might come into Hill's Corners before it was midnight. +When at last the twinkling lights of Dead Man's Alley winked at them +Comstock struck a match and looked at his watch. + +"Fifteen minutes of twelve," he said. "You're on time. And I guess you +can do the rest of your riding alone? So long. I'm apt to drop in on you +at the ranch any day." + +Comstock had planned to ride straight to the Brown Bear saloon, to +invest in a stack of chips, and to spend the evening "seeing the town." +And Thornton, understanding that if the note from Winifred Waverly were +truthful in all that it said and in all that it suggested, it would be +as well if he were not seen tonight, turned out along the outskirts of +the village to come to Pollard's house without riding through the main +street. + +"Easy, Comet, easy," he muttered to his horse, having no desire to come +to the appointed place before the appointed hour. "We've got fifteen +minutes and then won't have to keep the lady waiting. If she's there, +Comet!" + +For even yet his suspicions were not all at rest, already he rode with +reins and quirt in the grip of his left hand, the right caught in the +loose band of his chaps. It lacked but a few minutes of midnight when he +entered the dark, silent street in which was Henry Pollard's house. + +Here were a few straggling houses with many vacant lots between and no +single light to show that any were awake, no gleam from a window to cut +through the darkness which was absolute. Thornton drew his horse to the +side of the road where the grass had not been worn away by the wheels of +wagons and where the animal's footfalls were muffled, hardly to be heard +a score of paces away. Twice he stopped, frowning into the gloom about +him, seeking to force his eyes to penetrate the impenetrable wall of the +dark, straining his ears to catch some little sound through the silence. +But there was nothing to see save the black forms of houses and the pear +trees in Pollard's yard, shapeless, sinister shadows something darker +than the emptiness against which they stood; no sound save his horse's +breathing, the faint creak of his own saddle leather, the low jingle of +bridle and spur chain. + +"Almost too still to be true," he told himself. "But," with a grim +tightening of his lips, "too infernally dark for a man to pick me off +with a shotgun if he wanted to!" + +Fifty yards from Pollard's front gate he stopped his horse, swung down +noiselessly from the saddle and tied Comet to a tree standing at the +edge of the road; his jingling spurs he removed to hang them over the +horn of his saddle. Then he went forward on foot, walking guardedly, his +tread upon the grass making no sound to reach his own ears, and came to +Pollard's gate. + +It was so dark under the pear trees that the obscurity was without +detail; he must guess rather than know where the tree trunks were; it +was hard to judge if they were ten feet or fifty feet from him. There +might be no one here to keep tryst with him, while on the other hand a +dozen men might be waiting. + +For perhaps two or three minutes he waited, standing motionless at the +gate. No faint noise came to him, no hint of a shadow stirring among +those other shadows as motionless as they were formless. The night +seemed not to breathe, no sound even of rustling branches coming to his +ears from the old pear trees. + +"It's twelve o'clock, and after," he thought. "If she's coming she ought +to be here now." + +Still he waited. And then when he knew it must be ten or fifteen minutes +after the time Winifred had set, and remembering that she said +specifically "under the pear trees," he moved forward suddenly, jerked +the gate open and stood in Pollard's yard. + +The little noise of the gate whining upon its worn hinges sounded +unnaturally loud. His footfall upon the warped board walk which led to +the front door snapped through the silence like a pistol shot. + +"If there's anybody laying for me here he knows now that I've come," he +told himself. And with no hesitation now, yet with no lessening of his +watchfulness, he came on swiftly until he stood under the pear trees and +within ten feet of the front porch. + +It was still about him, intensely still, and black-dark. He stood +leaning forward a little, peering into the darkness, listening for a +sound, any sound. He knew that it must be half past twelve, that for +close upon half an hour he had waited here. Half an hour filled with +quick, conflicting thoughts, suggesting a dozen explanations. Was the +note really from Miss Waverly? Had she acted in good faith in sending +it? What was the danger of which she spoke? Why had she not come, and +why had she set an hour like this? Was it a mere hoax? + +"If I could only have a smoke," he muttered, "it wouldn't be so bad +waiting to see what the play is." + +But still he waited, determined not to leave until possessed of the +certainty of there being no need of staying longer. Cautiously he +approached the house until he could have put out his foot to the first +of the steps leading up to the little porch. There he stopped, telling +himself that doubtless he was just playing Tom-fool here in his enemy's +garden. Less and less did he like the idea of prowling about the place +of Henry Pollard at this time of night. + +But now at last there was a sound to vibrate against the empty silence +in his ears, a little sound which at first he could not analyse and +could not locate. He could hardly be sure whether his senses had tricked +him or if he actually heard it. It seemed rather that he had _felt_ it. +His body grew very tense as he tried to know where it was, what it was. +But again the silence was heavier and more oppressive than before. + +At last, through the void of the absolute stillness, it came again. Now +he knew what it was although not even yet could he be certain whence it +came. It was a cautious step ... it might have been a man's step or a +woman's. No muscle of his rigid body moved save alone the muscles which +turned his eyes to right and left. + +At first he thought that there was some one moving toward him from +behind, some one who had perhaps just come in through the gate or had +been hidden in the straggling shrubbery. And the next instant he knew +that the sounds were in front of him, that what he heard was some one +walking in the house, tiptoeing cautiously, and yet not silently because +the old boards of the floor whined and creaked under the slow tread. Had +the night been less still, had his ears been less ready for any sound +the faint creak-creak would not have reached him. + +"Woman or man?" was his problem. "Winifred Waverly or Henry Pollard?" + +There came a second sound and this he recognized; the scraping of dry +wood against dry wood, the moving of the bars which the countryside knew +that Henry Pollard used as the nightlock upon his doors. Thornton drew +back a little, step by step, slowly, silently, and stopped under the +pear trees. Now he was ten feet from the first of the front steps, ten +feet from the board walk. + +When a man must trust everything to his ears for guidance his ears +may tell him much. Thornton knew when the bars were down and when the +door was opening very slowly. And then, suddenly, he knew that there +was a third person out here in the garden close to him, and that this +person ... man or woman? ... was moving with as great a slow caution as +himself and the other some one in the house. There was the crack of a +twig snapping underfoot ... silence ... slow cautious steps again. + +The cowboy moved again, a bare two steps now, and stopped, his back +against the trunk of the largest of the pear trees, his eyes running +back and forth between the door he could not see and the moving some one +he could not see at the corner of the house. His widened nostrils had +stiffened, as though he would scent out these beings, and his eyes were +the alert eyes of an animal in the forest seeking its enemy through the +denseness of a black undergrowth. + +The door was open, the soft step was at the threshold. The other step at +the corner of the house had stopped. In the new silence the cowboy could +hear his own deep, regular breathing. He could see nothing, he knew that +his body pressed against the tree trunk could not be seen, and his hands +were ready. He began to long for a pistol shot, for the spurt of red +fire, for anything that would mean certainty and would release the +coiled springs of his tense muscles. + +But the still minutes dragged by and there was no certainty of anything +save that the some one at the door and the some one at the corner of the +house at Thornton's right were standing as still, as tense, as himself. +A little sense of the grim humour of this game three people were playing +in the dark, this Blind Man's Buff which he was waiting to understand, +drew his lips into a quick, fleeting smile. + +Now at last came the first bit of certainty. The some one at the door +moved again, came to the steps and down into the garden, taking the +steps slowly, with long pauses between. This some one was a man. Dimly +Thornton saw the blur of the form, but more than his eyes his ears told +him that this tread, though guarded, was too heavy for a girl like +Winifred Waverly. + +"Pollard," he told himself swiftly. "Not ten feet away. And if he comes +this way ..." + +The man at the steps stopped and in the long silence Thornton knew that +the two other people playing this grim game with him were listening even +as he was, trying to force their eyes to see through the shadows. Then +the heavy tread again, and Thornton thought that it was coming nearer. +Then a pause, the step once more, and Pollard, if Pollard it were, had +turned the other way and keeping close to the house was moving toward +the far corner. The steps grew fainter as they drew farther away, and he +knew that the man had gone around the corner of the building. + +That other person at the other corner of the house, at Thornton's right, +had heard and understood, too. The cowboy heard steps there again, quick +steps, almost running, soft, quick breathing not a yard away, and +bending forward a little, knew that Winifred Waverly had come to keep +her tryst with him. + +"Miss Waverly?" he whispered softly. + +She was at his side, close to him, so close that he could feel the sweep +of her skirts against his boots. She, too, had leaned forward, her face +lifted up to his, her eyes seeking to make sure who this man was. + +"Buck Thornton?" she whispered back. + +"Yes. What is it?" + +"Here. Quick!" She had thrust a folded paper into his fingers, closing +them tightly upon it. "Now, go! Do what I tell you in it. Henry Pollard +suspects something; he is looking for me. Go quickly!" + +She was already passing him, hastening toward the steps and the front +door. + +"Wait!" he commanded, his hand hard upon her arm. "I don't +understand...." + +"For God's sake let me go!" Only a whisper, but he thought he heard a +quiver of terror in it, he knew that her arm was trembling violently. +"He'd kill me. ... Oh, my God, go!" + +"If there is danger for you..." + +"There is none if you go now ... if he doesn't find me here. Please, +Buck...." + +She jerked away from him and went swiftly to the steps. He could hear +her every step now so plainly his heart stood still with fear that +Pollard must hear, too. He heard her go to the door; she passed on, and +so became one with the blot of darkness within the house. Then he drew +back, slowly, half regretfully, back toward the gate, stopping for a +last time under the trees there. And after a very long time he heard +Pollard's steps again. The man had made a tour of his grounds, keeping +rather close to the house, and now mounted the steps with no effort at +silence, slammed the door and dropped the bars into place. It was as +though he had flung them angrily into their sockets. Thornton went out +of the yard and to his waiting horse. + +"She says to go away, to leave her there alone with Pollard," he +muttered dully. "And something's up. She said he'd kill her if he knew +that she was talking to me..." + +He hesitated, his horse's tie rope in his hand, of half a mind to go +back, to force his way into Henry Pollard's house, to demand to know +what was wrong, to take the girl away if there were real danger to her. +But then the urgent pleading in her voice came back to him, her +insistence that he go, that with him gone there would no longer be any +danger for her. Slowly, regretfully, he swung into the saddle. He had +made up his mind. He would obey her at least in part, he would go where +he could read the paper she had given him, and then perhaps he would +understand. + +"Any way," he said under his breath, "she's a real girl for you." + +He rode swiftly the five hundred yards through the dark street which ran +as nearly parallel with the main street as two such crooked streets +could approximate parallelism, until he was behind the Here's How +Saloon. Here he dismounted and, leaving his horse with reins thrown over +his head to the ground, strode off toward the side door of the saloon. + +Under the window he glanced in swiftly. Chance had it that the cover was +off of the little used billiard table and that two men, in shirt-sleeved +comfort, were playing. Both men he knew. They were Charley Bedloe and +his brother, the Kid. + +The Bedloe boys were intent upon their game, the Kid laughing softly at +a miscue Charley had made. Charley was chalking his cue angrily and +cursing his luck and neither of them glanced toward the window. +Thornton, drawing back a little so that he would not be seen did they +happen to look his way, unfolded the paper Winifred had given him. + +"Watch me play out my string, Charley!" he heard the Kid call +banteringly. Then he heard nothing more from the room, nothing to tell +him of another man not ten steps from him in the darkness, for his whole +mind had been caught by Winifred's first words. + +"I have wronged you from the beginning," she had written. "I thought +that I had seen you that day on the trail behind me. You denied it. I +thought that you were lying to me. While you were out after the horses a +man, masked, came into the cabin and robbed me of the five thousand +dollars I was taking to Henry Pollard. I _thought that it was you_! The +man was dressed as you were dressed, his grey handkerchief even was like +yours. Now I know it was a man named Ben Broderick who robbed me, and +that he wanted me to think that it was you. + +"Can't you see the whole scheme? Broderick and the men who are with him, +have been committing these crimes. And pretty soon, in a few days, in +five days I think, they will be ready to make the evidence show that you +are the man who has done it all." + +There was more; there were several sheets of paper, closely written. +Thornton saw the names of Henry Pollard, of Cole Dalton. But he read no +further. In one instant the mind which had been so intent upon these +things a girl's writing was telling him forgot Winifred Waverly, Henry +Pollard, Broderick--everything except that which was happening at his +side. + +For, while he read, there had been the sharp crack of a revolver, he saw +the spit of angry reddish flame almost at his side, and as he saw he +dropped to his knee, Winifred's note in his left hand, his right +flashing to his own revolver. For his first thought was that a man had +crept up behind him, that it was Pollard, that he was shooting at him. + +But almost with the flash and the report of the gun he knew that this +man was not shooting at him. There came the crash and tinkle of broken +glass, one of the small panes of the window beside which Thornton had +been reading dropped out, and almost before the falling pieces had +ceased to rattle against the bare floor he heard the sound of running +footsteps behind him. The man who had fired had made sure with one shot. + +Then Thornton heard the Kid cry out, his voice hoarse and inarticulate, +and with the cry came a moan from Charley Bedloe. Charley staggered half +across the room, his two big hands going automatically to his hips. He +had come close to his younger brother, staring at him with wide eyes, +and then slipped forward and down, quiet and limp and dead. + +Thornton's one first emotion, one so natural to a man who takes his +fight in the open, was a boundless rage toward the man who had murdered +another man in this cold blooded fashion, taking his grim toll from the +darkness and without warning. He whirled about, his own gun blazing in +his hand, and as fast as his finger could work the trigger sent six +shots after the flying footsteps. + +The footsteps were gone. Again the cowboy looked swiftly in at the +window. He saw that Charley Bedloe was dead; the Kid, his face +contorted, hideously twisted to his blended rage and grief, stood +staring about him helplessly. Then, the moment of paralysis gone, the +Kid suddenly leaped over his brother's body and ran to the window. + +"It's Buck Thornton!" roared the Kid. Both of his big guns were already +in his hands. "Take that, you...." + +Then Buck Thornton, making most of an unforeseen situation, did a thing +that he had never done before in his life, which he never would do +again. He turned and ran, stumbling through the darkness into which one +leap carried him. + +For he knew that the Kid had no shadow of a shred of doubt that he had +killed Charley Bedloe, he knew that if he did not run for it, run like a +scared rabbit now, why then he'd have to kill the Kid or the Kid would +kill him. He had no wish to meet his death for the cowardly act of +another man and he had no wish to kill Kid Bedloe because another man +had murdered his brother. If there were anything left to him but to run +for it, he did not know what it was. + +He found his horse, leaped into the saddle and turned out toward the +north. + +"The Kid sure had his nerve, running right up to the window after +Charley dropped," he muttered, with the abrupt beginning of the first +bit of admiration he had ever felt for a man whom he had appraised as +even lower in the scale than "Rattlesnake" Pollard. "The boy is game! +And now he's going to come out after me, and there won't be any talking +done and it's going to be Kid Bedloe or me. And," with much certainty, +but with a little sigh, half regretful, "the Kid is just a shade slow on +the draw. Sure as two and two I've got to kill him. Oh, hell," he +concluded disgustedly. "Why did this have to happen? Haven't I got +enough on my hands already?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE FRAME-UP + + +Thornton returned to his cabin long before the first faint streak of +daylight, and not once during the night did he think of sleep. At his +little table in the light of his coal-oil lamp he read over and over the +hurried words which Winifred Waverly had been driven to put on paper for +him. At first his look was merely charged with perplexity; then there +came into it incredulity and finally sheer amazement. + +"The pack of hounds!" he cried softly when he had done, his fist +striking hard upon his table. "The pack of low down, dirty hounds!" + +For now, in a flash, he saw and understood beyond the limits to which +the girl's vision had gone, grasping explanations denied to her. She had +told him everything which she knew or suspected, saying somewhere in her +account, "I know now that my first judgment of you, before I was +deceived into thinking Ben Broderick you, was right. I know that you are +a man and a gentleman. I know that you are 'square.' So now, if you +think that you owe me anything for what I am doing for you, I want you +to remember that Henry Pollard is my uncle, my dead mother's brother, +and to make things no harder for him than he has made them for +himself." + +With no other reference to her relation to the man, with no further hint +of a plea for herself, she went on to tell what she knew of Pollard and +Broderick, of their meetings with Dalton whom, she thought, they had +completely deceived, of the talk she had overheard that night at the +schoolhouse. She said nothing of her own precarious position at +Pollard's house. When he finished reading Buck Thornton's eyes were very +bright. + +"A real woman," he muttered. "A real man's sort of girl! I doped her up +right at the first jump, and then I went and insulted her by thinking +that she was like 'Rattlesnake' Pollard! Lord, Lordy! What a +difference!" And then, very gently, his eyes clouding a little, he +muttered over and over, under his breath: "Poor little kid!" + +But ever his thoughts came back to the tangle into which day by day he +himself had been moving deeper and deeper. He saw how simple the whole +matter had been, how seemingly sure of success. Broderick was close +enough to him in size and form to make the scheme eminently practicable. +It was easy for Broderick to dress himself as Thornton dressed, boots, +chaps old and worn, big black hat and grey neck handkerchief. It was +simple enough for Broderick, here in this land of cattle and horses, to +find a horse that would be a fair match for any horse which Thornton +rode. He would allow himself to be seen only at a distance, as upon the +day Winifred Waverly had seen him, or indistinctly at night, and when +the time came and the arrest was made there would rise up many men to +swear to Buck Thornton.... Broderick himself had already said that he +had been robbed of a can of gold dust. He would be ready to swear that +Thornton had robbed him. Pollard would add his word.... + +One by one he remembered episodes which until now had meant nothing. +Cattle had been stolen from the ranges all about him; no single cow was +missing from the Poison Hole. He had thought that this had been because +of his own great vigilance, his night-riding over his herds. But what +would a jury say? He remembered that the last time he had seen old man +King, just a few days ago, when King had remarked drily upon the fact +that no cattle were missing from Thornton's range, there had been a +swift look of suspicion in the old cattle man's shrewd eyes. Already he +was suspected. How many men besides King were ready to believe the worst +of Buck Thornton, a man who had been in their midst only a year? + +There were many days in the life of Buck Thornton as in the lives of +other cattle men hereabouts when he was absolutely alone with his horse, +when he rode far out day and night upon some range errand, when, +perhaps, he went two or three days together and saw no other man. +Thornton remembered suddenly that when he had first heard of the murder +of Bill Varney, the stage driver, he had just returned from such a +lonely ride, a three days' trip into the mountains to look for new +pasture lands. If these men planned to commit these crimes and then to +throw the burden upon him, he saw how simple a matter it would be for +them to select some such occasion as this when he could not prove an +alibi. + +"They've come mighty close to getting me," he muttered sternly. "Mighty +damned uncomfortably close!" + +He saw further. Winifred Waverly had said frankly that she had sworn to +the sheriff that she knew it was Buck Thornton who had robbed her. They +were managing to hold Cole Dalton off, and they had a reason. What? +Perhaps to work their game as long as they dared, to make a last big +haul, or to have their chain of evidence welded so strongly link by link +that Thornton could not free himself from it and that no faintest breath +of suspicion might reach them. Pollard would be in a position to prove +that Thornton had paid him this five thousand only to take it back; it +would give him a chance to break the contract, to regain possession of +the Poison Hole and to keep the other ten thousand dollars already paid +in as forfeited.... + +Why had they chosen him to bear the brunt of their manifold crimes? +That, too, was clear to him. With him in the penitentiary or gone to the +gallows the whole episode would be closed, the men who had put through +the monumental scheme would be in a position to enjoy their boldly +acquired profits with no fear of the law so much as searching for them. +It was necessary to them that some man suffer for their wrong doing. +Now: why Buck Thornton in particular? The reasons were forthcoming, +logical and in order: he was a man whom Pollard hated; already Pollard +regretted having sold the Poison Hole ranch for twenty thousand dollars; +he wanted it back; Thornton happened to be a new man in the country and +new men are always open to suspicion; he happened to be close enough to +Ben Broderick in size and form and carriage to make the deception easy. +And, thought Thornton, there was one other reason: + +The undertaking of these men had already grown too big, the work too +extensive, for it to be handled by two men alone. They had confederates; +that was inevitable. Blackie, the saloon keeper in Dry Town, was one of +them, he felt sure. The Bedloe boys, always ready for deeds of wildness +and lawlessness, were others. The Bedloe boys hated him as keenly as did +Pollard, and they were not the kind to miss an opportunity like this to +"break even" with him. It was noteworthy that he had had no trouble with +them since he had shot the Kid's revolvers out of his hands at John +Smith's place last winter; they had left him entirely unmolested; the +three of them who he knew were fearless and hard and vengeful, had not +sought in any way to punish him. Here was the reason. + +He went back to Winifred Waverly's letter. She had ended by saying, + +"I know that Henry Pollard suspects me of knowing more than I have +admitted to him; I suppose I did not entirely deceive him about that +yellow envelope. He is watching me all the time. That is why I have +written this to be ready to give it to you if I get the chance, if I +dare not talk with you. Don't try to see me. I am in no danger now, but +if you came, if he knew that we were seeing each other.... I don't +know." + +At last when Thornton got up and went to his door day was breaking. He +returned to his table where his lamplight was growing a sickly, pale +yellow in the dawn, and holding Winifred's letter over the chimney +burned it. He took her other little note from his pocket and let the +yellow flame lick it up. Then, grinding the ashes under his heel, he put +out the light and went again to the door. + +The recent shooting at the Here's How Saloon by some man who had stood +almost at the cowboy's elbow, he had for a little forgotten as he +pondered on his own personal danger and admitted that the case was going +to look bad against him in spite of what he might do. But now, for a +moment, he forgot his own predicament to become lost in frowning +speculation upon the night's crime. + +He knew that men like the Bedloes, hard men living hard lives, have many +enemies. There were the men whom they had cheated at cards, and who had +cheated them, with whom they had drunk and quarrelled. It was clear to +him that any one of a dozen men, bearing a grudge against Charley +Bedloe, but afraid to attack in the open any one of these three brothers +who fought like tigers and who took up one another's quarrels with no +thought of the right and the wrong of it, might have chosen this method. + +Yes, this was clear. But one thing was not. The night had passed and +neither the Kid nor Ed Bedloe had called to square with him. He did not +understand this. For he did not believe that even their affiliation with +Broderick and Pollard would have held the Kid and Ed back from their +vengeance now. It was patent that the Kid had leaped to the natural +conclusion that he had killed Charley Bedloe; he understood the emotion +which he had seen depicted in the Kid's twisted face as Charley +staggered and fell at his brother's feet. It was a great, blind grief, +unutterable, wrathful, terrible, like the unreasoning, tempestuous grief +of a wild thing, of a mother bear whose cubs had been shot before her +eyes. For the one thing which it seemed God had put into the natures of +these men was love, the love which led them to seek no wife, no friend, +no confidante outside their own close fraternity. And yet the night had +passed and neither the Kid nor Ed had come. + +"Something happened to stop them," mused Thornton. "For a few hours +only. They'll come. And I'd give a hundred dollars to know who the +jasper was that put that bullet into Charley." + +He went back into his cabin, put his two guns on the table, threw out +the cartridges, and for fifteen minutes oiled and cleaned. Then, with a +careful eye to every shell, he loaded them again. When he once more +threw his door open and went outside his eyes were a little regretful +but very, very hard. + +He was inclined to believe that Winifred was mistaken in judging Ben +Broderick's to be the brains of this thing. He thought that he saw +Pollard's hand directing. Until now he had fully expected to go to Dry +Town, to raise the four thousand five hundred dollars with which to make +his last payment upon the Poison Hole ranch. Now he more than suspected +that this was but a play of Pollard's to get him out of the way while +the last crime be perpetrated, to have him out upon one of his lonely +rides so that he could prove no alibi, perhaps even to rob him of the +four thousand five hundred dollars before he could come with it to +Hill's Corners. Now he made up his mind that he was not going to give +Pollard this one last chance he wanted. For, he felt convinced, if he +did succeed in getting through with the money without a bullet in the +back, and if he actually brought it to Pollard the latter would tell him +that he had changed his mind, and so the rash act would have been done +uselessly. Having no way of holding Pollard to his bargain he had little +wish to make the long ride to Dry Town and back. + +Thornton for several days had planned to ride out to the borders of his +range and see his cowboys, giving them full instructions for work to be +done during the week which followed in case he should not be able to +give more time to them. Now, with a great deal to think about, he was +not averse to a solitary day in the saddle. + +Of late he had noted how the cinch of his working saddle was weakening; +some of the strands had parted even. He should mend it now, but he had +no time to lose, and he did have another saddle, which he did not use +twice during the year and which for months now he had not even seen. He +had put it out of the way, high up in the loft. He went down to the barn +meaning to get it and make the exchange. If he was going to have some +hard riding during the coming days it was as well if he used this +saddle, the best he had ever seen. Rather too ornate with its profuse +silver chasings and carved leather for every day's use, a heavy Mexican +affair which he had won in a bronco "busting" competition down in Texas +four years ago. + +He came up into the loft, half filled with hay, and went to the far end +where the saddle had hung upon its peg. It was gone. He stood staring at +the peg in surprise. Surely he had left it here, surely he had not +removed it. He tried to think when he had seen it last. And he +remembered. It had been two or three months ago, and he knew that he had +left it here, he even remembered the trouble he had had in drawing it up +after him through the small trap door. Now where was it? + +His first suspicion was that one of his men had been using it. But he +knew that that was impossible. He would have seen it, and moreover one +man does not take another man's saddle without saying by your leave. + +"The thing is worth three hundred dollars, easy," he muttered. "It would +be funny...." + +He went to the loose hay heaped at the wall and began to kick it about, +half expecting to have his boot strike against the silver tipped horn or +the heavy tapaderos. And then at last did the swift, certain suspicion +of the truth flash upon him. He came upon a small soap box hidden far +under the loose hay. He drew it out, whisking away the straw which half +filled it. After the first start of amazement and a swift examination of +the contents, he understood. + +"A plant!" he cried angrily. "A damned cowardly plant! Lord, Lordy, but +they're making a clean job of this!" + +Upon the top of the pile, the first thing he took into his hands, was a +heavy silver watch. It bore a name, scratched within the case, and the +name was that of Jed MacIntosh, the man who, Blackie had told him, had +been "cleaned out" in Dry Town. There were two bank notes, one for ten +dollars, one for twenty, and both were soiled with dark smears that told +of dry blood. There was a little, much worn memorandum book, with many +pencil-scribbled entries in it, and upon the fly leaf it bore the name +of Seth Powers, the man who had been robbed in Gold Run and who had been +found beaten into unconsciousness. There was a small tin can; in the +bottom of it some pine pitch, and adhering to the pitch a fine sifting +of gold dust. A can, he knew, Ben Broderick would identify as the one +of which he had been robbed! There were other articles, two more +watches, a revolver, an empty purse, which he could not identify but +which he realized keenly would be identified when the time came. + +Suppose that the time came now! Suppose that he should hear the +sheriff's voice calling upon him, that a posse should come upon him and +find him with this box in his possession! What chance would he have? + +His face went white with the anger which surged up within him and the +desire leaped up, strong and bitter, to get in his two hands the man who +had framed him and to choke the treacherous life out of him. Then, +suddenly, he was cool again, seeing the present danger and the urgent +need of prompt action. + +First he made certain that there was no other damning bit of false +evidence concealed in the hay or any where in the loft. Then, taking the +box under his arm, he went down into the stable. Here again he made +careful search, spending an hour in a stubborn search. Then leaving the +box in a manger, straw-covered, he went back to the cabin on the top of +the knoll. His eyes, running to the four points of the compass, told him +that there was no other man within sight. + +Taking off his boots and socks he waded out into the middle of Big +Little River, carrying a shovel and the box. In the soft, sandy soil he +made a hole deep enough to hold the box which he put into it. Swiftly he +filled it with stones, placed a big, flat rock over it, saw that there +was no sign of his work as the sand and mud drifted in to fill the +little hollow, and then went back for his boots. The shovel he put again +against the bunk house wall. + +When, at last, he had mended his cinch and rode Comet out towards the +east and the mountains upon the flank of the Poison Hole, he had made up +his mind what he was going to do. + +"It's a gamble," he told himself coolly. "But I guess I've got to gamble +now. And I'm going to play it heavy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +JIMMIE SQUARES HIMSELF + + +A horseman was riding toward him upon the far bank of the Big Little +River where it straightened out beyond the cabin. He recognized the +horse and a moment later the rider now waving his hat to him, and knew +that it was Two-Hand Billy Comstock returning. He turned and rode slowly +to meet the officer. + +"Back already, Comstock?" he called carelessly. "What luck?" + +"Bully luck," grinned Comstock, replacing his hat and looking as fresh +and well groomed as though he were but this minute up from bed and a +long sleep. "First let me tell you the news." He slipped his hand into +his breast pocket and took out an envelope. "More mail for you, +Thornton! You're doing a big correspondence, it seems to me!" + +In spite of him a quick flush ran up to Thornton's brow. For his first +thought was that Winifred Waverly.... + +"Wrong guess, Buck," chuckled Comstock, his good humour seemingly +flowing from an inexhaustible source. "It's from a man." + +"Who?" demanded Thornton sharply, putting out his hand. + +Comstock's amusement welled up into open laughter. + +"It's a prime joke of the Fates," he cried cheerfully. "Here is William +Comstock, United States Deputy Marshal, carrying a message from no less +a person than Jimmie Clayton, jail bird, crook and murderer! A man +wanted in two states!" + +"Clayton!" said Thornton in amazement. "You don't mean to tell me...." + +"Oh, he'd never seen me, you know. Nor I him. But then I've seen his +picture more than once and I know all about him. He's keeping low but he +took a chance on me. I was just a whiskey drummer last night, you know, +and happened to let it out that I was riding this way this morning on my +way to Dry Town. So Jimmie slipped me the letter! Read it." + +Thornton took it, wondering. The envelope was sealed and much soiled +where Jimmie Clayton's hand had closed the mucilaged flap. He tore it +open and read almost at a glance: + +Deere buck come the same place tonight I want to put you wise. Theare is +sum danger to you buck. Keap your eyes open on the way. I will be there +late tonight. + +j.C. + +Thornton looked up to see the twinkling eyes of Two-Hand Billy Comstock +watching him. + +"You had better tell me what he says," said Comstock coolly. "I don't +know but that I should have been well within my rights to open it, eh? +But I hate to open another man's private mail." + +Thornton hesitated. + +He must not forget that Comstock was an officer--that even now he was +upon a state errand--that it was his duty to bring such men as Jimmie +Clayton to justice. He must not forget that Clayton had been a friend to +him--or, at least, that he had credited the crook with a feeling of +friendship and the care of a friend. + +True, Comstock, who seemed to know everything, had said in a +matter-of-fact way that it had been Jimmie Clayton who had shot him that +night between Juarez and El Paso. But nothing was proven. He had long +thought of Clayton as a man to whom he owed a debt of gratitude, and now +with the man, hunted as he was, his sympathy naturally went out to him, +evil-doer as he knew him to be. + +Evidently Comstock read what was passing in the cowboy's mind. + +"I'm not asking you to squeal on him, Buck," he said quietly. "Look +here, I could have taken him in last night if I had wanted to. I could +have got him a week ago if I had wanted him. But I didn't want him--I +don't want him now. I'm hunting bigger game." + +Still Thornton hesitated, but now his hesitation was brief. He swung his +horse around toward the cabin. + +"Let's ride back, Comstock," he said shortly. "I want a good long talk +with you." + +Not another word about the matter did either man say as they unsaddled +or as they went up the knoll to the cabin. Not a word until the +fragrance of boiling coffee and frying bacon went out to mingle with the +freshness of the new day. Then as they sat at table and Comstock began +to soak the biscuits Thornton had made in the bacon gravy, they looked +at each other, and their eyes were alike grave and equally stern. + +"First thing," began Comstock, "let me finish my news. Charley Bedloe +was murdered last night." + +"I know." + +"The devil you do? All right. Then here's something else. His brother, +the Kid, they call him, swears that you killed him." + +"I know," nodded Thornton as quietly as before. + +Comstock made no pretence of hiding his surprise. + +"I thought you had left before the shooting happened. I was all over +town; no one saw you...." + +"Except the Kid. He did. He saw me outside the window through which +somebody shot Charley." + +Comstock returned his attention to his biscuit and gravy. + +"I'm a failure as a news monger," he grunted. "Go on. You tell _me_." + +And Thornton told him. Before he had finished Comstock had pushed back +his chair and was letting his coffee go cold. For Thornton had told him +not alone of what had happened at the Here's How Saloon last night, but +of the work that Broderick and Pollard were doing, of all of his +certainties and his suspicions, of the "planted" evidence he had found +in the hay loft, of the missing saddle. Only he did not mention the name +of a girl, and he remembered that Pollard was her uncle and spared him +where he could. + +"What a game! By high heaven, what a game!" Comstock pursed his lips +into a long whistle. Then he banged his first down upon the table, his +eyes grown wonderfully bright and keen, crying softly, "I've got him, +I've got him at last, and he's going to pay to the uttermost for all he +has done in the last seven years ... and before! Got him--by thunder!" + +"Pollard?" asked the cowboy quickly. + +"No. Not Pollard." + +"Then Broderick?" + +"Not Broderick." + +"Bedloe?... The Kid?" + +"What does his name matter? I'll give him a dozen names when the time +comes, and by heaven he's got a crime to pay for for every name he ever +wore!" + +He grew suddenly silent and sat staring out through the open door at the +distant mountains. At last he turned back toward Thornton, his eyes very +clear, his expression placid. + +"Guess why they are waiting five days more before springing their mine?" +he asked abruptly. + +"Yes. I figured it out a little while ago, after I found the truck in my +loft. In five days it'll be the first of the month. On the first of the +month the stage from the Rock Creek Mines will be worth holding up. It +carried in ten thousand dollars last month. At times, there has been a +lot more. Just as sure as a hen lays eggs, it is due to be robbed on the +first; they'll find something here to prove I was the hold up man, and +I...." + +"And you go over the road for life or take a drop at the end of a rope? +And they quit being badmen and buy ranches? That it?" + +"That's it. It's a gamble, but...." + +"But it's a damned good gamble," laughed Comstock softly. "You ought to +be sheriff, Buck." + +But Buck, thinking of how blind to all this he had been so long, how not +even now would he have his eyes open were it not for a girl, longed with +an intense longing for the end of this thing when she might be free to +go from the house of a man like Henry Pollard, when he might be free to +go to her and... + +"How does it happen," he asked suddenly, "that you are not after Jimmie +Clayton?" + +"When I'm out for a big grizzily," returned Comstock, "I can't waste my +time on little brown bears! That's one thing. Another is that Jimmie +Clayton never had a chance of getting away. If he lives ten days he'll +be nabbed, and he won't live ten days. He's shot to pieces and he's sick +on top of it. I told you last night the poor devil is a fool and a tool +rather than a real badman. If he's got a chance to die quietly, why let +him die outside of jail. It's all one in the end." + +Thornton had always felt a sort of pity for Jimmie Clayton; it had +always seemed to him that the poor devil was merely one of the weaker +vessels that go down the stream of life, borne this way and that by the +current that sweeps them on, with little enough chance from the +beginning, having come warped and misshapen from the hands of the +potter. And now Jimmie was about to die. Well, whether it had been +Jimmie Clayton or another who had shot him that night down in Texas, he +would heed the entreaty of the letter and go to him for the last time. + +So that night, when darkness came, Thornton left Comstock at the cabin +and rode out towards the mountains, towards the Poison Hole and the +dugout at its side. + +It was dark, but not so dark as last night, there being no clouds to +blot out the stars. And the moon was slipping upward through the trees +upon the mountain top when Thornton came at last to the lake. As before, +he was watchful and alert. Clayton was Kid Bedloe's friend, and Clayton +had always struck him as a man in whom one could put little faith. It +was quite in keeping with what he knew that Jimmie's note had been +written at the instigation of Kid Bedloe himself and that he was to be +led out here where Kid Bedloe and Ed might be in waiting for him. It was +quite possible, even probable. But he thought it more than likely that +for once Jimmie Clayton was acting in good faith. + +The Jimmie Clayton whom he found alone a little after moonrise was very +much as he had found him that other night. The fugitive lay upon the +bunk in the darkness of the dugout, and only when he was assured that it +was Buck Thornton come to him did he light his stub of candle. As before +Thornton entered and closed the door after him to look down on the man +with a sharp twinge of pity. + +"How're they coming, Jimmie?" he asked gently. + +"Can't you see?" replied Clayton with a nervous laugh. "I'm all in, +Buck. All in." + +If ever a man looked to be "all in" it was poor little Jimmie Clayton. +He threw back his coat for Thornton to see. There upon the side was the +stain of blood hardly dry upon the shirt. His eyes were hollow, sunken, +fever-filled, his cheeks unthinkably drawn, yellow-white and sickly, the +hand which fell back weakly from the exertion of opening his coat showed +the bones thrust up as though they would pierce the skin. + +"You've been shot again?" demanded the cowboy. + +Jimmie shook his head. + +"The same ol' hole, Buck; Colt forty-five. It won't heal up, it breaks +out all the time. I can't sleep with it, I can't eat, I can't set +still." He had begun manfully, but now the little whimper came back +into his voice, his shaking hand gripped Thornton's arm feebly, and he +cried tremulously, "I wisht I was dead, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I wisht I +was dead!" + +"Poor little old Jimmie," Thornton muttered just as he had muttered the +words once before, gently, pityingly. "Is there anything I can do, +Jimmie." + +Jimmie drew back his hand and lay still for a little, his eyes seeming +unnaturally large as he turned them upwards, filled at once with a sort +of defiance and an abject, cringing terror. + +"Nothin'," he said a little sullenly. His eyes dropped and ran to the +fingers of his hand which were plucking nervously at his coat. He parted +his lips as though he would say something else and then closed them +tightly; even his eyes shut tight for a moment. Thornton watched him, +waiting. It was easy to see that Jimmie Clayton had upon the tip of his +tongue something he wished to say, and that he hesitated ... through +fear? + +"What is it, Jimmie?" Thornton asked after a while. + +Jimmie lifted his head quickly, his eyes flew open with a look in them +almost of defiance as he blurted out: + +"Do you know who shot you ... that time down in Juarez?" + +"Was it you, Jimmie?" asked Thornton. + +Jimmie's eyes grew larger; all defiance fled from them and the terror +came back. + +"You ... you think ..." he faltered. "You thought all along...." + +"Was it you, Jimmie?" + +The voice was soft, the eyes gentle and now a little smile accompanied +the words. It was so easy to forget what had happened so long ago, to +disregard it when one looked into this man's eyes and saw there the end +of the earthly story of a man who had not been a good man because he had +never had a chance, who had never really earned his spurs as a Western +badman, because he was of too small calibre, who was after all a vessel +that had come imperfect from the hands of the potter. Now Jimmie +answered, his voice hushed, his eyes wide, his soul filled with +wonderment: + +"It was ... me, Buck!" + +"Well, Jimmie, I'm sorry. But it can't be helped now, can it? And I'll +forget it if you will." He looked at the worn, frail form, and knew that +Comstock was right and that little Jimmie Clayton was lying in the +valley of the shadow of death. So he added, his voice very low and very +gentle, "I'll even shake hands if you will, Jimmie." + +Jimmie closed his eyes but not quick enough to hide the mistiness which +had rushed into them. His breathing was irregular and heavy, its sound +being the only sound in the dugout. He did not put out his hand. +Finally, his voice steadier than it had been before, he spoke again. + +"You've been square with me, Buck. I want to be square with +you.... There's a frame-up to get you. Now don't stop me an' I'll talk +as fast as I can. It hurts me to talk much." He pressed a thin hand upon +his side, paused a moment, and then went on. + +"I think Broderick's the man as has been putting over most of the +stick-ups around here for quite some time. Him and Pollard in together. +I ain't squealin' on a pal when I tell you this, neither," with a little +flash of his old defiance. "Broderick's no pal of mine. The dirty cur. +He could of got me clear.... He wanted to make 'em give me up, to git +the reward.... Their game is to make folks think you been doing these +things, and to send you up for 'em." + +He stopped to rest, but even now did not look to see what effect his +words had upon his hearer. + +"I don't know much about it," he went on after a moment. "You can find +out. But I do know they stole a saddle of yours, and a horse. They're +going to stick up the stage out of Rock Creek Mines next week; there's +going to be some shooting, and a horse is going to get killed. That'll +be your horse, Buck. An' it'll have your saddle on." + +He had told his story. He told nothing of how he knew, and Thornton did +not press him, for he guessed swiftly that somehow the telling would +implicate Kid Bedloe, who was a pal... and little Jimmie Clayton was not +going to squeal on a pal. + +Half an hour after he had come to the dugout Thornton left it. For +Clayton would not talk further and would not let him stay. + +"I got a horse out there," he had said irritably. "I can get along. I'm +going to move on in the morning. So long, Buck." + +So Thornton went back to his horse, wondering if, when tomorrow came, +Jimmie Clayton would not indeed be moving on, moving on like little Jo +to the land where men will be given an even break, where they will be +"given their chance." His foot was in the stirrup when he heard +Clayton's voice calling. He went back into the dugout. The light was out +and it was very dark. + +"What is it, Jimmie?" he asked. + +"I was thinking, Buck," came the halting answer, "that ... if you don't +care ... I _will_ shake hands." + +Thornton put out his hand a little eagerly and his strong fingers closed +tightly upon the thin nervous fingers of Jimmie Clayton. Then he went +out without speaking. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE SHOW DOWN + + +Upon the first day of the month the stage leaving the Rock Creek Mines +in the early morning carried a certain long, narrow lock-box carefully +bestowed under the seat whereon sat Hap Smith and the guard. Also a +single passenger: a swarthy little man with ink-black hair plastered +down close upon a low, atavistic forehead and with small ink-black eyes. +In Dry Town beyond the mountains, to which he was evidently now +returning from the mines, he was known as Blackie, bartender of the Last +Chance saloon. This morning he had been abroad as early as the earliest; +he seemed to take a bright interest in everything, from the harnessing +of the four horses to the taking on of mail bags and boxes. In a moment +when Hap Smith, before the mine superintendent's cabin, was rolling a +cigarette preparatory to the long drive, Blackie even stepped forward +briskly and gave the guard a hand with the long, narrow lock-box. + +Keen eyed and watchful as Blackie was he failed to see a man who never +lost sight of him or of the stage until it rolled out of the mining camp +through the early morning. The man, unusually tall, wearing black shaggy +chaps, grey soft shirt and neck-handkerchief and a large black hat, +kept the stage in view from around the corner of the wood shed standing +back of the superintendent's cabin. Then, swinging up to the back of a +rangy granite-coloured roan, he turned into the road. + +"We're playing to win this time, Comet," he said softly. "And, as we +said all along, Blackie's the capper for their game. Shake a foot, +Comet, old boy. Maybe at the end of a hard day's work we'll look in +on ... her." + +When, an hour later, the stage made its brief stop in Miller's Flat to +take on mail bags Blackie was leaning out smoking a cigar and looking +about him alertly. A lounger near the post-office door turned to watch in +great seeming idleness. His eyes met the bartender's for a second and he +nodded casually. + +"How's everything?" he asked in the customary inconsequential manner of +casual acquaintanceship. + +"Fine," said Blackie in a tone of equal casualness. "Couldn't be +better." + +The stranger slouched on his way, climbed into the saddle of the horse +he had left by the door, and rode off.... And Buck Thornton, from the +bend in the road where he had halted Comet under a big live oak tree, +noted how the horseman rode on his spurs when once he had passed from +the sight of the stage driver. + +"Taking the Red Caņon trail," he marked with satisfaction. "Carrying the +word to Broderick and Pollard that there's been no slip-up and that the +box is really aboard. And now.... Shake a foot, Comet; here's where we +put one over on Blackie." + +The man who had passed the time of day with the saloon man had +disappeared over a ridge and out of sight; Thornton consequently rode +swiftly to overtake the stage. Before the four running horses had drawn +the creaking wagon after them a half mile Hap Smith stopped his horses +in answer to the shout from behind him and stared over his shoulder +wonderingly. + +"What the hell ..." he began. And then with a shade of relief in his +tone and yet half hesitatingly, the frown still on his face as Thornton +rode close up, "It's you, is it? I thought for a minute...." + +"That it was Broderick?" laughed Thornton. "You didn't think so, did +you, Blackie?" + +Blackie drew back and slipped his hand covertly into his coat pocket. +Thornton, giving no sign that he had seen, said briefly to Hap Smith: + +"You've talked things over with Banker Templeton? And with Comstock?" + +"Yes," said Hap Smith, his thick, squat figure growing tense where he +sat as though with a sudden nervous bracing within. "Yes." + +"And you expected me here? You will give me a free hand?" + +"Yes," cried Smith ringingly. "Damn 'em, yes. Go to it, Buck!" + +Thornton turned stern eyes upon Blackie. + +"I can shoot twelve holes through you before you get your hand out of +your pocket," he said crisply. "You damned stool-pigeon! Now, suppose +you pull your hand out ... _empty_! ... and stick it up high above your +head. Think it over, Blackie, before you take any fool chances." + +His left hand held Comet's reins gathered up close as he spoke; his +right rested lightly on the horn of his saddle. Blackie plainly +hesitated; a tinge of red warmed his swarthy cheek; his eyes glittered +evilly.... Then suddenly he whipped out his hand, a revolver in it.... + +But Thornton, for all of the handicap, fired first. His own right hand +went its swift, sure way to the gun swinging loose in its holster under +his left arm pit; he jabbed it forward even as he swung himself to one +side in the saddle, and fired. The revolver slipped from Blackie's hand +and clattered down to the bed of the wagon while Blackie, crying out +chokingly, his face going white with fear, clutched at his shoulder and +gave up the fight. + +With scant time allowed in their plans to waste on such as Blackie he +was made to lie down in the bottom of the wagon, his wrists bound, his +wound very rudely bandaged, his body screened from any chance view by +the boxes and mail bags and a handkerchief jammed into his mouth. Within +ten minutes Hap Smith was clattering on, his and the guard's mouths and +eyes grim and hard, and Thornton had again dropped behind, just out of +sight around the first bend in the road. + +"And now, my boy," muttered Hap Smith to his friend the guard, "keep +both eyes peeled and your trigger-finger free. Hell's goin' to pop in +considerable less'n no time." + +Nor was the stage driver unduly pessimistic. Half an hour after Blackie +had gone down among boxes and bags the lumbering vehicle thundered into +one of the many deep gorges through which the narrow road wound. Here +was a sharp turn and a bit of steep grade to take on the run if the +stage were to keep to schedule time. But suddenly and with a curse from +Smith and a sharp exclamation from the guard, Hap slammed on his brake. +A newly fallen pine tree, three feet thick, lay across the road. + +The guard's rifle was ready in his hands; in a flash Hap Smith had +dropped his reins so that they were held only by the ring caught over +the little hook at the back of the seat and had whipped out his own big +ugly revolver. His eyes ran this way and that; in his soul he knew well +enough that no mere bit of chance had thrown the obstruction across his +way. But never a head nor an arm nor a rifle barrel rewarded his look. +Until, suddenly, heralded by a curt shouted command, a man rode out into +the open road from the mouth of a caņon. + +"Don't be a fool, Smith! Take a little look-around first!" + +It was a voice eminently cool and steady and insolent. Though his gun +rose slowly Hap Smith heeded the note of arrogance and, with a hard +finger crooking to the trigger, looked about him again. And this time +not in vain. Yonder, from across the top of a boulder, a rifle barrel +bore unwaveringly upon the breadth of his chest; ten feet higher up on +the mountainside where there was a pile of granite rocks and a handful +of scrub brush, a second rifle gave its sinister silent warning; two +other guns looked forth from the other side of the road ... in all, at +least five armed men.... + +Hap Smith's eyes went back to the man sitting his horse in the middle of +the road, just across the fallen pine tree. A tall, powerfully built man +dressed quite as Hap Smith and the guard had been told to expect: black, +shaggy chaps, grey shirt and neck-handkerchief; broad black hat; red +bandana across his face with wide slits for the eyes. And yet both of +the men in the stage stared and were on the verge of uncertainty; had +they not been prepared both would have sworn that it was Buck Thornton +on Buck Thornton's horse; and later they would, no doubt, have sworn to +Buck Thornton's saddle. + +Five to two, seemed the odds, with all of the highwaymen saving the one +bold figure screened from view and so holding the advantage of position. +And yet, for once, the odds were not what they seemed. + +For now there came abruptly, and utterly with no sign of warning, the +answer to the last big play of Ben Broderick and Henry Pollard and the +rest. Into the road out of the same caņon from which the masked man on +the horse had come now rode two more men, side by side and with a +thunderous racket of pounding hoofs beating at rocky soil, their heads +up, their faces unhidden, their eyes hard and bright and their right +hands lifted a little. Two-Hand Billy Comstock and Buck Thornton, come +at the top speed of a swinging gallop to alter the odds and take a hand. +And as Thornton's horse's hoofs struck in the dust of the road and the +masked rider swung about, startled in the moment of his supreme arrogant +confidence, it looked to those who saw as if there came Buck Thornton on +one big grey horse racing down upon another Buck Thornton on that big +grey's mate. With but a hundred yards between them.... + +"Pull the rag off your face, Broderick!" shouted Thornton savagely. + +And oddly enough Ben Broderick, with a swift realization that a bandana +hiding his face now could no longer befriend him and might flap across +his eyes at a time when he should see straight and quick, yanked it +away. And with the same gesture, he jerked his lifted gun down and +started firing, straight at Thornton. + +Of the five rifles trained upon those in the stage not a one was silent +now. Hap Smith jumped to his feet and fired as fast as he could work the +trigger; the man at his side leaped down into the road, crouched at the +wagon wheel and poured shot after shot into the brush whence he had seen +the muzzles of two guns. Before Ben Broderick's pistol had broken the +silence Buck Thornton had fired from the hip; and Two-Hand Billy +Comstock, his reins on his saddle horn, was freshening his right to his +title, firing with one gun after the other in regular, mechanical +fashion. + +Hap Smith was the first man down; he toppled, steadied himself, fired +again and collapsed, sliding down against the dash board and thence to +the ground. His horses had plunged, leaped and in a tangle of straining +harness tugged this way and that a moment and then with the stage +jerking and toppling after them went down over a six-foot bank and into +the thicket of willows along the creek bed. With them went Blackie, his +face showing a moment, grey with fear.... + +Hap Smith, alive simply because the trampling horses had whirled the +other way, lifted himself a half dozen inches from the road bed, +struggled with his gun and fainted.... The guard saw a head exposed from +behind a tree and sent a 30-30 rifle ball crashing through it; on the +instant another bullet from another quarter compacted with his own body +and he went down, shot through the shoulder.... + +Thornton's eyes were for Ben Broderick alone. And, it would seem, +Broderick's for Thornton. But in their expressions there was nothing of +similarity; in Thornton's was a stern readiness to mete out punishment +while from Broderick's there looked forth a sudden furtiveness, a +feverish desire for escape. + +Broderick had never drawn to himself the epithet of coward. But now he +knew what he was doing, where wisdom pointed and what was his one +chance. There was still a good fifty yards between him and the man who +rode down upon him, a long shot for a revolver when the horses which +both men bestrode were rearing and plunging wildly. Broderick bent +forward suddenly, whirled his horse, drove his spurs deep into the +grey's sides and in a flash had cleared the fallen log, shot around the +bend in the road and, taking his desperate chance with all of the cool +defiance of danger which was a part of the man, sent his mount leaping +down the steepening bank, into the willow thicket and on across. +Shouting mightily and wrathfully, after him came Buck Thornton. But +Broderick had the few yards' headstart and, for the moment his destiny +was with him. Thornton saw only a thicket of willows wildly disturbed as +Broderick went threshing through them and knew that for the present at +least Broderick was beyond pursuit. + +Swinging about angrily he rode back to join Comstock. Already the battle +there in the caņon was over, the smell of powder was gone from the still +air, the last reverberating echo of a shot had died away. And in the +road lay three men, two of them severely wounded while the other was +already dead. Stooping over this man, a queer look in his eyes, stood +Comstock. + +"I hankered to bring him in alive," he muttered. "But, after all it's +just as well. And it had to be him or me." + +"Pollard?" asked Thornton quickly. But Comstock shook his head. Then +Thornton, riding close, looking down from the saddle, saw the white +upturned face. This time as his eyes came back to Comstock, Comstock +nodded. + +"Cole Dalton, sheriff," he said gravely. "Yes. And he's the man I came +all this way to gather in, Buck. I've been after him for seven years, +never guessing until lately that he was out here working the old Henry +Plummer game of sheriff and badman at the same time. He's kept under +cover, that being always his way; you'd never have thought that Pollard, +Broderick, Bedloe were all tools.... But, I got him, Buck. At last." + +A moment only Thornton stared incredulously. Then his shoulders twitched +as though this was a matter which could not concern him at present and +he had other things to think of. + +"Pollard?" he asked shortly. + +"Over yonder." Comstock nodded toward the patch of brush on the +mountainside. "Shot through the head." + +"And the others? One was the Kid, wasn't it?..." + +But now the Kid answered for himself. He rose to his knees among the +stunted manzanita bushes not twenty steps from them and for a moment +knelt there, his big bulky body wavering as he tried to bring his rifle +to rest at his shoulder, his eyes peering out wildly from a blood +smeared face. But his gesture was awkward and slow and uncertain; he +was too badly hurt to shoot straight or quick, and Thornton, swift and +sure and yet merciful withal, was before him. The Kid's rifle clattered +to the ground; the Kid's left arm, the bone broken, dropped uselessly to +his side. He tried to steady the gun with his one good arm alone, but it +shook hopelessly. He dropped it and turned bloodshot eyes on Thornton. + +"Damn you," he said tonelessly. "Better do a clean job, you +white-livered coward, or I'll see you hang yet for killin' Charlie...." + +"I was outside when he was shot," said Thornton coolly. "I saw just as +much as you did. Somebody shot him from behind me." + +"Liar!" jeered Bedloe. "An'..." + +"Don't be a fool, Bedloe," snapped Comstock. "The man you want is the +same man we want; only the other day he had a quarrel with Charlie and +got a bullet alongside the head...." + +"Not Ben Broderick!" gasped the Kid stupidly. "Not him!" + +"I think your little friend Jimmie Clayton knew," said Comstock. "And +you ought to know that Thornton isn't that kind." + +With widening eyes the Kid stared at him. At last he got again to his +knees; finally and shakily to his feet. + +"Jimmie tol' me to watch him," he muttered thickly. "An' him an' Charlie +did have words...." + +He stared at them stupidly, hesitated, pondered the matter. Then he +turned and went lumbering down the road. Comstock, stepping forward +swiftly, called out: + +"I say, Bedloe! None of that...." + +But Bedloe neither turned again nor paused. Thornton's hand shut down +hard on Comstock's arm. + +"He's going after Broderick," he said sharply. "Don't you see? He'll +know where Broderick is. And we don't. Besides ... I don't know just why +we should stop him.... If Broderick did kill Charlie...." + +Comstock went back to administer to Hap Smith and the guard. Thornton +watched the Kid go to a horse hidden in a clump of trees; then as Bedloe +rode down into the road and passed on whither it led, sitting +slumped-forward and seeming at each step about to fall, Thornton rode +after him. The Kid did not so much as look around; perhaps it mattered +to him not in the least just then who followed or how many ... so that +they left him to ride on ahead.... + +It was straight into the town of Dead Man's Alley that the Kid's way +led. The high sun glared down into a deserted street when he and Buck +Thornton, a hundred yards behind him, passed by the Here's How saloon +and the Brown Bear and at last drew rein at Henry Pollard's gate. A +couple of men at the lunch counter stared curiously after the Kid; they +even got down hastily from their high stools and stared more curiously +still when they saw who it was who followed. + +"They've rode hard, them two," said one of the men thoughtfully. "Their +horses is all in." + +"The Kid ahead an' Buck Thornton followin'!" grunted the other musingly. +"An' the Kid never lookin' around!" + +He shook his head and, long after both of the riders had passed out of +sight down the crooked street these two men looked after them +wonderingly. + +At Pollard's gate the Kid dismounted stiffly. Now for the first time +Thornton came up to him. + +"If you think Broderick's in there," he said sharply, "you'd better let +me go ahead. You're in no shape, Bedloe...." + +"You go to hell," said Bedloe heavily. "He's mine." + +He stepped forward and pulled open the gate. Here he paused just long +enough to drag his revolver from the holster at his hip. With the weapon +in his hand, swaying in his long-strided walk, he went to Pollard's +front door. Just behind him, almost at his heels, came Thornton. + +As he tried the door cautiously the Kid looked over his shoulder with a +show of teeth. + +"He's mine," he snarled again. "You keep your hands off." + +Thornton offered no answer. The Kid, having ascertained that the door +was locked, drew back, steadied himself with his hand against the wall, +lifted his foot and with all of the power in him drove his heavy boot +against the lock. Something broke; the panel splintered; the door gave +a little. But only a little; the heavy bar which Henry Pollard used was +in its place. + +"Again," said Thornton. "Together!... Quick!" + +So together Buck Thornton and Kid Bedloe, two men who had long hated +each other, struck savagely at Pollard's barricade. And such was the +weight of the two men, such the power resident in the two big bodies, +that a hinge gave and after it an iron socket screwed to the wall was +torn away from the woodwork, and the door went down. + +Gathering all there was of strength left in him Kid Bedloe pushed to the +fore and went down the hall; and Thornton followed at his heels. In this +fashion they came to the door of Pollard's study and saw through it, +since it had been flung wide open and so left. + +In a far corner of the room was Winifred Waverly, her face dead white, +her body pressed tight into the angle of the walls, her hands twisting +before her, her eyes going swiftly to the two entering figures from that +other figure which had held her fascinated. Upon the floor, just rising, +knelt Ben Broderick. He had tossed a rug aside and had lifted out the +short sections of half a dozen strips of flooring, disclosing a rude +wooden vault below. Here was the accumulation of loot, here where the +Kid had known Broderick was to be found. + +For a very brief yet electrically vital and vivid moment there was no +sound in the room, wherein never a single muscle twitched. And then +there were no words and only three sharp pistol shots. Broderick had +seen what lay in the Kid's eye, a look to be read by any man; he had +snatched his gun up from the floor beside him and had fired, point +blank. There is no name for the brief fragment of time between his shot +and the Kid's. But Ben Broderick had shot true to the mark, and the Kid +was sinking; Bedloe's bullet had gone wide.... And then the third shot, +Thornton's ... and as the two men fell, Kid Bedloe and Ben Broderick, +they pitched forward toward the centre of the room and the big body of +the Kid lay across the body of Ben Broderick. As the Kid died his eyes +were upon Thornton, and in them was a look of content and of gratitude! + +"Again he tried to kiss me.... He is all brute. He ... he told me you +were dead.... Oh, dear God, dear God!" cried the girl, shrinking back, +covering her face with her hands. + +Thornton, his face set and white and grave, came to her. She was +trembling so that he put his arm about her. She sobbed and caught at him +as a child might have done. His arm tightened, holding her closer. + +"Let me take you away," he said gently. + +With never a look back to see what long hoarded booty there in the hole +in the floor had drawn Ben Broderick back to Pollard's house, he turned +and with his arm still about her, led the girl from the room, from the +house and out to his horse at the fence. She moaned again and drooped +against him. He gathered her up into his arms tenderly. And with a +tenderness which was to become part of the man, he held her close while +he swung slowly into the saddle. + +"Winifred Waverly...." he began. + +There he stopped, looking with puzzled eyes down into her white face. +God knew how much she had gone through, what fear Ben Broderick had put +into her heart. But at the least now she had fainted. + +"She's all alone," muttered the cowboy. "All alone. And somebody's got +to look out for her...." + +He turned slowly and rode down the crooked street, carrying her lightly +in his arms. And now, more than ever, did the two men at the lunch +counter stare. + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Six Feet Four, by Jackson Gregory + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIX FEET FOUR *** + +***** This file should be named 15148-8.txt or 15148-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/1/4/15148/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Six Feet Four + +Author: Jackson Gregory + +Release Date: February 22, 2005 [EBook #15148] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIX FEET FOUR *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + SIX FEET FOUR + + by Jackson Gregory + + 1917 + + + + +TO E. M. GREGORY + +"HERE'S YOUR BOOK" + + + + +CHAPTER + + I The Storm + + II The Devil's Own Night + + III Buck Thornton, Man's Man + + IV The Ford + + V The Man from Poison Hole Ranch + + VI Winifred Judges a Man + + VII An Invitation to Supper + + VIII In Harte's Cabin + + IX The Double Theft + + X In the Moonlight + + XI The Bedloe Boys + + XII Rattlesnake Pollard + + XIII The Ranch on Big Little River + + XIV In the Name of Friendship + + XV The Kid + + XVI A Guarded Conference + + XVII Suspicion + + XVIII The Dance at Deer Creek Schoolhouse + + XIX Six Feet Four! + + XX Pollard Talks "Business" + + XXI The Girl and the Game + + XXII The Yellow Envelope Again! + + XXIII Warning + + XXIV The Gentleman from New Mexico + + XXV In the Dark + + XXVI The Frame-Up + + XXVII Jimmie Squares Himself + + XXVIII The Show Down + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE STORM + + +All day long, from an hour before the pale dawn until now after the +thick dark, the storm had raged through the mountains. Before midday it +had grown dark in the canons. In the driving blast of the wind many a +tall pine had snapped, broken at last after long valiant years of +victorious buffeting with the seasons, while countless tossing branches +had been riven away from the parent boles and hurled far out in all +directions. Through the narrow canons the wet wind went shrieking +fearsomely, driving the slant rain like countless thin spears of +glistening steel. + +At the wan daybreak the sound filling the air was one of many-voiced but +subdued tumult, like the faraway growling of fierce, hungry, imprisoned +beasts. As the sodden hours dragged by the noises everywhere increased +steadily, so that before noon the whole of the wilderness seemed to be +shouting; narrow creek beds were filled with gushing, muddy water; the +trees on the mountainsides shook and snapped and creaked and hissed to +the hissing of the racing wind; at intervals the thunder echoing +ominously added its boom to the general uproar. Not for a score of +years and upward had such a storm visited the mountains in the vicinity +of the old road house in Big Pine Flat. + +Night, as though it had leaped upon the back of the storm and had ridden +hitherward on the wings of the wind all impatience to defy the laws of +daylight, was in truth mistress of the mountains a full hour or more +before the invisible sun's allotted time of setting. In the +storm-smitten, lonely building at the foot of the rocky slope, shivering +as though with the cold, rocking crazily as though in startled fear at +each gust, the roaring log fire in the open fireplace made an uncertain +twilight and innumerable ghostlike shadows. The wind whistling down the +chimney, making that eerie sound known locally as the voice of William +Henry, came and went fitfully. Poke Drury, the cheerful, one-legged +keeper of the road house, swung back and forth up and down on his one +crutch, whistling blithely with his guest of the chimney and lighting +the last of his coal oil lamps and candles. + +"She's a Lu-lu bird, all right," acknowledged Poke Drury. He swung +across his long "general room" to the fireplace, balanced on his crutch +while he shifted and kicked at a fallen burning log with his one boot, +and then hooked his elbows on his mantel. His very black, smiling eyes +took cheerful stock of his guests whom the storm had brought him. They +were many, more than had ever at one time honoured the Big Pine road +house. And still others were coming. + +"If Hap Smith ain't forgot how to sling a four horse team through the +dark, huh?" continued the landlord as he placed still another candle at +the south window. + +In architectural design Poke Drury's road house was as simple an affair +as Poke Drury himself. There was but one story: the whole front of the +house facing the country road was devoted to the "general room." Here +was a bar, occupying the far end. Then there were two or three rude pine +tables, oil-cloth covered. The chairs were plentiful and all of the +rawhide bottom species, austere looking, but comfortable enough. And, +at the other end of the barn like chamber was the long dining table. +Beyond it a door leading to the kitchen at the back of the house. Next +to the kitchen the family bed room where Poke Drury and his dreary +looking spouse slept. Adjoining this was the one spare bed room, with a +couple of broken legged cots and a wash-stand without any bowl or +pitcher. If one wished to lave his hands and face or comb his hair let +him step out on the back porch under the shoulder of the mountain and +utilize the road house toilet facilities there: they were a tin basin, a +water pipe leading from a spring and a broken comb stuck after the +fashion of the country in the long hairs of the ox's tail nailed to the +porch post. + +"You gents is sure right welcome," the one-legged proprietor went on, +having paused a moment to listen to the wind howling through the narrow +pass and battling at his door and windows. "I got plenty to eat an' +more'n plenty to drink, same as usual. But when it comes to sleepin', +well, you got to make floors an' chairs an' tables do. You see this here +little shower has filled me all up. The Lew Yates place up the river got +itself pretty well washed out; Lew's young wife an' ol' mother-in-law," +and Poke's voice was properly modified, "got scared clean to pieces. Not +bein' used to our ways out here," he added brightly. "Any way they've +got the spare bed room. An' my room an' Ma's ... well, Ma's got a real +bad cold an' she's camped there for the night. But, shucks, boys, what's +the odds, when there's fire in the fire place an' grub in the grub box +an' as fine a line of licker as you can find any place I know of. An' a +deck or two of cards an' the bones to rattle for them that's anxious to +make or break quick ... Hap Smith _ought_ to been here before now. You +wouldn't suppose...." + +He broke off and looked at those of the faces which had been turned his +way. His thought was plain to read, at least for those who understood +recent local conditions. Hap Smith had been driving the stage over the +mountains for only something less than three weeks; which is to say +since the violent taking off of his predecessor, Bill Varney. + +Before any one spoke the dozen men in the room had had ample time to +consider this suggestion. One or two of them glanced up at the clock +swinging its pendulum over the chimney piece. Then they went on with +what they were doing, glancing through old newspapers, dealing at +cards, smoking or just sitting and staring at nothing in particular. + +"The last week has put lots of water in all the cricks," offered old man +Adams from his place by the fire. "Then with this cloud-bust an' +downpour today, it ain't real nice travellin'. That would be about all +that's holdin' Hap up. An' I'm tellin' you why: Did you ever hear a man +tell of a stick-up party on a night like this? No, sir! These here +stick-up gents got more sense than that; they'd be settin' nice an' snug +an' dry like us fellers, right now." + +As usual, old man Adams had stated a theory with emphasis and utterly +without any previous reflection, being a positive soul, but never a +brilliant. And, again quite as usual, a theory stated was naturally to +be combated with more or less violence. Out of the innocent enough +statement there grew a long, devious argument. An argument which was at +its height and evincing no signs of ever getting anywhere at all, when +from the night without came the rattle of wheels, the jingle of harness +chains and Hap Smith's voice shouting out the tidings of his tardy +arrival. + +The front door was flung open, lamps and candles and log fire all danced +in the sudden draft and some of the flickering flames went out, and the +first one of Hap Smith's belated passengers, a young girl, was fairly +blown into the room. She, like the rest, was drenched and as she +hastened across the floor to the welcome fire trailed rain water from +her cape and dress. But her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks rosy with +the rude wooing of the outside night. After her, stamping noisily, glad +of the light and warmth and a prospect of food and drink, came Hap +Smith's other passengers, four booted men from the mines and the cattle +country. + +To the last man of them in the road house they gave her their immediate +and exclusive attention. Briefly suspended were all such operations as +smoking, drinking, newspaper reading or card playing. They looked at her +gravely, speculatively and with frankly unhidden interest. One man who +had laid a wet coat aside donned it again swiftly and surreptitiously. +Another in awkward fashion, as she passed close to him, half rose and +then sank back into his chair. Still others merely narrowed the gaze +that was bent upon her steadily. + +She went straight to the fireplace, threw off her wraps and extended her +hands to the blaze. So for a moment she stood, her shoulders stirring to +the shiver which ran down her whole body. Then she turned her head a +little and for the first time took in all of the rude appointments of +the room. + +"Oh!" she gasped. "I...." + +"It's all right, Miss," said Poke Drury, swinging toward her, his hand +lifted as though to stop one in full flight. "You see ... just that end +there is the bar room," he explained nodding at her reassuringly. "The +middle of the room here is the ... the parlour; an' down at that end, +where the long table is, that's the dinin' room. I ain't ever got +aroun' to the partitions yet, but I'm goin' to some day. An' ... Ahem!" + +He had said it all and, all things considered, had done rather well with +an impossible job. The clearing of the throat and a glare to go with it +were not for the startled girl but for that part of the room where the +bar and card tables were being used. + +"Oh," said the girl again. And then, turning her back upon the bar and +so allowing the firelight to add to the sparkle of her eyes and the +flush on her cheeks, "Of course. One mustn't expect everything. And +please don't ask the gentlemen to ... to stop whatever they are doing on +my account. I'm quite warm now." She smiled brightly at her host and +shivered again. + +"May I go right to my room?" + +In the days when Poke Drury's road house stood lone and aloof from the +world in Big Pine Flat, very little of the world from which such as Poke +Drury had retreated had ever peered into these mountain-bound +fastnesses; certainly less than few women of the type of this girl had +ever come here in the memory of the men who now, some boldly and some +shyly, regarded her drying herself and seeking warmth in front of the +blazing fire. True, at the time there were in the house three others of +her sex. But they were ... different. + +"May I go right to my room?" she repeated as the landlord stood gaping +at her rather foolishly. She imagined that he had not heard, being a +little deaf ... or that, possibly, the poor chap was a trifle slow +witted. And again she smiled on him kindly and again he noted the +shiver bespeaking both chill and fatigue. + +But to Poke Drury there had come an inspiration. Not much of one, +perhaps, yet he quickly availed himself of it. Hanging in a dusty corner +near the long dining table, was an old and long disused guest's book, +the official road house register. Drury's wandering eye lighted upon it. + +"If you'll sign up, Miss," he suggested, "I'll go have Ma get your room +ready." + +And away he scurried on his crutch, casting a last look over his +shoulder at his ruder male guests. + +The girl went hastily as directed and sat down at the table, her back to +the room. The book she lifted down from its hanging place; there was a +stub of pencil tied to the string. She took it stiffly into her fingers +and wrote, "Winifred Waverly." Her pencil in the space reserved for the +signer's home town, she hesitated. Only briefly, however. With a little +shrug, she completed the legend, inscribing swiftly, "Hill's Corners." +Then she sat still, feeling that many eyes were upon her and waited the +return of the road house keeper. When finally he came back into the +room, his slow hesitating gait and puckered face gave her a suspicion of +the truth. + +"I'm downright sorry, Miss," he began lamely. "Ma's got +somethin' ... bad cold or pneumonia ... an' she won't budge. There's +only one more bed room an' Lew Yates's wife has got one cot an Lew's +mother-in-law has got the other. An' _they_ won't budge. An' ..." + +He ended there abruptly. + +"I see," said the girl wearily. "There isn't any place for me." + +"Unless," offered Drury without enthusiasm and equally without +expectation of his offer being of any great value, "you'd care to crawl +in with Ma ..." + +"No, thank you!" said Miss Waverly hastily. "I can sit up somewhere; +after all it won't be long until morning and we start on again. Or, if I +might have a blanket to throw down in a corner ..." + +Again Poke Drury left her abruptly. She sat still at the table, without +turning, again conscious of many eyes steadily on her. Presently from an +adjoining room came Drury's voice, subdued to a low mutter. Then a +woman's voice, snapping and querrulous. And a moment later the return of +Drury, his haste savouring somewhat of flight from the connubial +chamber, but certain spoils of victory with him; from his arm trailed a +crazy-quilt which it was perfectly clear he had snatched from his wife's +bed. + +He led the way to the kitchen, stuck a candle in a bottle on the table, +spread the quilt on the floor in the corner, made a veritable ceremony +of fastening the back door and left her. The girl shivered and went +slowly to her uninviting couch. + +Poke Drury, in his big general room again, stood staring with troubled +face at the other men. With common consent and to the last man of them +they had already tiptoed to the register and were seeking to inform +themselves as to the name and habitat of the prettiest girl who had ever +found herself within the four walls of Poke Drury's road house. + +"Nice name," offered old man Adams whose curiosity had kept stride with +his years and who, lacking all youthful hesitation, had been first to +get to the book. "Kind of stylish soundin'. But, Hill's Corners?" He +shook his head. "I ain't been to the Corners for a right smart spell, +but I didn't know such as _her_ lived there." + +"They don't," growled the heavy set man who had snatched the register +from old man Adams' fingers. "An' I been there recent. Only last week. +The Corners ain't so all-fired big as a female like her is goin' to be +livin' there an' it not be knowed all over." + +Poke Drury descended upon them, jerked the book away and with a screwed +up face and many gestures toward the kitchen recalled to them that a +flimsy partition, though it may shut out the vision, is hardly to be +counted on to stop the passage of an unguarded voice. + +"Step down this way, gents," he said tactfully. "Where the bar is. Bein' +it's a right winterish sort of night I don't reckon a little drop o' +kindness would go bad, huh? Name your poison, gents. It's on me." + +In her corner just beyond the flimsy partition, Winifred Waverly, of +Hill's Corners or elsewhere, drew the many coloured patch work quilt +about her and shivered again. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE DEVIL'S OWN NIGHT + + +Hap Smith, the last to come in, opened the front door which the wind +snatched from his hands and slammed violently against the wall. In the +sudden draft the old newspapers on one of the oil-cloth covered tables +went flying across the room, while the rain drove in and blackened the +floor. Hap Smith got the door shut and for a moment stood with his back +against it, his two mail bags, a lean and a fat, tied together and flung +over his shoulder, while he smote his hands together and laughed. + +"A night for the devil to go skylarkin' in!" he cried jovially. "A night +for murder an' arson an' robbin' graveyards! Listen to her, boys! Hear +her roar! Poke Drury, I'm tellin' you, I'm glad your shack's right where +it is instead of seventeen miles fu'ther on. An' ... Where's the girl?" +He had swept the room with his roving eye; now, dropping his voice a +little he came on down the room and to the bar. "Gone to bed?" + +As one thoroughly at home here he went for a moment behind the bar, +dropped the bags into a corner for safety and threw off his heavy outer +coat, frankly exposing the big revolver which dragged openly at his +right hip. Bill Varney had always carried a rifle and had been unable to +avail himself of it in time; Hap Smith in assuming the responsibilities +of the United States Mail had forthwith invested heavily of his cash on +hand for a Colt forty-five and wore it frankly in the open. His, by the +way, was the only gun in sight, although there were perhaps a half dozen +in the room. + +"She ain't exactly gone to bed," giggled the garrulous old man Adams, +"bein' as there ain't no bed for her to go to. Ma Drury is inhabitin' +one right now, while the other two is pre-empted by Lew Yates' wife an' +his mother-in-law." + +"Pshaw," muttered Hap Smith. "That ain't right. She's an awful nice girl +an' she's clean tuckered out an' cold an' wet. She'd ought to have a bed +to creep into." His eyes reproachfully trailed off to Poke Drury. The +one-legged man made a grimace and shrugged. + +"I can't drag Lew's folks out, can I?" he demanded. "An' I'd like to see +the jasper as would try pryin' Ma loose from the covers right now. It +can't be did, Hap." + +Hap sighed, seeming to agree, and sighing reached out a big hairy hand +for the bottle. + +"She's an awful nice girl, jus' the same," he repeated with head-nodding +emphasis. And then, feeling no doubt that he had done his chivalrous +duty, he tossed off his liquor, stretched his thick arms high over his +head, squared his shoulders comfortably in his blue flannel shirt and +grinned in wide good humour. "This here campoody of yours ain't a +terrible bad place to be right bow, Poke, old scout. Not a bad place +a-tall." + +"You said twice, she was nice," put in old man Adams, his bleary, red +rimmed ferret eyes gimleting at the stage driver. "But you ain't said +who she was? Now..." + +Hap Smith stared at him and chuckled. + +"Ain't that jus' like Adams for you?" he wanted to know. "Who is she, he +says! An' here I been ridin' alongside her all day an' never once does +it pop into my head to ask whether she minds the name of Daisy or Sweet +Marie!" + +"Name's Winifred Waverly," chirped up the old man. "But a name don't +mean much; not in this end of the world least ways. But us boys finds it +kind of interestin' how she hangs out to Dead Man's Alley. That bein' +kind of strange an' ..." + +"Poh!" snorted Hap Smith disdainfully. "Her hang out in that little town +of Hill's Corners? Seein' as she ain't ever been there, havin' tol' me +so on the stage less'n two hours ago, what's the sense of sayin' a fool +thing like that? She ain't the kind as dwells in the likes of that nest +of polecats an' sidewinders. Poh!" + +"Poh, is it?" jeered old man Adams tremulously. "Clap your peep sight on +that, Hap Smith. Poh at me, will you?" and close up to the driver's eyes +he thrust the road house register with its newly pencilled inscription +so close that Hap Smith dodged and was some time deciphering the brief +legend. + +"Beats me," he grunted, when he had done. He tossed the book to a table +as a matter of no moment and shrugged. "Anyways she's a nice girl, I +don't care where she abides, so to speak. An' me an' these other boys," +with a sweeping glance at the four of his recent male passengers, "is +hungrier than wolves. How about it, Poke? Late hours, but considerin' +the kind of night the devil's dealin' we're lucky to be here a-tall. I +could eat the hind leg off a ten year ol' steer." + +"Jus' because a girl's got a red mouth an' purty eyes ..." began old man +Adams knowingly. But Smith snorted "Poh!" at him again and clapped him +good naturedly on the thin old shoulders after such a fashion as to +double the old man up and send him coughing and catching at his breath +back to his chair by the fire. + +Poke Drury, staring strangely at Smith, showed unmistakable signs of his +embarrassment. Slowly under several pairs of interested eyes his face +went a flaming red. + +"I don't know what's got into me tonight," he muttered, slapping a very +high and shining forehead with a very soft, flabby hand. "I clean forgot +you boys hadn't had supper. An' now ... the grub's all in the kitchen +an' ... _she's_ in there, all curled up in a quilt an' mos' likely +asleep." + +Several mouths dropped. As for Hap Smith he again smote his big hands +together and laughed. + +"Drinks on Poke Drury," he announced cheerfully. "For havin' got so +excited over a pretty girl he forgot we hadn't had supper! Bein' that's +what's got into him." + +Drury hastily set forth bottles and glasses. More than that, being +tactful, he started Hap Smith talking. He asked of the roads, called +attention to the fact that the stage was several hours late, hinted at +danger from the same gentleman who had taken off Bill Varney only +recently, and so succeeded in attaining the desired result. Hap Smith, +a glass twisting slowly in his hand, declaimed long and loudly. + +But in the midst of his dissertation the kitchen door opened and the +girl, her quilt about her shoulders like a shawl, came in. + +"I heard," she said quietly. "You are all hungry and the food is in +there." She came on to the fireplace and sat down. "I am hungry, too. +And cold." She looked upon the broad genial face of Hap Smith as upon +the visage of an old friend. "I am not going to be stupid," she +announced with a little air of taking the situation in hand. "I would +be, if I stayed in there and caught cold. Tell them," and it was still +Hap Smith whom she addressed, "to go on with whatever they are doing." + +Again she came in for a close general scrutiny, one of serious, frank +and matter of fact appraisal. Conscious of it, as she could not help +being, she for a little lifted her head and turned her eyes gravely to +meet the eyes directed upon her. Hers were clear, untroubled, a deep +grey and eminently pleasant to look into; especially now that she put +into them a little friendly smile. But in another moment and with a half +sigh of weariness, she settled into a chair at the fireside and let her +gaze wander back to the blazing fire. + +Again among themselves they conceded, what by glances and covert nods, +that she was most decidedly worth a man's second look and another after +that. "Pretty, like a picture," offered Joe Hamby in a guarded whisper +to one of the recent arrivals, who was standing with him at the bar. +"Or," amended Joe with a flash of inspiration, "like a flower; one of +them nice blue flowers on a long stem down by the crick." + +"Nice to talk to, too," returned Joe's companion, something of the pride +of ownership in his tone and look. For, during the day on the stage had +he not once summoned the courage for a stammering remark to her, and had +she not replied pleasantly? "Never travelled with a nicer lady." +Whereupon Joe Hamby regarded him enviously. And old man Adams, with a +sly look out of his senile old eyes, jerked his thin old body across the +floor, dragging a chair after him, and sat down to entertain the lady. +Who, it would seem from the twitching of her lips, had been in reality +wooed out of herself and highly amused, when the interruption to the +quiet hour came, abruptly and without warning. + +Poke Drury, willingly aided by the hungrier of his guests, had brought +in the cold dishes; a big roast of beef, boiled potatoes, quantities of +bread and butter and the last of Ma Drury's dried-apple pies. The long +dining table had begun to take on a truly festive air. The coffee was +boiling in the coals of the fireplace. Then the front door, the knob +turned and released from without, was blown wide open by the gusty wind +and a tall man stood in the black rectangle of the doorway. His +appearance and attitude were significant, making useless all conjecture. +A faded red bandana handkerchief was knotted about his face with rude +slits for the eyes. A broad black hat with flapping, dripping brim was +down over his forehead. In his two hands, the barrel thrust forward into +the room, was a sawed-off shotgun. + +He did not speak, it being plain that words were utterly superfluous and +that he knew it. Nor was there any outcry in the room. At first the girl +had not seen, her back being to the door. Nor had old man Adams, his red +rimmed eyes being on the girl. They turned together. The old man's jaw +dropped; the girl's eyes widened, rather to a lively interest, it would +seem, than to alarm. One had but to sit tight at times like this and +obey orders.... + +The intruder's eyes were everywhere. His chief concern, however, from +the start appeared to be Hap Smith. The stage driver's hand had gone to +the butt of his revolver and now rested there. The muzzle of the short +barrelled shotgun made a short quick arc and came to bear on Hap Smith. +Slowly his fingers dropped from his belt. + +Bert Stone, a quick eyed little man from Barstow's Springs, whipped out +a revolver from its hidden place on his person and fired. But he had +been over hasty and the man in the doorway had seen the gesture. The +roar of the shotgun there in the house sounded like that of a cannon; +the smoke lifted and spread and swirled in the draft. Bert Stone went +down with a scream of pain as a load of buckshot flung him about and +half tore off his outer arm. Only the fact that Stone, in firing, had +wisely thrown his body a little to the side, saved the head upon his +body. + +The wind swept through the open door with fresh fury. Here a lamp went +out, there the unsteady flame of a candle was extinguished. The smoke +from the shotgun was mingled with much wood smoke whipped out of the +fireplace. The man in the doorway, neither hesitating nor hurrying, +eminently cool and confident, came into the room. The girl studied him +curiously, marking each trifling detail of his costume: the shaggy black +chaps like those of a cowboy off for a gay holiday; the soft grey shirt +and silk handkerchief to match knotted loosely about a brown throat. He +was very tall and wore boots with tall heels; his black hat had a crown +which added to the impression of great height. To the fascinated eyes of +the girl he appeared little less than a giant. + +He stopped and for a moment remained tensely, watchfully still. She felt +his eyes on her; she could not see them in the shadow of his hat, but +had an unpleasant sensation of a pair of sinister eyes narrowing in +their keen regard of her. She shivered as though cold. + +Moving again he made his away along the wall and to the bar. He stepped +behind it, still with neither hesitation nor haste, and found the two +mail bags with his feet. And with his feet he pushed them out to the +open, along the wall, toward the door. Hap Smith snarled; his face no +longer one of broad good humour. The shotgun barrel bore upon him +steadily, warningly. Hap's rising hand dropped again. + +Then suddenly all was uproar and confusion, those who had been chained +to their chairs or places on the floor springing into action. The man +had backed to the door, swept up the mail bags and now suddenly leaped +backward into the outside night. Hap Smith and four or five other men +had drawn their guns and were firing after him. There were outcries, +above them surging the curses of the stage driver. Bert Stone was +moaning on the floor. The girl wanted to go to him but for a little +merely regarded him with wide eyes; there was a spreading pool on the +bare floor at his side, looking in the uncertain light like spilled ink. +A thud of bare feet, and Ma Drury came running into the room, her night +dress flying after her. + +"Pa!" she cried wildly. "You ain't killed, are you, Pa?" + +"Bert is, most likely," he answered, swinging across the room to the +fallen man. Then it was that the girl by the fire sprang to her feet +and ran to Bert Stone's side. + +"Who was it? What happened?" Ma Drury asked shrilly. + +The men looked from one to another of their set-faced crowd. Getting +only silence for her answer Ma Drury with characteristic irritation +demanded again to be told full particulars and in the same breath +ordered the door shut. A tardy squeal and another like an echo came from +the room which harboured Lew Yates's wife and mother-in-law. Perhaps +they had just come out from under the covers for air and squealed and +dived back again ... not being used to the customs obtaining in the +vicinity of Drury's road house as Poke himself had remarked. + +Hap Smith was the first one of the men who had dashed outside to return. +He carried a mail bag in each hand, muddy and wet, having stumbled over +them in the wild chase. He dropped them to the floor and stared angrily +at them. + +The bulky mail bag, save for the damp and mud, was untouched. The lean +bag however had been slit open. Hap Smith kicked it in a sudden access +of rage. + +"There was ten thousan' dollars in there, in green backs," he said +heavily. "They trusted it to me an' Bert Stone to get across with it. +An' now ..." + +His face was puckered with rage and shame. He went slowly to where Bert +Stone lay. His friend was white and unconscious ... perhaps already his +tale was told. Hap Smith looked from him to the girl who, her face as +white as Bert's, was trying to staunch the flow of blood. + +"I said it," he muttered lugubriously; "the devil's own night." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BUCK THORNTON, MAN'S MAN + + +Those who had rushed into the outer darkness in the wake of the +highwayman returned presently. Mere impulse and swift natural reaction +from their former enforced inactivity rather than any hope of success +had sent them hot-foot on the pursuit. The noisy, windy night, the +absolute dark, obviated all possibility of coming up with him. Grumbling +and theorising, they returned to the room and closed the door behind +them. + +Now that the tense moment of the actual robbery had passed there was a +general buzzing talk, voices lifted in surmise, a lively excitement +replacing the cosy quiet of a few moments ago. Voices from the spare bed +room urged Ma Drury to bring an account of the adventure, and Poke's +wife, having first escorted the wounded man to her own bed and donned a +wrapper and shoes and stockings, gave to Lew Yates's women folk as +circumstantial a description of the whole affair as though she herself +had witnessed it. + +After a while a man here and there began to eat, taking a slab of bread +and meat in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, walking +back and forth and talking thickly. The girl at the fireplace sat stiff +and still, staring at the flames; she had lost her appetite, had quite +forgotten it in fact. At first from under the hand shading her eyes she +watched the men going for one drink after another, the strong drink of +the frontier; but after a little, as though this had been a novel sight +in the beginning but soon lost interest for her, she let her look droop +to the fire. Fresh dry fuel had been piled on the back log and at last a +grateful sense of warmth and sleepiness pervaded her being. She no +longer felt hunger; she was too tired, her eyelids had grown too heavy +for her to harbour the thought of food. She settled forward in her chair +and nodded. The talk of the men, though as they ate and drank their +voices were lifted, grew fainter and fainter in her ears, further and +further away. Finally they were blended in an indistinguishable murmur +that meant nothing.... In a doze she caught herself wondering if the +wounded man in the next room would live. It was terribly still in there. + +She was in that mental and physical condition when, the body tired and +the brain betwixt dozing and waking, thought becomes a feverish process, +the mind snatching vivid pictures from the day's experience and weaving +them into as illogical a pattern as that of the crazy quilt over her +shoulders. All day long she had ridden in the swaying, lurching, jerking +stage until now in her chair, as she slipped a little forward, she +experienced the sensations of the day. Many a time that day as the +racing horses obeying the experienced hand of the driver swept around a +sharp turn in the road she had looked down a sheer cliff that had made +her flesh quiver so that it had been hard not to draw back and cry out. +She had seen the horses leaping forward scamper like mad runaways down a +long slope, dashing through the spray of a rising creek to take the +uphill climb on the run. And tonight she had seen a masked man shoot +down one of her day's companions and loot the United States mail.... And +in a register somewhere she had written down the name of Hill's Corners. +The place men called Dead Man's Alley. She had never heard the name +until today. Tomorrow she would ask the exact significance of it.... + +At last she was sound asleep. She had found comfort by twisting sideways +in her chair and resting her shoulder against the warm rock-masonry of +the outer edge of the fireplace. She awoke with a start. What had +recalled her to consciousness she did not know. Perhaps a new voice in +her ears, perhaps Poke Drury's tones become suddenly shrill. Or it may +be that just a sudden sinking and falling away into utter silence of all +voices, the growing still of hands upon dice cups, all eloquent of a new +breathless atmosphere in the room had succeeded in impressing upon her +sleep-drugged brain the fact of still another vital, electrically +charged moment. She turned in her chair. Then she settled back, +wondering. + +The door was open; the wind was sweeping in; again old newspapers went +flying wildly as though in panicky fear. The men in the room were +staring even as she stared, in bewilderment. She heard old man Adams's +tongue clicking in his toothless old mouth. She saw Hap Smith, his +expression one of pure amazement, standing, half crouching as though to +spring, his hands like claws at his sides. And all of this because of +the man who stood in the open doorway, looking in. + +The man who had shot Bert Stone, who had looted a mail bag, had +returned! That was her instant thought. And clearly enough it was the +thought shared by all of Poke Drury's guests. To be sure he carried no +visible gun and his face was unhidden. But there was the hugeness of +him, bulking big in the doorway, the spare, sinewy height made the +taller by his tall boot heels, the wide black hat with the drooping brim +from which rain drops trickled in a quick flashing chain, the shaggy +black chaps of a cowboy in holiday attire, the soft grey shirt, the grey +neck handkerchief about a brown throat, even the end of a faded bandana +trailing from a hip pocket. + +He stood stone-still a moment, looking in at them with that queer +expression in his eyes. Then he stepped forward swiftly and closed the +door. He had glanced sharply at the girl by the fire; she had shaded her +eyes with her hand, the shadow of which lay across her face. He turned +again from her to the men, his regard chiefly for Hap Smith. + +"Well?" he said lightly, being the first to break the silence. "What's +wrong?" + +There are moments in which it seems as if time itself stood still. +During the spellbound fragment of time a girl, looking out from under a +cupped hand, noted a man and marvelled at him. By his sheer physical +bigness, first, he fascinated her. He was like the night and the storm +itself, big, powerful, not the kind born to know and suffer restraint; +but rather the type of man to dwell in such lands as stretched mile +after unfenced mile "out yonder" beyond the mountains. As he moved he +gave forth a vital impression of immense animal power; standing still he +was dynamic. A sculptor might have carved him in stone and named the +result "Masculinity." + +The brief moment in which souls balanced and muscles were chained passed +swiftly. Strangely enough it was old man Adams who precipitated action. +The old man was nervous; more than that, bred here, he was fearless. +Also fortune had given him a place of vantage. His body was half +screened by that of Hap Smith and by a corner of the bar. His eager old +hand snatched out Hap Smith's dragging revolver, levelled it and +steadied it across the bar, the muzzle seeking the young giant who had +come a step forward. + +"Hands up!" clacked the old man in tremulous triumph. "I got you, dad +burn you!" And at the same instant Hap Smith cried out wonderingly: + +"Buck Thornton! You!" + +The big man stood very still, only his head turning quickly so that his +eyes were upon the feverish eyes of old man Adams. + +"Yes," he returned coolly. "I'm Thornton." And, "Got me, have you?" he +added just as coolly. + +Winifred Waverly stiffened in her chair; already tonight had she heard +gunshots and smelled powder and seen spurting red blood. A little surge +of sick horror brought its tinge of vertigo and left her clear thoughted +and afraid. + +"Hands up, I say," repeated the old man sharply. "I got you." + +"You go to hell," returned Thornton, and his coolness had grown into +curt insolence. "I never saw the man yet that I'm going to do that for." +He came on two more quick, long strides, thrust his face forward and +cried in a voice that rang out commandingly above the crash of the wind, +"_Drop that gun! Drop it!_" + +Old man Adams had no intention of obeying; he had played poker himself +for some fifty odd years and knew what bluff meant. But for just one +brief instant he was taken aback, fairly shocked into a fluttering +indecision by the thunderous voice. Then, before he could recover +himself the big man had flung a heavy wet coat into Adams's face, a gun +had been fired wildly, the bullet ripping into the ceiling, and Buck +Thornton had sprung forward and whipped the smoking weapon from an +uncertain grasp. Winifred Waverly, without breathing and without +stirring, saw Buck Thornton's strong white teeth in a wide, good +humoured smile. + +"I know you were just joking but..." + +He whirled and fired, never lifting the gun from his side. And a man +across the room from him cried out and dropped his own gun and grasped +his shoulder with a hand which slowly went red. + +Now again she saw Buck Thornton's teeth. But no longer in a smile. He +had seemed to condone the act of old Adams as a bit of senility; the +look in his eyes was one of blazing rage as this other man drew back and +back from him, muttering. + +"I'd have killed you then," said Thornton coldly, his rage the cold +wrath that begets murder in men's souls. "But I shot just a shade too +quick. Try it again, or any other man here draw, and by God, I'll show +you a dead man in ten seconds." + +He drew back and put the bar just behind him. Then with a sudden +gesture, he flung down the revolver which had come from Hap Smith's +holster and more recently from old man Adams's fingers, and his hand +flashed to his arm pit and back into plain sight, his own weapon in it. + +"I don't savvy your game, sports," he said with the same cool insolence. +"But if you want me to play just go ahead and deal me a hand." + +To the last man of them they looked at him and hesitated. It was written +in large bold script upon the faces of them that the girl's thought was +their thought. And yet, though there were upward a dozen of them and +though Poke Drury's firelight flickered on several gun barrels and +though here were men who were not cowards and who did not lack +initiative, to the last man of them they hesitated. As his glance sped +here and there it seemed to stab at them like a knife blade. He +challenged them and stood quietly waiting for the first move. And the +girl by the fire knew almost from the first that no hostile move was +forthcoming. And she knew further that had a man there lifted his hand +Buck Thornton's promise would have been kept and he'd show them a dead +man in ten seconds. + +"Suppose," said Thornton suddenly, "you explain. Poke Drury, this being +your shack.... What's the play?" + +Drury moistened his lips. But it was Hap Smith who spoke up. + +"I've knowed you some time, Buck," he said bluntly. "An' I never knowed +you to go wrong. But ... Well, not an hour ago a man your build an' size +an' with a bandana across his face stuck this place up." + +"Well?" said Thornton coolly. + +"At first," went on the stage driver heavily and a bit defiantly, "we +thought it was him come back when you come in." His eye met Thornton's +in a long unwavering look. "We ain't certain yet," he ended briefly. + +Thornton pondered the matter, his thumb softly caressing the hammer of +his revolver. + +"So that's it, is it?" he said finally. + +"That's it," returned Hap Smith. + +"And what have you decided to do in the matter?" + +Smith shrugged. "We acted like a pack of kids," he said. "Lettin' you +get the drop on us like this. Oh, you're twice as quick on the draw as +the best two of us an' we know it. An' ... an' we ain't dead sure as we +ain't made a mistake." + +His candidly honest face was troubled. He was not sure that Thornton was +the same man who so short a time ago had shot Bert Stone. It did not +seem reasonable to Hap Smith that a man, having successfully made his +play, would return just to court trouble. + +"If you're on the square, Buck," he said in a moment, "throw down your +gun an' let's see the linin' of your pockets!" + +"Yes?" retorted Thornton. "What else, Mr. Smith?" + +"Let us take a squint at that bandana trailin' out'n your back pocket," +said Smith crisply. "If it ain't got deep holes cut in it!" + +Now that was stupid, thought Winifred. Nothing could be more stupid, in +fact. If this man had committed the crime and had thus voluntarily +returned to the road house, he would be prepared. He would have emptied +his pockets, he certainly would have had enough brains to dispose of so +tell-tale a bit of evidence as a handkerchief with slits let into it. + +"Maybe," said Thornton quietly, and she did not detect the contemptuous +insolence under the slow words until he had nearly completed his +meaning, "you'd like to have me tell you where I'm riding from and why? +And maybe you'd like to have me take off my shoes so you can look in +them for your lost treasures?" Now was his contempt unhidden. He strode +quickly across the room, coming to the fireplace where the girl sat. He +took the handkerchief from his pocket, keeping it rolled up in his hand; +stooping forward he dropped it into the fire, well behind the back log. + +Then for the first time he saw her face plainly. As he had come close to +her she had slipped from her chair and stood now, her face lifted, +looking at him. His gaze was arrested as his eyes met hers. He stood +very still, plainly showing the surprise which he made no slightest +effort to disguise. She flushed, bit her lip, went a fiery red. He put +up his hand and removed his hat. + +"I didn't expect," he said, still looking at her with that intent, +openly admiring acknowledgment of her beauty, "to see a girl like you. +Here." + +The thing which struck her was that still there were men in the room who +were armed and distrustful of him and that he had forgotten them. What +she could not gauge was the full of the effect she had had upon him. He +had marked a female form at the fireside, shawled by a shapeless +patchwork quilt; out of it, magically it seemed to his startled +fancies, there had stepped a superb creature with eyes on fire with her +youth, a superlatively lovely creature, essentially feminine. From the +flash of her eyes to the curl of her hair, she was all girl. And to Buck +Thornton, man's man of the wide open country beyond the mountains, who +had set his eyes upon no woman for a half year, who had looked on no +woman of her obvious class and type for two years, who had seen the +woman of one half her physical loveliness and tugging charm never, the +effect was instant and tremendous. A little shiver went through him; his +eyes caught fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE FORD + + +"These little cotton-tail rabbits," he said to her slowly, without +turning his eyes from hers to those of whom he spoke, "haven't any more +sense than you'd think to look at them. Once let them get a notion in +their heads.... Look here!" he broke off sharply. "You don't think the +same way they do, do you?" + +"No!" she said hurriedly. + +Hurriedly, because for the moment her poise had fled from her and she +knew that he must note the high colour in her cheeks. And the colour had +come not in response to his words but in quick answer to his look. A +young giant of a man, he stood staring at her like some artless boy who +at a bend in the road had stopped, breathless, to widen his eyes to the +smile of a fairy fresh from fairy land. + +And her "No," was the true reply to his question and burst spontaneously +from her lips. Her first swift suspicion when she had seen the bulk of +him framed against the bleak night had been quite natural. But now that +she had marked the man's carriage and had seen his face and looked for +one instant deep into his clear eyes, she set her conjecture aside as an +absurdity. It was not so much that her reason had risen to demand why a +successful highwayman should return into danger and the likelihood of +swift punishment. It was rather and simply because she felt that this +bronzed young stranger, seeming to her woman's instinct a sort of breezy +incarnation of the outdoors, partook of none of the characteristics of +the footpad, sneak thief or nocturnal gentleman of the road. An +essential attribute of the boldest and most picturesque of that gentry +was the quality of deceit and subterfuge and hypocrisy. Consecutive +logical thought being, after all, a tedious process, she had had no time +to progress from step to step of deduction and inference; he had asked +his question with a startling abruptness and as abruptly she had given +him her answer. The rest might believe what they chose to believe. She +for her part, held Buck Thornton, whoever he might be, guiltless of the +earlier affair of the evening. And, moreover, she could quite understand +the impulse that sent an innocent man to toss a handkerchief into the +fire and let them ponder on the act's significance. The act may have +been foolhardy and certainly had the youthful flavour of bravado; none +the less in her eyes the man achieved through it a sort of magnificence. + +He stood looking at her very gravely and gravely she returned the look. +And it was borne in upon the girl's inner consciousness that now and for +the first time in her life she had come face to face with a man +absolutely without guile or the need thereof. He was in character as he +was in physique, or she read him wrongly. He thought his thought +straight out and made no pretence of hiding it for the simple and +sufficient reason that there was in all the universe no slightest need +of hiding it. As she looked straight back into his eyes little flashes +of impressions which had fastened upon her mind during the day came back +to her, things which he suggested, which were like him. She was very +tired and further she was overwrought from the nervous excitement of the +evening; hence her mental processes were the quicker and more prone to +fly off at wild tangents.... She had seen a tall, rugged cedar on a +rocky ridge blown through by the tempest, standing out in clear relief +against the sky; this man recalled the scene, the very atmosphere. She +had seen a wild swollen torrent hurtling on its way down the +mountainside; the man had threatened to become like that, headlong with +unbounded passion, fierce and destructive when a moment ago they opposed +him.... Again she bit her lip; she was thinking of this huge male +creature in hyperboles. Yes; she was overwrought; it was not well to +think thusly of any mere male creature. + +And yet she but liked him the better and her fancies were smitten anew +by what he did now. Having filled his eyes with her as a man athirst may +fill himself with water from a brook, he turned abruptly away and left +her. He did not tarry to say "Thank you," that she had been almost eager +in asserting her belief in his innocence. He did not go back to a futile +and perhaps quarrelsome discussion with Hap Smith and old man Adams and +the rest. He simply dropped everything where it was, shoved his big +revolver out of sight under his left arm-pit and went to the long dining +table. There, his back to the room, he helped himself generously to cold +meat, bread and luke-warm coffee and ate hungrily. + +She sank back into her chair and let her eyes wander to his breadth of +shoulder, straightness of back and even to the curl of his hair that +cast its dancing shadows upon the wall in front of him. She had never +had a man turn his back on her this way, and yet now the accomplished +deed struck her in nowise as boorish or rude. He had paid her the +tribute of a deep admiration, as clear and strong and unsullied as a +racing mountain stream in spring time. The few words which he deemed +necessary had passed between them. Then he had withdrawn himself from +her attention. Not rude, the act savoured somehow of the downright free +bigness of unconvention. + +"It's silly, jumping to conclusions, any way," she informed herself. +"Why suspect him just because he wears the costume of the country, has +the usual red handkerchief in his possession and is tall? There are half +a dozen big red handkerchiefs in this room right now ... and this would +seem to be the land of tall men." + +Only once again did he speak to her that night and then just to say in +plain matter-of-fact style: "You'd better lie down there and get some +sleep. Good night." And this remark had come only after fifteen minutes +of busy preparation on his part and curiosity on hers. He had gone out +of the room into the night with no offered explanation and with many +eyes following him; men began to show rising signs of excitement and to +regret audibly that they had not "gathered him in." But in a few minutes +he was back, his arms filled with loose hay from the barn. He spread it +out in a corner, down by the long table. The table itself he drew out of +the way. On the hay he smoothed out her quilt. Then, after a brief word +with Poke Drury, he made another expedition into the night, returning +with a strip of weather beaten, patched canvas; this he hung by the +corners from the nails he hammered into a beam of the low ceiling, +letting the thing drop partition-wise across the room. It had been then +that he said quietly: "You'd better lie down there and get some sleep. +Good night." + +"Good night," she answered him. And as it was with his eyes that again +he told her frankly what he thought of her, so was it with her eyes that +she thanked him. + +The night passed somehow. She lay down and slept, awoke, moved her body +for more comfort, slept again. And through her sleep and dreams and +wakeful moments she heard the quiet voices of the men who had no beds to +go to; that monotonous sound and an occasional clink of glass and +bottle neck or the rustling of shuffled cards. Once she got up and +looked through a hole in the canvas; she had taken off her shoes and +made no noise to draw attention to her spying. It must have been chance, +therefore, which prompted Thornton to lift his head quickly and look +toward her. The light was all on his side of the room; she knew that he +had not heard her and could not see her; the tear in her flimsy wall was +scarcely more than a pin-hole. He was playing cards; furthermore he was +winning, there being a high stack of blue and red and white chips in +front of him and a sprinkling of gold. But she saw no sign of the +gambling fever in his eyes. Rather, there was in them a look which made +her draw back guiltily; which sent her creeping back to her rude bed +with suffused cheeks. He was still thinking of her, solely of her, +despite the spoils of chance at his hand.... + +All night the storm beat at the lone house in the mountain pass, +rattling at doors and windows, whistling down the chimney, shaking the +building with its fierce gusts. The rain ceased only briefly when the +cold congealed it into a flurry of beating hail stones; thereafter came +the rain again, scarcely less noisy. And in the morning when she awoke +with a start and smelled boiling coffee the wind was still raging, the +rain was falling heavily and steadily. + +In the dark and with the lamps burning on palely into the dim day she +breakfasted. Together with several of the men she ate in the kitchen +where a fire roared in an old stove, and where a table was placed +conveniently. Ma Drury was about, sniffling with her cold, but cooking +and serving her guests sourly, slamming down the enamelled ware in front +of them and challenging them with a look to find fault anywhere. She +reported that in some mysterious way, for which God be thanked, there +were no dead men in her house this morning. Bert Stone was alive and +showed signs of continuing to live, a thing to marvel at. And the man +whom Buck Thornton had winged, beyond displaying a sore arm and +disposition, was for the present a mere negligible and disagreeable +quantity. + +Hap Smith came in from the barn while she was eating. He was going to +start right away. There was no use, however, in her attempting to make +the rest of the trip with him. His other passengers would lie over here +for a day or two. She looked at him curiously: why should she not go on? +It certainly was not pleasant to think of remaining in these cramped +quarters indefinitely. + +Hap Smith, hastily eating hot cakes and ham, answered briefly and to the +point. Mountain streams were all up, filling their narrow beds, spilling +over. A rain like this downpour brought them up in a few hours; it would +stop raining presently and they'd go down as fast as they had risen. +Just two miles from the road house was the biggest stream of all to +negotiate, being the upper waters of Alder Creek. It was up to Hap to +make it because he represented a certain Uncle Samuel who was not to be +stopped by hell or high water; literally that. He'd tie his mail bags +in; leave all extras at Poke Drury's, drive his horses into the +turbulent river high above the ford and ... make it somehow. It was up +to her to stay here. + +He gobbled down his breakfast, rolled a fat brown cigarette, buttoned up +his coat and went out to his stage. Before he could snap back his brake +she was at his side. + +"My business is as important to me as Uncle Samuel's is to him," she +told him in a steady, matter-of-fact voice. "What is more, I have paid +my fare and mean to go through with you." + +He saw that she did mean it. He expostulated, but briefly. He was behind +time, he knew that already they had sought to argue with her in the +house, he recognized the futility of further argument. He had a wife of +his own, had Hap Smith. He grunted his displeasure with the arrangement, +informed her curtly that it was up to her and that, if they went under, +his mail bags would require all of his attention, shrugged his two +shoulders at once and high up, released his brake and went clattering +down the rocky road. The girl cast a quick look behind her as they drew +away from the road house; she had not seen Buck Thornton this morning +and wondered if he had been loitering about the barn or had turned back +into the mountains or had ridden ahead. + +Alder Creek was a mad rush and swirl of muddy water; the swish and hiss +of it smote their ears five minutes before they saw the brown, writhing +thing itself. The girl tensed on her seat; her breathing was momentarily +suspended; her cheek went a little pale. Then, conscious of a quick +measuring look from the stage driver, she said as quietly as she could: + +"It doesn't look inviting, does it?" + +Hap Smith grunted and gave his attention forthwith and solely to the +dexterous handling of his tugging reins. He knew the crossing; had made +it with one sort of a team and another many times in his life. But he +had never seen it so swollen and threatening and he had never heard its +hissing sound upgathered into such a booming roar as now greeted them. +He stopped his team and looked from under drawn brows at the water. + +"You'd better get out," he said shortly. + +"But I won't!" she retorted hurriedly. "And, since we are going to make +the crossing ... go ahead, quick!" + +He winked both eyes at the rain driving into his face and sat still, +measuring his chances. While he did so she looked up and down; not a +hundred paces from them, upstream on the near bank, the figure of a man +loomed unnaturally large in the wet air. He was mounted upon a tall, +rangy horse that might have been foaled just for the purpose of carrying +a man of his ilk, a pale yellow-sorrel whose two forefeet, had it not +been for the mud, would have shone whitely. She wondered what he was +doing there. His attitude was that of one who was patiently waiting. + +"Hold on good an' tight," said Smith suddenly. "I'm goin' to tackle it." + +She gripped the back of the seat firmly, braced her feet, set her teeth +together, a little in quick fear, a great deal in determination. Smith +swung his team upstream fifty paces, then in a short arc out and away +from the creek; then, getting their heads again to the stream he called +to them, one by one, each of the four in turn, saying crisply: "You, +Babe! Charlie! that's the boy! Baldy! You Tom, you Tom! Into it; into +it; _get up_!" + +With shaking heads that flung the raindrops from tossing manes, with +gingerly lifted forefeet, with a snort here and a crablike sidling dance +there, they came down to the water's edge at a brisk trot. The off-lead, +Charlie, fought shy and snorted again; the long whip in Hap Smith's hand +shot out, uncurled, flicked Charlie's side, and with a last defiant +shake of the head the big bay drove his obedient neck into his collar +and splashed mightily in the muddy current. Babe plunged forward at his +side; the two other horses followed as they were in the habit of +following. + +The girl, fascinated, saw the water curl and eddy and whiten about their +knees; she saw it surge onward and rise about the hubs of the slow +turning wheels. Higher it came and higher until the rushing sound of it +filled her ears, the dark yellow flash of it filled her eyes and she +sat breathless and rigid.... A quick glance showed her the man, +Thornton, still above them on the bank of the stream. She noted that he +had drawn a little closer to the water's edge. + +They were half way across, fairly in midstream, and Hap Smith, utterly +oblivious of his one passenger, cursing mightily, when the mishap came. +The mad stream, rolling its rocks and boulders and jagged tree trunks, +had gouged holes in the bank here and there and had digged similar holes +in the uneven bed itself. Into such a hole the two horses on the lower +side floundered, with no warning and with disastrous suddenness. Then +went down, until only their heads were above the current. They lost all +solid ground under their threshing hoofs and, as they rose a little, +began to swim, flailing about desperately. Hap Smith yelled at them, +yanked at his reins, seeking to turn them straight down stream for a +spell until the hole be passed. But already another horse was in and +engulfed, the wagon careened, was whipped about in the furious struggle, +a wheel struck a submerged boulder and Hap Smith leaped one way while +Winifred Waverly sprang the other as the awkward stage tipped and went +on its side. + +She knew on the instant that one had no chance to swim here, no matter +how strong the swimmer. For the current was stronger than the mere +strength of a human being. She knew that if Hap Smith clung tight to his +reins he might be pulled ashore in due time, if all went well for him. +She knew that Winifred Waverly had never been in such desperate +straits. And finally she understood, and the knowledge was infinitely +sweet to her in her moment of need, why the man yonder had been sitting +his horse so idly in the rain, and just why he had been waiting. + +She did not see him as his horse, striking out valiantly, swimming and +finding precarious foothold by turns, bore down upon her; she saw only +the yellow, dirty current when she saw anything at all. She could not +know when, the first time, he leaned far out and snatched at her ... and +missed. For at the moment a sucking maelstrom had caught her and whipped +her out of his reach and flung her onward, for a little piling the +churning water above her head. She did not see when finally he succeeded +in that which he had attempted. But she felt his two arms about her and +in her heart there was a sudden glow and, though the water battled with +the two of them, strangely enough a feeling of safety. + +Perhaps it was only because he had planned on the possibility of just +this and was ready for it that she came out of Alder Creek alive. He had +slipped the loop of his rope about the horn of his saddle, making it +secure with an additional half hitch; when he was sure of her he flung +himself from the saddle, still keeping the rope in his hand as he took +her into his arms. Then, swimming as best he could, seeking to keep her +head and his above the water, he left the rest to a certain rangy, +yellow-sorrel saddle horse. And as Hap Smith and his struggling team +made shore just below the ford, Buck Thornton and Winifred Waverly were +drawn to safety by Buck Thornton's horse. + +Just as there had been no spoken thanks last night for a kindness +rendered, so now on this larger occasion there was no gush of grateful +words. He released her slowly and their eyes met. As he turned to help +Hap Smith with the frightened horses entangled in their harness, the +only words were his: + +"A couple of miles farther on you'll pass a ranch house. You can get +warm and dry your clothes there. This is the last bad crossing." + +And so, lifting his hat, he left her. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE MAN FROM POISON HOLE RANCH + + +Dry Town never looked less dry. As Buck Thornton drew rein in front of +the one brick building of which the ugly little village could boast, the +mud was above his yellow-sorrel's fetlocks. But the rain was over, the +sun was out glorious and warm above the level lands and in the air was a +miraculous feeling as of spring. It is the way of Dry Town in the matter +of seasons to rival in abruptness its denizens' ways in other matters. +The last great storm had come and gone and seeds would be bursting on +every hand and eagerly now. + +Because he loved a good horse, and this rangy sorrel above others, and +because further he had been forced to ride the willing animal unusually +hard all day yesterday, Thornton today had travelled slowly. So, long +ago, he had watched the stage out of sight and now, when finally he drew +up in front of the bank, he saw Hap Smith's lumbering vehicle standing +down by the stable. From it he let his eyes travel along the double row +of ill kept, unpainted houses. Fifty yards away a stranger would have +marked only his great height, the lean, clean, powerful physique. But +from near by one might have forgotten this matter of physical bigness +for another, noting just the man's eyes alone. Very keen, piercing, +quick eyes just now, watchful and suspicious of every corner and alley, +they more than hinted at a stern vigilance that was more than half +positive expectancy. + +Only for a moment he sat so. Then he swung down from the saddle and with +spurs clanking noisily upon the board sidewalk went into the bank +building. + +"I want to see Mr. Templeton," he said abruptly to the clerkly looking +individual behind the new lattice work. The words were very quietly +spoken, the voice rather soft and gentle for so big a man. And yet the +cashier turned quickly, looking at him curiously. + +"Who shall I say it is?" he demanded. + +"This man's town is getting citified mighty fast," the tall man grunted. +"I should have brought my cards! Well, just tell him it's Thornton." + +"Thornton?" + +"You got it. Buck Thornton, from the Poison Hole ranch." + +He spoke lightly, his voice hinting at a vast store of good nature, his +eyes, however, losing meanwhile no glint of their stern light as they +looked at the man to whom he was talking and beyond him watched the door +through which he had entered. The cashier regarded him with new +interest. + +"You are early, Mr. Thornton," he said, rather more warmly than he had +spoken before. "But Mr. Templeton will be glad to see you. He is in +his private office. Walk right in." + +Thornton stooped, his back to the wall, and swiftly unbuckled his spurs. +Carrying them in his left hand he passed along the lattice work +partition which shut off the cashier with his books and till, and threw +open the door at the end of the short hallway. Here was a sort of +waiting room, to judge from the two or three chairs, the square topped +table strewn with financial journals and illustrated magazines +indiscriminately mixed. He closed the door behind him, standing again +for a moment as he had stood out in the street, his eyes keen and +watchful as they took swift inventory of the room and its furnishings. + +Before him was a second door upon the frosted glass top of which were +the stencilled words: J.W. TEMPLETON, President, Private. He took a step +toward the door and then stopped suddenly as though the very vehemence +of the voice bursting out upon the other side of it had halted him. + +"I tell you, Miss Waverly," ... it was Templeton's voice, snappy and +irritable, ... "this thing is madness! Pure and simple, unadulterated +madness! It's as devoid of sense as a last year's nest of birds; it's as +full of danger as a ... a ..." + +"Never mind exhausting your similes, Mr. Templeton," came the answer, +the girl's voice young and fresh and yet withal firm and a little cool. +"I didn't come to ask your advice, you know. And you haven't given me +what I did come for. If you ..." + +Thornton pushed the door open, sweeping off his hat as he came in, and +said bluntly, + +"I don't know what you folks are talking about, but I judge it's +important. And there's no sense in loose-endish talk when you don't know +who's listening." + +The square built, square faced man tapping with big square finger ends +at the table in front of him whirled about suddenly, his gesture and +eyes alike showing his keen annoyance at the interruption. Then when he +saw who it was he got to his feet, saying crisply: + +"I'm glad it's you. This young woman has got it into her head ..." + +"You will remember, Mr. Templeton, that this is in strict confidence?" + +Templeton's teeth shut with a click. Thornton turned from him and, with +his spurs in one hand, his hat caught in the other, stood looking down +upon the owner of the voice that was at once so fresh and young, so +coolly determined and vaguely defiant. And as he looked at her there was +much speculation in his grave eyes. Odd that he should stumble upon her +the first thing. Odd and--natural.... + +The girl's back was to him. For a moment she did not shift her position +the least fraction of an inch, but sat very still, leaning forward in +her chair, facing the banker. Then after a little when it was evident +that Templeton was going to say nothing more she turned slowly to the +new comer, her lashes sweeping upward swiftly as her eyes met his full +and steady. And the man from the Poison Hole ranch, his own eyes looking +down into hers very gravely, noted many things in the quick, keen way +characteristic of him. + +He saw that her mouth, red lips about very white teeth, was smiling +softly, confidently; and yet that the brown-flecked grey of her eyes was +as unsmiling, as gravely speculative as his own eyes were. He saw that +her skin was a golden brown from life in the open outdoors, that she had +upon the heels of her boots a pair of tiny, sharp rowelled spurs, that a +riding quirt hung from her right wrist by its rawhide thong, that her +cheeks were a little flushed as though from excitement but that she knew +the trick of forbidding her eyes to tell what her excitement was. He saw +that her throat, where her neck scarf fell loosely away from it, was +very round and white. He saw that while her grey riding habit covered +her body it hid none of her body's grace and strength and slender +youthfulness. + +While his eyes left hers to note these things her eyes had been as busy, +running from the man's close cropped dark hair to his mud-spattered +boots. And there came into her look just a hint of admiration which the +man did not see as she in her swift examination noted the breadth of +shoulder, the straight tallness of him, the clean, supple, sinewy form +which his loose attire of soft shirt, unbuttoned vest grey with dust, +and shaggy chaps, black and much worn, in no way concealed. + +"I have come," he was saying now to Templeton, speaking abruptly +although his voice was as gentle and low-toned and pleasant as when he +had spoken with the cashier, "three days ahead of time. It won't take me +a minute to get through. And if you and the young lady will excuse me +I'll say my little speech and drift, giving you a free swing for your +business. Besides, I'm in a fair sized hurry." + +"Certainly," said Templeton immediately, while the girl, smiling now +with eyes and lips together, unconcernedly, made no answer. "Miss +Waverly is planning to.... Well, I want to talk with her a little more. +Well, Thornton," and only now he put out his hand to be gripped quickly +and warmly by the other's, "what is it? I'm glad to see you. +Everything's all right?" + +"Yes. I just dropped in to fix up that second payment." + +"Shall I go out while you talk?" The girl had gotten to her feet +swiftly. "If you are going to say anything important ..." + +"No, you'd better stay," Thornton said, and added jestingly: "I've got +nothing confidential on my mind, and since I'm just going to hand Mr. +Templeton some money, an almighty big pile of money for me to be +carrying around, maybe we'd better have a witness to the transaction." + +The banker looked at him in surprise. + +"You don't mean that you've got it with you now? That you've just +ridden in from the range and have brought it with you ... in cash!" + +For answer the cattle man slipped a bronzed hand into his shirt and +brought out a small packet done up in a piece of buckskin and tied with +a string. He tossed it to the shining table top, where it fell heavily. + +"There she is," he said lightly. "Gold and a few pieces of paper. The +whole thing. Count it." + +Templeton sank back into his chair and stared at him. He put out his +hand, lifted the packet, dropped it back upon the table, stared again, +and then burst out irritably: + +"Of all the reckless young fools in the county you two are without +equals. Buck Thornton, I thought _you_ had some sense!" + +"You never can tell," came the quiet rejoinder from unsmiling lips. "I +saw a man once I thought had sense and I found out afterwards he ran +sheep. Now, if you'll see my bet I'll travel." + +Templeton's desk shears were already busy. He jerked the packet open +flat on the table. There were many twenty dollar pieces, some fives and +tens and a little bundle of bank notes. He counted swiftly. + +"It's all right. Five thousand dollars," he said crisply. "In full for +second payment due, as you say, in three days. I'll note it on the two +agreements. And I'll give you a receipt." + +The tall man's deep chest rose and fell to a sigh as of relief at having +done his errand; he placed his spurs in his hat and his hat upon a +chair and began to roll a cigarette. The banker wrote quickly with +sputtering pen in a book of receipt blanks, tore out the leaf and passed +it across the table. + +"There you are, Buck Thornton of the Poison Hole," he said with an +increase of irritability in his curt tones. "And now you listen to me; +you're a fool! Or else you're so far out of the world over on your ranch +that you don't know what's going on. Which is it?" + +"I hear a good deal of what's happening," returned Thornton drily. + +"Then I suppose you realize that a man who rides day and night, through +that country, carrying five thousand dollars with him, and when +everybody in the country knows that according to contract he is about +due to make a five thousand dollar payment, is acting like a fool with a +suicidal mania?" + +For a moment Thornton did not answer. He seemed so engrossed in his +cigarette building that one might almost suppose that he had not heard. +And then, lifting his head suddenly, his eyes keen and hard upon +Templeton's, he said casually, + +"I dropped in three days ahead of time, didn't I?" + +"And the wonder is," snapped Templeton, "that you haven't dropped clean +out of the world! If you do a fool thing like this, Buck Thornton, when +your last payment is due, you can do it. But I won't go near your +funeral!" + +Thornton laughed easily, tucked the receipt into his vest pocket, and +reached for his hat and spurs. + +"I'm obliged, Mr. Templeton," he acknowledged lightly. "But we've got to +admit that I got across all right this time. And, as you've heard, I +suppose, right under Mr. Bad Man's nose, since I was carrying that +little wad last night when Hap Smith got cleaned at Poke Drury's. Well, +I'll be going. Just give that rattlesnake Pollard the five thousand and +an invitation from me to keep off my ranch, remembering that it doesn't +happen to belong to him any more." + +He nodded and went to the door. There he turned and looked back at the +girl. She had risen swiftly, even coming a step toward him. + +"I haven't thanked you ... I ..." + +Templeton looked on curiously, an odd twitching at the corners of his +large mouth. Thornton threw up a sudden hand. + +"No," he said hastily. "You haven't spoiled things by thanking me. +And.... We'll see each other again," he concluded in his quietly +matter-of-fact way. And, his nod for both of them, he went out. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WINIFRED JUDGES A MAN + + +There was a puzzled frown in her eyes, a faint flush tingeing her cheeks +as, withdrawing her regard from Thornton's departure, she looked to +Templeton and asked quickly: + +"Why did he call Henry Pollard a rattlesnake?" + +A faint smile for a moment threatened to drive the sternness away from +Templeton's lips. But it was gone in a quick tightening of the mouth, +and he answered briefly. + +"He didn't know that you knew Pollard." + +"I don't know him," she reminded him coolly. "You will remember that I +haven't seen him since I was six years old. I hardly know what he looks +like. But you haven't answered me; why did your imprudent giant call him +a rattlesnake?" + +"They have had business dealings together," he told her vaguely. "Maybe +they have disagreed about something. Men out there are a little given to +hard words, I think." + +She sat silent, leaning forward, tapping at her boot with her quirt. +Then quickly, just as the banker was opening his lips to speak of the +other matter, she demanded: + +"Why did you call him a fool for bringing the money here? It had to be +brought, hadn't it?" + +"Yes! That's just it. It had to be brought and there is not a man in all +of the cattle country here who does not know all about the terms of the +contract Thornton and Pollard made. Ten thousand down, five thousand in +three days from now, the other five thousand in six months. Why, right +now I wouldn't attempt to carry five thousand dollars _in cash_ over +that wilderness trail if there were ten times the amount to come to me +at the end of it! It's as mad as this thing you want to do." + +"He did it." + +"Yes," shortly. "He did it." He gathered up the loose money, pushed a +button set in the table, and upon the prompt appearance of the cashier +said crisply, "Five thousand to apply on the Pollard-Thornton agreement. +Put it in the big safe immediately." + +"He looks as though he could take care of himself," the girl said +thoughtfully when the money had gone. + +Templeton whirled about upon her, his eyes blazing. + +"Take care of himself!" he scoffed. "What chance has a man to take care +of himself when another man puts a rifle ball through his back? What +chance had Bill Varney of the Twin Dry Diggings stage only three weeks +ago? Varney is dead and the money he was carrying is gone, that's the +chance he had! What chance has any man had for the last six months if he +carried five hundred dollars on him and any one knew about it? They +chased off a dozen steers from Kemble's place not three days ago, you +yourself know what happened at Drury's road house last night, and now +Buck Thornton rides through the same country with five thousand dollars +on him!" + +"He did it," she repeated again very softly, her eyes musing. + +"And one of these days he's going to find out how simple a matter it is +for a gang like the gang operating in broad daylight in this country now +to separate a fool and his money! The Lord knows how a simple trick like +coming in three days ahead of time fooled them. It won't do it again." + +"He is the type of man to succeed," she went on, still musingly. + +Templeton shrugged. + +"We have our own business on our hands," he said abruptly, looking at +his watch. "The stage leaves in half an hour. Are you going to be +reasonable?" + +Then she stood up and smiled at him very brightly. + +"The stage is going its way, Mr. Templeton. I am going mine." + +Templeton flung down his pen with an access of irritation which brought +a flicker of amusement into the bright grey eyes. But the banker's grim +mouth did not relax; there was anger in the gesture with which he +slammed a blotter down on the big yellow envelope on which his wet pen +had fallen. After his carefully precise fashion he was reaching for a +fresh, clean envelope when the girl took the slightly soiled one from +him. + +"Thank you," she said, rising and smiling down at him. "But this will do +just as well. And now, if you'll wish me good luck..." + +She went out followed by a look of much grave speculation. + +Meanwhile Buck Thornton, leading his horse after him, crossed the dusty +street to the Last Chance saloon. At the watering trough he watered his +horse, and then, slackening the cinch a little, he went inside. In the +front part of the long, dreary room was the bar presided over by a +gentleman in overalls, shirt sleeves and very black hair plastered close +to his low forehead. At the rear was the lunch counter where two +Chinamen were serving soup and stew and coffee to half a dozen men. +Thornton, with one of his quick, sharp glances which missed nothing in +the room, went to the bar. + +"Hello, Blackie," he said quietly. + +The bartender, who in a leisure moment had been bending in deep +absorption over an illustrated pink sheet spread on the bar, looked up +quickly. For a short second a little gleam as of surprise shone in his +shoe-button eyes. Then he put out his hand, shoving the pink sheet +aside. + +"Hello, Buck," he cried genially. "Where'd you blow in from?" + +"Poison Hole," briefly. He spun a silver dollar on the bar and ignored +the hand. + +Blackie reached for bottle and glass, and putting them before the cowboy +bestowed upon him a shrewd, searching look. + +"What's the news out your way, Buck?" + +"Nothing." He tossed off his whiskey, took up his change and went on to +the lunch counter. Several men looked up at him; one or two nodded. It +was evident that the new owner of the Poison Hole was something of a +stranger here. He called an order to the Chinaman at the stove, told him +that he'd be back in ten minutes and was in a hurry and went out to his +horse. The bartender watched him go but said nothing. + +Within less than ten minutes Thornton had left his sorrel at the stable, +seeing personally the animal had its grain, and had come back to the +saloon. Blackie, idle with his gazette unnoticed in front of him, saw +him come in this time. + +"In town for a little high life, Buck?" he queried listlessly. + +"No. Business." He passed on down toward the lunch counter, and then +swinging about suddenly came back. "Bank business," he added quietly. "I +just paid my second instalment of five thousand dollars cash!" + +For a moment he stood staring very steadily into the bartender's eyes, +a great deal of significance in his look. Blackie returned his stare +steadily. + +"You're lucky, Buck," he offered colourlessly. + +"Meaning to get the Poison Hole? Yes. It's the best cow range I ever +saw." + +"Meanin' to pack five thousan' aroun' in your tail pocket an' get away +with it with this stick-up gang workin' the country." + +Thornton shrugged his shoulders. + +"There isn't any gang," he said, speaking as a man who knew. "It's one +man with a confederate here and there maybe to keep him here. Every job +that has been pulled off yet was a one man job." + +Blackie polished his bar and shook his head. + +"Jed Macintosh got cleaned out night before last," he retorted. "He'd +made a clean-up right in here playin' stud. They got his wad before he'd +gone to the end of the street. That was more than a one man job." + +"Did Jed see more than one?" demanded Thornton sharply. + +"No. Jed didn't see nothin', I guess. But we all seen the trail their +horses made goin' through Jed's hayfield. There was three horses any +way." + +With no answer to this Thornton turned away, washed at the faucet near +the back door, and settled his tall form upon one of the high stools at +the counter. He ate hungrily, with no remark to the men upon right and +left of him. But he heard their scraps of talk, noting that the one +topic of conversation here in Dry Town was the work of the "stick-up +party" manifesting itself in such episodes as the robbery and murder of +Bill Varney, stage driver, the theft of Kemble's cattle, the "cleanin'" +of Jed Macintosh and, finally, the affair of last night at Poke Drury's. +He listened with what seemed frank and only mild interest. + +"It's a funny thing to me," one little dried-up old man with fierce +moustaches and very gentle eyes was saying, "what we got a sheriff for. +This sort of gun play's been runnin' high for nigh on six months now, +an' Cole Dalton ain't boarded anybody in his little ol' jail any worse'n +hoboes an' drunks for so long it makes a feller wonder what a jail an' a +sheriff is for." + +"Give him time, Pop," laughed a young rancher at his side. "You know all +that's the matter with Cole Dalton is he's got his election on the +Republican ticket, an' you ain't never saw a man yet as wasn't a +Demmycrat as you'd admit was any 'count. Give him time. Cole knows what +he's doin', an' when he does git his rope on Mr. Badman he ain't goin' +to need no jail. Cole'll give him a firs' class funeral an' save the +county a board bill." + +Pop grunted, sniffed, and got to his feet to go to the door and watch +the stage pull out. At the rumble and creak of the great lumbering +vehicle and the quick thud of the hoofs of the four running horses +several men left the lunch counter and followed him. Buck Thornton, +finishing his own meal swiftly, went with the others. + +Hap Smith took on fresh mail bags in front of the post-office, slammed +back his brake, and with his long whip cracking like pistol shots over +his leaders' heads, drove on until he had passed the Last Chance. And +then he came to a halt again, his coach rocking and rolling on its great +springs, in front of the bank. + +"Hi, there," he yelled mightily. "Git a move on, will you? I'm half a +day late now." + +Mr. Templeton himself appeared on the instant at the door, a small +strong box in his hands. He tossed it up into the ready hands of the +bull-necked, round-shouldered guard who sat at Hap Smith's side with a +rifle between his knees, the two passengers craned their necks with much +interest, the guard bestowed the box under the seat, the driver loosened +his reins, threw off his brake, and the stage rocked and rumbled down +the street, spattering mud on either hand, racing away upon the last leg +of its two hundred and fifty mile trip to the last town upon the far +border of the great state. + +"And Templeton called me a fool!" mused the tall cattle man, a look of +vast contempt in his stern eyes. + +He stood a little behind the other men, looking over their heads. For +only a fleeting second had his glance rested upon the stage at the bank. +Then he looked swiftly at the man in front of him. It was Blackie, the +bartender. When Blackie turned abruptly Thornton looked squarely into +the black eyes, seeing there an unusually beady brightness, something +of the hint of a quick frown upon the thin slick line of the eyebrows. + +"Driver and guard will both be needing their shooting irons before they +see the border, Blackie," Thornton said quietly. + +And then with a short, insolent laugh he returned for the hat he had +left hanging upon a nail. Blackie, making no answer, followed, going +behind his bar. A little dusky red had crept up into his shallow face, +his eyes burned hard into Thornton's as the man from the Poison Hole +came by him. + +"When you goin' back to the range, Buck?" he asked sharply. + +"I'm going to start as soon as I can roll a smoke and saddle a horse," +Thornton answered him, a little smile in his eyes. And then, as an after +thought, "I follow the stage road for about ten miles before I turn off +on the trail. Wish I could stick with them clean through." + +"What for?" demanded Blackie in the same sharp tone. + +"Oh, just to see the fun," Thornton told him lightly. "So long, +Blackie." + +"You seem to be mighty sure something's goin' to be pulled off this +trip." + +Thornton hung upon his heel, turning slowly. + +"I am, Blackie," he said carelessly. And then, "Say, did you notice the +two passengers in the stage?" + +"No." He put a great deal of emphasis into the denial. "Who was it?" + +"I thought you might have noticed. One of them was that crooked eyed +jasper I saw you staking to free drinks the last time I was in town." + +He stared straight into the smaller man's eyes, saw the colour deepen in +his cheeks, shrugged his big shoulders and went to the door. Several of +the men who had come back into the room looked after him curiously, then +as though for explanation, into Blackie's narrowed eyes. The bartender's +hand dropped swiftly out of sight under his bar. Thornton's back was +turned square upon him. And yet, as though he had seen the gesture and +it had been full of significance to him, he whirled with a movement even +quicker than Blackie's had been, and standing loosely, his hands at his +side, looked coolly into the bright black eyes. For a moment no man +moved. Then Blackie, with a little sigh which sounded loudly in the +quiet room, brought his hand back into sight, letting his fingers tap +upon the bar. Thornton smiled, turned again and stepped quickly out of +the door. + +"As long as they don't get any closer to the Poison Hole it's none of my +funeral," he muttered to himself. "But if they do, I know one little man +who could do a powerful lot of squealing with the proper inducement!" + +Not turning once he passed swiftly down the street toward the stable, +his meditative eyes upon the rocking stage sweeping on to the +south-east, already drawing close to the first of the wooded foothills. +He waited ten minutes, watching his horse eating, and then saddled and +rode out toward the hills. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +AN INVITATION TO SUPPER + + +It was hardly noon. Here the county road, cutting straight through the +rolling fields, was broad, wet and black, glistening under the sun. Out +yonder in front of him the stage, driven rapidly by Hap Smith that he +might make up a little of the lost time, topped a gentle rise, stood out +briefly against the sky line, shot down into the bed of Dry Creek and +was lost to him. A little puzzled frown crept into Thornton's eyes. + +"A man would almost say old Pop was right," he told himself. "This state +is getting too settled up for this kind of game to be pulled off so +all-fired regularly. Cole Dalton must be blind in his off eye.... Oh, +hell! It is none of my business. Any way ... not yet." + +He pulled his horse out into the trail paralleling the muddy road, +jerked his hat down lower over his forehead, slumped forward a little in +the saddle, and gave himself over to the sleepy thirty mile ride to +Harte's Camp. He rode slowly now, allowing Hap Smith's speeding horses +to draw swiftly away ahead of him. He saw the stage once more climbing a +distant ridge; then it was lost to him in the steepening hills. A little +more than an hour later he turned off to the left, leaving the +county road and entering the mouth of the canyon through which his trail +led. He would not see the road again although after a while he would +parallel it with some dozen miles of rolling land between him and it. + +Behind him lay the wide stretch of plain in which Dry Town was set; +about him were the small shut-in valleys where the "little fellows" had +their holdings and small herds of long horns and saddle ponies. Before +him were the mountains with Kemble's place upon their far slope and his +own home range lying still farther to the east. There were many streams +to ford in the country through which he was now riding, all +muddy-watered, laced with white, frothing edgings, but none to rise +higher than his horse's belly. + +Here there was a tiny valley, hardly more than a cup in the hills, but +valuable for its rich feed and for the big spring set in the middle of +it. He dismounted, slipped the Spanish bit from his horse's mouth, and +waited for the animal to drink. It was a still, sleepy afternoon. The +storm had left no trace in the deep blue of the sky; the hills were +rapidly drying under the hot sun. Man and horse seemed sleepy, slow +moving figures to fit into a glowing landscape, harmoniously. The horse +drank slowly, shook its head in half tolerant protest at the flies +singing before its eyes, and played with the water with twitching lips +as though, with no will to take up the trail again, it sought to deceive +its master into thinking that it was still drinking. The man yawned and +his drowsy eyes came away from the wood-topped hills before him to the +moist earth under foot. For the moment they did not seem the eyes of the +Buck Thornton who had ridden to the bank in Dry Town a little before +noon, but were gentle and dreamily meditative with all of the earlier +sharp alertness gone. And then suddenly there came into them a quick +change, a keen brightness, as he jerked his head forward and stared down +at the ground at his feet. + +"Now what is she doing out this way?" he asked himself aloud. "And where +is she going?" + +Though the soil was cut and beaten with the sharp hoofs of the many +cattle that had drunk here earlier in the day, it was not so rough that +it hid the thing which the quick eyes of the cattle man found and +understood. There, close to the water's edge and almost under his own +horse's body, were the tracks a shod horse had left not very long ago. +The spring water was still trickling into one of them. There, too, a +little to the side was the imprint of the foot of the rider who had +gotten down to drink from the same stream, the mark of a tiny, high +heeled boot. + +"It might be some other girl," he told himself by way of answer to his +own question. "And it might be a Mex with a proud, blue-blooded foot. +But," and he leaned further forward studying the foot print, "it's a +mighty good bet I could tell what she looks like from the shape of her +head to the colour of her eyes! Now, what do you suppose she's tackling? +Something that Mr. Templeton says is plumb foolish and full of danger?" + +He slipped the bit back into his horse's mouth and swung up into the +saddle. + +"She didn't come out the way I came," he reflected as for a moment he +sat still, looking down at the medley of tracks. "I'd have seen her +horse's tracks. She must have made a big curve somewhere. I wonder what +for?" + +Then slowly the gravity left his eyes and a slow smile came into them. +He surprised his horse with a touch of the spurs. + +"Get into it, you long-legged wooden horse, you!" he chuckled. "We've +got something to ride for now! We're going to see Miss Grey Eyes again. +There's something besides stick-up men worth a man's thinking about, +little horse!" + +He reined back into the trail, rode through the little valley, climbed +the ridge beyond and so pushed on deeper and ever deeper into the long +sweep of flat country upon the other side. Often his eyes ran far ahead, +seeking swiftly for the slender figure he constantly expected to see +riding eastward before him; often they dropped to the trail underfoot to +see that her horse's tracks had not turned to right or left should she +leave this main horseman's highway for some one of the countless cross +trails. + +The afternoon wore on, the miles dropped away behind him; and he came to +the end of the flat country and again was in low rolling hills. Her +horse's tracks were there always before him, and yet he had had no sight +of any rider that day since leaving the county road. Again much gravity +came back into his eyes. + +"Where's she going?" he asked himself again. "It looks like she was +headed for Harte's Camp too. And then on to Hill's Corners? All alone? +It's funny." + +Twenty miles he had come from Dry Town. He was again riding slowly, +remembering that his horse had carried the great weight of him many long +miles yesterday and today. Now the hills grew steep and shot up high and +rugged against the sky. The trail was harder, steeper, narrower where it +wound along the edges of the many ravines. Again and again the ground +was so flinty that it held no sign to show whether shod horse had passed +over it or not. But he told himself that there was scant likelihood of +her having turned out here; there was but the one trail now. And then, +suddenly when he came down into another little valley through which a +small drying stream wandered, he came upon the tracks he had been so +long following. And he noted, with a little lift to the eyebrows, that +here were the fresh hoof marks of two horses leading on toward the Camp. + +"Somebody else has cut in from the side," he pondered. "Lordy, but this +cattle country is sure getting shot all to pieces with folks. Who'd you +suppose this new pilgrim is?" + +Once or twice he drew rein, studying the signs of the trail. The tracks +he had picked up at the stream with the print of the tiny boot were the +small marks of a pony. This second horse for which he was seeking to +account was certainly a larger animal, leaving bigger tracks, deeper +sunk. There was little difficulty in distinguishing one from the other. +And there was as little trouble in reading that the larger horse had +followed the pony, for again and again the big, deep track lay over the +other, now and then blotting it out. + +A man, with a long solitary ride ahead of him, has much time for +conjecture, idle and otherwise. Here lay the hint of a story; who was +the second rider, what was his business? Whence had he come and whither +was he riding? And did his following the girl mean anything? + +Thornton came at last, in the late afternoon, to the last stream he +would ford before reaching Harte's Camp. Another half mile, the passing +over a slight rise, and he would be in sight of the end of his day's +ride. He crossed the stream, and then, looking for the tracks he had +been following, he saw that again the pony was pushing on ahead of him, +that the horseman had turned aside. He jerked his horse back seeking for +the lost tracks. And presently he found them, turning to the south and +leading off into the mountains. + +With thoughtful eyes he returned to his trail. He rode over the little +ridge and so came into sight of the three log cabins under the oaks of +Harte's place. Beyond was the barn. He would go there, find her horse +at the manger. Then he would go up to the cabin in which the Hartes' +lived and there find her. + +Twenty minutes later, his face and hands washed at the well, his short +cropped hair brushed back with the palm of his hand, he went to the main +cabin. The door was shut but the smoke from the rough stone chimney +spoke eloquently of supper being cooked within. But he was not thinking +a great deal of the supper. He had found the pony in the barn, had even +seen a quirt which he remembered, knew that he had not been mistaken in +the matter of ownership of the trim boots that had left their marks at +the spring, and realized that he was rather gladder of the circumstance +than the mere facts of the case would seem to warrant. And then, with +brows lifted and mouth puckered into a silent whistle, he read the words +on a bit of paper tacked to the cabin door: + +"We've gone over to Dave Wendells. The old woman is took sick. Back in +the morning most likely make yourself to home. W. HARTE." + +He paused a moment, frowning, his hat in his hand. It seemed to be in +his thought to go back to his horse. While he hesitated the door was +flung open and a pair of troubled grey eyes looked out at him +searchingly; a pair of red lips tremulously trying to be firm smiled at +him, and a very low voice faltered, albeit with a brave attempt to be +steady: + +"Won't you come in... Mr. Thornton? And ... and make yourself at home, +too? I've done it. I suppose it's all right...." + +And then when still he hesitated, and his embarrassment began to grow +and hers seemed to melt away, she added brightly and quite coolly: + +"Supper is ready ... and waiting. And I'm simply starved. Aren't you?" + +Thornton laughed. + +"Come to think of it," he admitted, "I believe I am." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +IN HARTE'S CABIN + + +There was a rough board table, oilcloth-covered, in front of the +fireplace. There were coffee, bread and butter, crisp slices of bacon, a +dish of steaming tinned corn. There were two plates with knife and fork +at the side, two cups, two chairs drawn up to the table. + +"You see," she said, gaily and lightly enough, "you _have_ kept me +waiting." + +He glanced swiftly at her as she stood by the fireplace, and away. For +though twilight in the wooded country had crept out upon them he could +see the look in her eyes, the set of the red lipped mouth. And he knew +downright fear when he saw it, though it be fear bravely masked. + +"Let's eat," he answered, having many things in his mind, but no other +single thing to say to her just yet. + +She flashed him a quick look and sat down. Thornton dragged back the +other chair, flung his hat to the bunk in the corner of the room, and +disposed his long legs uncomfortably under the small table. Inwardly he +was devoutly cursing Dave Wendell for allowing anybody at his place to +choose this particular time to get sick and the Hartes for going to the +assistance of a ten-mile distant neighbour. + +He watched the girl's quick fingers busy with the blackened coffee pot, +realized at one and the same time that she had no ring upon a particular +finger and that it was idiotic for him to so much as look for it, never +allowed his glance to wander higher than her hands and attacked his +bread and butter as though its immediate consumption were the most +important thing in all the world. And she, when she felt that he was not +watching her, when his silence was almost a tangible thing, looked at +him with quick furtiveness. The something in her expression which had +spoken of terror began to give place to the look of amusement which +twitched at her lips and flickered up in the soft grey of her eyes. And +since still he gave no sign of breaking the silence which had fallen +over them, she said at last: + +"Didn't you know all the time who I was?" + +Then he looked up at her inquiringly. And when he saw that she was +smiling, a little of his sudden restraint fled from him and his eyes +smiled back gently a little and reassuringly into hers. + +"All the time?" he asked. "Meaning when?" + +"Back there. On the trail," she told him. + +"Well," he admitted slowly, "I guess I was pretty sure. Of course I +couldn't be dead certain. It might have been anybody's tracks ... that +is," he corrected with a quick broadening of the smile, "anybody with a +foot the right size to fit into a boot like that." + +"Like what?" she asked in turn. + +"Like the one that made the tracks by the creek where you came into the +main trail, where you stopped to drink." + +"You saw that?" + +"If I hadn't seen it how was I to guess that it was you ahead of me?" he +demanded. And when she frowned a little and did not answer for a moment +he gave his attention to the black coffee which she had poured for him. +"You sure know how to make coffee _right_," he complimented her with a +vast show of sincerity. "This is the best I ever tasted." + +"I'm glad you like it," she retorted as the frown fled before a hint of +laughter. "I found it already made in the pot and just warmed it over!" + +"Oh," said Thornton. And then with much gravity of tone but with +twinkling eyes, "Come to think of it it isn't the _taste_ of it that a +man notices; it's the being just hot enough. I never had any coffee +better warmed-up than this." + +"Thank you." She stirred the sugar in her own cup of muddy looking +beverage and without glancing up at him this time, went on, "You mean +that you didn't know who I was when you saw me?" + +"At the bank in Dry Town?" + +"Of course not. Back there on the trail." + +"I didn't see you," he told her. + +Now she flashed another quick upward glance at him as though seeking for +a reason lying back of his words. + +"I saw you" she said steadily. "Twice. First from the top of a hill +half a dozen miles back when you got down to look at your horse's foot. +Did he pick up a stone?" + +His eyes opened in surprise. + +"I didn't get off to look at my horse's foot. And he didn't pick up +anything." + +"The second time," she continued, "was just when you had come to the +last stream. I thought that you were going to turn off into the canon. I +saw that your horse was limping." + +He shook his head. She must have seen that other fellow whose tracks +Thornton had for so long seen following the tracks of her pony. + +"What made you think you recognized me?" he asked. + +"I didn't think. I knew." + +"Then ... how did you know?" + +The surprise showing in her frankly lifted brows was very plain now. + +"You were hardly five hundred yards away," she retorted. "And," with a +quick, sweeping survey of him, "you are not a man to be readily mistaken +even at that distance, you know." + +"Meaning the inches of me? The up-and-down six feet four of me?" He +shook his head. "I'm the only man in this neck of the woods built on the +bean pole style." + +"Meaning," she returned steadily, "your size and form; meaning the +unusually wide hat you wear; meaning your blue shirt and grey +neck-handkerchief ... grey handkerchiefs aren't so common, are they?... +meaning your tall sorrel horse that limped, and your bridle with the red +tassel swinging from the headstall! Now," a little sharply, a little +anxiously, he thought, "you are not going to tell me that I was +mistaken, are you?" + +She saw that his surprise, growing into sheer amazement as she ran on, +was a wonderfully simulated thing if it were not real. + +"You made a mistake," he said coolly. "I saw in the trail that there was +another man following you. If I had known his get-up was so close to +mine, I'd have done a little fast riding to take a peep at him. He +turned off at the last creek, as you thought." + +"You saw him?" she asked quickly. + +"I saw his tracks. And," he added with deep thoughtfulness as he stared +past her into the smouldering fire in the fireplace, "I'd sure like to +know who he is." + +Again, as she watched him, an expression of uneasiness crept into her +eyes; then as he turned back to her she looked down quickly. + +"Is it far to the Wendell place?" she asked abruptly. "Where the sick +woman is?" + +"Ten miles. Off to the north." + +"Not on our trail?" anxiously. + +"You're going on, further?" + +"Yes. To ..." she hesitated, and then concluded hurriedly, "To Hill's +Corners." + +He sat silent for a moment, his strong brown fingers playing with his +knife and fork. And his eyes were merely stern when he spoke quietly. + +"So you're going to Dead Man's Alley, are you?" + +"I said that I was going to Hill's Corners!" + +"And folks who know that quiet little city," he informed her, "have got +into the habit of calling it by the name of its principal street.... I +wonder if you've ever been there?" + +"No. Why?" + +"I wonder if you know anything about the place?" + +"What I've heard. What Mr. Templeton tried to tell me." + +"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I don't know that I blame him for trying +to turn you into another trail. He must have told you," and he was +watching her very keenly, "that the stage runs there from Dry Town?" + +"Yes. But I chose to ride on horseback. Is there anything strange in +that?" + +"Oh, no!" he said briefly. "Just a nice little ride!" + +"I have ridden long trails before." + +Again for a little while she watched him with intent, eager eyes; he was +silent, frowning into his own cup of coffee. + +"Dead Man's Alley," he volunteered abruptly, "is the worst little bad +town I ever saw. And I've camped in two or three that a man wouldn't +call just exactly healthy on the dark of the moon. I guess Mr. +Templeton must have told you, but unless it's happened in the last +month, there isn't a man in that town who has his wife or daughters +there. If I were you," and he lifted his cup to his lips as a sign that +he had said his say, "I'd rope my cow pony and hit the home trail for +Dry Town!" + +"Thank you," she said as quietly as he had spoken. "But really Mr. +Templeton gave me enough advice to last me a year, I think. I have made +up my mind to go on to ... to Dead Man's Alley, as you call it." + +"Well," he grinned back at her as though the discussion had been of no +moment and now was quite satisfactorily ended, "I ought to be glad, +oughtn't I? Since my trail runs that way, and since the Poison Hole +ranch is only twenty miles out from the Corners. Maybe you'll let me +ride over and see you?" + +"Of course. I'll be glad to have you. That is," and her smile came back, +a very teasing smile, too, "if you'll care to call at the house where +I'm going to stop? I'm going to stay with my uncle." + +"The chances are that I don't know him. I don't know half a dozen folks +in the town. What's his name?" + +"His name," she told him demurely, "is Henry Pollard. I think you know +him." + +He flushed a little as she had hoped that he would. He remembered. He +knew that he had spoken this morning at the bank of Henry Pollard from +whom he was buying his outfit, knew that he must have called him, as he +always did when he spoke of him, "Rattlesnake" Pollard. And Henry +Pollard was her uncle! + +"I didn't know," he said slowly and a little lamely, "that he was your +uncle. But," he added cheerfully, his assurance coming back to him, "you +can't help that, you know. I don't blame you for it. Yes, I'll ride over +from the ranch. It's good of you to let me." + +They finished the meal in a rather thoughtful silence. Thornton made a +cigarette and went to the door to look for the upclimbing moon; the girl +carried her chair to the fireplace and sat down, her hands in her lap, +her eyes staring into the coals. + +The man was asking himself stubbornly why this girl, this type of girl, +dainty, frank-eyed, clean-hearted as he felt instinctively that she was, +was making this trip to that dirty town which straddled the state border +line like an evil, venomous toad and sneered in its ugly defiant fashion +at the peace officers of two states. He was trying to see what the +reason could be that carried her through this little-travelled country +to the house of such a man as not only Buck Thornton but every one in +this end of the cattle country knew Henry Pollard to be; trying above +all to seek the reason for her making the trip on horse back, alone, +over a wild trail, when the stage for Hill's Corners had left Dry Town +so little after her and must reach its journey's end well ahead of her. + +And she, over and over, was asking herself why this man whom she was so +certain she had seen twice that day upon the trail behind her, denied +that he had been the man who got down to look at his horse's foot, who +later had ridden a limping mount aside into the canon. For she felt very +sure that she had not been mistaken and, therefore, that he was lying to +her. She frowned and glanced over her shoulder. She was a little afraid +of a man who could look at her out of clear eyes as he had looked, and +lie to her as she was so confident he had lied. She knew nothing of him +save that this morning he had come to her assistance at a moment of +great peril and that he was suspected by some of a certain robbery and +assault.... + +"Are you very tired?" + +She started. He had turned at last and came back to where she sat. + +"No, I am not tired. Why do you ask?" + +"There'll be a moon soon. We can let the horses rest a bit.... I have +ridden mine pretty hard the last few days ... and then after moon-up we +can ride on. There's another shack where a man and his wife live just a +little off the trail and about seven miles further on. It'll be better +than trying to make Wendell's place." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE DOUBLE THEFT + + +After that there were no more uncomfortable silences in the Harte cabin. +Thornton found a lamp, lighted it and placed it on the table. And with +the act he seemed to take upon himself the part of host, playing it with +a quiet courtesy and gentleness fitting well with the unconscious grace +of his lithe body and with the kindliness softening his dark eyes. He +told her of his ranch, of the cowboys working for him, of the cattle +they were running, of little incidents of everyday life on the range, +seeking to make her forget that in reality they were strangers very +unconventionally placed. And he did not once ask her a direct question +about herself or concerning her business. That she was quick to notice. + +For an hour they chatted pleasantly. Now, when Thornton got to his feet +again, and went to the door to see what promise the night gave of being +cloudless and to note the moon already pushing up above the jagged +skyline where the trees stood upon the hill tops, she watched him with +an interest that was not tinged with the vague suspicion of an hour ago. +She saw that as he stood lounging in the doorway, his hands upon his +hips, one shoulder against the rude door jamb, he had to stoop his head +a little, and knew that he was a taller, bigger man than she had +realized until now. + +"If I were as big as you are," she laughed at him, "I'd be in constant +fear of bumping my head in the dark." + +He laughed with her, told her that he was getting used to it, and came +back for his hat. + +"If you'll be getting ready," he told her, "I'll go out and bring in the +horses. If you're rested up?" + +She assured him that she was, noted again how he stooped for the +doorway, and watched him move swiftly away through the shadows cast by +the trees about the cabin. She put on her hat, buckled on the spurs she +had dropped on the table, and was ready. Then, before he could have gone +half way to the barn, she heard swift steps coming back. + +He had forgotten something; but what? She looked about her expecting to +see his tobacco sack or some such article, a block of matches, maybe, +which he had left behind. But there was nothing. She lifted the lamp in +her hand so that the weak rays searched out the four corners of the +cabin. Then she turned again toward the door. + +Out yonder through the clear night came on the tall figure with the long +free stride of the man of the outdoors. In a patch of bright moonlight +his head was down as though his mood were one of thoughtfulness, and the +shadow of his wide hat hid his face and eyes from her. In the black +shade under the live oak before Harte's door he lifted his head +quickly; here he came for an instant to a dead halt, half turning. It +struck her abruptly that he was tense, that the atmosphere was suddenly +charged with uneasiness, that he was listening as a man listens who more +than half expects trouble. + +"What is it?" she called. She could not make out more than the vague +outline of his figure now as he stood still, his body seeming to merge +into the great trunk of the tree. He did not answer. Again, head down +and hurriedly, he came on. On through the thinning fringe of shadow and +into the full bright moonlight. + +A sudden formless fear which in no way could she explain was upon her. +His actions were so strange; they hinted at furtiveness. He had been so +outright and hearty and wholesome a moment ago and now struck her as +anything but the big free and easy man who had supped with her. She drew +back a little, her underlip caught between her teeth as was her habit +when undue stress was laid upon her nerves, her breath coming a trifle +irregularly. After all she was just a girl and he was a man, big, strong +and perhaps brutal, of whom she knew virtually nothing. And they were +very far from any other human beings.... + +He came straight on to the open door; as the lamp light fell upon him +her formless fear of a moment ago was swept up and engulfed in an access +of terror which made her sick and dizzy. All of the time until now, even +when appearances hinted at an inexplicable duplicity, she had felt safe +with him, trusting to what her natural instinct read of him in his eyes +and carriage and voice. And now she clutched at the mantel with one hand +while in the other the lamp swayed precariously. + +The reason for her agitation was plain enough; had it been his sole +purpose to strike terror into her heart he could hardly have selected a +more efficient method. Across the face, hiding it entirely, leaving only +the eyes to glint through two rude slits at her, was a wide bandana +handkerchief. The big black hat was drawn low, now; the handkerchief, +bound about the brow, fell to a point well below the base of his throat. + +"Easy there," he said in a voice which upon her ears was only a tense, +evil whisper. "Easy. You know what I want.... Look out for that lamp! +Making it dark in here, even setting the shack on fire, isn't going to +help much. Easy, girlie." + +"You ... you ..." she panted, and found no word to go on. + +He came in and strode across the room, taking the lamp from her and +setting it on the mantel. She had come near dropping it when his hand +brushed hers. Again she drew back from him hastily, her eyes running to +the door. But he forestalled her, closed the door and stood in her way, +towering above her, his air charged with menace. + +"You pretty thing!" he muttered, his tone frankly sincere though his +voice was still hardly more than a harsh whisper. "If I just had time to +play with you ... I said you'd know what I want. And don't get funny +with the little toy pistol you'd be sure to have in your dress. It won't +do you any good; you know that, don't you?" + +She did know. Her hand had already gone into her bosom where the "little +toy pistol" lay against that which she had vainly thought it could +guard, a thick envelope. The man came quite close to her, so close that +she felt his breath stir her hair, so close that his slightly uplifted +hand could come down upon her before she could stir an inch. + +"You can tell Henry Pollard for me," he jeered from the secure +anticipation of his present triumph, "that the unknown stranger names +him seven kinds of fool. To think he could get across this way and sneak +that little wad by me! And by the by, it's getting late and if you don't +mind I'll take what's coming to me and move on." + +Then she found her tongue, the fires blazed up in her eyes and a hot +flush came into her pale cheeks. + +"Big brute and cur and coward!" she flung at him. "Woman-fighter!" + +"All of that," he laughed insolently. "And then some. And you? Grey +eyed, pink beauty! By God, girl, you'd make an armful for a man! Soon to +be queen of Dead Man's Alley, eh? I'll see you there; I'll come and pay +my respects! Oh, but I will, coward that I am! But now...." + +"There! Take it! Take it! Oh...." + +She shuddered away from him, her face went white again, she grew cold +with the fear upon her. Just then she cared infinitely little for the +sheaf of banknotes in the yellow envelope which the banker had given to +her. She jerked the parcel out from her dress and tossed it to him, her +fingers fumbling with the button of the thin garment under which her +heart was beating wildly. And the little "toy pistol" she could have +hurled from her, too. Against this physical bigness, against this +insolent bravado and this swift sureness of eye and muscle, she knew the +small weapon to be a ridiculous and utterly insufficient plaything. + +He caught the envelope and thumbed it, tore off an end and glanced +swiftly at the contents and then stowed it away inside his grey flannel +shirt. Again his eyes came back to her. + +"I'm in a hurry," he said swiftly. "But there's always time for a girl +like you!" + +She had foreseen how it would be. Now that she struggled to draw her +tiny revolver and fire he was upon her, his long arms about her, his +muscular strength making her own as nothing. And though he was breathing +more quickly still he had his quiet insolent laugh for still further +insult. Though she sought to strike at him he held her in utter +helplessness. Slowly he lifted her face, a big hand under her chin. The +lamp was close by; he blew down the chimney and save for the moonlight +across the threshold it was dark in the cabin. With his other hand he +lifted his crude mask from the lower part of his face. She sought again +to strike, to batter his lips. But her heart sank as the relentless +rigidity of his embrace baffled her attempt. He brought his face closer +to hers, slowly closer until at last she knew the outrage of a violent +kiss.... + +From outside came a little sound, not to be catalogued. It might have +been only a dead twig snapping under the talons of a night bird +alighting in the big oak tree. But suddenly the arms about her relaxed, +the man whirled and sprang back, whipped open the door and silently was +gone into the outer night. + +Moaning, swaying, dizzy and sick, she crouched in a far corner. Then she +ran to the door and looked out. There was nothing moving to be seen +anywhere. Just the white moonlight here, the black patches of shadow +there, the sombre wall of the forest land a few yards away. Her nausea +of dread, her uncertainty, had passed. With never a glance behind her +she ran down toward the barn. She knew that she would be afraid to go +into the black maw of the silent building for her horse and yet she knew +that she must, that she must mount and ride.... She had never until now +known the terror of being alone, utterly alone in the night and the +wilderness. + +Suddenly she stopped to stare incredulously. About a corner of the barn, +coming out into the bright moonlight, leading his own horse and her own, +was Buck Thornton. She was so certain that he had gone! For the instant +she could not move but stood powerless to lift a hand, rooted to the +spot. She noted that his face was unhidden now, his black hat pushed +far back on his head, while from his hip pocket trailed the end of a +handkerchief which may and may not have had slits let in it for his eyes +to peer through. + +"You ... here? Yet?" she found herself stammering at him. + +"Yes," he answered heavily. "I have been all this time looking for the +horses. The corral was broken; they had gotten out into the pasture." + +"A likely tale!" she cried with a sudden heat of passionate fury at the +man and his cold manner and his mad thought that she was fool enough to +be beguiled from her knowledge of what he was. And then a fresh fear +made her draw back and widened her eyes. She had not thought of madness +but ... if the man were mad.... + +But he was not mad and she knew it. His were the clear eyes of perfect +sanity. He was simply ... an unthinkable brute. + +"Look," she said as his horse moved nervously. "Your horse _does_ limp!" + +His answer came quickly. And there was a queer note in his voice, harsh +and ugly, which sent a shiver through her shaken nerves: + +"A man did that while we were in the cabin. With a knife." The moon +shone full in his face; she had never seen such a transformation, such a +semblance of quiet, cold rage. If the man were just acting.... + +"I've just got the hunch," he said bluntly, "that I know who he is, too. +And, for the last time, Winifred Waverly, I am interfering in your +business and advising you the best way I know how to turn back right +here and right now and forget that you've got an uncle named Pollard!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +IN THE MOONLIGHT + + +She stood there in a bright patch of moonlight looking up into his face, +seeing every line of it in the rich flood of light from the full moon, +wondering dully if she had lost her sense of the real and the unreal. It +seemed to her so rankly absurd, so utterly preposterous that he should +seek to pretend with her. For, now that she had seen the limping gait of +his big sorrel, was she more than certain that this was the man whom she +had seen following her in the afternoon. And as she noted again the +sinewy bigness of him, the garb of grey shirt, open vest and black +chaps, she told herself angrily that he was a fool, or that he thought +her a fool, to pretend that he knew nothing of that thing which had just +happened in the lonely cabin. Even the grey neck-handkerchief, now +knotted loosely about the brown throat, was there to give him the +lie.... With shame and anger her cheeks burned until they went as +crimson as hot blood could make them. + +It was all so clear to her. She had refused to believe that he had +robbed Hap Smith's mail bags. Why? She bit her lip in sudden anger: +because he had fitted well in a romantic girl's eye! Fool that she was. +She should have put sterner interpretation upon the fact that Thornton, +coming rudely into the banker's private office, had admitted hearing +part of her conversation with Mr. Templeton. Now she had no doubt that +he had heard everything. + +"Have you ever been over this trail? As far as the next ranch, seven +miles further on?" he asked at last, his hard eyes coming away from the +horse that stood with one foot lifted a little from the ground, the +quick twitching of the foot itself, the writhing and twisting of the +foreleg, speaking of the pain from the deep cut. + +"No." + +There was so much of hatred in the one short word which she flung at +him, so much of passionate contempt, that he looked at her wonderingly. + +"What's the matter, Miss Waverly?" he asked, his voice a shade gentler. +"You seem all different somehow. Are you more tired than you thought?" + +She laughed and the wonder grew in his eyes. He had never heard a woman +laugh like that, had not dreamed that this girl's voice could grow so +bitter. + +"No," she told him coldly. She jerked her pony's reins out of Thornton's +hand. "I am going to ride on. And I suppose you will ride that poor +wounded horse until it drops!" + +"No," he said. "That's why I asked if you knew the trails. I didn't +notice he limped out there where I put the saddle on. It was dark under +the trees, you know." + +"Was it?" she retorted sarcastically, drawing another quick, searching +look from him. + +There was no call for an answer and he made none. He stepped to his +horse's head, lifted the wincing forefoot very tenderly, and stooping +close to it looked at it for a long time. The girl was behind the broad, +stooping back. Impulsively her hand crept into the bosom of her dress, +her face going steadily white as her fingers curved and tightened about +the grip of the small calibre revolver she carried there. And then she +jerked her hand out, empty. + +She saw him straighten up, heard again the long, heavy sigh and marked +how his face was convulsed with rage. + +"I don't know why a man did that." He was only ten steps away and yet +she turned her head a little sideways that she might catch the low +words. She shivered. His voice was cold and hard and deadly. It was +difficult for her to believe that in reality he had not forgotten her +presence. + +"No, I don't know why a man did that. But I'm going to know. Yes, I'm +going to know if it takes fifty years." + +"Where is my trail?" she called sharply. "I am going." + +"You couldn't find it alone. I'm going with you." + +Her scorn of him leaped higher in her eyes. It was her thought that he +was going to ride this poor, tortured brute. For she knew that there was +no other horse in the barn or about the camp. But he was quietly +loosening his cinch, lifting down the heavy Mexican saddle, removing the +bit from his horse's mouth. + +"What are you going to do?" She bit her lips after the question, but it +had leaped out involuntarily. + +"I'm going to leave him here for the present. The wound will heal up +after a while." + +With the saddle thrown over his own shoulders, he ran a gentle hand over +the soft nose of his horse which was thrust affectionately against his +side, and turned away. She watched him, expecting him to go back to the +barn to leave his saddle and bridle. But instead he set his face toward +the hills beyond the cabin, where she supposed the trail was. + +"I'll pick up another horse at the next ranch," he offered casually by +way of explanation. "And we had better hit the trail. It's getting +late." + +Wordlessly she followed, her eyes held, fascinated by the great, tall +bulk of him swinging on in front of her, carrying the heavy saddle with +as little care to its weight as if he had been entirely unconscious of +it, as no doubt such a man could be. She knew that already he had ridden +sixty miles today and that it was seven miles farther to the ranch where +he would get another horse. And yet there he strode on, swiftly, as +though he had rested all day and now were going to walk the matter of a +few yards. + +She could not understand this man, whom, since she must, she followed. +Had he not told her there in the cabin when he had played at hiding his +identity from her, that he knew she was armed? And yet, encumbered with +the saddle upon his shoulder, his right hand carrying the bridle, he +turned his back square upon her with no glance to see if she were even +now covering him with her revolver. And had she not called him a coward, +thought him a coward? Was this the way a coward should act? + +Again and again during those first minutes her hand crept to the bosom +of her dress. Did he know it? she wondered. Was he laughing at her, +knowing that she could not bring herself to the point of actually +shooting? But then, she might cover him, call to him that she would +shoot if he made her, and so force him to return the money he had +stolen. + +"He would laugh at me," she told herself each time, her anger at him and +at herself rising higher and higher. "He would know that I could not +kill him. Not in cold blood, this way!" + +So Buck Thornton strode on, grim in the savage silence which gripped +him, on through the shadows and out into the moonlight beyond the trees, +and she followed in silence. There were times when she hated him so that +she thought that she could shoot, shoot to kill. His very going with her +angered her. Was it not more play-acting, as insolent as anything he +could do, as insolent as his kissing her had been! She grew red and went +white over it. It was as though he were laughing into her face, making +sport of her, saying, "I am a gentleman, you see. I could stay here all +night, and you would have to stay with me! But I am not taking +advantage of you; I am walking seven miles over a hard trail, carrying a +pack like a mule, that you may sleep tonight under the same roof with +another woman." + +Now she was tempted to wheel her horse, to turn back, to camp alone +somewhere out there in the woods, or to ride the thirty miles back to +Dry Town. And now, remembering the bank notes which had been taken from +her, remembering the insult in the cabin, she held on after him, +resolved that she would not lose sight of this man, that she would see +him handed over to justice when she could taunt him, saying: "I didn't +shoot you, you see, because I am a woman and not a tough. But I have +given you into hands that are not woman's hands, because I hate you so!" + +Her horse carried her on at a swift walk, but she did not have to draw +rein to keep from passing Thornton. His long stride was so smooth, +regular, swift and tireless that it soon began to amaze her. They had +passed through the little valley in which Harte's place stood, and +entered a dark canon leading into the steeper hills. The trail was +uneven, and now and then very steep. Yet Thornton pushed on steadily +with no slowing in the swift gait, no sign to tell that he felt fatigue +in muscles of back or legs. + +"He must be made of iron," she marvelled. + +In an hour they had come to the top of a ridge, and Thornton stopped, +tossing his saddle to the ground. He had not once spoken since they left +the Harte place. Now with quick fingers he made his cigarette. She +stopped a dozen paces from him, and though one would have said that she +was not looking at him, saw the flare of his match, glimpsed the hard +set lines of his face, and knew that he would not speak until she had +spoken. And the lines of her own face grew hard, and she turned away +from him, feeling a quick spurt of anger that she had so much as looked +at him when he had not turned his eyes upon her. He smoked his +cigarette, swept up saddle and bridle, and moved on, striking over the +ridge and down upon the other side. + +It was perhaps ten minutes later when she saw, far off to the left, the +glimmer of a light, lost it through the trees, found it again and knew +that it told of some habitation. They came abreast of a branch trail, +leading toward the lighted window; the girl's eager eyes found it +readily, and then noted that Thornton was passing on as though he had +seen neither light nor trail. She spoke hurriedly, saying: + +"Isn't that the place? Where the light is?" + +"No," he told her colourlessly and without turning. "That's the Henry +place. We're going on to Smith's." + +"Why don't we stop here? It's nearer. And I'm tired." + +"We can stop and rest," he replied. "Then we had better go on. It's not +very much further now." + +"But why not here?" she cried insistently in sudden irritation that upon +all matters this man dictated to her and dictated so assuredly. "One +place is as good as another." + +"This one isn't, Miss Waverly. There's a tough lot here, and there are +no women among them. So we'll have to make it to Smith's. Do you want to +rest a while?" + +"No," she cried sharply. "Let's hurry and get it over with!" + +He inclined his head gravely and they went on. And again her anger rose +against this man who seemed over and over to wish to remind her that he +was a gentleman. As though she had forgotten any little incident +connected with him! + +Again they made their way through lights and shadows, down into ragged +cuts in the hills, over knolls and ridges, through a forest where +raindrops were still dripping from the thick leaves and where she knew +that without him she never could have found her way. And not once more +did they speak to each other until, unexpectedly for her, they came out +of the wood and fairly upon a squat cabin with a light running out to +meet them through the square of a window. + +"Smith's place," he informed her briefly. + +Already three dogs had run to meet them, with much barking and simulated +fierceness, and a man and a woman had come to the door. + +"Hello," called the man. "Who is it?" + +"Hello, John. It's Thornton. Howdy, Mrs. Smith." Thornton tossed his +saddle to the ground, pushed down one of the dogs that had recognized +him and was leaping up on him. "Mrs. Smith, this is Miss Waverly from +Dry Town. A friend of the Templetons. She'll be grateful if you could +take her in for the night." + +Man and wife came out, shook hands with the girl, the woman led her into +the cabin, and Smith took her horse. Then the rancher saw Thornton's +saddle. + +"Where's your horse?" he asked quickly. + +"Back at Harte's. Lame." + +In a very few words he told of a deep knife cut beneath the fetlock, +explained Miss Waverly's presence with him, and ended by demanding, + +"Who do you suppose did that trick for me, John? It's got me buffaloed." + +Smith shook his head thoughtfully. + +"By me, Buck," he answered slowly. "Most likely some jasper you've had +trouble with an' is too yeller to get even any other way. I haven't seen +any of your friends from Hill's Corners stickin' around though. Have +you?" + +"No. But Miss Waverly saw somebody on the trail the other side of +Harte's this afternoon. Mistook him for me until I told her. A big man +about my size riding a sorrel. Know who it was?" + +Again Smith shook his head. + +"Can't call him to mind, Buck. It might be Huston for size, but he +hasn't got a sorrel in his string, an' then he's took on too much fat +lately to be mistook for you. Go on inside. You'll want to eat, I +guess. I'll put up the lady's horse an' be with you in two shakes." + +"Thanks, John. But I had supper back at Harte's. Can you let me have a +horse in the morning? I'll send him back by one of the boys." + +"Sure. Take the big roan. An' you don't have to send him back, either. +I'm ridin' that way myself tomorrow, an' I'll drop by an' get him." + +"Which way are you ridin'?" + +"To the Bar X. I got word last week three or four of my steers was over +there. I want to see about 'em. Before," he added drily, "they get any +closer to Dead Man's." + +Thornton's nod indicated that he understood. And then, suddenly, he +said, + +"If you're going that way you can see Miss Waverly through, can't you? +She's going to the Corners." + +Smith whistled softly. + +"Now what the devil is the like of her goin' to that town for?" he +demanded. + +"I don't know the answer. But she's going there." And as partial +explanation, he added, "She's Henry Pollard's niece." + +For a moment Smith pondered the information in silence. Then his only +reference to it was a short spoken, "Well, she don't look it! Anyway, +that's her look-out, an' I'll see her within half a dozen miles of the +border. You'll turn off this side the Poison Hole, huh?" + +"I'll turn off right here, and right now. I've got a curiosity, John," +and his voice was harder than Winifred Waverly had ever heard it, "to +know a thing or two about the way my horse went lame. I'm going to sling +my saddle on your roan and take a little ride back to Harte's. Maybe I +can pick up that other jasper's trail in the canon back there." + +The two men went down to the stable, and while the rancher watered and +fed the pony Thornton roped the big roan in the fenced-in pasture. Ten +minutes after he had come to the Smith place he had saddled and ridden +back along the trail toward Harte's. + +The two women in the cabin looked up as Smith came in. + +"Where's Mr. Thornton?" his wife asked. + +"He's gone back," Smith told her. He drew out his chair, sat down and +filled his pipe. Before Mrs. Smith's surprise could find words the girl +had started to her feet, crying quickly: + +"Gone back! Where?" + +"To Harte's. A man knifed his horse back there." He stopped, lighted +his pipe, and then said slowly, with much deep thoughtfulness, "If I +was that man I'd ride some tonight! I'd keep right on ridin' until +I'd put about seven thousand miles between me an' Buck Thornton. An' +then ... well, then, I guess I'd jest naturally dig a hole an' crawl +in it so deep nothin' but my gun stuck out!" + +"What did he say?" she asked breathlessly. + +"That's jest it, Miss. He didn't say much!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE BEDLOE BOYS + + +All thoughts of denouncing Buck Thornton before these people fled before +the girl had followed the rancher's wife into the cabin. They spoke of +him only in tones warm with friendship and with something more than mere +friendship, an admiration that was tinged with respect. They had known +him since first he had come into this country, and although that had +been only a little more than a year ago, they had grown to know him as +men and women in these far-out places come to know each other, swiftly, +intimately. + +He was a favourite topic of conversation and they talked of him +naturally, readily, and Mrs. Smith, fluently. She recounted, not +guessing how eagerly the girl was listening to every word, many an +episode which in the aggregate had given him the reputation he bore +throughout these wild miles of cattle land, the reputation of a man who +was hard, hard as rock "on the outside," as she put it, hard inside, +too, when they drove him to it, but naturally as soft-hearted as a baby. +She wished _she_ had a boy like him! Why, when she and John hit hard +luck, last year, what with the cattle getting diseased first and her and +John getting laid up next, flat of their backs with the grip, that man +was an angel in britches and spurs if there ever was an angel in +anything! He'd nursed them and cooked for them, and lifted her out of +her bed while he made it up himself, just as smooth and nice as you +could have done, Miss. And he rode clean into town for a doctor, and +brought him out and a lot of store stuff that was nice for sick folks to +eat. And he'd paid the doctor, too, and laughed and said he'd come some +day and borry the money back when he got busted playing poker! + +"And then, all of a sudden, when you'd have thought he was soft that way +clean through," she went on, her eyes blazing now at the memory of it, +"them Bedloe boys come over lookin' for trouble. An' Buck sure gave it +to them!" + +"Tell me about it," the girl said quickly. "Who are the Bedloe boys? +What did they do?" + +"The Bedloe boys," Mrs. Smith ran on, eager in the recounting, "belong +over to the Corners. Or the Corners belongs to them, I don't know which +you'd say. Never heard of them boys? Well, most folks has. There used to +be lots like the Bedloe boys when I was a girl, Miss, but thank gracious +they're getting thinned out powerful fast. First an' last an' all the +time they're rowdies an' gunfighters an' bad men. There's more of their +kind in Hill's Corners, but these are the worst of the outfit. They keep +close in to the Corners, seeing it's right on the state line, where they +can dodge from one state to another when it comes handy. Which is right +often. + +"There's three of 'em. Charley an' Ed an' the youngest one everybody +calls the Kid. That's three an' I guess there's a good many more would +be glad of the chance to shoot Buck up. I guess the Bedloes heard that +time that John was sick. Anyway, they come over, all three of 'em, +hunting trouble. Buck was out in the barn, feeding the horses, an' they +didn't know he was on the ranch. The Kid, he's the youngest of the mess +an' the worst an' the han'somest, with them little yeller curls, an' his +daredevil blue eyes, come on ahead, riding his horse right up to the +door, yelling like a drunk Injun an' cussing so it made a woman wonder +how any woman could ever have a son like him. He tried to ride his horse +right in the door, an' when it got scared of me an' John lyin' in bed, +an' rared up, the Kid hit it over the head with the gun in his hand, an' +slipped out'n the saddle, laughin' at it stagger. + +"But he come on in an' Charley come in, too. Ed Bedloe was out in the +far corral, gettin' ready to throw the gate open an' turn out the cows +an' stampede 'em off'n the ranch. What for?" She lifted her bony +shoulders. "Oh, nothin'. They'd jus' had trouble with my John about six +months before, an' was taking a good chance to smash up things in +general about the ranch. They swore they was going to burn the cabin an' +the barn an' scatter the stock an' do anything else they could put their +hands to. An' while they was in here, cussing an' abusing my John, who +couldn't even get up an' grab his shotgun in the corner, an' insulting +me all they could lay their dirty tongues to, there's a step at the +door right behind 'em, light as a cat, an' here's Buck come in from the +barn. + +"I wish you'd seen that man's eyes! Then you'd know what I mean when I +say he gets hard, hard an' bitter sometimes. An' his voice--it was so +low an' soft you might 'a' thought he was putting a baby to sleep with +it! There was two of them boys, big an' ugly-mean, an' they both had +guns on, in sight. There was jus' one of Buck Thornton, an' I didn't +know yet he ever toted a gun. He uses his hands, mostly, I reckon, Buck +does. He didn't say much. He just got them two hands of his on Charley +Bedloe's neck, an' I thought he was goin' to break it sure. An' Charley +got flung clean out in the yard before the Kid had finished going for +his gun! You wouldn't believe a man could be that quick. + +"Quick? It wasn't nothin' to his next play. I tell you the Kid's hand +was on the way to his gun an' Buck didn't have a gun _on_ him, you'd +have said. An' then he _did_ have a gun, an' John an' me didn't even see +where he got it, an' he didn't seem to be in a hurry, an' he'd shot +before the Kid could more'n pull his gun up!" + +"He killed him?" + +"He could have killed him just as easy as a man rolls a cigareet! There +wasn't six feet between 'em. Only men like Buck Thornton don't kill men +unless they got to, I guess. But he shot the Kid in the arm, takin' them +chances as cool as an icicle; an' when the Kid dropped his gun an' then +grabbed at it with his other hand, Buck shot him in the left arm the +same way. An' then, using his hands, he threw _him_ out. An' I don't +believe Charley Bedloe more'n got on his hands an' knees outside! An' +then somehow Buck has a gun in each hand, and has stepped outside, too. +And I reckon the Bedloe boys saw the same thing in his eyes me an' John +saw there when he come back in. Anyway, they got on their horses an' we +ain't seen hide nor hair of 'em since." + +Miss Waverly sat very still, leaning forward a little, her eyes big and +bright upon the eyes of this other woman. The man, despite her calmer +judgment, appealed to her imagination.... + +"You'd think," Mrs. Smith went on, "that that man would be tired enough +for one day, wouldn't you? Ridin' all day, walking seven mile toting +that big saddle on his back; an' now he goes an' starts out to ride the +Lord knows how far. What do you suppose a man like him is made out'n?" + +Smith answered her out of the corner of his mouth from which a slow curl +of smoke was mounting: + +"Sand, mostly." + + * * * * * + +No, the girl could not say to these people that which she had to say of +Buck Thornton. She switched the conversation abruptly, asking them to +tell her of Hill's Corners. + +She knew something of the place already. Mr. Templeton had told her a +great deal when insistently urging her not to do the thing she had +determined to do and she had thought that he exaggerated merely in order +to turn her aside from her purpose. She had even heard far-reaching +rumours of the border town in Crystal City, where her own home had been +for the five years since the deaths of her parents. These rumours, too, +she had supposed inflated as rumours will be when they are bad and have +travelled far. Now it was a little anxiously that she asked for further +information, and not altogether because she sought some new topic. + +"She's Henry Pollard's niece, Mary," Smith said rather hurriedly. The +girl glanced at him sharply. There was something in his tone which told +her that he was warning his wife, cautioning her to speak guardedly of +Pollard or not at all. + +When, an hour later, she went to bed, she lay long sleepless, wondering, +nervously dreading the morrow. For these people who should know gave +Hill's Corners the same name that Mr. Templeton had given it, the same +name it bore as far as Crystal City and beyond. It was one of those far +removed towns which are the last stand of the lawless, the ultimate +breastwork before the final ditch into which in his hour the gunfighter +has finally gone down. Desperate characters, men wanted in two states +and perhaps in many more, flocked here where they found the one chance +to live out their riotous lives riotously. Here they could "straddle" +the line, and when wanted upon one side slip to the other. And +hereabouts, for very many miles in all directions, the big cattle men, +the small ranchers, the "little fellows," all slept "with their eyes +open and their gunlocks oiled." + +But, she tried to tell herself, Henry Pollard had sent for her, he was +her own mother's brother, he would not have had her come here if it were +not safe. He had written clearly enough, had told her in his letter that +he could not leave the Corners, that he must have the money, that there +were hold-up men in the country who would not hesitate to rob the stage +if they learned that he had five thousand dollars in it, that she could +bring the bills which Templeton would have ready for her and that there +would be no suspicion, no danger for her. And she would believe her +uncle, would believe that these people had had trouble with the Bedloes +and perhaps others in the town, and that they warped the truth in the +telling. For was any more faith to be put in the word of the Smiths than +in that of Buck Thornton himself? And did she not know him for what he +was, a man who was not above assaulting a defenceless girl, not above +robbery? + +Wearied out, she went to sleep, her last waking thoughts trailing off +through the night after a man who could laugh like a boy, whose eyes +could grow very gentle or very, very hard and inexorable. + +In the morning John Smith's first words to her drove again a hot, angry +flush into her face. For he told her that Thornton, before he would ride +away last night, had made sure that Smith would accompany her, showing +her the way and "taking care of her." She bit her lip and turned away. +She was grateful that soon breakfast was eaten, the horses saddled and +once more she was riding out toward the south-east. Smith rode at her +elbow. + +All morning they rode slowly, over rough trails in the mountains where a +horse found scant foothold, where they wound down into deep, close +walled canyons where the sunlight was dim at noon, where the pines stood +tall and straight in thick ranks untouched by an ax. They came out into +little valleys, past a half dozen ranch houses, saw many herds of cattle +and horses, crossed Indian Gully, topped another steep ridge and at last +looked down upon the Poison Hole ranch. + +The ranch lay off to the east as they looked down upon it, a great sweep +of rolling hills sprinkled with big oaks looking like shrubs from their +vantage point, cut in two by the Big Little River, along the banks of +which and out in the meadow lands many herds of cattle ranged free. +Rising in his stirrup Smith pointed out to her the spot near the centre +of the big range where Buck Thornton's "range house" was, a dozen miles +away over the rolling country. And then he swung about and pointed to +the south, saying shortly: + +"Yonder's the country you're lookin' for. We strike due south here along +the edge of the Poison Hole ranch. When we get to that next string of +lulls you can see the hills of three states, all at once and the same +time. And you can see the town you're headed for; it sets on top a sort +of hill. Down yonder," and he swung his long arm off to the south-west, +"is the Bar X outfit; that's as far as I'm going. But, if you want +company, one of the boys will sure be glad to ride on with you. The +Corners is only about a dozen mile from there on." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +RATTLESNAKE POLLARD + + +IT was barely noon, the air clear, the sky cloudless, when Winifred +Waverly rode into Hill's Corners. She had shaken her head at the +suggestion of further escort. Here, in the open country and in the full +sunlight, she was grateful for the opportunity of being alone. + +At the foot of a gentle eminence she entered the narrow, winding street +of the town, a crooked little town physically both in the matter of this +meandering alley-like thoroughfare and in the matter of the hastily +builded, unprepossessing houses; a crooked town in its innermost +character, it was easy to believe. On either hand as she rode forward +were low, squat, ugly shacks jammed tight together or with narrow +passageways between their unlovely walls, these spaces more often than +not cluttered and further disfigured by piles of rusty tins, old +clothing and shoes and other discarded refuse. As she rode farther she +saw now and then the more pretentious buildings, some with the false +fronts which deceived nobody, the houses appearing shoddy and aged and +sinister, one here and there deserted and given over to ruin, +disintegration and spiders spinning unmolested in dark corners. + +The next peculiar impression created upon her was that some evil charm +was over the place, that in the sweet sunlight it lay drugged, that in +those rows of slatternly shacks where the sunlight did not enter men +either hid in dark secrecy or lay in some unnatural stupour. The whole +settlement seemed preternaturally quiet; the fancy came to her that the +town had died long ago and that she merely looked on its ghost. + +She had shrunk before now at the thought of men coming to the doors to +stare after her, and perhaps even to call coarsely after her; now it +seemed the dreariest thing in all the world to ride down this dirty, +muddy street and see no man or woman or child, not so much as a saddled +horse at a hitching pole. She came abreast of the most pretentious +building of Hill's Corners; its swing doors were closed, but from within +she heard a low, monotonous hum of languid voices. Upon the crazy false +front, a thing to draw the wondering eye of a stranger, was a gigantic +and remarkably poorly painted picture of a bear holding a glass in one +deformed paw, a bottle in the other, while the drunken letters of the +superfluous sign spelled: "The Brown Bear Saloon." Almost directly +across the street from the Brown Bear was a rival edifice which though +slightly smaller was no less squat and ugly and which bore its own +highly ambitious sign: a monster hand clutching a monster whiskey glass, +with the illuminating words beneath, "The Here's How Saloon." That the +two works of art were from the same brain and hand there was no +doubting. In the inscriptions the n's and s's were all made backwards, +presenting an interesting and entirely suitable air of maudlin +drunkenness. + +The girl hurried by. There were other saloons, so many, so close +together that, used as she was to frontier towns, she wondered at it; +she saw other buildings whose signs informed her they were store and +post-office, drug store, blacksmith shop and restaurant. And now the +first visible token of life, a thin spiral of smoke from "Dick's Oyster +House." She passed it, pushing her horse to a gallop. She had seen the +two or three men upon the high stools at the counter taking their coffee +and bacon. They had swung about quickly, like one man, at the cook's +grin and quiet word. One of them even called out something as she +passed; another laughed. + +As she rode down the tortuous street, fairly racing now, the blood +whipped into her face, she caught a glimpse of a man standing by his +horse, preparing to swing up into the saddle. His eyes followed her with +a look in them easy to read and unpleasant; something too ardently +admiring to be trusted. She had seen the man's face. He was a big man, +broad and straight and powerful, builded like a Vulcan. He was branded +unmistakably as a rowdy; his very carriage, a sort of conscious swagger, +the bold impudence of his face told that. The laughing face stood out +before her eyes as she rode on, evil and reckless and handsome, with +very bright blue eyes and hair curling in little yellow rings about the +forehead from which the hat was pushed back. It was her first glimpse of +the youngest of the Bedloe boys, the worst of them the "Kid." + +She knew that she would find her uncle's house at the end of the street. +Mr. Templeton had told her that, and had described it so that she could +have no trouble in knowing it. And as she rode on, making the curve of +the long, crooked lane which had come to be known as Dead Man's Alley, +she found time to wonder that such a town could be so silent and +deserted with the sun so high in the sky. For she had not learned that +here men did in their way what men do in larger cities, that they turned +the day topsy turvy, that the street seethed with surging life through +late afternoon and night and the dark hours of the morning, that the +saloons stood brightly lighted then, that their doors were filled with +men coming and going, that games ran high, voices rose high, while life, +as these men knew it, ran higher still. + +At last she came to Henry Pollard's house. It stood back from the street +in a little yard notable for the extreme air of untidiness the rank +weeds gave it and for its atmosphere of semi-desertion among its few +stunted, twisted, unpruned pear trees. The fence about it had once been +green, but that was long, long ago. The doors were closed, the shades +close drawn over the windows, the house still and gloom-infested even in +the sunlight. + +Stronger and higher within her welled her misgivings; for the first +time she admitted to herself that she was sorry that she had tried to do +this thing which Mr. Templeton had told her was madness. She hesitated, +sitting her horse at the gate, with half a mind to whirl and ride back +whence she had come. And then, with an inward rebuke to her own +timidity, she dismounted and hurried along the weed bordered walk, and +knocked at the door. + +There came quick answer, a man's voice, heavy and curt, crying: + +"Who is it?" + +"Are you Mr. Pollard?" she called back, her voice a little eager, more +than a little anxious. + +"Yes." There was a note as of excitement in the voice. "Is that you, +Winifred?" + +"Yes, uncle. I ... I ..." + +She faltered, hesitated, and broke off pitifully. She had heard the +eagerness in Pollard's voice, guessed at what it was that he was +thinking, knew that now she would have to tell him that she had failed +in the errand which he had entrusted to her, that she had let a man rob +her of the five thousand dollars of which he stood so urgently in need. +Oh, why had she attempted to do it, why had she not listened to Mr. +Templeton? And, now, what would her uncle say? + +"Just a minute, Winifred. I'm a little under the weather and am in bed. +Now." She heard no footsteps; yet there was the noise of a wooden bar +being drawn away from the door. "Come in. You'll pardon me, being in +bed, my dear. And fasten the door after you, will you, please?" + +She stepped across the threshold and into the darkened house, her heart +beating quickly. As she slipped the bar back into its place she saw that +there was fastened to the end of it a cord which passed through a pulley +over the door and then ran down the hallway, disappearing through +another door at the left. So, following the cord, she went on slowly. + +The outside of the house had given her a certain impression. Now, in a +flash, that impression was superseded by a new one. Here was the home of +a man of means, the heavy, rich furniture spoke of that, the painting +there in the living room into which she glanced, the tastefully papered +walls, the thick carpet muffling her footfalls. If only the curtains +were thrown back, if only the sun were looking in upon it all! + +And now the man. Henry Pollard, whom she had not seen since she was a +very little girl and then only during his short visit at her father's +house, struck her as being in some way not entirely unlike this +habitation of his. A gentleman gone to seed, was that it? + +His manner was courteous, courtly even, his speech soft, his eyes gentle +as they rested upon her, gentle and yet eager. There was something fine +about his face, about the eyes and high forehead, and yet alongside it +there was something else which drove a little pain into the girl's eyes. +The mouth was hard, there were deep, set lines about it and about the +eyes there was a hint of cruelty which not even his smile hid entirely. +And though she strove to smile back bravely as she came forward to kiss +him, she knew that she was disappointed, and a little uneasy. + +She knew that Henry Pollard must be about fifty; she saw that he looked +to be sixty. He had pulled himself up against his pillows and had drawn +on a dressing gown to cover his shoulders. He was well groomed; he had +had a shave yesterday; he did not look sick. But he did look old, like a +man who had aged prematurely and suddenly; and he did look worried and +tired, as though he had not slept well last night. + +"I am alone just now," he smiled. "Mrs. Riddell is keeping house for me, +but I heard her go out a little while ago. For something for breakfast, +I suppose. You are looking well, Winifred. I knew you would be pretty. +Now, sit down." + +No word yet of her errand, no query as to its success. She was grateful +to him for that. She wanted a moment, time in which to feel that she +knew him a little bit, before she could tell him. But she saw in his +eyes that he was curbing his eagerness, and that she would have to tell +him in a moment. + +"I am sorry that you are sick, Uncle Henry," she said hastily, taking +the chair near his bed. "It isn't anything serious, is it?" + +"No, no." His answer was as hasty as her question had been. "Just +rheumatism, Winifred. I'm subject to it here of late." + +Then she saw that he had sat stiffly, that his shoulder, the left +shoulder, was carried awkwardly and was evidently bandaged. + +"I'm sorry," she said again. And then, determined to tell him before he +should ask, "Uncle, I...." Oh, it was so hard to say with him looking at +her with those keen, bright eyes of his! "You should have got some one +else to help you. I have failed.... I have lost your money for you!" + +She dropped her face into her hands, trembling, striving to keep her +tears back, feeling now, as she had not felt before, as if she had been +altogether to blame for all that had happened, as though it had been her +carelessness that had cost her uncle his five thousand dollars. And when +at last he did not speak and she looked up again, she saw that his eyes +had not changed, that there was no surprise in them, that if he felt +anything whatever he hid it. + +"Don't cry about it, my dear," he said gently. He even smiled a little. +"Tell me about it. You were robbed of it? Before you had more than got +out of light of Dry Town?" + +"How do you know?" she cried. + +"I don't know, my dear. But I do know that the stage came on through, +with no attempt at a hold-up, and I guessed that our little ruse didn't +fool anybody. When I got the empty strong box from the bank I knew +pretty well what to look for." + +"But," she told him, flushed with her hope, "we'll get it back! For I +know who robbed me, I can swear to him!" + +Pollard's hand, lying upon the bed spread, had shut tight. She noticed +that and no other sign of emotion. + +"And _I_ know!" he said harshly. "Yes, I'll get it back! Now, tell me +how it happened." + +"It was a man named Buck Thornton...." + +She saw the quick change of light in his eyes and in the instant knew +that if Buck Thornton hated Henry Pollard he was hated no less in +return. Further, she saw that back of the hatred there was a sort of +silent laughter as though the thing she had said had pleased this man as +no other thing could have pleased him, that in some way which she could +not understand, this information had moved him as he had not been moved +by news of his heavy loss. And she wondered. + +"You are ready to swear to that?" he asked sharply, his eyes searching +and steady and eager upon hers. "You will swear that it was Thornton who +robbed you?" + +"Yes," she cried hotly as she remembered the insult of a kiss and in the +memory forgot the robbery itself. + +"I'll get him now," he muttered. "Both ways; going and coming! Tell me +all about it, Winifred." + +She began, speaking swiftly, telling him of her meeting with Thornton +at the bank, of her suspicion that he had overheard her talk with the +banker. Then of her second meeting with the man after she had seen him +on the trail behind her, the encounter at the Harte cabin.... A sudden +banging of the kitchen door, and he had stopped her abruptly, putting +his hand warningly upon her arm. + +"Later. It can wait. That is Mrs. Riddell. She will show you to your +room. And it will be better, my dear, if you say nothing to her. Or to +any one else just yet." + +She got to her feet and went to the door. Turning there, to smile back +at her uncle, she saw that his pillows had slipped a little and that +under them lay a heavy revolver. And she surprised upon the man's face a +look which was gone so quickly that she wondered if she had seen right +in the darkened room, a look so filled with malicious triumph. Instead +of being profoundly disturbed by the tidings of her adventure, the man +appeared positively to gloat.... Now, more than ever, did she regret +that she had come to the town of Dead Man's Alley. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RANCH ON BIG LITTLE RIVER + + +Buck Thornton had returned to the Poison Hole ranch. But first he had +ridden from the Smith place down the trail to Harte's, where he made +swift, careful search for some sign to tell him who was the man who had +lamed his horse maliciously and seemingly with no purpose to be gained. +Further, he had sought for tracks to tell him from where this man had +come, where he had gone. When he had found nothing he went, he hardly +knew why, to the cabin, pushed the door open and entered. And instead of +learning anything definitely now he was merely the more perplexed. By +the fireplace lay a chair, overturned. There had been some sort of +hurried movement here, perhaps a struggle. The table had been pushed to +one side, one leg catching in the rag rug and rumpling it. He struck a +match, lighted the lamp and sought for some explanation. When had this +struggle, if struggle there had been, occurred? It must have been after +he and Miss Waverly had set out on the trail to Smith's, he told himself +positively. Then there had been two people here in the meantime, for it +takes two people to make a tussel. And they had gone. Who could it be? +Was he after all to find a clue to the man who had maimed his horse? + +Looking about him curiously it chanced that he found something that +drove a puzzled frown into his eyes. It had caught in the frayed edge of +the rug, and to have been so caught and so left meant that it had been +done during the struggle he had already pictured. He took it up into his +hand, trying to understand. For it was the rowel of a spur, a tiny, +sharp, shining rowel that had come loose from a spur he remembered very +well. And he remembered, too, that Winifred Waverly had had her spurs on +when she came out to him at the barn! + +"It happened while I was out after the horses!" He sat down, the shining +spiked wheel lying in the palm of his hand, his brows drawn heavily. +"While I was out there ... it happened. Some jasper came in here, there +was some sort of a tussle ... and she didn't say a damned word about +it!" + +Yes, he was certain now that something had happened during the brief +time between his going out for the horses and the girl's coming to him +at the barn. Something that had changed her, that had killed her +friendliness toward him, that had made her cold and cruelly different. + +"The same man who slipped his knife across my horse's foot came in here +and saw her while I was out for the horses," he said slowly. "The same +man. It must have been. And she could tell me who it was and she +didn't. Why? After they had struggled here, too! Why?" + +He could see no reason in it all, no reason for her silence, no reason +for a man's malicious cruelty to a horse. Nor were these the only things +which he could not understand. Groping for the truth, he began carefully +to run over the things which had seemed strange to him and which now +struck him as being connected in some plan darkly hidden. + +The girl was Henry Pollard's niece. He began with that fact. She was on +her way to Pollard's and on an errand which the banker Templeton had +called mad and dangerous. Some man had followed her, a man whom she had +twice seen on the trail and whose outfit resembled Thornton's, resembled +it too closely to be the result of chance! The same headstall with the +red tassel, the same grey neck-handkerchief, a sorrel horse.... + +"By God!" whispered the cowboy, a sudden light in his eyes, "he lamed my +horse so it would limp the same as his! So she'd be sure she had seen me +on the trail behind her! And when she came out and saw my horse limping +she knew I had lied to her!" + +But why? Why? What lay back of all this? + +In the end he put out the light, slipped the spur rowel into his vest +pocket, and went out to his horse. Then when an hour's search brought +him no nearer to the hidden truth for which he was groping, he gave up +trying to pick up this other man's trail in the rocky soil about +Harte's place and turned back toward the south-east and his own ranch. + +"I'm going to have a talk with you, Miss Grey Eyes," he said softly. +"I've got to give you back your spur, and I'm going to ask you some +questions." + +He rode late into the night, stopped for a few hours under the stars +with saddle blanket for bed, and in the dawn pushed on again. + +For the few days which followed he had, in the stress of range work, +little time for thought of the riddle which had been set for him to +solve, and when he had time after the day's work he was tired and ready +for sleep. He was working short handed now for the very simple and not +uncommon reason that he was spending no dollar which he did not have to +spend. The payments he had already made to Pollard had been heavy for +him, and there was yet another five thousand dollars to be forthcoming +in six months. The contract was clear upon the point, and he knew that +if he failed to meet his obligation Henry Pollard would be vastly +pleased, being in a position to keep the fifteen thousand which had been +paid to him and to get his range back to boot. + +Perhaps because Henry Pollard had never lived upon the ranch during the +twenty years he had owned it improvements were few and poor. There was +the barn, too small now, which must come down in another year; there was +the old corral which was little used since Thornton had had the newer, +bigger one builded. Then, for ranch house, there was a single room +cabin, its walls of heavy logs from the hills at the head of the Big +Little River, its door of great thick planks rough and nail studded, its +roof of shakes. A hundred yards from it, at the foot of the knoll upon +which the ranch house stood, was a similar cabin, a dozen feet longer, +serving as the men's bunk house. + +Big Little River wound about the foot of the knoll, separating +Thornton's cabin from the bunk house, three or four feet deep here and +spanned by a crude footbridge. In its windings it made a sort of +horseshoe about the knoll so that looking out from the door of the +cattle man's cabin one saw the sluggish water to east, west and north. + +Upon the third morning after his return to the range Thornton rose +early, scowled sleepily at the little alarm clock whose strident clamour +had startled him out of his sleep at four o'clock, kicked off his +pajamas and with towel in hand started down to the river for his morning +plunge. Subconsciously he noted a scrap of white paper lying upon the +hewn log which served as doorstep, but he paid no heed to it. He had his +dip, diving from the big rock from which most mornings of the year he +dived into the deepest part of the stream; and in a little came back +through the brightening daylight rosy and tingling and with the last +webs of sleep washed out of his brain. Again he noted the paper; this +time he stooped and caught it up. For now he saw that it was folded, +carefully placed where he must see it, pinned down with a sharp pointed +horseshoe nail. + +"Now who's sending me letters this way?" he demanded of himself. + +And he flushed a little and called himself a fool because he knew that +he half expected to find that it was a note from a certain girl with +unforgettable grey eyes. But before he had read the few words, as soon +in fact as his eyes had fallen upon the uneven, laboriously constructed +letters of the lead-pencilled scrawl, he knew that this did not come +from her hand. The signature puzzled him; it consisted of two letters, +initials evidently, a very large j, not capitalized, followed by a very +small capital C. + +"Now, who's J.C.?" he muttered. "I can call to mind no J.C. who would be +writing me letters!" + +As he read the note a look of astonishment came into his eyes. It ran: + +"Deer buck, I am shure up against hard luck. Dont know nobody but you +can give me a hand remember that time down in El paso I was yore freind. +Come to old shack by Poison hole tonight & dont tell nobody & bring sum +grub Buck remember El paso. + +"j.c. + +"p.s. I was yore freind buck." + +Thornton remembered. He went slowly about his dressing, turning again +and again to look at the note he had placed upon his little pine table. +That had been five years ago. He was riding between Juarez and El Paso, +having just sold a herd of steers from the range he had owned in Texas +then. He had been detained in the Mexican town until after dark, and +before its lights had ceased winking behind him he had known that though +his precaution of taking a check instead of gold had saved his money to +him it had not saved him from coming very close to death. There were +still three scars, two in the shoulder, one in the right side, to show +where the bullets had bitten deep into him, from behind. He had been +searched swiftly, roughly, his clothing torn by the hurried fingers of +the man who had shot him. + +It had been close to midnight when his consciousness came back to him. A +little man, hard featured but gentle fingered, was working over him. It +was Jimmie Clayton. And Clayton had found the crumpled check in the +darkness, had gotten the wounded man on his own horse, had taken him to +El Paso, and finally had saved his life, nursing him, working over him +day and night for the two weeks in which his life was in danger. + +Since then Thornton had seen little of Clayton. He had known even at the +time of the shooting that the man was as hard a character as his +close-set, little eyes and weasel face bespoke him; he had come to know +him as an insatiate gambler, the pitiful sort of gambler who is too much +of a drunkard to be more than his opponent's dupe at cards. He had found +him to be a brawler and very much of a ruffian. But though he did not +close his eyes to these things they did not matter to him. For +gratitude and a sense of loyalty were two of the strong silver threads +that went to make up the mesh of Buck Thornton's nature, and it was +enough to him that little Jimmie Clayton had played the part of friend +in a town where friends were scarce and at a time when but for a friend +he would have died. + +It was not alone the fact of Clayton's turning up here and now that +surprised the cattle man; it was the fact of his turning up anywhere. +For he had thought that Clayton, weak natured and so very often the +other man's tool, was serving time in the Texas penitentiary. For, three +years ago, rumour had brought to him word of a sheriff's clean-up, and +the names of three men who had been working a crude confidence game, +bold rather than shrewd, and Jimmie Clayton's name was one of the three. +He had heard only after the men had been convicted and sentenced for +five years apiece, and had at the time regretted that he could not have +known sooner so that in some way he might have returned the favour he +had never forgotten. + +At last having dressed, he shoved the letter into his pocket, and went +down to the bunk house for breakfast. To the cook and to the three men +already at the table he had little to say, so full were his thoughts of +Jimmie Clayton. He was wondering what "hard luck" the little fellow had +run up against, why he was hiding out at a place like the Poison Hole +shack, how he had gotten the letter to the range cabin, and, if he had +brought it himself, why he had not made himself known last night. + +He gave his few, succinct orders for the day, made his hurried meal, +and went to the corral for his horse. And all that day he rode hard out +in the broken country where the eastern end of the range ran up and back +into the gorges of the mountains, shifting herd, collecting stragglers, +bringing them down into the meadow lands where the feed was abundant now +that he had sold the cattle he had had ranging there in order that he +might raise the money to make up the five thousand dollars for Henry +Pollard. + +As he rode he spoke seldom to the horse running under him or to the boys +with whom he worked, his thoughts flying now to another horse, lamed +from a knife cut, now to a girl whose spur rowel he carried in his vest +pocket, now to a man whose appealing letter he carried in another +pocket. And he was glad when the day was done and the boys raced away +through the dusk to their supper. + +Not infrequently did he ride on after he had told the others to "knock +off," working himself harder than he could ask them to work, riding late +to look at the water holes or find a new pasture in some of the little +mountain valleys or to bring in a fresh string of saddle horses for the +morrow's riding. So now, as darkness gathered, he watched the boys +scamper away to their food and smoke and bunks, and rode on slowly +toward the north. + +He chose this time, the thickening darkness before moonrise, for he had +caught the insistent plea for secrecy running through the lines of the +letter. And so, though he was not a little impatient and curious, he let +his tired horse choose its own loitering gait, willing that the night +draw down blacker about him. + +He crossed the Big Flat, rich grassy land watered by the Big Little +River, and struck off into the hills that closed in about it, following +the river trail. It was very still, with no sound save the swish of the +water against the willows drooping downward from its banks, no light +save the dim glimmer of the early stars. For two miles he followed the +stream, then left it for a short cut over the ridge, to pick it up again +upon the farther side. Now he was in a tiny valley with the mountains +close to the spot which gave its name to the range. + +Big Little River writhed in from the east, twisted out to the south. And +in the shut-in valley it made and left behind it to all but cover the +entire floor of the valley a lakelet of very clear water not over a +quarter of a mile from edge to edge, but very deep. Upon the far side, a +little back and close under the overhanging cliffs, there was a great, +jagged-mouthed, yawning hole, of a type not uncommon in this part of the +western country, from which heavy, noxious gases drifted sometimes when +the wind caught them up, gases which for the most part thickened and +made deadly the dark interior. There were skeletons to be seen dimly by +daylight down there, ten feet below the surface of the uneven ground, +the vaguely phosphorescent bones of jack rabbits that had fallen into +this natural trap, of coyotes, even of a young cow that had been +overpowered before it could struggle upward along the steep sides. And +the odour clinging to the mouth of the hole was indescribably foul and +sickening. + +Not a pretty place, and yet some man many years ago had builded him a +habitation here that was half dugout, half log lean-to. The door of the +place faced Poison Hole, and was not two hundred yards from it. The +hovel had been in disuse long before Buck Thornton came to the range +save as a shelter to some of the wild things of the mountains. + +From the southern shore of the lake Thornton stared across the little +body of water trying to make out a light to tell him that Clayton was +expecting him. But there was no fire, and the stars, reflecting +themselves in the natural mirror, failed to show him so much as the +outline of the lean-to in the shadows of the cliffs. He turned down into +the trail which ran about the shore, passed around the western end of +the lake, and riding slowly, his eyes ever watchful about him as was the +man's habit, he came at last to the deserted "shack." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IN THE NAME OF FRIENDSHIP + + +Twenty yards from the door he drew rein, sitting still, frowning into +the darkness. Not for the first time was he realizing that the note +might not be from Clayton at all; that some other man could have known +of his debt of gratitude to the little fellow who had befriended him +five years ago; that the name might have been used to draw him here, +alone and very far from any ears to hear, any eyes to see, what might +happen. He could name a half dozen men who were not above this sort of +thing, men who had, some of them, sworn to "get him." There were the +Bedloe boys, the three of them. There were two other men who do not come +into this story. There was Henry Pollard. + +"And it would be almighty like Pollard to put up a job like this," he +told himself grimly. "He could afford to pay a man a good little pile to +get me out of the game, and keep the money I've paid him and get back +his range besides. And I reckon the Kid would be one of a dozen who +would take on the job dirt cheap!" + +He reined his horse a little deeper into the shadows. Then he slipped +swiftly from the saddle, one end of his thirty-feet rope in his hand, +the other end about the horse's neck, and with a quick flick of the +quirt sent the animal trotting ahead to swing about and stop when the +rope drew taut. He half expected his ruse to draw fire from somewhere in +the darkness. Instead there came a low voice, sharp and querulous, +through the open door. + +"That you, Buck?" + +"Yes. That you, Clayton?" + +"Yes. Are you alone?" + +"Yes." + +Then Thornton came on swiftly, coiling his rope as he walked. For he had +recognized the voice. + +"What's the matter, Jimmie?" He was at the door now, peering in but +making nothing of the blot of shadows. + +"Come in," Clayton answered. "An' shut the door, Buck. I'll make a light +when the door's shut." + +He stepped in, dropping his rope, and moving slowly again, his back +against the wall. For after all he would not be sure of everything until +there was a light, until he saw that he was alone with Clayton. + +A match sputtered, making vague shadows as it was held in a cupped hand. +It travelled downward to the earthen floor, found the stub of a candle, +and then the greater light, poor as it was, drove out the shadows. And +Thornton saw that it was Jimmie Clayton, that the man was alone, and +that evidently his note had put it mildly when he had said that he had +struck "hard luck." + +The man, small, slight and nervous looking, lay upon a bed of boughs, +covered with an old saddle blanket, his eyes bright as though with fever +or fear. The skin of his face where it was seen through the black +stubble of beard looked yellow with sickness. The cheek bones stood out +sharply, little pools of shadow emphasizing the hollowness of his sunken +cheeks. Above the waist he was stripped to his undershirt; a rude +bandage under the shirt was stained the reddish brown of dried blood. A +quick pity drove the distrust out of the eyes of the man who saw and who +remembered. + +"You poor little devil!" he said softly. He reached out his hand +quickly, downright hungrily, for Jimmie's. + +Clayton took the hand eagerly and held it a moment in his tense hot +fingers as his eyes sought and studied Thornton's. Then he sank back +with a little satisfied sigh, lying flat, his hands under his head. + +"I'm sure gone to seed, huh, Buck?" he demanded. + +"It's tough, Jimmie. Tell me about it." + +The broken line of discolored teeth showed suddenly under the lifted +lip. + +"It ain't much to tell, Buck," Clayton answered slowly as the snarl left +the pinched features. "But it's somethin' for a man to think about when +he lays in a hole like this like a sick cat. But, Buck," and he spoke +sharply, "didn't you bring no grub with you?" + +"Yes, Jimmie. Wait a minute." Thornton stepped outside, not forgetting +to close the door quickly after him, jerked the little package from his +saddle strings where it had posed all day as his own lunch, and brought +it back into the dugout. "I didn't know just what you wanted, but here's +some bread and a hunk of cold meat and here's some coffee. We'll get it +to boiling in a minute, and..." + +"An' a drink, Buck?" eagerly. "You brung a flask, didn't you?" + +"Yes, Jimmie," Thornton assured him with a quiet smile. He whipped the +flask from his pocket and removing the cork held it out. "I remember +that you used to say a meal without a drink wasn't any use to you." + +Clayton put out a swift hand for the flask, shot it to his lips, and the +gurgle of the running liquor spoke of a long draught. + +"Now, the grub, Buck." He sat up, a little healthier color in his +cheeks. "Let the coffee go; it'll come in handy tomorrow." + +Thornton made a cigarette and leaning back against the door watched this +outcast who bore the brand of the hunted on his brow, whose eyes were +feverish with a hunger that was ravenous. + +"Poor little old Jimmie," he muttered under his breath. + +Clayton picked over the contents of the little package with hasty +fingers, pushing the bread aside, eating noisily of the meat. When at +last he had finished he rolled up the remainder of the lunch in the +greasy paper, thrust it under the corner of his blanket, and put out his +hands for the tobacco and papers. + +"I ain't even had a smoke for three days, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I +ain't." + +"Now, Jimmie," Thornton suggested when both men were smoking, and +Clayton again lay on his back, resting, "better tell me about it. Can't +I move you over to my cabin?" + +"No, Buck. You can't. An' I'll tell you." He broke off suddenly, his +eyes burning with an anxious intensity upon Thornton's. Then, with a new +note in his voice, a half whimper, he blurted out, "Hones' to Gawd, I'll +blow my brains out before I let 'em get me again! But you wouldn't give +me away, Buck, would you? You'd remember how I stuck by you down in El +Paso, won't you, Buck? You wouldn't give a damn for ... for a reward if +they was to offer one, would you, Buck? 'Cause you know I'd shoot myself +if they got me, an' you don't forget how I stuck to you, do you, Buck?" + +"No, Jimmie," came the assurance very softly. "I don't give a damn for +the reward and I don't forget. Pull yourself together, Jimmie." + +"Then here it is, an' I'll give you my word, s'elp me Gawd, that every +little bit of it is like I'm tellin' you. I ain't stringin' you, Buck, +an' I am puttin' myself in your hands, like one friend with another. +That's right, ain't it?" + +"That's right, Jimmie. Go ahead." + +"They had me in the pen, then; you knowed that, Buck? Run me in, by +Gawd, because I happened to be havin' a drink with a man named Stenton +an' a man named Cosgrove an' a dirty Mex as was all crooked an' was +wanted for somethin' they pulled off back down there ... I don't know +rightly what it was, damn if I do, Buck! But they wanted _somebody_, an' +they got the deadwood on them jaspers, an' me bein' seen with 'em, they +put me across, too. Put me across three years ago, Buck! An' it was +hell, jes' hell, that's all. Hell for a man like me, Buck, as is used to +sleepin outdoors an' the fresh air blowin' over the big ranges, an' +horses an' things. An' ... well, I stood it for three years, Buck. Three +years, man! Think o' that! _You_ don't know what it means. An' then, +when I couldn't stand it no longer," and his voice dropped suddenly and +the look of the hunted ran back into his eyes, "I broke jail. An' I got +this." + +He touched his fingers gingerly to the bandaged side, wincing even with +the gesture. + +"Two bullets," he muttered. "Colt forty-fives. An' I been like this nine +days. Or ten, I ain't sure. An' nights, Buck. The nights ... Gawd!" + +Thornton, his lips tightening a little, watched the man and for a moment +said nothing. And then, suddenly, his voice commanding the truth: + +"Don't hold back anything, Jimmie," he said. "It'll be all over the +country in a week, anyway. How'd you make your get-away? Did you have +to kill anybody?" + +He had his answer in the silence which for ten seconds Clayton's +twitching lips hesitated to break. When spoken answer came it was broken +down into a whisper. + +"I ... I wasn't goin' to hurt anybody, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I wasn't. +An' then, then I got hold his gun, an' I seen he was goin' to fight for +it, an' I ... I _had_ to shoot! I didn't go to kill him, Buck! An' he +shot me firs' with the other gun ... you oughta see them holes in my +side!... an'...." He stopped abruptly, and then, a little defiance +sweeping up into his eyes, rushing into his voice, he ended sulkily, +"The son of a ---- had it comin' to him!" + +For a long time Buck Thornton, sunk into a deep, thoughtful silence, +said nothing. Jimmie's account of an adventure of this kind was sure to +be garbled; considering it in an attempt to get to the truth at the +bottom of it was an occupation comparable to that of staring down into +muddy water in search of a hidden white pebble. He knew Jimmie Clayton. +He knew him as perhaps Clayton did not know himself. The man had been +sent to state's prison, not because of the company he kept, but because, +in Jimmie's own words, "he had it comin'." He had known long ago that +Jimmie Clayton would end this way, or worse. Now Clayton was giving his +own version of the killing of the guard, and this version would probably +be a lie. But through all of these considerations which Thornton saw so +clearly there was something else; something seen as clearly, looming +high and distinct above them: Jimmie had played the part of friend when +but for a friend Thornton would have died. That counted with Buck +Thornton. And now Clayton had sent for him, had entrusted into his hands +all hope of safety. And he was not this man's judge. + +While the cowboy sat silent and thoughtful Jimmie Clayton was watching +him, watching him with anxiety brilliant in his eyes, his tongue +moistening, constantly moistening the lips which went dry and parched +and cracked. Thornton knew, without lifting his eyes from the pool of +shadow quivering at the base of the candle stub. + +"You ain't goin' back on me, Buck!" The wounded man had drawn himself up +on his elbow. "I'll leave it to you, Buck, if I didn't stick by you when +you was in trouble. Remember, Buck, when I found you, out on the trail +between Juarez and El Paso. And you don't care a damn about the reward, +Buck; you said so, didn't you?" + +"Jimmie," said Thornton slowly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet +both the pleading and the terror in Clayton's, "I'm going to do what I +can for you. But I don't quite know what is to be done. They're going to +be on your trail mighty soon if they're not on it now. Can you ride?" + +"I can't ride much, Buck." And yet Clayton's voice rang with its first +note of hope. For if Thornton knew him, then no less did Clayton know +Thornton. And Buck had said that he was going to help him. "I rode them +two hundred miles getting here, me all shot to hell that away. An' I +rode into your camp las' night to leave the letter. An' I guess if it +had been half a mile fu'ther I wouldn't never have made it back." + +"Why didn't you come in at my cabin? I'd have fixed you up there." + +"I come awful near it, Buck! I wanted to. But I didn't know. There might +'a' been some of the other boys bunkin' there an' I wasn't takin' +chances." + +"I see. Now, let's see what we're goin' to do." + +He stood whipping at his boots with his quirt, trying to see a way. This +lonely place might be a safe refuge for a few days. But range business +sometimes carried his men this far, and soon or late some one would +stumble upon Clayton's hiding place. Clayton's voice, eager again and +confident, broke into his thoughts. + +"I got to find somebody as'll give me a lift, ain't I? A man can't go on +playin' a lone han' like I'm adoin' an' get away with it long. Now, I +got to be laid up here four or five days, anyway, until I can ride +again. You can keep your punchers away from here that long, can't you?" + +"Yes. I can give them plenty to do on the other end." + +"That's good. An' you can ride out again, at night, you know, Buck, an' +smuggle me some more grub, can't you?" + +"Yes. But...." + +"Wait a minute! I know a man in Hill's Corners as'll give me a han'. I +done him favours before now, same as I done for you, Buck. An' he knows +the ropes up here. You can git word to him, can't you? An' then I'll +drift, an' he'll look out for me, an' you'll be square with what I done +for you, Buck. Will you do it?" + +"Yes, Jimmie. I'll do it. I'll ride in and see your man at the Corners. +Who is it, Jimmie?" + +"An' you won't tell nobody but him, will you, Buck?" + +"No. I won't tell any one else. Who is it?" + +"It's a man as may be crooked with some," said Clayton slowly. "But he's +awful square with a pal. It's a man name of Bedloe. They call him the +Kid." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE KID + + +So the next day Buck Thornton rode away to the south and to Hill's +Corners. + +He had planned to have his errand over early, to have seen the Kid and +to have turned back toward the ranch before noon. For he knew the town's +habit of late sleeping and he wanted to be gone from it before it was +awake and pouring into its long street and into its many swinging doors +the stream of men whom he had no wish to see now. Perfectly well he knew +how easily he could find trouble there, and it seemed to him that he had +enough on his hands already without seeking to add to it. + +But the press of range business kept him later than he had thought it +would. And then the one horse on the range he would ride today had to be +found out in the hills and roped. + +"For," he told himself grimly, "if I'm going to stick my nose in that +man's town I'm going to have a horse between my knees that knows how to +do something more than creep! And when it comes to horses there's only +one real horse I ever saw. I got you, Comet, you old son-of-a-gun!" + +And his rope flew out and its wide noose landed with much precision, +drawing tight about the neck of a great, lean barrelled, defiant-eyed +four-year-old that in the midst of its headlong flight stopped with feet +bunched together before the rope had grown taut. The animal, standing +now like a horse cut from a block of grey granite, chiselled by the +hands of a great sculptor who at the same time was a great lover of +equine perfection, swung about upon its captor, its eyes blazing, just a +little quiver of the clean-cut nostrils showing the red satin of the +skin lining them. The mane was like a tumbled silken skein, the ears +dainty and small and keen pointed, the chest splendidly deep and strong; +the forelegs small, so slender that to a man who did not know a horse +they would have seemed fragile but only because they were all bone and +sinew like steel and muscle hardened and stripped clean of the last +milligram of fat, as exquisite as the perfect ankle of a high bred +woman. + +"Part greyhound and part steam engine and part devil!" Thornton muttered +with vast approval shining in his eyes. "And _all horse_! A man could +ride you right through hell, Little Horse, and come out the other side +and never smell your hair burn!" + +He drew saddle and bridle from the animal he had been riding and turned +it loose. Then coiling his rope as he went, he came up to Comet's +high-lifted head. With much evident distaste but with what looked like +too much pride to struggle in an encounter in which he knew that he was +to be overcome, the big grey accepted the hard Spanish bit. He allowed, +too, the saddle to be thrown on him, only a quick little quivering of +the tense flanks and a twitching of the skin upon his back showing that +he felt and resented. And then with his master's weight upon him, his +master's softened voice in his ear, a hard hand very gently stroking the +hot shoulder, Comet shook his head, a great sigh expanded the deep +lungs, and he was the perfect saddle horse with too much sense to rebel +further at the knowledge that after all he is a horse and the man who +bestrides him is a man. And Buck Thornton, because he knew this animal +and loved him, slackened the reins a little, sensed the tensing of the +powerful muscles slipping like pliant steel through satin sheaths, +turned the proud head toward the south and felt the rush of air whipping +back his hat brim, stinging his face as they shot out across the rolling +hills. + +When Comet had had his run, racing through the other herds that flung up +their heads to look at him and the first half mile had sped away behind, +Thornton coaxed him down into a gentle gallop, swearing at him with much +soft and deep affection. + +"Easy, Little Horse," he soothed. "Easy. We're going to Dead Man's. +We'll go in slow and watching where we put our feet, all rested and +quick on the trigger and ready to come out ... if we _want_ to! ... like +winning a race." + +And Comet, snorting his dislike of any conservation of strength and +energy, nevertheless obeyed. So it was a little after three o'clock +when they entered the crooked, narrow street which gives a bad town a +bad name. + +The town had shaken off the lethargy of its morning sleep: there were +many men in the street, some riding back and forth, disdaining to walk +the distance of a hundred yards from a saloon they had just left to the +saloon to which they were going, some sitting their horses in the shade, +lounging in the saddle as a man may lounge in an arm chair, some idled +on foot at the swinging doors, while many others made a buzz of deep +throated voices at the bars and over the gaming tables. As Buck +Thornton, riding slowly, his hat back upon his head, his eyes ranging to +right and left, came into the street where Winifred Waverly had entered +it last week, more than one man lifted his eyebrows on seeing him and +wondered what business had brought him here. For the memory of his +meeting with the Bedloes was still green, the scars which the Kid wore +on his right wrist and his left arm were still fresh, and this town was +the Bedloes' town in more ways than one. + +He nodded to a few men, spoke to fewer, for here was he more a stranger +than he was in Dry Town. Riding straight to the Brown Bear Saloon he +swung down. He left his horse, trained to stand by the hour for him, at +the edge of the board sidewalk, the bridle reins caught around the horn +of the saddle, moved at an even pace through the men at the door and +went inside. + +A dozen men stood at the long bar, big men and little, dark men and +light, of this nationality and that, but alike in the one essential +thing that they were of the type by which the far-out places are wrested +from the wilderness of God and made part of the wildness of man, hard +men of tongue, of hand, of nature, hard drinkers, hard fighters. Gunmen, +to the last man of them, who live with a gun always, by a gun often +enough, who are dropping fast before the onrush of the civilization for +which they themselves have made the way, but who will daily walk over +their graves until the glimmer of steel rails runs into the last of the +far places, until there be no longer wide, unfenced miles where cattle +run free and rugged mountain sides into which men dip to bring out red +and yellow gold. + +Thornton's eyes ran down the line of them, swiftly. There was no man +there whom he knew. He stepped a little to one side, the door at his +left, the bare front wall at his back. He stood loosely, carelessly to +judge from the little slump of the shoulders, the burning cigarette in +the fingers of his left hand, the thumb of the right hand caught in his +belt. + +The bar was at his left, the bare floor running away in front of him, +sawdust covered, the string of gaming tables stretched along the wall at +his right. As by instinct his eyes lighted upon the man whom he sought. +First a round topped table where three men cut and dealt at "stud"; +then a faro lay-out with its quick-eyed dealer, its quick-eyed look-out +upon his stool, its half dozen men playing and looking on; then the +"wheel"; then a second table with six men busy at "draw." There, at this +table, with his broad back to him, sat the Kid. And as usual, to complete +the youthful swagger of him, he wore his two guns in plain sight. + +Still the cattle man made no move, still his eyes ran back and forth, +seeking, showing nothing of what they sought or of what they had found +already. He marked every man in the place; saw that there were only two +of them besides the Kid whom he had ever seen before, one the bartender, +one a man with whom he had had no dealings; noted that neither Charley +nor Ed Bedloe were in the house. He saw too that the bartender had +leaned a little over his bar, saying something swiftly to the man whom +he was serving; that the man turned curiously to look toward the door; +while at the same time the man across the table from the Kid had given +warning, and the Kid's hands had come away from his cards, dropping down +into his lap. + +Then Thornton came on, walking slowly, passing about the first poker +table, then by the faro table, the roulette wheel, and finally to the +table where the Kid sat. Bedloe had not moved again: he had not turned, +his cards lay unheeded before him. The other men were silent with a jack +pot waiting for their attention. + +"When he turns," Thornton was telling himself, "it's going to be in the +direction of his gun, and he's going to come up shooting." + +There were many men there who sensed the thing he did. Not a man in the +saloon whose eyes were not keen and expectant as they ran back and forth +between the two, Thornton who had shot Bedloe before now, Bedloe who had +sworn to "get him." A chair leg scraped and many men started as if it +had been the first pistol shot; it was only the man across the table +from Bedloe moving back a little, ready to leap to his feet to right or +left. Somebody laughed. At the sound though Bedloe's big thick body +remained steady like a rock his fingers twitched perceptibly. + +"Bedloe," and Thornton's voice was cool and low toned, with no tremor in +it, no fear, no threat, no hint of any kind of expression, "I want a +talk with you." + +He was not five short paces behind the brawler's back. The Kid turned a +little in his chair, slowly, very slowly like a machine. His eyes came +to rest full upon Thornton's. And Thornton, looking back steadily into +the hard eyes, steely and blue and fearless, low lidded and watchful, +knew that the man had fully expected to see straight into the barrel of +a revolver. For a moment it was as though this place had come under such +a spell as that in the tale of the Sleeping Beauty, with every man +touched by a swift enchantment that had stilled his blood and turned his +body to stone. + +Thornton saw that Bedloe's hands were tense with tendons standing out +sharply under the brown skin, the fingers rigid, curved inward a little, +and not three inches from the grips of his guns. And Bedloe saw that +Thornton carried a burning cigarette in his left hand, that his right, +with thumb caught in the band of his chaps, was careless only in the +seeming and that it, too, was alert and tense. And he remembered the +lighting quickness of that right hand. + +"What do you want?" + +No bluster, no threat, no fear, no hint of expression in the voice which +was as steady as Thornton's, with something in it akin to the steely +steadiness of the hard eyes. + +They spoke slowly, with little pauses, little silences between. The man +whose chair had scraped looked uncomfortable; the muscles of his throat +contracted; his hand shut tight upon his cards, cracking the backs; then +he pushed back his chair again, swiftly, and got to his feet. His deep +breathing was audible when he stood to one side where, if there was to +be shooting, he would no longer be "in line." No one noticed him. + +"I want a quiet talk," was Thornton's reply. "I'm not here to start +anything, Bedloe. Will you give me a chance to talk with you?" + +Bedloe pondered the words, without distrust, without credence, merely +searching for what lay back of them. And finally he answered with a +brief question: + +"Where?" + +"Anywhere. In yonder," and Thornton's nod indicated the little room +partitioned off from the larger for a private poker room while his eyes +clung to Bedloe's. "Or outside. Anywhere." + +Again the Kid pondered. + +"I'm playin' poker," he said presently, very quietly. "An' I ain't +playin' for fun. There's one hell of a lot of money changin' han's this +deal, an'," with the first flash of defiance, and much significance to +words and look alike, "my luck's runnin' high today!" + +"I'll wait until you play your hand," returned Thornton without +hesitation. "I'll step right over here." + +As he spoke he moved, walking slowly with cautious feet feeling for an +obstacle over which he might stumble and so for just the one vital +fraction of a second give the Kid the chance to draw first, his eyes +upon the eyes which followed him. He stepped, so, about the table, to +the other side, so that Bedloe, once more sitting straight in his chair, +faced him over the jack pot. + +The big blue eyed man didn't speak. It was his move and he knew it, knew +that all men there were looking at him. He studied Thornton's eyes as he +had never studied a man before, taking his time, cool, clear headed. He +could get his gun in a flash; he could throw himself to one side as he +jammed it across the table, shooting; he could do it before most men +there could even guess that he was going to do it. He knew that very +well. And he knew too, that although he was quick and sure on the draw, +here was a man who was just that wee, deadly fraction of a second +quicker. + +As though he would find a flicker in the steady eyes of the other man to +tell him what he wanted to know, he moved his hand, his left, a very, +very little, so little that save at a time like this no man would have +seen. There came no change in Thornton's eyes. The Kid lifted the hand, +laying it with still fingers upon the table before him. Still nothing in +Thornton's eyes to tell that he had seen or had not seen. One second +more the Kid sat motionless, pondered. Then he had decided. The right +hand came up and lay beside the left on the table. + +A man at the bar set down his glass and the faint noise against the hard +wood sounded unnaturally loud. Another man ordered a drink, and the low +voice breaking the silence sounded like a shout. Men who had stood in +tense, cramped positions moved, games that had stopped went on. The +strain of a few moments was gone, though still no one lost sight for +more than an instant of Thornton and the Kid. + +Bedloe dropped his eyes to his cards, merely turning the corners as they +lay flat on the table. The man who had gotten hastily out of his chair +came back. The game went on as the others were going, silently and +swiftly. The jack pot was opened, "boosted," and grew fat. Bedloe played +a cool hand, and the impression until near the show-down was that he was +not to be reckoned with. Then, a little impudently, as was his way, he +shoved his pile to the centre of the table. + +"See that or drop out," he said curtly. + +The nervous man dropped out. Two men saw it. They both lost to the Kid's +full hand. + +He swept up the gold and silver and slipped it into his pocket, his +hand going very close to his gun during the process but never +hesitating. Then he got to his feet. + +"Let's go outside," he said, turning toward Thornton. + +He led the way, swinging about so that the broad of his back was to the +man who followed him and the man whom he had sworn to kill. Walking so, +a few paces between them, they passed by the bar, through the clutter of +men about the door and out upon the narrow sidewalk. Still the Kid did +not stop. He strode on, not so much as looking to see if he were +followed, until he came to the middle of the narrow street. Then he came +to a quick halt and turned. + +"Now," said the Kid, "spit it out. If you want to finish what we begun +at Smith's start in. I'm ready." + +"I told you," Thornton answered him, "that I am not looking for trouble. +When I am I know where I can find it." He dropped his voice yet lower so +that by no possibility could any one of the men upon the sidewalk hear +him, and ended, "Jimmie Clayton sent me." + +"An'," asked the Kid coolly, "who the hell is Jimmie Clayton?" + +"He's a poor little devil who is in need of a friend, if he's got any," +Thornton returned. "And he said you were the only friend he had here." + +"Maybe I am an' maybe I ain't." The sharpness of suspicion was still high +in Bedloe's eyes. "What about him?" + +"You knew he was in the pen?" + +"I ain't answerin' questions. Go ahead." + +"He broke jail a few days ago. He killed his guard and got himself +pretty badly shot up. I guess they're on his trail now. And he's going +to swing for it if they ever get him." + +"Where is he?" asked Bedloe sharply with no lessening of the suspicion +and ready watchfulness. + +"In the old dugout at the Poison Hole." + +"How's it happen you know so much about it?" + +"Jimmie was a friend to me once when I needed a friend. He got this far, +he held out to ride to my cabin night before last and left a note. I +took him out some grub last night. It's all I can do for him; I haven't +any way to hide him out. And he's in too bad shape to ride." + +"Well, where do I come in?" + +Thornton shrugged his shoulders. + +"That's your business, yours and Jimmie's. He said that you were a pal +of his, and," he added bluntly, with a keen curious look into the Kid's +steel-blue eyes, "that you never went back on a pal." + +Behind him in the street Thornton heard the clatter of horses' hoofs +coming on rapidly. He paid no attention until they were close to him, so +close that from the corner of his eye he caught the flutter of a woman's +skirt. Then he knew who it was before she passed on. One was Pollard +looking white and sick; the other, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, was +Winifred Waverly. + +A quick smile drove the sternness from his eyes and he swept off his hat +to her, ignoring the presence of Pollard. But into her expression as she +returned his look for the moment in which she was flashing by, there +came no vague hint of recognition. He turned back to Bedloe, a little +flush of anger in his cheeks. The two men were very near only battle +just then. For the Kid smiled. + +"How do I know you're tellin' me the truth?" They had gone back to +Jimmie Clayton, Bedloe speaking suspiciously again. "How do I know you +ain't puttin' up a game on me? It's a nice lonely place, where that +dugout is." + +The flush died out of the cowboy's tanned skin as swiftly as it had run +into it. + +"I guess you can't tell," he retorted. "Unless you go and find out. And +you know if I wanted to get you I could have got you in there, and I +could have got you that time at Smith's. And," with an impudence to +match Bedloe's, "I could get you now!" + +The Kid passed over the remark, his brows knitted thoughtfully. + +"Well," he said in a moment, "you've shot your wad now, ain't you? I +guess there ain't no call for me an' you to talk all day." + +"That's all. What'll I tell Jimmie?" + +"You can tell him he ain't made no mistake. You may be lyin' an' you +may be tippin' me the straight. But he is a pal of mine an' a damn +decent little pal, an' I'll take a chance." + +"You'll get him?" + +"If he's there I'll get him." + +"When?" + +"You'd like the time o' day to the minute, I reckon!" He laughed softly. +"Jus' the first show I get, which'll be in three or four days." + +"If you want a horse for him after a while, a good horse, I'll give him +one. That's the best I can do. And I guess that's all, Bedloe." + +Thornton stepped back toward his horse. Bedloe turned abruptly and +strode through the crowd of men on the sidewalk and back to the saloon +and his game, no doubt. Thornton swung up into the saddle, and riding +swiftly, passed down the street and back toward the range. As he went he +felt little satisfaction in an errand done, little relief to have it +over. For he was thinking of the look in a girl's eyes, and again a +flush ran up into his cheeks, the bright flush of anger. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A GUARDED CONFERENCE + + +With flaming eyes Winifred Waverly whirled upon her uncle. + +"Why do you suffer it?" she cried hotly. "The man knows that I was not +deceived by his idiotic mask, he knows that I have told you, and still +you let him go free where he pleases, swagger about with brawlers like +that horrible Kid Bedloe, and dribble your money over the bars for drink +and over the poker tables! Why do you suffer it?" + +A fleeting smile of deep satisfaction brightened Pollard's eyes. They +had ridden home in silence and now, with the door barely closed behind +them, she had turned upon him with her indignant question. + +"I am waiting," began Pollard. + +"Waiting for what?" she demanded. "Until he can have had time to +squander what is rightfully yours, until there be no chance of getting +it back or bringing such a man to justice!" + +"You little fire-eater!" he laughed at her. "Come with me in here." He +turned and led the way into the room just off the hall and at the front +of the house where he had his office. When the door was closed behind +him he dropped into a chair, his face a little white and drawn from the +exertion of his ride, the first he had had since the girl had come. "I +want to talk with you, and I don't want anybody, Mrs. Riddell in +particular, to overhear. She's too fond of talking." + +Winifred stood across the room from him, her quirt in her hand switching +restlessly at the carpet, her eyes showing a little sympathy for his +illness but more anger at Buck Thornton. + +"You ask why I don't bring that man to reckoning, and I tell you that I +am waiting. Then you ask, for what?" He leaned a little forward, and she +saw again in his eyes the look she had surprised there on that first day +she had come to Hill's Corners, a look of hate and of a sinister +satisfaction. "Waiting for the time when I am sure there will be no +loophole for him to crawl through! You are ready to go into a court room +and swear that he robbed you; that is a great deal and it will go a long +way toward convicting him. But it isn't enough. It's only your word +against his; don't you see? He will swear that he did _not_ rob you, +won't he? We can prove that you left Dry Town with the five thousand +dollars; we might even prove that you didn't bring it on to me. But we +couldn't prove, beyond the last shadow of doubt, that you didn't lose +it, or that somebody else didn't rob you of it." + +"But," she asked, frowning in her perplexity, "what good will it do to +wait?" + +"Your evidence," he went on slowly, as though working the thing out for +himself, "is enough to convince eleven jurors out of the twelve; now we +must make sure of the twelfth. How will we do it? One way is to find the +lost bank notes in Thornton's possession. The other way is to get other +evidence to add to yours, cumulative evidence all of which will point +one way, to one conclusion!" + +"To one conclusion?" she repeated after him, prompting him, so eager was +she for him to go on. + +"To the fact that Buck Thornton is the man who, for six months now, has +been committing the series of crimes, running the gamut from the murder +of a stage driver to the theft of cattle from Kemble's place! That is +the thing I am waiting for!" + +She frowned. A mental picture of the cowboy rose quickly and vividly +before her. She saw the clear, steadfast eyes, the free, upright +carriage, the flash of a smile that was like a boy's. She had come to be +firm in her belief that he was the man who had robbed her, had forced +the insult of his kiss upon her, but it was hard, with that picture of +him before her, to think him a murderer, too. But then, as though to +sweep away her last shred of doubt, the vision widened and into it came +another man: she saw Buck Thornton as she had seen him only a few +minutes ago, in seeming friendly conversation with the youngest Bedloe +whose eyes soiled the woman they rested upon, whose name had travelled +even to her home in Crystal City and beyond as a roisterer, a brawler, +a man of unsavoury deeds done boldly and shamelessly. + +"I am a little sick of it all," she said wearily. "I want to go back +home, uncle." + +He had looked for that and had his answer ready. + +"I know, Winifred. And I don't blame you. But I want you to stay a +little longer, won't you? Your evidence is going to be the strongest +card in our deck. Will you stay and give it?" + +"How long?" + +"Not long now. I expect Dalton here today." + +"Who is Dalton?" + +"Cole Dalton, the sheriff. He is as anxious as I am to get his hands on +Thornton. The whole country has been growing hotter in its criticisms of +him every day for the last six months, blaming him for not rounding up +the man who has committed one depredation on top of another, and gotten +away with it." + +"And you are sure," she hesitated a little in spite of herself, +repeating, "you are sure ... that Buck Thornton is that man?" + +"Yes. I guessed it a long time ago. I know it now that he has robbed +you. You will wait a few days, won't you?" + +"Yes, I'll wait. But, oh," she cried out with sudden vehemence, swinging +about when half way to the door, "I hate this sort of thing! Get it over +with quick, Uncle Henry!" + +She left him then and went upstairs to her own room where for a little +she tried to concentrate her wandering thoughts upon a book. But in the +end she flung the volume aside impatiently and went to her window, +staring down into the neglected tangle of the front yard and the glimpse +of the street through the straggling branches of the pear trees. She +tried to see only that men like Kid Bedloe and Buck Thornton were not to +be thought of as men, but rather as some rare species of clear-eyed, +unscrupulous, conscienceless animals; that they were not human, that it +would not be humane but foolish to regard them with any kind of +sympathy; that the law should set its iron heel upon them as a man might +set his heel upon a snake's flat, venomous head. + +And she felt a hard contempt of self, she hated herself, when again and +again there rose before her mind's eye the form and face of the man who +surely was the worst of the lot, and yet who looked like a gentleman and +who knew how to carry himself like a gentleman, who knew what courtesy +to a woman was when he wanted to know, who had in a few hours made upon +her an impression which she realized shamefacedly would stay with her +always. + +She had been in her room for an hour, driven by her loneliness had run +downstairs to chat a few minutes with Mrs. Riddell in the kitchen and, +unusually restless, had gone back upstairs. As she came again to her +window, she saw two men leave their horses at the front gate and turn +toward the house along the walk under the pear trees. Both were men whose +very stature would have drawn one's thoughts away from even pleasant +preoccupation, and Winifred Waverly's thoughts were sick of the channel +in which they had been running. + +One, the one who came on slightly in front of his companion, was very +broad and heavy and thick. Thick of arm, of thigh, of neck. He was not +short, standing close to six feet, and yet his bigness of girth made him +seem of low, squat stature as she looked down upon him. She did not see +his face under the wide, soft hat but guessed it to be heavy like the +rest of him, square jawed and massive. She noted curiously that his +tread was light, that his whole being spoke of energy and swift +initiative, that the alertness of his carriage was an incongruity in a +man so heavily built from the great, monster shoulders of him to the +bulging calves. + +The face of the other man she saw. His hat was far back upon his head +and as he come on his dark features fascinated her. He was tall, as tall +or nearly as tall as the Kid or Buck Thornton, she thought, slender, +full of the grace of perfect physical manhood. There was a dash to him +that, to the girl, was not without its charm. It spoke from the finely +chiselled lips, curved to a still, contemptuous smile, from the eyes, +long lashed, well set far apart, from the swinging careless stride. A +handsome devil, as handsome in his own way as the Kid in his, as defiant +an insolence in his smiling eyes, as cool an assurance and a vague added +charm which was not so readily classified. + +The two men came to the door. She heard Pollard greet them, calling +them by name, and thus learned that one was Cole Dalton, the sheriff, +one Broderick. Then there came up to her the hum of voices from her +uncle's office, the heavy, rasping voice which she was certain belonged +to the thicker-set man, the light, careless pleasant tones of the taller +man. She found herself listening, not for the words which were lost in +the indistinct hum, but to the qualities of tone, idly speculating as to +which man was the sheriff, which Broderick. She wondered if now they +were going to arrest Buck Thornton and if Broderick were a deputy? And +again she hated herself with a quick spurt of contemptuous indignation +that she allowed a feeling of sympathy for the tall cattleman to slip +into her heart. + +For a long time the low toned conversation in the room below her +continued. At first it was her uncle who did the greater part of the +talking, his utterances at once emphatic and yet guarded. She had the +uneasy feeling that the tones were hushed less because of Mrs. Riddell +whom she could hear clattering with her pots and pans in the kitchen, +than because of herself. A little hurt, half angry that he should think +of her as a possible eavesdropper, she took up her book again, turning +the pages impatiently in search of the place which she had a great deal +of trouble in finding since she had understood so little of what she had +read that day. And even then one half of her mind was on the men below +as she wondered why they should not want her to know what it was they +said. + +Evidently Pollard had finished what he had to say. She supposed that he +had been telling them of his loss and her robbery. Then the heavy, +rasping voice, Cole Dalton's she was right in guessing it to be, as +guarded as Pollard's had been, broke in and for several minutes it was +the only sound that came to her, save twice when a low laugh from +Broderick interrupted. She frowned at that; to her it seemed that in +this stern discussion which had for theme crime and retribution there +was no place for a man's laughter; even then her dislike for Ben +Broderick had begun. + +Then Cole Dalton had finished and Broderick was talking. It was as +though each man in turn were making his report to the others. As before +not a word came to the ears which she strove futilely to make +inattentive. A certain quality in the speaker's voice drew fresh +speculation from her. He spoke quietly, with no single interruption from +the others and with a positiveness that was like a command, as though he +whom she had thought possibly a deputy were coolly telling both Pollard +and Cole Dalton what they should do, when they should do it and how. The +voice was arrogant, cool and confident. + +Again the sheriff's voice floated up to her, raised a little, rasping +out what sounded like a protest. And Broderick's answer was another +short laugh, full of contempt and followed by a few emphatic, crisp +words which she did not catch. + +That ended the consultation. She knew it from the silence which +followed the curt finality of Broderick's retort and from the scraping +of chair legs followed by the sound of the men pacing back and forth and +speaking in new, unguarded tones. Now their conversation came to her for +the first time. + +"You'll be going out tonight, Dalton?" Pollard asked. + +"No. The first thing in the morning." + +"And you, Broderick?" + +"I'll trot along tonight, Henry. But not," the cool voice carelessly, +"until I've had something to eat. I know you're going to ask me to stay +to supper!" + +"What do you want to stay for, Ben?" demanded Pollard with something of +irritation in the question. "Haven't you got enough on your hands...." + +Broderick's ready laugh, slow, easy, vaguely insolent, rose clearly to +Winifred's ears. + +"You're sure a hospitable cuss," he retorted. "Don't be a hog on top of +it, Henry. I want to see that pretty niece of yours." + +The girl's cheeks went red at the light tone. She waited to hear her +uncle's short rejoinder. And she heard nothing beyond the sheriff's +rasping chuckle. + +When Mrs. Riddell called from the foot of the stairs that supper was +ready Winifred had fully made up her mind that she would not go down. +She heard the three men chatting lightly and decided that she would get +something to eat after they had finished and gone. But as though her +uncle had caught her thought he too came to the foot of the stairs, +calling to her. + +"Winifred," he was saying, "supper's ready. Sheriff Dalton is here, and +Mr. Broderick, a friend of mine. I want you to tell them what you have +told me." + +She hesitated a moment, biting her lip. Then she answered, "All right, +Uncle Henry; I'll be right down." She went to her wash-stand, arranged +her hair swiftly, saw that the flush had gone out of her cheeks, that +her eyes were cool and told nothing, and went down to join the three men +who had already taken their places at the dinner table. + +As she came through the door, her head up, her lips a little hard, +Broderick was the first to see her and was upon his feet in a flash, as +graceful as a cavalier, as debonair in his big boots and soft white silk +shirt as though he had been a courtly gentleman dressed for the ball, +his eyes frankly filled with the appreciation of her dainty beauty. +Pollard, remembering, rose too, and last of all Cole Dalton, his shrewd +eyes intense and keen upon her. Winifred's gaze passed by Broderick as +though she had not seen him and travelled to her uncle while she waited +for the introductions. + +Dalton, who was first to be presented, put out a big, hard, square hand, +capturing and releasing Winifred's suddenly as though it were a part of +the day's work to be done and over with. He had stepped forward and now +stepped back to his chair, his keen, watchful eyes never leaving her +face. + +Then Broderick took the hand which she did not like to refuse to her +uncle's friend and guest and yet which she disliked giving him, saw the +little flush which his gaze drove into her cheeks, and with a hint of +laughter in his eyes bowed over it gallantly, murmuring his happiness in +knowing her. And it was Broderick who stepped quickly to her chair, +drawing it out for her to be seated. She found herself wondering where +this man had learned to do these little things which are no part of the +training of the far out cattle men. + +During the first half of the meal there was no reference to the +happening at Harte's Camp. Broderick, with a mood contagiously care free +and sparkling, did the greater part of the talking, and though he +elicited from the girl rare words beyond a brief "yes" or "no," he +seemed content. And he interested her. He talked well, with little slurs +of grammar that seemed rather due to the man's carelessness of nature +than to ignorance, his vocabularly not without picturesque force. It +seemed natural that he should do the talking, that he should address +himself largely to her, and that Pollard and Cole Dalton should listen +and watch him. + +Within ten minutes she gleaned that Broderick was a miner, that he had a +claim of some sort in the mountains back of Hill's Corners, to the +eastward, that a couple of years ago he had made his "pile" in the +Yukon country and that he had lost it in unwise speculation, that he +knew more than the names of the streets of the chief cities of both +coasts, that he had strong hopes of making a strike where he was and of +selling out at a good figure to a mining concern with which he was +already corresponding. And yet this light miscellany of information was +so brightly sprinkled into the flow of talk upon a score of other +matters that it did not seem that the man was ever talking of himself. + +Finally Pollard, catching a sharp look from Sheriff Dalton, got up and +stepped into the kitchen where Mrs. Riddell was. The woman went out into +the yard and Pollard came back. Before he had taken his chair again +Dalton said abruptly, turning upon the girl: + +"Pollard mentioned your seeing the stick-up man at Harte's cabin. Tell +us about it." + +She told him swiftly, eager to have it over with, conscious that the +eyes of all three of the men watched her with a very intense interest. +From her account she omitted only that which concerned her personally +and alone and of which she had not even spoken to her uncle. + +"You're sure it was Thornton?" demanded the sheriff when she had +finished. "Dead sure?" + +"Yes," she answered resolutely, defiant of her own self that hesitated +to fix on an absent man the crime of which she believed him guilty. + +Dalton sat still save for the drumming of his thick fingers upon the +table cloth. Presently his big stocky body turned slowly in his chair as +he looked from Broderick to Pollard, the hint of a smile merely making +his eyes the harder. + +"So," he said, his wide shoulders rising to his deep breath, "it looks +like all we got to do is just go out and put our rope on Mr. Badman!" + +"It looks like it, Cole," laughed Broderick gently. "Only when you get +ready to pull off your little roping party I wish you'd let me know. He +don't look like he's the kind to lie down and let you hog-tie him, does +he, Miss Waverly? They say he's half Texan an' the other half panther. +You want to be quick on the throw, Cole. Remember the way he got the Kid +last winter!" + +"The only wonder," growled Dalton, "is that the Kid hasn't taken him off +our hands and got him long ago!" + +"But," put in Winifred hastily, "they're friends now. Uncle Henry and I +saw them talking together this afternoon." + +She saw the start that her words gave the sheriff, and turning toward +Broderick glimpsed a look, steely and hard and glittering with suspicion +that had driven the smile from his eyes. + +"If Bedloe...." began Dalton sharply, his great fist clenched. But he +stopped short. He saw and understood the warning glance Broderick shot +at him; Winifred saw, too, but did not understand. + +"Let's go into the other room," the miner said carelessly, "and see what +Henry's cigars are made out of." + +They rose and went back to Pollard's office. And Ben Broderick, who had +suggested cigars, was the only one of the three men who rolled his own +cigarette, rolled it slowly and with deep thoughtfulness. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SUSPICION + + +After all it seemed that for some reason the time was not yet ripe for +Cole Dalton to put his rope on "Mr. Badman". For the days ran on +smoothly for Buck Thornton, the weeks grew out of them and he rode, +unmolested, unsuspicious of any threatened interference, about his own +business. + +He had gone a second time to the dugout at Poison Hole, carrying +provisions enough to last Jimmie Clayton several days. Clayton seemed +assured that Bedloe would look out for him now and insisted that there +was danger of some of the range hands learning of Thornton's trips here. +So, for a week he did not ride near the man's hiding place, and when one +day he did visit the dugout again there was nothing to show that Clayton +had been there and no hint of how or where he had gone. Thornton felt a +deep sense of relief, believing that the episode, so far as he was +concerned, was closed. + +Another week and he was close to forgetting Jimmie Clayton altogether. +The demands of the routine of range work kept him busy every day, early +and late, and as though that were not enough to tax his endurance there +came a fresh call upon him. + +The stage had not been robbed that day he had seen it leaving Dry Town, +and he had begun to persuade himself that the epidemic of crime from one +end of the county to the other was at an end; that the highwayman had +left the country while he could. But now came news of fresh outlawry, +news that ran from tongue to tongue of the angered cattle men and miners +who demanded more and more loudly that Cole Dalton "get busy". + +Rumour flew back and forth, indignant, voluble, accusatory. It stacked +crime upon crime; it mouthed the names of many men whom the county would +be glad to entertain in its empty jail, the names of the three Bedloe +boys, of Black Dan, of Long Phil Granger, of certain newcomers to Hill's +Corners who, naturally, were to be looked upon with suspicion. It listed +the depredations committed during four weeks with a result that was +startling. It told of the theft of a herd of steers from Kemble's place; +the shooting of Bert Stone and the looting of Hap Smith's mail bags; the +robbery of Seth Powers who left the poker table at Gold Run at two +o'clock one morning with seven hundred dollars in his overalls and was +found at eight o'clock beaten into unconsciousness and with his pockets +turned wrong-side out; the stage robbery in which Bill Varney of Twin +Dry Diggings had been killed; the robbery of Jed Macintosh in Dry Town. +A hundred and fifty miles lay between the most widely removed of the +places where these things had happened, but no two of them had occurred +within a time too short for a man to ride from one to the other. + +And now came the list of the bold crimes committed since the day, four +weeks ago, when Buck Thornton had ridden into Dry Town with the five +thousand dollars. Kemble, to the westward of the Poison Hole, told of +again losing cattle, seven big steers run off in a single night, nothing +left of them but their tracks and the tracks of a horse which +disappeared in the rocky mountain soil; Joe Lee, of the Figure Seven +Bar, to the north of the Poison Hole, reported the loss of nine cows and +two horses, all picked stock; Old Man King of the Bar X grew almost +speechless with trembling wrath at the loss of at least a score of +cattle. And Ben Broderick, the mining man who was working his claim to +the eastward of the Poison Hole, admitted quietly that a man, a big man +wearing a bandana handkerchief as a mask, had slipped into his camp one +night, covered him with a heavy calibre Colt, and had taken away with +him a six hundred dollar can of dust. + +As yet no single loss had been noted by the Poison Hole outfit. But +Thornton believed that he saw the reason: now, there were few nights +that found him at the range cabin or his cowboys in the bunk house. His +cattle had been brought down from the mountains, herded into the open +meadow lands, and the night riders kept what watch they could upon the +big herds. Many a night he lay in his blankets close to the border of +his range upon the south, knowing that here and there upon other +borders, watching over his cattle, guarding the mouths of canons down +which a rustler might choose his way, his men lay. He began to wish that +his property might be attacked, feeling secure in his alertness, +thinking that an over bold "badman" might come suddenly to the end of +his depredations here. And yet no attack came, not so much as a +wandering yearling was lost to him. + +Men of the stamp and calibre of these ranchers who were hearing of a +neighbour's losses only as a sort of prelude to their own, were not +patient men at the best, nor did such lives as they led permit of lax +hands and natures without initiative. It was in no way a surprise to +Thornton, upon riding to the Bar X, to learn that the cattle men were +now rising swiftly and actively to a defence of their own property. Many +of them lifted frank and angry voices in condemnation of their county +sheriff, many of them more generously admitted that Dalton was up +against a hard proposition and was doing all that any one man could do. +But they were unanimous in saying that what Cole Dalton couldn't do they +would do. + +This morning Thornton found old man King saddling his horse in the Bar X +corrals and snapping out orders to his foreman and the two cowboys who +sat their horses watching him with speculative eyes. His recent loss had +driven him to a towering rage and his voice shook with anger in it. + +"Twenty head they've took from me," he spat out angrily. "Twenty head +in one night an' they think they c'n git away with it an' go on doin' +jest what they damn please!" He jerked his cinch tight, climbed into his +saddle and as his young horse whirled about Thornton saw that he had a +rifle under his leg. + +"Them cows," he went on wrathfully, merely ducking his head at the new +comer, "will average a hundred dollars a head. Two thousan' bucks gone +like a fog when the sun's up! What in hell do you fellers think I'm +payin' you for?" + +"It ain't goin' to happen one more time," growled Bart Elliott, the +foreman whose wrath under the direct eyes of the "Old Man" was no less +than King's. "I jes' wish they'd try it on again...." + +"Ain't goin' to happen again, ain't it?" retorted King. "That's got to +satisfy me, huh? Jest so long as they take a couple thousan' dollars +out'n my pockets, an' then don't come back for _all_ I got, it's all +right, huh? Now you boys can jest nacherally take the glue out'n your +ears an' listen a minute: I'm goin' to know who took them cows an' where +they went, an' I'm goin' to have 'em back, every little cow brute of +'em! Git me, Elliott? An' you, Jim an' Hodge? If you fellers are lookin' +for jobs where you ain't got nothin' to do you better look somewhere +else. Now, listen some more." + +He told them that they would find two more rifles and a shotgun at the +range house. To this information he added that they could pack up some +grub and hit the trail along with him. For he was going to bring his +cattle back if he had to ride through three states to get them and back +through hell to drive them home. + +The men rode away to the range house talking among themselves, and King +swung about upon Thornton. + +"Hello, Buck," he said shortly. + +"Hello, King. Anything I can do?" + +"Not for me," said King drily. "How about yourself? Lost any cows off'n +the Poison Hole?" + +"Not a one. The rustlers seem to be giving me a wide berth. I've had my +men out every night, though. Maybe they've got wise." + +King looked at him sharply. And Thornton was vaguely aware in that swift +glance of something which made but little impression on him at the time, +something which he forgot even as he saw it, imagining he had misread +but something to be remembered in the days that followed: it was a cool, +steely look of suspicion. + +"Mebbe," King grunted. "It's happenin' all _aroun'_ you. I wasn't sayin' +much so long's it didn't come too close the Bar X. An' now I ain't goin' +to _say_ much." + +Thornton finished his errand with Old Man King and saw him with his men +ride away into the little hills of the range. Then he was turning back +toward the Poison Hole when young King, riding around the corner of the +barn, called to him. + +"Hello, Bud," Thornton said casually. "What's the word?" + +Bud King rode up to him before he answered. Then, sitting loosely in +the saddle, his eyes meditative upon one free, swinging boot, he +answered. + +"There's a dance over to the school house tonight, for one thing. +Coming, Buck?" + +Thornton shook his head. + +"No. Hadn't heard of it and I guess I'll be busy enough without prancing +out to dances." And then, a little curiosity in his even tones, "How +does it happen you're not out hunting rustlers with the old man?" + +Young King lifted his head and again Thornton saw in a man's eyes a +thing which was so vague that it went almost unnoted, a look of veiled +suspicion. + +"The old man hunts his way and I hunt mine," Bud King said briefly. "And +besides, I haven't been to a shindig for six months." + +A little flush ran up into his face under Thornton's level glance, and +Buck laughed softly. + +"Who's the girl, Bud?" he challenged. + +"Aw, go chase yourself," Bud flung back at him, but with a reddening +grin. To Thornton came a swift inspiration. + +"Wonder if Miss Waverly will be over from the Corners?" he asked. + +"Dunno," Bud replied innocently, so innocently that Thornton laughed +again. + +Thornton rode back to the Poison Hole. And as he went, his thoughts ran +now to the mission upon which old man King had set forth, now upon the +wisdom of shaving, putting on his best suit and new hat and going to a +dance.... + +"It isn't so much I want to see her again," he told himself, "as I want +to give back her spur rowel!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE DANCE AT DEER CREEK SCHOOLHOUSE + + +Deer Creek schoolhouse stood in a tiny, emerald valley half a dozen +miles from Hill's Corners, some fifteen miles from Thornton's cabin, its +handful of barefooted pupils coming from the families scattered through +the valley. It was a one roomed building with two low doors and six +square windows. And yet it offered ample enough floor space and bench +accommodations for the valley dances, its one room being twenty-four +feet long and twelve feet wide, certainly over large for the single +"school marm" and her small flock, having been constructed with an eye +to just such social gatherings as the one tonight. + +The teacher's desk had been taken outdoors by willing hands; the pupils' +benches stood along the walls for the "women folk" during the +intermissions; upon the slightly raised platform at one end of the room +were the chairs for the musicians, fiddler and guitarist. And upon the +floor was much shaved candle. For light there were the four coal-oil +lamps with their foolish reflectors against the walls, and a full moon +shining in through door and windows. + +Thornton came late, late that is, for a country dance. It was after +nine o'clock when, riding Comet, he saw the schoolhouse lamps winking at +him through the oaks and heard the merry music of fiddle and guitar in +the frolic of a heel-and-toe polka. Already he made out here and there +the saddle horses which had brought so many "stags" so many miles to the +dance, and which stood tied to tree and shrub. Also there were the usual +spring wagons that had brought their family loads of father, mother, +son, daughter, hired man and the baby; while the inevitable cart was in +evidence speaking unmistakably of mooning couples whose budding interest +in each other did not permit of the drive in the family carry-all. + +Thornton noted the vehicles as he passed them, and turned to look at the +saddle horses, saying to himself, "So-and-so is here from Pine Ridge, +So-and-so from the Corners." For hereabouts a man knew another man's +horse and saddle, or wagon, as well as he knew the man himself. So when +Thornton saw the buckboard near the door with its two cream-coloured +mares, there was at once pleasure and speculation in his eyes, and he +told himself, "Somebody is here from Pollard's." + +He loosened Comet's cinch, flung the tie rope over the low limb of the +big oak near Pollard's team, and leaving his horse in the shadows, went +on to the open door. + +Already the polka had come to its giddy end. Men and women, boys and +girls, old folks with white hair and young folks in knee breeches and +short skirts, laughing and talking crisscrossed the floor this way and +that seeking seats. The girls and women sinking affectedly or plumping +in matter-of-fact style down into their places, with languishing upward +looks if they be young and in tune with the moon outside, with red faced +jollity and much frankness of chatter if they were married and perhaps +had a husband and children likewise disporting themselves, made long +rows about the walls of the schoolhouse, looking for the world like +orderly flocks of bright plumaged birds in their bravery of many hued +calicos and ginghams; a gay display of bold reds and shy blues, of +mellow yellows and soft pinks, with the fluttering of fans everywhere +like little restless wings. + +The men had left their partners, as custom demanded, and had gone to the +doors, energetically mopping their brows with handkerchiefs as various +in colour as the women's dresses; red and yellow silk, blue and purple, +and the eternal gaudy bandana. Thornton paused at the door, losing +himself among the men who had come out to stand there smoking or to +wander a little away in the darkness where earlier in the evening each +had hidden his personal flask under his particular bush. There would be +a good deal of drinking tonight, but then that too was custom, and there +was no more danger here of drunkenness than in those more pretentious +balls in town where men and women partake together of heady punch. + +Thornton passed words of greeting with many of these men, ranchers for +the most part whom he knew well. There was Bud King, his tie a vivid +scarlet, his store clothes a blue-bird-blue, the wide silk handkerchief +mopping his flushed face a rich yellow; there was Hank James from the +Deer Creek outfit speeding away with long strides to his own bottle +under his own bush where he might conceal the tremor of the new +happiness he had but come from and drink to the big-eyed girl in the +pink dress with the cascades of baby-ribbon; there was Ruf Ettinger with +his new overalls turned back the regulation six inches from the bottoms +in a cowboy cuff that permitted of the vision of six inches of grey +trouser leg below; there was Chase Harper of Tres Pinos in the smallest +boots man ever wore, with the highest heels, their newness a thing of +which in their pride they shrieked manfully as he walked; and there was +Ben Broderick, the miner, quietly dressed in black broadcloth, looking +almost the man of the city. To him Thornton merely nodded, briefly, +knowing the man but little, liking him less. But Broderick put out his +hand, saying cordially: + +"Hello, Buck. Going to shake a leg a little?" + +"I might." They were just outside the door, and the cowboy's eyes +running on past the miner sought up and down the lines of chatting women +for the girl who had tempted him to his first dance in many months. He +had seen Pollard's team, but he had not seen Pollard or his niece. +Broderick watched him, smiling a little. "Have a drink, Buck?" he asked, +seeming not to have noticed the other's curtness of word and manner. +"I've got something prime outside." + +"Not thirsty right now, Broderick," Thornton returned coolly. + +Then he heard a man's voice from the shadows at his back, and without +turning knew that Henry Pollard was out there, just behind him. At the +same instant his busy eyes found the girl he sought. + +Winifred Waverly's days in Hill's Corners had had little enough of the +joy of life in them for her; she had felt that she breathed an +atmosphere charged with forces which she could not understand; upon her +spirit had rested a weight of uncertainty and uneasiness and suspicion; +the men she saw had hard, sinister faces and seemed cast for dark, +merciless things; even her uncle appeared a strange sort of stranger to +her and she shrank from following her natural train of surmise and +suspicion when now and then she surprised a certain look upon his face +or when she saw him with the type of man with whom he mixed. + +Tonight it was as though after a long period of gloomy, overcast skies, +a storm had passed and the sun had broken through. About her were light +and music, the merry faces of children and girls with everywhere joyous, +full throated, light hearted laughter. And the spirit of her ran out to +meet the simple joy of the dance, glad just to be glad again. + +Thornton knew that he had found her before she turned her face toward +him. He recognized the trim little figure although now the riding habit +was discarded for a pretty gown of white which he guessed her own quick +fingers had fashioned for the dance; he recognized the white neck with +the brown tendrils of hair rebelling from the ribbon-band about her +head. And then, when she turned a little, he stared at her from his +vantage in the outside darkness, wondering if she had grown prettier +than ever in the few weeks since he had seen her, or if it were the +dress and the way she wore her hair with a white flower in it, or if he +had been half blind that other time. + +There was a warm, tender flush upon her cheeks telling of her happiness. +Her eyes shone, soft in their brightness, and her lips were red with the +leaping blood of youth. She had turned to speak with Mrs. Sturgis, the +stoutest, jolliest and altogether most motherly woman in the valley, and +Mrs. Sturgis, watching her eyes and lips and paying no attention to her +words, put out her plump hands suddenly, crying heartily: + +"You pretty little mouse! If I had just one wish I'd wish I was a man, +an' I'd just grab you up in my arms an' I wouldn't stop goin' until I +set you down in front of a preacher. Come here an' let Mother Mary kiss +you." + +"There's a woman with brains for you, Buck," chuckled Broderick. + +Thornton, though he agreed very heartily just then, did so in silence. + +"It's Winifred Waverly," went on Broderick carelessly. "She's Henry +Pollard's niece, you know. A little beauty, don't you think?" + +Thornton nodded. Again he had agreed but he did not care to discuss her +with Ben Broderick. The miner laughed lightly, and added for Thornton's +further information, + +"As keen a dancer as she is a looker. And a flirt from the drop of the +hat! Had the last dance with her. Which reminds me I better hurry and +down my booze and get back. I'm going to rope her for the next dance, +too." + +Broderick went his way for his bottle. Thornton did not speak, did not +turn, did not move that a man might see. But the fingers of the hand at +his side twitched suddenly and for a moment were tense. + +"Pollard can't help being mostly rattlesnake," he muttered angrily. "But +he ought to be man enough to keep his own blood kin away from Ben +Broderick's kind. Lord, Lordy, but it's sure enough hell folks can't +help having uncles like Ben Pollard. Poor little girl!" And then, +thoughtfully, his eyes filled with speculation as they rested upon +Winifred Waverly, "Mother Mary Sturgis was absolutely right!" + +Now the fiddler was tuning with long drawn bow, and the patting of the +guitarist's foot told that he was ready. Thornton, tossing his hat to +the teacher's desk just outside the door, entered the building and +strode straight to the girl. Other men were hurrying across the floor +eager to be first to ask this or that demurely waiting maiden for the +dance, but Thornton was well in the lead. He nodded and smiled and spoke +to many of the women whom he knew, but he did not stop until he came to +Winifred Waverly and Mrs. Sturgis. There he was stopped by the older +woman who had not read his intentions, and who, thinking that he was +going by, took his arm in her two plump hands. + +"Why, Buck Thornton, you rascal, you!" she cried heartily. "Where you +been all year? I ain't seen you since I c'n remember. An' where you +think you're goin', stampedin' along like a runaway horse?" + +"Howdy, Mother Mary," he returned as they shook hands. "I was headed +right here to see you and Miss Waverly. Howdy, Miss Waverly." + +The eyes which the girl turned upon him were wide with surprise. She had +had no thought that he would come here tonight. Surely he must know that +her uncle, the man whom he had robbed, was here! And Broderick, +too--another man whom he had robbed! And how many others? And yet he had +come, he seemed careless and without uneasiness, he dared to speak with +her quite as if that which had happened in Harte's cabin had never +occurred outside of his own imaginings. He even had the assurance to put +out his hand to her! As though she would touch him!... + +"Take your pardners for a waltz!" cried Chase Harper of the Tres Pinos, +he of the small boots, coming in through the door, wiping his mouth and +resuming his duties as "caller" of the dances. "Shake a leg, boys!" + +The hurried progress of men in search of "pardners" became a race, boots +clumped noisily against the floor, the cowboys swooped down upon the +line of women folks, often enough there was no spoken invitation to the +waltz as a strong arm ran about a lithe waist, the fiddle scraped, the +guitar thrummed into the tune, and with the first note they were +dancing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SIX FEET FOUR! + + +Winifred Waverly looked steadily into Buck Thornton's eyes, suddenly +determined that she would see in them the guile which must be there. +Surely a man could not do the things which this man so brazenly did, and +not show something of it! And she saw a glance as steady as her own, +eyes as clear and filled with a very frank admiration. In spite of her, +her color rose and her eyes wavered a little. Then she noticed that Mrs. +Sturgis's keen eyes were upon her, and swiftly drove the expression from +her own eyes and returned Thornton's greeting indifferently. Some day +her uncle would accuse this man, but she did not care to give her +personal affair over to the tongue of gossip, nor did she care to have +her name linked in any way with Buck Thornton's. + +"May I have this dance, Miss Waverly?" + +He had put out his arm as though her affirmative were a foregone +conclusion. She stared at him, wondering where were the limits to this +man's audacity. Then, before she could reply, Mrs. Sturgis had answered +for her. For Mrs. Sturgis was a born match maker, Buck was like a son to +her motherly heart, Winifred Waverly was the "sweetest little thing" +she had ever seen, and they had in them the making of such a couple as +Mrs. Sturgis couldn't find every day of the week. + +"Go 'long with you, Buck Thornton!" she cried, making a monumental +failure of the frown with which she tried to draw her placid brows. +"Here I thought all the time you was goin' to ask me!" + +Then she jerked him by the arm, dragging him nearer, playfully pushed +the girl toward him, and before she well knew what had happened Winifred +found herself in Thornton's arms, whirling with him to the merry-fiddled +music, putting out her little slipper by the side of his big boot to the +step of the rye-waltz. And Mrs. Sturgis, drawing her twinkling eyes away +from them and turning upon Ben Broderick, who had arrived just too late, +with as much malice in her smile as she knew how to put into it, +remarked meaningly, + +"A little slow, Mr. Broderick! You got to keep awake when there's a man +like Buck around." + +And she seemed very much pleased with the look in Broderick's eyes, a +look of blended surprise and irritation. + +"Thornton and her uncle are not just exactly friends," he retorted +coolly. + +"If they was," she flung back at him, "I'd think a heap sight more of +ol' Ben Pollard!" + +Mrs. Sturgis's manoeuvre had so completely taken the girl by surprise +that as she floated away in the cowboy's arms she was for a little +undecided what to do. She did not want to dance with Thornton; it had +been upon the tip of her tongue to make the old excuse and tell him that +she was engaged for this waltz. In that way the whole episode would have +passed unnoticed. But now, if they stopped, if she had him take her to +her seat and leave her, everybody would see, everybody would talk, +gossip would remember that when she had first come to Hill's Corners +John Smith had ridden with her as far as the Bar X, and that Smith had +told there how Buck Thornton had ridden as far as his place with her; +and then gossip would go on into endless speculation as to what had +happened upon the trail which now made her refuse to dance with him. + +That was why she hesitated, undecided, at first. Then Thornton began to +speak and she wanted to know what he was going to say. Besides, she +admitted to herself, begrudgingly, that she had never known a man dance +as this man danced, and the magic of the waltz was on her. + +"I had to return something you left at Harte's Camp," were his first +words. "That's the reason I rode over tonight." + +"What is it?" she asked quickly. + +Now suddenly there rose up into her heart a swift hope that after all he +was not entirely without principle, that he had grown ashamed of having +taken from a girl the money with which she had been entrusted and that +he was bringing it back to her. If he were man enough to do this ... the +blood ran up higher in her cheeks at the thought ... she could almost +forgive him for that other thing he had done. + +So they moved on in the dance, her hand resting lightly in his, his +fingers closing about it with no hint of a pressure to tell her that +again he would take what small advantage he could, his eyes looking +gravely down into the eyes which flashed up at him with her question. + +"Didn't you lose anything that night?" he countered. "In the cabin after +I went for the horses?" + +"Well?" she countered, the quick hope leaping higher within her. + +"You did?" + +She wondered why his eyes were so grave, so stern now, why they had +ceased to say flattering things of her and merely hinted of a mind at +work on a puzzle. How could she know that while she was thinking of a +yellow, cloth lined envelope, he was thinking of a horse lamed with a +knife, and hoping to learn from her something of the man who had wounded +the animal? + +"Well?" she asked again, hardly above a whisper. Did he dare even talk +of it here, among all these men and women? She glanced about her +anxiously to see if Pollard were in the room. "You are going to give it +back to me?" + +Her wonderment was hardly more than Thornton's. Why should she show this +eager excitement, because of a lost spur rowel? + +"I rode over to give it to you," he answered, swinging her clear of an +eddy in the swirl of dancers and to the edge of the crowd. "First, +though, I want you to tell me something. A man came into the cabin about +three minutes before you came out to the barn, didn't he?" + +She had lowered her eyes, aware that people were noticing them, her +looking up so earnestly, him looking down into her face so gravely. But +now, in spite of her, she looked up at him again. + +"Why do you ask that?" she demanded with a flash of anger that he should +continue this useless pretence. "Do you think I am a fool?" + +"No. I am asking because I want to know. It's a safe gamble that the man +you had a tussel with is the man who lamed my horse." + +"Is it?" she asked with cool sarcasm. "And it's just as safe a gamble +that he is a coward and a ... brute!" + +"I don't know about his being a coward, and I don't care about his being +a brute," he told her steadily. "But I do want to know what he looks +like." + +Again she called herself a little fool and bit her lip in the surge of +her vexation. She had been glad and over eager just now to restore her +faith to this big brut of a man; at a mere word from him she had been +ready to condone a crime and forgive an insult.... She felt her face +grow hot; he had kissed her rudely and she had been willing to find +excuses, she had even felt as odd sort of thrill tingling through her. +And now this eternal play-acting of his, this insane pretence.... + +"Mr. Thornton, this is getting us nowhere," she reminded him coldly. "If +you care to be told I can assure you that I know perfectly well who the +man was who ... who came into the cabin that night. And I think that it +would be for the best if you returned ... my property!" + +"I'm going to return it. Now, will you answer my question? Will you tell +me who that man was?" + +"Why do you pretend in this stupid way?" she demanded hotly. + +"Why don't you tell me who he was?" he returned, frowning a little. + +For a moment she did not answer. Then, her voice very low, she said, +speaking slowly, + +"I don't tell you, Mr. Thornton, because you know as well as I do!" + +She saw nothing but blank amazement in his eyes. + +"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you," he informed her. + +Again she looked up at him, their eyes meeting steadily, searchingly. + +"You say that you don't know who it was?" she challenged. And the eyes +into which she looked were as clear of guile as a mountain lake when he +answered: + +"No. I don't know!" + +Then through lips which were moulded to a passionate scorn no less of +self than of him, in a fierce whisper, she paid him in the coin of her +contempt with the one word: "_Liar_!" + +She saw the anger leap up into his eyes and the red run into his bronzed +skin, she felt the arm about her contract tensely until for one dizzy +second she thought that he would crush her. And then they were swinging +on through the dance to the merry beat of the music and above the music +she heard his soft laugh. + +He did not look at her, nor did she again lift her eyes to his. But both +of them saw Broderick where he stood near the door, his hands shoved +down into his pockets, his tall, gaunt form leaning against the wall. +His eyes had been following them, and there was in them an expression +hard to read. It might have been anger or distrust or suspicion. + +And both Thornton and Winifred as they turned in the dance caught a +quick glimpse of the face of another man. It was Henry Pollard. He had +evidently just come in and as evidently had not seen Thornton and his +niece dancing together until this moment. And the look in his eyes +springing up naked and startled was a thing easy to read. For it was the +look of fear! + +Winifred Waverly tried to tell herself that it was fear for her, at +seeing her in Thornton's arms. But she knew that it was not. Nor was it +fear for himself, not mere physical fear of Thornton. Already she knew +of her uncle that the man was no coward. It was not that kind of fear; +it was a fear that was apprehension, dread lest something might happen. +What? "_Dread that something he did not want her to know might become +known to her in her talk with Buck Thornton!_" + +It was as though a voice had shouted it in her ear. Where so many things +were muddled in inexplicability this one matter seemed suddenly +perfectly clear to her. He had not wanted her to talk with Buck +Thornton! Why? + +Thornton, with no further word to her, had bowed to her, his eyes hard +and stern, and taking a paper-wrapped packet from his vest pocket had +given it to her, and had walked swiftly to the door near which Broderick +stood. In spite of her her eyes had gone down the room after the tall +figure. And then something happened which could have meant nothing to +any one else in the house, but which brought leaping up into the girl's +heart both fear and gladness. And, at last, understanding. + +Broderick, smiling, had said some light word to Thornton, laying his +hand upon the cowboy's shoulder. For a moment, just the fraction of a +second the two men stood side by side in the open doorway. Until they +stood so, close together, a man would have said that they were of the +same height. Now Winifred marked that there was a full two-inch +difference and that Thornton was the taller. + +Together they stepped out through the doorway. The door was low, Buck +stooped his head a little, Broderick passed out without stooping! It +seemed only last night that she had made her supper in the Harte camp +with Buck Thornton. She remembered so distinctly each little event. She +could see him now as he had sat making his cigarette, could see him +going to the door to look at the upclimbing moon. She had marked then +the tall, wiry body that must stoop a little to stand in the low +doorway. She had jested about his height; the six-feet-four of him, as +he called it.... + +She could see again the man who had come in, masked, the man whose +clothes were like the clothes of Buck Thornton even to the grey neck +handkerchief. She could remember that this man had stood in the same +doorway, that his eyes had gleamed at her through the slits in the +handkerchief,... that he had held his head thrown back, that he had not +stooped! + +"It wasn't Buck Thornton!" she whispered to herself, her hands going +white in their tense grip upon the parcel they held. "A man did lame his +horse, a man who wanted me to think all the time that it was Buck +Thornton. And that man," with swift certainty, "is Ben Broderick! Uncle +Henry's friend. And Uncle ... knows!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +POLLARD TALKS "BUSINESS" + + +The promise of the night flat and stale in his mouth, Thornton turned +his back upon the merriment in the little schoolhouse and strode away to +his horse awaiting him under the oak. He tightened the cinch with a +savage jerk, coiled his tie rope and flung himself into the saddle. Did +he not already have enough on his hands without running after a girl +with grey eyes and a blazing temper? Had he not already enough to think +about, what with guarding his range interests from a possible visit from +the marauder who was driving wrath into the hearts of the cattle men and +terror into the hearts of the isolated families, what with scraping +every dollar here and there that he might be on time with his final +payment to Henry Pollard? Must he further puzzle over the insolent whims +of a captious girl? + +Which was all very well, and yet as he turned Comet's head toward the +Poison Hole ranch the blood was still hot on his brow, his thoughts were +still busy with Winifred Waverly and the enigma she was to him, while +his mind, still touched with the opiate of the loveliness of her, was +filled with the picture she made in the moment of her flaming +accusation. + +"I have been calling her Miss Grey Eyes!" he mused angrily. "That name +doesn't suit her. Little Blue Blazes would be better!" + +"Mr. Thornton!" + +It was Henry Pollard's voice, and for a moment Thornton had no thought +of heeding it. But the voice called again, and he drew an impatient +rein, waiting. + +"Well," came his answer shortly. "What do _you_ want?" + +"I want to talk business with you or I wouldn't stop you," Pollard +returned coolly. He came close to Comet's head and in the same, cool, +impersonal voice continued. + +"When time comes for your last payment are you going to be able to make +it?" + +"Until time does come," Thornton snapped at him, "it's my business what +I'm going to do." + +"Certainly it's your business. But since you've put fifteen thousand +into it already I guess you won't slip up on the last five thousand. Now +it's nearly five months until that payment falls due, isn't it?" + +"Well? Talk fast, Pollard." + +"I want to make you a proposition. I need money, and I don't mind saying +that I need it bad! I've got a chance for something good, something big, +in a mining speculation, and I'm short of cash. If I could raise the +money within thirty days..." + +Thornton laughed. + +"Nothing doing, Pollard," he cut in. "When your money's due you can +come talk to me. Not before." + +"I said I had a proposition, didn't I?" went on Pollard evenly. "I see +where I can make by it, and I'm willing for you to profit at the same +time." + +"Spit it out. Where do I get off?" + +"You owe me five thousand yet." + +"Five thousand with interest, six per cent...." + +"Forget the interest; I don't want it. And I'll carve five hundred +dollars off the five thousand too, if you'll raise it within thirty +days. That is my proposition. What do you say to it?" + +For a little Buck Thornton was silent, thinking swiftly. For the life of +him he could not but look for some trickery in any proposition which +might come from "Rattlesnake" Pollard. And when Pollard coolly offered +to give away eight hundred dollars, five hundred of it principal, three +hundred interest, Thornton had an uneasy sense that there was something +crooked in the deal. But at the same time he knew that a year ago +Pollard had been short of funds and for this reason had been driven to +sell the Poison Hole. Hence it might be that now Pollard was telling the +truth when he said that he needed money. + +"You mean," he said presently, speaking slowly, trying to see Pollard's +face in the shadows, "that if I come across with four thousand five +hundred dollars in thirty days you will give me the deed to the Poison +Hole?" + +"That's what I mean," agreed Pollard bluntly. "It's a proposition you +can take or leave alone. Only you have got to take it right now if you +want it. What do you say?" + +"I've got out the habit of carrying forty-five hundred around in my vest +pocket...." + +"You've got an equity of fifteen thousand in a range that is worth a +whole lot more than you are paying for it, young man! The bank in Dry +Town would advance you the money and never bat an eye." + +Again Thornton asked himself swiftly if there were some trap here +Pollard was setting for him to blunder into. But he could see none, and +he could understand that matters might stand so that the smaller sum +_now_ would be worth more to him than the larger amount in five months. + +"This is the fifteenth," replied the cowboy. "On the twenty-fifth I'll +have the money ready at the Dry Town bank." + +"I don't want it in the bank," Pollard told him shortly. "I want it in +my fist! It's just about time for the stage to get held up again, and +I'm taking no chances on this bet. You bring the money to _me_ or the +bet's off." + +"An' _I_ take the chances of gettin' held up!" grunted Thornton. + +"You take all the chances there are. You stand to make eight hundred +dollars, and you can take it or leave it! If you take it you can have +the papers made out in town, deed and receipt and all, and I'll sign +them. You can bring them to me at the Corners, or," with a little sneer +creeping into his cool voice, "if you don't like the Corners, anywhere +you say. And you can have half a dozen witnesses if you like." + +"Why don't you ride with me into Dry Town?" + +"Because I don't want to! Because, if you agree to put this thing over, +I'm going to be mighty busy getting my deal in shape here and on the +other side of the line." + +"All right. I'll take the chance," Thornton said crisply, his voice as +cool as Pollard's had been. "I'll raise the money and I'll get the +papers made out. I'll bring them to you at Hill's Corners on the morning +of the twenty-fifth." + +He reined Comet about, turning again toward the range, and gave him his +head. Pollard watched him a moment, then swinging about upon his heel, +went back toward the school house. Chase Harper's voice from within rose +above the fiddle and guitar, calling for the quadrille. Broderick came +forward to meet Pollard. + +"Well?" he asked quickly. "You made him your proposition?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he say?" Broderick's voice and eyes alike were eager. + +"He swallowed it whole," laughed Pollard. + +Broderick laughed with him, and then suddenly, the laughter going out of +his voice, his hand shutting down tight upon Pollard's arm and drawing +him away further from the door, deeper into the shadows, his words +almost a whisper, he said: + +"He danced with Winifred. You saw that?" + +"Yes, damn him. That's what he came for. But I don't think that they +said anything...." + +"Shut up, man! Don't you suppose I know what you mean? I don't know what +they said. It's up to you to find out. He gave her something, a little +parcel done up in paper. I don't know what. That's up to you, too. And, +what's more," and his voice grew harsh with the menace in it, "it's up +to you that they don't see each other again! I don't think that any harm +was done tonight. He went away red-mad. When I stopped him at the door +for a minute he hardly knew I was there. They didn't say a word to each +other the last half of their dance. She said something to him, and her +eyes were on fire when she said it, like his when he went out; that put +an end to their talk. They didn't even say good night." + +"I've got a notion to send her away," muttered Pollard sullenly. "It was +a fool idea to drag a woman into this." + +"Send her away ... now?" cried Broderick sharply. "You're the fool, +Pollard. She's the best bit of evidence we've got. Keep her here, but +for God's sake, man, keep her close! And let's jam this thing through to +a quick finish." + +"You're right, I suppose, Broderick." Pollard ran his hand across a wet +forehead. "We've got to put the whole thing across in a hurry. Ten days, +and we'll wind it up.... What's Cole Dalton doing?" + +"He's getting mighty hot under the collar," said Broderick grimly. "He's +got to get somebody in his little old jail damn' soon, or he'll have a +bunch of wild men in his hair. And he knows it. Now we can get our crop +planted and things will be ripe for him to gather in in eleven days." + +"Let's go inside." Pollard turned toward the front door. "I want to see +Winifred. I want to see how she looks before she gets through thinking +about Thornton." + +And Winifred Waverly, who, after her stunned hesitation when she had +seen Thornton and Broderick standing side by side in the doorway, and +who had hurried out through the back door, hoping to find Thornton +before he had gone, got to her feet in the black shadow where she had +crouched by the school house wall, her face dead white, her eyes wide +and staring, her heart pounding wildly. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE GIRL AND THE GAME + + +She did not fully understand, she could not grasp everything yet, she +was filled with doubts and suspicions and a growing terror. What had her +uncle said to Thornton, what had the cowboy "swallowed whole"? What was +the whole scheme which connected the two men, which envolved Thornton +and the sheriff, which seemed clear in one moment only to be a tangle in +the next? + +One thing only was perfectly clear now to the girl. And seeing it, she +gathered up her skirts in her two hands and ran, ran back along the +wall, keeping in the shadows, drawing close about her the dark cloak she +had thrown about her white dress. She must get into the house before +they came in, she must let her face show nothing, she must have time to +think before she spoke with them. So she came to the back door, paused a +brief moment, commanding her nerves to be steady, then slipped in, +letting the cloak fall from her shoulders. She saw Bud King standing +with his back to the wall watching the dancers, and going swiftly to +him, putting her hand lightly upon his arm, she summoned a smile into +her eyes as she cried breathlessly: + +"Will you dance this with me?" + +Young King looked at her in quick surprise, startled at the nearness of +the girl for whom his eyes had been seeking, and a little flush ran up +into his cheeks, a sparkle of gladness into his eyes. + +"Sure," he grinned happily. "I been looking for you, Miss Waverly." + +He ran his arm about her, she bent her head a little so that he could +not see the whiteness of her face, and they caught the beat of the +music. She lost the step, purposely that she might have a little more +time before they pass down the room toward Pollard and Broderick, +hesitated, taking her time to catch it, laughed at his apology for the +mistake, noted that her own laugh sounded free and natural, caught the +step, and swirled away into the crowd, daring now to look up laughingly +into Bud's face unmindful of the havoc she was working in his soul. The +two-step was lively; the room was warm, and the colour rose high in her +cheeks. But still she was careful to turn her head a little as they +whirled by the front door. But when, for the second time, the dance +carried them to the end of the room where Pollard and Broderick were, +she was so sure of herself that she sent a quick, laughing glance at her +uncle. And a little of the tightness about her heart was gone as she saw +the look of relief in his eyes. + +King, reckless with the wine of her, demanded the next waltz, claiming +that this had been only half a dance, and she gave it to him laughingly, +the more pleased that she saw Broderick coming toward her and that this +was the second time tonight that he had been a little too late, and that +she saw a frown in his eyes as they followed her and King out upon the +floor. + +But she knew that if she play her part as she must play it until she +could have time for the definite shaping of plans, she must dance again +with Broderick. When he came for her she nodded carelessly, let him take +her into his arms, and even looking up at him, forced a smile. For +surely, if these men could do what they were doing and give no hint of +it, she could play her part with clear eyes and a steady heart. She knew +now that Ben Broderick was a highwayman, that he had forced upon her the +insult of his kiss; already she suspected him of being the man who had +murdered Bill Varney, who had committed crime upon crime. But she knew, +too, and with as clear a knowledge, that she must give no slightest sign +of what her thoughts were. And as a result Mrs. Sturgis, watching her, +vowed to herself that "that Win Waverly was a little devil of a flirt!" + +It seemed an endlessly long time until midnight. The lunches which had +come in baskets and boxes were spread out upon the benches, coffee was +made outside and brought in in steaming, blackened coffee pots to be +poured into tin cups, and the supper was a noisy, successful affair. The +girl so wanted to slip away, to get back into her own room at Pollard's +house where she might drop all pretence and think, think, think! But she +knew that she must seem to enjoy the dance, she must not let her uncle +guess that the night had grown bitter in her mouth as it had in Buck +Thornton's. + +The benches were cleared and pushed back against the walls, the +musicians were at it again, when Pollard came to her. + +"Don't you think, Winifred, we'd better be going?" he asked quietly. "It +is late, we've got a good ride ahead of us and I have a lot to do +tomorrow." + +But she pleaded for one more dance, and then one more, and finally with +much seeming regretfulness allowed her uncle to slip on her cloak for +her. + +"I may be a hypocrite," she told herself a little sternly, as she sat in +the buckboard at her uncle's side. "But they are playing me for a little +fool! And ... and if they knew that I guessed...." + +She shivered and Pollard asked if she were cold. + +It was a swift drive with few words spoken. Winifred, her chin sunk in +her wraps, seemed to be dozing much of the way, and Henry Pollard had +enough to think about to make the silence grateful. The cream-coloured +mares raced out across the level land of the valley, with little thought +of the light wagon and much thought of the home stable and hay. And, +racing on, they sped at last through the long alley-like street of +Hill's Corners, into the glaring light from the saloons, by many shadows +at the corners of houses, their ears smitten by much noise of loud +voices and the clack of booted feet upon the board sidewalks. When +Pollard jerked in his team at his own front gate, the girl slipped +quickly from the buckboard, saying quietly: + +"I think I'll go right up to bed, Uncle Henry. I'm a little tired. Thank +you for taking me." + +And when he said, "Good night, Winifred," she called back her good night +to him, and hurried under the old pear trees to the house. In the hall +she found her lamp burning where Mrs. Riddell had left it for her, and +taking it up she climbed the stairs to her room. + +At last she was alone and could think! Her door was locked, her light +was out that no one might know she was awake, and she was crouching at +the open window, staring out at the night. + +Out of a tangle of many doubts, suspicions and live terrors there were +at first two things which caught the high lights of her understanding, +standing clear of the shadows which obscured the others. Buck Thornton +was absolutely innocent of the thing she had imputed to him, and +unsuspecting of the evidence which was being piled up against him. And +her own uncle was the friend and the actual accomplice of the real +criminal. + +Her thoughts harked back to the beginning of the story as she knew it, +reverting to that night when she had first seen Buck Thornton at Poke +Drury's road house. From that she passed in review all that she knew of +him; how he had come in while she was talking with the banker about the +errand which was to carry her over a lonely trail to her uncle. At first +she had been quick to suspect that Thornton had overheard a part of +their conversation, that he had known from the first that she was +carrying the five thousand dollars. Now she realized with a little +twinge of bitter self-accusation that she had been over hasty in judging +the man who had been kind to her. + +She remembered how, on the trail from Dry Town, she had seen a man +following her, a man whose face, at the distance he maintained, was +hidden from her by his flapping hat brim, but whom she believed to be +Thornton. Upon what had she founded her belief? Upon the matter of his +being of about the size and form of the cowboy, upon the fact that he +rode a sorrel horse and that his clothes, even to the grey neck +handkerchief, were the same! How easy, how simple a matter for another +man to have a sorrel horse and to wear clothes like Thornton's! + +She remembered that the cowboy's surprise had seemed sincere and lively +when she had told him she had seen him; she recalled his courtesy to her +in the Harte cabin, his willingness to walk seven miles carrying his +heavy saddle that she might have a night's rest under a roof with +another woman. Not to be forgotten was the wrath in his eye and voice +when she had come upon him with his limping horse, and now, at last she +knew why his horse had been lamed and by whom! For that seemingly wanton +cruelty had accomplished that which it was planned to do, making her +certain beyond a doubt that Thornton had lied to her, that he had been +the man whom she had seen following her, hence that he it was who had +robbed her and had kissed her into the bargain. + +Now, in an altered mood she cast in review all that John Smith and his +wife had told her of him, and she knew that her first judgment there in +the storm-smitten road house, when she had deemed him clean and honest +and manly, had been the right judgment; that he was a man and a +gentleman; that he could be all that his eyes told of him, gentle unto +tenderness or as hard as tempered steel but always ... a man. + +But there was so much which she did not grasp yet. She heard Henry +Pollard return from the stable where he had left the horses and enter +the house, passing down the hallway to his room. Still she sat, never +stirring save for the little involuntary shiver which ran over her from +head to foot, as her uncle came into the house. And still she worked at +the patchwork of her puzzle, putting it together piece by piece. + +"Buck Thornton didn't do it," she whispered to herself, looking up at +the stars flung across the sky above the ugly little town. "Ben +Broderick did do it. He robbed me of Uncle's money. And Uncle knows! I +don't understand!" + +But at last she thought that she did understand. Thornton was buying the +Poison Hole ranch from Pollard. Already he had paid fifteen thousand +dollars into the deal. Now, what would happen if it were proven that +Thornton had stolen back from Pollard's emissary five thousand of that +money? Thornton would go to jail and for a long time, and then.... + +But why was Pollard waiting? Why was Broderick waiting, urging +the sheriff to wait? She saw it all in a flash then! They would +prove ... they thought that they were sure of proof through her! ... that +Buck Thornton had robbed her of the five thousand dollars. They would +prove that Buck Thornton had killed Bill Varney; that he had robbed Hap +Smith at Poke Drury's road house; they would prove that Buck Thornton was +the man the whole country wanted, the man who had committed crime upon +crime! She knew that he was a new man here, that he had lived on the +Poison Hole ranch for only a year and that the evidence of which her own +word was to have been a part, would be sufficient to prove to the +countryside that Buck Thornton was the daredevil marauder they sought. +And how undeniably strong would that evidence be if all crime ceased +abruptly upon the arrest of this one man! + +"It would not be the penitentiary for Buck Thornton," she thought +suddenly, her face whiter than it had been when she had overheard +Pollard and Broderick. "The ranch would come back into Henry Pollard's +hands, the men who have committed these crimes would be able to keep the +thousands and thousands of dollars they have taken from stages and +stolen cattle, and Buck Thornton would go to the gallows!" + +It was unbelievable, it was unthinkable, it was impossible! And yet.... + +"And yet," she whispered through her white lips, "it is the truth!" + +She sprang to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes +blazing. Buck Thornton had been good to her and in return she had done +much to give him over into their hands, she had insulted and reviled +him, she had sworn to the sheriff that he had robbed her. Now suddenly +she felt that she could never sleep again if she did not atone to him. + +She was already at the door, her hat and gloves in her hand, ready to +run down stairs, to saddle her horse, to ride to Thornton with word of +warning, when a new thought came to her. + +They were waiting, they were going to wait ten days; that much she had +overheard. Waiting for what? For some new crime, for the monster crime +of all, for the last play for the last and biggest stake? + +She, too, would wait. Not ten days but until she might slip away without +this danger of being seen, of her errand being guessed. In the meantime +she would learn what she could. + +She had not forgotten that Henry Pollard was her uncle. The thought +added its bitterness. But she remembered, too, the look she had seen +upon Pollard's face when she had told him that Thornton had robbed her, +she remembered the look of cruel satisfaction she had surprised there +more than once, and she knew that were he more than uncle, closer than +uncle, she could not act otherwise than she must act now. + +Then, suddenly, she sank down upon her bed, alone and lonely in the +thick darkness, weary and vaguely afraid. + +"Buck Thornton," she whispered, "I am afraid I need your help as much as +you need mine now!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE YELLOW ENVELOPE AGAIN! + + +Old man King, red eyed with wrath, had gone out after the cattle +rustlers in his own direct fashion, seeking to follow the trail of +running steers through the mountain passes, his eye hard, his rifle +ready, his mind eager to suspect any man to whom that trail might lead. +But he found only confused tracks which ran toward the state border line +and which vanished before even his sharp eyes, leading nowhere. + +Young Bud King, his own anger little less than his father's, went forth +on another trail, not after the running steers but after a man. And he +went to the town of Dead Man's Alley. Mentally he had made his list of +the men to whom one might look to for the commission of the crime which +had driven the Bar X outfit to action. Being no man's fool, young King +planned to go first to the source of the stream, as it were, and thence +to travel downward seeking to see who had muddied the waters. And his +"one chief bet" was that the source was in Hill's Corners. + +The result of Bud King's investigations, so far as he was concerned, was +little different from that of his father's and negligible. But his +journey to the town of the bad name was of vast importance to others. + +Winifred Waverly, upon the morning after the dance, came down late to +her breakfast, and found that Pollard had waited for her. Although he +was not in the habit of offering her this little courtesy, she thought +nothing of it at first, having enough of other matters in her brain, +perplexing her. But before the meal was over she knew why Henry Pollard +had waited for her. + +It was plain to her that he realized that some real importance might be +attached to the matter of her having seen Buck Thornton last night, of +having danced and talked with him. On the ride home he had not referred +to the cattle man nor had she. Now, in great seeming carelessness but +with his eyes keen upon her, he spoke lightly of the dance, mentioned +that he had seen Thornton talking to one of the men at the schoolhouse +door and wondered why he had gone so early. + +She managed to look at him innocently and to say carelessly as he had +spoken: + +"I had a dance with him. He didn't say anything about leaving so soon." +She even achieved a little laugh which sounded quite natural, ending, +"He seemed rather put out that I did not receive him like an old +friend!" + +"You did not accuse him of having robbed you?" + +"Not in so many words," quietly. "But I was certainly not polite to him! +For a little I thought that he was going to return your money to me." + +"Why?" Pollard asked sharply, and now she was sure of his readiness to +suspect her of holding back something from him. + +"He said," she went on, her interest seeming chiefly for her bacon and +eggs, "that he was returning something to me I had left at the cabin at +Harte's place. I couldn't think of anything but your money." + +"What was it?" + +"A spur rowel. It had been loose for several days, and dropped out in +the cabin. He brought it back to me." + +From this they passed on to speak of other incidents of the dance and of +other people, but the girl saw that her uncle's interest waned with the +change of topic. Then, her heart fluttering in spite of her, but her +voice steady enough, Winifred said lightly: + +"I think I'll go for a little ride after breakfast. My horse needs the +exercise, and," she added laughingly, "so do I." + +"Good idea," he returned, nodding his approval. But then he asked which +way she was riding, and finally volunteered to go with her, assuring her +smilingly that he had nothing of importance to do, and adding gravely, +that he would feel safer if she were not out alone in this rough +country. + +So he rode with her and after an hour of swift galloping out toward the +mountains, for the most part in silence, they came back to the town. +Pollard left her at his own gate and rode back through the street, "to +see a man." But he returned almost immediately and for the rest of the +day did not leave the house. It was a long day for the girl, filled with +restlessness and a sense of being spied upon, of being watched almost +every moment by her uncle. And before the day was done, there had come +with the other emotions a little thrill of positive, personal fear. + +It was midafternoon. The silence here at this far end of the street hung +heavy and oppressive. She had gone up and down stairs half a dozen +aimless times, eager for something to do. The long hours had been hers +for reflection, and after weighing the hundred little incidents of these +last few weeks, now there was no faintest shadow of a doubt that Henry +Pollard was at least guilty of criminal complicity in a scheme to send +an innocent man to the penitentiary if not to the gallows; she was more +than half persuaded that Pollard was in some way seeking to shield +himself by using Thornton as a scapegoat; she had got to the point where +she began to wonder if Henry Pollard and Ben Broderick shared share and +share alike both in the profits of these crimes and in their actual +commission. + +She came down stairs for a book, having at last finished the one in her +room, resigned to inactivity for another day, perhaps for two or three +days, until her uncle's watch upon her movements was less keen and +suspicious. She reflected that if she read something she might coax her +thoughts away from considerations which he could not understand in +their entirety, and which terrified her when she thought that she did +understand. + +In her quest she passed down the hall and to Pollard's office at the +front of the house. The room was by no means private; she had gone into +it many times before; sometimes it was used as a sitting room. She had +thought that her uncle was in it, but when she came to the open door she +saw that it was empty. + +She went to the long table at which Pollard wrote his few letters. Upon +one end of it, at the far end from the pen and ink, were some books and +old magazines, piled carelessly. Yesterday she had seen here a fairly +recent novel the title of which promised her an interesting story. A +glance showed her the book, lying open, where Pollard had evidently been +reading it. And in the same careless glance she saw something else which +sent the blood into her face and made her turn swiftly, apprehensively, +toward the door. + +There, beside Pollard's chair, was his waste paper basket, filled to +overflowing with crumpled papers. And, thrusting upward through the +papers, catching her eye because the papers were white and it was +another colour, was a long, yellow envelope. An envelope exactly like +the one in which Mr. Templeton had put the bank notes she was to carry +to her uncle! + +Obeying her swift impulse she stepped to the basket and drew the +envelope out. It was not only like the one she knew, yellow and cloth +lined, but it was the same one! She knew that beyond a hint of doubt. +For she remembered how, while sealing the thing for her, Mr. Templeton +had laid it down on his table, upon his ink-wet pen, how he had +carelessly blotted it. And here was the blot! + +She came swiftly around the table. Her back was toward the open door. +And.... + +Henry Pollard was standing behind her, watching her! She did not see +him, she could not be sure that she had heard his soft step on the hall +carpet, but she knew that he was there. She seemed to sense his presence +with the subtle sixth sense. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +WARNING + + +She felt her heart beating wildly ... if at that second he had spoken to +her she could not have found immediate voice in answer were it to save +her life. But further, she knew that if he gave her one second longer +she could control herself. For the first time it came upon her in a +flash that she had a personal interest in what these men did. They +sought to play her for their dupe, their fool; they counted upon making +her a sort of innocent accomplice, they dared to count upon her to help +them. To make their own positions safe they were dragging her into the +dirty mess that they had made. + +Her anger steadied her. Her brain had gone hot with it; now it went +cool, cold. She was holding the envelope in her hands when Pollard came +to the door; now she tossed it back to the basket carelessly and still +kept her back to the door. She was humming a little song softly when she +picked up the book she had come for and turned with it in her hand as +though to leave the room. + +But in spite of her second of preparation she started when she saw Henry +Pollard's face. She had known that it could look hard and cruel, that it +could grow dark and threatening. But she saw now a look in the hard +eyes, about the sinister mouth, which sent a spurt of terror up into her +heart. Here was a man who could kill, would kill if he were driven to +it. She read it in his eyes in that flash of a glance as she might have +read it in big printed letters. If he came to believe that there was +actual danger to him from her knowledge he would find a way to keep her +silent. + +"Well?" Pollard said steadily. + +He came into the room and closed the door softly behind him. Now there +was no tell-tale expression in his tone and all expression had gone out +of his eyes. + +Even then, though her heart beat quickly and the colour wavered in her +cheeks, she managed to look at him steadily and to answer collectedly: + +"It looks like I'd been playing Paul Pry, and that you'd caught me, +doesn't it?" + +She even laughed softly, and went on: + +"I came down for a book. Then I noticed this." She picked up the +envelope again, holding it out toward him. "You see I recognized it!" + +"There are lots of yellow envelopes," he answered colourlessly, his eyes +sharp points of light upon hers. "What about it?" + +"I am not a lady detective," she smiled back, taking a sudden keen +delight in the knowledge that she had taken the right tack, and that she +was puzzling Pollard. "But it is quite obvious that you've got your +money back! Why didn't you tell me?" + +"There are lots of yellow envelopes," he repeated, speaking slowly, and +she knew that his brain was as busy as her own. If the moment held +danger for her, then it held danger no less for him. "They are common +enough. What makes you think that this one..." + +"Oh, but I know," she broke in lightly. "You see I remembered Mr. +Templeton getting this smudge of ink on it. He called my attention to +it, the dear, precise old banker that he is, and wanted to give me a +clean one. Did Mr. Thornton get frightened and bring your money back?" + +For a moment he did not answer. She knew that he was measuring her with +those shrewd eyes of his, looking for a false sign, just the twitch of a +muscle to tell him that she was playing a part. And she gave no sign. + +"No," he said at last. "Thornton did not bring it back. And even if you +were a lady detective you might make a mistake now. I haven't seen a +cent of the money." + +She lifted her eyebrows in well simulated surprise. + +"But the envelope?" + +Now he spoke swiftly and she knew that he had made up his mind that she +was hiding nothing, that she knew nothing, for there was a note of +relief in his words. + +"I had his cabin searched last night, while we all were at the dance. It +was found there. There was no sign of the money!" + +Again she tossed away the envelope as though it no longer had any +interest for her. + +"A man," she said contemptuously, "who would not destroy a piece of +evidence like that, is a fool!" + +The matter was dropped there; one would have said it was forgotten by +both of them. For the rest of the day Winifred Waverly appeared to be +much interested in her book, Pollard seemed busy in his office or upon +the street. But the girl realized that the man was taking no chances and +that there was going to be little chance of her riding the twenty miles +to the Poison Hole without his knowing of it. She let the day go with no +thought of making the trip, satisfying herself with the knowledge which +she had gleaned from the conversation she had overheard at the +schoolhouse, and with the comforting thought that she had ten days yet. + +Upon the second day following the dance she saw Broderick and Pollard +talking earnestly out under the pear trees. Broderick, at his boots +whipping impatiently with his riding whip, did not come to the house as +was his custom, but going back to the gate flung himself upon his horse +and rode away. That same afternoon he came again, and this time Cole +Dalton, the sheriff, was with him. They were met by Pollard at the front +door, and for an hour the girl in her room could hear their low voices +in the room below her. + +The third day came and went and she saw no one but Pollard and Mrs. +Riddell. Pollard was unusually silent, and again and again she saw that +his eyes were hard, his mouth cruel. She began to forget that he was +kin to her; she began to see only that here was a man playing his game +with high, very high, stakes, that he was watchful and determined, that +he was not the sort to let anything, no matter what, stand between him +and the thing he had made up his mind to do. She saw that he was growing +nervous and sensed that he was in that frame of mind when men act +swiftly and unscrupulously. She took no step about the house that +Pollard did not know of it. + +The fourth day came, and her own nerves were strained to snapping. If +she could only do something! She must do something. But what? If +Broderick were the guilty man, and from a score of little things, she +knew that he was, then Henry Pollard was no less guilty. If Pollard were +a part of the horrible scheme, how about Cole Dalton, the sheriff? She +began to think that she saw why the months had gone by and Dalton had +made no arrests! If he was one of them, if the man paid by the county to +defend the county against outlawry were hand and glove with the outlaws, +to whom then could she turn? + +But at last, upon the evening of the fourth day, when her spirit was +ready for some desperate measure unless fate came to help her, fate did +help and young Bud King called. He had spent the day in Hill's Corners +upon the quest of any information which might tell him who the man was +who had run off his father's cattle. Having learned nothing, and being a +wise young man after his fashion, he had determined not to go home +entirely profitless, and so came to see Pollard's niece. + +She saw him as he rode slowly down the street. In a flash she guessed +that he came to see her, divined too that Pollard would give her little +opportunity of talking to young King or any other man, alone. She was at +her window where she sat so often. Before Bud King's horse had been tied +at the gate she had written a hasty note, had thrust it into an +envelope, and had scrawled on the outside: + +"Please carry this right away to Buck Thornton. Don't let any one see. +It is very important." + +Then she ran down stairs, slipping the note into the bosom of her dress, +hastening to be at the door when the Bar X man knocked lest Henry +Pollard turn him away, saying that she was not at home. + +As she opened the door, and Bud entered, hat in hand and flushed of +face, Pollard came to the door of his office. Winifred, shaking hands +warmly, asked King in, and remarking that her uncle was only reading, +invited him into the office. Pollard, she knew, had no reason to suspect +what she had in mind, and she would give him no reason. Before Bud left +she would find a way to give him the note. + +The three sat down, and Bud, never letting his wide hat out of his +hands, sat twirling it and shifting his boots and looking and talking +for the most of the time at Pollard. He was a young man, was Bud; girls +had been few in his life, and this calling upon a young woman in broad +daylight was a daring if not quite a devilish thing. + +Winifred found room here for smiling amusement. Pollard did not want to +be bothered with King and showed it so plainly that had King not been so +alive to the presence of the girl at whom he looked with the tail of his +eye and so nearly oblivious of the presence of the man whom he sat +facing, he must have noted it before he had been in the room five +minutes. Bud did not care to talk with Pollard, whom he agreed perfectly +with Buck Thornton in calling a rattlesnake, and yet he talked rather +wildly to him of branding and fence building and stray horses and +hold-up men and the weather and last year's politics. And Winifred, for +a little, watched both men with mirthful understanding. + +But as the minutes slipped by and Pollard gave no sign of leaving the +room, as silences fell which were too awkward to go unnoticed and which +the girl had to fill, she began to be afraid that Pollard's watchfulness +was going to prove too much for her and that she would fail in the plan +which had seemed so simple. But she must not fail! Four days of the ten +had gone. She must find some way to keep Bud King here until something +carried Pollard out of the room if only for a moment, and during that +moment she must give the note to King. + +She was sure that Pollard did not, could not suspect that she meant to +say anything to King, or that she counted on having him carry a message +for her. But she knew, too, that Henry Pollard was taking no chances he +did not have to take. He was a man to play close to the table. + +She had time to determine that she _would_ succeed in this one vital +point, time to hope, to fear, to lose hope a dozen times, before her +chance came. She heard a step on the walk under the pear trees, +Broderick's step, she thought swiftly, despairingly. Usually Pollard +kept the front door locked; she had not locked it after she had let Bud +King in. Pollard would know it was Broderick and would merely call, +"Come in," not even leaving the room for the one necessary moment. +Broderick would come in, Bud King would go soon and she would have no +chance of doing the thing she had sworn to herself that she would do. + +Her one hope was that she had mistaken the step and that it was not +Broderick. When the man outside came up the steps, she heard his spurs +jingle on the porch and saw that Pollard too was listening intently. + +"Come in," called Pollard. "The door's open, Ben." + +Why, why hadn't she locked the door? Now there would be two men to watch +her, now it would be impossible... + +But fresh hope leaped up into her heart, though she could scarce believe +her ears when Broderick's voice in answer was like the snarl of a beast, +harsh with anger, snapping out his words fiercely: + +"Come out here. I want to talk with you outside. And, for God's sake, +man, hurry!" + +Pollard, too, started. Bud King looked up with wondering eyes from his +swinging hat. Pollard, with the briefest sign of hesitation, went out of +the room and to the front door. + +No sooner had he gone than the girl, her face flushed, her eyes +brilliant with the excitement in them, snatched the paper from the bosom +of her dress and, tiptoeing to King, forced it into his big hand. Not a +word did she speak, not so much as a whisper. But she laid her finger +upon her lips, glanced from him toward the door, and tiptoed back to her +seat. And Bud King understood in part while he could not understand in +full, and thrust the note into his pocket. + +When a moment later King rose to go she went with him to the door. She +caught a glimpse of Ben Broderick's face, though he hid it from her +instantly, whirling about upon his heel; she felt sick and dizzy with a +sudden dread of she knew not what. For his face was dead white and +horribly drawn with the rage that blazed in his eyes and distorted his +mouth, and she saw, standing up in his soul, that thing which one may +not look upon and misread: that rage that drives a man to kill. And she +saw, too, that a white bandage was tied about his head, under his hat +brim, and that the bandage was red with blood. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM NEW MEXICO + + +Thornton returned rather early that night to the ranch cabin. That he +came in at all, instead of remaining far out upon the range border as +his men were doing, was because tomorrow he planned on riding to Dry +Town where he would raise the four thousand five hundred dollars for +Henry Pollard, and he wanted to make an early start. + +He left his horse at the barn, passed the bunk house and was crossing +the little footbridge which spanned Big Little River, going straight to +his cabin upon the knoll, when he saw that while the bunk house was dark +there shone a light from his cabin window. Wondering who his guest might +prove to be he strode up the knoll. The cabin door was open, he could +see his lamp burning upon the table, and sitting upon his chair, hands +clasped behind head and cigar smoking lazily, was a man he had never +seen before. + +He came on, still wondering, until his tall form passed through the +doorway and stood over the smoker. The man turned a little, watching him +as he drew near. + +"Howdy, Stranger," Thornton said quietly. + +"Mr. Thornton?" smiled the other. "You see I've been making myself at +home." + +He rose and put out a hand, a small, hard, brown hand which the cowboy +accepted carelessly and released marvelling. Its grip was as strong as +his own, the muscles like rock. + +The man was of medium stature, looking small beside the towering form of +his host. He was dressed quietly and well, trousers still preserving the +lines left by the tailor's iron, his coat fitting closely about the +compact muscular shoulders, his soft shirt white and clean. He was a +sandy haired man of forty, perhaps, clean shaven, square jawed, with +very bright, very clear brown eyes. + +All this Thornton saw at one swift glance. He tossed his hat to the +table, pulled another chair toward him, and sat down. + +"Glad you made yourself at home," he said then, "Find anything to eat?" + +The stranger nodded. + +"I've been here three hours, and I was hungry. So I raided the bunk +house." + +"That's right." He brought out his paper and tobacco, making his +cigarette slowly, his eyes alone asking the other his business. + +"I want a little talk with you, Mr. Thornton. But maybe I'd better wait +until you've eaten?" + +"Had my supper an hour ago," Thornton replied. "Made camp with the boys +before I came in. Fire away, Stranger." + +"All right. First thing, my name's Comstock." + +The keen eyes which had measured the cowboy as he came through the door +were very bright upon him now. Thornton nodded. The name meant nothing +to him. + +"Don't get me?" laughed Comstock. "Well, well, it's a shock to vanity, +but after all one's fame is a poor crippled bird that doesn't fly far." +He paused a moment, then added quietly, as though this other information +might help his bird "to fly." "My stamping ground's New Mexico." + +Thornton's look showed nothing beyond a faint curiosity; one would have +said that he was as little interested in this man's stamping ground as +in his name. + +"One more try," laughed Comstock easily, "and I'll give up. Two-Hand +Billy Comstock.... Aha, I get you now!" + +For now Buck Thornton started and his eyes did show interest and a +sudden flash of surprise. For fifteen years Two-Hand Billy Comstock, +United States Deputy Marshal, had been widely known throughout the great +South-west, a man who asked no odds and gave no quarter, one whose name +sent as chill a shiver through the hard hearts of the lawless as a sight +of the gallows would have done. And this man, small, well dressed, quiet +mannered, as dapper as a tailor's dummy.... + +"If you are Billy Comstock," grunted Thornton, "well, I'm damn' glad to +know you, sir!" + +"If I am?" grinned Comstock. "And why should I lie to you?" + +"I'm not saying that you are lying," returned the cowboy coolly. "But +I'm getting in the habit these days of being suspicious, I guess. But if +you are that Comstock and want to see me, I'd come mighty close to +guessing what you want. But before I do any talking I want to know." + +"Sure," Comstock nodded. And then, smiling again "Only, Mr. Thornton, +I'm not in the habit of carrying around a trunk full of +identifications." + +"You don't need them." + +Billy Comstock's name he had made himself, and it had carried far. There +were few men in half a dozen States in this corner of the country who +did not know why he was called "Two-Hand Billy" and how he had earned +his right to the nickname. His fame was that of a man who was absolutely +fearless, and who carried the law where other men could not or would not +carry it. To him had come the dangers, the sharp fights against odds +that had seemed overwhelming, and always he had shot his way out with a +gun in each hand, and no waste lead. + +"I never saw the man who could beat me to my gun," went on Thornton +quietly, no boastfulness in his tone, merely the plain statement of a +fact. "If you are 'Two-Hand Billy Comstock' you ought to do it." + +The two men were sitting loosely in their chairs at opposite sides of +the room, the table with the lamp between them. Comstock's hands were +again clasped behind his head. Thornton lifted his arms, clasping his +own hands behind his head. + +Comstock smiled suddenly, brightly, seeming to understand and to be as +pleased as a child with anew game. + +"I'll count three," said Thornton. "We'll both go for our guns. If I get +the drop on you first," with a smile which reflected the other's, "I've +a notion to shoot you up for an impostor!" + +"If you get the drop on me first," grinned Comstock, "and don't shoot me +up, I'll make you a present of the best gun you ever saw." + +Thornton counted slowly, with regular intervals between the words. +"One," and neither man moved, both sitting in seeming carelessness, +their hands behind their heads. "Two," and only their eyes showed that +every lax muscle in each body grew taut. "Three," and then they moved, +the two men like two pieces of the same machine driven unerringly by the +same motive power. + +Not the hands alone but the entire bodies, every muscle leaping into +action in a swiftness too great, too accurate for it to have been fully +appreciated had there been a third man to see. Thornton slipped sideways +from his chair, dropping to his knees upon the floor, and his two hands +flashed downward. The left hand sped to the opening at the left hip of +his chaps, and to the pocket beneath; the right hand into the loose band +at his stomach. And the hands seemed not to have disappeared for a +fraction of a second when they were flung out in front of him, and two +heavy double action revolvers looked squarely into Comstock's smiling +face. + +Comstock had scarcely seemed to move. He still sat loosely in his chair, +its front legs tilted back supported by his heels. But his hands had +gone their swift, unerring way to the pockets of his coat, and into the +barrels of the revolvers looked the blue steel barrels of two big +automatics. And both men knew that, had this been no play, but deadly +earnest, there would not have been the tenth of a second between the +pistol shots. + +"Pretty nearly an even break," laughed Comstock, dropping his guns back +into his pockets. + +Thornton rose and stood frowning down into the uplifted eyes of his +visitor. + +"It doesn't take a bullet long to go ten feet," he said a little +sternly. "One man doesn't have to get his gun working half an hour +before the other fellow." He came around the table and put out his hand. +"Shake," he said. "You could have got me. And I guess you're Two-Hand +Billy, all right." + +Comstock's eyes were bright with frank admiration. + +"I don't know so well about getting you," he answered. "I played you to +slip out on the other side of your chair. And," with his frank laugh, "I +wouldn't care for the job of going out for you, Mr. Thornton." + +"Real name, Buck," laughed the cowboy. "And now, let's talk." + +"First name, Billy," returned Comstock. "And we'll talk in a minute. +First thing though, there's some mail for you!" + +Thornton's eyes went the way of Comstock's, and saw a piece of folded +notepaper upon the table, held in place by the lamp. He took it up, +wondering, and read the few words swiftly. As he read the blood raced up +into his face and Comstock smiled. + +"I must see you," were the hastily written words. "I have wronged you +all along. I haven't time to write, I am afraid to put it on paper. But +there is great danger to you. Come tonight. I will be under the pear +trees in the front yard, at twelve o'clock. + +"WINIFRED WAVERLY." + +Thornton whirled about, confronting Comstock. + +"Where'd this come from?" he demanded sharply. + +"Special delivery," smiled Comstock. "A young fellow, calling himself +Bud King from the Bar X, brought it." + +"When?" + +"About an hour ago. He said he couldn't wait and couldn't take time to +look you up, and I told him that I'd see that you got it." + +Thornton read the short note again, frowning. This girl, only a few +nights ago, had called him a liar, had angered him as thoroughly as she +knew how, had sent him from her vowing that he was a fool to have ever +thought of her, and that he'd die before he'd be fool to seek again to +see the niece of Henry Pollard. And now this note, speaking of having +wronged him, telling him that she was afraid to write all that she +wanted to tell him, warning him of danger to him, asking him to meet her +in Hill's Corners ... at her uncle's house ... at midnight! + +He knew nothing of the danger to which she referred, but he did know +that for him there was danger in going into Dead Man's Alley even in +broad daylight. There came to him a swift suspicion that this note had +never been written by the girl whose signature it bore, that it had been +dictated by a man who sought to lure him to a spot where it would be an +easy matter to put a bullet in him in safe, cowardly fashion. Suppose +that he went, that he entered Pollard's place, and at such an hour? +Pollard, himself, could kill him, admit the deed and claim that he was +but protecting his own premises. Any one of the Bedloe boys could shoot +him and who would know? + +Another suspicion, allied to this one, came and darkened the frown in +his eyes. Was it possible that Winifred Waverly had written it, acting +at Pollard's command? that she was but doing the sort of thing he should +look to one of Pollard's blood to do? + +Comstock, saying nothing further, now seemed entirely engrossed in his +cigar. Thornton, the note in his fingers, hesitated. A third time he +read the pencilled words. Then he folded the paper and slipped it into +his pocket. + +"If a man wants to know anything real bad," he said at last, "it's up +to him to go and find out, huh, Billy Comstock?" + +Comstock, turning his cigar thoughtfully, answered: + +"That's right, Buck." + +Thornton glanced at his little alarm clock. It was not yet half past +eight. + +"I've got to be in the Corners by twelve o'clock," he said as he went +back to his chair. "I'll ride Comet, though, and can make it handily in +two hours. Now, what's the line of talk?" + +Comstock's look trailed back to his cigar. + +"I'm after a man," he volunteered. + +"That's a safe bet. What man?" + +"Not poor little Jimmie Clayton," smiled Comstock. "He's only a weak +little fool at the worst, and wouldn't be a bad sort if he had somebody +around all the time to steer him right." + +"Who is he?" retorted Thornton steadily ... remembering. + +"He's the man you owe a debt of gratitude to," laughed Comstock. "He put +some bullets through you one night down Texas way, found that he'd +slipped up and that you'd put your money into a check, and then played +safe by nursing you through it! The man who broke jail a month or so +ago, and beat it up here to you to see him through. I'm _not_ after +him." + +"You seem to know a whole lot," answered Thornton noncommittally neither +voice nor face nor eye showing a hint of surprise or other emotion. And +yet he was thinking swiftly, that if this man spoke the truth he had a +score to settle with Jimmie Clayton. + +"Oh, it's my business to know a whole lot," resumed Comstock, answering +the look in Thornton's eyes. "I just say that I'm not after Jimmie +Clayton as I don't want you to think that you'll be giving away anything +on a friend. The man I want," and he tilted his chair back a little +farther, drew up his carefully creased trousers with thumb and +forefinger and crossed one leg over the other, "is a man who got away +from me seven years ago. Down in New Mexico." + +"Name?" asked Thornton bluntly. + +"His name doesn't matter, I guess. He had three during the time that I +knew him, and I suppose he's had half a dozen since." + +"Before you go any further," interrupted Thornton, "tell me why you came +to me at all?" + +"Banker Templeton of Dry Town is a friend of mine. We went to school +together. He's the man who led me to believe, to hope," he added softly, +"that the man I want is working this country now. I told Templeton that +I wanted to make a little visit to this neck of the woods. And he gave +me your name." + +"I see. Now, about your man?" + +"I'm going to ask you a string of questions, Thornton. We haven't over +much time and any way there wouldn't be any use now in my stopping to +explain just what I'm driving at and why I want to know this and that. +If you'll just answer what I ask..." + +"Fire away." + +For a little they smoked on in silence, Two-Hand Billy Comstock's +expression suggesting that he was planning precisely the course his +inquiries were to take before beginning. + +"Let's start in this way!" he said at last. "What men around here do you +know real well, well enough to call friends?" + +"I've been here only a year," Thornton told him. "I don't know many men +here real well. Friends? Outside Bud King and the boys working for me I +don't know any I'd call friend." + +"Then," placidly suggested, "how about enemies? A man can make a good +many enemies in a year and not half try." + +"If you'll change that to men I know pretty well and don't like, and who +don't like me, I can name a name or two." + +"Let's have 'em." + +"There's Henry Pollard, to begin with." + +"The man you're buying from. First, how old a man is he and what does he +look like? Next, what do you know about him?" + +Thornton described the man, guessed at his age, and told what he knew of +"Rattlesnake" Pollard. Comstock seemed interested in a mild sort of a +way, but neither now nor later, as Thornton spoke of other men, did he +give any sign of more than mild interest. + +"Who are Pollard's friends?" was the next question. + +Thornton named Ben Broderick, two other men who do not come into the +story, and Cole Dalton, the sheriff. And as he named them, Comstock +asked him to give an estimate at their ages, to tell what he knew of +them and to give as close a personal description as he could. + +Having finished with Pollard and his friends he spoke of the Bedloe +boys. And United States Deputy Marshal Comstock listened throughout with +the same mild interest, merely asking questions, offering no opinions. + +"One last question," he said finally. "If you had a guess who'd you say +was the bad man this county wants?" + +"If any stock's missing from my range," was the blunt answer, "I'd look +up the Bedloe outfit." + +Comstock, offering no opinion, smiled and sank into a thoughtful +silence. + +At half past nine o'clock Thornton got to his feet and took up his hat. + +"I'd better be riding," he said, putting out his hand. "Make yourself at +home." + +But Comstock came to the door with him. + +"If you don't mind I'll ride along," he offered carelessly. "I think my +trail runs into Dead Man's, too. And by the way, Thornton," he added a +little sharply, "my name's just plain Richard Hampton for the present. +And my business right now is ... my business!" + +Thornton nodded that he understood and together they left the cabin. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +IN THE DARK + + +It was a pitch black night, the stars hidden by dense drifting clouds, +and intensely still. Buck Thornton and Two-Hand Billy Comstock, riding +side by side with few words, turned straight out across the fields, the +marshal reining his horse close in to that other horse he could scarcely +see and leaving to the cowboy the task of finding their way. + +They rode slowly until they turned into the level county road and then +swifter that they might come into Hill's Corners before it was midnight. +When at last the twinkling lights of Dead Man's Alley winked at them +Comstock struck a match and looked at his watch. + +"Fifteen minutes of twelve," he said. "You're on time. And I guess you +can do the rest of your riding alone? So long. I'm apt to drop in on you +at the ranch any day." + +Comstock had planned to ride straight to the Brown Bear saloon, to +invest in a stack of chips, and to spend the evening "seeing the town." +And Thornton, understanding that if the note from Winifred Waverly were +truthful in all that it said and in all that it suggested, it would be +as well if he were not seen tonight, turned out along the outskirts of +the village to come to Pollard's house without riding through the main +street. + +"Easy, Comet, easy," he muttered to his horse, having no desire to come +to the appointed place before the appointed hour. "We've got fifteen +minutes and then won't have to keep the lady waiting. If she's there, +Comet!" + +For even yet his suspicions were not all at rest, already he rode with +reins and quirt in the grip of his left hand, the right caught in the +loose band of his chaps. It lacked but a few minutes of midnight when he +entered the dark, silent street in which was Henry Pollard's house. + +Here were a few straggling houses with many vacant lots between and no +single light to show that any were awake, no gleam from a window to cut +through the darkness which was absolute. Thornton drew his horse to the +side of the road where the grass had not been worn away by the wheels of +wagons and where the animal's footfalls were muffled, hardly to be heard +a score of paces away. Twice he stopped, frowning into the gloom about +him, seeking to force his eyes to penetrate the impenetrable wall of the +dark, straining his ears to catch some little sound through the silence. +But there was nothing to see save the black forms of houses and the pear +trees in Pollard's yard, shapeless, sinister shadows something darker +than the emptiness against which they stood; no sound save his horse's +breathing, the faint creak of his own saddle leather, the low jingle of +bridle and spur chain. + +"Almost too still to be true," he told himself. "But," with a grim +tightening of his lips, "too infernally dark for a man to pick me off +with a shotgun if he wanted to!" + +Fifty yards from Pollard's front gate he stopped his horse, swung down +noiselessly from the saddle and tied Comet to a tree standing at the +edge of the road; his jingling spurs he removed to hang them over the +horn of his saddle. Then he went forward on foot, walking guardedly, his +tread upon the grass making no sound to reach his own ears, and came to +Pollard's gate. + +It was so dark under the pear trees that the obscurity was without +detail; he must guess rather than know where the tree trunks were; it +was hard to judge if they were ten feet or fifty feet from him. There +might be no one here to keep tryst with him, while on the other hand a +dozen men might be waiting. + +For perhaps two or three minutes he waited, standing motionless at the +gate. No faint noise came to him, no hint of a shadow stirring among +those other shadows as motionless as they were formless. The night +seemed not to breathe, no sound even of rustling branches coming to his +ears from the old pear trees. + +"It's twelve o'clock, and after," he thought. "If she's coming she ought +to be here now." + +Still he waited. And then when he knew it must be ten or fifteen minutes +after the time Winifred had set, and remembering that she said +specifically "under the pear trees," he moved forward suddenly, jerked +the gate open and stood in Pollard's yard. + +The little noise of the gate whining upon its worn hinges sounded +unnaturally loud. His footfall upon the warped board walk which led to +the front door snapped through the silence like a pistol shot. + +"If there's anybody laying for me here he knows now that I've come," he +told himself. And with no hesitation now, yet with no lessening of his +watchfulness, he came on swiftly until he stood under the pear trees and +within ten feet of the front porch. + +It was still about him, intensely still, and black-dark. He stood +leaning forward a little, peering into the darkness, listening for a +sound, any sound. He knew that it must be half past twelve, that for +close upon half an hour he had waited here. Half an hour filled with +quick, conflicting thoughts, suggesting a dozen explanations. Was the +note really from Miss Waverly? Had she acted in good faith in sending +it? What was the danger of which she spoke? Why had she not come, and +why had she set an hour like this? Was it a mere hoax? + +"If I could only have a smoke," he muttered, "it wouldn't be so bad +waiting to see what the play is." + +But still he waited, determined not to leave until possessed of the +certainty of there being no need of staying longer. Cautiously he +approached the house until he could have put out his foot to the first +of the steps leading up to the little porch. There he stopped, telling +himself that doubtless he was just playing Tom-fool here in his enemy's +garden. Less and less did he like the idea of prowling about the place +of Henry Pollard at this time of night. + +But now at last there was a sound to vibrate against the empty silence +in his ears, a little sound which at first he could not analyse and +could not locate. He could hardly be sure whether his senses had tricked +him or if he actually heard it. It seemed rather that he had _felt_ it. +His body grew very tense as he tried to know where it was, what it was. +But again the silence was heavier and more oppressive than before. + +At last, through the void of the absolute stillness, it came again. Now +he knew what it was although not even yet could he be certain whence it +came. It was a cautious step ... it might have been a man's step or a +woman's. No muscle of his rigid body moved save alone the muscles which +turned his eyes to right and left. + +At first he thought that there was some one moving toward him from +behind, some one who had perhaps just come in through the gate or had +been hidden in the straggling shrubbery. And the next instant he knew +that the sounds were in front of him, that what he heard was some one +walking in the house, tiptoeing cautiously, and yet not silently because +the old boards of the floor whined and creaked under the slow tread. Had +the night been less still, had his ears been less ready for any sound +the faint creak-creak would not have reached him. + +"Woman or man?" was his problem. "Winifred Waverly or Henry Pollard?" + +There came a second sound and this he recognized; the scraping of dry +wood against dry wood, the moving of the bars which the countryside knew +that Henry Pollard used as the nightlock upon his doors. Thornton drew +back a little, step by step, slowly, silently, and stopped under the +pear trees. Now he was ten feet from the first of the front steps, ten +feet from the board walk. + +When a man must trust everything to his ears for guidance his ears +may tell him much. Thornton knew when the bars were down and when the +door was opening very slowly. And then, suddenly, he knew that there +was a third person out here in the garden close to him, and that this +person ... man or woman? ... was moving with as great a slow caution as +himself and the other some one in the house. There was the crack of a +twig snapping underfoot ... silence ... slow cautious steps again. + +The cowboy moved again, a bare two steps now, and stopped, his back +against the trunk of the largest of the pear trees, his eyes running +back and forth between the door he could not see and the moving some one +he could not see at the corner of the house. His widened nostrils had +stiffened, as though he would scent out these beings, and his eyes were +the alert eyes of an animal in the forest seeking its enemy through the +denseness of a black undergrowth. + +The door was open, the soft step was at the threshold. The other step at +the corner of the house had stopped. In the new silence the cowboy could +hear his own deep, regular breathing. He could see nothing, he knew that +his body pressed against the tree trunk could not be seen, and his hands +were ready. He began to long for a pistol shot, for the spurt of red +fire, for anything that would mean certainty and would release the +coiled springs of his tense muscles. + +But the still minutes dragged by and there was no certainty of anything +save that the some one at the door and the some one at the corner of the +house at Thornton's right were standing as still, as tense, as himself. +A little sense of the grim humour of this game three people were playing +in the dark, this Blind Man's Buff which he was waiting to understand, +drew his lips into a quick, fleeting smile. + +Now at last came the first bit of certainty. The some one at the door +moved again, came to the steps and down into the garden, taking the +steps slowly, with long pauses between. This some one was a man. Dimly +Thornton saw the blur of the form, but more than his eyes his ears told +him that this tread, though guarded, was too heavy for a girl like +Winifred Waverly. + +"Pollard," he told himself swiftly. "Not ten feet away. And if he comes +this way ..." + +The man at the steps stopped and in the long silence Thornton knew that +the two other people playing this grim game with him were listening even +as he was, trying to force their eyes to see through the shadows. Then +the heavy tread again, and Thornton thought that it was coming nearer. +Then a pause, the step once more, and Pollard, if Pollard it were, had +turned the other way and keeping close to the house was moving toward +the far corner. The steps grew fainter as they drew farther away, and he +knew that the man had gone around the corner of the building. + +That other person at the other corner of the house, at Thornton's right, +had heard and understood, too. The cowboy heard steps there again, quick +steps, almost running, soft, quick breathing not a yard away, and +bending forward a little, knew that Winifred Waverly had come to keep +her tryst with him. + +"Miss Waverly?" he whispered softly. + +She was at his side, close to him, so close that he could feel the sweep +of her skirts against his boots. She, too, had leaned forward, her face +lifted up to his, her eyes seeking to make sure who this man was. + +"Buck Thornton?" she whispered back. + +"Yes. What is it?" + +"Here. Quick!" She had thrust a folded paper into his fingers, closing +them tightly upon it. "Now, go! Do what I tell you in it. Henry Pollard +suspects something; he is looking for me. Go quickly!" + +She was already passing him, hastening toward the steps and the front +door. + +"Wait!" he commanded, his hand hard upon her arm. "I don't +understand...." + +"For God's sake let me go!" Only a whisper, but he thought he heard a +quiver of terror in it, he knew that her arm was trembling violently. +"He'd kill me. ... Oh, my God, go!" + +"If there is danger for you..." + +"There is none if you go now ... if he doesn't find me here. Please, +Buck...." + +She jerked away from him and went swiftly to the steps. He could hear +her every step now so plainly his heart stood still with fear that +Pollard must hear, too. He heard her go to the door; she passed on, and +so became one with the blot of darkness within the house. Then he drew +back, slowly, half regretfully, back toward the gate, stopping for a +last time under the trees there. And after a very long time he heard +Pollard's steps again. The man had made a tour of his grounds, keeping +rather close to the house, and now mounted the steps with no effort at +silence, slammed the door and dropped the bars into place. It was as +though he had flung them angrily into their sockets. Thornton went out +of the yard and to his waiting horse. + +"She says to go away, to leave her there alone with Pollard," he +muttered dully. "And something's up. She said he'd kill her if he knew +that she was talking to me..." + +He hesitated, his horse's tie rope in his hand, of half a mind to go +back, to force his way into Henry Pollard's house, to demand to know +what was wrong, to take the girl away if there were real danger to her. +But then the urgent pleading in her voice came back to him, her +insistence that he go, that with him gone there would no longer be any +danger for her. Slowly, regretfully, he swung into the saddle. He had +made up his mind. He would obey her at least in part, he would go where +he could read the paper she had given him, and then perhaps he would +understand. + +"Any way," he said under his breath, "she's a real girl for you." + +He rode swiftly the five hundred yards through the dark street which ran +as nearly parallel with the main street as two such crooked streets +could approximate parallelism, until he was behind the Here's How +Saloon. Here he dismounted and, leaving his horse with reins thrown over +his head to the ground, strode off toward the side door of the saloon. + +Under the window he glanced in swiftly. Chance had it that the cover was +off of the little used billiard table and that two men, in shirt-sleeved +comfort, were playing. Both men he knew. They were Charley Bedloe and +his brother, the Kid. + +The Bedloe boys were intent upon their game, the Kid laughing softly at +a miscue Charley had made. Charley was chalking his cue angrily and +cursing his luck and neither of them glanced toward the window. +Thornton, drawing back a little so that he would not be seen did they +happen to look his way, unfolded the paper Winifred had given him. + +"Watch me play out my string, Charley!" he heard the Kid call +banteringly. Then he heard nothing more from the room, nothing to tell +him of another man not ten steps from him in the darkness, for his whole +mind had been caught by Winifred's first words. + +"I have wronged you from the beginning," she had written. "I thought +that I had seen you that day on the trail behind me. You denied it. I +thought that you were lying to me. While you were out after the horses a +man, masked, came into the cabin and robbed me of the five thousand +dollars I was taking to Henry Pollard. I _thought that it was you_! The +man was dressed as you were dressed, his grey handkerchief even was like +yours. Now I know it was a man named Ben Broderick who robbed me, and +that he wanted me to think that it was you. + +"Can't you see the whole scheme? Broderick and the men who are with him, +have been committing these crimes. And pretty soon, in a few days, in +five days I think, they will be ready to make the evidence show that you +are the man who has done it all." + +There was more; there were several sheets of paper, closely written. +Thornton saw the names of Henry Pollard, of Cole Dalton. But he read no +further. In one instant the mind which had been so intent upon these +things a girl's writing was telling him forgot Winifred Waverly, Henry +Pollard, Broderick--everything except that which was happening at his +side. + +For, while he read, there had been the sharp crack of a revolver, he saw +the spit of angry reddish flame almost at his side, and as he saw he +dropped to his knee, Winifred's note in his left hand, his right +flashing to his own revolver. For his first thought was that a man had +crept up behind him, that it was Pollard, that he was shooting at him. + +But almost with the flash and the report of the gun he knew that this +man was not shooting at him. There came the crash and tinkle of broken +glass, one of the small panes of the window beside which Thornton had +been reading dropped out, and almost before the falling pieces had +ceased to rattle against the bare floor he heard the sound of running +footsteps behind him. The man who had fired had made sure with one shot. + +Then Thornton heard the Kid cry out, his voice hoarse and inarticulate, +and with the cry came a moan from Charley Bedloe. Charley staggered half +across the room, his two big hands going automatically to his hips. He +had come close to his younger brother, staring at him with wide eyes, +and then slipped forward and down, quiet and limp and dead. + +Thornton's one first emotion, one so natural to a man who takes his +fight in the open, was a boundless rage toward the man who had murdered +another man in this cold blooded fashion, taking his grim toll from the +darkness and without warning. He whirled about, his own gun blazing in +his hand, and as fast as his finger could work the trigger sent six +shots after the flying footsteps. + +The footsteps were gone. Again the cowboy looked swiftly in at the +window. He saw that Charley Bedloe was dead; the Kid, his face +contorted, hideously twisted to his blended rage and grief, stood +staring about him helplessly. Then, the moment of paralysis gone, the +Kid suddenly leaped over his brother's body and ran to the window. + +"It's Buck Thornton!" roared the Kid. Both of his big guns were already +in his hands. "Take that, you...." + +Then Buck Thornton, making most of an unforeseen situation, did a thing +that he had never done before in his life, which he never would do +again. He turned and ran, stumbling through the darkness into which one +leap carried him. + +For he knew that the Kid had no shadow of a shred of doubt that he had +killed Charley Bedloe, he knew that if he did not run for it, run like a +scared rabbit now, why then he'd have to kill the Kid or the Kid would +kill him. He had no wish to meet his death for the cowardly act of +another man and he had no wish to kill Kid Bedloe because another man +had murdered his brother. If there were anything left to him but to run +for it, he did not know what it was. + +He found his horse, leaped into the saddle and turned out toward the +north. + +"The Kid sure had his nerve, running right up to the window after +Charley dropped," he muttered, with the abrupt beginning of the first +bit of admiration he had ever felt for a man whom he had appraised as +even lower in the scale than "Rattlesnake" Pollard. "The boy is game! +And now he's going to come out after me, and there won't be any talking +done and it's going to be Kid Bedloe or me. And," with much certainty, +but with a little sigh, half regretful, "the Kid is just a shade slow on +the draw. Sure as two and two I've got to kill him. Oh, hell," he +concluded disgustedly. "Why did this have to happen? Haven't I got +enough on my hands already?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE FRAME-UP + + +Thornton returned to his cabin long before the first faint streak of +daylight, and not once during the night did he think of sleep. At his +little table in the light of his coal-oil lamp he read over and over the +hurried words which Winifred Waverly had been driven to put on paper for +him. At first his look was merely charged with perplexity; then there +came into it incredulity and finally sheer amazement. + +"The pack of hounds!" he cried softly when he had done, his fist +striking hard upon his table. "The pack of low down, dirty hounds!" + +For now, in a flash, he saw and understood beyond the limits to which +the girl's vision had gone, grasping explanations denied to her. She had +told him everything which she knew or suspected, saying somewhere in her +account, "I know now that my first judgment of you, before I was +deceived into thinking Ben Broderick you, was right. I know that you are +a man and a gentleman. I know that you are 'square.' So now, if you +think that you owe me anything for what I am doing for you, I want you +to remember that Henry Pollard is my uncle, my dead mother's brother, +and to make things no harder for him than he has made them for +himself." + +With no other reference to her relation to the man, with no further hint +of a plea for herself, she went on to tell what she knew of Pollard and +Broderick, of their meetings with Dalton whom, she thought, they had +completely deceived, of the talk she had overheard that night at the +schoolhouse. She said nothing of her own precarious position at +Pollard's house. When he finished reading Buck Thornton's eyes were very +bright. + +"A real woman," he muttered. "A real man's sort of girl! I doped her up +right at the first jump, and then I went and insulted her by thinking +that she was like 'Rattlesnake' Pollard! Lord, Lordy! What a +difference!" And then, very gently, his eyes clouding a little, he +muttered over and over, under his breath: "Poor little kid!" + +But ever his thoughts came back to the tangle into which day by day he +himself had been moving deeper and deeper. He saw how simple the whole +matter had been, how seemingly sure of success. Broderick was close +enough to him in size and form to make the scheme eminently practicable. +It was easy for Broderick to dress himself as Thornton dressed, boots, +chaps old and worn, big black hat and grey neck handkerchief. It was +simple enough for Broderick, here in this land of cattle and horses, to +find a horse that would be a fair match for any horse which Thornton +rode. He would allow himself to be seen only at a distance, as upon the +day Winifred Waverly had seen him, or indistinctly at night, and when +the time came and the arrest was made there would rise up many men to +swear to Buck Thornton.... Broderick himself had already said that he +had been robbed of a can of gold dust. He would be ready to swear that +Thornton had robbed him. Pollard would add his word.... + +One by one he remembered episodes which until now had meant nothing. +Cattle had been stolen from the ranges all about him; no single cow was +missing from the Poison Hole. He had thought that this had been because +of his own great vigilance, his night-riding over his herds. But what +would a jury say? He remembered that the last time he had seen old man +King, just a few days ago, when King had remarked drily upon the fact +that no cattle were missing from Thornton's range, there had been a +swift look of suspicion in the old cattle man's shrewd eyes. Already he +was suspected. How many men besides King were ready to believe the worst +of Buck Thornton, a man who had been in their midst only a year? + +There were many days in the life of Buck Thornton as in the lives of +other cattle men hereabouts when he was absolutely alone with his horse, +when he rode far out day and night upon some range errand, when, +perhaps, he went two or three days together and saw no other man. +Thornton remembered suddenly that when he had first heard of the murder +of Bill Varney, the stage driver, he had just returned from such a +lonely ride, a three days' trip into the mountains to look for new +pasture lands. If these men planned to commit these crimes and then to +throw the burden upon him, he saw how simple a matter it would be for +them to select some such occasion as this when he could not prove an +alibi. + +"They've come mighty close to getting me," he muttered sternly. "Mighty +damned uncomfortably close!" + +He saw further. Winifred Waverly had said frankly that she had sworn to +the sheriff that she knew it was Buck Thornton who had robbed her. They +were managing to hold Cole Dalton off, and they had a reason. What? +Perhaps to work their game as long as they dared, to make a last big +haul, or to have their chain of evidence welded so strongly link by link +that Thornton could not free himself from it and that no faintest breath +of suspicion might reach them. Pollard would be in a position to prove +that Thornton had paid him this five thousand only to take it back; it +would give him a chance to break the contract, to regain possession of +the Poison Hole and to keep the other ten thousand dollars already paid +in as forfeited.... + +Why had they chosen him to bear the brunt of their manifold crimes? +That, too, was clear to him. With him in the penitentiary or gone to the +gallows the whole episode would be closed, the men who had put through +the monumental scheme would be in a position to enjoy their boldly +acquired profits with no fear of the law so much as searching for them. +It was necessary to them that some man suffer for their wrong doing. +Now: why Buck Thornton in particular? The reasons were forthcoming, +logical and in order: he was a man whom Pollard hated; already Pollard +regretted having sold the Poison Hole ranch for twenty thousand dollars; +he wanted it back; Thornton happened to be a new man in the country and +new men are always open to suspicion; he happened to be close enough to +Ben Broderick in size and form and carriage to make the deception easy. +And, thought Thornton, there was one other reason: + +The undertaking of these men had already grown too big, the work too +extensive, for it to be handled by two men alone. They had confederates; +that was inevitable. Blackie, the saloon keeper in Dry Town, was one of +them, he felt sure. The Bedloe boys, always ready for deeds of wildness +and lawlessness, were others. The Bedloe boys hated him as keenly as did +Pollard, and they were not the kind to miss an opportunity like this to +"break even" with him. It was noteworthy that he had had no trouble with +them since he had shot the Kid's revolvers out of his hands at John +Smith's place last winter; they had left him entirely unmolested; the +three of them who he knew were fearless and hard and vengeful, had not +sought in any way to punish him. Here was the reason. + +He went back to Winifred Waverly's letter. She had ended by saying, + +"I know that Henry Pollard suspects me of knowing more than I have +admitted to him; I suppose I did not entirely deceive him about that +yellow envelope. He is watching me all the time. That is why I have +written this to be ready to give it to you if I get the chance, if I +dare not talk with you. Don't try to see me. I am in no danger now, but +if you came, if he knew that we were seeing each other.... I don't +know." + +At last when Thornton got up and went to his door day was breaking. He +returned to his table where his lamplight was growing a sickly, pale +yellow in the dawn, and holding Winifred's letter over the chimney +burned it. He took her other little note from his pocket and let the +yellow flame lick it up. Then, grinding the ashes under his heel, he put +out the light and went again to the door. + +The recent shooting at the Here's How Saloon by some man who had stood +almost at the cowboy's elbow, he had for a little forgotten as he +pondered on his own personal danger and admitted that the case was going +to look bad against him in spite of what he might do. But now, for a +moment, he forgot his own predicament to become lost in frowning +speculation upon the night's crime. + +He knew that men like the Bedloes, hard men living hard lives, have many +enemies. There were the men whom they had cheated at cards, and who had +cheated them, with whom they had drunk and quarrelled. It was clear to +him that any one of a dozen men, bearing a grudge against Charley +Bedloe, but afraid to attack in the open any one of these three brothers +who fought like tigers and who took up one another's quarrels with no +thought of the right and the wrong of it, might have chosen this method. + +Yes, this was clear. But one thing was not. The night had passed and +neither the Kid nor Ed Bedloe had called to square with him. He did not +understand this. For he did not believe that even their affiliation with +Broderick and Pollard would have held the Kid and Ed back from their +vengeance now. It was patent that the Kid had leaped to the natural +conclusion that he had killed Charley Bedloe; he understood the emotion +which he had seen depicted in the Kid's twisted face as Charley +staggered and fell at his brother's feet. It was a great, blind grief, +unutterable, wrathful, terrible, like the unreasoning, tempestuous grief +of a wild thing, of a mother bear whose cubs had been shot before her +eyes. For the one thing which it seemed God had put into the natures of +these men was love, the love which led them to seek no wife, no friend, +no confidante outside their own close fraternity. And yet the night had +passed and neither the Kid nor Ed had come. + +"Something happened to stop them," mused Thornton. "For a few hours +only. They'll come. And I'd give a hundred dollars to know who the +jasper was that put that bullet into Charley." + +He went back into his cabin, put his two guns on the table, threw out +the cartridges, and for fifteen minutes oiled and cleaned. Then, with a +careful eye to every shell, he loaded them again. When he once more +threw his door open and went outside his eyes were a little regretful +but very, very hard. + +He was inclined to believe that Winifred was mistaken in judging Ben +Broderick's to be the brains of this thing. He thought that he saw +Pollard's hand directing. Until now he had fully expected to go to Dry +Town, to raise the four thousand five hundred dollars with which to make +his last payment upon the Poison Hole ranch. Now he more than suspected +that this was but a play of Pollard's to get him out of the way while +the last crime be perpetrated, to have him out upon one of his lonely +rides so that he could prove no alibi, perhaps even to rob him of the +four thousand five hundred dollars before he could come with it to +Hill's Corners. Now he made up his mind that he was not going to give +Pollard this one last chance he wanted. For, he felt convinced, if he +did succeed in getting through with the money without a bullet in the +back, and if he actually brought it to Pollard the latter would tell him +that he had changed his mind, and so the rash act would have been done +uselessly. Having no way of holding Pollard to his bargain he had little +wish to make the long ride to Dry Town and back. + +Thornton for several days had planned to ride out to the borders of his +range and see his cowboys, giving them full instructions for work to be +done during the week which followed in case he should not be able to +give more time to them. Now, with a great deal to think about, he was +not averse to a solitary day in the saddle. + +Of late he had noted how the cinch of his working saddle was weakening; +some of the strands had parted even. He should mend it now, but he had +no time to lose, and he did have another saddle, which he did not use +twice during the year and which for months now he had not even seen. He +had put it out of the way, high up in the loft. He went down to the barn +meaning to get it and make the exchange. If he was going to have some +hard riding during the coming days it was as well if he used this +saddle, the best he had ever seen. Rather too ornate with its profuse +silver chasings and carved leather for every day's use, a heavy Mexican +affair which he had won in a bronco "busting" competition down in Texas +four years ago. + +He came up into the loft, half filled with hay, and went to the far end +where the saddle had hung upon its peg. It was gone. He stood staring at +the peg in surprise. Surely he had left it here, surely he had not +removed it. He tried to think when he had seen it last. And he +remembered. It had been two or three months ago, and he knew that he had +left it here, he even remembered the trouble he had had in drawing it up +after him through the small trap door. Now where was it? + +His first suspicion was that one of his men had been using it. But he +knew that that was impossible. He would have seen it, and moreover one +man does not take another man's saddle without saying by your leave. + +"The thing is worth three hundred dollars, easy," he muttered. "It would +be funny...." + +He went to the loose hay heaped at the wall and began to kick it about, +half expecting to have his boot strike against the silver tipped horn or +the heavy tapaderos. And then at last did the swift, certain suspicion +of the truth flash upon him. He came upon a small soap box hidden far +under the loose hay. He drew it out, whisking away the straw which half +filled it. After the first start of amazement and a swift examination of +the contents, he understood. + +"A plant!" he cried angrily. "A damned cowardly plant! Lord, Lordy, but +they're making a clean job of this!" + +Upon the top of the pile, the first thing he took into his hands, was a +heavy silver watch. It bore a name, scratched within the case, and the +name was that of Jed MacIntosh, the man who, Blackie had told him, had +been "cleaned out" in Dry Town. There were two bank notes, one for ten +dollars, one for twenty, and both were soiled with dark smears that told +of dry blood. There was a little, much worn memorandum book, with many +pencil-scribbled entries in it, and upon the fly leaf it bore the name +of Seth Powers, the man who had been robbed in Gold Run and who had been +found beaten into unconsciousness. There was a small tin can; in the +bottom of it some pine pitch, and adhering to the pitch a fine sifting +of gold dust. A can, he knew, Ben Broderick would identify as the one +of which he had been robbed! There were other articles, two more +watches, a revolver, an empty purse, which he could not identify but +which he realized keenly would be identified when the time came. + +Suppose that the time came now! Suppose that he should hear the +sheriff's voice calling upon him, that a posse should come upon him and +find him with this box in his possession! What chance would he have? + +His face went white with the anger which surged up within him and the +desire leaped up, strong and bitter, to get in his two hands the man who +had framed him and to choke the treacherous life out of him. Then, +suddenly, he was cool again, seeing the present danger and the urgent +need of prompt action. + +First he made certain that there was no other damning bit of false +evidence concealed in the hay or any where in the loft. Then, taking the +box under his arm, he went down into the stable. Here again he made +careful search, spending an hour in a stubborn search. Then leaving the +box in a manger, straw-covered, he went back to the cabin on the top of +the knoll. His eyes, running to the four points of the compass, told him +that there was no other man within sight. + +Taking off his boots and socks he waded out into the middle of Big +Little River, carrying a shovel and the box. In the soft, sandy soil he +made a hole deep enough to hold the box which he put into it. Swiftly he +filled it with stones, placed a big, flat rock over it, saw that there +was no sign of his work as the sand and mud drifted in to fill the +little hollow, and then went back for his boots. The shovel he put again +against the bunk house wall. + +When, at last, he had mended his cinch and rode Comet out towards the +east and the mountains upon the flank of the Poison Hole, he had made up +his mind what he was going to do. + +"It's a gamble," he told himself coolly. "But I guess I've got to gamble +now. And I'm going to play it heavy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +JIMMIE SQUARES HIMSELF + + +A horseman was riding toward him upon the far bank of the Big Little +River where it straightened out beyond the cabin. He recognized the +horse and a moment later the rider now waving his hat to him, and knew +that it was Two-Hand Billy Comstock returning. He turned and rode slowly +to meet the officer. + +"Back already, Comstock?" he called carelessly. "What luck?" + +"Bully luck," grinned Comstock, replacing his hat and looking as fresh +and well groomed as though he were but this minute up from bed and a +long sleep. "First let me tell you the news." He slipped his hand into +his breast pocket and took out an envelope. "More mail for you, +Thornton! You're doing a big correspondence, it seems to me!" + +In spite of him a quick flush ran up to Thornton's brow. For his first +thought was that Winifred Waverly.... + +"Wrong guess, Buck," chuckled Comstock, his good humour seemingly +flowing from an inexhaustible source. "It's from a man." + +"Who?" demanded Thornton sharply, putting out his hand. + +Comstock's amusement welled up into open laughter. + +"It's a prime joke of the Fates," he cried cheerfully. "Here is William +Comstock, United States Deputy Marshal, carrying a message from no less +a person than Jimmie Clayton, jail bird, crook and murderer! A man +wanted in two states!" + +"Clayton!" said Thornton in amazement. "You don't mean to tell me...." + +"Oh, he'd never seen me, you know. Nor I him. But then I've seen his +picture more than once and I know all about him. He's keeping low but he +took a chance on me. I was just a whiskey drummer last night, you know, +and happened to let it out that I was riding this way this morning on my +way to Dry Town. So Jimmie slipped me the letter! Read it." + +Thornton took it, wondering. The envelope was sealed and much soiled +where Jimmie Clayton's hand had closed the mucilaged flap. He tore it +open and read almost at a glance: + +Deere buck come the same place tonight I want to put you wise. Theare is +sum danger to you buck. Keap your eyes open on the way. I will be there +late tonight. + +j.C. + +Thornton looked up to see the twinkling eyes of Two-Hand Billy Comstock +watching him. + +"You had better tell me what he says," said Comstock coolly. "I don't +know but that I should have been well within my rights to open it, eh? +But I hate to open another man's private mail." + +Thornton hesitated. + +He must not forget that Comstock was an officer--that even now he was +upon a state errand--that it was his duty to bring such men as Jimmie +Clayton to justice. He must not forget that Clayton had been a friend to +him--or, at least, that he had credited the crook with a feeling of +friendship and the care of a friend. + +True, Comstock, who seemed to know everything, had said in a +matter-of-fact way that it had been Jimmie Clayton who had shot him that +night between Juarez and El Paso. But nothing was proven. He had long +thought of Clayton as a man to whom he owed a debt of gratitude, and now +with the man, hunted as he was, his sympathy naturally went out to him, +evil-doer as he knew him to be. + +Evidently Comstock read what was passing in the cowboy's mind. + +"I'm not asking you to squeal on him, Buck," he said quietly. "Look +here, I could have taken him in last night if I had wanted to. I could +have got him a week ago if I had wanted him. But I didn't want him--I +don't want him now. I'm hunting bigger game." + +Still Thornton hesitated, but now his hesitation was brief. He swung his +horse around toward the cabin. + +"Let's ride back, Comstock," he said shortly. "I want a good long talk +with you." + +Not another word about the matter did either man say as they unsaddled +or as they went up the knoll to the cabin. Not a word until the +fragrance of boiling coffee and frying bacon went out to mingle with the +freshness of the new day. Then as they sat at table and Comstock began +to soak the biscuits Thornton had made in the bacon gravy, they looked +at each other, and their eyes were alike grave and equally stern. + +"First thing," began Comstock, "let me finish my news. Charley Bedloe +was murdered last night." + +"I know." + +"The devil you do? All right. Then here's something else. His brother, +the Kid, they call him, swears that you killed him." + +"I know," nodded Thornton as quietly as before. + +Comstock made no pretence of hiding his surprise. + +"I thought you had left before the shooting happened. I was all over +town; no one saw you...." + +"Except the Kid. He did. He saw me outside the window through which +somebody shot Charley." + +Comstock returned his attention to his biscuit and gravy. + +"I'm a failure as a news monger," he grunted. "Go on. You tell _me_." + +And Thornton told him. Before he had finished Comstock had pushed back +his chair and was letting his coffee go cold. For Thornton had told him +not alone of what had happened at the Here's How Saloon last night, but +of the work that Broderick and Pollard were doing, of all of his +certainties and his suspicions, of the "planted" evidence he had found +in the hay loft, of the missing saddle. Only he did not mention the name +of a girl, and he remembered that Pollard was her uncle and spared him +where he could. + +"What a game! By high heaven, what a game!" Comstock pursed his lips +into a long whistle. Then he banged his first down upon the table, his +eyes grown wonderfully bright and keen, crying softly, "I've got him, +I've got him at last, and he's going to pay to the uttermost for all he +has done in the last seven years ... and before! Got him--by thunder!" + +"Pollard?" asked the cowboy quickly. + +"No. Not Pollard." + +"Then Broderick?" + +"Not Broderick." + +"Bedloe?... The Kid?" + +"What does his name matter? I'll give him a dozen names when the time +comes, and by heaven he's got a crime to pay for for every name he ever +wore!" + +He grew suddenly silent and sat staring out through the open door at the +distant mountains. At last he turned back toward Thornton, his eyes very +clear, his expression placid. + +"Guess why they are waiting five days more before springing their mine?" +he asked abruptly. + +"Yes. I figured it out a little while ago, after I found the truck in my +loft. In five days it'll be the first of the month. On the first of the +month the stage from the Rock Creek Mines will be worth holding up. It +carried in ten thousand dollars last month. At times, there has been a +lot more. Just as sure as a hen lays eggs, it is due to be robbed on the +first; they'll find something here to prove I was the hold up man, and +I...." + +"And you go over the road for life or take a drop at the end of a rope? +And they quit being badmen and buy ranches? That it?" + +"That's it. It's a gamble, but...." + +"But it's a damned good gamble," laughed Comstock softly. "You ought to +be sheriff, Buck." + +But Buck, thinking of how blind to all this he had been so long, how not +even now would he have his eyes open were it not for a girl, longed with +an intense longing for the end of this thing when she might be free to +go from the house of a man like Henry Pollard, when he might be free to +go to her and... + +"How does it happen," he asked suddenly, "that you are not after Jimmie +Clayton?" + +"When I'm out for a big grizzily," returned Comstock, "I can't waste my +time on little brown bears! That's one thing. Another is that Jimmie +Clayton never had a chance of getting away. If he lives ten days he'll +be nabbed, and he won't live ten days. He's shot to pieces and he's sick +on top of it. I told you last night the poor devil is a fool and a tool +rather than a real badman. If he's got a chance to die quietly, why let +him die outside of jail. It's all one in the end." + +Thornton had always felt a sort of pity for Jimmie Clayton; it had +always seemed to him that the poor devil was merely one of the weaker +vessels that go down the stream of life, borne this way and that by the +current that sweeps them on, with little enough chance from the +beginning, having come warped and misshapen from the hands of the +potter. And now Jimmie was about to die. Well, whether it had been +Jimmie Clayton or another who had shot him that night down in Texas, he +would heed the entreaty of the letter and go to him for the last time. + +So that night, when darkness came, Thornton left Comstock at the cabin +and rode out towards the mountains, towards the Poison Hole and the +dugout at its side. + +It was dark, but not so dark as last night, there being no clouds to +blot out the stars. And the moon was slipping upward through the trees +upon the mountain top when Thornton came at last to the lake. As before, +he was watchful and alert. Clayton was Kid Bedloe's friend, and Clayton +had always struck him as a man in whom one could put little faith. It +was quite in keeping with what he knew that Jimmie's note had been +written at the instigation of Kid Bedloe himself and that he was to be +led out here where Kid Bedloe and Ed might be in waiting for him. It was +quite possible, even probable. But he thought it more than likely that +for once Jimmie Clayton was acting in good faith. + +The Jimmie Clayton whom he found alone a little after moonrise was very +much as he had found him that other night. The fugitive lay upon the +bunk in the darkness of the dugout, and only when he was assured that it +was Buck Thornton come to him did he light his stub of candle. As before +Thornton entered and closed the door after him to look down on the man +with a sharp twinge of pity. + +"How're they coming, Jimmie?" he asked gently. + +"Can't you see?" replied Clayton with a nervous laugh. "I'm all in, +Buck. All in." + +If ever a man looked to be "all in" it was poor little Jimmie Clayton. +He threw back his coat for Thornton to see. There upon the side was the +stain of blood hardly dry upon the shirt. His eyes were hollow, sunken, +fever-filled, his cheeks unthinkably drawn, yellow-white and sickly, the +hand which fell back weakly from the exertion of opening his coat showed +the bones thrust up as though they would pierce the skin. + +"You've been shot again?" demanded the cowboy. + +Jimmie shook his head. + +"The same ol' hole, Buck; Colt forty-five. It won't heal up, it breaks +out all the time. I can't sleep with it, I can't eat, I can't set +still." He had begun manfully, but now the little whimper came back +into his voice, his shaking hand gripped Thornton's arm feebly, and he +cried tremulously, "I wisht I was dead, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I wisht I +was dead!" + +"Poor little old Jimmie," Thornton muttered just as he had muttered the +words once before, gently, pityingly. "Is there anything I can do, +Jimmie." + +Jimmie drew back his hand and lay still for a little, his eyes seeming +unnaturally large as he turned them upwards, filled at once with a sort +of defiance and an abject, cringing terror. + +"Nothin'," he said a little sullenly. His eyes dropped and ran to the +fingers of his hand which were plucking nervously at his coat. He parted +his lips as though he would say something else and then closed them +tightly; even his eyes shut tight for a moment. Thornton watched him, +waiting. It was easy to see that Jimmie Clayton had upon the tip of his +tongue something he wished to say, and that he hesitated ... through +fear? + +"What is it, Jimmie?" Thornton asked after a while. + +Jimmie lifted his head quickly, his eyes flew open with a look in them +almost of defiance as he blurted out: + +"Do you know who shot you ... that time down in Juarez?" + +"Was it you, Jimmie?" asked Thornton. + +Jimmie's eyes grew larger; all defiance fled from them and the terror +came back. + +"You ... you think ..." he faltered. "You thought all along...." + +"Was it you, Jimmie?" + +The voice was soft, the eyes gentle and now a little smile accompanied +the words. It was so easy to forget what had happened so long ago, to +disregard it when one looked into this man's eyes and saw there the end +of the earthly story of a man who had not been a good man because he had +never had a chance, who had never really earned his spurs as a Western +badman, because he was of too small calibre, who was after all a vessel +that had come imperfect from the hands of the potter. Now Jimmie +answered, his voice hushed, his eyes wide, his soul filled with +wonderment: + +"It was ... me, Buck!" + +"Well, Jimmie, I'm sorry. But it can't be helped now, can it? And I'll +forget it if you will." He looked at the worn, frail form, and knew that +Comstock was right and that little Jimmie Clayton was lying in the +valley of the shadow of death. So he added, his voice very low and very +gentle, "I'll even shake hands if you will, Jimmie." + +Jimmie closed his eyes but not quick enough to hide the mistiness which +had rushed into them. His breathing was irregular and heavy, its sound +being the only sound in the dugout. He did not put out his hand. +Finally, his voice steadier than it had been before, he spoke again. + +"You've been square with me, Buck. I want to be square with +you.... There's a frame-up to get you. Now don't stop me an' I'll talk +as fast as I can. It hurts me to talk much." He pressed a thin hand upon +his side, paused a moment, and then went on. + +"I think Broderick's the man as has been putting over most of the +stick-ups around here for quite some time. Him and Pollard in together. +I ain't squealin' on a pal when I tell you this, neither," with a little +flash of his old defiance. "Broderick's no pal of mine. The dirty cur. +He could of got me clear.... He wanted to make 'em give me up, to git +the reward.... Their game is to make folks think you been doing these +things, and to send you up for 'em." + +He stopped to rest, but even now did not look to see what effect his +words had upon his hearer. + +"I don't know much about it," he went on after a moment. "You can find +out. But I do know they stole a saddle of yours, and a horse. They're +going to stick up the stage out of Rock Creek Mines next week; there's +going to be some shooting, and a horse is going to get killed. That'll +be your horse, Buck. An' it'll have your saddle on." + +He had told his story. He told nothing of how he knew, and Thornton did +not press him, for he guessed swiftly that somehow the telling would +implicate Kid Bedloe, who was a pal... and little Jimmie Clayton was not +going to squeal on a pal. + +Half an hour after he had come to the dugout Thornton left it. For +Clayton would not talk further and would not let him stay. + +"I got a horse out there," he had said irritably. "I can get along. I'm +going to move on in the morning. So long, Buck." + +So Thornton went back to his horse, wondering if, when tomorrow came, +Jimmie Clayton would not indeed be moving on, moving on like little Jo +to the land where men will be given an even break, where they will be +"given their chance." His foot was in the stirrup when he heard +Clayton's voice calling. He went back into the dugout. The light was out +and it was very dark. + +"What is it, Jimmie?" he asked. + +"I was thinking, Buck," came the halting answer, "that ... if you don't +care ... I _will_ shake hands." + +Thornton put out his hand a little eagerly and his strong fingers closed +tightly upon the thin nervous fingers of Jimmie Clayton. Then he went +out without speaking. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE SHOW DOWN + + +Upon the first day of the month the stage leaving the Rock Creek Mines +in the early morning carried a certain long, narrow lock-box carefully +bestowed under the seat whereon sat Hap Smith and the guard. Also a +single passenger: a swarthy little man with ink-black hair plastered +down close upon a low, atavistic forehead and with small ink-black eyes. +In Dry Town beyond the mountains, to which he was evidently now +returning from the mines, he was known as Blackie, bartender of the Last +Chance saloon. This morning he had been abroad as early as the earliest; +he seemed to take a bright interest in everything, from the harnessing +of the four horses to the taking on of mail bags and boxes. In a moment +when Hap Smith, before the mine superintendent's cabin, was rolling a +cigarette preparatory to the long drive, Blackie even stepped forward +briskly and gave the guard a hand with the long, narrow lock-box. + +Keen eyed and watchful as Blackie was he failed to see a man who never +lost sight of him or of the stage until it rolled out of the mining camp +through the early morning. The man, unusually tall, wearing black shaggy +chaps, grey soft shirt and neck-handkerchief and a large black hat, +kept the stage in view from around the corner of the wood shed standing +back of the superintendent's cabin. Then, swinging up to the back of a +rangy granite-coloured roan, he turned into the road. + +"We're playing to win this time, Comet," he said softly. "And, as we +said all along, Blackie's the capper for their game. Shake a foot, +Comet, old boy. Maybe at the end of a hard day's work we'll look in +on ... her." + +When, an hour later, the stage made its brief stop in Miller's Flat to +take on mail bags Blackie was leaning out smoking a cigar and looking +about him alertly. A lounger near the post-office door turned to watch in +great seeming idleness. His eyes met the bartender's for a second and he +nodded casually. + +"How's everything?" he asked in the customary inconsequential manner of +casual acquaintanceship. + +"Fine," said Blackie in a tone of equal casualness. "Couldn't be +better." + +The stranger slouched on his way, climbed into the saddle of the horse +he had left by the door, and rode off.... And Buck Thornton, from the +bend in the road where he had halted Comet under a big live oak tree, +noted how the horseman rode on his spurs when once he had passed from +the sight of the stage driver. + +"Taking the Red Canon trail," he marked with satisfaction. "Carrying the +word to Broderick and Pollard that there's been no slip-up and that the +box is really aboard. And now.... Shake a foot, Comet; here's where we +put one over on Blackie." + +The man who had passed the time of day with the saloon man had +disappeared over a ridge and out of sight; Thornton consequently rode +swiftly to overtake the stage. Before the four running horses had drawn +the creaking wagon after them a half mile Hap Smith stopped his horses +in answer to the shout from behind him and stared over his shoulder +wonderingly. + +"What the hell ..." he began. And then with a shade of relief in his +tone and yet half hesitatingly, the frown still on his face as Thornton +rode close up, "It's you, is it? I thought for a minute...." + +"That it was Broderick?" laughed Thornton. "You didn't think so, did +you, Blackie?" + +Blackie drew back and slipped his hand covertly into his coat pocket. +Thornton, giving no sign that he had seen, said briefly to Hap Smith: + +"You've talked things over with Banker Templeton? And with Comstock?" + +"Yes," said Hap Smith, his thick, squat figure growing tense where he +sat as though with a sudden nervous bracing within. "Yes." + +"And you expected me here? You will give me a free hand?" + +"Yes," cried Smith ringingly. "Damn 'em, yes. Go to it, Buck!" + +Thornton turned stern eyes upon Blackie. + +"I can shoot twelve holes through you before you get your hand out of +your pocket," he said crisply. "You damned stool-pigeon! Now, suppose +you pull your hand out ... _empty_! ... and stick it up high above your +head. Think it over, Blackie, before you take any fool chances." + +His left hand held Comet's reins gathered up close as he spoke; his +right rested lightly on the horn of his saddle. Blackie plainly +hesitated; a tinge of red warmed his swarthy cheek; his eyes glittered +evilly.... Then suddenly he whipped out his hand, a revolver in it.... + +But Thornton, for all of the handicap, fired first. His own right hand +went its swift, sure way to the gun swinging loose in its holster under +his left arm pit; he jabbed it forward even as he swung himself to one +side in the saddle, and fired. The revolver slipped from Blackie's hand +and clattered down to the bed of the wagon while Blackie, crying out +chokingly, his face going white with fear, clutched at his shoulder and +gave up the fight. + +With scant time allowed in their plans to waste on such as Blackie he +was made to lie down in the bottom of the wagon, his wrists bound, his +wound very rudely bandaged, his body screened from any chance view by +the boxes and mail bags and a handkerchief jammed into his mouth. Within +ten minutes Hap Smith was clattering on, his and the guard's mouths and +eyes grim and hard, and Thornton had again dropped behind, just out of +sight around the first bend in the road. + +"And now, my boy," muttered Hap Smith to his friend the guard, "keep +both eyes peeled and your trigger-finger free. Hell's goin' to pop in +considerable less'n no time." + +Nor was the stage driver unduly pessimistic. Half an hour after Blackie +had gone down among boxes and bags the lumbering vehicle thundered into +one of the many deep gorges through which the narrow road wound. Here +was a sharp turn and a bit of steep grade to take on the run if the +stage were to keep to schedule time. But suddenly and with a curse from +Smith and a sharp exclamation from the guard, Hap slammed on his brake. +A newly fallen pine tree, three feet thick, lay across the road. + +The guard's rifle was ready in his hands; in a flash Hap Smith had +dropped his reins so that they were held only by the ring caught over +the little hook at the back of the seat and had whipped out his own big +ugly revolver. His eyes ran this way and that; in his soul he knew well +enough that no mere bit of chance had thrown the obstruction across his +way. But never a head nor an arm nor a rifle barrel rewarded his look. +Until, suddenly, heralded by a curt shouted command, a man rode out into +the open road from the mouth of a canon. + +"Don't be a fool, Smith! Take a little look-around first!" + +It was a voice eminently cool and steady and insolent. Though his gun +rose slowly Hap Smith heeded the note of arrogance and, with a hard +finger crooking to the trigger, looked about him again. And this time +not in vain. Yonder, from across the top of a boulder, a rifle barrel +bore unwaveringly upon the breadth of his chest; ten feet higher up on +the mountainside where there was a pile of granite rocks and a handful +of scrub brush, a second rifle gave its sinister silent warning; two +other guns looked forth from the other side of the road ... in all, at +least five armed men.... + +Hap Smith's eyes went back to the man sitting his horse in the middle of +the road, just across the fallen pine tree. A tall, powerfully built man +dressed quite as Hap Smith and the guard had been told to expect: black, +shaggy chaps, grey shirt and neck-handkerchief; broad black hat; red +bandana across his face with wide slits for the eyes. And yet both of +the men in the stage stared and were on the verge of uncertainty; had +they not been prepared both would have sworn that it was Buck Thornton +on Buck Thornton's horse; and later they would, no doubt, have sworn to +Buck Thornton's saddle. + +Five to two, seemed the odds, with all of the highwaymen saving the one +bold figure screened from view and so holding the advantage of position. +And yet, for once, the odds were not what they seemed. + +For now there came abruptly, and utterly with no sign of warning, the +answer to the last big play of Ben Broderick and Henry Pollard and the +rest. Into the road out of the same canon from which the masked man on +the horse had come now rode two more men, side by side and with a +thunderous racket of pounding hoofs beating at rocky soil, their heads +up, their faces unhidden, their eyes hard and bright and their right +hands lifted a little. Two-Hand Billy Comstock and Buck Thornton, come +at the top speed of a swinging gallop to alter the odds and take a hand. +And as Thornton's horse's hoofs struck in the dust of the road and the +masked rider swung about, startled in the moment of his supreme arrogant +confidence, it looked to those who saw as if there came Buck Thornton on +one big grey horse racing down upon another Buck Thornton on that big +grey's mate. With but a hundred yards between them.... + +"Pull the rag off your face, Broderick!" shouted Thornton savagely. + +And oddly enough Ben Broderick, with a swift realization that a bandana +hiding his face now could no longer befriend him and might flap across +his eyes at a time when he should see straight and quick, yanked it +away. And with the same gesture, he jerked his lifted gun down and +started firing, straight at Thornton. + +Of the five rifles trained upon those in the stage not a one was silent +now. Hap Smith jumped to his feet and fired as fast as he could work the +trigger; the man at his side leaped down into the road, crouched at the +wagon wheel and poured shot after shot into the brush whence he had seen +the muzzles of two guns. Before Ben Broderick's pistol had broken the +silence Buck Thornton had fired from the hip; and Two-Hand Billy +Comstock, his reins on his saddle horn, was freshening his right to his +title, firing with one gun after the other in regular, mechanical +fashion. + +Hap Smith was the first man down; he toppled, steadied himself, fired +again and collapsed, sliding down against the dash board and thence to +the ground. His horses had plunged, leaped and in a tangle of straining +harness tugged this way and that a moment and then with the stage +jerking and toppling after them went down over a six-foot bank and into +the thicket of willows along the creek bed. With them went Blackie, his +face showing a moment, grey with fear.... + +Hap Smith, alive simply because the trampling horses had whirled the +other way, lifted himself a half dozen inches from the road bed, +struggled with his gun and fainted.... The guard saw a head exposed from +behind a tree and sent a 30-30 rifle ball crashing through it; on the +instant another bullet from another quarter compacted with his own body +and he went down, shot through the shoulder.... + +Thornton's eyes were for Ben Broderick alone. And, it would seem, +Broderick's for Thornton. But in their expressions there was nothing of +similarity; in Thornton's was a stern readiness to mete out punishment +while from Broderick's there looked forth a sudden furtiveness, a +feverish desire for escape. + +Broderick had never drawn to himself the epithet of coward. But now he +knew what he was doing, where wisdom pointed and what was his one +chance. There was still a good fifty yards between him and the man who +rode down upon him, a long shot for a revolver when the horses which +both men bestrode were rearing and plunging wildly. Broderick bent +forward suddenly, whirled his horse, drove his spurs deep into the +grey's sides and in a flash had cleared the fallen log, shot around the +bend in the road and, taking his desperate chance with all of the cool +defiance of danger which was a part of the man, sent his mount leaping +down the steepening bank, into the willow thicket and on across. +Shouting mightily and wrathfully, after him came Buck Thornton. But +Broderick had the few yards' headstart and, for the moment his destiny +was with him. Thornton saw only a thicket of willows wildly disturbed as +Broderick went threshing through them and knew that for the present at +least Broderick was beyond pursuit. + +Swinging about angrily he rode back to join Comstock. Already the battle +there in the canon was over, the smell of powder was gone from the still +air, the last reverberating echo of a shot had died away. And in the +road lay three men, two of them severely wounded while the other was +already dead. Stooping over this man, a queer look in his eyes, stood +Comstock. + +"I hankered to bring him in alive," he muttered. "But, after all it's +just as well. And it had to be him or me." + +"Pollard?" asked Thornton quickly. But Comstock shook his head. Then +Thornton, riding close, looking down from the saddle, saw the white +upturned face. This time as his eyes came back to Comstock, Comstock +nodded. + +"Cole Dalton, sheriff," he said gravely. "Yes. And he's the man I came +all this way to gather in, Buck. I've been after him for seven years, +never guessing until lately that he was out here working the old Henry +Plummer game of sheriff and badman at the same time. He's kept under +cover, that being always his way; you'd never have thought that Pollard, +Broderick, Bedloe were all tools.... But, I got him, Buck. At last." + +A moment only Thornton stared incredulously. Then his shoulders twitched +as though this was a matter which could not concern him at present and +he had other things to think of. + +"Pollard?" he asked shortly. + +"Over yonder." Comstock nodded toward the patch of brush on the +mountainside. "Shot through the head." + +"And the others? One was the Kid, wasn't it?..." + +But now the Kid answered for himself. He rose to his knees among the +stunted manzanita bushes not twenty steps from them and for a moment +knelt there, his big bulky body wavering as he tried to bring his rifle +to rest at his shoulder, his eyes peering out wildly from a blood +smeared face. But his gesture was awkward and slow and uncertain; he +was too badly hurt to shoot straight or quick, and Thornton, swift and +sure and yet merciful withal, was before him. The Kid's rifle clattered +to the ground; the Kid's left arm, the bone broken, dropped uselessly to +his side. He tried to steady the gun with his one good arm alone, but it +shook hopelessly. He dropped it and turned bloodshot eyes on Thornton. + +"Damn you," he said tonelessly. "Better do a clean job, you +white-livered coward, or I'll see you hang yet for killin' Charlie...." + +"I was outside when he was shot," said Thornton coolly. "I saw just as +much as you did. Somebody shot him from behind me." + +"Liar!" jeered Bedloe. "An'..." + +"Don't be a fool, Bedloe," snapped Comstock. "The man you want is the +same man we want; only the other day he had a quarrel with Charlie and +got a bullet alongside the head...." + +"Not Ben Broderick!" gasped the Kid stupidly. "Not him!" + +"I think your little friend Jimmie Clayton knew," said Comstock. "And +you ought to know that Thornton isn't that kind." + +With widening eyes the Kid stared at him. At last he got again to his +knees; finally and shakily to his feet. + +"Jimmie tol' me to watch him," he muttered thickly. "An' him an' Charlie +did have words...." + +He stared at them stupidly, hesitated, pondered the matter. Then he +turned and went lumbering down the road. Comstock, stepping forward +swiftly, called out: + +"I say, Bedloe! None of that...." + +But Bedloe neither turned again nor paused. Thornton's hand shut down +hard on Comstock's arm. + +"He's going after Broderick," he said sharply. "Don't you see? He'll +know where Broderick is. And we don't. Besides ... I don't know just why +we should stop him.... If Broderick did kill Charlie...." + +Comstock went back to administer to Hap Smith and the guard. Thornton +watched the Kid go to a horse hidden in a clump of trees; then as Bedloe +rode down into the road and passed on whither it led, sitting +slumped-forward and seeming at each step about to fall, Thornton rode +after him. The Kid did not so much as look around; perhaps it mattered +to him not in the least just then who followed or how many ... so that +they left him to ride on ahead.... + +It was straight into the town of Dead Man's Alley that the Kid's way +led. The high sun glared down into a deserted street when he and Buck +Thornton, a hundred yards behind him, passed by the Here's How saloon +and the Brown Bear and at last drew rein at Henry Pollard's gate. A +couple of men at the lunch counter stared curiously after the Kid; they +even got down hastily from their high stools and stared more curiously +still when they saw who it was who followed. + +"They've rode hard, them two," said one of the men thoughtfully. "Their +horses is all in." + +"The Kid ahead an' Buck Thornton followin'!" grunted the other musingly. +"An' the Kid never lookin' around!" + +He shook his head and, long after both of the riders had passed out of +sight down the crooked street these two men looked after them +wonderingly. + +At Pollard's gate the Kid dismounted stiffly. Now for the first time +Thornton came up to him. + +"If you think Broderick's in there," he said sharply, "you'd better let +me go ahead. You're in no shape, Bedloe...." + +"You go to hell," said Bedloe heavily. "He's mine." + +He stepped forward and pulled open the gate. Here he paused just long +enough to drag his revolver from the holster at his hip. With the weapon +in his hand, swaying in his long-strided walk, he went to Pollard's +front door. Just behind him, almost at his heels, came Thornton. + +As he tried the door cautiously the Kid looked over his shoulder with a +show of teeth. + +"He's mine," he snarled again. "You keep your hands off." + +Thornton offered no answer. The Kid, having ascertained that the door +was locked, drew back, steadied himself with his hand against the wall, +lifted his foot and with all of the power in him drove his heavy boot +against the lock. Something broke; the panel splintered; the door gave +a little. But only a little; the heavy bar which Henry Pollard used was +in its place. + +"Again," said Thornton. "Together!... Quick!" + +So together Buck Thornton and Kid Bedloe, two men who had long hated +each other, struck savagely at Pollard's barricade. And such was the +weight of the two men, such the power resident in the two big bodies, +that a hinge gave and after it an iron socket screwed to the wall was +torn away from the woodwork, and the door went down. + +Gathering all there was of strength left in him Kid Bedloe pushed to the +fore and went down the hall; and Thornton followed at his heels. In this +fashion they came to the door of Pollard's study and saw through it, +since it had been flung wide open and so left. + +In a far corner of the room was Winifred Waverly, her face dead white, +her body pressed tight into the angle of the walls, her hands twisting +before her, her eyes going swiftly to the two entering figures from that +other figure which had held her fascinated. Upon the floor, just rising, +knelt Ben Broderick. He had tossed a rug aside and had lifted out the +short sections of half a dozen strips of flooring, disclosing a rude +wooden vault below. Here was the accumulation of loot, here where the +Kid had known Broderick was to be found. + +For a very brief yet electrically vital and vivid moment there was no +sound in the room, wherein never a single muscle twitched. And then +there were no words and only three sharp pistol shots. Broderick had +seen what lay in the Kid's eye, a look to be read by any man; he had +snatched his gun up from the floor beside him and had fired, point +blank. There is no name for the brief fragment of time between his shot +and the Kid's. But Ben Broderick had shot true to the mark, and the Kid +was sinking; Bedloe's bullet had gone wide.... And then the third shot, +Thornton's ... and as the two men fell, Kid Bedloe and Ben Broderick, +they pitched forward toward the centre of the room and the big body of +the Kid lay across the body of Ben Broderick. As the Kid died his eyes +were upon Thornton, and in them was a look of content and of gratitude! + +"Again he tried to kiss me.... He is all brute. He ... he told me you +were dead.... Oh, dear God, dear God!" cried the girl, shrinking back, +covering her face with her hands. + +Thornton, his face set and white and grave, came to her. She was +trembling so that he put his arm about her. She sobbed and caught at him +as a child might have done. His arm tightened, holding her closer. + +"Let me take you away," he said gently. + +With never a look back to see what long hoarded booty there in the hole +in the floor had drawn Ben Broderick back to Pollard's house, he turned +and with his arm still about her, led the girl from the room, from the +house and out to his horse at the fence. She moaned again and drooped +against him. He gathered her up into his arms tenderly. And with a +tenderness which was to become part of the man, he held her close while +he swung slowly into the saddle. + +"Winifred Waverly...." he began. + +There he stopped, looking with puzzled eyes down into her white face. +God knew how much she had gone through, what fear Ben Broderick had put +into her heart. But at the least now she had fainted. + +"She's all alone," muttered the cowboy. "All alone. And somebody's got +to look out for her...." + +He turned slowly and rode down the crooked street, carrying her lightly +in his arms. And now, more than ever, did the two men at the lunch +counter stare. + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Six Feet Four, by Jackson Gregory + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIX FEET FOUR *** + +***** This file should be named 15148.txt or 15148.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/1/4/15148/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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