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author: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-01-24 21:18:49 -0800
committer: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-01-24 21:18:49 -0800
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+      Marshal of Sundown | Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77768 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1>MARSHAL OF SUNDOWN</h1>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="title page"></div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+<p><span class="xxlarge">MARSHAL OF<br>
+SUNDOWN</span></p>
+
+<p><i>By</i><br>
+<span class="xlarge">JACKSON GREGORY</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_titlelogo.jpg" alt="title page"></div>
+
+<p><span class="large">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP</span><br>
+  <i>Publishers</i>    <span class="gap">    NEW YORK</span><br>
+  <i>By arrangement with Dodd, Mead &amp; Company</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center">
+  <span class="smcap">Copyright, 1937, 1938</span><br>
+  <span class="smcap">By</span> JACKSON GREGORY<br>
+  <br>
+  <br>
+  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br>
+  NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM<br>
+  WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE AUTHOR<br>
+  <br>
+  <br>
+  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2">    MARSHAL OF SUNDOWN</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Jim Torrance, riding up from the South,
+crested the live-oak-studded knoll from which he saw
+the rip-roaring little town of Sundown for the first
+time, the place looked as clean and pretty as a fresh
+picture, and as peaceful as the little dove cooing on a
+dead limb over his head. But that was because Sundown
+was still a good three miles away, and besides
+it was only mid-afternoon and not yet first-drink time.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m turning off here to go into town, Skeeter,” he
+told the boy helping him with his handful of stock.
+“You go straight on with the horses. You’ll know the
+place when you get there; just watch for an old wheel track
+turning off where there’s a dead pine leaning over
+a big white rock. Likely I’ll overtake you anyhow. It’s
+only about seven miles.”</p>
+
+<p>“Gee, Jim,” said Skeeter, “me, I’d like to see Sundown,
+too. I’ve heard a lot about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not today, kid. In two-three days I’ll pay you off
+and you can ride where you please. Better hobble
+Barney and old Molly when you get there. I’ll see if
+maybe I can get you a pie in town.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy, convoying the dozen head of likely looking
+saddle horses and the two heavily laden pack mules,
+rode on through the oaks, down the farther side of the
+knoll, into the straggling pines on the slopes beyond,
+and vanished in the creases of the hills which grew
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>more rugged and more thickly timbered as they rolled
+away toward the far blue mountains in the north.
+Jim Torrance sat where he was a moment, rolling
+a thoughtful cigarette and looking toward Sundown
+with lazy-lidded eyes.</p>
+
+<p>In the late October sunshine, as yellow as butter,
+under a sun-drenched sky as deep a violet hue as the
+towering mountains in the for background, at the end
+of a dusty road, wavering chalk-white across the valley
+lined with quivering aspens in their brilliant autumn
+dress, was a clutter of houses—and that was Sundown,
+where colors clashed and laughed, the warm red of
+bricks, the white of adobe walls, the weathered brown
+of shake roofs—and down in the valley there was a girl
+with a bright red neckerchief, riding a dappled gray
+horse. She was at considerable distance, on another
+road approaching Sundown from the north.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance and the girl rode into town at the same
+time; they were for an instant abreast as they came in
+front of Stag Horn Saloon. He was seeing many things
+today for the first time, since, on the single other occasion
+of coming into this neighborhood, he had kept
+straight on from the farther side of the knoll where he
+had left Skeeter, and had not come any nearer Sundown.
+So also for the first time he saw Sally Dawn Cannon.
+She did not appear to notice him at all, though at
+the sound of his horse’s hoofs she glanced his way. It
+was the most fleeting of glances, indifferent, flashing
+elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>He had the trick of taking in everything with those
+keen dark eyes of his, of registering swift impressions,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>of filing them away for possible future reference. He
+thought, “She’s a little beauty if there ever was one.”
+Not quite like other girls either, a sullen, smoldering
+beauty, with brooding, smoky eyes.</p>
+
+<p>He passed her and dismounted under the big poplar
+with butter-yellow leaves that cast its black blot of
+shade in front of the saloon, and she rode straight on.
+As he jingled down to the edge of the wooden sidewalk,
+he turned his observant eyes upon the two men
+who were standing there; they were watching the girl
+go by and spoke of her.</p>
+
+<p>“Prettiest girl inside a hundred miles, Bordereau,”
+said one of them—a short, stocky, immensely broad
+man, dressed in store clothes like a town dweller, yet
+with the hard hands and weathered face of a rancher.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” nodded Bordereau, and rolled his cigar and
+squinted after her. A tall, darkly handsome man in
+frock coat and high hat, quiet-voiced, even unctuous,
+it was a simple thing to mistake Steve Bordereau for a
+prosperous undertaker. “Yes,” he said again, “she’s
+been getting better looking all the time. Classier now
+than Florinda, even.”</p>
+
+<p>“If she was dressed right, she’d be.” Then the heavy-set
+man laughed. He said, “Now if you just had a girl
+like her in your place, you’d double your intake!”</p>
+
+<p>Steve Bordereau pursed a full lower lip.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s an idea, Murdo. I’ll get her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Like hell you will!”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s this, Thursday? I’ll have her upstairs at
+midnight just exactly one week from tonight. Midnight.
+Dressed right, too.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>“Bet?” challenged Murdo. There was only one way
+to settle things with men like these two, one of whom
+owned and the other helped operate the Stag Horn.</p>
+
+<p>“Two to one,” said Bordereau coolly. “Five hundred
+of yours calls a thousand from me.”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo stared at him, seemed about to agree, then
+shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got something up your sleeve, Steve. I know
+you. No bets.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Jim Torrance tied his horse at the hitching rail
+under the poplar, hung his spurs over the saddle horn
+and went into the saloon. There were not half a dozen
+men in the place, cattle hands from the look of them,
+and only one bartender behind the longest and most
+famous bar in this part of the country. Torrance
+photographed them all with that low-lidded glance
+characteristic of him; his survey began with the bartender
+and came back to him, taking stock of his pale-blue
+eyes, his pale, sleek hair that looked like the pictures
+in the barber shops, his mustaches like a buffalo’s
+horns. Jim Torrance spun a silver dollar on the bar,
+ordered his drink and asked:</p>
+
+<p>“Know anyone up around here named Jim Torrance?”</p>
+
+<p>“Howdy, Stranger,” said the bartender. He set forth
+bottle and glass and leaned forward conversationally
+on his elbows. “Jim Torrance?” he repeated. “Can’t
+say as I do. What’s he look like?”</p>
+
+<p>“About my size and build,” Torrance told him.</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s he askin’ for, Jurgens?” rapped out a voice
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>from one of the men lounging over a round table
+farther down the room. “What’s he want?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d be sure to ask, now, Sam, wouldn’t you?”
+grunted Jurgens. “Well, he’s asking for a man name
+of Torrance, Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“What you want him for, Stranger?” demanded
+Sam, and got to his feet, a little dried-up man of fifty
+or thereabouts, seeming to rattle around in his blue
+overalls and faded blue denim shirt like a dried pea
+in a weathered pod. He had just about the shrewdest,
+brightest little eyes that ever twinkled and gleamed
+and widened and narrowed in a man’s face, eyes that
+just now, and at most times, were as eager as a six-year-old’s
+at Christmas time. He came hurrying forward.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s old Sam Pepper,” Jurgens advised Jim Torrance.
+“The damn’ grasshopper’s got his nose in everybody’s
+business and knows most everything.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Sam Pepper, a wisp of a graying man standing
+something like five feet and a half in his high-heeled
+half-boots, peered straight up into Jim Torrance’s
+face. All the men in the room had looked the stranger
+over pretty thoroughly, as was but natural and customary;
+strangers weren’t everyday occurrences in and
+about Sundown; but no man of them all regarded him
+with such frank and thoroughgoing interest as did Sam
+Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>He took stock of everything—Torrance’s checkered
+shirt and neck scarf, his worn chaps, black and shaggy
+and dusty, the two crossed belts dragged low by their
+twin burdens of guns and cartridges, the worn, dusty
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>boots beginning to grow lopsided on their high, rocking
+heels. But his greatest and gravest concern was the
+stranger’s face. He made Jim Torrance out to be tall
+and lean and gaunt, but as hardy and sinewy as a man
+whose muscles and tendons were all fine drawn steel
+wire; he stared up into a pair of keen, hard, dark eyes
+with their trick of being low-lidded as though always
+he was squinting at the sun, or probing under the
+surface of other men, and a mouth that was set and
+stern and somehow grim, a mouth that did not seem
+ever to have learned how to smile, a mouth, one would
+hazard, that knew less how to soften than to grow savage
+and cruel.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper was intrigued, but then, as Jurgens had
+suggested, he was forever growing curious about affairs
+not his own and men with whom he had no dealings.
+He said a second time, and more briskly, “What you
+want him for, Stranger?”</p>
+
+<p>The stranger ignored him as a wolf hound ignores
+a poodle.</p>
+
+<p>“Seems to me I’ve seen you somewheres,” Sam Pepper
+hurried on, just to make way for his second question.
+“What’s your name, Stranger?”</p>
+
+<p>Then another man spoke up in a deep, throaty voice
+that sounded downright jovial in contrast to Sam Pepper’s
+reedy, rasping utterance, and Jim Torrance
+looked down the shadowy room to the speaker, a big,
+sturdy, bald-headed fellow a dozen years younger than
+Sam Pepper and some two or three times as big.</p>
+
+<p>“Askin’ for Jim Torrance, be you?” he demanded.
+“Well, me, I know him. Seen him lately, too. I and him
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>was pardners for a short time, over to Miller’s Camp.
+A man about your size; yep, about your build, too.”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper snorted for any to hear. Then in a
+lowered voice, hardly above a discreet whisper meant
+for the stranger alone, he said: “That’s only Lying Bill
+talking, Stranger. Lying Bill Yarbo. The truth ain’t in
+him and never was. Anything he says goes just the
+other way round; if he’d of said he hadn’t never saw or
+heard of Jim Torrance, well you’d know they’d been
+together not ten minutes ago.”</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill Yarbo shoved back the little poker table
+and came stalking forward.</p>
+
+<p>“If you’re of a mind to advertise your business all
+over town, Stranger,” he said, for men to hear out on
+the street a block away—and they were long blocks in
+Sundown—“why you just let that feller that’s talking
+to you—Sam’l Pepper, his name is, whereas it ought to
+be Peeper—know about it and you won’t have to pay
+to get it published.” Then a heavy frown dragged at
+his shaggy, black eyebrows. “What’s he been saying to
+you about me? What’s he been whispering?” He balled
+up an oversized fist and took another forward stride,
+whereupon Sam Pepper whipped back and darted
+toward the door; and men laughed, and the bartender,
+bored as most of his fraternity grow to be habitually,
+almost smiled. Jim Torrance’s expression, or lack of
+the same, was undisturbed.</p>
+
+<p>“You say you know Jim Torrance?” he said mildly.
+“Might I ask if he’s around town, or has been lately?”</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill Yarbo took a deep, preparatory breath,
+then began his rumbling recital.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>“Like I say, him and me was pardners over to Miller’s.
+But that was quite a while ago, ’bout fifteen-sixteen
+year. Sixteen year, that’s what; I’m remembering
+now. It was when there was that big explosion the
+Billings boys was to blame for, a dozen men blowed
+higher’n kites. I rec’lec’ how a leg with the boot still
+on it was blowed in through the cabin door where me
+and Jim was having us our dinner. That was Cy Patten’s
+leg, and Cy got well and made him another one
+out of one that got blew off a piano over to Molly
+Blaine’s place. And now, the other day, not more’n say
+two weeks ago, you could of blowed me over with
+a puff of smoke when a feller sings out, ‘Hi, Bill!’
+and I look around and see Jim Torrance. Seems as
+though—”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance downed his drink and went out; the
+last words he heard were Jurgens’, saying, “I never
+heard tell of that there explosion over to Miller’s,
+Bill,” and Lying Bill Yarbo answering crustily,
+“Shucks, there’s lots of things you never heard about.”
+He saw Steve Bordereau and Murdo standing in the
+shade where he had left them; the girl had passed out
+of sight. He continued along the wooden sidewalk,
+avoiding the trap of a broken board for bootheels, and
+presently heard hurrying steps behind him. Then Sam
+Pepper, breathless with haste, his short legs making
+two of one of Torrance’s strides, came up with him.</p>
+
+<p>“Seeing how you’re a stranger in town,” said Sam
+Pepper, “and are looking for information, I got to
+warn you that Lying Bill Yarbo—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been warned,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>“I’ll ask folks that I see, folks that might know,”
+Pepper ran on. “Who’ll I say is wanting to know? What
+name, Stranger?”</p>
+
+<p>For a split second Jim Torrance appeared to be considering.
+Then he said, in that same somehow incongruously
+mild tone of his, “I’m Torrance. Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper’s eyes flew wide open, his jaw dropped
+and he came to a dead halt. Of a sudden there were a
+dozen questions he was on edge to ask. But Torrance
+stopped a moment and looked at him in a way that
+dried up all questions. Then Torrance went on, and
+Sam Pepper, fairly itching with a brand-new curiosity,
+stood where he was and watched.</p>
+
+<p>He saw Jim Torrance go into the one other saloon
+Sundown boasted—a squalid, dingy barroom and
+dance place frequented by the more patently riffraffian
+of the community’s population, swarthy breeds for the
+most part, with a sprinkling of low-life whites—and
+still waited. Torrance came out and Pepper darted in.
+In short order he ascertained that the stranger had
+asked whether a man named Jim Torrance had
+showed up there of late. Out Sam Pepper hurried
+again and saw Torrance go into the Stage Stop hotel
+and reappear within two or three minutes. Again Pepper
+made inquiries; yes, a stranger asking for a man
+named Torrance was just in here. And out Sam popped
+again, this time to see his latest and greatest interest
+in life, his new mystery man, step into the bake shop.
+He came out with something in his hand that looked
+like a pie. No doubt it was a pie. Just the same, Sam
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>Pepper made sure.</p>
+
+<p>“Yep, it was a pie!” he said under his breath, out on
+the street again. And when the newcomer mounted his
+horse and rode away, carrying an apple pie, Sam Pepper
+goggled after him. It didn’t seem to make sense
+somehow.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lying Bill Yarbo</span>, the next day, told one of the most
+intriguing lies of his Munchausenesque career, in that
+it was one which later seemed to be borne out in fact.
+All this was much to Lying Bill Yarbo’s surprise.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper, that queer combination of curiosity
+and cowardice, speaking about the matter in a way
+he had, since nothing that happened was out of the
+circle of his interest and commentary, made an observation
+which fitted the case as a cowboy’s new boots fit
+his Chinese feet. Sam Pepper said:</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks, it’s ag’in natur’ that any man, lyin’ steady
+with every breath he draws for twenty year, won’t
+make a miscue and blunder into the outside edges of
+the truth once in a while. It’s like as if you took a gun
+and blazed away a thousand times, and even if you
+tried not to hit it you’d spot the bull’s-eye sooner-later.
+Accidents do happen.”</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill Yarbo rode into Sundown about noon
+and was seen—by Sam Pepper, of course—to rock somewhat
+unsteadily on his heels, then make a bee line to
+Doc Jones’ Drug Store. Sam Pepper sniffed the air like
+a hunting dog on a hot scent, and made his own bee
+line. It wasn’t like Lying Bill Yarbo to be drunk this
+time of day, and what did he want at the drug store
+anyhow?</p>
+
+<p>Inside, Lying Bill was getting patched up, painted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>with iodine until he looked like an Apache on the war
+trail, hung together with strips of bandage and doused
+with Wizard Oil, so that face and hands were all criss-crossed,
+doused with forty-rod whisky that soothed
+what ailed him and lubricated the floodgates of his
+speech.</p>
+
+<p>“I was riding up in the hills a piece,” said Lying Bill
+Yarbo. “I cut acrost Nigger Crick and went up over the
+saddle and down into Desolation Valley, and I seen
+three fellers down in there that I knowed. One of ’em
+was that very same Jim Torrance the feller in town
+was asking about yestiddy, and another was a half-breed
+I used to see around Tucumcari, and one was
+another feller; and so I rode down to pass the time o’
+day, and I seen three more fellers that was sorta hiding
+in the brush. Quick as a flash I made out what they
+was up to, ’cause they was getting set to murder another
+feller. Then them fellers made out that I’d seen
+what was going on, and they piled onto me. The whole
+six of ’em, being it was six that I counted, and there
+mought of been more. And we fit.”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper giggled.</p>
+
+<p>“Most likely they kilt pore old Bill Yarbo, bein’ so
+many ag’in him,” he offered humorously.</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill Yarbo glared him down.</p>
+
+<p>“We fit, like I said,” he said ponderously. “Me, I
+grabbed one man and slung him ag’in the crowd,
+knockin’ ’em all galley-west. And they begun shootin’
+and so did I, and I reckon I kilt some on ’em, and the
+rest got enough and run for it. I was that mad by then
+I’d of kilt ’em all, only I was sort of shaky and unsteady
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>from fighting so many, all the same time, and so the
+living ones escaped.”</p>
+
+<p>“Most likely,” Sam Pepper observed out of the corner
+of his mouth to the druggist’s boy, “he fell off’n
+his horse and rolled down a ten-foot drop of cliff somewheres,
+and most likely he wasn’t inside ten mile of
+Desolation Valley, and most likely—”</p>
+
+<p>That was as far as Sam Pepper got with his surmisings,
+for Lying Bill Yarbo had ears like a lynx and
+heard every word and doubled his fists and sort of
+leaned forward. Sam Pepper skipped to the door and
+stuck there, too interested to permit of full flight, too
+much afraid of Lying Bill Yarbo to draw closer.</p>
+
+<p>But the tale was told, and, though Lying Bill Yarbo
+elaborated it and put in some fancy stitches, nothing
+of any great import was added. It was, of course, a lie
+made out of whole cloth. The truth of the matter had
+been expressed unknowingly by Sam Pepper. Lying
+Bill Yarbo hadn’t been within miles of Desolation
+Valley that day, and he had gotten a bad spill when the
+young, half-broke horse he was riding shied at a rock
+rolling down into a bit of mountain trail. The rider,
+his wandering thoughts far afield, had come mighty
+close to going over a hundred-foot fall of granite rock
+instead of a mere ten, and was lucky to be alive, with
+no bones broken.</p>
+
+<p>But the oddest part of the whole thing was to follow.
+Sam Pepper was right and knew it in his bones;
+just the same he couldn’t sit still until he visited Desolation
+Valley. It was only a dozen miles or so to the
+northwest of Sundown, and within an hour of hearing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>the story he rode out of town, heading eastward to fool
+’em, then circling and turning toward Desolation. And
+he came dangerously close to being the second man to
+fall off his horse that day, when he found what he
+hadn’t the least expectation of finding.</p>
+
+<p>Already, high in the blue air, the turkey buzzards
+were spiraling. Sam Pepper won the race from them.
+He found a man lying dead, arms outflung, wild black
+hair hanging straight against bloodless temples, a neat
+blue hole in his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, cripes! I know this feller!” gasped Sam. “I
+seen him raising merry hell around Sundown only a
+coupla days ago. He was looking for Steve Bordereau,
+and Steve was out of town right then, and he shot his
+mouth off to say some day him or Steve was going to
+kill each other. And I’ll bet a man—”</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill Yarbo, when the news was brought to
+him, turned as red as a beet; even that bald and shiny
+pate of his, usually a pale pink, became a rich crimson.
+He swallowed a time or two; his Adam’s apple
+went pumping up and down and he seemed to find
+difficulty in breathing. But he was not Lying Bill
+Yarbo for nothing. He began to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s only one of ’em I kilt,” he proclaimed. “I
+dug a hole and buried the rest of ’em. Must of overlooked
+that feller.”</p>
+
+<p>With much laughter, with men slapping their own
+legs or the other fellows’ backs and vowing that Bill
+Yarbo was the very king of all good liars, Lying Bill
+Yarbo himself rode out of town hurriedly and was not
+seen for a week.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>“Ashamed, that’s what he is,” proclaimed Sam Pepper
+gleefully. “He’s gone to hide his old bald head.
+Most likely he’s that shamed that he’ll never come
+back, which would be a good thing for one and
+all!”</p>
+
+<p>And then—as though Sam Pepper didn’t already
+have enough on his mind to put a man into what was
+locally known as a state or a dither—all he had to do
+was climb the high pine hill pretty nearly centering his
+ranch, and from it look over to the old Hammond
+place, all of a sudden and without his knowledge taken
+over by a stranger who said that he wanted to see Jim
+Torrance—and who, if you asked him, said that he <i>was</i>
+Jim Torrance!</p>
+
+<p>“It’s beyant me,” muttered Sam Pepper when he
+had climbed the hill and had settled himself on a flat
+rock whence he could see far and wide. He saw the
+stranger going about the small house and barn and
+bunk house, pottering like a man at home; he saw the
+boy Skeeter and the dozen head of horses, likely looking
+stock, and the pack mules. “Must of bought the
+place,” he speculated. “Wonder how much he paid?
+Wonder what he’s up to? Wonder who the kid is?
+Wouldn’t be his boy; might be a kid brother. Wonder
+what makes his face look like it does, like he was athinking
+black and mysterious thoughts! I got a notion to
+go over—” His spare shoulders twitched and he made
+a wry face, squinching up his sharp-pointed nose. “If
+he is hiding some evil doings, and I found out—and
+he kotched me—he’d commit murder as quick as I’d
+spit terbaccy juice down a knot hole.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>Meantime the stranger, all unaware of the fact that
+he was being spied on whenever Sam Pepper had the
+leisure—and Sam always had plenty of leisure when
+there was something to be nosed out, and nearly always
+there was something afoot that invited his investigation—went
+about his work on the old Hammond ranch
+toward making it again what it had been a long time
+before, a tidy place to live on. First of all he and the
+boy mended fences; then they restored the old corral
+down by the barn, and after that they gave their attention
+to the barn itself. Those chores done, they
+did things to the old house. It was an ancient adobe
+with a plank shed addition like some noxious excretion
+that needed amputation. They tore the shed
+down and piled the lumber behind the house against
+some future use, as firewood perhaps. Then they
+carted out a lot of refuse and burned it; they cleaned
+out the well and installed a pair of new buckets on a
+new rope. Hour by hour the place brightened.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance’s premises were at last invaded by
+Sam Pepper, who could no longer resist making an
+exploratory expedition. He came over ostensibly to be
+neighborly but with eyes and ears taking in everything.
+It happened that at the moment a red hawk
+lighted on a pine top within what Sam Pepper would
+have described as rifle distance. Jim Torrance snapped
+a gun up from his dragging belt and set a bullet free—just
+like brushing a gnat away—no more premeditation,
+no more precision, you would have said; just an
+involuntary gesture. Yet it remained that the red hawk
+came straight down, a dead fluff of feathers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>“Don’t like ’em,” said Jim Torrance gently, and
+holstered his gun. He turned and looked Sam Pepper
+in the eye exactly as he had done that day in Sundown.
+“I’ve got doves around here that I do sort of like. The
+hawks bother ’em. Me, I’ve got no use for any sort of
+birds that go sticking their beaks into quiet folks’
+affairs.”</p>
+
+<p>And he kept on looking at Sam Pepper exactly as he
+had done in Sundown.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper went home.</p>
+
+<p>As for Jim Torrance, he smiled, if you could call it
+a smile, and went into the house. He shed his work
+clothes and dug some town clothes out of a canvas roll.
+He shook them out, brushed them, used a hot stove
+lid as an iron and pressed them. He called Skeeter in
+and said: “Kid, at last I’ll let you go on your way.
+Here’s what’s coming to you, with enough on top of it
+to buy you board and lodging for a few days. Adios and
+luck.”</p>
+
+<p>It was just one week from the day he had arrived in
+Sundown, just a week plus a few hours from the time
+he had overheard Steve Bordereau saying to Murdo,
+“I’ll have her upstairs at midnight a week from now.”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance rode into Sundown that night about
+ten o’clock. It was a Saturday night. That meant that
+the small town would be swollen like a tumor with that
+virulence which a horde of drinking, gambling, here-we-go,
+devil-may-care hell-rousers had the knack of
+injecting into an evening when they were at large.
+With them, cowboys and ranchers and dry-gulchers
+and mule skinners and desert rats, up from the Big
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>Sandy, and the rest of the denizens of the ridges between
+lowlands and highlands; the thing to do of a
+Saturday night was come to town.</p>
+
+<p>They came to town.</p>
+
+<p>When at ten o’clock Jim Torrance looked in at the
+Stag Horn Saloon it was upon no such quiet picture
+as he had mentally photographed that still afternoon
+of his first arrival. Now the place was jammed; the air
+was blue with cigarette and cigar smoke; a big, new
+magical-looking wheel turned out noisy music if you
+dropped a quarter into it, and quarters dropped like
+rain while voices shouted other voices down; and
+along the bar, upon which three busy barkeeps
+slammed down the drinks and raked in the silver,
+there was no space for a new invader unless he scrimmaged
+for it.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance, shaven and with his hair freshly
+combed, wearing a brand-new bandana about his
+throat, walked through the long room, looking things
+over. He kept thinking: “He’ll have her here at midnight.
+That’s two hours yet. Upstairs.”</p>
+
+<p>So he had his conventional drink and loafed through
+the place looking for its upstairs. He found a staircase,
+masked, until one looked sharply for it or knew where
+it was, by a pair of doors with veilings over them. As
+you came in from the street, all you had to do was turn
+right, instead of left where the barroom was, buck the
+doors, go upstairs and find the room where the wheel
+spun, where the faro layout invited, where chuck-a-luck
+and the rest of the popular games spun along wide
+open.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>“I’ll poke along upstairs at twelve o’clock,” said Jim
+Torrance to himself.</p>
+
+<p>A quirk of bitter humor molded his lips into a half
+smile that was the next thing to a sneer, for he thought:
+“I am like Sam Pepper, getting the disease known as
+elongated proboscis. What business is it of mine?”
+Just the same he was quietly determined to stick his
+long nose into the Bordereau-Sally Dawn affair.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly before midnight he found his way upstairs.
+On the upper landing, standing before closed doors,
+was a thick-bodied, beefy looking man who challenged
+him with a long, probing look.</p>
+
+<p>“Looking for somebody?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I want a run for my money,” said Torrance. “I can
+get it up here, can’t I?”</p>
+
+<p>The doorkeeper didn’t ask any more questions. The
+stranger didn’t look like a tin-horn. Anyhow, ten
+minutes would show whether he was a cheap skate or
+the real goods. He said: “Go ahead, Stranger. Right
+through them doors. You’ll find your game.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance entered a big room, bigger than the barroom
+downstairs, that would have surprised him had
+it not been that the place was so widely known that he
+and thousands of others had heard of it from far off.
+It was the particular room to give Bordereau and the
+Stag Horn their dubious reputations. Elegance, nothing
+less, was the keynote here. On top of elegance you
+had abundance. Whiskies and brandies were of the
+best that the Southwest knew, and the Southwest knew
+its liquor. There was champagne that didn’t sicken
+you; and the whiskies and brandies and wines flowed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>as from a spigot that aped the purse of Fortunatus.
+What was more to the point, you didn’t have to pay
+for what your throat yearned for. There was a sort of
+politeness in the room; your host was M. Bordereau,
+and his one desire appeared to be to go to any extreme
+to make you feel at home, to make you feel cordially
+received, to get you cordially warmed—and put you
+in the mood to shoot your wad at one of his gaming
+tables.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore the beefy man at the doors. It was his job
+to gauge all comers by the dollars-and-cents measure.
+You’d get anything liquid in the house that you
+wanted, free, not a cent for it; but you’d leave, at quitting
+time, nothing less than a hundred dollars. Maybe
+a thousand or ten times that. Steve Bordereau was
+wearing diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>There were already some forty or fifty people in the
+room, men for the most part, though there were a few
+women, the dazzling, hit-you-in-the-eye, effulgent type,
+those adventuresses that the West drew at that time
+from all the world.</p>
+
+<p>And there was Florinda.</p>
+
+<p>Steve Bordereau himself, in his long-tailed coat and
+trousers with stripes down them and patent leather
+shoes, was very much in evidence. He knew everyone
+by his first name and was a genial host and friend. He
+was as smooth as an eel in oil, yet remained as hard as
+lava rock. Before them all he was a courtly gentleman
+with Florinda on his arm; not ten minutes before he
+had grabbed her by the hair and slapped her face and
+told her, as though she needed telling, what she was.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>But before his public he bragged about her.</p>
+
+<p>This part of the establishment had been a gradual,
+natural growth. At first there had been just a poker
+room set aside for those who, when they wanted poker,
+wanted high stakes. There were several of them—old
+Tom Clark, the mine owner; Gaston Dubordieu, the
+gambler; three younger men, Juan Garcia, Walter
+Voorhees and Dick Hathaway, sons of three of the
+biggest cattle kings within a score of miles in any
+direction—and twenty miles was quite a step when you
+did it on horseback. These and their ilk at times
+brought others, and Steve Bordereau saw wisdom in
+accommodating them. So he had built on the second
+story, bricks laid on top of honest adobe, with not only
+a front but also a back stairway. He added a roulette
+wheel and a faro layout and dice and card games, and
+he made his regulations to shut out the nickel-shooters
+and admit only the dead-game sports.</p>
+
+<p>Further, of late he had added two other luxuries—a
+deep Turkey-red carpet and a young lady in evening
+dress.</p>
+
+<p>“She and the carpet add a nice homey touch,” he
+said sentimentally.</p>
+
+<p>The young lady—Florinda—greeted the boys smilingly
+and chatted with them; she encouraged them in
+extravagant notions and sat briefly with them at their
+tables, dropping in and fluttering away like a butterfly.
+She lifted her long-lashed eyes and widened them
+in horror at pikers’ bets; she clapped her hands when
+some young fool took the bit in his teeth and began
+to plunge.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>“And she’s a real lady,” Steve Bordereau boasted of
+her. “One of the fine old Spanish family of Valdez y
+Verdugo. The Señorita Florinda de Valdez y Verdugo,
+that’s who she is! The real goods, no gutter-snipe. Not
+from Mexico—from Spain. You see, she just happened
+to be visiting in Mexico City when all her folks got
+slaughtered in that Jerez revolution. The family fortune
+was swept away, nothing left but the Verdugo
+jewels that she’s wearing tonight.” Without stint, he
+had spent sixty dollars for the double handful of glass
+diamonds and rubies and emeralds.</p>
+
+<p>To Florinda, not ten minutes ago, he had said in
+one of the private rooms: “You damn little fool, watch
+out for the booze tonight. Get tight just once more
+and I’ll kick you clean from here to the border dive
+where I picked you up, and where that <i>novio</i> of yours
+will pop a knife into you like sticking a pig.”</p>
+
+<p>As Jim Torrance wandered through the long room,
+looking at the games that were already running, glancing
+at faces to see whether any were familiar, and then
+stood up at the bar, he saw Florinda for the first time.
+She was not six feet away and chanced to turn at that
+moment and their eyes met.</p>
+
+<p>“You!” she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>He stared coldly at her. And Steve Bordereau noted
+her exclamation and Torrance’s impassive, masklike
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau came forward and explained to Torrance
+that up here a man did not have to pay for his
+drinks. It was all on the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Drink hearty,” he said. “Have a good time,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>Stranger.”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance set a ten dollar gold coin spinning.</p>
+
+<p>“I pay for my drinks, unless I’m drinking with a
+friend, or go thirsty,” he replied.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau shrugged. To the man behind the bar he
+said: “This gentleman is new here, Charlie. Let him
+have things his way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” said Charlie, and to Torrance, “What’s
+your relish, Stranger?”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance had his drink, but out of the corner of his
+eye he saw Bordereau signal the girl aside. He couldn’t
+overhear their words but thought that he could come
+pretty close to guessing their burden. Bordereau would
+be saying: “Say, you know that man! Who is he?” She
+would have to confess that she didn’t quite know.</p>
+
+<p>But Florinda was saying more than that. A shiver
+twitched at her bare shoulders as though she were
+cold. She said rapidly:</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know who he is, but I am afraid of him!
+There is something terrible about him. Did you see
+how he looked at me?”</p>
+
+<p>“You do know him,” snapped Bordereau.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw him once, only once; that’s all. Down in
+Nacional where I was dancing at the place of One Eye
+Perez where you found me. The way he looked at me
+just now, he looked at a man like that that night—and
+before the sun came up that man was dead. That is
+all I know. I swear it!”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder!” He looked at her suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance amused himself for a while at one of
+the tables; faro was his game when it wasn’t poker,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>but tonight his eye was less for the card the dealer
+slid from its rack than for the several doors opening
+into the long room. It was full midnight now, and
+the sullen little beauty with the smoky eyes, Sally
+Dawn, was nowhere in evidence. He was glad, because
+he wanted to have Steve Bordereau fail to make good
+his boast, yet it remained that he was disappointed,
+too.</p>
+
+<p>Then he saw Bordereau look at his heavy gold
+watch and hurry out through a door at the far end of
+the room; that way was the head of the back staircase,
+and also, as Torrance later discovered, a series of small
+private rooms—a dressing room, an office, small rooms
+for poker. He thought—because Bordereau had looked
+at his watch: “He’s going to get her now. He looks
+smug and somehow like he’d raked in a jack pot.”</p>
+
+<p>He was right. Almost immediately Steve Bordereau
+returned, and Sally Dawn came with him. The gambler
+threw the door wide with a gesture; he extended a
+dramatic arm in another wide gesture, ushering her
+in. Then a hush fell upon the room as she stood framed
+in the doorway.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Steve Bordereau</span> was a showman of sorts; else he’d
+never have made the Stag Horn so widely publicized
+across hundreds of Southwestern miles. He knew values
+and how to emphasize them.</p>
+
+<p>A murmur went up when all eyes were drawn to
+Sally Dawn. She was pale, with no rouge on her cheeks,
+and her lips were scarlet. She wore long ruby-red earrings—ruby-red
+but not rubies. No others of Bordereau’s
+glass gems adorned her. Her gown was exquisite,
+costly and in marked contrast to La Florinda’s flashy
+one, a beautifully simple thing of white satin. She carried
+a large black ostrich-feather fan in her left hand.
+Her eyes looked enormous.</p>
+
+<p>“My friends!” sang out a triumphant Bordereau,
+“I have a new surprise for you, and here she is! It is
+Miss Sally Dawn Cannon, and I guess some of you already
+know her, the daughter of the late cattle king,
+Big Bill Cannon. She has consented to come here to be
+still another hostess, like the Señorita Florinda de
+Valdez y Verdugo, and to be friendly with all my
+friends. And to start with, she asks everyone here to
+drink her a little toast! Nothing in the house is too
+good for tonight, and it comes to you with Steve
+Bordereau’s compliments.”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn smiled upon them. It was a lovely smile,
+thought Jim Torrance, and he thought also, “Well,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>money can buy most things.” Bordereau’s announcement
+was greeted with cheers and hand clappings. Torrance
+went on with his faro, playing as though he did
+not care whether he won or lost, and so he started winning.
+He saw Sally Dawn go straight to the Mexican
+girl; Florinda showed her beautiful white teeth in what
+went for a glad smile of greeting. The two girls spoke
+together a moment, Sally Dawn eagerly, Florinda appearing
+more reserved; perhaps she was striving for a
+hauteur to match the proud names Verdugo and Valdez.</p>
+
+<p>Then men began surging forward, flocking for the
+most part about the new girl; in champagne of Bordereau’s
+providing or their own choice of liquor they
+drank her health and happiness. And to Jim Torrance,
+still at his faro table, it seemed that she was the gayest
+of the gay ones; he thought that he had never seen eyes
+sparkle and glimmer as hers did.</p>
+
+<p>Then she was swept away by a small party who
+wanted her at their table, and La Florinda went her
+own way with her own friends, hovering with them
+over a roulette wheel, and Torrance finished his
+game, pocketed his winnings and moved farther down
+the long room. He stood there at the end of the bar,
+his glass twirling slowly between lean brown fingers,
+his eyes, always low-lidded, looking lazy, yet secretly
+watchful.</p>
+
+<p>He marked the face of every man and woman in the
+place; he took stock of winners and losers, of hard
+drinkers and hard players. When any newcomer arrived—and
+men were coming in all the time, the room
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>filling and overflowing—he saw them. When some
+went out from time to time, he took note.</p>
+
+<p>A very few departed early through the front doors,
+going down the front stairs and about their business,
+homeward bound perhaps. Several went out through
+one of the three doors set in the wall toward the rear
+end of the room. He gathered, without asking, that
+these were off to play poker in private rooms. He spotted
+the men, two of them, who would play for the
+house. Perhaps later Steve Bordereau would play for
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>Again the new girl caught his attention, and his eyes
+still further narrowed until they were mere light-flickering
+slits. She seemed gayer than ever, eager, electric;
+he thought he had never heard such bright laughter.
+The warmth of color now staining her cheeks might
+have resulted, along with the exhilaration gripping her,
+from the wine that had flowed so generously.</p>
+
+<p>And then he saw her eyes, and knew instantly that
+he had her all wrong. They chanced to meet his across
+the room—frightened, panicky, desperate eyes. Whatever
+reason the girl might have to bring her here, she
+was scared half to death.</p>
+
+<p>She had just risen swiftly from a table where she was
+being made much of by four men. Steve Bordereau,
+who had never lost sight of her, hastened to her side;
+his hand, firm and agile and powerful, came to rest on
+her arm. As the men at the table rose, too, one of them
+drunk and leering, Bordereau said cheerfully:</p>
+
+<p>“Go on ahead, boys; we’ll be back with you in two
+shakes.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>The four went out at one of the rear doors. Bordereau,
+with his hand still on the girl’s arm, stooped
+closer, his face close to hers. His words, so softly spoken
+were they, did not carry any farther than he meant
+them to carry. Then, though the girl for a moment
+stood very stiff, she turned to go with him, out of the
+room at the rear. The two passed quite near where
+Jim Torrance stood at the end of the bar.</p>
+
+<p>The girl said, “That man is a beast, the one who
+wants to pay me to be his mascot—”</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau said: “Shut up, you little fool! You’ll do
+what I tell you!”</p>
+
+<p>She answered, in a queer, strained voice, “You can’t
+make me do a thing like that.”</p>
+
+<p>She had pulled back, but they were passing on again.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau said angrily, “You know I can make you
+do anything!”</p>
+
+<p>She said, scarcely above a whisper: “I won’t. I’d kill
+you!”</p>
+
+<p>They went on then. A door opened and closed after
+them.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“Know a man around here named Jim Torrance?”
+Jim Torrance asked the nearest bartender.</p>
+
+<p>“No. Never heard of him.”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance paid for his drink with a silver dollar.
+As things happened, he did not wait for his change.
+Above the noise in the room, he heard the shot, not
+loud but clear and eloquent enough. Nor did he wait
+to note whether any others heard and marked it too.
+Two or three swift, long strides brought him to the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>door through which the gambler and the girl had just
+passed. There was a hallway with another set of doors
+on the farther side; a couple of shaded lamps gave their
+dim, colorful light. He saw Bordereau and Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau had not yet fallen, but had his back
+against the wall and appeared to be sliding slowly
+sideways. The girl had dropped her big black fan; the
+only thing she held was a small pistol. There was a look
+of horror on Bordereau’s face, a look of horror, almost
+twin with it, on hers. Her fingers opened slowly
+and the pistol clattered to the floor.</p>
+
+<p>“I have killed him! I am glad! He—”</p>
+
+<p>From her, Jim Torrance looked swiftly at Bordereau
+again. The man was down now; he had flung up an arm
+as he lurched; a hand brushed his face; Torrance saw
+the bloodstain there. He started to shrug; what affair
+was it of his?</p>
+
+<p>Then he heard a clamor as a door was thrown open
+against a wall and men called out and came running.
+At the same moment he saw the head of the back staircase.</p>
+
+<p>“Get out of here, quick; on the run!” he commanded.
+“They’re all Bordereau’s friends, not yours.”</p>
+
+<p>She didn’t move; she didn’t appear to have heard.
+He stooped to pick up the fallen pistol and her black
+fan; he caught her by the arm and ran with her to the
+stairs. They plunged downward together, the girl half
+falling, half carried by the strong hand that bore her
+along. Together they darted out at the rear of the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>His one thought was to get her clear until she could
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>have her own friends at her back, until the Bordereau
+pack had cooled a bit. He ran with her to the front of
+the building where horses were. He meant to throw her
+onto a horse, to pile onto another and be off with her
+that way. Then he saw the one wheeled rig, a buckboard
+as lean and light as a greyhound, with a pole
+team.</p>
+
+<p>“Yours?” he demanded, seeing that there was but
+the one team here, knowing that most men came on
+horseback, and arguing that she, if she had dressed at
+home, would have mussed her dress on a saddle and
+hence had come in the buckboard.</p>
+
+<p>She gasped out something, he couldn’t make it out.
+Well, it didn’t matter. He swung her up bodily over
+a wheel to the seat; he ran and untied the horses; he
+slipped the reins into her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Get going, on the run,” he commanded. “I’ll grab
+my horse and follow.”</p>
+
+<p>His horse was tied only a few feet away. He jerked
+the tie rope free, swung up into the saddle—and saw
+that she had not stirred; there she sat, a slim, white,
+rigid figure on the seat. He rapped out again, “Get
+going!” and lashed the horses over their rumps with
+the end of his tie rope. The horses were off at a run,
+frightened; the girl began to sway, then to lean sideways,
+reminding him of Bordereau settling to the
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>With the horses running, he spilled out of his saddle
+to the tail end of the buckboard, keeping the tie rope
+still in one hand, leading his own horse. As he came to
+the back of her seat he saw that the girl’s hand lay
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>loosely at her sides; she had dropped the reins and they
+were about to vanish over the dashboard. He made a
+wild grab for them, caught them just in time—and
+just in time caught her, too. She had fainted dead away.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s hell to pay,” he growled. Never had he had
+his hands so filled—with the reins of the runaway team,
+his own horse’s lead rope, and now an unconscious
+Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>He managed to ease her down on the seat, her head
+and shoulders on his knee; he gave the lead rope a
+couple of turns about the guard rail at the back of the
+seat, thrust the free end under him, anchoring it against
+any but a severe tug by sitting on it while he used both
+hands for a fighting second or two, getting the runaway
+team under control. Then he looked back through the
+starlit dark of the night to see whether they were followed
+and made out that they were not as yet. He
+looked ahead and briefly wondered where he and the
+girl were headed. There had been no time, no chance
+to choose a direction.</p>
+
+<p>They were speeding north, and his ranch lay to the
+north of Sundown, so, at the first side road, a wavering,
+little-used lane through the pines, he swung homeward.
+If the confounded girl hadn’t slumped into a
+faint on him she could tell him where she lived, where
+she wanted to go now; he himself hadn’t the least idea.
+Now the only thing he saw to do was carry her to his
+place; they might not look for her there—and even a
+Sam Pepper couldn’t see in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>He kept the horses on the run on the down grades,
+saving them on the pulls, letting them blow a time or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>two. When he pulled up at the side of the gray and
+ghostly road where the old dead pine leaned over the
+big white rock, the girl stirred and moaned sobbingly
+and sat up. He got down, tied the horses in the dark
+under the pines, put up his hands to her, and said
+curtly, “Better hop down.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where are you taking me?” she asked then.</p>
+
+<p>“My place. It’s only a step beyond the gate there.
+Then I’ll come back and get rid of this team somehow;
+they won’t be able to follow the tracks tonight, but tomorrow
+they will. By that time I can get you home.”</p>
+
+<p>She did not stir to get down.</p>
+
+<p>“Why not now?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Suit yourself. But if Bordereau’s dead— Well, where
+will they look first of all for you?”</p>
+
+<p>She put her face down into the shelter of her hands;
+he stood close enough to see how she shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>Once again he tried to shrug away all responsibility,
+yet somehow he couldn’t quite make a go of it. He
+didn’t like Steve Bordereau and he didn’t care much
+for the gambler’s crowd of friends; further, he remembered
+two things—how the gambler had gripped
+her by the arm, and how a strange terror had dilated
+her eyes. He stood a moment looking up at her uncertainly;
+then he simply reached up and lifted her
+down in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>“Come along with me; I won’t hurt you any. Whatever
+you do now, you had better take time to think.”</p>
+
+<p>She slipped out of his arms and answered quickly,
+“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way, opened the gate and showed her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>the house; it was dark but the dull gray adobe walls
+were revealed by the glimmer of the stars. He waited
+for her at the open door; he heard her teeth begin to
+chatter.</p>
+
+<p>“Step in and I’ll light a lamp; we’ll have no light until
+the door is shut.”</p>
+
+<p>With the door shut and a smoky-chimneyed coal oil
+lamp burning wanly on a box that served as table, she
+did not look about her to see what this bare room was
+like but lifted her eyes straightway to his; they were
+no longer sullen but were bright with burning anguish.</p>
+
+<p>“I killed him,” she said. “I wanted to kill him—and
+I did.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe not,” he told her. “A man doesn’t die every
+time a bullet from a small caliber gun hits him.”</p>
+
+<p>“If I did kill him, I can only hope that I won’t live
+long. If I didn’t— Well, I might as well be dead.” And
+then she demanded: “Why did you step in? Why are
+you trying to help me? You don’t even know me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I meant to take you straight to your folks, but you
+toppled over and we had to start on the jump, and I
+don’t know where you live. That’s why I brought you
+here—”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t get his face out of my mind—how he looked
+when he slumped down. He— Oh, God!”</p>
+
+<p>“Look out!” said Jim Torrance sharply. “Don’t you
+start going to pieces!”</p>
+
+<p>There was not a chair in the room, so she dropped
+down in a corner, her face hidden in her hands as it
+had been in the buckboard, as though she were fighting
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>desperately thus to shut out something she could not
+bear to look at.</p>
+
+<p>“How far from here,” he asked her, “to your home?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s not far, just across the hills, but there’s no road.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d have to go back the way we came, almost to
+Sundown; the road turns off there. And I’d be sure to
+meet them—”</p>
+
+<p>“Just across the hills? We could make it on horseback.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.” She stood up. “I’ll go now, right away. My
+mother is desperately ill.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you left her to go to the Stag Horn!” His tone
+was as good as a slap in her face. He softened it somewhat,
+however, when he saw the anguish seeming to
+burn higher and higher in her eyes, and said: “Well,
+your folks will be taking care of her. But about going
+right now—”</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t any other folks. There is just Mother, and
+I think she is dying. I left her alone with an ignorant,
+shiftless and pretty nearly heartless Indian woman.
+That’s why I must hurry.”</p>
+
+<p>He realized that there was a lot he did not know
+about this girl. He asked: “What about your team?
+It is yours, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.” She looked down at her gleaming white gown,
+soiled and rumpled now, and set her hands to it as
+though she wanted to rip it off her body. “I drove over,
+so as not to muss this thing! The team? What do
+I care—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to ride along with you,” said Torrance,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>“anyhow until you sight your house. Now you just wait
+here while I go saddle a horse for you; it’s in the pasture,
+so it’ll be a few minutes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hurry!” she begged him.</p>
+
+<p>He went first of all to where he had left the buckboard.
+He swung the team back into the road, still
+leading his own horse, and drove on at a run for a good
+mile. Where there was a possible though roadless way
+down into the dark, timbered canyon, he drove down
+into it, a winding way among the trees. There he left
+the buckboard; the horses, hastily unhitched and unharnessed,
+he turned loose, trusting that they’d return
+home in the course of time but not in any great haste.
+After that he hunted in the buckboard against the mere
+chance that the girl’s fan or the gun he had dropped
+there had stayed with them on their rapid flight from
+Sundown; he found neither.</p>
+
+<p>He met Sally Dawn, a slim white satin shape, at the
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>“Where have you been? I thought you had gone
+away!”</p>
+
+<p>He told her briefly, then at last went for a horse for
+her, cinched on his spare saddle, wondering how the
+devil she was going to manage with that dress on, and
+returned to her.</p>
+
+<p>She managed all right. As a matter of fact she had
+thought of the problem before he did and had solved
+it after a fashion. While he was away with the team
+she had found a sharp knife and some string in his
+kitchen. With a sort of savage delight she ripped
+that satin gown fore and aft so that it hung in two panels
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>like a divided skirt. With the string she bound the two
+separate divisions about her legs from ankle to thigh.
+When he saw her mount it was like seeing a young
+page from some old court.</p>
+
+<p>The way they rode, the girl leading along dim, dark
+trails, it was but four or five miles to the old King
+Cannon Ranch. The first winking light which she was
+first to glimpse was, she told him, home. He spurred to
+her side and put his hand on her horse’s reins.</p>
+
+<p>“Listen! You said you left your mother alone with
+the Indian woman. Well, listen!”</p>
+
+<p>The night was still, and sounds carried far and
+clearly. There were men’s voices; there were drumming
+hoofbeats, still in the distance. That meant that
+already there were several men here, others soon to
+arrive.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care! I’ve got to go to her. They won’t
+dare—”</p>
+
+<p>“Wouldn’t Steve Bordereau have dared a pretty
+good deal?”</p>
+
+<p>“He can’t now!” Her voice was brittle. “I’m glad!
+Now, let me go.”</p>
+
+<p>“No. Keep your hair on. Wait here for me. I’ll ride
+down, find out how things stand, and be back before
+you know it. You wait here!”</p>
+
+<p>He dipped forward in the saddle and shot away,
+and what he had commanded her to do she did. There
+was a quality in his voice which as much as said, “When
+I say you’ve got to do a thing, you’ve got to do it.”</p>
+
+<p>A thin little night breeze blew around her and she
+shivered, not so much with cold as with nervous dread.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>She listened to the hammering of his horse’s hoofs, and
+they sounded like far, sinister drumbeats. She lost
+sight of him down in a hollow brimming with black
+night, and for a little while she stared into the utter
+dark down there and felt its symbolism sweep over her
+like a palpable, drowning tide. When she raised her
+eyes and looked straight up at the millions of twinkling
+lights bespangling the wide sweep of cloudless sky,
+they seemed infinitely farther away than ever before,
+and as chill as a wintry morning glinting on frost.</p>
+
+<p>She began to listen for his return long before she
+heard it. The thing that put a new dread into her was
+the slowness with which he was riding. She told herself:
+“He’s just saving his horse. He has ridden it hard tonight.
+And it’s uphill.”</p>
+
+<p>But when he returned to her and didn’t speak out
+immediately, she understood that something terrible
+had happened. He came very close; this time, instead
+of putting his hand on her reins, he put it on her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got to take things the way they come, youngster.
+In this life, we don’t deal ourselves all the cards
+we’ve got to play.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s my mother!” she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>His hand closed, hard and firm on hers.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“She is dead!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I wasn’t there! Let me go now; let me go!
+Quick!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hold it. Hold it, youngster.” It was he who held
+her. “You can’t go now, not right now. There’s a bunch
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>of roughnecks down there that— Well, I’d rather deal
+with coyotes. They’re a lot of low-lifes of the Bordereau
+crowd. They’re half drunk and mean, and they say— Well,
+they’re talking wild. They won’t stay all night.
+Let them go first.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care, I don’t care!” She wrenched furiously
+to break his grip. “I’m going—”</p>
+
+<p>“Steve Bordereau’s dead,” he said bluntly. “They
+were talking about it down at the house.”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you I don’t care about anything now! She
+wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for Steve Bordereau—he
+ought to have been killed long ago. Let me go. You
+can’t stop me—”</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t I?”</p>
+
+<p>He removed his hand only to scoop her out of her
+saddle and onto his own. Then he swung his horse
+about and turned back along the way they had come.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> following day had Sam Pepper running around
+in circles. Pop Smith, down at the General Store, said,
+“Sam reminds me of a dog chasin’ his own tail.” Hank
+Webber, the stage driver, said, “He’ll have a fit afore
+the day’s over.” Lying Bill Yarbo remarked, “He’s
+goin’ to blow up an’ bust; an’ me, I don’t want to be
+anywheres near when <i>that</i> happens.” He put thumb
+and finger to his nose.</p>
+
+<p>But under the circumstances there was no one—excepting
+Lying Bill Yarbo of course—who really
+censured the inquisitive little man for his state of excitement.
+Things had happened, the sort of things
+which were bound to interfere with Sam Pepper’s
+proper attention to his own victuals and drink and
+everyday affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper fairly danced up and down.</p>
+
+<p>“It all begun with Sally Dawn Cannon being at
+Bordereau’s gambling room! Her! What do you
+s’pose made her go to a place like that? All dressed up,
+they say, like a queen, in white silk with diamonds
+and ever’thing. Why wasn’t I there? And then look
+what happens. She kills Steve Bordereau! Kills him!
+Her! What about that? <i>Why?</i> What made her? And
+then where’d she go? Talk about mysteries! Just
+vanished—poof! Like that. And that ain’t half of it!”</p>
+
+<p>No, that wasn’t half of it. Sam Pepper was all over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>town, out of town, back to town, everywhere; he must
+have asked ten thousand questions that day. He said
+over and over:</p>
+
+<p>“Sally Dawn’s mother died last night, while all the
+rest of hell was popping, and I want to know why. And
+most of all, tell me this: Can a dead woman walk? The
+old woman’s dead body’s vanished, too, ain’t it? How in
+hell? Where? <i>Why?</i> A woman dies and her body
+vanishes, and all you lunkheads do is squat and let
+things happen and don’t even try to find out about
+’em!”</p>
+
+<p>So tremendously did all these occurrences obsess
+him that for the moment he lost all interest in Jim
+Torrance, and so failed of coming in contact with the
+one person who, if by any chance he had cared to do so,
+could have set Sam Pepper right all along the line. For
+Jim Torrance was at home all day, pottering around
+his ranch and letting his thoughts travel almost as far
+afield as curious Sam’s.</p>
+
+<p>Last night he had prevailed, at first by physical
+strength and then by the suasion of cool logic, upon
+a girl in the grip of such frenzy as came close to making
+her into a mad thing. She screamed at him until he shut
+off her screams with a hard hand; she fought, scratching
+and pummeling and biting. Until she wore herself
+out, she evinced a strength surprising in such slender
+feminine shapeliness. But in the end she melted, exhausted,
+in his arms, and he talked with her, and after
+a while she listened.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s tough, but you’ve got to take it. Don’t you
+suppose other folks have had to take it, no matter how
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>tough? Your mother, in her time, your own kids in
+their time, if you ever have any.”</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t! I never will! Life is so ugly, like a big
+fiendish brute, like a gorilla. I hate it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Life’s all right,” said Jim Torrance, sounding vastly
+indifferent. “It’s sort of like taking a trip through the
+woods; you’ve got your ups and you’ve got your downs,
+all kinds of steep places and level places, too; and
+deserts after you pop out of the shade, and sun and rain
+and nice little sections of both heaven and hell.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s cruel and merciless, and it’s vile.”</p>
+
+<p>“You knew your mother was a mighty sick woman;
+you knew she had to die before long—”</p>
+
+<p>“I might have saved her! That was why I let Steve
+Bordereau make me do things I hated. He—”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind Steve Bordereau now. I’m talking
+about your mother. She is dead, and you can’t help
+that. You can go down to the house where she is if you
+want to; I won’t hold you back any more after you’ve
+had time to think. Only I’ll tell you what’ll happen if
+you go now. There’s a tough bunch hanging around,
+and they’re all Bordereau bums; and they’re half
+drunk, some of ’em, and the rest are more so. They’ll
+grab you; they’ll yank you off to Sundown or somewhere.
+God knows what they’ll do with you, but you
+could be sure of one thing. By the time you got back
+home, if you ever did, your ma’d be buried somewhere.
+Likely enough you’d never even know where.”</p>
+
+<p>He had set her down at the base of a big pine. Slowly
+she slid down close to the ground; she lay there, flattened
+against the earth; he couldn’t hear a sob from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>her then and it was too dark for him to see how she
+writhed.</p>
+
+<p>He waited a while, then spoke emotionlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go down to the house again pretty soon. They
+won’t pay much attention to me, as why should they?
+They won’t stick around all night. There will be only
+the Indian woman left. I’ll scare her off. Then you can
+come.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Late that night it was Jim Torrance who dug the
+grave on the knoll back of the house near that other
+grave, already six years occupied by the former cattle
+king, Bill Cannon. He found mattock and shovel in the
+tool shed, and some planks. And it was Jim Torrance
+who, just before daylight, bore in his arms a thin,
+wasted figure, blanket-enwrapped. All had gone; none
+had any thought of the dead woman except the Indian
+woman, and she had been glad to flee the place when
+Torrance gave her her chance. The girl had had her
+vigil on her knees by her mother’s bedside while Torrance
+was digging. She did her weeping alone; when he
+came for her she stood up and helped him. She said,
+when they came to the knoll:</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want anyone to know even where she is.
+They were so cruel to her. I mean Bordereau and Murdo
+and those men you say were here tonight.”</p>
+
+<p>So they replaced the dry sod over the unmounded
+grave; they scattered pine needles over it. Torrance
+even dug up a couple of small bushes and planted them
+on an already pretty nearly obliterated rectangle.</p>
+
+<p>“And now?” said Jim Torrance. “What about you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>“I don’t know. I don’t care. Oh, I’ll go away.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where? Friends?”</p>
+
+<p>“Anywhere. Friends? No. I haven’t anyone. I don’t
+want anyone.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see.” He rolled a cigarette; rolled and rolled it
+until it was as smooth and hard as a lead pencil.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t thanked you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t.” He kept on rolling that cigarette of his.
+Then he cocked an eye at the eastern horizon. “It’ll
+be sun-up real soon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I must hurry. While it’s still dark. I’ve got to
+slip away as though—as though I were a murderer!”
+She broke into a shrill, sobbing laughter.</p>
+
+<p>“Slam the brakes on,” he said. He lighted his cigarette,
+then held it before his moody eyes, studying the
+red glow of its burning end.</p>
+
+<p>“You have been mighty good to me,” she said. “You
+don’t know me; I don’t even know who you are. Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why what?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why have you gone out of your way, gone to so
+much trouble to treat me like—like a friend?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t like Steve Bordereau,” he said, clipping
+his words short. “I don’t like Murdo, his side-kick.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see.” And she added, her own words clipped as
+short as his and shorter with their bitterness, “It was
+Clark Murdo first, Steve Bordereau next and working
+with him, who ruined us.”</p>
+
+<p>“You haven’t answered me,” said Jim Torrance, and
+didn’t seem interested in her relations with Bordereau
+and Murdo and her sequential opinions of them. “Now
+what?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>“I’ve told you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Only it won’t work.” He flipped his cigarette away,
+then strode to where it had fallen, to grind it out under
+the toe of his boot. “I listened to the men talking at
+the house before they drifted. Me, being a Johnny-come-lately,
+I don’t get it all. But I do get this: Maybe
+they won’t string you up the way they’d handle a man—but
+maybe, too, there are things a girl like you would
+hate just about as bad. They’re plugging all the roads.
+You try to skip and they’ll get you.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Clark Murdo,” she said angrily. “That’s who it
+is. If Steve Bordereau were alive, it would be Bordereau.
+But with him dead”—she said it as steadily
+as though she were not remembering—“it’s Clark
+Murdo.”</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his shoulders as much as to say, “What’s
+that got to do with me?” He reached for his Durham
+bag, then changed his mind and pulled his hat off to
+run his brown fingers through his thick black mane
+of hair.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll come along with me,” he said. “Back to my
+place. I’ll get you away, clear, from there. Let’s get
+going.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t understand—”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t have to understand. Anyhow, there’s
+nothing that wants any understanding. You’re free,
+white and—you’re grown up.” She must be eighteen
+or nineteen or a barely possible twenty; at that ripe
+age a girl was a woman. “I’m asking you to come along.
+If you don’t want to, remember the road’s open both
+ends.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>She came along. She was half dead with stress, grief
+and weariness. At the house she had kicked off that
+hated white satin gown and donned riding breeches
+and boots. She forked her horse the way he did, and
+they rode.</p>
+
+<p>They rode through the dark under the pines, as
+silent and dark within themselves as the black pines
+were. They came up to the top of a thinly timbered
+ridge and into the wan glow of a new day, two self-contained
+black silhouettes against a pale-blue wall
+glinting with fading stars. And when the first roseate
+flush crept into the lower sky they returned to Jim
+Torrance’s new ranch.</p>
+
+<p>He made coffee, fried bacon, stirred up flapjacks and
+presented them as brown as October acorns. She
+wouldn’t eat, she couldn’t—but she did. He said:</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve just moved in here. It’s still mostly like a pigpen.
+But I’ve got some clean blankets. You lie down;
+maybe after while you’ll get some sleep.”</p>
+
+<p>He slammed the door after him and concerned himself
+with various ranch chores which kept him near the
+house. Most of the time, under his low-drawn hat
+brim, his eyes were watchful. He saw her when, about
+four hours later, she came to the door. Before she could
+get well into the open he bore down upon her.</p>
+
+<p>“Get back inside. I’ll tell you a thing or two.”</p>
+
+<p>First to tell her was something which she already
+knew but needed to ponder. Sam Pepper’s ranch was
+adjoining, and Sam had developed the habit of going
+atop a hill to spy on the newcomer.</p>
+
+<p>“I had a skinny kid named Skeeter helping me,” he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>said. “He’s gone now, but most likely nobody noticed.
+You’ll find some of my old clothes in that back room;
+there’s a pack needle and thread. You can make ’em
+into the sort of misfits Skeeter wore. From a distance
+you’d look enough like him. There’s an old hat of
+mine in there too. All you got to do is just be a spindling,
+gawky boy; that ought to be easy.”</p>
+
+<p>She didn’t say anything.</p>
+
+<p>Later Jim Torrance saw several men riding along
+the road in front of his place. They passed on and out
+of sight. Presently they came riding back. He said to
+himself, “They found the buckboard.”</p>
+
+<p>This time they turned in at his gate, and he met
+them on the wheel track that served as a rutted road.</p>
+
+<p>“Howdy,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s the Cannon girl?” said one of them, a
+skinny man like a hungry coyote. “Seen anything of
+her?”</p>
+
+<p>“Who?” asked Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“The Cannon girl. King Cannon’s kid. She killed
+Steve Bordereau last night, grabbed all the loose
+money she could get hold of and made a get-away.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t say,” murmured Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>They looked at him shrewdly. One of them, a gimlet-eyed,
+lanky young hellion, said sharply:</p>
+
+<p>“You was in town yourse’f. You know all about it.
+She headed out this way. We found her buckboard.
+Where’s she at now?”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance’s shrug at its best, as now, was eloquent.</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I’m a stranger in these parts. I’m up here alone,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>save for the kid over yonder,” and his gesture indicated
+a slim, slight figure on a hill nearly a mile away working
+at a fence. “If you think we’ve got the girl hid up
+our sleeves, look for her.” His gaze, as stern as an
+eagle’s, came back to their faces. “A flock of grown
+men trying to run down one lone girl? You make a
+man laugh.”</p>
+
+<p>“Got any meanin’ back o’ that, Stranger?” demanded
+the sharp-eyed, lanky man.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Torrance appeared to consider the
+matter. Then he gave them a second shrug and strode
+away, going off to the corral, which he, like the slim,
+slight, distant figure at the fence, was making a pretence
+of mending. He knew that in the house they’d
+find no trace of her; he himself had seen to that.</p>
+
+<p>He saw them when they came out. They stood a
+while talking among themselves; then they went out
+to the barn, passing quite near where he was. He gave
+no evidence of paying them the slightest attention, but
+none the less he noticed when they came to a halt and
+looked across the fields to the hilltop where the solitary,
+unhidden figure was. He knew, too, how her
+heart was pumping then under that old ragged shirt
+of his which he had made her put on for the masquerade.
+In that, in old hacked-off trousers of his and his
+worst hat, she looked as little like the Sally Dawn Cannon
+he had seen in a white satin dress at Bordereau’s
+as a scarecrow looks like a crescent moon. They might
+decide to take time off for a word with the “kid.” Well,
+she knew her part. If she saw them start her way, she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>was to climb into the saddle of the horse tied to a fence
+post, to ride leisurely over the brow of the hill—and
+then to dig her spurs in for all she was worth.</p>
+
+<p>They went on into the empty barn. Torrance heard
+them talking in lowered voices before they came out.
+Again they looked over to the hilltop where the figure
+of what was supposed to be Skeeter, the kid Torrance
+had brought along to help with the horses, was busier
+than ever at the fence.</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe the kid’s seen her?” said one of the men,
+looking at Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>He got a third shrug.</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>The men then went away. But they stopped before
+they got to the gate to call back:</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry we bothered you, Stranger. Guess she didn’t
+come this way after all.”</p>
+
+<p>Any man with half his wits about him could have
+seen through that studied remark as through a clean
+windowpane, and Jim Torrance wasn’t missing anything
+obvious today. He told himself thoughtfully:
+“They’ll be back about dark, or maybe one of them
+will stick around, hid in the pines. They know damn
+well she did come this way.”</p>
+
+<p>He kept busy another hour at the corral, then went
+into the house for ten minutes, smoking and letting
+time pass. After that he saddled a horse, got a crowbar,
+shovel and hammer, and rode lazily across the fields
+to lend a hand at fence mending. The girl, watching
+him coming, turned frightened eyes upon him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“They’ve gone?”</p>
+
+<p>“Gone, sure. Not far, though. And they’ll be coming
+back.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. They found the buckboard where I ditched it,
+and back-trailed this far. They’re not fools—or if they
+are, they’re not plumb fools. I’ve a notion anyhow one
+of them is watching us now.”</p>
+
+<p>She shivered. She said faintly:</p>
+
+<p>“I’m afraid. What will they do to me? What am I
+going to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep right on mending fence for a spell. You know
+these folks better than I do. Does it mean much to you,
+one way or another, if they get their hands on you?”</p>
+
+<p>Her shiver now was a shudder. He was glad of that,
+glad that she realized what she might expect. She said
+all in one breath, “I’d rather be dead!”</p>
+
+<p>He helped her set a post straight and began tamping
+the earth about it.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll get you out of this—if you want to go with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes! Yes, I do! Oh, you are so— But <i>why</i>? Why do
+you do all these things for me?”</p>
+
+<p>The shrug she got from him was worth all the three
+he had bestowed on the men seeking her. He said:</p>
+
+<p>“Pretty soon I’ll go back to the house. You’ll keep
+on here, working as hard as you can. But keep an eye
+open for me. When you see me mosey out to the barn,
+you take your time, pile on your horse and ride slow
+and lazy-like along the top of the hill, heading south.
+That will bring you in ten minutes down into a hollow
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>where you’ll cut into a trail. Turn north there and
+keep straight on for about three-four miles, where the
+trail forks and there’s a spring. Wait there. You won’t
+have to wait long. I’ll be with you.”</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes had been lowered while he spoke; now
+there was a flutter of her lids, and then her eyes, opened
+wide, looked up at him wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>“You haven’t even told me your name,” she said, as
+though that mattered.</p>
+
+<p>“Torrance. Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do just what you say.”</p>
+
+<p>So in a little while, with few more words spoken, he
+left her. She, though her overtaxed body trembled,
+kept on at her intrinsically useless toil. He, pottering
+about house and barn and corral, kept an open eye. He
+saw Sam Pepper come out at his favorite vantage point,
+and was relieved rather than discomfited, for seeing
+what he knew must be there was easier on the nerves
+than just fancying it. Also, just once, he caught a
+glimpse of a figure skulking among the pines and knew
+it for that of the gimlet-eyed young hellion.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we know,” muttered Jim Torrance. “And
+knowing is better than guessing, any day.”</p>
+
+<p>He bode his time until the sun was red and flattening
+down by the western hilltops. Then he gave the
+signal which he knew King Cannon’s daughter had so
+long and anxiously awaited. He did not turn his head
+after that to see what response she made. He rode
+down the wheel track, out through the gate and toward
+Sundown. He rode slowly until he had passed the first
+timber-masked turn in the road; then he swerved off
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>into the wood and began circling through it. In twenty
+minutes or so he would strike back into the trail the
+girl was to have taken. Down in the hollow it would
+be dusky then; no one should see him come up with
+her.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">Where</span> are you taking me?” was the first thing she
+said. Then, ashamed that she should always be thinking
+of herself, she added hurriedly: “But you! What
+about your ranch? Your horses? Who will take care of
+them? Or are you coming right back in an hour or so?”</p>
+
+<p>“We’re going up into the mountains,” he told her.
+“No chance down the other way where they’ll be on
+the lookout for you. They’d think nobody would
+tackle the mountains now.”</p>
+
+<p>She knew what he meant. It was late October; the
+days had been full and ripe with sunshine, but there
+was in the air the bitter sting of winter. And when
+winter came, spring could be very far behind. A sudden
+storm would choke the mountain passes with
+snow.</p>
+
+<p>Apprehensively, as though the heavens could assure
+her, she looked up at the sky. Just now it had been a
+clear, shiny blue, but in the last few minutes a film had
+crept over it.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it’s apt to snow before morning,” he said indifferently.
+“We’d better be on our way, hadn’t we?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s going to storm. If not tonight, then surely tomorrow
+or next day. And can we ever hope to get
+through to the other side? The passes are up ten thousand
+feet!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” he said. “Sure. Let’s ride.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>And so they rode.</p>
+
+<p>Together, they were aloof—she because of her fear,
+fear of what might be following and fear of him, the
+unknown; he because of a strange, baffling indifference.
+Why, she kept asking herself, <i>why</i> did he succor
+or seem to succor her? She could not at any step make
+him out. Maybe he, like the others, was out to drag
+her down. She did not know. She only knew she did
+not want to think of it. Without his aid she was utterly
+lost. She merely took the one chance, the one open
+trail. It might come to a dead end, to a frightful dead
+end, but it offered her the one chance, and King Cannon’s
+daughter took it.</p>
+
+<p>Dusk thickened so fast that darkness, like a black
+blanket, dropped down over their heads within the
+first half hour. Still, looking up, one could see the frail
+light clinging like a gossamery mantle to the mountain
+tops—and she chose to look up. She saw the first star
+and it heartened her.</p>
+
+<p>“Know your way through the mountains?” he asked
+her, abrupt, out of a long silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Not very well. It’s been such a long time—not since
+I was a little girl— No, I don’t!”</p>
+
+<p>“Neither do I!”</p>
+
+<p>Then he chuckled. That, like the star, somehow put
+hope into her. When a man chuckled— It was like a
+boy whistling. It was too dark to see his face, so she
+could forget the sinister look of it. She gripped the
+horn of her saddle with both hands, clung on tight—and
+inwardly prayed to a merciful God.</p>
+
+<p>Neither spoke again until they came high up on one
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>of the ridges that flowed down from the loftier mountains,
+and they stopped to blow the horses. Then the
+girl, feeling strangely light-headed and fearless and
+utterly indifferent of fate, said unemotionally:</p>
+
+<p>“The storm is sure to catch us. I suppose we’ll starve
+and freeze to death.”</p>
+
+<p>“We won’t starve,” he said, matter-of-fact about it.
+“I’ve got a food pack along, you know. And maybe you
+noticed the extra blanket thickness under your saddle?
+Extra, doubled blankets there, and under mine, too;
+so we won’t freeze.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d thought of all these things!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes it pays to think a couple of jumps
+ahead,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve tried to! I couldn’t. I—I can’t now!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes,” said Jim Torrance, “it pays to do just
+what you’ve got to do—sail ahead and take on your
+thinking when you can. Let’s ride some more.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way and she followed, because it seemed
+to her that everything had gone out of her, leaving in
+her breast no will of her own. At every forward step
+into the ever darkening wilderness her fears mounted,
+yet like a chip borne along on a black unseen tide she
+went the way the tide commanded.</p>
+
+<p>Within a couple of hours they came as straight as a
+string to a little long-deserted cabin neither of them
+had ever heard about. Whether they were led by
+chance, by the instinct which guides the wanderer
+through the proper mountain passes, or by a power
+she had prayed to, they did not ponder. After all, their
+horses were largely responsible; in the dark they had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>followed a trail along the bottom of a vast canyon and
+had struck into the continuation of that trail across a
+timbered upland flat. Torrance’s horse came to a dead
+stop in front of the cabin before either of them saw it.</p>
+
+<p>They went in and he made a fire in a wreck of a
+rock fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s early yet, but we can’t see what we’re doing,”
+he said. “So we stay here over night and step along at
+daybreak.”</p>
+
+<p>He went out to care for the horses and presently
+came back with his blankets and food pack. She was
+crouching by the fire, head down, her face in her
+hands, her hair down about her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“Hungry?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“No. I couldn’t eat.”</p>
+
+<p>It was a small one-room place. He arranged her
+blankets on a strip of canvas in a corner near the fireplace
+and put his own down in an opposite corner.</p>
+
+<p>“Scared?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she told him, and looked up then, her eyes
+full on his. There was a shadow of fright in her eyes,
+yet somehow they seemed to remain fearless.</p>
+
+<p>He slipped a gun out of its holster and held it out
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>“Sleep with that in your hand. You’ll get a better
+rest.”</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. “No. I have shot one man, God
+forgive me. I’ll never do it again.”</p>
+
+<p>He slid the gun back into its place, saying lightly:
+“Bordereau had it coming to him. Don’t let a little
+thing like that ride you. Good night.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>“Good night,” she said faintly, and went to her
+corner to lie down and tuck herself into her blankets.</p>
+
+<p>It was bitter cold that night, with the wind howling
+from midnight on, and putting its fingers like icicles
+through a hundred cracks in the cabin walls. Jim Torrance
+kept the fire going, bringing in dead wood for
+which he had groped in the dark under the pines.
+When dawn came it was a pale, chill dawn; the ground
+was white with snow but no snow was falling.</p>
+
+<p>Their breakfast, though the fire served them, was
+sketchy. The best part of it was the steaming black
+coffee made in an old tin can. When he brought the
+horses up she said, “If they come this far they can follow
+our tracks.”</p>
+
+<p>He didn’t say anything but led the way, steering for
+a high notched pass in the mountains some miles
+ahead. On the more gentle slopes they rode swiftly;
+for the most part the climbing was slow and laborious.
+The sun rolled up, red and genial, and dissipated some
+of the morning chill. But soon thereafter a sharp wind
+began blowing and a thin gray film spread widely
+across the sky and they saw the gossamery snow wraiths
+swirling about the higher peaks.</p>
+
+<p>“Our tracks won’t last long,” he said to her over his
+shoulder. “It’s coming on to snow again.”</p>
+
+<p>She was glad; even now, as through her troubled
+sleep last night, there was always the haunting dread of
+a pack of men, like wolves, hunting her down. She had
+never gotten far enough to think what they would do
+with her, whether they’d hang her high to some pine
+tree, as they’d certainly do with a man, or— But just
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>the thought of their hands on her had grown into a
+nightmare. And now, if God sent His white snow to
+cover the earth, she was free!</p>
+
+<p>But when the snow did come and their faint tracks
+were lost for all time, her moment of exultation was
+short. For the cold penetrated, biting to the bone, and
+the mountains grew at every step more rugged and
+cold and inhospitable. The mountains grew inimical;
+rather they had always been that way, but she had
+never thought about it until now. They crushed and
+killed when they could, which was often enough. Men
+had their way down in the valleys and foothills, making
+things over—but let them try their puny hands up
+here! The stern old mountain straight ahead of them
+was now as it had been a hundred, a thousand, ten
+thousand years ago; august, it was an enemy entrenched
+behind its towers. Nor was it merely passively
+inimical; at times it poured down torrents of
+stone and gravel in what folk called landslides, which
+buried deep the intrepid invader of its kingly solitude.
+Itself, never stirring, was like a general directing devastating
+forces. On a day like this it was a simple matter
+to feel that old mountain’s stubborn hostility.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s going to kill us,” she said. “It’s going to mash
+us like a worm someone steps on.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re all on edge,” said Jim Torrance, and they
+rode on.</p>
+
+<p>The skies thickened; the snow came down at first in
+chilled pellets, then in fluffy feathers that clung to
+their shoulders and knees and whitened the ground.
+Good-by to tracks now!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>So for a little while both were content; nothing
+could be more welcome than a flurry of snow to shut
+the gate in the face of any possible pursuit. But within
+another hour, as they climbed together, it became
+obvious that they had to do with something altogether
+different from any mere light sifting-down of playful
+snowflakes. The wind burst storming through a high
+pass and flung hard frozen pellets in their faces. They
+spurred on; they came swiftly into a more sheltered
+region, but here the snow was falling so heavily that
+the air was gray and thick with it. This, then, was not
+just the advance notice that winter was on its way; it
+was winter itself, lionesque and raging.</p>
+
+<p>“You see, I was right,” she said, when they stopped
+a moment in the lee of a sheltering cliff. “The mountains
+and the storm are allied against us. It will grow
+dark, we’ll be lost—there’ll just be smooth white
+mounds in a day or two for markers, and we’ll be
+under them.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t sound like you cared much.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t care either. I could tell when I first saw
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>But he shook his head, flicking snow right and left
+from his hat brim.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re dead wrong. I’ve got me a few jobs to do
+first. And one of them is to get you out of this. Let’s
+poke along.”</p>
+
+<p>“You <i>are</i> Jim Torrance?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what they told me when I was a little shaver.
+Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s been a lot of talk about you; I suppose
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>you know that. I heard men talking at Steve Bordereau’s
+place. They said that you came looking for a
+man named Jim Torrance, and that that’s what you
+call yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Men say lots of things, don’t they?” he said lightly.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s poke along,” rejoined Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Hours later—hours of floundering through already
+accumulated snowdrifts in the higher passes with
+scarcely a word spoken, head-down hours buffeting the
+storm—the two came to a spot where it seemed they
+could go no farther. Iron-flanked mountains, lifting
+their naked fronts high above timber line, seemed to
+constitute an impassable barrier; and so heavy were
+the low skies, so thick the air with storm, that dark was
+already on its way long before its appointed time. The
+two wayfarers came to a halt; their knees brushed as
+their horses pressed close together for warmth and the
+feel of companionship.</p>
+
+<p>“All I know of this man’s country,” said Torrance,
+“is from a few words of hearsay that I didn’t pay much
+attention to at the time. We can’t be very far from
+Pocket Valley, and we’re headed right as far as general
+direction goes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pocket Valley is the first place they’d look for me,”
+said the girl, “if they ever guessed we’d headed this
+way at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. But we needn’t go right into the Valley at
+first. The man who told me about it said something
+about the old Red Shirt Mining Camp on the ridge
+above Pocket.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>“The bottom fell out of it years ago. My father was
+interested up there when— There’s not a soul there,
+now, especially at this time of year.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I meant. Some of the old shacks are
+still standing, I reckon. We could hole up there a day
+or two. I could make my way in and out of Pocket for
+supplies.”</p>
+
+<p>“If we can ever find our way!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure we can.” She couldn’t be altogether certain,
+but thought that he was smiling ever so slightly, and
+that the smile was quite unforced, as he added, “You
+see, we’ve got to!”</p>
+
+<p>So they rode on, riding this way and that on the
+steepening slopes, finding a way where none seemed
+to be, climbing higher and higher in order to attain
+those vantage points which afforded best views across
+the broken country and down into any such regions as
+might prove to be Pocket Valley. They hurried all
+they could, running a race with the swiftly advancing
+night. Sudden dark overtook them on one of the high,
+lonely, storm-battered ridges, in as unlikely a place for
+a camp on a night like this as could be imagined; and
+when on the whistling wind there was borne the dismal
+howl of a hungry timber wolf, the girl’s shoulders
+twitched with something more than cold, and the man
+admitted to himself that things could be far better
+and cheerier. But he said steadily enough: “We’ll
+make out. We’ll find shelter under a cliff. We’ll get
+through the night, and in the morning we’ll find
+Pocket Valley in two shakes. It ought to be just over
+yonder to the northeast and only a few miles off. If it
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>hadn’t got dark so early—”</p>
+
+<p>“Look!” she exclaimed, and grasped his arm in her
+eagerness. “A light!”</p>
+
+<p>His hand gave hers a good hearty squeeze; at the
+moment both were unconscious of their involuntary
+gestures. He, too, glimpsed the light, weak and wan and
+seeming far away, somewhere in the black void beyond
+and far below them.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the settlement down in Pocket Valley,” he said
+with assurance. “What we see is the lights shining out
+of windows. So we must be on the ridge we were heading
+for, and the old camp must be so close that we
+could throw a rock and hit it.”</p>
+
+<p>“If we could only see it! But it’s so dark!”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll take it slow now; we’ve got some sort of trail
+under foot; our horses will take us right. And if we
+don’t have any luck, well we can get down to Pocket in
+no time at all.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way and she pressed along close behind
+him, not to lose him in the thick night. Twice his voice
+was hurled back to her by the wind, but she could not
+make out his words. Then she almost bumped into
+him; he had stopped and was dismounting.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re there!” he called triumphantly. “Look sharp
+and you’ll see a cabin of sorts; it’s so close you could
+almost reach out and pat it with your hand. We’ve just
+passed another. Light down and we’ll take stock of
+our night’s quarters.”</p>
+
+<p>Stiff with cold and weariness she slid down from her
+saddle; his hand was out to steady her. Then he shoved
+a sagging door open and she stumbled into the cabin’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>pitch-black interior.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a shake,” he said. “Here are some matches.
+See what it’s like inside. I’ll tie the horses and you look
+around. If it’s all right, we’ll stay here. Or I can poke
+into one of the other shacks. I’ll be back with you in a
+jiffy.”</p>
+
+<p>Their cold fingers fumbled together as he handed
+her a half dozen sulphur block-matches. He moved a
+few steps away in quest of a tree to tie the horses to,
+lest, seeking shelter from the storm, they wander off.
+Almost immediately he returned to meet her at the
+door, and to hear her excited whisper:</p>
+
+<p>“We’re not alone up here! There’s a light in one of
+the other cabins; I saw it through a back window, and
+saw a man moving about. Do you think it is some of
+the men from Sundown, looking for me? They might
+have ridden ahead and waited here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you strike a match?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. I was just trying to—my hands were so cold—and
+I saw the other light.”</p>
+
+<p>He went with her to the little window. Fifty or perhaps
+a hundred yards away was the other cabin; it, too,
+had a small square window, and through this shone
+glimmeringly the pale light cast by a candle or a glow
+from a fireplace. Presently he, too, saw a figure moving
+across the window; he couldn’t see at all clearly,
+but it seemed to him that the fellow was gesturing as
+a man might if talking with someone else.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it might be anybody,” said Torrance,
+“but the chances are it’s some lone crazy prospector
+and nobody from Sundown at all. Just the same I’d
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>better step over and take a look-see from close up. And
+no matter who it is, I think we’d better stick here for
+the night. We’d have a devil’s own time getting down
+to Pocket, and when we got there we’d be pretty sure
+to run into someone that knows about Bordereau. I
+won’t be long.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m coming with you!”</p>
+
+<p>“Fair enough. Let’s step.”</p>
+
+<p>So again they went out into the storm to grope their
+way toward a light which for her might have the least
+or the greatest significance. They went boldly, since
+the shrieking wind blotted out any sound they made
+and since they need have no fear of being seen. They
+drew close to the lighted window. At one end of the
+room a candle-end on a box, stuck in its own grease,
+was guttering out; it left the farther end of the room
+in wavering gloom. They saw clearly the man who had
+been moving about so restlessly and who now stood
+still; they made out indistinctly the form of another
+man lying on a corner bunk. The two were talking,
+but not a word was to be overheard. It seemed that
+the man standing was taking orders; that he didn’t like
+them; that none the less he was accepting them.</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn gasped out, her lips close to Jim Torrance’s
+ear:</p>
+
+<p>“They’re after me! It’s Clark Murdo, Steve Bordereau’s
+pardner! I can’t see who the other man is but
+it’s bound to be another of Bordereau’s men. What
+are we going to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s get back to our cabin,” said Torrance. They
+turned away but he stopped and swung about and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>seemed tempted to linger. “No use,” he muttered.
+“That candle will be out in a minute. I’d give my hat
+though to see that other man’s face. I’ve got me a notion,
+Sally Dawn! I sure have!”</p>
+
+<p>“What? What is it?”</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated, then said roughly:</p>
+
+<p>“No; I’m crazy, I guess. Come on, let’s get under
+shelter.”</p>
+
+<p>“But can’t you see—”</p>
+
+<p>“No. Neither can you. It’s too dark to see anything.
+Maybe daylight will tell us something.”</p>
+
+<p>They made their retreat as hurriedly as they had
+advanced. Once she spoke, saying in a mystified voice:</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder who that other man was? I can’t understand
+Clark Murdo being bossed like that. And he was
+being ordered about, wasn’t he?”</p>
+
+<p>“He sure was; he didn’t like it but was taking it.
+And that’s what gave me my notion.”</p>
+
+<p>But beyond that cryptic statement he would not go.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Torrance</span> brought in a saddle blanket which he
+fastened snugly over their window and then with
+splinters of wood from floor and walls he made a tiny
+fire on the rock hearth, purely for the sake of a little
+light in which to explore the premises. The place
+reeked of long desertion and was as bare as Mother
+Hubbard’s cupboard, yet walls and roof were tight
+and sturdy. There was a rear door that led into a dugout
+some ten feet square.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to bring our horses in,” he said. “The
+dugout will house them where nobody’s going to find
+them unless we get found first. And long before morning
+their tracks will be wiped out.”</p>
+
+<p>The horses entered the cabin willingly enough, and,
+though they sniffed and snorted when once inside,
+were at last coaxed and threatened into the dugout.</p>
+
+<p>“Now,” said Torrance, “we’ll eat the rest of our
+larder, make up our beds the way we did last night
+and call it a day.”</p>
+
+<p>“A day! It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>But she smiled as she said it, a faint and quivering
+and altogether uncertain smile, yet one not without
+its courage. And she added, “We’ve at least a few bites
+of food, but our poor horses—”</p>
+
+<p>“Each one gets a double handful of grain,” he assured
+her, and again she thought, “He thinks of everything!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>He lifted a corner of the blanket over the window to
+peer out, and reported:</p>
+
+<p>“Our neighbors’ house is dark. Mr. Murdo and his
+friend have gone to sleep by now, and you and I are
+going to build up our fire and keep it going until
+nearly morning; there’s not one chance in a million of
+a ray of light or a spark giving us away. What’s more,
+they haven’t the vaguest notion anyone’s about, or
+they’d have covered their own light. I stumbled over a
+dead pine when I was leading the horses; I’ll have
+plenty of wood before you’re ten minutes older.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to help you,” said Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, you’re tired and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Have it your way,” she said, and he went out and
+closed the door—and she opened it and followed close
+at his heels. She heard him chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>They built up their small fire and crouched before
+it and got warm and began to yawn. She lay down in
+her corner and stared up at the dimly lit rafters and
+then looked out of the corners of her eyes at him, still
+squatting before the fire, and wondered. It was hard
+to read anything in that dark face of his, especially by
+so treacherous a light; the faint flicker of the flames at
+times seemed to reveal only a grim sternness that was
+twin with brutality, at other times to soften the features
+so that they appeared touched by a smile that had
+actually in it a hint of tenderness. She fell asleep, with
+Jim Torrance still motionless at the hearth.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>She awoke with a start and sat up rubbing her eyes
+and staring about her. The room was ablaze with light
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>and her first thought was that the cabin was on fire.
+Then she saw him standing there, looking down at her
+in that quizzical way of his, half smiling and half
+frowning, and saw that he had an enormous fire blazing
+in the fireplace; the room was cozy with heat and
+as bright as day. She sprang up confused.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re gone,” said Torrance. “I saw them ride
+away half an hour ago. It’s daylight now. They were in
+their saddles while it was still dark.”</p>
+
+<p>“You stayed awake all night, watching!”</p>
+
+<p>“I kept an eye open part of the time,” he admitted.
+“And I noticed that though you were asleep you didn’t
+seem exactly comfortable. A good thawing out over a
+hot fire won’t hurt either of us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jim Torrance, what on earth are you made of?
+Steel?”</p>
+
+<p>Already she had grown to love to hear that chuckle
+of his.</p>
+
+<p>“Once upon a time, when I was very young,” he told
+her, “they taught me a poem. It was all about what
+little boys and girls are made of. I forget about the
+boys but it said about the girls:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“‘Sugar and spice</div>
+<div class="verse">And everything nice,</div>
+<div class="verse">That’s what little girls are made of.’”</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Suddenly her face clouded; he remembered his first
+impression of her, a sullen, smoldering little beauty
+with brooding, smoky eyes. Her mouth, which had
+been softened by sleep, hardened.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t been nice to you,” she said. “I’m afraid I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>haven’t been very nice to anybody. The world wasn’t
+nice to me—it made me hate it and it made me bitter
+inside.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks,” he said lightly. “That’s nothing. You’re
+just a kid, that’s all, and kids have got a right to cry
+and then sulk when they get their fingers burnt.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not a kid! I’m twenty—almost twenty-one.”</p>
+
+<p>“As bad as all that? Quite an old lady, huh?”</p>
+
+<p>“A thousand years old this morning; I can almost
+hear my bones creak when I move. And what now, Mr.
+Jim Torrance?”</p>
+
+<p>“The wind blew itself out about midnight,” he told
+her, “but it’s been snowing harder than ever. We’ve
+got to have something to eat. If we go on into Pocket
+Valley you might as well give yourself up. In this storm
+no one else is apt to come along this way, so I leave you
+here alone for a little while; I poke along into Pocket;
+I bring back some provisions. Inside three hours I
+ought to be back. And, if I hurry along,” he added, “I
+can still make out by their tracks the way Murdo and
+his friend went. They headed down toward Pocket; I
+can find out if they turned off anywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>She went to the door and looked out over a white
+world. Snow was drifting down in large feathery flakes;
+trees were dressed as in ermine; the sky was thick and
+gray. She thought that she had never looked out over
+an expanse so still and so lonesome. Her mood was not
+one to appreciate its beauty, inescapable though it was.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you’re right, and of course I can’t go into
+Pocket or back to Sundown, and of course I’m afraid
+to stay here alone—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>“I’m going to leave a gun with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I told you I’d never touch a gun again!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but you will, some time.” He slid one of his
+guns up out of its leather and dropped it to her
+blankets. “I’m starting right away. My horse is already
+saddled; the quicker I get going the quicker my tracks
+will be covered and the quicker you’ll be having
+breakfast. You can count on me being back in about
+four hours at most; if I’m not back then— Well, you’d
+better saddle and go on down into Pocket.”</p>
+
+<p>She looked startled.</p>
+
+<p>“Why shouldn’t you come back?”</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged.</p>
+
+<p>“I sure expect to. But a man never can tell, can he?”</p>
+
+<p>A sudden suspicion suggested itself to her.</p>
+
+<p>“You think you know who the man is with Clark
+Murdo? Someone you know?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t be sure yet,” he returned, and once more
+sounded curt and hard.</p>
+
+<p>“I know! You think it’s that other ‘Jim Torrance’!”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re doing enough guessing now for both of us,”
+he grunted, and went into the dugout for his horse.</p>
+
+<p>She watched him ride away through gauzy veils of
+falling snow which grew heavier until they almost
+blotted him out before he vanished in a scattered
+growth of mountain cedars. She closed the door reluctantly
+and went back to the fire for comfort and companionship.</p>
+
+<p>As for Torrance, he made what speed he could as
+soon as he turned into the white furrow, already
+smoothing over, that Clark Murdo and the other man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>had made; for he realized how heavily a few hours in
+this solitude could bear down on one—especially on a
+girl who had endured as had Sally Dawn Cannon. He
+had told her he might be gone four hours; he hoped to
+return within half that time.</p>
+
+<p>The track left by the men whom he followed ran
+straight along the flank of the ridge, curved about a
+blunt shoulder of the mountain and then wavered
+downward among stunted pines, its course at all times
+indicating Pocket Valley as its objective. Now and
+then Torrance caught glimpses of the tiny village
+looking like a child’s toy town roofed and based in
+fluffy cotton. As he rode lower down the slope a pine
+forest, all black and silver, shut off his view; still the
+single track left by Murdo and his mate led on. But
+when he had penetrated the forest some five hundred
+yards, that track split into two fading trails. While one
+kept straight on down into the valley, the other turned
+off almost at a right angle into a dark and thickly
+timbered ravine.</p>
+
+<p>“And now I make a bet,” said Torrance as, without
+stopping, he kept on down toward Pocket Valley. “It
+will be Clark Murdo who has kept straight on, the
+other man who has turned off into the canyon.”</p>
+
+<p>His next glimpse of the settlement, afforded when
+he was almost at his destination, showed him several
+pale smudges of smoke barely visible against the gray
+curtain of the sky. He estimated that he had been
+nearly an hour making his tortuous way down the
+mountain; by now it was long after the time of an
+invisible dawn and folk would be astir.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>Until now he had followed along the track which he
+was wagering had been made by Murdo. At last, however,
+just before he rode out of the rim of the wood
+into the open, he altered his course, keeping to the
+timber for half a mile, not quitting it until he could
+approach Pocket Valley town from a more southerly
+direction.</p>
+
+<p>“No use telling friend Murdo that he and I rode the
+same way,” he judged. “And, in case he is curious, by
+the time he gets around to looking for my trail it won’t
+be there.”</p>
+
+<p>Among the score of houses constituting the town of
+Pocket Valley he had no difficulty in picking out the
+one he wanted, nor was the sign over its front porch
+necessary as a guide. It was a long, low building of
+rough logs on a foundation of granite blocks; at the
+rear was an open shed to which he rode to stable his
+horse. He saw what he both hoped and expected to
+see; another horse, still saddled, was tied here worrying
+wisps of straw in a pole manger. He swung down,
+tied his own horse, and noiselessly went up the steps
+to the back door. Before he knocked he heard voices.</p>
+
+<p>Then one of those voices called out to him, “Well,
+why don’t you come in?” and he opened the door and
+entered directly upon a big barnlike room in which a
+round-bellied stove was blazing red-hot and in which
+three men stood about, all three with glasses in their
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>One of the men was Clark Murdo.</p>
+
+<p>“And so I win the first bet,” said Jim Torrance to
+himself with considerable satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>The other men he had never seen. One he correctly
+took for the proprietor of the place. He disposed of
+the other man with a flick of his eyes; his real attention,
+though discreet, was bestowed upon Murdo. That
+individual’s eyes were for an instant round with astonishment,
+then narrowed and cold and noncommittal.</p>
+
+<p>“Howdy, Stranger,” said the owner of the place.
+“Ride in on a snowflake?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sort of getting ready to get hungry,” said Torrance,
+and came on to the stove, spreading his hands out
+toward it. “If there’s a store here I’ve come to the right
+place, haven’t I?”</p>
+
+<p>“Right as rain. Store, saloon, hotel and in season a
+place where you can try to get your money back.
+Squat.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance moved to the rawhide-bottomed chair
+indicated, as though weary, and sat down with a long
+sigh. Murdo, who had been watching his every gesture
+and expression, spoke up then.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Torrance,” he said. “What are you doing up
+this way?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Murdo,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Seems as though I’m gettin’ a whale of a lot of
+comp’ny for this time of day on a snowy mornin’,”
+observed the proprietor. “And so you two boys is
+acquainted, huh? That’s nice. Me, I’m Andy Stock,
+an’ though we ain’t got around to breakfas’ yet, I c’n
+give you a shot of licker right now an’ a cup of cawfee
+in two shakes.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been sort of thinking about coffee,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>Andy Stock turned to the other man.</p>
+
+<p>“How about a fire in the cook stove, Jake? It’s
+cawfee time anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>Jake downed what remained of his drink and moved
+off through a door at the side of the room, and almost
+immediately they heard him banging at a kitchen
+stove. Murdo stood twirling his glass, appeared about
+to speak, momentarily subdued his impulse, then let
+it go.</p>
+
+<p>“Which way’d you come from, Torrance?” he asked,
+and sounded friendly and casual.</p>
+
+<p>“Sundown,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. Of course. Up over the mountain or the
+roundabout way through Tucker’s Flats?”</p>
+
+<p>“Would it make any difference to you which way I
+came?” asked Torrance. “And do you want to know
+why I dropped in and how long I’m staying and how
+old I’ll be next birthday?”</p>
+
+<p>Andy Stock laughed good-humoredly.</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo just rid in himse’f,” he said. “Kinda early
+ridin’ for him, too. I reckon he’s got something on his
+mind. He’s lookin’ for that girl that killed his pardner,
+Steve Bordereau. I reckon he thought maybe you had
+saw her somewheres. It ain’t in Murdo, you know, to
+come straight forward with what he’s hankerin’ to
+find out; he’s always beatin’ around the bushes to get
+anywheres.”</p>
+
+<p>“You talk too much, Stock,” growled Murdo.</p>
+
+<p>“You think so, do you?” snapped Stock, suddenly
+angry. “Why, damn your eyes—”</p>
+
+<p>“Forget it,” said Murdo and stalked away to a window.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>He tried to peer out, but the windowpane was
+filmed over with snow. Coming back he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Let me have some oats, Andy. There was nothing
+in your shed but some dirty straw, and my horse needs
+a feed if he’s going to carry me any more today.”</p>
+
+<p>Stock, still a trifle testy, snorted: “I’d say it’s about
+time to think of feedin’ your hoss. You been here half
+an hour already, swiggin’ whisky, an’ never thinkin’ of
+the pore brute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, hell, let’s have the oats and less conversation,”
+said Murdo impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>Stock went off to his storeroom and returned with a
+dipper full of oats; Murdo took it and went out. Stock
+winked at Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“What’d I tell you, Stranger?” he demanded in
+triumph. “There he goes in his roundabout way to
+get him some place. He’d let his horse rest there a
+week ’thout feedin’ the pore devil, but he’s jus’ figgered
+out he can take a look-see at the tracks you made
+gettin’ here, an’ can answer him his own question
+about whether you rid down over the mountains or
+come up from the south by way Tucker’s Flats.” He
+spat. “Hell take Clark Murdo an’ all his pack,” he said.
+“And you, too, if you’re a friend of his.”</p>
+
+<p>Now Jim Torrance started asking questions, and
+asked them curtly and swiftly to have his answers before
+Murdo returned. He began,</p>
+
+<p>“What was it he said about a girl killing Steve Bordereau?”</p>
+
+<p>“A girl name of Sally Dawn Cannon. Hell, ever’body
+knows who she is; ol’ King Cannon’s daughter. She
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>shot Bordereau at his place in Sundown. Kilt him
+dead, says Murdo. Then she hightailed out of there
+before they could grab her, though what they wanted
+to pester a girl like her for, for just beefin’ a rat, me
+I don’t know. Likely he had drove her in a corner.”</p>
+
+<p>“Self-defence?”</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo don’t say so. Says just plain hate and meanness.”</p>
+
+<p>“Witnesses?”</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo says him and four other Bordereau men
+seen it happen.”</p>
+
+<p>“And still they let the girl get away? What do they
+expect to do with her?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lynch her, accordin’ to Murdo. But, shucks, the
+country wouldn’t let ’em get away with that. Or maybe,
+would it?” He grimaced. “The Bordereau gang of late
+has got a strangle-hold on the country from th’ other
+side Sundown to way up here.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’ll be a big funeral, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s already been. Murdo must of been in a hurry
+to see the last of his pardner. They planted Steve Bordereau
+early next mornin’ right after he was shot.”</p>
+
+<p>Just then Stock’s roustabout stuck his head in
+through the kitchen door and bawled: “Cawfee! Come
+an’ get it.” And a moment later Clark Murdo came
+back from ministering to his horse and they all went
+to the kitchen together.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance, from under those lazy eyelids of his, noted
+two things: Murdo on first entering looked relieved,
+and that meant that he had assured himself that Torrance
+had ridden up from the south and not over the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>mountain trail. Next, he saw that, as the four men
+chatted idly over their coffee, Murdo began to tighten
+up again, to grow restless and perhaps even anxious.
+He wondered about that until Murdo’s own words
+gave him a clue. Again Murdo was asking questions,
+striving to be merely friendly and casual. He said,
+“Riding on north, Torrance?”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance seemed thawed by his strong hot coffee.
+He answered carelessly, “Not in a hurry in all this
+weather.” He turned to Stock, yawned and stretched
+and asked: “How about a shakedown for a few hours?
+I didn’t get much sleep last night.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” said Stock. “Breakfast will be ready in a
+minute; then you can flop long’s you like.”</p>
+
+<p>“Got a barn where I can put my horse up?”</p>
+
+<p>The barn, Stock told him, was just back of the shed;
+he’d find hay there; help himself. So, while ham was
+frying and hot cakes were mixing, he went out to the
+stable. He unsaddled, gave his horse a rough-and-ready
+rubdown and returned for breakfast. Thereafter Stock
+led him to a little room, empty save for its bunk and
+a washstand with a lamp on it. At the door, as Stock
+was departing, Torrance called back to Murdo, who
+was standing watching from the kitchen doorway.</p>
+
+<p>“Happen to know a gent who calls himself Jim Torrance,
+Murdo?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Murdo said, “What?” and it wasn’t because he
+hadn’t heard; maybe he wanted to take a moment to
+think. Then Stock spoke up to say, mystified, “I
+thought you was Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought so too,” said Torrance, “but it seems
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>there’s some other man wearing the same name.
+Murdo might know him. How about it, Murdo?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Murdo. “I don’t know him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Torrance, “you might meet up with
+him some time. When you do just tell him I’m hoping
+to see him.” And he closed the door.</p>
+
+<p>He sat on the edge of his bed and slowly, with profound
+concentration on something else, started rolling
+a cigarette. For a little while he heard voices,
+Murdo’s and Stock’s, so clearly that he could catch
+some of the words. Suddenly Murdo’s voice was lowered;
+then a door closed; then all sounds were gone.
+He kept on rolling his cigarette, his eyes the narrowest
+of slits, his face stern, his jaw set.</p>
+
+<p>After a while, ten or fifteen minutes, he heard another
+door being closed; the sound was faint but distinct
+against the silence; he judged someone had gone
+out the back door. He went to his window and scraped
+at it with his finger nail. It was hard to see through
+the snow-filmed pane, but at last he found a spot in
+an upper corner through which the light filtered less
+dimly. A moment later he saw Clark Murdo riding
+around the corner of the house, headed back toward
+the mountain trail. He even made out that Murdo had
+some sort of bundle on the saddle before him; it looked
+like a full barley sack.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance went back to Andy Stock then, finding
+him at the hot pot-bellied stove. Stock looked at him in
+mild surprise. Then he blurted out, “What the hell’s
+going on here anyhow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Guess I don’t need a sleep after all,” Torrance told
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>him and went to the door to look out. Murdo was riding
+as rapidly as the snow would permit and was already
+close to the rim of the forest. He turned to stare
+the storekeeper in the eye, then to say thoughtfully,
+“Either you’re an awful handy liar, Stock, or you
+haven’t got any more use for Murdo than I have.”</p>
+
+<p>“Take your pick, Torrance,” said Stock sharply.
+“What’s it to you, anyhow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo’s out to drag the Cannon girl down. Me,
+I helped her make her get-away.”</p>
+
+<p>Stock nodded. “Murdo told me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll tell you something else; I was there when
+the shooting happened; I saw every bit of it. Until
+pretty recent I was taking it for granted, like a man
+does, that cards were being dealt off the top, and that
+things were what they looked like. Not now though.
+I don’t believe the girl was the one that killed Bordereau.
+She shot him all right; he went down; we got
+out of there. Then what? Some other person, maybe
+Murdo himself, could have shot him again or popped
+a knife into him. Anyhow it was Murdo that got him
+buried so gosh-awful sudden.”</p>
+
+<p>Stock whistled, frowned and whistled again.</p>
+
+<p>“What makes you think all that, man?”</p>
+
+<p>“Two-three things. Maybe I’m right and maybe I’m
+wrong. Any way you look at it, Murdo’s got no call to
+pull the kid down.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m with you there,” said Stock.</p>
+
+<p>“All right. Now tell me a thing or two. Where did
+Murdo say he was going? And what did he have in
+his sack?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>“He said he was goin’ up to see Pete Conroy. Conroy’s
+an old prospector that lives back in the hills a
+ways. Murdo says Conroy hurt his leg and couldn’t get
+out; that he’s takin’ him some grub. An’ grub was in
+the sack.”</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo’s a damn liar, but you don’t have to tell him
+I said so. Now suppose you let me have a sack, too, and
+I’ll put about a tenth as much stuff in it as Murdo has,
+and I’ll stagger along too.”</p>
+
+<p>He laid in a small stock of provisions, making sure
+of coffee and sugar and tinned milk, all packed in a
+can in which the coffee was destined to come to a boil,
+and went for his horse. Andy Stock, from his door,
+watched him ride away through the swirling snow
+and tucked in the corners of his mouth. Jim Torrance
+rode mountainward in Clark Murdo’s track.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d sort of like to be on hand when it happens,”
+said Stock.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jim Torrance</span> was tempted up to the yielding point
+when he came to that spot on the mountain flank
+where a fresh track led deep into the dark ravine. For
+this far Clark Murdo had come up from Pocket, and
+here he had turned off to rejoin his companion of the
+earlier morning. And Torrance, so sorely tempted to
+follow him, kept saying to himself, “I’d know a lot if
+I overtook those two, and I’ve got the crazy hunch that
+at last I’d come up with a man I’ve been looking for,
+for a long, long time.”</p>
+
+<p>But there was that girl waiting for him high on the
+ridge. He couldn’t quite make a go of just letting her
+wait. He couldn’t quite get her face out of his mind’s
+eye. She had stood pretty nearly all the punishment
+you could expect her to stand—alone up there for
+hours with only her own tragic thoughts for company.
+The kid must be nearly at her rope’s end. In losing her
+mother it seemed that she had lost all she loved. On
+top of that there was a corroding horror in her soul;
+she’d be thinking over and over and endlessly over, “I
+killed a man.” She’d be remembering the look on his
+face when he fell; she’d be thinking of him dead and
+soon to be dug under. With just those two to think of,
+her beloved mother and an ancient enemy, both dead
+so recently, she could no longer be left alone by any
+man who did not love torture for torture’s sake.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>So, though rage was in his eyes, Torrance rode on
+and let a chance slide by. Presently he got to thinking
+of other things: For one, Clark Murdo by now knew
+that he had been tricked into believing that Torrance
+had come up through the Flats in the south; he would
+have noted that another horse than his had recently
+traveled this way; he would have guessed mighty close
+to the truth. He could scarcely avoid being sure that
+Torrance, too, had stopped over last night at the old
+deserted mining camp. It was a simple step from that
+surmise to the next—that Sally Dawn Cannon had
+stopped there with him and was perhaps there now;
+that Torrance, like himself, had gone down to Pocket
+Valley seeking provisions for still another mouth than
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>“And he may be showing up as soon as he carries the
+news along to his team mate,” mused Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Further, he marked that it was no longer snowing
+so heavily; considering that this was the first storm of
+the season it might reasonably be expected to wear itself
+out soon. That fact would have its bearing on
+events.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>When he came to the mountain cabin, there was
+Sally Dawn in the open doorway waiting for him, a pale
+and weary, tragic figure with eyes looking unnaturally
+large; he knew that in his absence she had broken
+down and wept miserably. But a flash of gladness came
+into her eyes on seeing him.</p>
+
+<p>“I had no way of telling how long you were gone— I
+began to be afraid—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>“You began to wonder whether there was any breakfast
+coming up, I’ll bet a man,” he said lightly as he dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>“Honestly, I forgot about breakfast!”</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to be starved.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe I am!” She looked at his bundle in the
+barley sack. “I am starved!” Then her eyes traveled
+questioningly back to his. “Tell me what happened.
+What about Clark Murdo and the other man?”</p>
+
+<p>He tethered his horse near the door and they went
+straightway to the fireplace where she had a small fire
+still burning. But she thought to ask, “Aren’t you
+bringing your horse inside again?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. We’ll be riding right away, just as soon as
+you’ve eaten. And I’ll tell you about things while
+ham’s frying and coffee coming to a boil.”</p>
+
+<p>“Coffee! I’d rather have a cup of hot coffee than a
+buckskin bag full of gold dust!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” he grinned at her. “It’s a lot more inviting
+this time of day.”</p>
+
+<p>Together they prepared her breakfast while he explained
+how first of all he had eaten down at the
+Pocket. “I’d have waited for you,” he told her, “only
+I wanted things to look natural to Murdo.” Then he
+told her briefly of his encounter with Murdo, of
+Murdo’s having asked Andy Stock concerning her, of
+his general tall curiosity about Torrance’s movements,
+about his having taken a sack of provisions to his
+somehow-mysterious side-kick.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re after me, of course,” said Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>“That doesn’t explain their hiding out in that canyon,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>he retorted. “But, yes, of course they’re after
+you. So as soon as you’ve had all the coffee and hot
+cakes and ham you want—yes, I’ve got a couple of eggs,
+too—we’ll fork our saddles and get out of here.”</p>
+
+<p>“But they’ll be watching the trail, won’t they?
+They’ll see us on our way down into the Pocket.”</p>
+
+<p>“No they won’t, because we’re not headed down
+there. We’re turning tail right here and drifting back
+to Sundown. We’ll make an easier and quicker trip
+going down, and all by daylight too, than we made
+coming up. Even if they follow, I don’t think they’ll
+overtake us. And if they do come up with us— Well,
+that won’t happen until it happens.”</p>
+
+<p>Round-eyed and puzzled she heard him out without
+an interruption; then she exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>“Sundown? You mean we’re to go back there? After
+all this long ride, after we’ve almost got away? Back to
+Sundown?”</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s sugar for your coffee. Here’s milk.” He
+jabbed a hole in the can with his knife. “Yes, back to
+Sundown. It’s exactly where they won’t be expecting
+us to go; likewise, I’m beginning to think it’s where
+you’ll be safest. And it’s where you belong; it’s where
+your ranch is. Mine, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your ranch, yes. Mine?” She shook her head and
+sighed. Time was when she had loved that ranch, King
+Cannon’s and her mother’s and hers, with all her heart.
+“Mine is as good as gone from me for good now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe,” said Torrance. “A man never knows.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not sure that I want to go back to Sundown,”
+she said, and sounded altogether independent about it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>“Scared?” asked Torrance, and turned the sizzling
+ham with a stick. “Here’s a hunk of bread and a dab
+of butter.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I am! Have you forgotten all the things
+you said to me about letting those men grab me?”</p>
+
+<p>“While you finish eating, I’ll saddle your horse,”
+said Torrance, and rose from his squatting position on
+the hearth. Standing high above her, looking down on
+her tumbled brown tresses and then into her uplifted
+puzzled gray eyes, he added: “No, I haven’t forgotten.
+I’ve sort of changed my mind, that’s all.”</p>
+
+<p>A faint flush came into her cheeks and a flash as of
+fire into her smoky eyes. She could only surmise that
+he had had enough of their adventure together. She
+said swiftly:</p>
+
+<p>“You can go back! I’m going on. I’m never going
+near Sundown again as long as I live.”</p>
+
+<p>Then she was treated again to the sound of that
+soft chuckle of his.</p>
+
+<p>“If you don’t go back, I don’t go either,” he said,
+and grinned down at her. “But as it happens, we’re
+both going. Side by each, as the feller says.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he went and saddled her horse.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The return journey, as he had predicted, was much
+easier than had been their trip up into the high places.
+By the time they had dropped down two or three
+thousand feet there was but an inch or two of melting
+snow under foot. And all day long they had met no
+one and had caught no glimpse of Clark Murdo or
+any other following them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>In the early gray dusk she pointed, saying: “There’s
+your ranch. We’re almost there.”</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to come up out of a deep reverie.</p>
+
+<p>“Know a funny little rooster named Sam Pepper?”
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him wonderingly, he was so grave in
+his questioning.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I do! Everybody knows Sam Pepper. He
+is funny, but I like him. What put him into your
+mind?”</p>
+
+<p>The gravity slowly faded from his face and in its
+place came a slow smile which in the end gave her the
+warm feeling of being enveloped by it.</p>
+
+<p>“When a man needs a helping hand,” he said, “he’s
+got to think about a lot of folks he knows. Me, I’ve
+hit on Sam Pepper!”</p>
+
+<p>“For help? Mercy! What sort of help? I never knew
+a more helpless creature.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is there by any chance a Mrs. Sam Pepper?”</p>
+
+<p>“There is. She’s a darling; everybody loves her, the
+most motherly—”</p>
+
+<p>But something came into her throat at the last word
+and she broke off, averting her face. Torrance didn’t
+say anything; he leaned outward from his saddle as
+though to pat her shoulder, but withdrew his hand
+without touching her and without her seeing.</p>
+
+<p>When they came down along the road in front of
+his gate he reined in his horse and said quietly:</p>
+
+<p>“I want you to stop here a little while. If the coast
+is as clear at my place as it looks, and as it ought to
+be, I’ll poke over to have a word with Sam Pepper—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>“I’ll go with you! Let’s go straight on there first of
+all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Please!” It was the first time he had ever said that
+to her. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I’ll go
+alone to Pepper’s first; I’ll make sure no one else is
+there. You’ll not be kept waiting more than a few
+minutes.”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded then and they rode on to his ranch
+house. The place was empty; there was no sign that
+any prowlers had been about. He hurried her into the
+house and her horse into the barn; it was nearly dark
+then. Less than ten minutes later he was leaning from
+the saddle to rap on Pepper’s door with the loaded end
+of his quirt. The door was opened and a woman looked
+out, Mrs. Sam without a doubt. Sally Dawn’s epithet
+“motherly” just fitted her. Middle-aged, apple-cheeked,
+comfortable and cozy looking, she greeted
+the stranger smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Howdy, Mrs. Pepper,” he said, and smiled back at
+her. “I’m your new neighbor, Jim Torrance. Is your
+husband here?”</p>
+
+<p>“He ain’t far,” said Mrs. Sam, and stepped out in
+the yard to call her bugled notes, “Sam! Here’s company.”</p>
+
+<p>She was calling and looking toward Sam Pepper’s
+high hill, calling needlessly as it proved, for here already
+came Sam Pepper at a sort of dog-trot run.</p>
+
+<p>“I seen you just riding home, Torrance,” he said
+breathlessly as soon as he was within hailing distance.
+“You and somebody else. It was kinda dark and I
+couldn’t quite make out for sure— You see, I just happened
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>to be up on my hill and—”</p>
+
+<p>“You two folks alone?” asked Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. Always alone. Better light down—”</p>
+
+<p>“That was the Cannon girl with me,” said Torrance.
+He speared the little man with a glance and,
+after a fashion, through a long silence, managed to
+keep him wriggling on the spear point. Then he added
+slowly and significantly, “In case you might be interested
+I can tell you several other things, things that
+a lot of folks are wondering about.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sam snorted. “If there’s anything on earth Sam
+ain’t interested in, I don’t know what it is. When he
+was born they say he was tryin’ to count how many
+toes he had. But if Sally Dawn, poor little thing, is
+over to your place—”</p>
+
+<p>“Them Bordereau men will tear her to pieces if
+they find her!” burst out Sam Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go over and fetch her,” said Torrance. “We’ll
+be back right away. And then I want a good talk with
+you, Pepper.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>When he brought Sally Dawn back with him she
+ran headlong into Mrs. Sam’s mothering arms and
+put her head down on that deep, comforting bosom—and
+Torrance and Sam Pepper stepped along outside
+and sat on a log. That is, Torrance did; Sam Pepper
+couldn’t sit still, couldn’t even stand still.</p>
+
+<p>“I aim to make a dicker with you, Pepper,” said
+Torrance. “I need help and you’re the one man can
+give it to me. And there are things you’d like to know
+about, and I’m the man can tell you things no other
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>man can.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of help, neighbor?” asked Pepper, all
+eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>“I want you to help me find out things, to nose out
+some facts that are keeping under cover.”</p>
+
+<p>“Like what?” asked Sam, growing excited. “What
+about?”</p>
+
+<p>“Give me time and I’ll tell you.— Say, what’s happened
+to Murdo?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hanged if I know.” He looked worried. “He’s gone
+and nobody knows where! So’s Doc Taylor! So was
+you and Sally until—”</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s Doc Taylor? What about him?”</p>
+
+<p>“He was called in when Bordereau was shot. He
+went upstairs to look at Bordereau; I seen him. Next
+morning nobody could find him. I been asking folks;
+nary a one has seen hide nor hair of him.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance stared at him through the growing dark
+for a long while, then whistled softly.</p>
+
+<p>“I can tell you what Murdo’s been up to all day and
+where he’s been,” he said crisply, and stood up. “And
+I can ask you this, ‘Why did they bury Bordereau in
+such a hurry?’”</p>
+
+<p>If Pepper had been doing a sort of restrained dance
+before, now he fidgeted himself into something between
+an Apache war dance and an Irish jig. He was
+all but frothing at the mouth as he gasped out, “Mr.
+Torrance, I’ve been asking myself—”</p>
+
+<p>“I know,” said Torrance. “I can also tell you where
+the Cannon girl and I have been— I was on hand when
+Bordereau got shot, so I can tell you details about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>that—I can even tell you why I came up here looking
+for a man named Jim Torrance—”</p>
+
+<p>“For God’s sake!” pleaded the little man.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you with me?” demanded Torrance sharply.
+“Will you throw in with me to find about everything?
+We’ll be helping Sally Dawn Cannon, if that means
+anything to you. You’ll learn one hell of a lot—but
+you’ll keep your mouth shut about it all until I say
+the word or I’ll chop you up into dog meat.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked as though he meant it. Sam Pepper
+shivered. Right now he clamped his mouth shut so
+tight that there were little puckers at the corners
+which Torrance, stooping so close to him, could see
+even in the fading light.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a deal?” demanded Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper didn’t open his mouth even then. But
+he nodded his head with a rapidity that made Torrance
+think of a woodpecker hammering on an oak.</p>
+
+<p>“Go get your horse,” said Jim Torrance. “We’re
+riding into Sundown.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> though the hour was, the Stag Horn was
+crowded. Excitement had run high in Sundown, and
+men clustered here where the current chain of events
+had seemed to have its inception; here, if anywhere,
+they could get the latest low-down on what it was all
+about.</p>
+
+<p>Florinda, extravagantly attired, white-bosomed and
+sparkling with her “family jewels,” strutted like a
+peacock. With Steve Bordereau away, with Murdo
+away too, she was more the tinsel queen than ever before.
+She disported herself as though it was she, Florinda
+de Valdez y Verdugo, who owned the place.</p>
+
+<p>She saw Jim Torrance, travel-stained and somewhat
+hollow-eyed, come in with a furtive and apprehensive
+Sam Pepper at his heels, and stiffened.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance’s eyes were hunting her down. When they
+found her he came to her as straight as a string.</p>
+
+<p>“Señorita!” he said to her in Spanish, and his tired
+eyes mocked her. “You are lovelier than a little white
+dove with pink feet; you are lovelier than a little dove
+sitting in the hollow of a man’s hand. I am going to
+buy you some wine, and you are going to sit with me
+for three minutes and smile at me—and answer a
+question!”</p>
+
+<p>Her teeth were like pearls, her loveliest and most
+genuine gems. Though she looked uncertain and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>frightened and ready to run, she smiled. She said,
+“<i>Si</i>, Señor Jeem Torrance,” and made her skirt billow
+above her slim ankles as she led in haste the way to a
+secluded corner table.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper, goggling wide-eyed in all directions,
+followed the two like a little dog with its tail tucked
+in. He had been upstairs in these rooms just once before
+in all his days; that was when Bordereau had
+opened for his first night, and Sam’s insatiable curiosity
+got him admitted at a cost in dollars which
+he had never confessed to Mrs. Sam.</p>
+
+<p>The three sat down. Florinda looked at Sam Pepper
+as at a bug. The waiter brought wine. When Torrance
+began to speak, Sam Pepper ceased goggling all over
+the room and distended his ears instead.</p>
+
+<p>“Florinda,” said Torrance, “we have met before,
+you and I.”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“In Nacional,” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“So you remember?”</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes became mysterious, unfathomable. She
+said almost inaudibly, “I am not going to forget; not
+ever, Señor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bordereau was there that night?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“A man was killed that night?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes! You know—”</p>
+
+<p>“Who killed him?”</p>
+
+<p>“But I do not know, Señor! It was— I thought it
+was—”</p>
+
+<p>“I did not kill that man. Did Bordereau?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>“I thought—I thought you killed him! Bordereau?
+But I do not know, Señor! Not anything.”</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her a long while, trying to make out
+whether she lied. By this time there were hot spots
+of color in Sam Pepper’s tanned cheeks. Abruptly Torrance
+switched to other matters.</p>
+
+<p>“With Steve Bordereau dead,” he said, “who takes
+over here? Who’s the big gun now at the Stag Horn?”</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo. He and Steve were somehow partners.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you and Murdo good friends?”</p>
+
+<p>Her velvet-black eyes unsheathed themselves in a
+flash.</p>
+
+<p>“He is a pig. I hate him.” Only she said, “He is a
+peeg.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you see Doc Taylor come in the night after
+Bordereau was shot?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I followed into the room. Steve was not dead
+yet. Then Murdo t’row me out.”</p>
+
+<p>“And Doc Taylor?”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not know, Señor. He was there when I go.
+Two-t’ree hour after that a man comes running, telling
+everybody his little boy baby is sick; he is crazy
+to find the doctor quick. He come back two, t’ree
+time. He come again today; he say he cannot find the
+doctor. I do not know, Señor.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance slid some money across the table. “You
+can go now,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>She rose slowly with a queer, native dignity. The
+money she ignored absolutely, as though she had not
+seen it. Her eyes were a little brighter, her face hotter
+with color.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>“I am your friend, if you will have it that way,
+Señor,” she said, in a soft voice which trembled just
+a trifle and which was very earnest. Then she hurried
+away, almost running.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper, looking about to explode with all that
+pent-up curiosity seething within him, began babbling
+questions, but Torrance promptly shut him up, saying:</p>
+
+<p>“Not now, Sam. You’ve got to wait, if it kills you.
+Right away I want you to help me. Remember that
+I’m a stranger here and that you ought to know everybody.
+We’ve got us a job of work to do tonight, and
+it might come in handy if we had a few other fellows,
+say four or five, to lend a hand. Men that are on the
+up-and-up and that we can trust. How about it?”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper’s eyes started roving again. Then he
+shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Not upstairs, Torrance. Downstairs in the bar I’d
+be sure to find some boys like that, that I know and
+that a man can tie to.”</p>
+
+<p>“Step down and round ’em up,” said Torrance.
+“Make it lively. Friends of the Cannon girl if you can
+find them. I’ll be with you in no time.”</p>
+
+<p>Sam slid out of his chair and hurried out of the
+room. When Torrance went downstairs a few minutes
+later he had reason to congratulate himself on the
+choice of his ally. Pepper had already gathered half
+a dozen dependable looking men. Five of them, especially
+sought out by Pepper, were young stock men,
+and neighbors of the Cannons; the sixth, older and
+slightly bald, yet a man ready for anything, had not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>been invited but had horned in—and that man was
+Lying Bill Yarbo. Pepper looked at him accusingly; as
+for Jim Torrance, he was glad to have Yarbo of their
+number. At a nod from him they followed him outside.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m playing a wild hunch tonight, boys,” he told
+them. “I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. First get
+this: If I’m wrong we’re apt to have a fight on our
+hands, and if I’m right we’ll be turning up to the light
+a pretty dirty trick that’s been played and that’s still
+in play.”</p>
+
+<p>One of the young fellows, lean and lanky Dave
+Drennen who had once worked for King Cannon and
+who now was running a small spread of his own, spoke
+up quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“Somehow what you’ve got in mind is to help out
+Sally Cannon? You’re a friend of hers and you know
+what’s gone with her?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s to help out the Cannon girl, and to help me
+out, too. Yes, I know where she is. So does Pepper.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure I do,” said Pepper. “Right now she—”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep it under your hat a little longer,” commanded
+Torrance. “Now if you boys will wander along with
+me we’ll get busy. Likewise I’ll tell you what I’m
+banking on.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way and the others came along, walking
+swiftly down the sidewalk toward a hardware store
+which he had noted on his first day in Sundown. It
+was too early for a store to be closed and there were a
+couple of articles he wanted. But the little group of
+men hadn’t gone over a block when Sam Pepper, who
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>seemed to have eyes in the back of his head and whose
+ears were always registering sounds to which others
+gave no attention, came to a sudden halt.</p>
+
+<p>“Say!” he exclaimed. “There’s Clark Murdo! And
+there’s someone with him! Say, he’s got the girl! That’s
+Sally Dawn he’s yanking along after him!”</p>
+
+<p>Three or four riders had drawn up in front of the
+Stag Horn; that was what Sam Pepper had heard first
+of all. They had dismounted; Clark Murdo had called
+out sharply, issuing some swift command. Then he
+and those with him passed into the Stag Horn.</p>
+
+<p>“So,” thought Torrance, “Murdo followed us after
+all, found the girl and has brought her here.” He said
+aloud: “We’ll go back, boys, but let Murdo show his
+hand first. Funny he has brought her back to Sundown;
+with so many folks around, he can’t raise a
+finger against her. He—”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
+snapped Sam Pepper. “He will hand her over to Rufe
+Biggs; Rufe’s town marshal, as crooked and mean as
+a snake and a skunk—and belongs body and soul to
+Bordereau. Or did. With Bordereau dead, I guess he’s
+in Murdo’s pocket. He could jail her, couldn’t he?
+After that, him and Murdo could do as they damned
+well pleased.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just the same, take it slow,” muttered Torrance.
+“I’ve got something up my sleeve and we’re going to
+know right soon whether it’s an ace or a low card.”</p>
+
+<p>When they came back into the Stag Horn they saw
+that Pepper had things partly right if not entirely.
+There was Rufe Biggs, town marshal, tall and yellow-haired
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>and pale-eyed, towering over Sally Dawn, who
+looked very small and helpless and weary. There was
+Murdo, doing a lot of talking; there was hot fury in
+his eyes, to be explained perhaps by a fresh gash on his
+cheek from which blood was still dribbling. He kept
+dabbing at it with his bandana.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s yours, Rufe,” he said. “I caught her hiding
+out up at Sam Pepper’s place. You ought to arrest him,
+too. You ought to go grab that damn wife of his; she
+threw a butcher knife at me. Anyhow here’s this Cannon
+girl that murdered my pardner. Me, I say, woman
+or no woman, let the law take its course.”</p>
+
+<p>No one laughed at the thought of Sam Pepper’s
+wife attacking Murdo with a butcher knife; that could
+be explained solely by the fact that nearly every man
+here was a follower of the team of Bordereau and
+Murdo. They would laugh later, when Murdo wasn’t
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Rufe Biggs, stepping closer to the girl, was just lifting
+his hand to put it on her shoulder, just opening his
+mouth to announce her arrest, when Jim Torrance’s
+voice, sounding flat and toneless, made itself heard
+through the brief silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I’m a stranger here, but there are some things
+even a stranger might like to know about. One is, why
+did Murdo have to see to it that Steve Bordereau got
+buried in such a hurry?”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn, hearing him, whirled about, all eagerness
+and expectancy. Murdo’s black brows came down
+in a heavy frown.</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell business is this of yours anyhow?”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Another thing,” said Torrance in the same expressionless
+tone, “who killed Bordereau? This girl here?
+Well, how many times did she shoot him?”</p>
+
+<p>“This ain’t any trial court, brother,” said Rufe
+Biggs.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it was the Cannon girl that killed him,
+and you know it,” snapped Murdo. “She shot him
+twice, close up; once in the body, the second shot in
+the head. She—”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn’s gasp was drowned by Torrance’s reply
+to Murdo.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a damned liar, Murdo,” he said. “She shot
+him just once.”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo’s hand went as quick as a flash to his low-slung
+gun. But Jim Torrance’s two hands were already
+on his two guns, and there was a cold, deadly look in
+his low-lidded eyes which acted as a deterrent. Murdo
+shrugged.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s one more thing that a man might like to
+know about,” Torrance went on after a little pause.
+“Where’s Doc Taylor? Nobody seems to have seen him
+since he went up to take care of Bordereau.”</p>
+
+<p>A queer look came into Murdo’s eyes at that; the
+color ran up into his swarthy cheeks, subsiding slowly.</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell are you driving at anyhow?” he said
+thickly.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance didn’t answer him. Instead he said to
+Sally Dawn Cannon: “You’ll be all right now; the
+marshal will hold you where you’ll be safe for maybe
+an hour. Then we’ll come back and see you home or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>wherever you want to go.” He turned and went back
+to the door. “Come along, boys,” he said, as the eyes
+of his new allies followed him. “We’ll know damned
+quick what it’s all about.”</p>
+
+<p>This time Sam Pepper was the last to follow. He
+hung back long enough to ask of the girl, “Is Molly
+all right, Sally?”</p>
+
+<p>“They were brutes to her. They left her tied up,
+so she couldn’t come along with us. Yes, she’s all right,
+Sam—and she was wonderful!”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper then was sadly torn two ways. He
+wanted to rush back and free his wife and hear all
+details of what had happened; he wanted with all his
+heart to find out what Jim Torrance had up his sleeve,
+whether ace or deuce. In the end, hurrying after the
+men who were already hurrying after Torrance, he
+found a half-grown, gawky and open-mouthed youth
+whom he dispatched to set Mrs. Pepper free. Then at
+a run he came up with Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Where we going now, Torrance?” he asked. “What
+we going to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“We want a couple of picks and shovels,” said Torrance.
+“We’re going out to the graveyard.”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper’s mouth came open for an exclamation
+and remained open with never a sound being made.</p>
+
+<p>Together with the tools which Torrance had mentioned,
+they picked up a couple of lanterns. In the
+graveyard, companionably close to the edge of town,
+they shone the light of their lanterns on a freshly
+painted headboard. It advised that Here Lay Steve
+Bordereau, Gambler, Friend and Gentleman.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>“Let’s dig,” said Torrance. “We might be interrupted,
+and there’d be sure to be some around here
+who’d say this sort of thing was against the law. Let’s
+get busy.”</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill Yarbo began swearing in his rich deep
+voice and was the first to wield a pick. Sam Pepper
+shivered delightfully from head to foot and was of no
+earthly use. A contagion of excitement spread over
+the others. In no time at all they brought the coffin
+up and pried the lid off.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance, stooping to look closely, said only:</p>
+
+<p>“This isn’t Steve Bordereau. Who is it?”</p>
+
+<p>A yell burst from Sam Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Doc Taylor! Doc Taylor, by the powers! What’s
+he doing dead here? Who done him in? And where’s
+Steve Bordereau? And what’n hell’s blazes does it all
+mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s pick up the box and carry it back to the Stag
+Horn, boys,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jim Torrance</span> came stalking back into the Stag Horn.
+He had been away so short a time that he found things
+here pretty much as he had left them. Sally Dawn
+Cannon stood where he had seen her last and did not
+seem to have moved. Only a few paces from her, talking
+quietly into each other’s attentive ears, were Clark
+Murdo and the marshal, Rufe Biggs, keeping their
+eyes on her all the time. The only change in grouping
+that Torrance could note was this: A dozen men, hard
+hombres he judged them, and Murdo men, had
+gathered just behind Murdo and Biggs; they looked
+ready at the drop of the hat for anything they might
+be called on to deliver.</p>
+
+<p>As Torrance entered, the room grew hushed and
+every eye turned to him. He stepped to one side of the
+door and got his back to the wall before he spoke.
+Then it was the girl whom he addressed.</p>
+
+<p>“Everything’s all right now,” he said. “You’ll be
+free to go in about two minutes!”</p>
+
+<p>“Like hell!” roared Murdo, tense and worried and
+truculent. “All you’re doing is a lot of wild talking.
+You’d better fold up and blow before you get yourself
+dehorned. <i>Sabe, hombre?</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance ignored him. To Rufe Biggs he said:</p>
+
+<p>“We stepped out to the graveyard. Somebody seems
+to have been digging out there. The boys are bringing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>you what we found. Here they come now.”</p>
+
+<p>They squeezed through the door, carrying the redwood
+box on their shoulders. It was Lying Bill Yarbo
+who set something down on the box when it had been
+deposited on the floor before Rufe Biggs.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s the headboard that went with the coffin,”
+said Yarbo. “Step up and read it, gents.”</p>
+
+<p>Neither Biggs nor Murdo moved or spoke; they
+looked swiftly at each other and looked away even
+more swiftly. Other men crowded close. One sang out:
+“Hell, they’ve dug Bordereau up! Can’t they let a dead
+man lie in peace?”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe this dead man didn’t want to lie in peace
+until he’d had his own funeral and not somebody
+else’s,” drawled Torrance, and kept watching Murdo.
+“Lift the lid off, boys.”</p>
+
+<p>A shout went up: “It’s Doc Taylor! It ain’t Steve
+at all! By the Lord, it’s Doc Taylor in Steve’s box!”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll find he’s had his head bashed in,” said Torrance.
+“Whether that killed him outright or whether
+he smothered after his quick burial, I don’t know.
+Maybe the coroner can find out. Anyhow, Biggs, he’s
+yours now. And you might ask your friend Murdo
+what he did with Bordereau and why he put Taylor
+in his place!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, damn you!” yelled Murdo, and again he
+went for his gun—and again he thought better of it.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s twice you’ve done that, Murdo,” said Torrance.
+“Mean anything by it?”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo, like Steve Bordereau in this, was a certain
+type of gambler, the cold-blooded, calculating type
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>that will bet as high as any man—but only on a dead
+sure thing. Right now, though he had a hard, gun-slinging
+pack at his back, the odds for him personally
+did not appear to strike him as right. He got himself
+in hand, throttling down his anger, which he so seldom
+let sweep him away, and spoke coolly and with the
+affectation of a sneer.</p>
+
+<p>“Seems like, for a stranger, you’re getting around,”
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>“And at that I’ve still got quite some traveling to
+do,” returned Torrance. To the roomful of silent,
+puzzled men he added: “Later on you boys can figure
+out just what happened, but one thing ought to be
+clear enough to the thickest skull right now: First,
+Bordereau isn’t any more dead than you are; he wasn’t
+even bad hurt. The Cannon girl shot him high up, in
+the right shoulder I think it must have been. He put
+his hand up as he fell back and got blood on it and
+got the blood smear on his forehead. Then he got him
+his hunch to play dead, and you can take it from me
+he had his reasons for wanting to do that! Then some
+busybody brought the doctor in, and some helping
+friend of Bordereau’s cracked the doc over the head
+to keep him from going out and spilling the beans.
+That done, they have the funeral right away, Doc Taylor
+taking Bordereau’s place while Bordereau goes off
+somewhere and holes up until his wound heals. I’d say
+Marshal Biggs would be inside his rights to gather
+Murdo in and hold him on suspicion.”</p>
+
+<p>A lean and foxy-faced young fellow, that same gimlet-eyed
+young hellion who had come out to Torrance’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>place looking for the vanished girl, began
+whispering in Murdo’s ear. Murdo listened, then
+grinned.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re right, kid,” he said, and then spoke his piece
+to all who cared to listen—and that meant all within
+earshot. “Torrance and some other boys go out and
+do some digging in the graveyard. They come back
+with Steve’s headboard and a coffin! Who’s to tell us
+it was Steve’s coffin in the first place? And if it was,
+who’s to say they didn’t lift Steve out and put Taylor
+in? Who’s here to say they didn’t kill Taylor themselves?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right,” said Biggs quickly. “Dammit, that’s
+right!”</p>
+
+<p>“Better watch your step, Echo Biggs,” warned Torrance.
+“Anyhow get this straight: You can’t arrest this
+girl for killing Bordereau when more than one of us
+knows Bordereau hasn’t been killed. Now I’m going
+to tell you all a little story. About six years ago a pardner
+of mine and myself were down at a little border
+town called Las Lunas, sixty miles from Nacional. We
+had forty thousand dollars between us and were taking
+our time to sink it in a cow outfit. One day when
+Danny was alone at the cabin some gent stepped in,
+shot him in the back of the head and made off with our
+stake. And the gent that did that went to a good bit of
+trouble to make it look as though I had murdered my
+own pardner.”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo, though slow with his gun tonight, was quick
+with his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>“A pardner-killer, huh?” he said. “So that’s what
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>you are!”</p>
+
+<p>“The gent that killed Danny,” Torrance continued
+imperturbably, “stepped right along. But he still kept
+up his play at getting me blamed for his night’s work.
+Twenty miles farther along he wrapped a bandana
+about his face, held up two sheep men that everybody
+knew had been hoarding for a long time, robbed them,
+killed one, said to the other, ‘Me, I’m Jim Torrance,
+and when you hear me coming you better hide,’ and
+kept on going. And only a year ago the same gent, or
+I’m guessing wrong, plugged a man down in Nacional
+when I was in town, and tried to throw that on me.
+His game was and still is clear enough. He knows
+damned well I’ll get him some day, if he can’t fix it
+up so that some hot-headed party swings me to a
+cottonwood first.”</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell’s this got to do with us?” demanded
+Rufe Biggs.</p>
+
+<p>“Plenty. I came up this way looking for a man that
+calls himself Jim Torrance whenever he pulls a fast
+one. I’ve got a reason or two to bet any man of you a
+thousand dollars to a hundred that that gent is Steve
+Bordereau. And, if you want to know, that’s why Bordereau
+is playing dead right now. He’s the sort that
+shoots a man in the back, that tries to manhandle a
+girl, that sets his yellow dog onto smashing Doc Taylor
+over the head and burying him just to give him a
+chance to hide out. He means to make his final clean-up
+here, then drift along somewhere else where they
+don’t know him, take a new name—and maybe get to
+be mayor or something like that.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>“Got any proof of all this, Stranger?” demanded
+Biggs, beginning to look a trifle uncertain.</p>
+
+<p>“Somebody’s already said,” Torrance told him,
+“that this place isn’t any courthouse. Besides, I’ve
+talked myself out for one night.” He turned to Sally
+Dawn Cannon. “If you’re ready we’ll step along.”</p>
+
+<p>She started forward eagerly. Rufe Biggs put out an
+involuntary hand to detain her, but Murdo moodily
+shook his head. Biggs dropped his hand and seemed
+relieved to do so, and Sally Dawn came swiftly to Torrance’s
+side. She stepped around the grewsome thing
+lying there on the floor staring up at her, and shuddered;
+but once outside in the clean night air, with
+friends about her, shudders were forgotten and an
+ecstasy thrilled through her. She put her two hands
+impulsively on one of Jim Torrance’s hard brown
+ones. She said with a catch in her voice:</p>
+
+<p>“Some day when I can get a good dictionary I’m
+going to read it all the way through.” He jerked up
+his black brows at her, as much as to ask: “Who’s
+crazy now? You or me?” Then she ran on: “Maybe
+that way I can find the words to thank you! But for
+you, where’d I be now? But for you, I’d all my life go
+on thinking I’d killed a man.”</p>
+
+<p>He chuckled at last, the way she loved to hear him.</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks,” he said. “If you’d nailed Steve Bordereau
+proper, that wouldn’t have been anything to keep you
+awake, and you’d have saved me a job.”</p>
+
+<p>Then they mounted, all of them, and rode out of
+town. For a few minutes Jim Torrance and Sally Dawn
+rode neck and neck. That was while he said to her a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>word or two he felt impelled to speak. He said:</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got good friends and unless I’m a liar you’re
+going to have a lot more real soon. You can go back
+to your ranch when you want to. Why not stay with
+the Peppers tonight? And when you go back home,
+why not have them come along, and Bill Yarbo and a
+couple of the other boys? And keep this in mind: You
+haven’t lost your ranch yet; you can bet your sweet
+life that Bordereau pulled a crooked trick or two getting
+you folks out on a limb; stick to it and you’ll beat
+him yet.”</p>
+
+<p>At the edge of town they rode into the deep dark
+under a thick grove of big pines; when she said something
+to Torrance, still thinking him at her side, it
+was Lying Bill Yarbo who answered.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s Jim Torrance?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>He didn’t exactly know. No one else knew. They
+called for Torrance and got no answer.</p>
+
+<p>He had dropped back, cut into a side trail and was
+already well ahead of them hurrying to his own place.
+He said to his horse, with whom he grew conversational
+at times when they had it all to themselves:
+“Here we’ve been putting in a lot of time messing
+around in a girl’s affairs and letting our own slide.
+Let’s change all that.”</p>
+
+<p>At his ranch he went out to the barn and threw
+down a plentiful lot of hay into the mangers; the stock
+would be finding short browsing and feeling the want
+of warm shelter. He pulled his saddle and bridle, gave
+his horse a good rubdown and a here’s-thanks-old-boy
+slap on the rump, went out into the corral and tossed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>a skilful noose over his liveliest black mare’s neck. This
+one he saddled and left in readiness; thereafter he
+went into his house for a shave, a bite, and ten minutes’
+relaxation flat on his back.</p>
+
+<p>And then the thing happened which he might have
+expected, had he had all his wits about him. For of
+course he had lighted a lamp, and he had not covered
+his south window—and here came Sam Pepper on the
+run.</p>
+
+<p>And Sam’s words, as he bounced into the house, ran
+even faster than a spry Sam Pepper could travel. There
+was a gleam in his eye, there were red spots in his
+cheeks, there was something akin to venom on his
+ready tongue. From the doorway he cussed Jim Torrance
+up hill and down dale.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s eating you?” demanded Torrance, leaning
+on his elbow.</p>
+
+<p>“You—you—you—” There Sam bogged down. But
+he grew vocal instantly. “You wanted me to help you,
+and I done it. You was going to let me in on a lot of
+secret doings—and, instead, you run out on me!
+What’s more, you only set me wondering about a lot
+of other things! I got a notion to cut your gizzard
+out and fry it in hawg fat and make you eat it!”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance stood up. Of a sudden Sam Pepper, thinking
+himself about to be attacked by a man to whom
+killing was just a chore, leaped back out through the
+door, which, perhaps subconsciously, he had kept open
+against retreat.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t shoot, Jim. Don’t shoot!” he pleaded. “I was
+just funning. Shore I was, Jim.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>Torrance laughed at him and sat back on the edge
+of his bed. Pepper sidled back into the room. And
+then, brushing him aside, Lying Bill Yarbo came
+barging in.</p>
+
+<p>“What the merry hell’s going on here?” shouted Bill
+Yarbo, comporting himself like a storm wind blowing
+its heartiest. “You’d run out on me, would you? And
+connive with this tricky, lying Sam Pepper? The truth
+ain’t in him and you ought to know it; and still you
+let him come in and powwow with you unbeknownst
+to others. Torrance, are you a damn’ fool on top of
+other things?”</p>
+
+<p>Here was another cue for a laugh from Jim Torrance
+that started low down somewhere in his anatomy
+and rose into a glorious crescendo. He got to thinking,
+“If I went out gunning for a couple of boys to
+keep me from going to sleep on my feet, I couldn’t do
+better than S. Pepper and L. B. Yarbo.” But all that
+he said to them about all this was said in that laugh
+of his. He was a man with a tight smile, with now and
+again a mellow chuckle—with a laugh like that maybe
+once a year.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper stared, pop-eyed; Lying Bill glared. It
+was Lying Bill Yarbo who spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“What’n merry hell are you talking about?” he demanded,
+and his big burly fists were doubled into
+young parboiled hams at his sides.</p>
+
+<p>“Since you ask,” said Torrance, “I’m going for a
+chat with Steve Bordereau.”</p>
+
+<p>“You do know then where he’s at?” gasped Sam
+Pepper, goggling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>“I’ve got a notion. My horse is saddled. I’m riding
+right away.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going along,” said Yarbo heavily.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you let him, Jim!” stuttered Sam Pepper.
+“There’s like to be trouble when you find Bordereau.
+Me, I’m your man. Yarbo here, he’d let you down—he’s
+the damnedest coward in seven states and—”</p>
+
+<p>Lying Bill made a lunge at him but with almost incredible
+alacrity Sam Pepper scuttled across the room
+and established himself behind the headboard of Torrance’s
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>“Pepper’s such a damn little liar,” snorted Lying
+Bill.</p>
+
+<p>This time Torrance didn’t laugh; he was no longer
+in the mood for any light comedy. He saw what ailed
+them both, each man hating the hide the other walked
+in, each wishing his own subconsciously acknowledged
+failing upon the other. He said curtly:</p>
+
+<p>“You boys stood in with me tonight and I’m obliged.
+I’ll be glad any time to do the same for both of you.
+Now I’ve got me a job that belongs to me and I’d
+better take it on single-handed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dammit, you ain’t got no gratitude!” yipped Sam
+Pepper. “If you had, you’d ask me along. You made
+a deal with me, remember; me, I done my part and
+you ain’t done yours!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, hell, come along if you want to,” grunted Torrance.
+He got up and jammed on his hat. “You’ve got
+a ride ahead of you though.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me, too!” boomed Bill Yarbo. “If there’s apt to be
+a showdown with Steve Bordereau, I’ve got a right to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>be in it. Hell’s bells, man, I’m the best friend Sally
+Dawn’s got; me and her old man, King Cannon, was
+boys together and—”</p>
+
+<p>“He never seen King Cannon but once,” cried Pepper,
+“and then Cannon booted him clean off’n his
+ranch.”</p>
+
+<p>Yarbo made a dive at him and Pepper slid up close
+behind Torrance’s back. Torrance sang out sharply:</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, you two horn toads! You’re both welcome
+to trail along if you’re fools enough to do it, but
+I can’t bother with you if you can’t keep your damn
+mouths shut about each other. If you want to start
+something, better stay here and do it. I’ve got something
+else to do than trying to stand betwixt you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll leave him alone if he’ll leave me alone,” muttered
+Sam Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>“Me too,” grumbled Lying Bill, though with reluctance.</p>
+
+<p>“Only,” added Sam, “it would be a heap sight better
+if he went back home and stayed there!”</p>
+
+<p>“You—!” shouted Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>But under that cold, low-lidded look that they got
+from Jim Torrance they grew silent. And in the end,
+not over ten minutes later, the three mismated musketeers
+rode out together—toward a meeting with Steve
+Bordereau.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">They</span> had made their packs—blankets, bacon and
+beans, coffee, frying pan and coffeepot—and headed
+up into the mountains, riding the same trails Torrance
+and Sally Dawn had so recently traveled. They
+camped that night at the same deserted shack that had
+sheltered him and the girl on the first leg of their
+journey, and were up and riding at the first glint of a
+pale gray daybreak. No snow fell that day; by mid-forenoon
+tattered streaks of clear sky were like pale-blue
+banners above the far ridges. And when they
+came to the old mining camp high above Pocket Valley,
+the mountains as far as they could see swam in a
+diaphanous purple mist, and the western horizon was
+aflame with a red-and-gold sunset.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I’ll tell you boys all I know,” said Torrance,
+and hooked a leg over the saddle horn while he reached
+for the makings. “Murdo and somebody else camped
+here night before last. I could see Murdo through the
+window; the other man was on a bunk in the corner
+and I couldn’t see him. And I couldn’t hear what they
+were talking about. But I could tell that the other
+man was giving orders and that Murdo was taking
+them. So it’s a fair bet it was Bordereau.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where’d they go to?” demanded Sam Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>“Down trail toward Pocket. But they swung off
+where there’s a narrow canyon. Then Murdo went
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>down alone to Pocket, filled his grub bag and went
+back up the canyon. So it’s my bet that that’s where
+Bordereau is now, hiding out where nobody’d look
+for him, the same time he gets well of a bullet hole
+somewhere in his carcass.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I know that canyon like I know my hat,” said
+Bill Yarbo. “And I know right where we’ll find Bordereau,
+sure. You see, Torrance, about thirty year
+ago there was all hell to pay about the mines up here.
+And Sally Dawn’s old gent, though he was a stock man
+first, last and all the time, took an interest. He was in
+the money in them days. He come up here; he bought
+up some mining properties; and he likewise grabbed
+off a little valley all his own for a summer range.
+What’s more, he built him a house, and he’d come up
+here when he felt like loafing, and go hunting and
+fishing. That house stands there yet, quite a place, and
+it’s up that canyon—and you couldn’t find a likelier
+place for a man to hide out and lick his wounds.”</p>
+
+<p>“And for once he ain’t lying!” said Sam Pepper, in
+a tone of awe.</p>
+
+<p>“Far from here?” asked Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo, having glared at Pepper, said, “Hell,
+no. If we poke right along we’ll get there before it’s
+too dark to see the whites of their eyes. Bordereau
+won’t be all alone, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” admitted Torrance. “He’d have someone—”</p>
+
+<p>“I know!” exclaimed Sam Pepper. “He’s got anyhow
+three-four, maybe more men with him! There’s
+Hen Billings and Varney Slack and that half-breed, Joe
+Tortillas; that’s three of ’em anyhow! And—let’s see—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>“How would <i>you</i> know?” snorted Bill Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I sort of notice things,” snapped Pepper.
+“When I go places, I look around. Now since the night
+Bordereau got hurt I ain’t seen hide nor hair of any
+one of them three, and they’re always hanging around
+where Steve Bordereau is! Yep. And— Say, I ain’t seen
+Turkey-trot Smith or Andy Pollack, and they was both
+in Sundown when Bordereau got shot! I’ll bet he’s got
+the whole gang up there!”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance shrugged.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s just one way to find out,” he said, and unhooked
+his leg from the saddle horn.</p>
+
+<p>“Hey, wait!” said Sam Pepper, and looked worried.
+“It’ll be dark—we better camp here overnight, anyhow.
+And maybe—maybe—”</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo glared at him scornfully, then pretended
+spontaneous laughter. Sam Pepper went red to the
+gills.</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t scared!” he sputtered. “I’m just using my
+brains. If only three of us go jumping a crowd like
+Bordereau’s got—”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s only two of us that counts,” said Yarbo.
+“Come ahead, Jim, let’s get along.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s something else,” said Pepper hastily. “You
+can bet your boots that Bordereau’ll be ready for us!
+Don’t you suppose Murdo got word across to him in a
+hurry? Them two are playing this game close together.”</p>
+
+<p>“If Murdo or a messenger had passed us—”</p>
+
+<p>“He wouldn’t have to. He could have come up by
+the Flats. Or he could have sent some sort of signal.
+Me, I noticed some smoke standing up in the sky back
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>yonder over High Man’s Ridge; I wondered about it,
+too.”</p>
+
+<p>“You would wonder,” guffawed Lying Bill Yarbo.
+“Come ahead, Jim. Let the little rooster stick here or
+run back home to his old woman.” Then he grinned
+very broadly, his eyes peering tauntingly at Pepper,
+as he added, “Maybe Murdo and a bunch of cutthroats
+are following along behind us now, Jim; maybe Mr.
+Sam Pepper, scooting back home, will run smack-kerdab
+into them!”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper, from red, turned a pasty white, and
+his eyeballs rolled. Then, when Torrance pushed on
+again and Lying Bill Yarbo fell in behind, Sam Pepper
+knew a moment of dreadful doubt. It was soon going
+to be dark. A timber wolf, perhaps the same hungry
+old fellow that Sally Dawn and Jim Torrance had
+heard, howled after a fashion to make the white solitudes
+seem ten thousand times more dreary and lonely.
+It wasn’t that Sam was afraid of the wolf; a man in a
+haunted house wouldn’t be afraid of the creak of a
+floor board; such sounds, however, didn’t perk a man
+up. He shivered and spurred hastily along after Torrance
+and Yarbo.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The old house that so long ago had been a sort of
+vacation home and hunting lodge to that great-hearted
+gentleman, King Cannon, when first glimpsed by Jim
+Torrance gave him a flick of surprise, despite what
+Bill Yarbo had hinted of it. There was a small upland
+valley with a round bit of a lake like a dusky mirror
+in its center; there was a rushing stream pouring down
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>into the lake; on a narrow bit of bench land stood the
+building, massive and four-square, honest granite for
+foundation, no less honest and rugged spruce logs for
+the rest of it. Candlelight glimmered out through two
+or three windows.</p>
+
+<p>There came a hushed bleat from Sam Pepper alternately
+holding back and pressing up close to their
+heels.</p>
+
+<p>“Listen!” he pleaded. “You damfools listen to me!
+Ain’t you got any sense? Look how the place is lighted
+up! Say, there’s apt to be forty men there! If we go
+running into that mess—well, we might’s well cut us
+our own throats and save ’em the trouble!”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t listen to him, Jim,” muttered Bill Yarbo.
+And then in a confidential tone, yet one raised loud
+enough to make sure Pepper caught it, he demanded
+as though in wonder, “Why’d you bring him along
+anyhow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Funny they’ve got the place lighted up like that,”
+said Torrance. “If it’s Bordereau, and he’s in hiding,
+you’d think—”</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks,” said Yarbo. “He ain’t got the faintest idea
+that there’s anyone on his trail. Up here, why a man
+might hang out all winter and never have a nose poked
+in on him. We’ll take him clean by surprise.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re c-crazy!” stuttered Pepper. “Murdo’s sure
+warned him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come ahead, Jim,” said Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>The two started on again.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper stopped where he was.</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I’ll guard the trail,” he said faintly. “In case
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>anyone’s following us, I’ll head him off.”</p>
+
+<p>Yarbo laughed and Torrance grunted. Sam Pepper
+watched them ride on, but himself sat where he was in
+the trail and shivered from head to foot. He saw his
+two companions draw on closer to the house, then
+turn off trail into a grove, then emerge on foot, moving
+on guardedly. He was tempted then to turn and
+scurry back the way he had come, at least as far as the
+mining camp, but the thought of being in that lonely
+place all night—and of perhaps having some most unwelcome
+callers drop in on him—gave him a fresh set
+of jitters. He dallied with the thought of going back
+only as far as the main trail, then down to Pocket Valley.
+But suppose he should meet Murdo and his gang
+coming up from Sundown by way of the Flats?</p>
+
+<p>He just shivered and stuck tight where he was.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he’d have given anyhow a good left hand to
+know what was ahead of Torrance and Yarbo, what
+they were going to find out and just how things would
+happen to them.</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe they’ll be dead inside ten minutes,” his
+dry lips whispered. His spare shoulders twitched as
+he added: “Me, too, maybe. Why’n thunder did I
+ever come along with two such crazy fools?”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Again Torrance led the way, watchful for some
+guard who might well enough be posted outside. It
+appeared however that Bordereau, as Yarbo had predicted,
+was confident that no one was likely to look in
+on him here. For when the two men came stealthily
+up onto the front porch of the old King Cannon
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>mountain place and looked in at a window, they saw
+that the men inside had no thought of anything but
+of their own affair. There was Steve Bordereau on his
+feet and moving about restlessly, carrying one shoulder
+stiffly yet beyond that seeming whole and unharmed.
+With him were five other men.</p>
+
+<p>“What’n hell are they doing?” whispered Lying Bill
+Yarbo. “Tearing the house down?”</p>
+
+<p>“Who are they?” asked Torrance. “Know them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. That little weasel Sam Pepper guessed it;
+somehow he’s apt to guess right once in a while.
+They’re the fellers he said we’d run into. And take it
+from me, Torrance, they’re tougher’n saddle leather.
+If it comes along to a scrimmage, you better shoot
+damn fast and twice as straight—or that little egg-sucking
+Pepper’ll have the laugh on both of us.”</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau’s men, under his orders, were making a
+wreck of the big rude-timbered living room. With
+pick and crowbar and hand ax, they were tearing up
+floor boards now, and had already demolished a considerable
+section of one wall in a corner near the fireplace.
+One man, down on his knees, was prying up
+stones from the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s six of ’em altogether, and maybe more
+hanging around,” said Yarbo. “There’s only two of
+you and me—”</p>
+
+<p>“Better go back with your little friend Pepper,”
+said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, damn you!” growled Yarbo. “Me, I can
+handle that crowd alone and single-handed. I was
+just going to say—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>“Sh! What do they think they’re doing in there?
+What are they looking for?”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper could have told him, nailing the fact
+on the head; and Sam would have been in an ecstasy
+of interest to mark whether they found it or not. When
+this country had been filled years before with old freelance
+miners, when King Cannon had come up here
+and looked around and made him this place, he had
+grubstaked many a man, he had been a friend to
+nearly all of them—and a lot of gold, both raw and
+minted, had passed through his hands. Sam Pepper
+would have explained: “Why he kept a lot of gold,
+King Cannon did, and he put it somewhere, didn’t he?
+Here in this house, wasn’t it? And it’s never been
+found in all these years. Somehow, Steve Bordereau’s
+got a hunch at last that he can find it.”</p>
+
+<p>But Sam Pepper, missing all this, wasn’t on hand to
+explain, and Bill Yarbo didn’t know. He relieved himself
+of a ponderous, thick-shouldered shrug.</p>
+
+<p>“After all,” he suggested, “we come up here to
+gather Bordereau in, didn’t we? Me, for a long while,
+I’ve wanted to see that bull dehorned. Now while he’s
+busy, no matter what he’s looking for—”</p>
+
+<p>“The door’ll be locked,” said Torrance. “If we
+start anything through the window, they’ll scatter six
+ways, douse the glim and have us guessing. Let’s slip
+around back and see if we can get in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fair enough,” agreed Yarbo, and they started to
+withdraw. Just then however they were riveted in
+their tracks by a mighty uproar exploding in the room
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>on which they had only now turned their backs. There
+was an excited yell in a high tenor voice, that of Joe
+Tortillas; there was a triumphant, bellowing shout
+that came from an exultant Steve Bordereau. And
+then a half dozen men were shouting like schoolboys.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance and Yarbo whirled and ran back and
+peered in again. They saw what the excitement was
+all about. Joe Tortillas was the man who had been
+ripping up boards near the fireplace; he had come
+upon a small wooden box, pretty well rotted away,
+and from it dumped on the floor several rusted old
+tobacco cans—and thus proved that in old rumors there
+could be a lot of truth. What gushed forth was gold,
+some of it dust and knobby nuggets, some in minted
+coins.</p>
+
+<p>“Looks like a million dollars!” gasped Bill Yarbo.— And,
+oh, Sam Pepper, where were you then?</p>
+
+<p>“Looks like Bordereau’d got it for keeps,” snapped
+Jim Torrance, “unless— Come ahead, Bill! Now’s our
+chance! At the back door. They won’t be thinking of
+anything but that King Cannon gold.”</p>
+
+<p>He leaped down from the porch and ran, breaking
+through a deep snowdrift at the corner of the house,
+and after him like a lumbering plow horse came Lying
+Bill Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>They found the back door locked. They tried a
+window; it, too, was fastened. They hunted farther,
+hoping to enter without any splintering of wood or
+crash of glass. It was Yarbo who found a narrow door
+in a corner and got it open. He was aquiver from stem
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>to stern—just as Sam Pepper shook through icy fear,
+so did Yarbo tremble with rage. He muttered in his
+throat:</p>
+
+<p>“Damn him, Jim! That belongs to Sally by rights.
+It might get her in the clear again. And if Bordereau
+thinks for a split second—”</p>
+
+<p>Again a stone-cold Jim Torrance gave him a soft
+“Sh!” to bring him back to some degree of caution. It
+would be like Bill Yarbo to go bounding in like a
+roaring lion.</p>
+
+<p>“We ought to get the drop on them, Bill, but watch
+your step. Walk light and have your gun ready.”</p>
+
+<p>They entered directly into what had once been a
+large kitchen, the sort of place where you’d expect to
+have the ox roasted whole, the sort of kitchen a man
+like King Cannon was sure to dream into being. They
+saw strips of light under two doors, both giving entrance
+to the living room where Bordereau and his
+exultant followers were. Jim Torrance jerked his
+thumb toward one of these doors, then pointed to the
+other, and Bill Yarbo nodded. They’d burst in simultaneously
+from two points of vantage upon seven unexpecting,
+loot-excited men.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance stepped softly, tiptoeing, toward one of
+the doors. Bill Yarbo went his lumbering way like an
+old bear toward the other. They had enough light to
+guide them and to see each other by, due to the two
+glass panels set over the two doors. Torrance began a
+slow opening of the door to which he had stepped,
+drawing it inward toward himself. Bill Yarbo turned
+a knob, had trouble because of a warped jamb, gave
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>an impatient tug, found that his door opened the other
+way, shoved at it and—</p>
+
+<p>Then of a sudden, as he remarked later, on regaining
+consciousness, it seemed like all hell broke loose.
+Certainly these three things happened simultaneously:
+The door flew open with a crack and a bang of a heavy
+panel striking against a wall; the toe of Bill Yarbo’s
+boot caught on the threshold and Bill plunged headlong,
+sprawling on all fours into the living room—and
+from somewhere outside and near by there came the
+rapid-fire explosions of gunfire. If every energy had
+been bent toward giving Bordereau full warning that
+an attack was bearing down on him, the thing couldn’t
+have been better done.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau experienced his instant of consternation;
+so did Torrance and Bill Yarbo; not one of them had
+the least certainty of what those shots outside meant.</p>
+
+<p>But Sam Pepper knew!</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Sam Pepper kept twisting his head this way and
+that like a little owl sitting on a post; he wanted to
+watch for happenings at the old house, and at the same
+time in desperate apprehension he kept watching the
+trail along which they had ridden. When all of a sudden
+he saw two men bulking big as they rode toward
+him, his heart pounded, fluttered, threatened to stop
+for good and all, and the bones within him seemed to
+melt. He had been scared many a time in his life but
+never like this! He knew these oncomers for what they
+were—killers who’d make no more of Sam Pepper than
+a cat would make of a mouse at breakfast time.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>He wanted to scurry along to the house where Torrance
+and Yarbo were, but he couldn’t move. He saw
+the two men closer; there was enough light reflected
+from the white expanse to show him their bulky forms
+and, even more clearly, the horses they rode. They
+were Barty Evans and Butch Vorich, as sure as he was
+born, and if there were two more merciless brutes
+within a hundred miles of Sundown, he didn’t know
+them. He began to wilt and slide down out of his
+saddle. As he slid he reached automatically for his belt
+gun, just as it is said that a man will grasp at a straw.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper wore an old Colt forty-four that hadn’t
+been fired for years; he wasn’t even dead sure that it
+was loaded! It was a wonder that the thing could still
+shoot. Scared stiff and rigid as he was, still there were
+certain uncontrollable, spasmodic jerkings of his
+spare frame. A voice yelled at him; a gun roared and
+spat orange-yellow flame; he was sure that he felt a
+lock of hair cut away.</p>
+
+<p>His hands, despite the cold, were sweaty. That old
+gun of his got itself into his grip, he never quite knew
+how. A slippery finger slipped on the trigger. And, a
+wonder again, the bullet went on its way as from a
+fresh cartridge. Finally, a thing that cannot altogether
+be explained, an act of fate if you like—just one of
+those things—that wild bullet took a man, none other
+than Barty Evans, square between the small crafty
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>And Sam’s slippery finger kept on slipping. His gun,
+blazing away as of its own accord, emptied itself—and
+a howl of pain shrilled through the air as the man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>riding neck and neck with Barty Evans pitched headlong
+from his saddle into the snow and lay there moaning
+and writhing and trying to get up and falling back
+and lying where he fell, a black formless blot on the
+white of the snow.</p>
+
+<p>The gun slid out of Sam Pepper’s hand. Sam himself
+balanced drunkenly as though he too had been
+shot, then melted from the saddle and slowly settled
+down into a snow bank. He didn’t faint exactly, but
+for a few moments he didn’t quite know what it was all
+about or where he was or why. He felt sick.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>He was only vaguely conscious of other shots being
+fired within the house, of wild yells and scurryings. He
+heard more clearly a man shouting, and recognized
+Steve Bordereau’s voice: “Get the hell out of here!
+There’s a mob after us!” He heard a roar from Bill
+Yarbo, a roar cut short off; he heard pistol shots until
+the world seemed to rock with them; he heard Steve
+Bordereau shout again: “The gold, dammit! Get the
+gold, Joe! Let’s get the hell out of here!”</p>
+
+<p>And here came men rushing toward him on horseback,
+a hundred men he would have sworn, though
+there were but half a dozen of them in all. He cowered
+deeper in the snow and watched them race past; he
+saw Barty Evans’ body trampled, saw stricken Butch
+Vorich try to wriggle out of the way, screaming, and
+saw him too trampled, then lying a still black spot
+emphasizing the whiteness around him. They were
+gone, gone with a rush as they had come. And Sam
+Pepper, feeling more dead than alive, was alone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>After a while he picked himself up and slunk into
+deeper shadows. His brain began functioning again
+in its own peculiar way. He began wondering just
+what had happened there at the house—what about
+Jim Torrance? And Bill Yarbo? After Yarbo’s shout
+there hadn’t been a sound from them.</p>
+
+<p>So once again Sam Pepper was torn two ways. He
+wanted to scramble up on his horse and get out of here
+on the dead run, get out and stay out for good. Also
+he did want with all his heart and soul to know what
+had happened at the house.</p>
+
+<p>He began inching back into the trail.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> men lay sprawled in the house from which
+Bordereau had fled so precipitately, all three looking
+to be dead. In fact one of them was beyond ever stirring
+again; that one chanced to be Turkey-trot Smith,
+shot close under the heart.</p>
+
+<p>When, after no little reconnoitering, after many
+hesitancies and withdrawals, little Sam Pepper at last
+came inching into the room still lighted by three or
+four candle ends and also by a flickering light which
+came from an adjoining room, he saw Bill Yarbo lying
+on his face across a threshold, his gun near his lax
+hand, and saw Jim Torrance lying half in and half
+out of another door, as still as the already dead Turkey-trot
+Smith. Sam Pepper thought in agony, “Oh, my
+God, they’re both dead—and me, me, I’m all alone up
+here!”</p>
+
+<p>That flickering light from the next room impressed
+itself on him. He went tiptoeing to make out what it
+was, who was there. It was a lively young fire just getting
+well under way. Bordereau, as he ran out, had
+thrown a burning candle onto a heap of rubbish in
+a corner, meaning to let the house burn down behind
+him and thus to leave no definite evidence to the
+nosey ones, whose bodies, burnt to cinders, lay on the
+living room floor, nor when and how they had expired.
+Sam Pepper, just in time, began stamping out
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>the flames. He ran to the kitchen, found two buckets
+of water, doused the fire with them and so put it out.
+Then, slack-jawed in awe, he came back gingerly to
+the scene of the indoor battle.</p>
+
+<p>Two minutes later he and his kind fate were crowning
+him hero. His emotions were like those of a proud
+conquering monarch going to his coronal, or like those
+of a young girl being crowned Queen of the May. Most
+definitely little Sam Pepper was “Aces.”</p>
+
+<p>And he had his audience. For Jim Torrance reared
+up and took stock of things, and presently Bill Yarbo
+rolled over and groaned and made it emphatic that he
+too was still alive. Both men had been shot, Torrance
+once and Yarbo twice, yet neither was in any grave
+danger. Sam Pepper saw that immediately. Lying Bill,
+falling, had struck his head against the door jamb and
+was for some few moments out cold. Torrance, taking
+a bullet groovingly along his skull, had been within a
+hair’s breadth of reaching the end of his earthly trail,
+yet would be as good as new in a few hours. He had
+lost blood, he had suffered shock, but otherwise he was
+unimpaired.</p>
+
+<p>Both men, pulling themselves up into a sitting position,
+groped for their guns, then looked in a dazed and
+questioning way at Sam Pepper. Bill Yarbo, as soon as
+he was able to speak, began to curse the little man.
+That was because, most of all, he knew that it was his
+own awkward blundering that had precipitated disaster,
+and the words were sweet on his tongue that
+strove to put all blame on Sam Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo said:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>“Here me and Jim Torrance has been fighting, doing
+men’s work, and you—you little runaway rat! If
+you’d stuck with us, if you’d done your part— Go get
+out of my sight! You make me sick.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s a dead man,” said Sam Pepper. “It’s old
+Turkey-trot. He’s been shot square through the heart,
+looks like. Must of shot himself, huh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, damn you!” roared Bill Yarbo in weak thunder.
+“It was me that plugged him—else it was Jim— It
+was me, that’s who. And you! Sticking your head in
+a snow bank!”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper inflated himself.</p>
+
+<p>“If you two boys,” he told them pompously, “had
+did your parts as well as I done mine, you wouldn’t
+be laying here now for me to have to tend to. I guarded
+the trail, like I promised. When two fellers come
+storming in, Barty Evans and Butch Vorich they was,
+why I stopped ’em!”</p>
+
+<p>“You stopped ’em? Oh, my eye!” groaned Yarbo.
+“You—”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” said Sam Pepper vaingloriously. “I kilt ’em.
+Both of ’em. They’re laying out there in the trail; you
+can go see for yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of all the liars I ever knew!” growled Bill Yarbo
+in disgust.</p>
+
+<p>He managed to get to his feet and then would have
+toppled over in a dead faint if Sam Pepper hadn’t run
+to him and helped ease his big bulky body down onto
+a bench before the fireplace. Jim Torrance looked at
+Pepper strangely; he had heard those shots outside and
+had wondered about them. He too pulled himself up,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>retrieved his fallen gun, and went staggering across
+the room and out through the front door. He went
+weaving along the porch, lurching down the steps,
+stumbling along the trail beaten through the snow by
+several running horses, and came presently to the
+spot where Sam Pepper had experienced his great adventure.
+There, black blots on the pure white of the
+snow, lay two men. It was as Sam Pepper had said, and
+Jim Torrance, still swaying slightly though the clear
+cold outside night air was beginning to steady him,
+swore softly under his breath.</p>
+
+<p>He stood there a while, leaning against a pine,
+breathing deep, getting his head clear and his unwilling
+muscles under control. Then he went on a few
+steps, just to make assurance doubly sure about Bordereau’s
+departure. The trampled snow told the story;
+Bordereau and those with him had ridden on their
+spurs, going somewhere else.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>It was Sam Pepper who stabled the horses in a wreck
+of a shed behind the house, and who brought their
+packs in and spread blankets before the fireplace and
+made a roaring fire of splintered boards that cluttered
+up the place. And it was Sam who made a sort of broth
+out of scraps from their provision stock, bacon mostly
+with beans mashed up in the concoction; and it was
+Sam who, despite his patient’s curses, did the major
+job of binding up Lying Bill Yarbo’s wounds. Yarbo
+hadn’t said much until then; he had looked his questions
+at Jim Torrance and had said a bleak:</p>
+
+<p>“Well? He was lying as usual, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>Torrance leaned against the chimney and stared a
+long while at Sam Pepper, then shifted a penetrating
+gaze to Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the way Sam says, Bill,” he said. “He shot the
+two men, one square between the eyes, the other close
+to the throat. Damn straight shooting, if you ask me,
+with what little light there was. I found his gun in the
+trail.” He tossed it to Sam. “Looks like, after he’d
+emptied it, he’d thrown it in somebody’s face. If he’d
+had another gun, likely he’d have got Bordereau and
+the whole crowd.”</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper blushed. Bill Yarbo began turning red;
+he had swallowed some unwanted pills in his life but
+never one harder to get down than this.</p>
+
+<p>“What was happening in here, while I was heading
+the others off?” asked Sam, brisk again. He looked all
+about him cheerfully and wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance told him. Wider and wider did Pepper’s
+eyes stretch open.</p>
+
+<p>“With all the noise outside,” Torrance concluded,
+“Bordereau thought there was a posse bearing down
+on him. I guess he thought he’d done for Yarbo and
+me anyhow; he was burning down the house to make
+sure. And he got away with Sally Dawn’s gold, enough
+of it, from the looks, to put her up on easy street again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Gosh, I’m a sick turkey,” muttered Yarbo. “Bring
+me a bed and led me die in peace. After what’s happened
+tonight—” His roaming eyes rested for an instant
+on Sam’s perky face; then he shut them tight.
+“After what’s just happened,” he said faintly, “me, I’d
+ruther be dead anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>They holed up there at the old King Cannon mountain
+house, and were grateful for its shelter. Sam Pepper
+was nurse, kitchen hand and general roustabout.
+He went down to Pocket Valley for more provisions
+and for odds and ends; he kept the fires burning; he
+ministered to Lying Bill Yarbo when that bull of a
+man was delirious and threatened to tear the house
+down. Torrance came and helped when Bill was at his
+worst, and gave Pepper a hand with his labors. The
+two of them at times talked, Sam doing most of the
+speculating, as they wondered whether Bordereau and
+his men were clean gone for good, King Cannon’s gold
+along with him.</p>
+
+<p>From Pocket Valley they sent a man secretly, Andy
+Stock’s helper, to carry word to Mrs. Sam, who would
+pass it along to Sally Dawn, that all was well and that
+they would be showing up before very long. The
+women were to keep their mouths shut if possible; if
+Steve Bordereau liked to consider both Torrance and
+Yarbo wiped out of the picture, let him.</p>
+
+<p>“He tried to play dead on us,” said Jim Torrance.
+“If we sort of do the same for him, maybe he won’t
+hurry out of the country. Maybe we can meet up with
+him again.”</p>
+
+<p>“How much in gold do you suppose there was?”
+asked Sam, on edge. “A thousand? Ten thousand?
+Maybe a hundred thousand?”</p>
+
+<p>It was Torrance who, when he could, went out and
+scooped shallow graves for Turkey-trot Smith and the
+two men Sam Pepper had brought to the end of their
+trails; Sam wouldn’t go near them. Torrance got the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>job done of a windy afternoon with a storm threatening;
+it did snow that night but by morning cleared
+and a glorious blue sky hung over them. The sunlight,
+warm and golden, fell across Bill Yarbo’s bed and
+heartened him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hell’s bells,” he said, “I’ll be up and around tomorrow
+sure.” Then he glared at Sam who just
+then was departing in his chipper fashion toward the
+kitchen. “That is,” he said confidentially to Torrance,
+but loud enough to make sure that Sam heard him,
+“I would if I was fed right instead of being shoveled
+out the stingy messes that lying little lizard feeds me.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“I’ve been thinking about things,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>The three had made themselves as comfortable in
+the big living room as circumstances permitted. There
+was a genial fire going on the hearth, windows had
+been blanketed, some of the splintered floor boards
+replaced. Bill Yarbo lay in a corner on the bed they
+had made down for him; Sam Pepper squatted on the
+wreck of an old chair, and Torrance had humped over
+on the bench at the side of the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>“Me, too, I been thinking!” spoke up Sam. “Gosh,
+if I only knew—”</p>
+
+<p>“There are some things we do know,” said Torrance.
+“Steve Bordereau came here by night, went out
+in the dark and hasn’t come poking back; it’s clear
+enough he’s still playing dead and doesn’t want it generally
+known that he was ever up this way. We know,
+too, that he’s got quite a gang with him; and that seems
+sort of funny when you first think of it, since he is
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>playing dead; and men do talk. Another thing is this:
+Those two men that Sam stopped out in the trail were
+coming straight here; they were Bordereau men; it’s
+a ten to one bet Murdo sent ’em racing with word and
+warning for Bordereau, and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” said Sam, and rubbed his hands, “that’s why
+I kilt the son-a-guns!”</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo, who had given no sign of life, groaned.
+Torrance ignored both the little man’s boastfulness
+and the big man’s pain at having to swallow it.</p>
+
+<p>“And so,” Torrance continued, “even yet there’s a
+chance Bordereau is pretty much in the dark about
+what’s happened around Sundown while he was up
+here. He’s not apt to know about his grave being
+opened and about the stir that made at the Stag Horn.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s likely, Jim,” agreed Sam, and could not
+help adding, “Good thing I did stop them two messengers
+of Murdo’s.”</p>
+
+<p>“What I’m getting at is this,” said Torrance, frowning
+into the fire and speaking to himself as much as to
+the others, “what is Bordereau up to now? And why
+those several men with him? He’s got King Cannon’s
+gold, and it looked like a sizable pot. Is he running out
+with it, skipping the country while the going is good?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, he ain’t,” said Sam, and sounded cocksure.
+“For one thing, you said you thought you nicked him
+last night before they downed you; well, that’s two
+pretty fresh wounds he’s carting around. Another
+thing is, like you say, he’s got all those hard hombres
+along with him; it means that he plans still playing
+dead and so playing safe, to do a bit more hell-raising
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>before he drifts and, when he goes, to go with all his
+pockets full. He’s been down in Mexico before; well,
+likely he’s headed back there when he’s made things
+too hot to hold him up here. Likely he’ll buy him half
+the damn country and set himself up like a king.
+That’s the sort Steve Bordereau is. One thing about
+him, Jim, he don’t shoot nickels.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s sort of the way I’ve been figuring it, Sam,”
+he said. “But there’s this: When he does find out about
+Doc Taylor being found in his grave, what then? It’s
+going to look to most folks like Bordereau had a hand
+in that, huh? And I gather that Doc Taylor was pretty
+well liked. Bordereau might do some lively stepping
+out of here if a lot of the doc’s friends started looking
+for him.”</p>
+
+<p>Yes, there were a good many things to think about,
+and in the silence which shut down—broken only by
+the faint crackle of the fire and a dull, rhythmic thumping
+of a board loose somewhere and flapping in the
+night wind—they were thoughtful and uncertain.
+Presently Sam, who could never be silent for long,
+started to say something; but he hadn’t gotten out the
+first half dozen words when he leaped to his feet, his
+eyes goggling, and scurried into a shadowy corner of
+the chimney behind Torrance’s bench.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, my gosh!” he gasped. “What’s that?”</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo strove to rear up on an elbow in order to
+glare at him. He was in a good bit of pain and his
+voice was thick and faint, yet he managed to mutter
+scathingly:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>“The brave little fighter and man-killer is scared out
+of his britches by the wind blowing! Of all the—”</p>
+
+<p>“Shut up!” commanded Torrance in a whisper.
+“There is something—”</p>
+
+<p>All Sam’s terrors, which had left him in peace for a
+few hours while he had gloated over his heroism of
+last night, came back to clutch him by the throat so
+that he could scarcely get the whispered words out:</p>
+
+<p>“It’s s-somebody trying to break in! Somebody at
+the back door—t-trying to get in through the k-k-kitchen—”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance heard it too now and knew that Sam
+was right. He rose and, gun in hand, stepped softly
+toward the kitchen door.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Whoever</span> it was trying to get in at the rear door suddenly
+desisted; Sam Pepper had gone to infinite pains
+to make sure that all doors were barred, all windows
+fastened. There was a brief silence while Torrance
+cocked an ear against the slightest sound. Then he
+heard quiet voices, though he could not make out the
+words, and after that there came a sharp rapping.</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” demanded Torrance then. “Who’s there?”</p>
+
+<p>A voice answered quickly, “That you, Torrance?”
+And then another voice spoke up, giving him a start,
+saying eagerly: “Oh, Jim! Let us in!”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn’s voice! And she should be safely out of
+all this, many a mile away. He unbarred the door and
+jerked it open, and Sally Dawn hurried in, and with
+her came a young fellow, lean and lanky, whom Torrance
+didn’t recognize at first but presently, in a better
+light, remembered as Dave Drennen, that upstanding
+young rancher who was neighbor and friend of the
+Cannons and, if the look in his eye meant anything,
+a pretty warm admirer of Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad! You’re all
+right then?”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyone else with you two?” he asked, and when
+she said, “No, just Dave and me,” he shut and barred
+the door and led the way toward the other room. On
+his way he demanded, “What in thunder brings you
+here?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>“We got the message that Sam sent; that you and
+Bill Yarbo had been hurt. And did you think for one
+minute that I wouldn’t come to try to help?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why should you?” he asked curtly.</p>
+
+<p>“After all you had done for me—did you think—”</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s company, boys,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Sam had already popped out of his corner and came
+hurrying, the most relieved looking man imaginable,
+and Bill Yarbo, also looking glad, though his face was
+drawn with pain, again made his attempt to come up
+on his elbow.</p>
+
+<p>“Howdy, Sally! Howdy!” cried Sam. And then,
+“Howdy, Dave! Say, this is great!”</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo muttered something. Sally Dawn, standing
+in the middle of the room, her hair wind-blown,
+her cheeks bright with the nip of the night air, her
+eyes shining, looked them all over. Longest of all did
+she study Jim Torrance; she saw that his dark lean
+face looked haggard; she saw that his eyes looked hard
+between their narrowed lids; but she saw too that he
+was not as badly hurt as she had feared. Then she
+hurried to Bill Yarbo and went down on her knees beside
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor old Bill,” she said gently. “I’m here to doctor
+you, Bill.”</p>
+
+<p>“For which thank God!” said Bill Yarbo fervently.
+“Sam Pepper’s been trying his damnedest to kill me.”</p>
+
+<p>She laughed at him and patted his hand and then
+held it tightly in her two. Bill Yarbo settled back with
+a long sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance turned to Dave Drennen.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>“Well, what’s it all about?” he asked bluntly. “What
+are you two doing up here? What did you let this girl
+come for?”</p>
+
+<p>Drennen grinned.</p>
+
+<p>“You try to stop her when she makes up her mind
+about anything she’s got her heart set on. Try it sometime,
+Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no sense she should go sticking her nose
+into any more danger than she has to.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m safer right here than I’d be anywhere around
+Sundown,” said Sally Dawn, and sounded triumphant.</p>
+
+<p>“You are not,” said Torrance angrily. “Steve Bordereau—”</p>
+
+<p>“We know where Steve Bordereau is at this minute,
+Dave and I!” she said exultantly; and, by way of telling
+Mr. Jim Torrance what she thought of him for the
+sort of welcome he had given her, she wrinkled up
+her nose and put out the tip of her tongue at him.
+“Don’t we, Dave?” She fairly drenched young Drennen
+with a smile; let Jim Torrance take stock of that, too!</p>
+
+<p>“What’s all this?” cried Sam Pepper, electrified.
+“What do you know about Bordereau? How do you
+know where he is? And does he know—”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s have it,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“And,” said Sally Dawn, still exultant and meaning
+to let Mr. Jim Torrance learn that she knew a thing or
+two that might interest him, “Steve Bordereau and the
+men with him have a lot of gold—some looking like it
+had just been dug out of the ground, some in what
+looked like a lot of twenty dollar pieces! And I hope
+they get to quarreling over it—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>“Why, Sally Dawn!” yipped Sam Pepper. “That’s
+your gold, every ounce of it! They—”</p>
+
+<p>“What!” cried Sally Dawn, her eyes seeming to grow
+as big and round and bright as any of those twenty
+dollar gold pieces.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re not getting ahead very fast with anything,”
+grunted Torrance. “Seems as though the more there is
+to be explained, the more words get poured out and
+the less gets said. Suppose, young lady, that you or
+Dave Drennen here tells us what you know about
+Bordereau and where he is.”</p>
+
+<p>She drew a deep breath and pulled off her hat and
+pushed the tumbled hair back from her face. Then
+between them she and Drennen got their story told.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately on getting word of a part of what had
+happened up here, of both Torrance and Yarbo being
+wounded, she had insisted on coming to do her part;
+if they were hurt it was in her quarrel, wasn’t it?
+Drennen had done all that any mere man could to
+deter her, and that was nothing at all, so he had come
+along. They had taken the longer but more open way
+coming up through the Flats. It grew dark when they
+were several miles south of Pocket Valley. About a
+mile from the old abandoned mine road they had
+glimpsed a light through the trees; Dave Drennen
+knew the ranch with its clutter of tumble-down buildings
+and corrals—</p>
+
+<p>“Turkey-trot Smith’s place, I’ll bet a hat!” put in
+Sam Pepper, and slapped his bony thigh. “It would be
+just the place—”</p>
+
+<p>“We didn’t see Turkey-trot, though,” said Drennen.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>“You wouldn’t!” said Sam. “Jim shot him, and
+thereby saved Bill Yarbo’s life!”</p>
+
+<p>“Liar!” snorted Bill Yarbo, weak but not too weak to
+refute Sam’s libel. “Me, I shot him and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Dave told me about the place,” Sally Dawn hurried
+on, “and how Turkey-trot was suspected of hiding
+stolen stock there, and how he and Steve Bordereau
+had been thick as thieves—and we stopped and looked
+at the light and got to wondering. And just then we
+heard somebody coming up the trail behind us, riding
+hard, and we ducked into the timber and watched for
+him to go by. Only he didn’t go by! He was coming up
+from Sundown-way the same as we were; at a dead run
+he swung into the side trail and went straight on to
+Turkey-trot’s ranch. And we followed him!”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance withdrew his eyes from her to glance accusingly
+at young Drennen. Drennen heaved up his
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I couldn’t stop her,” he muttered. “And anyhow,
+the way things worked out, it was all right.”</p>
+
+<p>The man whom they followed at a respectful distance,
+themselves making a cautious arc through the
+timber, proved to be a certain fox-faced, narrow-eyed
+youth whom Torrance remembered, a man named
+Brill, and he went straight to Bordereau. It seemed
+that Murdo had sent out two men the day before to
+warn Bordereau that trouble was afoot, to tell him of
+the discovery in the Sundown graveyard and all the
+rest of that night’s events. When no report had come
+back to Murdo, he had sent Brill out, and Brill, taking
+the old road through the Flats, had seen the light at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>Turkey-trot Smith’s and judged he’d get the latest
+word of Bordereau there.</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely called out at the house and swung
+down and got himself admitted when Sally Dawn and
+Dave Drennen, their own horses hidden among the
+trees behind the barn, crept up to the rear of the house.
+They could peek through a crack in a warped old
+shutter, could see quite clearly what was going on inside,
+and could even catch a few words.</p>
+
+<p>“And we saw the gold,” said Sally Dawn. “It was in
+a heap on a table. I think Steve Bordereau was keeping
+nearly all of it for himself, but doling a little bit out
+to the others. What did Sam mean by saying it belonged
+to me?”</p>
+
+<p>They told her and she said thoughtfully: “Daddy
+used to keep a good bit of gold on hand; he lost a lot
+in a bank that failed once, and after that he wouldn’t
+have anything to do with banks. But we always thought
+he kept it down at home, on the ranch. And so now
+Steve Bordereau has that, too! Oh!”</p>
+
+<p>“You say you heard part of what they were saying
+tonight?” Torrance prompted her.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. That was just after Pete Brill burst in on them.
+He was telling them that Murdo had sent him; he told
+them about you and me coming back to Sundown and
+how you knew he was alive and how you brought the
+body of Doc Taylor back to the Stag Horn and accused
+either him or Murdo or both of the murder. Steve
+Bordereau was limping up and down—he seemed to
+have been hurt in the thigh or side—and I never saw a
+man look so furious! He began yelling your name,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>Jim. And he seemed to blame me, too; he swore he’d
+get everything I had on earth and”—she shuddered—“and
+that he’d get me, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?” asked Torrance coldly.</p>
+
+<p>“That was about all we got to hear, wasn’t it, Dave?
+The men were all excited and stirring about and one
+of them started toward a door and we ran back to our
+horses and hurried on here.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance, who had been leaning against the chimney,
+moved toward the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>“Come ahead, Drennen,” he said. “Let’s take care
+of your horses.”</p>
+
+<p>“We brought some grain for them,” said Sally
+Dawn. “And for your horses too. And we brought some
+food and some bandages and a bottle of whisky—”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance kept on going and Dave Drennen followed
+him out. A few minutes later Drennen returned
+bringing the things Sally Dawn had mentioned. She
+was already busy with Bill Yarbo; she gave him a big
+shot of whisky and in return he gave her such a look
+of gratitude as one doesn’t see often. Drennen then
+went out again to lend further help to Torrance with
+the stock.</p>
+
+<p>“He pretends his hurt don’t amount to anything,”
+he said from the door, “but it sort of looks to me he’s
+riding on his nerve. He oughtn’t to be out in the cold.”</p>
+
+<p>“Make him hurry back in, Dave,” pleaded Sally
+Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>But when again the door opened, it was to admit
+Drennen, returning alone.</p>
+
+<p>“Torrance says to tell you, Sally, you better get
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>back to your own home soon’s you can, and you better
+stay there, being as after this you’ll be safer near Sundown
+than anywhere else. And he says you get some
+friends of yours, men like Sam and Bill and me, about
+half a dozen good men, he says, to stick close night and
+day. And he says put ’em all on your pay roll and you
+can pay ’em out of that gold when you get it back, and
+if you can’t, he’ll pay ’em himself. And he says—”</p>
+
+<p>She sprang to her feet, exclaiming: “Dave Drennen!
+What are you talking about? Why doesn’t Jim—”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s gone,” said Drennen. “Gone hell-for-leather!”</p>
+
+<p>“Gone! Where?”</p>
+
+<p>“How do I know? He didn’t say. He just went.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why didn’t you stop him?” she wailed.</p>
+
+<p>“There you go,” muttered Drennen. He wiped his
+brow with the back of his hand. “Torrance says why
+didn’t I stop you—you say why didn’t I stop him! You
+two just try stopping each other, once, will you?”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Because the night was clear with frosty, glittering
+stars, and because there were patches of snow where
+the side road turned off, Jim Torrance was enabled to
+hit upon the trampled trail of many horses leading
+through the woods to the Turkey-trot Smith place.
+Otherwise he must have passed it, since there was no
+light in the house to guide him.</p>
+
+<p>He rode, as Sally Dawn and young Drennen had
+ridden, in a wide arc through the timber and to a place
+behind the old barn. Like them still, he went forward
+on foot, but he did his first bit of reconnoitering at the
+barn itself; it was dead still, with never the sound of a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>stamping horse. He moved on to the house and stood
+listening; the silence remained unbroken save for the
+faint rustle of wind through the tree tops.</p>
+
+<p>He went up the back steps and found the door open.
+After that he knew that already Steve Bordereau, perhaps
+because of a new slant at things afforded by the
+news brought by Murdo’s messenger, had led his men
+elsewhere. Still, to be dead sure, he stepped in through
+the open door. Again, after he had waited a long
+minute and heard never a sound, he moved forward;
+he didn’t immediately strike a match, because he
+thought: “If any of them are here, the dark’s all in my
+favor. They won’t dare indulge in any wild shooting,
+and there are no friends of mine here to stop a bullet!”</p>
+
+<p>At last, however, he did strike a match; he had been
+on the verge of retreating without doing so, but knew
+he’d never be quite satisfied that way. As the match
+flared up, his first thought was, “Not a man here.” And
+then he saw something, and whipped his gun over and
+thought, “There’s one of ’em, sleeping on the floor.”</p>
+
+<p>The man’s sleep was one that nothing on earth
+could ever break. Torrance stooped over him; he lay
+on his back, his arms outflung, his eyes glittering ceilingward
+in the flare of the match. Torrance didn’t
+know the man by name but remembered his face well
+enough, one of Bordereau’s followers, a burly, beetle-browed,
+heavy-jawed fellow who looked stubborn and
+sullen even in death. He had been shot through the
+head.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance’s match burnt out and he did not strike
+another. When he left the room he at least closed the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>door behind him, a thing that Bordereau hadn’t
+troubled to do. He didn’t worry himself greatly trying
+to figure out why this man had been killed. Bordereau’s
+work no doubt, since Bordereau was undisputed
+leader over his wolf pack. Maybe Sally Dawn had been
+right when she sensed the likelihood of a quarrel over
+the division of King Cannon’s gold; this man had the
+look of one who would speak up for himself. And if
+Bordereau had shot him in cold blood— Well, those
+others who still clung to him would be apt to watch
+their steps.</p>
+
+<p>In the saddle again he rode slowly, trying to pick
+up the trail of the riders who had so recently departed.
+He found it with little difficulty. They had cut straight
+back into the old road, then had turned south. That
+meant back down toward the Flats, toward Sundown.</p>
+
+<p>But within three or four miles all tracks faded out,
+because down here there had been little snow, which
+had melted already, and there were many rocky ridges
+and slopes on which it would be hard to find tracks
+even by day. Bordereau might have ridden straight on,
+hammering out the miles to Sundown or to some hide-out
+near town, or just as conceivably could have turned
+aside somewhere along the way.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance didn’t waste time looking for signs
+which he had such scant hope of finding, but pressed
+on toward his own place, which he reached at that
+bright moment when all along the crests of the ridges
+creating the broken line of the eastern horizon, gleaming
+strips of red and gold were being spread as for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>a carpet for the advent of the new day. As the rim of a
+red sun came up he was rapping at Sam Pepper’s door.
+Mrs. Sam, already up and dressed, came bustling to
+open for him.</p>
+
+<p>“You!” she exclaimed. “But—”</p>
+
+<p>A couple of men, two of the party who had officiated
+with him at the graveyard, both staunch friends of the
+Peppers as well as of Sally Dawn, pushed back chairs in
+an adjoining room and came to the door, as eager as
+Mrs. Sam. Torrance got a delectable whiff of breakfast,
+bacon and coffee floating out their fragrances on the
+sweet morning air.</p>
+
+<p>After breaking off with a “But—,” suspended in
+mid-air, Mrs. Sam invited warmly: “But come in, Mr.
+Torrance. Breakfast is ready, and you can tell us over
+a cup of coffee. I’ll bet you haven’t had one yet!”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, ma’am,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Over the table he brought them the latest news.
+They heard him out in utter silence, their faces tense
+and earnest. At the end, he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I’ve got a little of my own business to tend to.
+It would be a good idea if several of the boys went
+straight up to where Sam and Bill and Sally Dawn and
+Drennen are, just to be on hand. We’ve had one storm,
+we might get another, and it would be tough on them,
+the way they are, if they got snowbound. I don’t think
+you can drag Bill Yarbo out inside a week. I’ll see you
+later.”</p>
+
+<p>He went back to his own place and attended to his
+stock....</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>A couple of hours later the two men, with Mrs. Sam
+insisting on going along, left for King Cannon’s old
+mountain home. When they arrived, about the first
+thing Sally Dawn said was,</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s Jim Torrance?”</p>
+
+<p>They didn’t know.</p>
+
+<p>They had stopped at his house; they found a man
+there he had sent out from Sundown to care for the
+place. Mrs. Sam just shook her head and said, “Gone.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">Gone</span>,” was all that any one of them could say of Jim
+Torrance, and “Gone” was all that they were to know
+of him for many a day. Speculation was rife: He had
+met up with Bordereau somewhere in the wilderness.
+Bordereau had killed him and there was an end of
+him. Or, he had decided that he had tackled too stiff
+a job, going up against Bordereau and his gang, and
+had ducked out, going fast and far to save his hide. Or,
+he still lurked somewhere near Sundown, playing his
+lone hand, still hunting down the man he so long had
+hunted. Or, after all—for what did anyone really know
+about him?—he was just one of those wandering, restless
+figures always moving across the great Southwest,
+and had merely shown up here and passed as he doubtless
+had in so many other places, like a comet.</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn returned to the King Cannon ranch, to
+the sprawling old home under the oaks, and did not
+want for company on the way nor friends about her
+when she got there. It had been a week before they
+made the journey down from the mountains above
+Pocket Valley, for it was that long before they dared
+move Lying Bill Yarbo. Now he reposed in pampered
+ease in a bright bedroom at the ranch house and even
+began to stir about a little, and there was always Sally
+Dawn or Mrs. Sam to make him sort of glad he had
+been shot up. There was also, a thorn in his side, Sam
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>Pepper, for the Peppers had closed up their house and
+moved over to Sally’s. And further there were other
+friends, always two or three of them within calling
+distance, sometimes six or eight. Two foot-loose young
+cowboys, Smudge Talbot and Curly Redmond, well
+known to Drennen, had been put on the Cannon pay
+roll and, after two days, were taking full advantage of
+every opportunity to make eyes at their fair employer;
+Dick Pardee, one of the three brothers who owned
+Cold Spring Ranch, could generally be found here
+when wanted; and Andy Forsythe, Art Simmons and
+Blackie Webb, Cannon friends from nearby outfits,
+were always coming and going when they weren’t just
+lingering. Sally Dawn felt something rise up in her
+throat and had her eyes go wet many and many a time
+when she saw how old friends rallied about her as word
+went to them of what had happened and of the threat
+that a vanished Steve Bordereau still constituted.</p>
+
+<p>For Bordereau, like Jim Torrance, had somehow
+passed over the horizon and into a desert of silence,
+leaving no sign of his whereabouts or of his intent.
+About him, too, was much speculation; most men began
+to contend that he had played his last card here
+and was gone for good. And a good thing that would
+be—but what about Sally Dawn’s gold, her last hope,
+that had gone with him?</p>
+
+<p>The Stag Horn still flourished, in fact did a bigger
+business than ever before, for there was always the
+chance that Steve Bordereau’s bravado would bring
+him back, that the game was not yet played out; and an
+intensely interested community, splitting itself fairly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>in half on the rock of the Sally Dawn-Steve Bordereau
+situation, wanted to be on hand when anything further
+happened. Murdo, denying all knowledge of the
+substitution of Doc Taylor’s dead body for Bordereau’s,
+still operated the two bars and the gambling
+rooms; Florinda still plied her trade and fished for
+suckers’ dollars with her exotic lure.</p>
+
+<p>Despite existent conditions, on the King Cannon
+ranch Sally Dawn found herself living a more normal,
+a brighter life than had been hers for many a weary
+day. That smoldering, smoky, sullen look was less in
+her eyes now, and something of the infectious gayety
+came back into her rippling laughter, and she could
+again tease a romantically inclined cowboy in the same
+playful spirit that had been hers when she was sixteen.
+A source of unfailing glee for her existed in the residence
+here, cheek by jowl, of Lying Bill Yarbo and
+Sam Pepper.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you love the two old humbugs?” she laughed
+to Mrs. Sam. “They have to try so hard to hate each
+other.”</p>
+
+<p>Carrying Bill Yarbo his mid-afternoon nourishment
+of soup and pie and strong coffee—he was out on the
+porch in the mellow sunshine now, for, with the first
+storm vanished and the skies blue again, a last mild
+period of Indian summer claimed the land—she also
+bore an olive branch. She was fully determined to be
+an intriguing little dove of peace until she had her
+way with these two and made them in all things the
+staunch friends that she suspected deep down in her
+wise little heart that they were—and Sally Dawn Cannon,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>once she made up her mind about a thing, was as
+stubborn as Barney, the old pensioner mule out in the
+pasture.</p>
+
+<p>“Sam Pepper was asking about you, Bill,” she said
+cheerily. “Do you know that, if anything happened to
+you, Sam would be lost! He says—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t tell me what Sam Pepper says!” growled Bill
+Yarbo. “He’s a man I don’t want to think about. I can
+stomach some of his cussedness, but leastways a man
+oughtn’t to lie like he does all the time.”</p>
+
+<p>That tickled her so, it started her laughing so merrily,
+that Bill got red in the face. From him she went,
+as soon as she had a chance, to speak to Sam of his
+old friend Bill Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>Sam sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>“Him! Pampering him, Sally, is just like feeding a
+rattlesnake. He ain’t the kind you can tie to; he ain’t
+got no courage and he ain’t got no stamina. I never
+knowed a bigger coward and quitter, and once I
+knowed a man that set a trap for a bear and caught a
+rabbit instead and was scared to take his game out’n
+the trap lest it bite him! Look how Bill Yarbo let Jim
+Torrance down in that mite of a scrimmage up in the
+hills! Shucks!”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn made a good story of all this when she
+carried it to Mrs. Sam, but at the end of her recital she
+asked wonderingly, “Do you suppose they both actually
+believe what they say about each other?”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>It was not that sorrow and mistrust of the future did
+not visit the girl during these days. On her return
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>here, had it not been that so many a true-hearted
+friend came along to chase shadows away, she must
+have wept her heart out. She slipped away as soon as
+she could and crept through the dusk to her mother’s
+grave, that pitiful grave so hurriedly dug, so unceremoniously
+filled. She threw herself face down and
+hugged the earth to her tortured breast; she shoved
+herself back from it and beat the earth with her small
+clenched fists....</p>
+
+<p>But a pair of shrewd and kind eyes had been upon
+her, and after a little while Mrs. Sam came out to her
+and took her into her arms and let her cry. The very
+next day a fence was built around the grave, and Mrs.
+Sam said to Sam: “It looks mighty pretty out there
+now, Sam; kind of bright and gay and cozy. I don’t
+know where she could get so many flowers this time of
+year.”</p>
+
+<p>Also Sally Dawn knew her times of black depression
+superinduced by the vague yet still ominous threat of
+some further act of a lawless and desperate Steve Bordereau,
+by the mess of money affairs which seemed to
+make it impossible for her to hold on here much longer—and
+by a troubling uncertainty concerning the missing
+Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks, Sally,” said Mrs. Sam, her hands in biscuit
+dough and her round arms floury, “you just get your
+mind off that roving rascal. Fellers like him take care
+of themselves all right; it’s here-they-come and there-they-go,
+and you’ve got enough on your mind without
+pestering yourself with a lone wolf like Jim Torrance.”
+She brushed the hair out of her eyes with a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>forearm that left a snowy streak on her placid brow
+and looked sharply into the girl’s troubled eyes with
+her shrewd ones. “I’d say you’re just as well off if you
+never see hide nor hair of that man again. Run outside
+and make Davy Drennen happy.”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“I keep worrying about him,” she said. And then
+she added thoughtfully: “He’s no wolf either. He was
+mighty kind and gentle with me. I’ll never forget.
+Why, that first night—”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sam sighed.</p>
+
+<p>“I know, child. Well, don’t you fret any; after all,
+most likely he’ll come riding back any minute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think so?” asked Sally Dawn. She idled
+around the kitchen aimlessly a few minutes, then
+drifted out on the porch and stood there a long while,
+looking up the long wavering white road, stretching
+lonely and empty into the blue hills that were just now
+turning misty in the sunset.</p>
+
+<p>She was still standing there, day-dreaming, when
+suddenly she became aware of something that looked
+like a small blue-gray cloud forming against the tenderly
+flushed horizon. There had been no rains for a
+week, the roads were dry and that faint blue-gray cloud
+was a cloud of dust. For a single instant she tingled
+from head to foot; then she relaxed against the pillar
+supporting the roof over the porch and sighed. It was
+Thursday afternoon and time for Hank Webber to
+bring the stage, rocking and rumbling, down from
+Bridgewater to Sundown. There had been the time
+when the stage itself—with its speeding horses, with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>the mystery it always was, what with its unknown passengers
+and mail and, perhaps, money box—had fascinated
+her. Today she had not the least interest in stage-coaches.
+But then she did not know that Hank Webber
+was bringing to Sundown word that would put Jim
+Torrance’s name on many a tongue that night and
+keep it rolling there with one implication or another
+for days.</p>
+
+<p>“All hell’s busted loose up around Mountain City,”
+said Hank as he booted his brake on in front of the
+Sundown House. “Three stick-ups in three days, the
+Mountain City Bank, the Rock Valley Mine and the
+Yellow Pine Lumber Company. Four men killed already,
+two-three more bad hurt, and nary a one of the
+raiders gathered in. It’s a gang’s work, six or eight or
+ten of ’em, riding masked and shooting fast and
+straight; they’ve got away with some says fifty thousand
+and some says a hundred thousand dollars—and everybody
+says the man that’s leading ’em is Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>The news inundated Sundown in a swelling tidal
+wave of excitement. Bridgewater was but sixty miles
+away; Mountain City lay but a score of miles southeast
+of Bridgewater; both the Rock Valley Mine and
+the Yellow Pine Lumber outfit were within less than
+a half day’s ride on horseback from Mountain City.
+The result was that many men hereabouts had friends
+and acquaintances in the newly raided district, and
+presently the names of those who had been ruthlessly
+shot down were added to the news which Hank Webber
+and Will Banks, the guard who rode with him,
+had brought.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>By the time word of this back-tracked along the
+stage road to reach the King Cannon ranch, Sundown
+was eddying into a turmoil. There were hard-eyed,
+angry men vowing that this was all the work of Steve
+Bordereau and that Jim Torrance had nothing to do
+with it; there were other men, those who had come to
+group strongly about Clark Murdo, who lifted voices
+no less strong and challenging in placing the onus of
+the whole affair where the first rumors had already put
+it, at Jim Torrance’s door.</p>
+
+<p>“There’ll be fights over it tonight,” said Curly Redmond,
+who had raced back to the ranch with the news,
+“and it’ll be lucky for them that mixes in ’em if they’re
+only fist fights!”</p>
+
+<p>“How do they dare say it was Jim Torrance?” cried
+Sally Dawn hotly. “As if anybody knew! If the men
+were all masked and all got away—”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I wanted to know,” answered Curly,
+“and I asked all over, and at first nobody could guess at
+it any better’n I could; and then a feller told me that
+he heard Phil Moody say that Hank Webber said—”</p>
+
+<p>“Just about what I expected!” sniffed Sally Dawn
+sarcastically. “What nice straight proof of anything!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hold on, Sally,” cut in Dave Drennen. “Anyhow
+let’s get what Curly was going to say. Go ahead, Curly.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I don’t know anything about it, but they say
+Hank said that at the bank hold-up, the bandana that
+the leader of the raiders was wearing slipped, and a
+man that was standing in the bank and skipped into a
+corner saw the robber’s face, and he said it was a man
+he used to know. He said it was Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>Sally Dawn flared out. “It’s a lie!” Save for that
+single exclamation from her the little group which had
+gathered in the yard was hushed.</p>
+
+<p>“Then there’s something else that they’re saying in
+town,” Curly went on. “At the Rock Valley Mine there
+was a sheet of paper stuck with a knife to a door. One
+of the big shots at the mine was killed; his name was
+Connoly; and on the paper it said, ‘Connoly did me
+dirt once, and this is what he gets for it.’ And it was
+signed with Jim Torrance’s name.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sam patted Sally Dawn’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“I reckon that ought to let our Jim out,” she said
+drily. “He might be a robber all right, but he ain’t fool
+enough to do a thing like that.” And Sally Dawn caught
+her roughened hand and squeezed it with all her
+might.</p>
+
+<p>But when she slipped away to be all alone and sat in
+a place that had been a favorite dreaming and brooding
+spot since childhood, where a big flat rock stood up
+commandingly from the hillside back of the house,
+and when she let her eyes traffic with the far-away stars,
+and the hush of night over the wide range lands was
+over her, she asked herself, “What do I really know
+about Jim Torrance?” She clung to the fact that he
+had been good to her. But how many and many a time
+had she been afraid of him? His face seemed to take
+form between her eyes and the sky and to come closer
+and to grow clearer; she could see again those hard,
+dark eyes which gave glimpses of mystery and perhaps
+of menace through the narrowed lids, and his mouth
+that at times frightened her, it could become so cruel
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>and savage.</p>
+
+<p>She jumped up and hurried back to the house, eager
+for companionship.</p>
+
+<p>Rumors, rumors and rumors—they flew as swift and
+erratic and dark and elusive as night hawks. Sometimes
+they dealt with Steve Bordereau; they had him everywhere,
+on both sides of the international border. For
+the greatest part they bruited Jim Torrance’s name
+about. Again, he had fought with Bordereau and had
+been shot to death; he had been seen gambling for
+high stakes at High Crest; he had had a run-in with a
+sheriff of Morongo County and had been gathered in
+and had escaped; he was leading a bandit band, all
+killers, down near Nacional; he was headed back
+toward Sundown. Those were the tales a-wing, and
+there were many more of their sort—until at last a
+cleancut and definite word was brought of him.</p>
+
+<p>It was Sam Pepper this time who brought the news
+out to the ranch from Sundown, Sam Pepper wild with
+excitement, thumping his heels into his horse’s flanks,
+beginning to shout through the dusk long before a
+word could be made out. So by the time he scrambled
+up onto the porch to his swiftly gathering audience,
+he was so out of breath he could hardly gasp out what
+he had to say.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Sam,” said Mrs. Sam sharply, “you go easy a
+minute and get your breath, else you’re going to bust
+a boiler, and I’ll be a handsome young widder woman
+and will up and marry Bill Yarbo. We ain’t going to
+run away, and whatever you’ve got to say will most
+likely keep.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>“J-Jim T-Torrance!” stammered Sam. “He—he—”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn, not in the least patient like Mrs. Sam,
+pounced on him and caught him by an arm and began
+to shake him. Then Sam got his story out.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s been another hold-up, the biggest of the
+lot. Over to Canyon City. The biggest bank in seven
+counties. Cleaned out. I don’t know how many men
+was killed—but they say they nailed the boss robber
+this time. They say it sure was Jim Torrance. They say
+he’s shot all to hell and was left behind for dead—that
+he’s dying now—most likely dead by this time. And
+down in Sundown, Clark Murdo is serving free drinks
+and—”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped for air. For a long, still moment no one
+said a word, but eyes went from Sam’s puckered face
+to other eyes and they were all alike in their expressions,
+all alike in that they stared out from under
+frowning brows. All, that is, saving Sally Dawn’s alone.</p>
+
+<p>Hers were wide with horror. Her lips were parted;
+she had started to say something but had not spoken.
+The color seeped out of her cheeks until they were
+white.</p>
+
+<p>“Sally—” said Mrs. Sam.</p>
+
+<p>The girl whirled and ran into the house; they heard
+the door slam.</p>
+
+<p>“Better go look after her, old lady,” Sam said to his
+wife. “Seems as though she’s hit hard; seems as though
+she’s sort of took a liking to this Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave her alone,” snapped Mrs. Sam. “She’s all
+right, that girl is.”</p>
+
+<p>Very swiftly Sally Dawn showed them just how all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>right she was. She came back, out onto the porch, pulling
+on a pair of gauntlets. In this short time she had
+jerked off her house dress and gotten into riding
+breeches and boots; she had a sweater over her arm and
+a little hat jammed down emphatically over her curls.
+The color had come back into her cheeks; there were
+twin hot spots in them and her eyes were shining.</p>
+
+<p>“Sally!”</p>
+
+<p>“Saddle me a horse, will you, Dave?” said Sally
+Dawn, as cool as “Good morning.”</p>
+
+<p>“But where on earth—” began Mrs. Sam, only to be
+cut short with Sally Dawn’s counter question, “Where
+do you suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>“But—”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you saddle me a horse, Dave? Or will you,
+Curly? Or shall I?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s fifty mile—” expostulated Mrs. Sam.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care if it’s five hundred!”</p>
+
+<p>“And it’s almost dark—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh!”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn made a dart for the steps. Both Dave
+Drennen and Curly Redmond were galvanized; both
+sped away to the corrals. And what was more, when her
+horse was saddled, their two horses were saddled along
+with it.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jim Torrance</span> lay flat on his back in bed—and he
+didn’t know in what bed or in what house—and he
+didn’t even know that he was in any bed at all. He
+opened his eyes and looked about him dully, puzzled
+yet not greatly concerned. Then he strove to move
+slightly and was so wrenched with pain that an involuntary
+groan parted his pallid lips.</p>
+
+<p>A face bent over him. He saw it only vaguely, an
+unfamiliar face of a middle-aged woman, one that
+looked above all other things capable. Old Doc Kibbee,
+of Canyon City, whenever he had a patient who demanded
+the best to be had in nursing, sent for Nancy
+Hamilton. And Nancy Hamilton now leaned over
+Torrance and put a calm, steady hand on his forehead
+and said gently yet in the tone of one who commands:</p>
+
+<p>“There now, just you lay still, Mr. Torrance. You’re
+doing fine.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know who you are—I don’t know where I
+am,” he muttered, and closed his eyes and let his head
+loll to one side. She stepped to a table for a bottle and
+spoon and glass, but a glance over her shoulder showed
+her that his eyes were closed, that he was either asleep
+again from sheer exhaustion and weakness and the
+shock of pain, or was dying. Efficient and practiced as
+she was, there were times when she couldn’t tell. She
+went back to her rocking chair and dropped down
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>heavily into it; she herself was haggard, worn out, her
+eyes thumbed deep into their sockets from all she had
+gone through since she had been sent for.</p>
+
+<p>The man in bed lay still a long while, existence become
+for him a sort of gray haze twisting into a thousand
+misty labyrinths. He had moments of semi-consciousness
+but nothing mattered, nothing that had
+happened or that they did with him. He swallowed the
+liquids that were forced between his teeth and lay
+inert for long periods, neither awake nor asleep. The
+doctor came and went, and he knew of the visits but
+was not greatly concerned. Doc Kibbee talked aside
+with the nurse; he did not even try to listen.</p>
+
+<p>He went to sleep and slept deeply for two solid
+hours; Nancy Hamilton sank gratefully deep down
+into her big chair and relaxed. She too slept. But when
+he awoke, there she was standing over him, saying:
+“Just you lay still, Mr. Torrance. You’re doing fine.”</p>
+
+<p>He nodded this time. Either something they had
+given him or his rest made him feel stronger; his head
+was clearer, he thought.</p>
+
+<p>Again he slept. Again he woke. This time he stared
+up in puzzled fashion, a heavy frown of concentration
+dragging his black brows down. He began to grow confused;
+he guessed his head hadn’t cleared after all. For
+the nurse had changed miraculously. Just now she had
+been a capable looking middle-aged woman. And here
+she was young and flushed and very bright-eyed and
+incredibly pretty, and she looked just exactly like Sally
+Dawn Cannon.</p>
+
+<p>He closed his eyes an instant. Sally Dawn was as still
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>as a mouse. He opened them quickly as though to
+catch the nurse at her tricks if she was trying any funny
+business on him.</p>
+
+<p>“Sally Dawn!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sh! You’re not to talk.” She stooped closer and for
+a fleeting second her cheek was against his on the pillow,
+her curls making him intensely aware of their
+softly brushing caress. “Jim!” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“But look here—”</p>
+
+<p>She stood erect, rosier than ever, and put a finger
+ever so softly on his lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Your nurse is resting; she said I could sit with you
+a little while if I promised to call her if you wouldn’t
+just be quiet and rest.”</p>
+
+<p>She always thought of his eyes as being narrowed, as
+though he were forever on guard, watchful and suspicious
+and hard. Now she saw them open up wide,
+quite as though they had to do that to take her all in,
+and she discovered that they were not absolutely night-black,
+but that there was a hint of warm brown in
+them. She smiled at him and patted his hand; his
+fingers curled slowly and with the gentlest pressure
+about hers....</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn had already had a talk with Doc Kibbee,
+a chubby, pink-cheeked, hearty old fellow with snow-white
+mustache and imperial and sharp, wise eyes. She
+had commanded anxiously, “Tell me about him!”</p>
+
+<p>He had hunched up his thick, round shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“How should I know? Me, I’m not much of a doctor
+anyhow. He’s been shot close up and lost some blood;
+he was hammered over the head from behind by a club
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>or a gun barrel, and first I thought he might have a
+fractured skull. ’Tain’t so though. That’s what I’m always
+doing with patients of mine until they up and
+die on me—making mistakes and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Doctor Kibbee! Don’t I know all about you?
+You’re the finest doctor that ever was! You—”</p>
+
+<p>“What do <i>you</i> know about me? I never saw you before!”</p>
+
+<p>“But you did! You were a friend of King Cannon’s,
+weren’t you? For years and years? Well, I’m his
+daughter.”</p>
+
+<p>“My, my!” he said. “You, King Cannon’s kid!”</p>
+
+<p>“Now tell me! And tell me the truth about him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hm.” He stared at her and appeared to consider.
+Then, very gruff about it, he shot his own question at
+her: “What are you all warmed up about it for? Happen
+to know this Torrance?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I do! That’s why I’m here. He—he’s the
+finest friend I ever had!”</p>
+
+<p>Her words didn’t please him. He snorted at her.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a little fool, that’s what you are. All you
+young pretty girls seem to be infernal damn fools
+sooner or later about some no ’count, and most generally
+it’s sooner. Know who and what he is—and how
+come he’s shot up the way he is?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve heard a lot of crazy rumors—”</p>
+
+<p>“Rumors, my eye! He’s one of the gang that held up
+the bank right here in Canyon City, that killed Phil
+Gates, the cashier, that’s made off with Bill Hasbrook,
+the bank president, and has probably cut his throat
+long before now and thrown him down in a gully
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>somewhere. That’s who your friend Torrance is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Doctor Kibbee!” she gasped at him. “If anybody’s
+an old fool—”</p>
+
+<p>“If you call <i>him</i> a friend,” he cut in bruskly, “you
+just go and get down on your knees and pray he dies in
+bed. Most likely he will anyhow, being that he’s a patient
+of mine. That’s what happens with me right
+along. Just as sure as he gets well enough to stand the
+shock, the boys are going to hang him good and high.”</p>
+
+<p>“They won’t! They mustn’t! Oh, can’t you see it’s
+all just a horrible mistake?”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>After her visit with Torrance, which lasted two
+hours, with him sleeping most of that time, she had a
+few words with Dave Drennen and Curly Redmond
+whom she found waiting for her outside the little
+house in which Jim Torrance was hospitalized. They
+looked unhappy, both of them, and uncertain; they
+shifted their boots in the dust of the road and looked
+furtively at each other rather than at her. Her little
+chin, which was emphatic enough at times despite its
+lack of ruggedness and square lines, came up.</p>
+
+<p>“I know,” she said tartly. “You’ve been over at the
+saloon having a drink—and you got to talking and asking
+questions and getting answers—and you believe all
+they tell you. Oh, you make me sick!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s tough, Sally, and sorta hard to take,” said Dave
+doggedly. “But there’s no use trying to dodge facts.
+There was a hold-up, there were men killed and a bank
+robbed—and he’d been off and away with his crowd
+only he got dropped and left behind. He’d have swung
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>for it before now, only the boys up here can’t see anything
+in hanging a man while he’s unconscious first
+and so damn near dead next. They’re just giving him
+time. You better come home.”</p>
+
+<p>She pointed to the squat, sturdy building next door.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the jail, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is, Sally; and he’d be in there now, only the
+sheriff—”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn smiled at the two boys very sweetly, so
+sweetly indeed that both began shifting uneasily again.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, boys, for having brought me over,” she
+said. “You can go home now if you want to.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, hell,” said Curly Redmond, and Dave silently
+concurred as Sally Dawn headed straight to the jail.</p>
+
+<p>“Drink, Curly?” suggested Dave Drennen.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s an idea,” admitted Curly gloomily.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>In an untidy little office cozily close to the strongly
+barred room which served Canyon City as its jail,
+Sally Dawn found the county sheriff. He was a man of
+equal vintage with Doc Kibbee, which is to say somewhere
+around sixty, and looked like something carelessly
+hacked out of mahogany. He was mahogany-colored
+and wore habitually a perfectly wooden lack of
+expression; he had enormous black eyebrows which
+looked artificial, great tufts that might have been stuck
+on for a masquerade, a heavy, uptwisted, black and impossible
+mustache and a clean-shaven, ruthless, square
+chin. Even his eyes looked false, they were so steady,
+and bright and expressionless as shoe buttons.</p>
+
+<p>His boots were cocked up on top of a table littered
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>with papers, which gave her the impression of having
+gathered there undisturbed for years; and along with
+the litter were an empty ink bottle, a couple of rusty
+pens, an ancient Colt forty-four, with neither hammer
+nor trigger, which served as a paper weight, an old
+long-roweled Mexican spur and a serviceable Winchester
+thirty-thirty. A good bit of this detail so forced
+itself on her that she took it in with one flick of her
+eager eyes; after that she saw only the man.</p>
+
+<p>“You are Sheriff Evans?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at him as at an old friend.</p>
+
+<p>He remained utterly motionless, not so much as a
+ripple stirring him; she couldn’t even see that he
+breathed. Certainly he did not take his feet down from
+his table, nor did he remove the broad black hat that
+was already pushed as far back on his head as it would
+go, nor for a long moment did he speak. He was looking
+toward her, whether at her or not, and was perhaps
+continuing a chain of thought her entrance had
+interrupted—provided of course he was even thinking.</p>
+
+<p>At last he said in a quiet, low-toned voice, “Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“I came to talk to you about Jim Torrance. He—he
+is a friend of mine.”</p>
+
+<p>She waited for him to speak; he didn’t. He didn’t
+have anything to say; in his turn he waited for her to
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s not a bad man,” she said with a passionate
+fervor that put a quiver into her voice. “He’s not a
+robber. He didn’t have anything to do with that bank
+hold-up; I know he didn’t!”</p>
+
+<p>Sheriff Evans didn’t say anything one way or the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>other. Sally Dawn, already so overwrought with anxiety,
+flared up with anger.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you hear me?” she cried hotly. “Do you hear
+me? Why don’t you say something?”</p>
+
+<p>“What’ll I say?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Say—say anything! Don’t just sit there like a—like
+a— Say that you don’t believe me, if that’s what you
+think.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe you. Jim Torrance is as guilty as
+hell. I’d have him here in jail right now only I’m hoping,
+give him the best of care, to do two things. One is,
+get him to talk. The other is, hang him.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you know that he is guilty?”</p>
+
+<p>“He was one of the gang that robbed the Canyon
+City Bank. One of ’em that killed Phil Gates, the
+cashier. One of ’em that made away with Will Hasbrook,
+the bank president. One of the gang that got
+away with thirty thousand dollars that day—only he
+didn’t happen to get away.”</p>
+
+<p>“You were there? You saw it all? You saw him—”</p>
+
+<p>“Nope. I wasn’t there. Tom Long was, though;
+Tom’s a deputy of mine. He got shot, Tom did, and’s
+a right sick man now. But he shot Jim Torrance before
+he went dark.”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn whirled about and went to a dingy window
+and made pretence of looking out, an utter impossibility,
+considering the unwashed state of the
+windowpane and the watery blur that came into her
+eyes. She stood with a small fist clenched, gnawing at
+her knuckles, biting at them to keep the tears back, to
+keep from bursting out hysterically. Presently in a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>very small voice, without turning, she said, “You’re not
+very sympathetic, are you, Mr. Walt Evans?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. Not with any friend of this man’s. Happens
+Phil Gates was a friend of mine. Happens it’s the same
+with Will Hasbrook. Happens—”</p>
+
+<p>“Happens you ever had any other friends? Happens
+you ever knew a man named King Cannon?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hell’s bells!” said Sheriff Evans and sounded almost,
+not quite, human. “What about King Cannon?
+He’s been dead years now.”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn turned slowly and looked him in the eye.</p>
+
+<p>“Happens I’m his daughter,” she said coolly. “Happens,
+when I was a little tyke, you and Doc Kibbee and
+Daddy—”</p>
+
+<p>Walt Evans’ feet came down off the desk then like
+something hurled by an explosion, and he surged to
+his feet as quick as any boy, and his battered old black
+hat came off his head with something next door to a
+flourish—all this pretty much in one gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“Sally Dawn Cannon!” he exclaimed, and sounded
+altogether and warmly human. “Well, I’m damned!”
+He looked at her with new eyes; he put out a big
+leathery paw and caught her hand and came close to
+breaking the bones in it. “And at that I might have
+known! I always said you’d grow up into the prettiest
+girl that ever sprung a dimple. Why, you little devil!
+Come here to me!”</p>
+
+<p>He gathered her into his arms, lifted her clean off
+the floor and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you offer me a chair now, Mr. Evans? And will
+you let us talk together?” It was a flushed, breathless,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>and very eager Sally Dawn speaking.</p>
+
+<p>“I heard about your good mother—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t! I can’t talk about that. Not yet! And there
+are other things that happened down at Sundown—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes; I heard about some of them, too. Just garbled
+gossip, that’s all I got. I was going down to see you— Dammit,
+I haven’t been down that way since your old
+man died, have I? I ought to be kicked— Want to tell
+me about all these happenings?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes! That way I’ll be telling you about Jim Torrance,
+all I know about him, and then— Well, <i>you’ll</i>
+see!”</p>
+
+<p>Long before she had finished, old Walt Evans was
+frowning and tugging at a lower lip, and his eyes, from
+being merely bleak, grew wintery, the sort of winter
+that now and again lights up to a flash of lightning.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re one hell-of-a-lot like your old man, Sally
+Dawn,” he said soberly. “He was a man you could tie
+to, and somehow, kid that you are, I’d like to string
+all my chips along with you. Maybe you’re right as rain—and
+maybe, just being a girl and having a man like
+Jim Torrance look at you, you’ve got your heart, God
+bless it, all mixed up with your brains.”</p>
+
+<p>“No!” said Sally Dawn, knowing what he meant.
+“No! I tell you this is all Steve Bordereau’s work, and
+that Jim Torrance is out with all he’s got to break
+Bordereau down, and somehow he’s got caught wrong
+in the thing that Bordereau has just pulled off.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe,” said the sheriff. “Maybe. Only it looks
+bad. It looks so bad that, while I’d rather cut off a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>thumb than go against you, I’m as sure as Billy-be-damned
+that this Torrance has made a sucker of you.
+Here; look at this. Nobody but you and me knows a
+thing about it; I’ll ask you to take a look at it and then
+forget it. That means, keep your mouth shut.”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded, he thought, just the way old King Cannon
+used to do, and a nod from that old boy was worth
+as much as reams of legal phrasings with signatures
+and seals and notaries’ stamps affixed.</p>
+
+<p>From the pocket of an open, sagging vest he pulled
+a folded sheet of paper. He gave it to her and stood
+back, watching her read the few lines:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Dear Walt: They’ve got me, and it’s going to be
+up to you whether I get out alive or not. They’d cut
+my throat in a minute. So, Walt, hold your hand. It’s
+ransom, of course. I’ll be sending you another note in
+a day or so. Don’t try to follow the man who brings
+it; don’t do anything. Just wait. They hold the cards,
+and I’d rather pay than kick off. This is damned serious,
+Walt.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="indentright">Yours,</span><br>
+Bill Hasbrook.</p>
+
+<p>P.S. They left one of their men behind, pretty badly
+hurt, I think, a man named Jim Torrance. Hold on to
+him; give him the best of care; I guess they’ll want
+him sent back to them along with some money; he’s
+the boss of the gang. If anything happens to him, they
+say the same thing will happen to me. Watch your step,
+Walt.</p>
+
+<p class="right">Bill.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>When she had finished reading, “Now what?” said
+Sheriff Evans.</p>
+
+<p>“I—I don’t understand,” said Sally Dawn in a small
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>He put his big hand very lightly and sympathetically
+on her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s kind of easy to understand, Sally,” he said
+gravely. “This Torrance sort of stands out; he’s not the
+common run; he’s born to be a leader. What he is is
+the head of this gang. You can’t get away from it.”</p>
+
+<p>“He isn’t! I know he isn’t! He—he is fine, Walt
+Evans!”</p>
+
+<p>And in answer Sheriff Walt Evans leaned comfortably
+on those two good old Western Crutches, saying,
+“<i>Sure</i>, Sally Dawn, <i>sure</i>.” But nonetheless he had his
+mind made up, and she knew it. And her own mind
+was terribly unsettled. This letter from Hasbrook,
+president of the bank, a captive to the bank robbers, a
+man being held for ransom, seemed to come straight
+from the shoulder; and he said, “He’s the boss of the
+gang.”</p>
+
+<p>She didn’t know what to think—but she did know
+what to do. She was going to stick by Jim Torrance
+through thick and thin, as he had stuck by her when
+her need was sorest. She went straight back to his bedside
+and there she meant to stay.</p>
+
+<p>Sheriff Walt Evans went back to his chair, hoisted
+his boots up on top of his untidy table and read Hasbrook’s
+letter all over again. Sally Dawn would have
+been greatly surprised if she could have known just
+how that shrewd old brain of his was ticking. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>started wriggling the toes in his boots; it must have
+been to them that he spoke when he said softly:</p>
+
+<p>“He called me ‘Walt’ four times in this damfool
+letter. And he signed himself ‘Bill.’”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">Good morning</span>, Mr. Torrance,” said Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning, Miss Cannon,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a lovely morning. And you’re looking just
+fine.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s more than a lovely morning. And you’re lovelier
+than any round dozen of lovely mornings. And—”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re feeling—”</p>
+
+<p>“Like being on top of the world. Ready to jump up
+and go prowling. Like singing you a song. It goes like
+this:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“‘Oh, hand me down my high-heeled boots,</div>
+<div class="indent">And hand me down my hat;</div>
+<div class="verse">And hand me down my long-tailed coat,</div>
+<div class="indent">Likewise my silk cravat.’”</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She laughed at him and wrinkled up her nose in the
+way she had, and he grinned at her and, for about two
+minutes, the world was a mighty nice place to live in.
+Then he started frowning.</p>
+
+<p>“Pain?” she asked solicitously.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. The worst one I’ve had yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where, Jim?”</p>
+
+<p>“In my conscience. You’ve been doing too much for
+me. You’ve come all this distance and you’ve stuck
+here until you’re worn out. I want you to go home and
+get years of rest. I’ll ride down and see you later; I’ll
+bring you all my thanks then and—and a pinto pony.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>So she laughed at him again. His frown went away
+and his grin came back, but behind the grin, lurking
+in the dark depths of his eyes, was a sober thought. He
+said, looking at her steadily:</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been sort of sick. I’ve heard things said while
+I lay here, and they didn’t matter and most of the time
+didn’t even make sense. But now I’ve got to think ’em
+over, and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Convalescents are not supposed to think,” said
+Sally Dawn. “It’s against the law.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me this: In Canyon City, who are the two best
+friends?”</p>
+
+<p>His hand had stirred slightly; hers sped to a meeting
+with it like a little dove coming home.</p>
+
+<p>“We are, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right. And as I remember it, a friend can bank on
+a friend. Now tell me this: What’s wrong?”</p>
+
+<p>“Wrong? Why—why, just that you’ve been hurt—”</p>
+
+<p>“No. The way Doc Kibbee looks at me, the way the
+sheriff digs into me with those old fish-eyes of his—even
+the way Nancy Hamilton handles herself—dammit,
+the way that even Sally Dawn Cannon does
+sometimes!—all this has got me wondering about something.”</p>
+
+<p>“About what, Jim?” she asked, getting ready to be
+brave.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll forget it. But there is something you can tell
+me: Why hasn’t Hasbrook dropped in?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hasbrook?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Bill Hasbrook, the bank president. He hasn’t
+been in at all, has he?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>“I haven’t seen him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why? Where is he?” She started tucking her chin
+down, as though she could hide behind it, and he demanded
+sharply, “Well? Where’s Bill Hasbrook?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve heard that he isn’t here. That he had to go
+away somewhere.”</p>
+
+<p>His eyes grew more penetrating, began to grow suspicious.</p>
+
+<p>“What about Gates? The cashier, Phil Gates?”</p>
+
+<p>“Jim! They told me that you weren’t really to talk;
+not about anything that mattered, anything that
+might possibly upset you. And if I let you talk, Mrs.
+Hamilton will come in and send me away.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hear tell they’ve got a sheriff up here in Coconambo
+County, that is a sheriff,” said Jim. “You, up
+and around, maybe might know? It would be kind
+of nice if he would drop in on me and say hello.
+Think he might?”</p>
+
+<p>She didn’t want to say yes and she didn’t want to say
+no. She had never endured such a troublesome moment
+in all her life. But she had to look him in the
+eyes, so did his eyes insist on it, and at last she said:</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. He will come to see you right away.”</p>
+
+<p>He squeezed her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you a lot, Sally Dawn,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Then, when she had darted out, with little delay
+Sheriff Walt Evans came stalking in. He said, as crisp
+as a new-baked biscuit:</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Torrance? I hear you want to see me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Squat, Sheriff,” said Torrance. “And tell me.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s on your chest, Stranger?” asked the sheriff,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>having drawn up a chair.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s Hasbrook? Why hasn’t he dropped in to
+ask me whether I was dead or alive?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hasbrook? He ain’t here right now.”</p>
+
+<p>“What about Phil Gates?”</p>
+
+<p>“He ain’t here either. Happens he’s dead.”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance thought that over. Phil Gates had
+been very much alive not so long ago, and to be dead
+now meant that he was out of luck when the bank
+hold-up was pulled off and bullets got to roving wild.
+He didn’t have to ask Sheriff Evans. But he did have to
+swing back to Hasbrook, the bank president, and ask
+about him.</p>
+
+<p>“What about Hasbrook?” he asked. “Let’s have it
+all, Evans.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you don’t know?” said the sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>“No. I don’t know much of anything. Somebody
+hammered me over the head—”</p>
+
+<p>“And a good job, too! That was a deputy of mine, a
+feller named—”</p>
+
+<p>“Hell with his name! It ought to be John W. Jackass.
+Tell me about Hasbrook. They didn’t kill him
+too, did they?”</p>
+
+<p>“You wouldn’t know, would you?”</p>
+
+<p>“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking. Let’s have it. Is
+Hasbrook alive or dead?”</p>
+
+<p>“Pretty much alive,” snapped the sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>The man in bed filled his lungs; for a moment he
+had pretty well stopped breathing.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell him I want him,” he said. “Tell him to get a
+move on. I’ve waited long enough. Get him here on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>the run.”</p>
+
+<p>“No can do, Torrance. They’ve nabbed him. That
+gang of yours is holding him for ransom. Maybe you
+didn’t know that, huh?”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance stared at him.</p>
+
+<p>“Say it again. What gang of mine? What in hell are
+you talking about?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll be telling me that you didn’t have anything
+to do with the hold-up? Just an innocent bystander
+when the job was pulled off?”</p>
+
+<p>“You think I had a hand in that? That I was one of
+the crowd that stuck the bank up, killed Phil Gates
+and grabbed Hasbrook?”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s not a man in Canyon City who doesn’t
+know it. What do you take us for anyhow? Blind men
+or just plain fools?”</p>
+
+<p>“Both!” growled Torrance, and sounded downright
+disgusted. “Good Lord, man, I went to Hasbrook and
+told him to watch out for this very thing; I had a
+hunch that this was going to happen and—”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess you did,” said Evans drily.</p>
+
+<p>“And now Gates is dead and Hasbrook is gone—and
+your crazy deputy plugs me—and you figure me for
+one of that crowd of rats! Haven’t you got the sense of
+a little gray seed tick?”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you know who the stick-up gents were?”
+said Evans, very sarcastic.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I know! It’s a gang of Sundown killers
+led by Steve Bordereau.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you knew ahead of time that they were going
+to pull off this job?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>“No, I didn’t know. But I know Bordereau, I have
+an idea of what’s in his head, and it was an easy guess
+he’d strike here. His crowd is the same one that stuck
+up the Yellow Pine, Rock Valley and the Mountain
+City Bank. They’re out to make a big killing before
+they blow; and it was my guess that Canyon City would
+be next.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just a wild guess on your part then, huh?”</p>
+
+<p>“It wasn’t so wild, was it? And now you’re doctoring
+me, working to get me on my feet again, just to throw
+me in jail? That it?”</p>
+
+<p>“There are a good many boys around here,” said
+Evans, “friends of Hasbrook’s and Gates’, that don’t
+think much of the jail idea. Maybe I’m going to have
+my job cut out, as soon’s you’re able to get around, to
+keep them from taking you off my hands.”</p>
+
+<p>“Little hanging party?” grunted Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Your guesses keep right on being good.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance lay still a while and stared at the ceiling.</p>
+
+<p>“You think I’m lying to you, do you?”</p>
+
+<p>Evans shrugged heavily.</p>
+
+<p>“I just wish I knew, brother,” he said sourly.</p>
+
+<p>That was about as far as they got at that time. But
+a couple of days later the sheriff dropped in again. This
+time he found Torrance dressed, sitting on the edge of
+his bed, looking gaunt and weak but with a clear, bold
+eye.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s talk, Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shoot. What’s new?”</p>
+
+<p>From his pocket the sheriff drew a couple of folded
+sheets of paper. One was that communication from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>Hasbrook which he had already shown to Sally Dawn.
+Jim Torrance read it carefully, then read the second
+note which Evans handed to him with the remark:
+“This one just got to me today. I don’t know who
+brought it; it was shoved under my door last night.”</p>
+
+<p>When Torrance had finished reading it also there
+were spots of color in his cheeks showing a dull angry
+red through the dark stubble of beard, and his eyes
+were bright and hard. The words that Hasbrook had
+penciled were:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Dear Walt: You’ll have one more letter from me in
+another few days, inside the week anyhow. Meantime
+I want you to raise fifty thousand dollars in cash and
+have it ready against demand. That’s my ransom
+money. Instructions for delivery will come in my last
+note to you. And there is one other thing and, Walt,
+I’m depending on you for this. The boys who are holding
+me have learned that Jim Torrance is alive and
+getting well, and they insist that he be returned to
+them the same time the money is sent. As I wrote you
+before, he is one of the crowd and their leader. I know
+you won’t want to let him go, but if you don’t send
+him back to his men they swear they’ll do me in even
+if they lose the ransom. I feel sure I can depend on
+you, Walt. So long.</p>
+
+<p class="right">Bill Hasbrook.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance didn’t speak immediately; he rolled
+a cigarette first and lighted it and sat there, staring for
+a while at the floor, then into Sheriff Evans’ gimleting
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Bill Hasbrook,” said Torrance at last, “is a dirty
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>rat. On top of that he is a—”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind all that,” cut in Evans. “Hasbrook’s a
+friend of mine; he’s the squarest man you ever heard
+a man tell about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that so? Why, a skunk wouldn’t come near him!
+He’s two things I hate, a sneaking cur of a coward and
+a double crossing sidewinder. After I went to him and
+put him wise, after I chipped in with him and damn
+near got myself killed in the mixup, look what the
+yellow louse is doing to me! Just to save his own dirty
+hide, he’ll be tickled pink to have me slaughtered. And
+I thought—”</p>
+
+<p>“Easy, Stranger! What’s he doing to you, after all,
+but just save you from jail or hanging here, and send
+you back to your own men?”</p>
+
+<p>“He knows better than that, and you’d know too, if
+you had sense enough to pound sand through a knot
+hole!” said Torrance hotly. “I tell you, that’s Steve
+Bordereau’s gang. Bordereau wants to have the fun of
+butchering me, and Hasbrook knows it.”</p>
+
+<p>Evans made himself a cigarette, yet did not for an
+instant withdraw that penetrating gaze of his from
+Jim Torrance’s angry face.</p>
+
+<p>“Take it from me, Torrance,” he said evenly, “Will
+Hasbrook is no coward, and he’s no crook; he’s known
+over a good many miles as a man you can tie to.”</p>
+
+<p>A queer, puzzled look came into Torrance’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. “I’d heard
+his reputation; I had a few good talks with him.
+Dammit, I’d have bet my life on that man—and I guess
+that’s what I did.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>“Yes, a man could bet his life on Hasbrook playing
+square,” said Evans.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance got up and stirred about the room restlessly;
+then he came back and leaned on the head of
+the bed and looked down curiously at the sheriff’s
+hard-bitten face.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got the name of being a square shooter too,
+Evans,” he said thoughtfully. “And I’d say you are.
+Suppose you tell me the truth about this bank president;
+how long have you known him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not very long,” said Evans. “Only about forty
+years.”</p>
+
+<p>“And he’s neither a coward nor a crook?”</p>
+
+<p>“The squarest. An old friend of King Cannon’s, if
+that means anything to you. And not afraid of all hell
+on wheels.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s how I made him out. And here he is, caving
+in to those bums, paying a ransom and letting them
+make a monkey out of him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, maybe he figures he’d rather be alive than
+save that fifty thousand.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you feel kind of sure that he isn’t the sort of
+man to save his own hide by letting another man take
+his place? A man who he knows played square with
+him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Is this a cigarette I’m smoking? Might be a pipe,
+might be I’m not smoking at all but eating a watermelon!
+I’m just that sure.”</p>
+
+<p>“Damn it then! He didn’t write these letters at all!
+They’re forgeries! I tell you there’s something phony
+about them!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>“He wrote ’em all right. I know Will’s hand-of-write;
+know it as well as I know my own hat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell you one thing,” said Evans sharply. He
+stood up and tapped Torrance on the shoulder. “Will
+Hasbrook wrote these letters, and just the same you’re
+right; there is something damn phony about them.
+It’s a little thing, but it’s something that hit me in the
+eye right off, and that stands out a mile after a feller
+does notice it. Here, squat; you’re looking white
+around the gills. I’m going to tell you something.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance came back to the bed and sat down. It
+was Evans’ turn to walk up and down for a while; his
+brows were dragged down in tangled thought and he
+was taking his last moment to consider all angles of
+a puzzle before he committed himself. Then he
+shrugged and stood in front of Torrance and spoke
+his piece.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, Torrance, maybe I’m the idiot you’ve
+called me, but I believe every word you’ve said to me.
+That’s partly because of what Sally Dawn Cannon told
+me; partly from sizing you up for myself; partly now
+for something in Hasbrook’s letters that makes me
+hunt around for just the sort of a queer set-up you’ve
+told me about. Like you said, there’s something phony
+here, and Hasbrook’s been to a lot of trouble to tell me
+so, and he’s figured it was up to me to find out about
+things.”</p>
+
+<p>He put the two letters, spread out, on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>“Look at this first one,” he said. “He calls me ‘Walt’
+four times in it! And Will Hasbrook never called me
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>‘Walt’ in his life. Everybody else does, but since we
+were kids he’s always called me Walter. And I’ve always
+called him Will—and I guess I’m the only man
+in the county that ever called him anything but Bill
+Hasbrook. And now look at the second one. He’s got
+three ‘Walts’ in that. And both of ’em he’s signed
+‘Bill.’ And if he’s not trying to fly some sort of signal
+for me I’m all that you’ve called me.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>By the time Sheriff Walt Evans left, Jim Torrance
+was ready to crawl back into bed and just lie there and
+try to be patient about getting stronger. They had
+gone into a conference, planning ways and means, that
+had lasted a solid two hours.</p>
+
+<p>What was more, they had cooked up their plan that
+had enough hazard in it to have claimed all Torrance’s
+thoughts as long as he lay awake. But, as a matter
+of record, he wasn’t thinking of this present problem
+at all but a vastly more pleasant one. He was
+wondering when Sally Dawn would pop in again.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> third letter reached Sheriff Walt Evans four days
+later. He found it, like the two others, stuck under his
+door. He brought it straightway to Jim Torrance,
+whom he found, early in the morning, up and about
+and devouring a man’s sized breakfast. He tossed the
+fresh news onto Jim’s table and started prowling up
+and down the room.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance read it to the neglect of a sort of Tower
+of Pisa made of rich brown buckwheat cakes.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Dear Walt: Be sure you get these details straight:
+You are to hand Jim Torrance over to his friends tomorrow
+night. They don’t want you to let him know
+what you’re doing with him; the boys want to have
+their fun and give him a surprise. So you’ll put him on
+horseback after dark; you’ll have him tied down to the
+saddle; you’ll tell him you’re taking him to some other
+jail to make sure his gang doesn’t pour down and get
+him free. Also, you’re to stuff the fifty thousand into
+his pockets. Got all that, Walt?</p>
+
+<p>Next: You and Torrance, alone, ride out on the
+Bear Creek road about seven miles, to where the trail
+cuts up over the mountain to the old Sun Dodger’s
+place. When you get up to the mouth of the pass you’ll
+tie Torrance’s horse to a tree, make sure he’s tied down
+hard in the saddle, and you’ll back off down trail. Got
+that straight, Walt?</p>
+
+<p>You’ll wait there for me. I’ll be with you right away.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>I’ve fixed things with these boys so that I know I’ll
+be all right if you just do what I say— Walt, old man,
+my life depends on you and I don’t want to die. Walt,
+for God’s sake, do as you’re told. This whole thing is
+getting me down.</p>
+
+<p class="right">Bill Hasbrook.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Evans, watching Torrance read, said curtly: “Well,
+you’d take Will Hasbrook for a yellow skunk, wouldn’t
+you? And that’s just what he ain’t! They couldn’t get
+him down if they took out their pocket knives and
+started to skin him. And here again he calls me ‘Walt’
+all over the map.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I’m to be tied up good and tight,” said Torrance.
+“No gun on me, of course. As Hasbrook puts
+it, ‘The boys want to have their fun and give him a
+surprise!’”</p>
+
+<p>“He says for tomorrow night,” said Evans. “Going
+to be strong enough for that sort of ride by then?
+Anyhow ten miles.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” said Torrance. “That part of it’s all right.
+But do you think it’s possible that Hasbrook has tried
+to write in anything else between the lines? And that
+you’ve missed it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve read every one of his notes forty times,”
+growled Evans. “I know damn well that his ‘Walts’
+and ‘Bills’ are stuck in to give me a high sign. Beyond
+that I can’t get an inch. He might mean I’m just to stall
+along and pay no attention to anything. Or—maybe—”</p>
+
+<p>“He might mean that you’re to talk things over
+with me, just as you have done. That business of
+having me tied down in the saddle, just for fun, makes
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>you pretty sure what Bordereau’s game is, I guess!”</p>
+
+<p>“We start out a little before midnight, Torrance,”
+said Evans. “That’s for tomorrow night. You better
+take things easy today. Will says we’re to wait for him
+up at the mouth of the pass; we’ll do that.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s the chance, of course, that they’ll be hid
+in the brush and burn us down—”</p>
+
+<p>“Nope. If he hadn’t been sure on that point, Will
+wouldn’t have written the way he did.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll be ready,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon Doc Kibbee, who had had a good
+talk with the sheriff, came in, looked Torrance over,
+grunted and went out.</p>
+
+<p>Later Sally Dawn ran in.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim Torrance,” she said, “you look as good as
+brand-new again. You’re about ready to ride, aren’t
+you? You’re to come back home with me, you know,
+and get a good rest there. Mrs. Sam will feed you
+and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Sally Dawn,” said Torrance, “you just travel along
+back home today, and you tell Mrs. Sam to start in
+roasting chickens, baking cakes and making pies, for
+just as sure as you’re alive I’ll be dropping in on you
+mighty soon. I’ve got a thing or two to tend to here
+first, and—”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn looked at him sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“If you had said you’d promise to come ‘Just as sure
+as <i>you’re</i> alive’ it would sound more like you meant
+it,” she said unhappily. She put an impulsive hand on
+his arm. “Jim Torrance, you and Walt Evans are
+cooking something up. You’re back on Steve Bordereau’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>trail, aren’t you? Why can’t you just forget he
+ever existed? He’ll be up and away, out of the country
+for good after this.” She pleaded; her eyes and her
+softened voice were beseeching. “<i>Please</i>, Jim.”</p>
+
+<p>“Take that back, Sally Dawn,” said Torrance
+gravely. “I don’t want you to ask me, ever, anything
+I can’t do for you. Take it back, Sally Dawn!”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn turned abruptly and went to the window,
+giving him her back to look at. He looked at it
+and waited. Then she turned again and came back to
+him, and somehow it struck him that she was marching
+like a little soldier with drums beating and flags
+flying.</p>
+
+<p>“I understand, Jim,” she said very softly, and there
+was only the vaguest hint of a quiver upon her red
+lips, though no tremor came into her steady voice. “I
+don’t blame you, Jim. I’ll go home now. There’ll be
+roast chicken and cakes and pies and—and I’ll be waiting,
+Jim Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>She darted out of the room then, as swift as a swallow,
+and it was not ten minutes later that Jim Torrance,
+out on the porch in the weak October sunshine,
+saw her and Curly Redmond and Dave Drennen
+swoop by, riding out of Canyon City, headed south.
+She didn’t wave good-by, she didn’t even turn in the
+saddle. He pulled off his hat and stood with it turning
+slowly in his hands until the three riders were out
+of sight.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The next night between eleven o’clock and midnight
+Torrance and Walt Evans rode out of Canyon
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>City headed toward Indian Mountain and the old
+Sun Dodger’s place and the high pass across the ridge.
+There was a packet tied to Torrance’s saddle strings;
+in it, in gold and bank notes, was fifty thousand dollars.
+Torrance’s hands were on his saddle horn and there
+was a rope about his wrists. Also there was a rope about
+his ankles and under his horse’s belly. You would have
+said that he was bound hand and foot; that he was
+unarmed; that he was still the helpless prisoner of the
+sheriff of Coconambo County.</p>
+
+<p>It was a clear night and there was a moon, and the
+mountain ridges stood up sharply defined against a
+star-strewn sky. It was a fair bet, both men agreed, that
+from the time they rode out of the dark alley behind
+the livery stable they were being watched. They were
+equally aware of the fact, as they left Canyon City behind
+them and struck into the road that was like a
+long winding slash through thick timber, that a rifle
+might crack at any minute and a storm of bullets
+knock them out of their saddles. They were at Steve
+Bordereau’s mercy, and Bordereau was merciless. Just
+the same, they banked on Will Hasbrook.</p>
+
+<p>“I know damn well,” said Evans, “that Will wouldn’t
+have let us in for this without somehow being pretty
+sure we’d make out. I don’t see how he figures it, but
+a man can gamble on Will Hasbrook and on his keeping
+his head. Just the same— Look here, Torrance, if
+you want to back out while you’ve got the chance I
+can’t say I’ll blame you. If I’ve got you right, if you
+haven’t lied me blind, this may be the last night you
+ever get a good look at the stars.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>“We’ll play out our string, Evans,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Before they were a mile on their way, a rider, coming
+on after them from Canyon City, overtook them
+and passed on. He called out, “Hello, Jim! We’ll be
+waitin’ for you and glad to have you with us again.”
+They could make nothing of his face, lost in the
+shadow of his hat.</p>
+
+<p>For an instant the sheriffs hand hardened to the
+butt of his old walnut-gripped Colt; then he sighed
+and relaxed in the saddle.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing we can do about anything until we get
+to the rendyvoo,” he said disgustedly, “and most likely
+damn little we can do then. Looks like they had us
+with our noses shoved down in the dirt.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’ve got the edge on us,” conceded Torrance
+coolly. “They’ve got us guessing more or less, and
+they’ve got the odds on us. That’s all they’ve got.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good Lord, man! Ain’t that a-plenty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Just the same,” Torrance went on, “you never
+quit on a proposition just because it was an uphill
+pull, did you?”</p>
+
+<p>Sheriff Walt Evans of Coconambo County swore
+fluently. At the end he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Damn if I don’t sort of like your style, Torrance.
+And if they get your hide tonight I’ll do my level
+damnedest to sort of even things up with them
+later on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fair enough,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>They rode on in silence. The road under their
+horses’ scampering hoofs started abruptly climbing up
+Indian Mountain, winding in and out of graded ravines,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>and they had to pull down to a swinging walk.
+Torrance said: “That hombre took a look-see to make
+out whether I was tied up or not. They’ll have some
+more spies posted along the road, sure as shooting. And
+I’m here to bet you we meet up with them quite a
+spell before we get to the place where Hasbrook said
+we were to come.”</p>
+
+<p>High up on the flank of the mountain they struck
+into a road that ran almost level in a high valley, and
+here they rode hard and were watchful and suspicious.
+Every shadow might be a man with a rifle at his shoulder;
+the place was lonesome enough for that sort of
+thing. But they shot across this bit of mountain
+meadow without anything happening, dipped into
+another canyon and climbed steeply again. Then,
+startling them, with their nerves already at stretch, a
+voice shouted: “Hello, Jim! Like old times come again,
+huh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Damn ’em, they make my flesh creep,” snorted the
+old sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re having them their fun,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“We ought to be there in ten-fifteen minutes now,
+Kid,” said the sheriff, and for the first time sounded
+uncertain and uneasy. “If I was you— Dammit, Kid, if
+I was you— Oh, hell, I dunno! But if you want to turn
+tail right now and get the hell out of here, headed
+back where we just came from, me I wouldn’t blame
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“We called for cards; let’s play the hand out,” said
+Torrance. And after that, if he was ever going to have
+need of a friend, all he’d have to do would be send
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>word to the sheriff of Coconambo County.</p>
+
+<p>Then it wasn’t long before they saw what they recognized
+as a signal to halt. In the middle of the trail
+where there was an opening through trees, and
+where the moon and stars made the place bright, a
+freshly skinned pole stood upright, based in a nest of
+stones, and from the top of the pole a scrap of white
+cloth drooped and fluttered in the draft of night air
+down through a cut in the mountains. They reined
+in when they first saw this mast and flag, something
+like fifty yards before they came to it. Beyond, so
+straight-as-a-string was the trail right here, they could
+see an open distance of perhaps twice fifty yards.</p>
+
+<p>“If it comes to fighting it out, Kid,” said Evans in
+an undertone, “I’m with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Torrance, and though he too spoke almost
+under his breath his tone sounded savage. “No
+change of plans now, Evans. You get Hasbrook out of
+this if you can; all I want is Bordereau.”</p>
+
+<p>Then they saw three mounted men moving slowly
+out of the timber ahead of them and coming toward
+them down trail. Evans called out sharply:</p>
+
+<p>“That you, Will?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it’s me, Walter,” answered the banker.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re to come ahead alone,” the sheriff called
+back. “Those coyotes with you know they can take
+your word, and I know they’re a pack of liars whose
+word is no better than rotten eggs.”</p>
+
+<p>Another voice spoke up. Jim Torrance felt a tingle
+run through his blood as he heard it; he recognized it
+beyond a doubt as Steve Bordereau’s.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“You, Evans!” the voice called. “You’ll do as you’re
+damn well told, or the gun I’ve got jammed between
+Hasbrook’s shoulder blades is going off; and there’s a
+rifle trained on you now that will zip you into kingdom
+come.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, by the Lord!” yelled back an angry sheriff.
+“You’ll do as I say now. Send Hasbrook down alone to
+me and let the two of us ride out of this, and you’ve
+got my word for it your money is tied to Jim Torrance’s
+saddle strings. If you don’t like that, kill Hasbrook
+and try to kill me and be damned to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that Torrance with you?”</p>
+
+<p>The three oncoming riders had stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. It’s Jim Torrance. I’ve done my part; you do
+yours and do it the way I say, or else.”</p>
+
+<p>Then one of the three horsemen came on alone, and
+Torrance and Sheriff Evans made out that it was
+banker Hasbrook. Bordereau called out again, not
+waiting for Hasbrook to reach the sheriff’s side:</p>
+
+<p>“Evans! You give me your word you’ve got the
+money with you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is Torrance tied or free?”</p>
+
+<p>“As if you didn’t know already! He’s got ropes on
+his wrists and on his legs, if you call that being tied.
+The money’s on his saddle; I’ll drop it into the trail
+or leave it there. But you’re to let me and Hasbrook get
+down trail to the bend before you come on. If you
+boys had rather prove yourselves the bunch of liars
+I’ve called you and would rather shoot it out, hop
+to it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>“Leave the money where it is,” said Bordereau. “Tie
+Torrance’s horse to a tree like I said. Then get to hell
+out of here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here goes,” said Evans.</p>
+
+<p>Hasbrook came on. By the time he had reached
+them, Sheriff Evans had used the tie rope on Torrance’s
+saddle, an end of which was already around the
+horse’s neck; the other end he tied and drew tight
+with a jerk around a young tree. Then for a moment
+or two Torrance and Evans and Will Hasbrook were
+together, no Bordereau man in sight but the two up
+trail, and they a good seventy-five yards away. Hasbrook,
+grasping Evans’ arm, said sharply:</p>
+
+<p>“Dammit, Walter! Haven’t you and Torrance
+talked? Hasn’t he told you—”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance in a savage undertone cut in:</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve made our plans, Hasbrook. You do what
+Evans says. What Bordereau says, too. Get the hell out
+of here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do nothing of the kind! Leaving you tied like
+this? They’ll murder you in two minutes!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hey, there!” shouted Steve Bordereau. “What are
+you birds talking about? Break it up and scatter for
+home—or else, like Evans says.”</p>
+
+<p>Evans muttered, his voice in Hasbrook’s ear: “He
+means business. I’ve done all I could with my eyes
+shut, Will. Now you do as I say. We’re on our way.”</p>
+
+<p>Hasbrook called softly to Jim Torrance: “I don’t
+get this. Until hell freezes solid I’m with you, Kid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ride then,” snapped Torrance. “Now.”</p>
+
+<p>Their hushed conference was so short that when
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>Evans sang out to Bordereau, “All right; me and Hasbrook
+are on our way,” it was before Bordereau even
+called a second command. Evans whirled his horse and
+spurred down trail, gone at a run, and with him went
+a reluctant Hasbrook. The two vanished around the
+bend in the trail.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau and the man with him came on then,
+riding at a slow trot; Torrance could see the metallic
+gleam of the rifles they carried. He saw also something
+else, for those narrowed and watchful eyes of his were
+everywhere at once, as they had to be, did he mean to
+go on living even a few minutes. He saw a third member
+of Bordereau’s party; this man stepped out from
+under the trees almost at his side. He carried his belt
+gun in his hand and was not six paces away when Torrance
+heard his soft tread and made him out, close
+enough to assure himself that Evans had done a good
+job of tying the free end of Torrance’s tie rope about
+the tree; close enough to see the rope about Torrance’s
+wrists. He called out, laughing:</p>
+
+<p>“Come ahead, boys. He’s tied up tighter’n a drum.”</p>
+
+<p>A shout and a big booming laugh broke from Steve
+Bordereau then, and he and the man with him came
+on at a swinging gallop.</p>
+
+<p>“Now!” thought Jim Torrance. “Now!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">As Sheriff Evans</span> and Banker Hasbrook rode down
+trail and around the bend, Evans slipped a hand under
+his coat, dragged out two hefty forty-fours and slid
+them into Hasbrook’s eager hands.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope you get a chance to use ’em tonight, that’s
+all,” growled an unusually disgruntled sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>“Me too, dammit,” growled Hasbrook.</p>
+
+<p>Just then two men rode out into the trail in front
+of them, and one of the two called sullenly as Evans
+and Hasbrook pulled their horses down:</p>
+
+<p>“You’re to keep on going, and go like hell. Got it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Got you,” snapped Evans, and started to ride on.</p>
+
+<p>But already Jim Torrance had muttered to himself,
+“Now!” That was uptrail and around the bend,
+and they couldn’t see him for the trees. Nor could they
+see Steve Bordereau and the man riding with him, nor
+the other man who had just stepped out so close to
+Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance, having said “Now!” meant “<i>Now!</i>” Bordereau
+and the man with him wore big bandanas over
+their faces, for masks; they’d kept their faces hidden
+all the while from Will Hasbrook. But as they pulled
+in close to where Torrance waited for them, Steve
+Bordereau jerked the cloth away from his face. Already
+he saw Torrance’s hands on the saddle horn, and saw
+too the rope about them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>But there was something he didn’t see. The rope
+about Torrance’s horse’s neck went just so far and was
+pieced out with a bit of cotton string; the ropes about
+Torrance’s legs were pieced out in the same way, as
+was the rope about his wrists. One jerk, no more emphatic
+than that with which Steve Bordereau snatched
+his handkerchief away, was all he needed to set him
+free.</p>
+
+<p>“Got you at last, damn you!” exulted Bordereau. He
+reached in leisurely fashion for his gun. “You’re a dead
+man in ten seconds, Torrance. You’ll live just exactly
+long enough to know who burned you down. Take
+this—and like it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hold it, Bordereau,” said Torrance quietly. “Me,
+I want to tell you something too. I felt sure down to
+my boots that it was you and your gang pulling off
+these jobs, bank robbing, murder and such. Now I
+know from seeing you and listening to you. Here’s a
+tip for you. I don’t think you’ll live through the night;
+if you do you’ll be where you put Doc Taylor before
+your whiskers grow long enough to shave two-three
+times.”</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau hardly heard him out before he started
+shooting, and not ten paces away. But Torrance, whom
+circumstances forced to make his final, revised plans
+in a hurry, wasn’t in the saddle when Bordereau’s
+finger hardened to the trigger. Knowing that he could
+never hope to go free on horseback, he spilled out of
+his saddle, breaking the little cotton strings that bound
+him, throwing himself against the fellow who had just
+stepped from the wood, knocking him endwise. Torrance’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>frightened horse leaped and reared and lunged,
+and in the narrow trail caromed flank to flank against
+Steve Bordereau’s mount.</p>
+
+<p>By that time Bordereau was firing as fast as he could,
+not caring in the least if he knocked over his own man,
+tangled there on the ground with Jim Torrance, not
+caring much about anything, just so Torrance was
+one man he killed. But in his excitement and rage he
+had the poorest of luck; Torrance was firing back with
+less excitement, with more precision. As he threw himself
+from his horse’s back his gun was in his hand; he
+brought it down smashingly on the head of the man
+against whom he catapulted himself; thereafter he did
+his level best to make an end of Bordereau. But three
+horses were rearing and snorting their fear, and trying
+to run away, and, close as the men were to each other,
+it was hard to make sure with any single shot.</p>
+
+<p>But he came mighty close to making sure with the
+first bullet he winged on its way; it carried Steve Bordereau’s
+hat away and left a bloody groove along Bordereau’s
+scalp. The gambler, emulating his enemy,
+went down out of the saddle in a hurry, keeping the
+reins in one hand, getting behind his horse, and he
+kept on firing from behind his restless barricade as
+fast as he could pull a trigger.</p>
+
+<p>He did kill his own man, the one whom Torrance
+had downed; Torrance heard the thud of the impact
+in the lax body, thanked his stars for the eight or ten
+inches between them, and leaped into the dark of the
+wood bordering the trail. Bullets were singing all
+about him, the other bandit slamming lead at him as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>fast as did Steve Bordereau.</p>
+
+<p>Bordereau too sprang nimbly out of the open trail,
+ducking behind a tree. The fellow with him was slower
+of wit or of bolder mettle; in any case he stopped one
+of Torrance’s bullets and went to the ground headlong.
+By that time, above the crash and thunder and
+clamorous reverberations of gunfire, rose Bordereau’s
+voice, choking with anger, yelling savage commands:</p>
+
+<p>“Varney! Billings! Where the hell are you? Get into
+it or—”</p>
+
+<p>Varney Slack and Hen Billings were the two men
+he had set on guard lower down the trail, to make sure
+that the sheriff and Hasbrook were on their way; for
+at the time of cooking up his plans Bordereau hadn’t
+counted on Torrance bursting his bonds like this. And
+just now it happened that Varney and Billings had
+other matters to attend to beyond listening to their
+leader’s commands. For the instant Walt Evans heard
+the start of a duello of gunfire, he chose to consider
+that his contract with these rats was fulfilled and that
+he was a free man to do just what he damn well pleased.
+He grabbed a gun up out of its holster where it rested
+so loosely, yelled downright joyously, “Stick ’em up,
+you two, or go for your guns!” and cut loose. For he
+saw they were doing what they had to do; they were
+going for their guns.</p>
+
+<p>If there was one thing—and there were several—that
+Walt Evans could do pretty close up to the fine
+edge of perfection, it was shoot on the draw true to the
+mark. He unlimbered before either of his two opponents
+got their guns up six inches from their holsters;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>they should have shot from the hip and taken their
+chances that way, for no other chance was to be granted
+them. He shot one man through the throat, the other
+man through the gun elbow. And Will Hasbrook by
+that time was in action; he drilled with a lucky shot
+the fellow whom Evans had merely wounded.</p>
+
+<p>Then the two went storming back uptrail.</p>
+
+<p>“Hey there, Jim!” and, “Torrance! Torrance! We’re
+with you!” yelled Evans and Hasbrook. And Bordereau,
+hearing and understanding what must have happened
+when he heard the shooting around the bend,
+got into the edge of the forest, dragging his horse along,
+and got up into his saddle and left behind him only
+the faint sound of his cursing and the livelier racket of
+brush crackling under his precipitate flight.</p>
+
+<p>Out in the clearing was a rock some five or six feet
+high. Torrance with a single leap seemed somehow to
+be on top of it. From there he shouted so that his
+vociferations were like the challenge of a crowing cock.
+That was because already he tried to see into that thing
+that they call the future—into happenings which, yet
+unborn, might come out this way or that.</p>
+
+<p>“Bordereau!” he shouted, inviting a bullet and feeling
+in his heart, standing high just then, that he could
+dodge it! “Bordereau! You’ve run off and left your
+fifty thousand! And I’ve scared you out of the country,
+me, Jim Torrance! Hell with you—since I know after
+this you’ll never come back! Me, I’ll own this whole
+damn country a year from now; and you—you’ll be
+down below the border with the rest of the half-breeds,
+sucking eggs for supper, hungry and dirty and lousy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>and down and out. And it was me, Jim Torrance, that
+ran you out.”</p>
+
+<p>And for full measure he simulated rollicking spontaneous
+laughter.</p>
+
+<p>That extravagance of his nearly cost him his life—but
+since it was merely a case of nearly but not quite,
+he didn’t in the least mind. Steve Bordereau heard his
+taunts and stopped and shot at him through the uncertain
+region of twigs and shadows and moonlight,
+and his shots whistled close but left Torrance unscathed.
+Nor, after having fired his verbal volley, did
+Torrance choose to linger on the rock. He spilled down
+again, almost under the running hoofs of the horses
+bringing Evans and Hasbrook.</p>
+
+<p>“There’ll be sure to be more of the rats hid in the
+brush,” he sang out warningly. “Better duck for cover
+among the trees.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see you ducking,” snorted the sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance’s horse had run but a short distance uptrail
+and stood there stamping and whirling and jerking
+its head high, making a lively jingle of bridle
+chains. Torrance ran forward, caught up the reins and
+went up into the saddle. Then there was a crashing in
+the underbrush where he had vanished, going after
+the already vanished Bordereau. Close behind him
+came both the sheriff and Hasbrook. And now Hasbrook,
+though he was not going to hang back when the
+others led, called out a warning:</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll never get him at night in this rough country—he
+knows every step of it—look out or he’ll let you
+have it before you ever see him.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>Torrance didn’t stop and didn’t bother to answer.
+He knew that Bordereau still fled on somewhere ahead,
+for he heard the drumming of speeding hoofs. But he
+had to swing this way and that among the trees; his
+horse balked once where a big fallen tree lay across
+the way; he had to draw back and ride around it—and
+then all sounds of the horse ahead of him died away.
+He stopped and listened; the trample of Evans’ and
+Hasbrook’s horses, coming closer, was all he heard.</p>
+
+<p>“Let him go, Torrance,” said Evans bruskly. “You’re
+no sorrier than I am to have him slide out on us—but
+we’ve saved Will’s fifty thousand dollars for him—and
+we’ve done what we could to square things for Phil
+Gates, potting two of the devils. And tomorrow I’ll
+come back up here with a posse and comb these mountains—”</p>
+
+<p>“You got two of them?” said Torrance. “Well, Bordereau
+himself got a third man, plugging wild at me.
+If we haven’t busted up his gang, at least we’ve thinned
+it. And I guess you’re right; it’s about all we can do
+for tonight.”</p>
+
+<p>Evans said to Hasbrook: “This man Jim Torrance
+is barely up out of bed; he got himself shot up a bit
+in the scrap when they grabbed you. It’s time we rode
+home with him and tucked him into bed again. Let’s
+catch up these horses running free, and be on our
+way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Torrance,” said the banker warmly, “if it hadn’t
+been for you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s ride,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>No posse went out the next morning, but just a
+couple of men with a buckboard to haul back into
+town the three dead bandits. That was because the
+sheriff and Will Hasbrook had had a good long talk
+with Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a funny thing,” said Hasbrook, “how Jim here
+seems to sort of know what Bordereau’s apt to do
+next, what he’s thinking even. He came to me and told
+me to look out for this raid, and I did—well, half-heartedly
+maybe, still I did feel in my bones that he
+knew what he was talking about.”</p>
+
+<p>“How come?” demanded Evans. “You and this
+Bordereau bird had lots of heart-to-heart talks, Jim?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nary a talk, Walt. But you see, I know the sorts of
+things Steve Bordereau has been pulling off for years;
+I’ve done a lot of thinking about him; I’ve got a hunch
+I know what he’s like inside and how he figures things.”</p>
+
+<p>“I heard you yelling after him when you stood up
+there on that rock last night. You figured he was on
+his way at last, clean out of the country.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was just my way of inviting him to hang
+around a little longer,” grinned Torrance, and looked
+vastly good-natured and hopeful. “After my reminding
+him that we still had his fifty thousand, and after
+my doing a bit of big-mouth bragging, there’s no more
+chance of his running out on us than there is of the
+world falling apart. If he never does another thing,
+he’s going to have a try at me.” His grin passed swiftly
+and his eyes darkened and grew low-lidded and moody.
+“You see,” he said thoughtfully, “Steve Bordereau is
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>three things by nature. He’s a crook and a killer—and
+a gambler. He’s sure by now that his luck is running
+high.”</p>
+
+<p>“After last night?” said Hasbrook, puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s got a gang with him, hasn’t he? And he’s raked
+in several sizable jack pots already, hasn’t he, grabbing
+King Cannon’s gold, sticking up the Yellow Pine and
+the Mountain City Bank and the Mines? Last night he
+lost a trick, yes; but at the same time he had the good
+luck to have three of his followers put out of the running;
+he’ll grab their share, won’t he? But then you
+don’t know Bordereau.”</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, both men did know him, though
+but slightly; both had sat in at a poker table with him.
+They understood.</p>
+
+<p>“And what next?” demanded Evans.</p>
+
+<p>“First, there’s Bordereau on the run in the mountains.
+You know damn well you could hunt him until
+the next snowstorm and never catch a glimpse of him,
+not up there in the rough country. And after snow
+flies, what then? He’ll be well provisioned; he’ll have
+a snug hide-out; it’ll be in a place where one man can
+hold off fifty. And he’ll still have a few men with
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you think he won’t do what you said, duck
+out for south of the border?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not if I know him. He’ll count noses of what’s left
+of his party, pick up another three or four of the same
+kind, and try his luck again while he still thinks that
+luck is running high.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>“And you’ve got a notion where he’ll strike next
+time?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure I have,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>They talked the thing out for hours. Then, when
+Torrance headed back toward Sundown, Sheriff Evans
+and Banker Hasbrook rode with him. And, to meet
+them at Sundown, went another old-timer of Canyon
+City, Doc Kibbee, traveling by stage. Those three,
+Evans and Hasbrook and Kibbee, just about ran Coconambo
+County in those days and had done so for
+many years. True, Sundown was over their county
+border and, rightly speaking, they had nothing to say
+about how little Sundown behaved or misbehaved itself;
+yet it remained that the influence which these
+three hearty old mountain lions could exert extended
+through many channels and to considerable distances.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll come swooping down on Sundown like the
+wolf on the fold,” said Doc Kibbee.</p>
+
+<p>The three horsemen came abreast of the main gate
+to the King Cannon ranch just about sunset. Both
+Evans and Hasbrook cocked an eye at Torrance; his
+face was without expression and he was staring straight
+on ahead, giving no sign that he knew where he was.</p>
+
+<p>“How about turning in here for a while?” said
+Evans. “The folks might even feed us. Me, I’m getting
+hungry and sort of thirsty too.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s an idea, Walter,” said Hasbrook.</p>
+
+<p>So they turned in at the ranch wagon road, and rode
+up to the house on its knoll among the trees. Sam
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>Pepper, loafing out by the chicken yard, saw them and
+came with all due haste to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>“Say, it’s you, Jim Torrance!” he exclaimed. “Say,
+here I been wondering— Wipe my eyes if it ain’t Walt
+Evans! And Bill Hasbrook with you! Say!”</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Sam, hearing them, came bustling out of
+the house, dough on her hands and her arms all floury—and,
+while they were all just shaking hands and saying
+the first howdys, Sally Dawn made her appearance,
+sweet and fresh in a pink dress and with pink in her
+cheeks and violet in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The visitors were pressed to have a snack and something
+cold to drink and remained for a hot supper.
+There came a time when by chance Jim Torrance and
+Sally Dawn were alone in the early dark on the porch.
+They strolled down into the yard.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s so much left over yet that you haven’t told
+me, Jim,” said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>And he said: “Instead of saying a whole lot more,
+I’d like to ask you something. Between my ranch and
+the upper end of your ranch there’s only the old
+Harper place, and the Harpers have been dead ten
+years and the ranch is pretty well going to the dogs.
+What would you say if I bought the place in? We’d
+be neighbors then.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lovely! Only—only, Jim, I’m not sure that I’ll be
+here much longer. The ranch is so badly crippled—and
+what with the mortgage on it and with Steve Bordereau
+making all the trouble he can—and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks, those things are bound to get ironed out
+smooth, give ’em time. And don’t forget Bordereau
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>owes you a hatful of money, all that free gold he dug
+out of your father’s old house up in the mountains.
+When you get that back—”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>When</i> I get it back!” she said ruefully, and shook
+her head.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re going to get it back. You’re going to keep
+your ranch, too; all clear and cleaned up. Steve Bordereau
+thinks he’s riding high, wide and handsome
+right now, but don’t let him fool you.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you, Jim? Do you know, sometimes I think if
+you just forgot all about him, if you just settled down
+to your ranch, your horses—”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I aim to do,” said Torrance. “Right
+here close to Sundown. I kind of like it here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m glad,” said Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>Then he said, almost rough about it: “Look here!
+You came all the way up to Canyon City when I was
+hurt. You—”</p>
+
+<p>“Hi, Jim!” called Sam Pepper. “That you?” He
+came along hastily. “Are you sure it was Bordereau
+stuck up Canyon City? Think he’s skipped the country
+or’s coming back? And what’s brought all those Canyon
+City big bugs, Evans and Kibbee and Hasbrook,
+down here so far off their stamping grounds? And—”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder why somebody hasn’t killed Sam Pepper
+long ago,” said Jim Torrance to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>That made her laugh, and she said, “He makes me
+wonder, too!” But she gave Jim’s hand, so lingeringly
+withdrawing, a good tight squeeze.</p>
+
+<p>Supper done, the Canyon City big bugs rode on
+into Sundown, Jim Torrance with them, and they did
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>not go unaccompanied. Sam Pepper was on hand to
+ride neck and neck with the first of them; Bill Yarbo
+showed up and went along; Curly Redmond and Dick
+Pardee and Dave Drennen were also of the party.</p>
+
+<p>Within twenty-four hours that hard, tight nucleus
+of determined men turned a new page in Sundown’s
+history. They looked up old friends; they talked cold
+turkey. The second night some four or five score of
+the squarest-shooting, hardest-riding men of the community
+met in the “Hall.” The yellow light of their
+coal oil lamps shone on grim-jawed faces. They sent out
+for the man they wanted, and Biggs was brought in
+before them, Rufe Biggs, the town marshal.</p>
+
+<p>Seth Hathaway, an old stock man of the King Cannon
+type, spoke to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Rufe,” he said, “there’s two kinds o’ folks in an’
+around Sundown. There’s folks like us men here;
+there’s folks like Steve Bordereau and Clark Murdo
+and their crowd. Steve Bordereau put you where you
+are and our crowd ain’t got any more use for you than
+a grizzly’s got use for feathers in his tail. Bordereau’s a
+killer, a crook, a stick-up gent, and he’s on the run.
+Clark Murdo’s just as bad and won’t be here always.
+If you, Rufe, have got as much sense as a bedbug,
+which I doubt, you’ll resign right here and right now.
+<i>Sabe?</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Rufe Biggs bristled and did his small amount of unconvincing
+blustering, but he looked frightened, and
+in the end he slammed his badge of office down on the
+floor and kicked at it.</p>
+
+<p>“Hell! I quit,” he said, and got out of the room
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>the quickest way.</p>
+
+<p>Then the men gathered in the hall took it upon
+themselves to name their new town marshal to fill the
+vacancy voluntarily made by Rufe Biggs. Someone
+picked up the fallen badge and handed it to their new
+law enforcement officer.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance’s hands just naturally slid down to the
+guns at his hips.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m naming myself two deputies right now,” he
+said. “Later maybe I’m going to ask two-three more to
+kick in with me—that is, if it comes to a clean-up. You,
+Sam Pepper; you, Bill Yarbo. You’re both sworn in to
+lend a hand. Pop out and get me an ax and a crowbar.”</p>
+
+<p>Only a block from the hall was the Sundown jail.
+Torrance knew that Biggs had the key, hence the ax
+and crowbar.</p>
+
+<p>He got the battered door off its hinges and stood it
+against the side of the squat, square building.</p>
+
+<p>“You come out, you fellows in there,” he called.
+And out came three untidy men, one swaggering, two
+cowering, all scared. For they didn’t like this sort of
+an exit, and they didn’t like the tone of the voice commanding
+them—and the grim-faced crowd that had
+followed Torrance looked as much like a lynching
+party as anything else.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re not going to need a jail in Sundown any
+more, boys,” said the new marshal of Sundown. “If
+you’re the right kind of men, you don’t have to go
+into jail. If you’re not the kind that Sundown hankers
+for—well, that’s going to be your hard luck. Now you
+three—and I don’t know a damn thing about you—just
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>get the hell out of here as fast as you can, and keep on
+going. You don’t have to come back unless you think
+it’s healthy here. Just spread the news as you go. That’s
+all, boys. Good luck.”</p>
+
+<p>The suddenly released three vanished in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>Somebody laughed.</p>
+
+<p>A cheer went up.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance hitched up his guns, rolled a cigarette,
+pushed his hat pretty far back—and strolled over to the
+Stag Horn saloon.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jim Torrance</span> didn’t stop in the barroom downstairs;
+he looked in at the door, saw that Murdo wasn’t there,
+and went on upstairs. On his way he was thinking: “I
+came to Sundown for two reasons—to get to ranching
+again and to find Steve Bordereau. I hardly know what
+my ranch looks like; I’ve scarcely more than clapped
+my eyes on Bordereau, though we’ve tried to shoot it
+out twice.”</p>
+
+<p>He entered the main gambling room on the second
+story and went up to the bar. The place was pretty well
+filled; men were drinking and games were going full
+blast. But again he failed to see Clark Murdo.</p>
+
+<p>His thumbs were hooked into his belt as he leaned
+against the bar. He was about to call for a drink when
+he saw Florinda. She was across the room, standing
+stock still and looking at him, her eyes enormous, her
+face pale, her lips vivid red, her jewels flaming. She
+made a queer little gesture, her beringed hands going
+up to her bosom. But it was not that that called him;
+it was the look in her eyes. He went across the room to
+a small table and sat down. Instantly she hurried to
+him; she gave him a smile which was all too patently
+made for the occasion, for he saw that she looked
+frightened.</p>
+
+<p>“Sit down, Señorita?” he invited. “We might have
+something to drink.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>“<i>Gracias, Señor!</i> Oh, yes, I will be glad.”</p>
+
+<p>She sat down; a bottle and glasses were brought
+them; Torrance sat idly twisting his glass between
+hard brown fingers while she looked deep into his eyes
+in a queer, troubling sort of way.</p>
+
+<p>“You have come back, Jim Torrance?” Only she
+called him “Jeem” and put so many r’s into his name,
+Torrance, that it sounded like water rippling over
+smooth stones. “I have heard so many things, such wild
+tales about you! You were hurt, no?”</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged. “Nothing to matter.” And then he
+asked abruptly: “Did you want to see me? You’ve got
+something to tell me?”</p>
+
+<p>She snatched up her glass and drank thirstily. She
+said, as though he had accused her of something and
+she were defending herself, “Me, with something to
+tell you?” Then she laughed at that. “What could I
+have to tell you, Señor Jeem?”</p>
+
+<p>“I imagine there are a good many things you get to
+hear about here that I wouldn’t mind knowing,” he
+said bluntly. And then he asked: “Where’s Murdo? I
+don’t see him here anywhere tonight.”</p>
+
+<p>“He has not come yet. Maybe he won’t come tonight.”</p>
+
+<p>“Once you said you were a friend of mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am!” Dramatically she pressed both hands to her
+breast. “With all my heart, Señor Jeem!”</p>
+
+<p>“You are a friend of Murdo’s, too?”</p>
+
+<p>Those lusciously full red lips of hers hardened and
+thinned.</p>
+
+<p>“Clark Murdo to me is the same as Steve Bordereau.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>They are the two men I hate!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“There are ten million reasons. Do not ask me,
+Señor; to talk about it would make me want to stick
+a knife in them.”</p>
+
+<p>“The two are good friends, Murdo and Bordereau?
+They’re on the level with each other?”</p>
+
+<p>She laughed in his face, and her laugh was a sneer.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you a great big fool, then? Do you think either
+one of two men like those could be square with any
+other man? They are two cheats, always cheating each
+other.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought so,” said Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo hates you,” she said, and, whispering, her
+whisper was almost a hiss, “for what you did when you
+brought the dead man here from the graveyard, and
+maybe for other things. I do not know, but he hates
+you. And he is the kind of man, like Steve Bordereau,
+who would come up behind you and kill.”</p>
+
+<p>He nodded. “I generally keep my back to the wall,”
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>She gave him an elaborate Southern shrug. About
+to rise and go, for it was seldom that she tarried long
+at any one table, a moment she held poised, uncertain,
+undecided. Then she said with a quick, savage flash of
+her deep black eyes:</p>
+
+<p>“Yes! Maybe I will have something to tell you!
+<i>Vamos a ver!</i> Oh, but we are going to see!” She rose
+then, yet finished her thought: “Men are such fools!
+They think when they go in a room and shut a door,
+no one can listen!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>“Florinda! Tell me this. Has Bordereau been here
+lately to see Murdo?”</p>
+
+<p>But she didn’t stop to answer. He watched her go,
+an enigma now as ever; he saw her stop hoveringly like
+a butterfly at another table where three men were.</p>
+
+<p>He saw that Charlie, the bartender with the bull
+neck, was watching him. He was conscious too that two
+other men—men he didn’t know, yet whose faces he
+had seen here before, Bordereau’s men or Clark
+Murdo’s without a doubt—were watching him even
+more narrowly than the man behind the bar. Presently
+one of them got up and went out, passing around the
+end of the bar and through the door which Torrance
+knew led into the hallway that gave upon the private
+rooms.</p>
+
+<p>“Gone looking for Murdo,” thought Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>After that he didn’t lose sight of the door, but nevertheless
+out of the corner of his eye he saw the several
+men who came into the room together, having just
+come up the stairs from the street. They were Hasbrook
+and Kibbee and Evans, leading the way, with
+Curly Redmond, Dick Pardee, Dave Drennen, Bill
+Yarbo and Sam Pepper. Their eyes sought and found
+him; when he gave no sign of having seen them, they
+proceeded to ignore him after his own fashion. Hasbrook,
+Kibbee and Evans went straight to the faro
+layout and into action, three old stagers who, when
+they made their bets, bet ’em high. The others, with
+the exception of Sam Pepper, stepped over to a long
+table where dice were tumbling and rolling, while, as
+for Sam, he just hovered. He was so tensely alert, trying
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>to take in everything, that his eyes looked to be
+on fire and his ears seemed actually to quiver like a
+nervous horse’s.</p>
+
+<p>Then the narrow door opened and Clark Murdo
+entered. He stopped and ran his eyes swiftly over the
+room. Jim Torrance pushed his chair back and stood
+up, and Murdo’s eyes hardened to a meeting with his.
+Torrance went across the room to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Murdo,” he said crisply, “I want a talk with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes? Well, I’ll listen if you make it snappy,” said
+Murdo. “What’s on your mind?”</p>
+
+<p>“Two-three things. First, maybe you’ve heard that
+Rufe Biggs has decided to quit being town marshal?”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo stepped back through the still open door.</p>
+
+<p>“Come into a room where we’ll be alone,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance followed him, not saying anything. They
+went into one of the small poker rooms. Murdo flung
+open the door and said, “Come in.”</p>
+
+<p>“After you,” said Torrance, very polite.</p>
+
+<p>Murdo shrugged and went in first. Torrance, following
+him, saw that the room was already occupied
+by two men; one was the fellow who without doubt
+had just come to warn Murdo of Torrance’s presence
+in the main gambling room, and who looked like a
+cross between a seedy fox and a gaunt bulldog, and
+the other was that gangling, ferret-eyed man so nearly
+always at Murdo’s beck and call whom Torrance remembered
+having encountered at least twice already.
+Their eyes were like snakes’ eyes, just that cold and
+void of expression—snakes’ eyes or bright hard-polished
+shoe buttons.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>“Sure, let’s talk!” said Murdo, and, having spoken,
+his jaws suddenly clamped hard, his lips squeezed together
+in a bloodless line of hate and menace; his
+mouth was then like a frog’s mouth.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance shut the door; there was a key in the lock
+and he turned it and drew it out and dropped it into
+his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>“We won’t want to be disturbed,” he said, and took
+a single sidewise step which put him snugly in a corner,
+his back to the wall. His two thumbs had again hooked
+themselves into his belt.</p>
+
+<p>The three pairs of eyes bent so steadily and balefully
+upon him flickered then. It had been in Murdo’s
+mind to lock the door, but Torrance had been too
+quick for him; somehow the thing upset him.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what’s it all about?” he demanded. “Put a
+name to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rufe Biggs has quit, like I told you. I think he was
+wise at that, don’t you, Murdo?”</p>
+
+<p>“Biggs is a yellow dog,” said Murdo. “It makes no
+difference to me what he does.”</p>
+
+<p>“He told you who the new town marshal is?”</p>
+
+<p>“You won’t last long at it, Torrance. You can take
+that from me.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I won’t last long. That’s the way I want it.”</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell? Are you driving at anything or ain’t
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I’m a rancher, not a nursemaid for a sick town.
+Me, I want to get my job done and go back to my stock.
+That’s why I won’t last long here as marshal.”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo laughed at him, but it wasn’t much of a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>laugh. Torrance went on quietly:</p>
+
+<p>“You, Murdo, are not to last here even as long as
+I am. One way or another you are getting out of here
+now, tonight. One way or another you’re going fast
+and far. And you’re not to come back.”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo, his mind made up, was temporizing, waiting
+for a break, and Jim Torrance was no such fool
+as not to know it. Murdo, affecting a sneering sort of
+manner, said:</p>
+
+<p>“So I’m to just roll my bundle and vamoose, am I?
+Just let the shop here run itself—”</p>
+
+<p>“That needn’t worry you. It’s not your joint anyhow;
+it’s Steve Bordereau’s, and Bordereau’s on the
+run, maybe already streaking for the border, wanted
+for robbery and murder. You don’t think he’d be fool
+enough to ever come back here for an accounting,
+do you?”</p>
+
+<p>He saw that, while Murdo was watching him like a
+hawk, Murdo’s two killers now had their eyes bent on
+their boss, watching for a sign.</p>
+
+<p>“So I’m invited just to step along and let the place
+run itself?” said Murdo. “Maybe you’re thinking of
+taking it over yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>“The girl out there, Florinda, can run it. Between
+her and Charlie, your barkeep, they’ll do well enough.”</p>
+
+<p>Murdo strove for a sort of bantering, good-natured
+laugh—and Jim Torrance, knowing full well that there
+was no laughter in the man’s heart, grew a notch more
+tense and alert than before.</p>
+
+<p>“Stop your bluffing, Torrance,” said Murdo, trying
+to be genial. “Come on out and I’ll stand you a drink.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>Why, man alive—”</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Murdo had given the signal, and Jim
+Torrance knew it, though he didn’t quite know how.
+At the same split second Murdo and his two gunmen
+went for their guns.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Into the gambling room the noise of a sudden crash
+of gunfire burst like rolling thunder through the comparative
+silence. The first men to run out of the room
+and into the hallway were Dick Pardee and Curly Redmond;
+close behind them, a sturdy and compact mass
+of determined men, came Evans and Hasbrook and
+Doc Kibbee, with Dave Drennen and Sam Pepper and
+Lying Bill Yarbo crowding one another for elbow
+room, each striving to get a leap in advance of the
+others. They came to the door of the poker room and
+found it locked; they yelled their demands for ingress
+and hurled their weights on the door. Before they
+could batter it down, they heard a key shoot the bolt
+back, the door was opened and they looked into the
+small room through a blue haze of powder smoke.</p>
+
+<p>Clark Murdo leaned back, white-faced, against a
+wall, his left hand clutching his right shoulder; his
+gun lay on the floor at his feet. One of his men, the
+gangling youngster with the furtive eyes and rabbit
+teeth, crouched down, his gun arm broken, blood dripping
+from his finger tips. The other of the Murdo men
+lay on his side, doubled up in agony.</p>
+
+<p>It was therefore Jim Torrance who had opened the
+door. There was not a scratch on him. Already he had
+slid his guns back into their holsters. He was finishing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>the cigarette he had been smoking.</p>
+
+<p>“Boys,” he said as they came in, “can you scare me
+up a wagon and a man to drive it? I want these gents
+hauled out of town. They’re not supposed to come
+back any more. Cart ’em out to the graveyard and
+dump ’em there. If they’re alive in the morning, they
+can move on; if they’re dead by then, we’ll dig ’em
+under.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m damned!” said old Doc Kibbee. “All three of
+’em had their guns in their hands—and not a one of
+’em fired a shot! Is this man Torrance fast? Or is he
+just chain lightning?”</p>
+
+<p>After that for a time Sundown called its new marshal
+Lightning. But that was too direct and obvious, and
+also they grew to like him, and so after a while Marshal
+Jim Torrance of Sundown was familiarly and affectionately
+known as Slow Jim.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>
+
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">And</span> days passed, as days have a way of doing. That
+fine old trio from Canyon City, Evans and Hasbrook
+and Kibbee, had returned home well content after
+seeing the sign nailed to the tree in front of the Stag
+Horn. It was painted in big black letters on a pine
+board; you could read it across the street:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<p class="center">NOTICE</p>
+
+<p>1. Steve Bordereau is on the run, wanted for murder
+and robbery.</p>
+
+<p>2. Clark Murdo has been kicked out of town.</p>
+
+<p>3. Men like them are invited to clear out of Sundown.</p>
+
+<p>4. The jail door is busted. So no arrests will be
+made.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The town marshal was no longer in town. He went
+back straightway to his new ranch; he hired a couple
+of extra men and was busy from daylight to dark making
+improvements, building for the future, digging in
+for the winter. He said:</p>
+
+<p>“I like this country. I’ve moved around enough. I’m
+here as long as I live.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked over the old Harper ranch, one panhandle
+end of which cut in between his own place and
+the King Cannon spread, and found it utterly to his
+liking, with its rolling hills, its valley land and meadows,
+its water in plenty supplied by Sundown Creek
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>weaving a glinting, laughing way across it. He opened
+negotiations with the absent owner, now enjoying the
+sunset of his life under a shade tree down in Yuma.
+And at times Jim Torrance, riding over these half-wild,
+half-tamed acres, met a slim, sweet, eager girl
+also riding, and they rode together through sunlight
+and shadow of days which were crisp and clean with
+October merging into November, and which were days
+never to be forgotten, subtly touched with green magic.</p>
+
+<p>The Sam Peppers had returned home. Bill Yarbo
+had gone back to his own ragged mountain ranch. At
+the King Cannon ranch Sally Dawn, with an Indian
+woman as housekeeper and chaperon, had launched
+herself upon a brave campaign of starting life over.
+She knew that the chances were all against her; she
+dreaded the day when the old home would be hers no
+longer, gone, through the trickery of Steve Bordereau,
+into his hands or those of some consignee of his—anyhow,
+irretrievably gone from hers. Still, since she loved
+the place so and was so young and vital, there were
+times when her hopes were as strong and gay as a flock
+of bluebirds. Because of their insistence, she kept on
+a purely theoretical pay roll Curly Redmond and Dick
+Pardee and Dave Drennen. They, like Jim Torrance
+and his men, were rebuilding.</p>
+
+<p>Days shortened; flurries of rain came and were
+blown away, leaving the freshly washed sky a wonderful
+blue; storms gathered and rumbled over the mountains
+and painted the heights a dazzling white which
+was to last until May, a good five or six months or
+longer; then the storm clouds went where all things
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>go, and there were again still, chill, gloriously bright
+days, and nights that were velvet-black but sprinkled
+with frosty brilliants.</p>
+
+<p>The Stag Horn still ran full blast. A young man,
+bloodless looking and thin and with the stamp of towns
+on him, came in one day and took the place over. He
+had bought it, lock, stock and barrel, from Steve Bordereau.
+Jim Torrance, news of this brought him by
+that carrier pigeon of a gossip, Sam Pepper, rode into
+Sundown and in his official capacity of town marshal
+had a heart-to-heart talk with Art Pilgrim, the new
+owner.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’d you see Bordereau?” asked Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Art Pilgrim’s slim white hands went up to his hollow
+chest, his thumbs into the armholes of his flowered
+vest.</p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t ever see him, Mr. Town Marshal,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“How come?” asked Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“Any business of yours?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. You’re a new man here; if you’re on the up-and-up,
+you’ll last. If you’re a Bordereau kind of man,
+and if you’re kicking in with him, you won’t last.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know Bordereau. I never saw him. I don’t
+know anything about him except that he owned this
+place and made it pay big money. He knew about me
+the same way; I had my own saloon at Alamagordo. I
+had a chance to sell and sold. My business with Bordereau
+was done through a lawyer over there. That’s
+all I know.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fair enough,” said Torrance, and got up to go.
+Over his shoulder he said: “If you’ve got a good strong
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>safe here, you better keep your money in it. And you
+better go dig a hole somewhere and stick the safe in
+it and cover it over.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, what’s that mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“So long,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Pepper, living so near Torrance, was in and out
+at all hours, his ear to the ground, his nose twitching
+to any breeze that might bear even a hint of something.
+A queer sort of friendship sprang up between
+the two; and a friendship also between Torrance and
+Lying Bill Yarbo who, like Sam, dropped in frequently.
+The three were sitting on Jim’s porch one
+evening, sampling fresh cider out of a jug that had been
+sent over that day from the King Cannon apple orchard,
+when Sam blurted out:</p>
+
+<p>“Looky here, Jim! You keep hanging on to the idea
+that we ain’t seen the last of Steve Bordereau. What in
+tarnation makes you so sure?”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance said promptly, “Bordereau is a gambler
+first, last and all the time, isn’t he?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. He’s a lot of other things, killer and highwayman
+and all round crook, but the bottom of everything
+with him is that he’s a gambler. But what
+about it?”</p>
+
+<p>“A gambler always loses,” said Torrance. “Ever
+notice?”</p>
+
+<p>Both Sam and Bill thought that over in a silence
+broken only by gurglings now and then from the jug.
+They had known many a gambler in their time, and
+had known many a big-time gambler to get into big
+money.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>“A gambler always loses,” said Torrance. “I’ve noticed.
+I’ve never known one of the breed yet to have
+enough money left to bury him when he died. It’s like
+this with Steve Bordereau. He’s made himself a bit of
+a stake, and when a gambler makes a stake, right away
+he’s got to double it; he can’t quit any more than a
+booze hound can stop lapping up his booze. He’s got
+Sally Dawn’s gold; he’s got what he made from his
+stick-ups at the Yellow Pine, the Mountain City and
+the Rocky. On top of that he got something out of
+Canyon City—but he’s not forgetting that that night I
+had fifty thousand dollars tied to my saddle strings, and
+it was his money—and he lost it. Think he’s going to
+let that go? Having played in luck all this time, as he’s
+got to figure it, think he’s going to quit? Give a man
+like that a winning streak at poker or faro or at the
+wheel, is he going to stop? The answer is, Hell no!”</p>
+
+<p>“What about Murdo?” demanded Sam.</p>
+
+<p>“That, I don’t know. I wanted him to get out of
+here alive, and he did. I hoped he’d know where to
+find Bordereau and would kick in with him. I hoped
+that they’d feel like maybe I owed ’em something, and
+that they’d drop in some time to collect. And, talking
+about gambling, I’ll bet either one of you two gents,
+or both of you, a forty dollar Stetson against a bottle
+of beer that inside of ten days or two weeks we have
+’em, or anyhow Bordereau, with us. Maybe tonight or
+tomorrow night or the next.”</p>
+
+<p>“Got a notion where he’s holing up, I suppose?”
+said Sam.</p>
+
+<p>“No. Might be anywhere. Could be up in the hills
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>yet; there’s not too much snow. Could be within half
+a dozen miles of Sundown all the time; could be a
+day’s ride away. Not any further than that, Sambo.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you figure him to come down looking for
+you?” Sam sat back tighter against the wall, and stared
+off in all directions into the gathering dark and began
+rubbing his hands together as though to get them
+warm; well, the evenings did grow cold now.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the way I figure it,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>“How many men you suppose he’s got with him by
+now, Jim?” asked Bill Yarbo.</p>
+
+<p>“Sam can tell you, Bill.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me?” exclaimed Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance’s face looked stern in the flare of the match
+he lifted to his cigarette, yet there was a humorous
+quirk coming and going at the corner of his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” he said. “You told me only a couple of days
+ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me?” said Sam again. “You’re crazy, Jim.”</p>
+
+<p>“You were saying how Sundown had been losing
+part of its population the last few weeks. You mentioned
+the names of several men who used to hang
+around the Stag Horn and who’ve gone on somewhere
+else lately—and you said ‘Good riddance, anyhow,’ seeing
+the sort they were!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, shoot me down!” gasped Sam. “I never
+thought of that! You mean all them boys has kicked in
+with Steve? Why, say! If you’re right he must have
+eight or ten or a dozen boys with him altogether.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance stood up to go inside. “Getting cold out
+here,” he said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>“But listen!” said Sam. “If Steve Bordereau’s got all
+those hell twisters with him— Say, it’s quite a crowd!
+And what would he want so many for?”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe he’s figuring on a good sized job of work,”
+said Torrance. “Maybe he’s figuring on making his
+last play up here, then riding hell-for-leather somewhere
+else. Anyhow there’s not a bank inside a hundred
+miles that I haven’t sent word to that they better
+sleep with one eye open; and whenever the stage carries
+a fat money box they’re carrying two extra guards
+inside.”</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo said ponderously, “If you’re halfway
+right in your guess work, Jim, here’s this to chaw on:
+Steve can still dodge around in the mountains, what
+with the way the weather’s been, where a man’s as
+hard to find as a flea on a long-haired pup. But come
+one good storm that might blow along any day now,
+and he’d get himself plugged up where it would take
+some getting out. What I mean is, if he’s set, like you
+say you think he is, for another play, he’ll be making it
+right soon. It’ll be right soon or not any this year,
+Jim.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right soon, Bill,” said Jim.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>A new trail, weaving among the little hills, threading
+through the pines, came into being across the panhandle
+of the Harper place and connected Jim Torrance’s
+ranch with Sally Dawn’s. Tonight, since it was
+early when first Sam and then Bill rode away, Torrance
+rode that trail. He said to himself: “That was mighty
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>good cider. I’ll just ride by and say thanks.”</p>
+
+<p>But, about midway between his place and Sally
+Dawn’s, where the winding trail went over a gentle
+knoll among both pines and big oaks, he saw another
+rider coming to meet him. Wondering who it might
+be, he eased himself sideways in the saddle, his right
+hand on the cantle close to his hip. He was getting so
+he watched shadows of late; he had a feeling in his
+bones it might pay him to do so.</p>
+
+<p>It was Sally Dawn, riding alone.</p>
+
+<p>“Right here,” said Torrance where they met on the
+top of the knoll, “I’m going to build me my house—my
+real home. Think you’d like it?”</p>
+
+<p>“This spot was made for a home,” said Sally Dawn.
+“It’s been waiting for it thousands and thousands of
+years. Poor little lonely hilltop!”</p>
+
+<p>“I can pump water up out of the creek,” said Torrance.
+“I can pipe it here easy as downing a mug of
+cider. That was the best cider ever, Sally Dawn.”</p>
+
+<p>“Funny we met here; I was sort of restless tonight.
+Know what I was going to do? You’ve never asked me
+to call on you, but I was doing it anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s great. Come ahead.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well—no. As long as I’ve had my visit with you, as
+long as you’ve made your duty call—I love to ride at
+night.”</p>
+
+<p>“I was coming over to thank you for the cider.— Ever
+see a nice deep pool, all shady in summertime, on top
+of a hill like this?”</p>
+
+<p>“They don’t grow that way, do they?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>“Big enough and deep enough for a swim. And
+ducks always waddling into it or out of it—”</p>
+
+<p>“I know. White ducks with nice curly tails. And
+yellow bills and feet—they keep them so nice and clean,
+don’t they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Look here,” said Torrance, “I don’t like your riding
+off alone like this after dark.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mercy!” cried Sally Dawn. “Sounds like you’d lock
+me up in a dark closet and make me go to bed without
+any supper if I didn’t mind you!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Steve Bordereau,” said Torrance in dead earnest.
+“He hasn’t finished down here. He’s got the
+toughest crowd with him that you could think of.
+They’re headed this way before long, and I know it.
+I wouldn’t want you running into them.”</p>
+
+<p>It was too dark for them to see each other’s faces at
+all clearly, to capture any play of expression, but he
+did see the liquid flash of her eyes in the starlight as
+she turned slightly and lifted them to his.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe it,” she said presently. “He has gone
+for good. You have just thought about him so much
+and for so many years—”</p>
+
+<p>“No. It isn’t that. He is coming back. I don’t know
+that he will come near you; but I don’t want to think
+of your running into that crowd alone. Not at night,
+off in the woods like this. Remember what you did to
+him once. Think he’s the sort to forget?”</p>
+
+<p>They rode for an hour, well up to the benchland of
+the Harper place, and they stopped many times and
+looked off across the wide acreage, and he sketched for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>her his budding plans against the time when this was
+all his, when his ranch and hers had a common boundary
+line.</p>
+
+<p>... And somehow, though nothing quite direct
+was said about it, both thought:</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe someday the fence along that line will come
+down.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>By this time Jim Torrance had his bunk house fixed
+up so that his men, three of them now, ate and slept
+there. He himself, though no one knew, slept in the
+barn. He’d go to his house first, then after a while put
+out his light, lock up and betake himself to a loft over
+the stalls where his favorite horses were kept at night.
+It was his thought that Steve Bordereau, did his path
+ever lead him anywhere near the ranch in passing,
+might take off time to shoot a few finely bred horses,
+if he didn’t find it handy to drive them off.</p>
+
+<p>Lights in the bunk house were out by nine or ten
+o’clock. Torrance had got into the habit of taking a
+nap in his own house; about two or three in the morning
+he saddled and went for a ride; when he got back
+he went to the barn for any more sleep he might have
+coming.</p>
+
+<p>There were nights when a couple of hours of sleep
+were all that he got, all that he wanted. With every
+passing hour he felt surer and surer that not much
+longer did he have to wait; he thought the thing over
+from every possible angle, dead set against letting himself
+trick himself into the old pit of simply believing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>what he wanted to believe; he thought of all that he
+knew of Steve Bordereau, one way and another, and
+could see only the one logical conclusion—Bordereau
+was coming back, and soon.</p>
+
+<p>If Bordereau struck Sundown, thought Torrance,
+he’d strike where most loot was to be had, and that was
+the Stag Horn where games ran high and where the
+house made money hand over fist. Wouldn’t Bordereau
+know all about that? And just where the money would
+be kept? And at just what hour to strike?</p>
+
+<p>One day Sam Pepper came nosing in, and had hardly
+had a drink—Sam always favored a free drink—when
+he gave speech with the newest of Sundown news.</p>
+
+<p>“I just seen a feller,” said Sam, “that I ain’t clapped
+my peepers on since Steve Bordereau played dead and
+buried pore old Doc Taylor. A feller named LeSarge,
+Jake LeSarge.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jake LeSarge? Who’s he? Tell me about him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can tell you plenty!” said Sam, and did.</p>
+
+<p>LeSarge, if you’d take his word for it, was tougher
+than the plank steaks they sold over to Joe’s Lunch
+Counter. Still a young feller, maybe twenty-three-four,
+he had hung around Sundown off and on for ten years.
+Always in trouble, always hell-raising. Quarrelsome. A
+cheap skate, a tin-horn, as crooked as a dog’s hind leg—and
+a sort of pet of Steve Bordereau’s. Two years ago
+he killed Larry McKibben, and Larry was an up-and-up
+boy, well liked. LeSarge had skipped out, stayed
+away six months or so, and had crept back under Bordereau’s
+wing. And a good many things were said of
+him that nobody could prove—not nice things.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>“And he’s back,” said Sam. “Me, I was wondering,
+if Steve has a gang like you say, why Jake LeSarge ain’t
+one of ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance was more interested than Sam had
+hoped to find him.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s this LeSarge doing in town now?” he asked.
+“Where’s he hanging out?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s hanging around the Stag Horn. He’s buying
+drinks, free with his money, which he ain’t always. I
+seen him making a play at the Señorita—Florinda, you
+know. Looked like he was stuck on her, trying to corner
+her, like maybe he’d like to go out and buy a dog
+collar that would fit that white neck of hers. Outside
+all that, he wasn’t doing much of anything I could see.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance tilted his chair back, his lean brown hands
+behind his head, his eyes, with a sort of vacant look in
+them, going up to the cross beams and smoky rafters
+above.</p>
+
+<p>It was so long before he moved or spoke that Sam
+began to fidget. At last, however, he kicked his chair
+back and stood up.</p>
+
+<p>“All right, Sam,” he said. “Thanks for the tip-off.
+And now— Well, good night.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hey!” cried Sam Pepper. But Jim Torrance was
+gone, off to the barn to saddle and ride. And Sam Pepper
+couldn’t even be sure what direction his ride was
+taking him, since Torrance cut straight across the road
+into the pines and might have gone anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>So he had to yell after the departing figure: “Hey,
+Jim! Where are you going?”</p>
+
+<p>And it just happened that this time Torrance answered
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>him.</p>
+
+<p>“Over to the King Cannon Ranch,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Only half a dozen words, not an outstanding word
+among them, but as things were to happen those six
+words were fateful.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>
+
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Torrance</span> hit the high spots streaking over to the King
+Cannon Ranch. But he got only about half way, to the
+top of that pine-and-oak studded knoll where some
+day the home was to be, when he rode into a sudden,
+unpresaged rain. It was a rain of bullets, and the streaks
+of light were orange-red flames from a rifle, and, like
+a man shot through the head, he spilled out of the
+saddle. As he went down, untouched by any of those
+flying leaden pellets, he snatched out a gun with one
+hand while with the other he gave his horse a resounding
+slap to send the animal racing straight on. And
+Torrance, striking earth and rolling adroitly, brought
+up standing behind a thick-boled oak.</p>
+
+<p>He had hardly come up erect on his toes when he
+glimpsed the man shooting at him. His assailant was
+scarcely twenty steps away, sitting a black horse in
+the shadows and all but invisible, and yet the wonder
+remained that Torrance wasn’t killed and that he
+didn’t shoot the man dead at the first shot. It was
+just one of those odd happenings which so thickly
+besprinkle life wherever life is running strong and
+swift.</p>
+
+<p>The heavy slug from Torrance’s forty-four, winged
+on its way by the several chances of haste, uncertain
+light and moving figures, slammed into the narrow
+margin of the other man’s rifle barrel, striking it so
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>near the trigger guard that the flying wrath of the
+bullet came next door to raising a blister on the
+hardened trigger finger. It was like slugging the gun
+with a sledge hammer; anyhow the rifle flew out of
+the would-be killer’s hands and the man who thus
+relinquished his gun gave voice to an involuntary
+howl of rage, pain and fright commingled. For the
+fragment of a second he thought he had been shot—he
+didn’t quite know where.</p>
+
+<p>And he wasn’t granted much time to think about
+things. Torrance saw, because of the star glint on
+steel, the flash of the weapon flying out of his attacker’s
+hands, and then asked no better than to get the man
+in his two hands. He had fired the one shot only; he
+had his gun up for the second; he was nicely balanced
+on his toes. Obeying impulse, a thing he did far more
+often than most men realized, he hurled himself forward
+across the few steps intervening between himself
+and the man who had just tried to kill him. And in
+some few seconds the two were gripped together like
+two wildcats.</p>
+
+<p>There in the dark, shot through with starlight, with
+their horses snorting and stamping and watching and
+wanting to run away, yet not moving out of their
+tracks, the two men fought as two men will when
+there is only one thought in mind and heart and sinew,
+to win anyhow. To win with a blow of a clubbed fist,
+with a strangle grip, with a sudden knee or a brutal
+boot—to save your own life by beating the other fellow
+into insensibility or by the directer method of killing
+him. Yet, like a small bell beating in his brain, there
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>was in Jim Torrance the urge: “Get him, but get him
+alive so he can talk!”</p>
+
+<p>It was Jake LeSarge whom Jim Torrance jerked
+down off his horse, though at the time Torrance had
+not the least inkling of the man’s identity; and Jake
+LeSarge, half Cherokee and sinewy and slippery, was
+as hard to deal with as a young panther. He was like
+a snake for quick-darting elusiveness, like a driving
+rod on the new western locomotives for the blows he
+struck. Jim Torrance came to know all this within
+some ten seconds, during which the two gave and took
+some measure of each other.</p>
+
+<p>It just happened that Jim Torrance had what no
+other man that Sundown ever knew had in the superlative
+degree, the something which made him what
+he was, the one Town Marshal of Sundown whose
+memory will linger a long, long time after so many
+other things mundane are forgotten. He had the indestructible
+spirit. He took a smashing blow in the
+jaw and reeled backward and tottered on his heels
+and took another blow under his heart and felt the
+living breath jolted out of him, and all he did was set
+his teeth and bore back into the tornado that had
+struck him. Head down, chin protected, arms flailing
+and driving hard fists like knobby clubs, he paid back
+in full for all he got.</p>
+
+<p>He landed by chance, or luck, on LeSarge’s Adam’s
+apple, corded and tight and hard, and the blow was
+like that of a sledge beating on an anvil. Almost it
+broke young Jake LeSarge’s neck. It did knock him
+flat at the same time that it choked him up so that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>he thought he was dying for lack of breath. Before he
+could master his muscles and command them to jerk
+his lean, battling body upright, Jim Torrance was on
+top of him, battering him with merciless fists. Then
+Torrance’s hands, the fingers like steel hooks, shut
+down on his throat until LeSarge’s tongue lolled like
+a thirsty dog’s, and his eyes bulged. A tremor, which
+the other man could feel, ran through his body from
+head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>“Got you, damn you!” panted Jim Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Then his own head cleared. He kept a strangle-hold
+on the other man’s throat, yet he no longer squeezed
+so hard; he remembered that he did not want to kill
+but to ask his questions and get them answered.</p>
+
+<p>“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “Quick, or
+I’ll put a bullet square between your eyes!”</p>
+
+<p>The other man, in sudden fear of death, answered:</p>
+
+<p>“Me, I’m LeSarge, Jake LeSarge. I made a mistake—got
+the wrong man—”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure!” said Torrance. “Sure! Now, where’ve you
+been? Down at the King Cannon ranch, huh? Lie to
+me, and I’ll know it! I’ll batter your brains out!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said LeSarge. “Yes. At the Cannon ranch.
+I just come from there!”</p>
+
+<p>“Bordereau sent you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No! I swear—”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you I’ll batter your brains out!”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave up on my throat, will you? Yes, then. Bordereau
+sent me. He told me—”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped there. Torrance eased up on him a bit,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>came into a squatting position over his captive and
+said:</p>
+
+<p>“He sent you to get me, didn’t he? He told you to
+snoop around the King Cannon place, to ride over and
+meet up with me, or to get me over at my place or
+wherever you could find me. Am I right?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t even know who you are! I tell you I made
+a mistake; I was looking for another man. Can’t you
+understand, pardner? I don’t even know who the hell
+you are right now!”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s funny,” said Torrance. He withdrew his
+hands then entirely from the other man; balanced on
+his heels he was grinning the way a wolf grins at the
+kill. He said, “It’s mighty funny.” He had jammed his
+gun back into its leather; now he jerked it out and set
+its cylinder spinning with its small-voiced metallic
+clicks. He said, “Tell me what my name is and tell it
+fast, or so help me I’m going to kill you!”</p>
+
+<p>Then, in all haste LeSarge, knowing the voice of
+fate when he heard it beating on his ear drums, gasped
+out:</p>
+
+<p>“You—you’re Torrance, Jim Torrance!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure.” Torrance shoved his gun back into its holster.
+He stood up.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re coming along with me, LeSarge,” he said.
+“<i>Sabe?</i> You’re coming sweet and soft and willing,
+wherever I say. <i>Sabe?</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said LeSarge. “Yes. I’ll come. You got me,
+Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re damn well right, I got you,” said Torrance.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>“Now watch your step.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said Jake LeSarge. “All right. I know
+when I’m licked. I’m playing good dog. Where do
+we go?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know!” said Torrance. “I don’t know. You
+see, I do know who you are now; I know you for a
+crook and a yellow dog. But I don’t know about you
+and Steve Bordereau. I don’t know how much he is
+paying you. I don’t know how easy it would be to buy
+you, to get you to double cross him. You ought to be
+cheap. Let me get you somewhere in the light where
+I can look at you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m on the square, Torrance. I’ve always been on
+the level—”</p>
+
+<p>“Shut your trap, you dirty liar! Climb on your
+horse. Let’s ride. Never mind about your rifle; I’ll
+take it for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where’re we going?”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t far to the King Cannon ranch house. We
+might as well look in there.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a light in the bunk house and as they rode
+nearer the hushed and sentimental strains of a guitar
+floated out to them. Then a voice was raised in song,
+a doleful rendition, and thereafter something was
+thrown, no doubt at the musician; it sounded like a
+heavy piece of crockery crashing against the wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Dry up, can’t you?” said the voice of the man who
+had been goaded into throwing things. “I’ve stood all
+I can.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance and his captive dismounted and went to
+the door.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>“Here’s company, boys,” said Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>Curly and Drennen and young Pardee—it had been
+Pardee strumming and vocalizing—looked at them
+curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello,” said Drennen. “This is LeSarge you’ve got
+with you, Torrance. What do you want him for?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not sure. Is he any good for anything?”</p>
+
+<p>“Absolutely not. Unless maybe we could chop him
+up and use him to poison coyotes with.”</p>
+
+<p>LeSarge, sullen and vicious looking, strove also to
+look bold and defiant but remained furtive and
+couldn’t keep the apprehension out of his restless eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“I wanted a look at him by lamp light,” said Torrance.
+“So I’d be sure and know him if I ever saw him
+again. Just now he tried to shoot me. He’s been snooping
+around the ranch here tonight, I don’t know what
+for. You boys wouldn’t know?”</p>
+
+<p>No, they couldn’t figure it out. And they agreed
+there was no use asking him; he couldn’t tell the truth
+even if he tried, even if you played Indian with him
+and cut his hide into strips.</p>
+
+<p>“What are you going to do with him?” asked Curly.</p>
+
+<p>“I ought to have shot him while I had the chance,”
+said Torrance, and sounded regretful. “At the time,
+though, I was sort of curious and— Oh, we’ll let him
+go. You can go now, LeSarge. And you’re to keep on
+going, <i>sabe</i>? And you’re never to come back this way.
+We’re asking men like you to keep out of Sundown
+for good. I’m town marshal now; it would be just a
+matter of duty to kill you on sight. Now, scat!”</p>
+
+<p>LeSarge ducked out through the door, got onto his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>horse and was off like a streak. From some little distance
+he screamed something back, his voice high and
+breaking with rage.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t like his poking around here,” said Torrance.
+“He’s one of Bordereau’s men.” He looked at
+Curly and Drennen and Pardee. “Sally Dawn oughtn’t
+to be out after dark,” he said. “And whenever she is,
+can’t one of you boys always be on hand?”</p>
+
+<p>The three young fellows glanced at one another
+and seemed anxious.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s already gone somewhere tonight,” said Dick
+Pardee. But none of them knew where. “About half
+an hour ago.” They were of the opinion that she had
+ridden into Sundown for something.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going into Sundown now,” said Torrance. He
+set down LeSarge’s rifle and went to the door. “I’ll
+look for her. And it’s just as well to follow LeSarge a
+ways; he’s headed back toward town.”</p>
+
+<p>“It might be an idea if we rode along?” suggested
+Dave Drennen.</p>
+
+<p>“It might. I won’t wait, though, for you boys to
+saddle. You’ll most likely meet up with me.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Florinda</span>, though as nervous as a cat and all hot impatience,
+awaited her chance to slip out of the Stag
+Horn gambling room without drawing any curious
+attention to herself. She found the hallway empty
+and darted across it like a vivid flash; she caught up
+her skirts and ran down the back stairs.</p>
+
+<p>At the rear of the Stag Horn was a long low shed
+where riders left their horses; between the shed and
+the main building was a dark, narrow alley. She sped
+along this, turned the corner of the house and came
+around to the front of the saloon where the continuation
+of the alley, making a right angle, gave upon
+Sundown’s main street. There, lurking in the shadows,
+glancing eagerly up and down, she forced herself to
+wait another impatient moment.</p>
+
+<p>She was looking for someone, anyone whom she
+knew well and could depend on, someone to carry a
+message in all haste. She saw a man coming along the
+plank sidewalk, a young fellow on high heels with
+their spurs still on them and jangling like small iron
+bells at every stride. She started to speak to him; she
+hesitated, frowning; she even put her hand out as
+though to stop him and draw him into the shadows
+with her.</p>
+
+<p>But she drew back and let him pass on without seeing
+her. That was because of a sudden she had heard
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>the measured clop of a horse’s hoof beats and made
+out who, of all people, was riding this way. When the
+rider was just opposite and but a few feet away, she
+darted out, catching the bridle rein.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Señorita!” she gasped. “For the love of God!”</p>
+
+<p>A startled Sally Dawn stiffened in the saddle, and
+said coldly:</p>
+
+<p>“You? What do you want with me?” She stiffened
+still further, saying, “Will you please take your hand—”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Señorita! Quick! I must hide, but you must
+talk to me for one minute. Quick! Ride here where it
+is dark.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you crazy! Or do you think I am?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is maybe life and death! I swear it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Whose?” said a suspicious, utterly incredulous
+Sally Dawn. “Yours or mine?”</p>
+
+<p>“But neither! Of Señor Jim Torrance. I have to
+send word to him. I can’t go because they would miss
+me and pretty soon they would guess where I am. So
+it must be you!”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn was still inclined to be stand-offish and
+suspicious. She didn’t like the Mexican girl; she didn’t
+trust her—and somehow or other she didn’t enthuse at
+the thought of messages passing between her and Jim
+Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>But Florinda was too insistent to be altogether gainsaid.</p>
+
+<p>“Quick, I tell you!” she exclaimed, and began to
+sound angry. “Ride your horse here where it’s dark;
+let me tell you what it is all about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me now. Where you are!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>Then Florinda flamed out: “Don’t you care if they
+kill him? Don’t you love him?”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn pretended to scoff with soft cool laughter
+at loving any man, but suddenly shot back, “Maybe
+it’s you who love him!”</p>
+
+<p>“I do! Yes, with all my heart. I always have since the
+time I saw him first. But that is nothing; he does not
+love me. It is you he loves! He loved you that first
+night, when he ran away with you. And now you do
+not want to help him? Well then, little crazy fool, go
+away! I will find some man—”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn at last rode into the dark mouth of the
+alley.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me! What is it all about?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s about Steve Bordereau. He’s in town! It’s about
+Clark Murdo; he’s here, too, with Steve. They’ve got
+a gang with them— Oh, I don’t know how many men;
+maybe ten, maybe twenty. They’re out for trouble;
+then they’re off on the run for the other side of the
+Mexico border. But what Steve wants most of all, and
+what I guess Murdo wants just the same, is to kill Jim
+Torrance.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—but,” stammered Sally Dawn, beginning to
+believe, yet not sure, and finding it hard to understand,
+“how do you know all these things?”</p>
+
+<p>Florinda lifted her clenched hands above her head,
+her rings glowing in what faint light there was, and
+shook them and came near screaming. But she contained
+herself and said in a hushed voice:</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t talk all night. Well, then, a man told me
+some of this; he is one of Steve’s men, he is young and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>a little bit drunk and he loves me and wants me to go
+with them, back to the border. And I have told you all
+I know. And if you will ride out to Jim’s ranch—if
+you’ll ride like the devil—before they finish up here
+and then go out to get him—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going!” said Sally Dawn breathlessly. “And
+I’ll tell him you sent me.”</p>
+
+<p>She whirled her horse and raced away. And Florinda,
+catching up her skirts again, ran back down the alley
+and to the rear of the house—and then crept softly up
+the back stairs.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>While the two girls were talking, while Sally Dawn
+thereafter was racing on her errand, Jim Torrance was
+riding toward Sundown from the King Cannon ranch;
+and some minutes before he came within sight of the
+few lights of the little town, Sally Dawn had struck
+off into the north road which led to his place.</p>
+
+<p>He had quitted the Cannon bunk house so sharply
+on the heels of LeSarge’s precipitate departure that
+when he came out into the county road and rose to
+the crest of the first low-lying hill he not only heard
+the beat of flying hoofs somewhere ahead but, a moment
+later, caught a glimpse of the dark, hurrying
+silhouette of horse and rider. There went LeSarge
+straight back toward Sundown as fast as he could go.
+Torrance dipped his spurs as he shot down the hill;
+from the next rise he again saw and heard the horse
+and rider ahead of him, hammering straight along the
+road.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance didn’t try to overtake the other; he merely
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>meant to keep him in sight for a while. LeSarge might
+turn to look back; not likely, though, since he’d ridden
+off in such rage, in such haste and without having any
+inkling that he might be followed.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance saw him come to the crossroads and pass
+on, then swing into the main street, clattering straight
+on into town. He saw him with the dim street lights
+making him a more distinct figure, lights above and
+below the swing doors of saloons, when at last he made
+a swerve. LeSarge had come to the alley flanking the
+Stag Horn and had swung into it. He had had his warning
+to keep away from Sundown and was ignoring it.
+It might be that he had important business here tonight—</p>
+
+<p>After that for a few minutes Torrance proceeded
+leisurely, jogging slowly along the street, watching
+for some sign of Sally Dawn or of her horse. She might
+have dropped in at the general store, at the post office,
+at the drug store. He saw nothing of her anywhere,
+for the good and sufficient reason that she was already
+out on the north road, hurrying to his place.</p>
+
+<p>He thought, not exactly anxious yet: “Where in
+thunder did she go? Just out for a ride maybe? Maybe
+over to drop in on the Sam Peppers? Well, as long as
+she keeps to the county road I guess she’s all right.”
+So he dismounted in front of the Stag Horn, tied his
+horse, hitched up his guns and stepped around the
+corner into the darkness of the alley which had swallowed
+up Jake LeSarge.</p>
+
+<p>At the rear of the building he saw that in the long
+shed there were several horses, a dozen or so. They
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>were fidgety and kept stamping and blowing. He put
+his hand on three of them and discovered they were
+still hot and wet. That made his brows cock up. Something
+like a dozen men just arrived—and all together!
+And Jake LeSarge, though warned, had come hurrying,
+and LeSarge was a Bordereau man—</p>
+
+<p>Torrance returned to the front entrance. He went
+into the downstairs bar, pausing just within the door,
+looking things over. The place was quiet; there were
+only eight or ten men there, all peacefully minding
+their business, which had to do with putting raw, red
+likker down where it would do the most good—not a
+man in the place whom he had anything against.</p>
+
+<p>He went upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>He came into the gambling room just on time.</p>
+
+<p>It was a Saturday night and the place was jammed,
+and games were running high even for the Stag Horn.
+And every man there who had been playing or drinking
+stood with both arms stretched straight up in the
+air. Six or eight other men, all wearing bandanas for
+masks over their faces, were busy cleaning till and
+tables and pockets down to the last dime.</p>
+
+<p>The instant Jim Torrance came to the threshold a
+voice shouted, “Stick ’em up!” It was a voice Torrance
+didn’t recognize. But before the three crisp words were
+finished, another voice boomed out, and Torrance did
+know whose it was; and this voice yelled joyously,
+“You! Take this, you—!”</p>
+
+<p>That was Steve Bordereau. His shout and his act
+precipitated turmoil. His bullet cut through Torrance’s
+coat. Torrance, not being sure which of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>masked men was Bordereau, yet making his guess without
+worrying, had both guns in his hands and blazing
+before they came up waist high. With this diversion
+created, men who had been taken by surprise by the
+raid and who had paid to the high card in jerking their
+hands up, now went for their guns, and the room was
+filled with the thunder of shots and the acrid bite of
+powder smoke.</p>
+
+<p>Then some one of the raiders yelled, “Let’s go!
+We’ve finished here,” and he or someone else started
+shooting the lights out. There were six coal oil lamps
+in the room; as fast as six bullets could go streaking out
+of the barrel of a quick six gun, the six lights were out,
+with glass tinkling and the smell of oil mingling with
+burnt powder. Then there was a concerted rush for
+the rear door.</p>
+
+<p>That way, Torrance knew, Bordereau and his men
+were departing. He whipped about and ran back to
+the front stairs. He hadn’t seen Florinda until then;
+even now he didn’t see her immediately, but heard her
+voice. From the top of the stairs when he was half way
+down she was calling him, and in her words, and most
+of all in the tone of her voice, there was something
+that checked him almost in mid-air.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim! Señor Jim! For the love of God!— Oh, one
+little minute, Jim!”</p>
+
+<p>“Quick! What?” he called back.</p>
+
+<p>She started down the stairs; he could see her dimly
+because of the light in the room below, flowing out
+into the lower hall. She balanced strangely, then
+plunged down toward him headlong, falling like a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>dead weight. She struck against him; he gathered her
+up in his arms, at first impatient and angry, thinking,
+“The fool girl has fainted.” But his hand, touching her
+breast, was wet; wet and hot with Florinda’s blood. A
+convulsive shudder shook her; she tried to speak coherently
+and gasped out:</p>
+
+<p>“He shot me. I saw. It was Steve. I don’t care. I want
+to be dead. I love you, Jim Torrance.” Only she said
+it all in Spanish, and it was “Jeem,” and the “Tor-r-r-ance”
+still was softly running water, very faint yet
+softly musical. “And, Señor Jim—”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen, Florinda.” He stood there on the stairs holding
+her in his arms; her own arms, with a spasmodic
+effort, their last, went up about his neck. “Listen,” he
+told her. “You’re not going to die; you’re too young
+and beautiful and gay. I’ll have a doctor—”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not gay any more, Señor Jim. And in a few
+minutes I am not going to be young and beautiful any
+longer. So now I can tell you without shame what you
+know already in your heart. <i>Yo te amo con toda mi
+corazon.</i>— But there are other things; they won’t matter
+to me, but to you who will go on living. Steve is
+here to kill you. He sent some of his men to rob the
+bank while he and the others robbed the place here.
+Next, they were going to ride to your ranch, to kill
+you—”</p>
+
+<p>“But I’m here, Florinda. And now I am going to
+carry you—”</p>
+
+<p>“So I saw your Sally Dawn. And she rode to your
+ranch to warn you. Oh, only a few minutes ago. And
+if Steve and Murdo and all the rest go there they will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>find her—or meet her coming back—and Steve hates
+her like he hates you. And then they are riding to
+Mexico.—And—Jim— Oh, Jim, kiss me just the one
+time! And hold me tight—tighter—very much tighter,
+Jim—and say, ‘<i>Hasta la vista, Florinda mia!</i>’—That
+would be funny, no?”</p>
+
+<p>Then she tried to laugh, but when her head dropped
+down against his chest he knew that Florinda was dead.</p>
+
+<p>He carried her the few steps down to the room below;
+the best he could do for her was to lay her slim,
+still body on the bar. Men, already excited from the
+shots they had heard upstairs, looked at him and his
+burden with bulging eyes. He spoke briefly to the
+bartender.</p>
+
+<p>“She is dead,” he said. “Steve Bordereau shot her.
+Get some women to take care of her—women who will
+treat her tenderly—or I’ll come back and kill you, so
+help me God.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he ran out of the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jim Torrance</span> dabbed at his eyes as he ran, and cursed
+under his breath and longed with all his heart for just
+one thing then—to come up with Steve Bordereau.
+Perhaps because his sight was at the moment blurred,
+he crashed full tilt into three men advancing across the
+sidewalk in front of the Stag Horn like the three
+Musketeers. They were Dave Drennen, Dick Pardee
+and Curly Redmond, just arrived from the King Cannon
+ranch.</p>
+
+<p>He told them in few words, low-toned but as emphatic
+as the crack of a whip, what had happened; how
+Bordereau and his men had got away with their fresh
+loot; how Sally Dawn had ridden only a few minutes
+ago out to his place; how the Bordereau crowd were on
+their way at last to the border.</p>
+
+<p>“They killed Florinda. She told me that they were
+headed out to my place to get me. Now they know I’m
+in town, they may not ride that way. But maybe their
+plans, already made, call for that direction. They may
+run into Sally Dawn. Unless you boys, riding in just
+now, met them on the county road?”</p>
+
+<p>They hadn’t seen any riders, hadn’t heard anything.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m on my way back to my place,” said Torrance,
+and went up into his saddle.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re with you,” said one of them and the three
+hurried to their horses. As they did so several men
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>came out of the Stag Horn; one of them was Bill Yarbo.
+He shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“What’s up, Jim? Where you headed for? After them
+fellers?”</p>
+
+<p>“To my ranch,” Torrance called back as his horse
+jumped under him. “All you boys that are not friends
+of Steve Bordereau come along.”</p>
+
+<p>He rode first, taking chances of an ambush, into the
+alley and to the shed where he had found the sweat-wet
+saddle horses; there was not a horse there now,
+not a man. He spurred on and into the back road and
+out of town to the north road, and still had no sight
+and caught no sound of the raiding party. Already they
+must be well on their way. And he began to feel pretty
+sure that they were headed back toward the hills,
+toward his ranch—in the direction Sally Dawn had
+taken. So he took that same road, shook out his bridle
+reins and touched his horse with the spurs.</p>
+
+<p>He reloaded before he was out of town; both guns
+were empty. How many men had been burned down
+there in the gambling room before the lights went out—and
+even after—he did not know. But already Bordereau
+knew that he had left three of his band behind
+him. And that did not trouble Steve Bordereau, so
+long as he sped on his way with a whole skin and his
+job up here done. There’d be fewer men to pay off,
+more money for him from the loot already taken and
+slung to his saddle strings.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance had not ridden far before he heard the
+hammering of hoofs; at first he thought they were
+ahead of him but presently realized they were at some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>considerable distance behind; they told him that Curly
+and Pardee and Drennen, perhaps Bill Yarbo and
+others were following him; their horses’ hoofs rang out
+on a bit of hard road where they swung off from the
+main street.</p>
+
+<p>He kept storming along, anger in his heart, and
+sorrow, too, for he could not forget bright Florinda
+dying in his arms—and fear, too, for Sally Dawn. He
+would put nothing beyond Steve Bordereau tonight,
+and he knew Bordereau must hate the girl if only for
+all the wrongs he had done her.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later he again heard, faint and far, the
+hammering of rushing hoofs, and this time he thought
+at first that he was hearing again the men behind him,
+though he had thought to have outdistanced them.
+But listening intently, hearing the faint flutter of
+sound above the pounding of his own horse’s hoofbeats,
+he made out that it was ahead of him. This time
+it was Bordereau and his men that he heard, and they
+were speeding on northward, still on the road toward
+his ranch, and he was slowly coming up with them.</p>
+
+<p>But before he had covered another mile he was delayed
+by Sam Pepper, riding in furious haste toward a
+meeting with him. Torrance would have pressed on
+but for Sam’s insistence; Sam had a lot to say and said it.</p>
+
+<p>“I was on my way when I heard them hellions come
+swooping along,” said Sam. “Me, I pulled aside the
+road and let ’em have it. But I was close enough and
+there was light enough for me to make ’em out; there
+was one man leading the way and if he wasn’t Steve
+Bordereau I’ll swallow your spurs.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>“Sally Dawn—”</p>
+
+<p>“I know about her, too. She rode over to your place
+just a little while ago; I was still there; had went out
+to the bunk house and was gabbing with your men.
+She was looking for you; said Florinda sent her and
+she was to tell you Bordereau was high-tailing out this
+way to get your scalp. I told her you’d cut cross the hills
+to her place; so she done the same. Then I told your
+hired hands that they’d better look out for Bordereau
+and his killers, and I did some high-tailing on my own.”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance breathed easier.</p>
+
+<p>“So Sally Dawn’s left and gone home? That’s good
+news, Sam. Now in a couple of minutes you will meet
+up with some of the boys following me; tell them what
+you’ve told me. I’m on my way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hey, there!” yipped Sam. “There must be ten or a
+dozen of them boys with Steve. You better—”</p>
+
+<p>But Torrance was already off, his horse at a run. Sam
+sat undecided a moment; then he heard a drumming
+of hoofs coming along from Sundown-way, knew that
+here must come the boys who Torrance had said were
+following him, and waited out in the middle of the
+road for their arrival. As they slowed down he made
+out who several of them were, friends all, and called
+to them all he knew of the night’s happenings.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim’s overtaking them hellers,” he said, “and he’ll
+do it, and it’s just him against the crowd. His men,
+this being no fight of their’n, skipped out of the bunk
+house as soon’s they heard what Sally Dawn had to
+say. And—”</p>
+
+<p>“Come ahead!” sang out Dave Drennen. “We’ll be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>with Torrance before they can burn him down.”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen to me—” began an excited Sam.</p>
+
+<p>They listened no longer. Bill Yarbo, riding by him,
+almost riding him down, drenched him with big,
+booming, mocking laughter.</p>
+
+<p>“You hang back here, Sam,” he said. “Safer. Or run
+get Mrs. Sam to hide you under her apron!”</p>
+
+<p>Whatever Sam screamed after him was drowned out
+by the thunder of hoofs. Sam whirled his own horse
+about, dug his heels in and followed them. But long
+before any of them got to Jim Torrance’s ranch, before
+even Jim himself had reached there, they knew
+that Bordereau had already arrived, had tarried briefly
+and had gone on his way.</p>
+
+<p>That was because they saw the red flare in the night
+sky. Jim’s house, his bunk house, his barn, all were in
+flames.</p>
+
+<p>So it was as bright as day out in the road when they
+pulled in at Torrance’s gate and came up with him.
+He was on foot, and waved them to a stop; he was
+stooping low, looking for tracks in the road.</p>
+
+<p>When he straightened up, “They’ve cut across the
+road here,” he said. “They’re headed across the hills,
+over the old Parker place. They’re headed toward the
+King Cannon ranch. And they’re riding hell-for-leather!”</p>
+
+<p>Again he led the way, this time with the others keeping
+as close to him as they could; very close at first, but
+within ten minutes he was far out ahead of them.</p>
+
+<p>So he came alone through the trees dotting the hills
+of the old Parker ranch to an open spot from which he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>could look down into the valley that was the heart of
+the King Cannon ranch, and he saw first of all a flush
+against the sky, like a hot summer dawn. But it wasn’t
+dawn and it wasn’t summer, and he knew that he was
+right in judging that Bordereau had come this way.
+That rosy, softly fluttering light was the light of a fire
+down where the ranch buildings were.</p>
+
+<p>It struck Torrance that Bordereau must be mighty
+sure of himself! Already the bunk house was blazing;
+the first spears of flame began to stab through the
+barn’s walls. Torrance came rushing on. He saw men—just
+dark, running figures—and he thought: “The
+house isn’t burning. Why?” And then he was so close
+that he slid down from his saddle and ran forward on
+foot.</p>
+
+<p>A woman—the light was so flickering and false and
+filled with trickery that at first he thought it was Sally
+Dawn—came running out of the ranch house back
+door. She was screaming as she darted out into the
+yard, trying frantically to gain the grove just back of
+the house. It was the Indian woman who worked for
+Sally Dawn; Torrance made that out just as he saw a
+running figure pounce upon her. Torrance, still running,
+shot the man and saw him fall and saw the woman
+scramble to her feet and vanish among the trees. He
+himself kept straight on to the house, not stopping
+even while he fired and glanced aside. He thought:
+“She’s running out of the house, so the house is being
+attacked. Maybe Sally Dawn is in there now. Then
+Bordereau will be there.”</p>
+
+<p>The first door he came to, at the side of the house,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>was locked. He ran around to the rear and up the three
+steps to the kitchen porch. The door there, too, was
+locked. He threw his weight against it.</p>
+
+<p>Just then several men, he never knew how many,
+whether four or five or six, came running from the
+direction of the barn shouting, “That you, Steve?”</p>
+
+<p>“You rats!” shouted Torrance. “Get to hell out of
+here if you can travel any faster than a bullet!”</p>
+
+<p>They opened fire on him, all of them together, and
+he, with his back against the wall and a gun in each
+hand, his body partly in shadow, gave them as good
+as they sent. How many of them he hit, how many he
+missed, he was never to know. But he did see three
+men drop before, simultaneously, two things happened.
+One was that the boys from Sundown came
+swooping down the slope of the timbered hill, yelling
+like Comanches and already beginning to shoot at
+what running targets they saw. The other was that Jim
+Torrance’s two guns, both with cylinders emptied,
+brought their hammers down with a click.</p>
+
+<p>That was two things. A third came so swiftly that
+Torrance had not even reloaded when he got its import.
+From within the house came the sounds of an
+angry voice, shouting, and of the explosion of a shotgun.
+The voice was Steve Bordereau’s! Who but Sally
+Dawn had fired the shotgun?</p>
+
+<p>Torrance struck the door again with his shoulder,
+and this time its ancient bolt dragged old screws out
+of the woodwork, and the door flew open and Torrance
+burst in.</p>
+
+<p>There was a coal oil lamp burning in the dining
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>room, and the door was open, so he had light enough
+to guide him. He hurried on through the dining room.
+Just then all within the ranch house was perfectly still.
+Outside, however, there was an inferno of noise; shots
+were popping like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.
+Out there hell was riding on bullets.</p>
+
+<p>Then, above the lively young inferno outside, he
+again heard sounds within the house. They came from
+upstairs; it sounded like a man battering a door down.
+He ran to the staircase and when his foot was at the
+bottom step he heard quite clearly Steve Bordereau
+saying stormily:</p>
+
+<p>“Out you come and quick, and I won’t hurt you.
+Stay in there and I’ll burn the house down, you in it.
+I’ve already set fire to your other buildings. And
+when you open the door, shove that shotgun through,
+butt-end first, or—”</p>
+
+<p>No, Jim Torrance hadn’t heard all this from the
+bottom of the stairs. By the time Bordereau had got
+that far he was nearly at the top, making his rush in
+a sort of twilight, for all the light that came into the
+upper hall was from the burning buildings, flickering
+through the muslin curtains. Bordereau heard
+him and broke off and was still a minute, then called
+out:</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s there? That you, Clark? I told you—”</p>
+
+<p>As Torrance’s eyes reached the level of the second
+story floor they discovered Bordereau, who had
+quitted the locked door behind which Sally Dawn
+was, and had turned to make out who came. And
+when no one answered and he knew it wasn’t Clark
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>Murdo his gun was in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance knew the shot was coming and lurched
+sideways before it came, and completed his upward
+rush. Bordereau fired again and at the same instant
+Torrance hurled a heavy forty-four, useless now save
+as missile or club, and heard the thud of it as it
+struck the other man somewhere in the body.</p>
+
+<p>“Torrance!” yelled Bordereau, and there was a
+world of gloating in his voice, and triumph. “I’ve
+been waiting for now!”</p>
+
+<p>He waited a split second too long, for while he
+was speaking, realizing that he had his enemy unarmed
+and so sure of shooting him dead, Torrance
+hurled his forty-four straight into Bordereau’s face,
+and followed it up by catapulting his own body on
+Bordereau’s as the man reeled back. Bordereau came
+up with his shoulders against the wall; he fired a
+third time.</p>
+
+<p>But now Torrance was on him and had locked one
+hand about Bordereau’s gun wrist, and with the other
+was battering into an already bleeding face. An instant
+later the two crashed to the floor, and a door
+was whipped open and Sally Dawn came running to
+stand over them, a shotgun in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim! Jim!” she cried wildly. “Let him go—get
+away from him—give me a chance—I’m going to shoot
+him—”</p>
+
+<p>Torrance snapped at her:</p>
+
+<p>“Stand back! Keep out. He’s got a gun in his hand!
+You run!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>“I won’t run! I’m not going to let him kill you! I
+tell you I am going to kill him this time!”</p>
+
+<p>She would have asked nothing better just then,
+knowing that it was going to be Jim Torrance’s life
+or Steve Bordereau’s. But in the faint light, with the
+two men now battling like a grim pair of wolves,
+never still for an instant, rolling and twisting and
+flailing about, she couldn’t even make out which one
+of them was Jim, which Bordereau.</p>
+
+<p>Those moments were to her like a nightmare. She
+could hear the shouts outside and the gunfire; a man
+screamed terribly and an even more terrible sound in
+her ears was another man’s laugh cutting across the
+tragic outcry. And she could see on the wall down the
+staircase the flicker of a light that grew rosier and
+brighter as buildings burned with higher leaping
+flames. And worst of all was it to stand there, her
+weapon gripped so determinedly in her hands, and
+not be able to shove its muzzle down against Steve
+Bordereau’s body and so end the thing. At that second
+she would have pulled the trigger with no more compunction
+than she would have slapped at a mosquito.</p>
+
+<p>The two men in that fierce death-grip of theirs
+rolled to the top of the staircase. Somehow Bordereau
+wrenched free and stood up. Sally Dawn saw him
+clearly enough to make out who he was, and jerked
+up her shotgun. At that same instant two other things
+happened. Bordereau still had his gun in his hand
+and crooked his finger to the trigger, sure this time
+he had Jim Torrance where he had long wanted him.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>But Torrance wasn’t out of the fight yet; he rose
+as Bordereau rose, and hurled himself forward. Bordereau’s
+gun exploded; a terrified Sally Dawn didn’t
+know whether it had found its mark or not; all she
+knew was what she saw, and that was the two bodies
+hurtling down the stairs, all the way to the floor
+below.</p>
+
+<p>Down there men were running into the house
+through the kitchen. She couldn’t tell who they were
+but supposed and feared they were Bordereau’s men.
+She was at the head of the stairs; she was on the verge
+of emptying a shotgun among them when a roaring
+voice which she knew, the voice of Lying Bill Yarbo,
+shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“Jim! Where are you? We got ’em on the run.”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn screamed down to him:</p>
+
+<p>“He and Steve Bordereau—they’re fighting. Bordereau
+has a gun—”</p>
+
+<p>She ran down then, only to encounter the same
+condition which had already made impossible her
+taking any hand. Torrance and Bordereau were again
+struggling hand to hand, body to body. Then she
+heard Jim Torrance laugh. Never in her life had
+she heard a man laugh like that; never would she
+forget it.</p>
+
+<p>“Bordereau!” he shouted. “You’ve dropped your
+gun—and now I’m going to kill you! For what you’ve
+done to Florinda tonight, for what you’ve done to
+Sally Dawn, and to me, and to a lot of others—I’m
+going to kill you—now—with my hands!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>“Jim! You damn fool!” roared Lying Bill Yarbo.
+“Stand out of my way. Let me shoot the —— —— ——!”</p>
+
+<p>But Jim Torrance didn’t have it in him to stand
+aside for any man. His lean hard fist was already on
+its way, and caught Bordereau under the chin and
+sent him staggering back so that he came close to
+falling and only gained his uncertain balance when
+he brought up against the hall door which happened
+to be closed. He saw other men come running in from
+the kitchen until the hall was filled with them, and
+in desperation he tried to get the door open behind
+him and make his escape.</p>
+
+<p>Then Jim Torrance laughed again, and again bore
+down on him. For as long as it takes two infuriated
+men to exchange a dozen blows, they stood there,
+hammering at each other. Again Torrance’s fist beat
+Bordereau back as a club beats a man, and again
+Bordereau tottered—and this time, before he could get
+control of himself, Torrance was again on him, battering
+him. Once more the two men went down. They
+lay on the floor rather more quietly this time. Their
+hands were at each other’s throats.</p>
+
+<p>Now and then a convulsive shudder shook them.
+Men crowded close; one of them brought the lamp
+from the kitchen. Bordereau lay on his back; Jim
+Torrance was on top of him; Torrance’s hands were
+at his throat, the fingers almost sunk out of sight.
+Bordereau’s glaring eyes, horrible to look at, seemed
+about to spring from his head—</p>
+
+<p>It took four men to pull Torrance off, and when
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>he was on his feet and stood and looked down at the
+man he had beaten so close to death, Sally Dawn saw
+his eyes and was afraid of him.</p>
+
+<p>She threw the shotgun down and came running to
+him and caught his arm in both her hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim! Jim! Oh, Jim, please—for God’s sake, don’t!
+Just let them take him away.”</p>
+
+<p>At first he just tried to shake her off; he didn’t hear
+what she was saying; he didn’t even know who she
+was.</p>
+
+<p>“Let him get up,” he said to the men standing over
+the fallen man. “Let him up. I’m going to beat hell
+out of him. Then I’m going to kill him just as sure
+as he killed Florinda—just as sure as he killed my
+pardner six years ago.”</p>
+
+<p>Sally Dawn kept clinging to him, shaking his arm,
+pleading. He couldn’t seem to brush her aside. Angrily
+he looked down at her and saw that it was Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>“Jim!” she pleaded. And then, there before them
+all, she said huskily, “Jim—if you love me—”</p>
+
+<p>He put a hand up to his face; it was battered and
+torn and bloody. He shook his head as though to get
+his thoughts clear, the way a horse shakes its head
+when summer flies are at its eyes. Then he put his
+hand down on her two and patted them gently.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t kill him, boys,” he said. “Maybe it’ll be
+a good thing if we let this country know that the law
+is nosing in here and is coming to stay. The law will
+hang him. Take him away.”</p>
+
+<p>They took him away swiftly, men thick about him.
+And under a big oak, from which Bordereau could
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>take full advantage of the spectacular view of buildings
+burning, they hanged him and let him kick his
+life out. By this time there were thirty Sundown men
+on hand to officiate; not a single dissenting voice was
+lifted when someone called for a rope.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Men</span> stood around and watched the outbuildings
+burn to the ground. There was nothing they could
+do beyond making sure that the fires did not spread,
+an unlikely thing at this time of year after the first
+rains and snow flurries. Jim Torrance, staring frowningly
+at the devastating flames, suddenly awoke to the
+fact that he was standing slightly apart from the rest
+of the men but that he was not alone. At his side was
+Sally Dawn Cannon, and for a little while she didn’t
+seem to realize any more than he did that they were
+holding hands.</p>
+
+<p>But this inactivity was of the shortest duration.
+Men scouted around to check up on the results of the
+battle in loss of lives and injuries to combatants on
+both sides. Dave Drennen, clutching a bleeding shoulder
+on his way to the house and first aid, said in passing
+Torrance,</p>
+
+<p>“They say Bordereau’s gang was thirteen strong
+tonight in Sundown. Three of them got shot down
+at the Stag Horn. The boys have picked up five more
+out here, dead or as good as dead. That’s not counting
+Bordereau. Murdo was along; he’s dead out by
+the barn, shot through the head.”</p>
+
+<p>“Better go get that shoulder fixed up, Dave,” said
+Torrance. And to young Pardee, passing close, he
+called: “Will you streak for a doctor? Or be sure
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>someone else goes?”</p>
+
+<p>Just then a newcomer rode up, swung a pair of
+saddlebags down into Pardee’s hands and dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought there’d be a job for me,” he said. “So
+I followed on just as soon as I heard there was apt to
+be a scrimmage tonight.” It was Dr. Frank, the new
+man who had settled in Sundown recently, after the
+taking off of Doc Taylor.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s something else that’s got to be done right
+away,” said Torrance to the several men who began
+to gather where he was. “Catch up all the Bordereau
+horses; see how many are missing. Remember, he
+was on his way out of here; there’s every chance he
+was carrying a lot of money with him down to the
+border. And there happens to be a sizable amount of
+gold that belongs to Sally Dawn Cannon. If the stuff
+is missing, if some of the men got away on horseback,
+we’ve got to run ’em down while the trail’s hot.”</p>
+
+<p>They scattered on the run, and the round-up began.</p>
+
+<p>Curly Redmond was carried into the house with
+three bullet holes in him; Dr. Frank immediately
+set to work, and Sally Dawn, though pale and shaken,
+aided him so ably that he grinned at her and patted
+her on the curly head and said, “Good kid.”</p>
+
+<p>One of Bordereau’s men, badly wounded, was
+brought to where Torrance was. It was Joe Tortillas.
+Questioned, he was sullenly stubborn until a rope
+was mentioned; then, in exchange for a promise not
+to hang him, he answered. Yes, Steve had all the
+moneys with him; they were always on his saddle. He
+rode the same horse he nearly always rode, a big bay
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>with white forefeet and a white nose. The horse had
+been left with the other horses, two men guarding
+them; Joe didn’t know what had happened to any of
+them, but thought they had stampeded when the
+shooting began.</p>
+
+<p>Bill Yarbo came swaggering up. He had a lot to
+tell. You would have thought—if you didn’t know
+him!—that he had just about cleaned up on the whole
+gang single-handed. He himself had killed Clark
+Murdo; he had shot Joe Tortillas; he had clubbed a
+couple of other jaspers over the heads with his gun,
+saving ammunition—</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s Bordereau’s horse!” someone sang out.</p>
+
+<p>And here indeed came Bordereau’s horse from
+somewhere in the semi-dark on the side of the house
+farthest from the fires. A man was riding it, a little
+man looking all the littler from being established so
+high up on such a big animal.</p>
+
+<p>“Here she is, Jim,” the little man called down, and
+only then they recognized Sam Pepper. “I grabbed
+Bordereau’s cayuse soon’s I seen it, thinking most
+likely Steve would have Sally Dawn’s gold with him.
+Got it, too.”</p>
+
+<p>A man laughed and said: “Why, old Sam’s got
+more sense than all the rest of us put together! He
+kept his mind on what counted.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hell,” snorted Lying Bill Yarbo. “What Sam did
+was see a chance to grab a horse and run for it! And
+it just happened to be Bordereau’s horse!”</p>
+
+<p>“The way I found the horse,” said Sam Pepper
+waspishly, “was that I made out Clark Murdo running
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>to grab it and skip out. I reckoned it would be
+like him to grab all the loot, give him a chance.” He
+looked down on Lying Bill, took a long, deep breath
+and rapped out, “So, me, I shot Clark Murdo down,
+shot him through the head and—”</p>
+
+<p>“You damn little liar!” roared Bill Yarbo. “You
+must of been eavesdropping just now and heard me—”</p>
+
+<p>A shout of laughter went up, drowning his voice.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“Seems to me,” said Jim Torrance, formerly marshal
+of Sundown, now just an enthusiastic young
+rancher to whom the country looked for big things,
+“that we’ve got a bully good chance—Steve Bordereau
+gave it to us!—to save ourselves a lot of money right
+at the jump.”</p>
+
+<p>Maybe Sally Dawn guessed what was coming, for
+she smiled at him and made a brave endeavor to
+stifle her smile, and her cheeks grew a bit pinker.
+It was a glorious winter morning. There had been
+rain and hail and a light snowfall during the night,
+but now the skies were blue and the sun was bright,
+and there was just enough snappy cold in the air to
+make breathing a delight and to send one’s blood
+along dancingly.</p>
+
+<p>“So we’re going to save some money,” she said,
+“when I feel so rich so all of a sudden, and so unexpectedly?”</p>
+
+<p>They rode on through the pines. She said, “Where
+do you think we are going?” quite as though she
+didn’t know perfectly well.</p>
+
+<p>On top of the gentle oak-and-pine-studded knoll
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>where once he had said something about one day
+building a home—not just a house, but a home—they
+stopped. He said:</p>
+
+<p>“I got a letter yesterday from three old friends of
+yours up in Canyon City, sheriff, banker and medico.
+The banker suggested that someday I might be able
+to use some additional funds, developing here; he
+said, ‘Come and get it; the bank’s yours.’ And the
+two other old boys wrote together, ‘Let us know, so
+we can dance at the wedding, for we’re the two damn
+best dancers either side the Rockies.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Wedding?” said Sally Dawn. “What wedding?”</p>
+
+<p>Jim Torrance eased himself sideways in the saddle
+and started rolling a cigarette that never got rolled
+to completion.</p>
+
+<p>“I was thinking,” he said. “My place is pretty well
+burned down, thanks to Bordereau. So’s yours. Now,
+if we tore all the fences down between us, and if we
+made us a place right here—”</p>
+
+<p>“Duck pond, and everything?” said Sally Dawn.</p>
+
+<p>It was then that he threw his cigarette away.</p>
+
+<p class="center">END</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="transnote">
+<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p>
+
+<p>Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
+
+<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p>
+
+<p>Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p>
+</div></div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77768 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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author	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-01-24 21:18:49 -0800
committer	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-01-24 21:18:49 -0800
commit	7b52b5482b8e43c604d8130670f5ced23a5e8ced (patch)
tree	86e774d4ef5f883875fb8814c1c072dd5c318dfa /77768-h