Sudden

The colour flamed in her face at the coarse, insulting speech. She knew that he was payin' her back--that he meant to hurt--he was that kind of man. When possessed by passion he was ruthless, hard, ridden by the bitter temper he could usually control.

"You brute," she raged. "I hate you!"

"No, yu love me, little tiger-cat," he smiled, content that the lash of his tongue had stung her. "Though at the moment I do believe yu'd like to stick a knife in me. Now Nan Purdie would never think o' doin' that."

"Damn Nan Purdie, and you," she stormed. "She's welcome to you if she can swallow the murder of her brother."

King laughed lightly; he was in a good humour again now that he had made her angry. "An unfortunate incident," he said. "The Circle B has made its position clear by turnin' Luce adrift an' disownin' him. If Purdie forces trouble it'll be his own--funeral."

Though his lips smiled there was a sinister emphasis on the last word, and the girl's eyes sought his in an endeavour to read the truth, but learned nothing. Then, as he looked at her, his ill-temper seemed to vanish like a storm from a summer sky. Leaning across the bar, he whispered tenderly:

"Come, sweetness, we mustn't quarrel. I'm sorry I hurt yu, but it was yore own fault--yu didn't oughta waste those star-like eyes on no-'count punchers."

Lu Lavigne was used to these sudden changes; the warmth in the pleading voice, the devotion in the dark eyes, were no new things to her, and yet she allowed herself to be persuaded by them; jealousy is a potent advocate with a woman. But vanity demanded a small victory.

"You said--Nan Purdie--was prettier," she pouted.

"Shucks, Lu, I didn't mean that," the other protested. "Yu got me goin'. She's a good-looker, shore enough, but too pussy-kitten for my taste."

"Even with the C P thrown in?" she asked with a tremulous smile.

"Yeah, even then," he replied, and his voice became harsh again. "Listen to me, girl. If I want the C P ranch I'll take it, an' without any apron-strings tied to it. Sabe?"

He swallowed another drink, and refusing several invitations to join in a game, went out of the saloon. The eyes of the woman behind the bar followed him, and had he been able to read their expression rightly, he might not have felt quite so pleased with himself.

On leaving "The Plaza," Sudden went to the hotel, where he found Luce Burdette, moping alone in his room. The young man welcomed him eagerly; he was finding the part of a pariah a bitter one to play.

"I'm damn glad to see yu, Green," he said. "Ain't got no news, I s'pose?"

"I have, sort of, but let's hear yore's first," the visitor replied.

"I've nothin' fresh to tell yu," Luce returned despondently. "I've been all over the ground, an' it happened like yu said. Two fellas was firm' at Kit, an' one of 'em holds him while the other injuns round an' drills him from behind. Couldn't follow their tracks, they'd took care o' that. Found some .38 an' .44 shells where they cut down on him first, an' that's the sum total."

"Where'd yu happen to be yesterday afternoon.?"

"Right here in town."

"An' yore hoss is a grey an' ain't shy a nail on the off fore?"

"Silver is a grey, an' the on'y hoss I possess. Weldon shod him all over las' week."

"That means there's another fella in these parts who uses a .38 rifle an' rides a paint hoss with a nail missin' in the off fore," Sudden said, and told of the attempt on Strip Levens.

"There's paints a-plenty, an' nails can be replaced," Luce commented hopelessly. "We gotta find that gun."

"Keep a-smilin'; we'll do it," the C P foreman said.

Chapter VIII

A WEEK slipped quietly by, and Sudden found himself settling down at the C P. He liked Purdie, liked the men he had to work with, and the companionship of his old friend, Yago, meant much to one who, for the last year or two, had lived the semi-solitary life of the wanderer. Convinced that the Burdettes meant mischief, and uncertain what form it would take, he had been constantly on the alert and had not visited the town. Luce, he knew, was still about, and must be having a lonely time, for the fact that he had been driven away from the Circle B, and was being ignored by his three brothers, convinced most of the citizens of his guilt. It was Nan Purdie who put it in the foreman's mind to ride into Windy. Meeting him on her way to the corral, she put a plain question :

"Have you heard anything of Luce Burdette, Mister Green?"

He told her what he knew, and added, "Seems kinda hard when nothin's been proved."

"It is cruel," the girl said hotly. "Even his own brothers condemn him--the cowards. The Burdettes are bad, root and branch, but Luce is--different."

She made a very pretty picture, her face flushed and her eyes flashing with indignation. The foreman smiled sardonically at the reflection that, after all, perhaps Luce was not so much to be pitied. All he said, however, was, "I reckon yo're right, ma'am; the Circle B has some reason for pinnin' the deed on Luce. I'll be in town this afternoon; mebbe I'll see him."

Her eyes thanked him, and as she went away the foreman's gaze followed the trim, shapely figure speculatively.

"Must be kinda nice to have a pretty girl that concerned about yu," he mused, and then, savagely, "Come alive, yu idjut."

When, late in the afternoon, he reached Windy, he found the place bubbling with excitement over a new outrage. Goldy Evans, a prospector, had been struck down on his way back to town, and robbed of about a thousand dollars in dust. Goldy's claim was situated on the lower slope of the southern wall of the valley. His story was that, having worked all day, he started to trudge the three miles home. The trail, which he had made himself by his daily journey, passed through a narrow rift in the rock.

"It's damned dark in that gully," the robbed man had explained when he told his tale. "The blame' walls near meet overhead, an' I was no more than in it when I thought they'd fell on me. Dunno how long I was out, but the sun warn't much lower when I come to. My belt was gone an' my head felt like someone had parted my hair with an axe."

"An' I'm tellin' yu, Goldy warn't on'y sore in the head," continued the citizen who had supplied Sudden with the news. "He's lost a hefty stake, but there's a chance he'll git it back."

"Did he see the fella?" the foreman asked.

"Reckon so," was the reply. "Goldy staggered along through the gully, an' when he reaches the open, he sees a chap on a grey hoss ridin' lickety-split for town. He was over a mile away, but Goldy says it was Luce Burdette. Him an' the marshal is up at the hotel now."

"Guess I'll trail along an' see what's doin'," Sudden said casually.

In the parlour of the hotel he found Luce, Slype, a red-faced, angry-looking fellow whose head was bandaged, and a crowd of curious onlookers. The accused man was glaring at them defiantly. On the table lay his six-shooter, a small doe-skin bag, and various other articles. Evidently he had been disarmed and searched.

"I ain't denyin' I was up that way this afternoon, an' I dessay it was me Evans saw," Luce was saying as Sudden elbowed his way into the room.

"What was yu doin' around there?" Slype asked.

"Mindin' my own business," snapped the boy.

"How'd yu git that dust?" growled Evans, pointing to the bag on the table.

"Worked for it," Luce replied. "I've been diggin' myself."

"Yeah, in my belt," sneered the miner. "An' I s'pose yu got a hole in the ground all ready to show us?"

"I reckon it's an open an' shut case, Luce," the marshal said. "Better come clean an' tell us where yu cached the rest o' the plunder."

"I tell yu I never had it--that dust is mine," the youth said savagely.

"Yo're sayin' so don't prove nothin'," the officer retorted. "I'm a-goin' to take yu in."

"Hold on, marshal," Sudden interposed, and turned to Evans. "Did all the dust in yore belt come outa the claim yo're workin'?"

The man nodded sullenly.

"Got any more of it on yu?" the cow-puncher continued.

Goldy dug down into his pocket and produced a little leathern sack--his "poke". "What I took out today--kept it for spendin'," he explained, and with an ugly look at Luce, "Yu missed that, didn't yu?"

"What's the big idea?" Slype inquired.

"Just this, marshal," the C P foreman replied. "I've heard old miners say that gold dust varies considerable, even when it comes from the same locality. P'raps there's someone here who can speak to that?"

A shrivelled, bent man of over sixty, dressed in patched, nondescript garments, thrust through the crowd. Out of his lined, leathery face the small eyes still gleamed brightly. In a high, cracked voice which was not improved by the quid of tobacco he was chewing, he corroborated the puncher's statement.

"I c'n see what the young fella's drivin' at, an' he's dead right, marshal; any old `Forty-niner' could tell yu as much. If the dust in them two pokes ain't exactly sim'lar, Luce didn't slug Evans, an' yu c'n bet a stack on it. Lemme look at 'em."

The marshal scowled, but he could not refuse the test. Two sheets of paper were brought and, amidst breathless silence, the old miner poured a little of the dust from each poke and bent over the tiny heaps. Then in turn he took a pinch from each and rolled the particles between his gnarled finger and thumb. Straightening up, he looked round triumphantly.

"They ain't noways the same," he announced confidently. "Goldy's dust is coarser in grain an' a mite darker in colour. Reckon any o' yu c'n see it for yoreselves."

The spectators surged forward to look; not that for a moment they doubted the decision of this old man who had spent nearly the whole of his life in the service of the god of Gold, and who, even now, looked at and handled the shining atoms as though they were indeed worthy of worship. Even Slype, disgruntled as he was at the destruction of what he had regarded as convincing evidence, knew that he must bow to the expert. What "California" did not know about gold had yet to be discovered. But the marshal was a poor loser.

"Well, that seemin'ly lets yu out, Luce," he remarked. "But I ain't right shore allasame, an' I'm keepin' an eye on yu."

"Keep both on an' be damned," the young man told him, and gathering up his belongings, pushed his way through the crowd and went to his own room.

Sudden found him there a little later, hunched in a chair, his face buried in his hands.

"Brace up, boy," he said. "That's one frame-up didn't come off, anyways."

"Thanks to yu," Luce replied. "Yu figure it was fixed?"

"Looks thataway. It warn't yu Evans saw, was it?"

"Might 'a' been, but I fancy I was further up the valley at the time, an' I didn't hurry."

"Then the jasper who did it has a grey hoss an' was careful not to show hisself till he was far enough off to be mistook for yu. Who do yu guess is back of it?"

"King--my own brother," Luce said bitterly. "He swore he'd hound me outa the country, an' I might as well clear --I ain't got a friend in it."

"Shucks, I know of two," the puncher smiled, and the boy was instantly contrite.

"I'm right sorry, Green; I oughta remembered yu, but I shore can't place the other," he said.

"Some fellas would be satisfied with Nan Purdie's friendship alone," Sudden told him.

Burdette's face lighted up. "She still believes in me?" he asked. "How is she?"

"Well, I gotta admit she's lookin' a mite peaky," the C P man said, and grinned understandingly at the other's expression of his regret. "Yeah, yu look as grieved as if yu'd filled a straight flush," he bantered. "Now, yu cut out this runnin' away chatter. Yo're playin' in tough luck just now, but yu'll make the grade."

His confidence was infectious and, despite his despair, Luce found himself hoping again. There was a new decision in his voice when he said: "Yo're right, Green. I'll stay an' take my medicine."

The rays of the rising sun were invading the misty hollows of the foothills around the base of Old Stormy when a rider loped leisurely up the trail and pulled his mount to a stop in front of the C P ranch-house. At the sight of the girl lazily swinging in a hammock on the verandah a look of mingled admiration and satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed low over his horse's mane as she descended hastily but gracefully from her perch, staring at him in amazed surprise. Still holding his hat, he surveyed her slowly from head to foot, and something in his eyes sent the hot blood to her face and neck.

"My word, yu've growed up into a mighty han'some woman, Nan," he said, and there was a caress in his tone.

"Miss Purdie, please," Nan retorted, and then, "I presume you didn't ride up here to pay me compliments?"

King Burdette laughed. "No one couldn't blame me if I did--there's plenty excuse," he said. "Why, when yu were a little tad of a school-kid, yu used to think a lot o' me."

It was true, though she had never suspected that he knew. Years back, when she was in her early teens, this dashing, spectacular young rider had figured largely in her dreams, though the two families were by no means friendly. She had, as a young girl will, made a hero of him. But, as time went on, stories of King Burdette filtered through and dispelled her childish illusions. She came to know him for what he was, handsome undoubtedly, but utterly without principle. Yet, as he sat there easily in his saddle, his lazy eyes drinking in her beauty, she was conscious of his fascination, and fought against it. Her voice was studiously cold when she spoke :

"I'm still waiting to hear the object of your visit, Mister Burdette."

"Shucks! Come outa the ice-box, Nan," King laughed, and seeing that her face did not change, he added, "Oh, well, is yore dad around? I wanta see him."

"Really?" she said with mild sarcasm. "Has it occurred to you that he may not share that desire?"

Burdette smiled to himself. "Beauty, brains, an' spirit," he reflected. "I gotta hand it to yu, Luce, but she's for yore betters." Aloud he said, "Please tell him I'm here, Miss Purdie; if he's got any sense, he'll see me."

Apparently sure of the result, he got down, trailed his reins, and taking a seat on the verandah, began to roll a cigarette. Nan went in search of her father. When the ranch-owner appeared, alone, he found the unwelcome visitor smoking and surveying the landscape.

"Mornin', Purdie," he greeted. "Fine view yu got here."

"Mebbe, but I don't know as yu improve it," came the blunt answer. "What's yore errand?"

Before Burdette could reply, a thud of hoofs announced another arrival--the marshal. Getting down in front of the verandah, he nodded heavily to the pair.

"The C P is gettin' precious popular seemin'ly," Purdie said sarcastically. "What might yu be wantin', Slype?"

"Heard King was headed this way an' thought I'd better come along," the officer replied.

"Which of us was yu aimin' to protect?" asked the rancher sneeringly.

"It's my job to prevent trouble," Slype replied.

"Yu needn't to have bothered, Sam," Burdette said easily. "There won't be none--o' my makin'--but seein' yo're here, yu might as well listen to what I have to say to Purdie."

"Fly at it," the cattleman said curtly.

"Well, Purdie, I'm here to propose peace," Burdette began. "We're the two biggest outfits in Windy, an' if we start scrappin', the whole community'll suffer. Where's the sense in it?"

"My boy lies over there," the old man said grimly, waving a hand towards the valley. "Killed by a cowardly coyote who carries yore name."

"It ain't been proved, an' anyways, until he clears his-self, he's a stranger to the Burdettes," King pointed out. "I reckon that puts the attitude o' the Circle B pretty plain."

"Mart did that the other night in `The Lucky Chance' when he said Luce had done a good job," Purdie said incisively.

"Mart was drunk," King replied, adding meaningly, "An' he thought a lot o' Dad."

"The C P had nothin' to do with that," Purdie rasped.

"Yu say so, an' I'm tellin' yu the same about Kit," Burdette retorted. "If Luce bumped off yore boy it was a personal matter. What else yu got against the Circle B?"

At this moment Sudden stepped from the house on to the verandah and paused when he saw that his employer had visitors. Purdie presented his new foreman as such, and a little frown creased the brow of King Burdette.

"Yu didn't tell me yu was takin' charge here when I offered yu a job," he said.

"Did I have to?" the puncher asked coolly.

"What was yu sayin' this mornin' 'bout some steers yu found, Green?" the rancher cut in.

The foreman told of the re-branded cattle he had discovered hidden on the range, and the face of the Circle B man flamed as he heard the story.

"Yu accusin' me o' rustlin' yore cows?" he asked stormily. "What's the great idea?"

"Well, when the brands are healed the cattle could be sneaked over an' thrown into yore herds, or they could be found where they are, when it would look like we'd been stealin' from yu," Sudden pointed out. "On'y yore outfit would be interested in puttin' yore brand on our beasts."

"Bah! Chicken-feed," King sneered. He turned to the marshal. "Looks to me like a plain frame-up--tryin' to pin a rustlin' on the Circle B."

"Shore does," the officer agreed.

"See here, Purdie," King went on. "It's the first I've heard of this, but I'll look into it, an' if I find any o' my outfit have been usin' a straight iron I'll hand 'em over to yu, even if it's my own brothers. Can't say fairer than that. Now all this chatter ain't gettin' us nowhere. I'm offerin' yu my hand; will yu take it?"

The rancher's jaw was set, his eyes cold. "I'd sooner shake with a rattlesnake than a Burdette," he said harshly. "Fetch me the murderer o' my son, with a rope round his neck, an' mebbe I'll tell yu different."

Burdette looked at the marshal, and Sudden could have sworn there was satisfaction in the glance; the man had hoped for such a termination to the interview. He stood up, lifting his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness.

"Yu heard that, Sam?" he said, and there was little of disappointment in his tone. "Good thing yu happened along; yu can bear witness that I did my utmost to dodge trouble, but this old fool wants war. Well, by God, he shall have it, an' that goes."

The exultation in the savage, sneering voice was plain enough now; the man had cast off all pretence.

Purdie too had risen, his hand not far from his gun. He laughed scornfully. "Yu can't bluff me, Burdette," he said. "Mebbe I'm what yu called me, but I ain't blind. Yu egg yore brother on to kill Kit, an' yu stand aside an' let him bear the blame; yu brand my cattle an' leave 'em where they'll be found so's I'll start somethin'. Then yu come here with lying offers o' peace which yu know damn well I don't listen to o' purpose to put me in wrong with the town."

"Lookit, Purdie..." the marshal protested.

"Shut yore trap," the old man told him, and to Burdette, "Get off my land, pronto, an' take yore tame dawg with yu."

Sudden saw the man's face whiten under the tan, sensed the passion that was urging him to pull his gun and shoot Purdie then and there, and realized that only his own presence prevented it. For a brief moment Burdette fought his fury, and then came an ugly snarl: "Yu take the pot--this time, but I'll get yu, yore ranch, an' yore girl, Purdie, even if yu pack yore place with two-gunmen."

With a glare at Sudden he swaggered from the verandah, sprang into the saddle, and spurred his horse down the trail. The marshal would have spoken, but a contemptuous gesture from the cattleman stopped him.

"Get agoin'," Purdie said. "Yore master will be whistlin' for yu."

When the pair had vanished, the ranch-owner turned and looked at his foreman. "What yu think of it?" he asked.

"I reckon yu got their measure," was the reply. "Funny 'bout them cattle, though; I don't believe he knowed of 'em."

Purdie laughed incredulously. "When yu savvy the Burdettes as well as I do, yu'll figure 'em at the back o' most o' the dirty work around here," he said. "Anyways, they know what I think of 'em. King would 'a' drawed on me if yu hadn't been here."

The puncher's eyes twinkled. "Yeah, but I was, an' not bein' a fool, he didn't forget it," he replied.

"What d'yu guess'll be their first move?"

"I expect they'll try to abolish that two-gun hombre King mentioned."

The rancher's face grew grave. "Jim, I'd no right to rope yu into my trouble--this ain't no ordinary foreman's job," he said. "If yu wanta reconsider..."

"Forget it, seh," Sudden smiled. "I came here knowin', an' when I start anythin' I aim to finish it."

Purdie's relief was evident. In declaring war on the Circle B he had relied greatly upon the aid of this lean-jawed, level-eyed stranger, of whom he knew nothing and yet trusted implicitly.

Chapter IX

IN the big, littered living-room at the Circle B that same evening four men sat in conference--King Burdette, his brothers Mart and Sim, and one of their outfit. This last had an arresting appearance. Between thirty-five and forty years of age, of slight build, he had one remarkable feature --a skin, which even the fierce sun of the South-west could not colour; his clean-shaven face was white, the unhealthy, sickly white of something grown in darkness, and in this deathly pallor were set blue eyes like polished stones, un-winking, expressionless. "Whitey"--for so the man was known--never smiled, his face might have been a marble mask, but lacked the dignity of the carven stone. He wore two guns, and his long, talon-like fingers were never far from their butts.

"Well, boys, I saw Purdie this mornin' an'--like I guessed--he's all set for war--wouldn't listen to nothin' else," King began, and grinned. "Slippery was there, by chance, o' course. That puts us right with Windy; Chris won't get no sympathy there. So we can go ahead."

"An' with Kit outa the way there shouldn't be no difficulty," Mart added.

"There's on'y one, far's I can see," King rejoined. "Purdie has scooped in that two-gun stranger, Green, an' made him foreman. I'm tellin' yu this; he's got a good one."

"We oughta've gathered him in ourselves," Sim stated.

"I tried to, but Purdie had beat me to it," the elder brother told him. "Mark me, that fella means trouble for us; twice he's got Luce out of a jam--if it hadn't been for him that young fool would 'a' been off our hands for good. There's another thing; he claims to have found a bunch o' cattle with the C P brand changed to Circle B, penned up on Purdie's range. Any o' yu know about it?"

They all shook their heads. "Odd number that," Mart said. "Our boys wouldn't do it without orders. An' why leave 'em there?"

"It'll need lookin' into, but can wait." King decided. "The main point is what we goin' to do about Green?"

"Leave him to me," Whitey said.

Callous as they were, the cold, passionless voice sent a shiver through the others; they sensed an eagerness to slay for the sake of slaying--for they knew his proposal meant nothing less than death. Whitey was a killer of the worst type--one who sold his dexterity to the highest bidder, and regarded the taking of human life as no more important than twisting the neck of a chicken.

"He totes a coupla guns an' we don't know how good he is with 'em," King observed.

"If he can beat me to the draw he'll do what twelve other fellas failed at," the killer replied darkly.

"Thirteen's an unlucky number, Whitey," Sim commented.

"Shore will be--for him," came the grim retort. "I'll be in town to-night; mebbe meet up with him."

King shook his head. "We gotta wait a week at least," he decided. "To do it sooner would be a fair giveaway."

"Well, what's a week, anyways?" the gunman grimaced. "He'll be a long whiles dead. It'll cost yu boys five hundred."

The "boys" nodded agreement, regarding him curiously. They had no illusions about the man, being well aware that he would have undertaken to destroy any one of them for a sufficient sum.

"Yo're a cold-blooded devil, Whitey," Mart said. "One o' these days yu'll tumble up against a fella who's a mite quicker'n yu are, an' then..."

The killer's thin, pale lips twisted a little, which, in him, signified amusement. "I've met that fella," he said. "Yes, sir, some years ago, way down in Texas. He warn't much more'n a boy, but his draw was a shinin' merricle. I was reckoned fast, but he left me standin' still. Had an odd trick o' speaking his piece, half turnin' away, an' the next yu knowed he had yu covered."

"He let yu off, Whitey?" King queried, with lifted eyebrows.

"He let me off, yeah, when he had me set," the gunman said. "I'll never forgive him for that." In his voice was a bitter hate for the man who had allowed him to live. "Said I looked sick, an' I'll bet I did too, an' that a spell o' travel would be good for my health."

"So yu--travelled?" King said, with almost a jeer.

The other appeared not to notice it. "I took the trail," he admitted. "I ain't seen him since, an' dunno as I'd reckernize him--a few years make a big difference in a young chap, an' there warn't nothin' special 'bout him --just a ordinary puncher to look at. But I've heard tell of him."

"What was his name?" Sim asked.

"Never knowed it, but they was beginnin' to call him `Sudden' down there, an', by God! they got him right," Whitey replied.

Sudden! Even to this far corner of Arizona the young gunman's reputation for cold courage and marvellous marksmanship had penetrated. The faint satirical smiles which their companion's recital of his discomfiture had produced faded from the faces of his hearers. Mart expressed the feelings of all when, with a low whistle, he said :

"Sudden. Huh? Whitey, I reckon yu did right to--travel."

Despite the fact that matters between the two ranches had apparently reached a crisis, a week passed without anything happening, and Windy wondered. Old-timers wagged their heads significantly and spoke of the proverbial calm before the storm. For Luce Burdette the period was one of growing discomfort. The attitude of his family, supported by the known facts, caused many to believe he had slain Kit Purdie, and though Sudden's quick-wittedness should have cleared him, in the minds of reasonable men, of robbing Evans, there were some who still doubted. Also, King Burdette had made it plain that friendship with his discarded brother would mean enmity with him, and the displeasure of the Circle B, with its band of hard, unscrupulous riders, was not to be incurred lightly.

Entirely ignored by most of the citizens, and avoided as much as possible by others he had deemed his friends, the young man grew daily more despondent. Several times he had ridden to the little glade in the hope of seeing Nan Purdie, only to be disappointed. Bitterly he concluded that, like the rest, she had come to believe in his guilt. In this he wronged her. More than once Nan had found herself heading for the meeting-place, and had spurred her pony in another direction. There came a morning, however, when, obeying an impulse which brought the blood to her cheeks, she rode resolutely along the old trail and through the opening into the glade. Her heart leapt when she saw someone sitting on the fallen trunk, head bent, elbows on knees, apparently deep in thought. Lest he should deem her there on purpose, she rode with face averted, pretending not to have seen him. Then came a voice which shocked the gladness out of her.

"Shorely the gods are good to me since they send the very person my mind was full of," King Burdette said, swinging his hat in a wide sweep. "The spot was pretty before; now, it is beautiful."

The girl's proud little head came up, the blue eyes regarded him coldly, and she rode on. King Burdette stepped towards her.

"Come now, Nan, you gotta talk with me," he urged. "I've somethin' important to say 'bout somebody yo're interested in; it'll go hard with him if yu don't listen."

"If you're threatening my father" she began stormily.

"Yu got me wrong," he replied. "It ain't him--it's Luce."

He saw her flush, and smothered a curse. "I am not interested in any of your family, Mister Burdette," she said, and shook her reins.

The man laughed. "No use runnin' away, girl," he pointed out. "I can catch yu in two-three minutes."

She looked at the big, rangy roan standing with drooping head but a few yards distant and knew it was no vain boast; her mount--game as it was--could not keep ahead of that powerful, long-striding animal. What a fool she had been not to notice the horse! Luce always rode Silver, his grey. She pulled in her pony.

"What have you to say?" she asked.

"Aw, Nan, get down an' be sociable," King smiled.

"I prefer to stay where I am," she replied. "And there is no need for you to come nearer--my hearing is quite good."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Suspicious, ain't yu?" he said. "Well, have it yore own way; someday yo're goin' to know me better. Now, see here, Nan"

"You are not to call me that," she interrupted.

"Awright, if yu'd rather I made it--sweetheart," he retorted, and laughed when he saw her eyes flash. "My, yo're awfully pretty when yu rear up--Nan."

The girl's scornful expression showed him that he was on the wrong track and, dropping his bantering air, he said seriously, "I got a proposal to make."

Her look of surprise made him grin. "No, it ain't what yu guessed--yet." His face sobered again. "I want peace; I was in dead earnest when I come to the C P that time, but yore father wouldn't listen; he holds the Burdettes is pizen, seemin'ly."

"Can you wonder, with poor Kit scarcely cold in his grave?" she said, a break in her voice.

"But yu don't lay that to Luce," he countered.

"No, but I do lay it to the Circle B," she told him.

"Yo're wrong, Nan," he said. "The Circle B has condemned it. We've disowned Luce--done with him."

"Thereby showing yourselves to be curs," she cried. "Why, if Kit had committed a crime, even murder, I'd have stood by and shielded him to the last, if I knew he was guilty. But you..."

The contempt in her tone flailed him, and the open avowal of interest in the suspected man brought his brows together in a heavy frown. He realized that she meant just what she said; that was her creed; for one she loved there was no limit, and--he bit back an oath--she loved Luce. The knowledge stirred his brigand nature, but he kept an iron hand on himself; only his eyes betrayed the fires flaming within.

"If yu think thataway, yu oughta be willin' to talk to yore dad," he said. "He's got his head down an' is runnin' hell-bent for trouble like an angry steer."

"That's not true, and if it were, I couldn't stop him," the girl replied. "Dad is not the sort of man to be dictated to; I thought he made that plain to you."

Despite his self-control, the blood stained King Burdette's cheeks as he recalled his ignominious dismissal from the C P. He was of the type to whom opposition is a spur to anger. His proffer of peace had been a mere pretext, but its rejection, coupled with the girl's beauty and disdain, were rousing the worst in him. Jeering at him, huh? Well, she needed a lesson, and once he got hold of her, he'd make those pretty lips pay for what they had uttered. During the conversation he had been gradually edging nearer, and now he suddenly sprang forward, his long arms clutching her waist in an effort to drag her from the saddle. Nan saw the movement too late to avoid it, but King swore as the lash of her quirt seared his cheek.

"Yu damn little wildcat," he gritted. "I'll learn yu."

He had almost succeeded in unseating her when a silver streak flashed across the clearing and the shoulder of a grey horse sent him spinning to the ground. He was up again in an instant, his right hand darting to his hip, when a warning voice reached him.

"Stick 'em up, yu skunk, or I'll drill yu."

King Burdette looked into the levelled gun and furious eyes of the newcomer, and impudently folded his arms.

"Blaze away, brother," he mocked, and to the girl, "Yu will now see the Bible story of Cain an' Abel brought right up to date."

"Brother! " Luce retorted. "Yu've taken mighty good care to show me I ain't that--till it saves yore hide. Unbuckle that belt an' step away from it, or I'll break a leg for yu." For a bare moment the other hesitated, but he knew Luce, saw the boy's jaw harden, and obeyed; he had no wish to be crippled. "Now climb yore bronc an' fade," came the further order, and again he had no choice.

"I'll get yu for this, kin or no kin," he snarled. "As for that girl, keep away from her; she's goin' to be mine."

"I'd rather die than marry a Burdette," Nan flashed.

King grinned hatefully."Did I mention marriage?" he asked. "Well, it don't matter. Marchin' orders for the both of us Luce."

"Yo're takin' 'em from me," the young man rasped. "I'll leave yore belt at `The Lucky Chance.' If yu pester Miss Purdie again yu'll not get off so easy."

With a laugh of disdain King rode out of the glade, turning at the entrance to wave an insolent farewell. They watched him go, and for some moments there was an awkward silence. Then the girl stretched out an impulsive hand.

"Thank you, Luce," she said. "I never in my life was so pleased to see anyone."

The boy flushed. "He didn't hurt yu?" he asked, and she thrilled at the anxiety in his voice.

"No, I was scared--he sprang at me like a tiger," she explained. "He had lost his temper completely. You are so different from your brothers that it is difficult to believe you belong to the same family."

"I wish to God we didn't," Luce said bitterly. "Nan, did yu mean what yu said about--the Burdettes?"

He put the question haltingly, and it required all her courage to meet his pleading look; but Nan Purdie was no shirker; subterfuge or evasion played no part in her straightforward nature.

"I am sorry, Luce, but--yes, I meant it," she said gently. "I like you, and I will always be your friend, but it would break Dad's heart to learn I was even that, and so --there can never be anything more. You understand, don't you?"

He nodded miserably. "Yo're dad's right. What man would care to see his daughter linked up with a crowd like ours? Time was when I was proud o' bein' a Burdette; now, I'm ashamed."

"You must go away, Luce; leave the country," she urged, and the thought that she cared what happened to him was sweet.

"I ain't runnin'," he told her. "Yu'll let me see yu sometimes, Nan?"

"We are sure to meet, Luce," she said, and he had to be content with that.

When she had gone he loped his horse past the spot where King's belt lay, and without dismounting, leant over, scooped it up, and headed the animal for Windy. Despite the girl's statement that nothing could come of their friendship, now that he had seen her again he would not despair; hope is a hardy growth in a young heart. King's attack he regarded as an attempt to frighten her, with the object of provoking her father to a reprisal.

Meanwhile the man who had been so ingloriously bested was spurring savagely for the Circle B, his whole being full of a black rage. As he flung himself from the lathered horse and strode towards the ranch-house he met Whitey.

"'Lo, King, some fella stole yore belt off'n yu?" the gunman greeted curiously.

"Mind yore own damn business," snapped the other. "Yu can get Green as soon as yu like."

The killer's eyes grew harder. "Better heel yoreself before yu take that tone with me, King; I ain't nobody's dawg," he warned. "Yu had trouble with Green?"

Burdette realized that he had gone too far--this man would not stand for bullying. "Sorry, Whitey, but I'm all het up," he said. "No, I ain't seen Green, but I've had an argument with Luce." His anger flamed anew at the recollection of how one-sided that "argument" had been. "I gave the young fool another chance to pull his freight an' he won't go. Well, I want him outa the way."

Whitey understood. "He's a Burdette," he objected.

"He ain't a Burdette--for yu," King replied meaningly. "When yu've settled with that damned foreman..."

The gunman nodded. "A thousand bucks would shorely be more use than five hundred," he suggested.

"Earn 'em, then," King said shortly. "But remember, with Luce, it's gotta be entirely a personal matter 'tween yu an' him, an' don't be in too much of a hurry; it mustn't look like a frame-up."

"I get yu," Whitey said. "I don't overlook no bets."

King Burdette's sinister gaze followed him as he slouched away. "Yu ain't nobody's dawg--just a plain damn fool," he muttered. "When yu bump off Luce, his brothers--though they've disowned him--have just naturally gotta get yu to even the score. I don't overlook bets neither."

Chapter X

BUSINESS in "The Lucky Chance" was booming that night. Goldy Evans, burrowing like a human mole in the hillside, had struck a "pocket". The news had soon spread, and men flocked to the saloon to share in the celebration they knew would follow. The man himself was there, half drunk, and displaying a heavy Colt's revolver which had been the first thing bought with his newly-acquired wealth.

"An' I reckon it was comin' to me, boys, after the dirty way I got trimmed," he said. "Any son-of-a-bitch who tries that trick agin'll git blowed sky-high, yu betcha."

Which sentiment, especially amongst the mining fraternity, was whole-heartedly applauded. Gold was hard to get, windfalls like the present one few and far between, and to endure the toil and hardship only to benefit a thief was not to any man's liking. As the liquor circulated, inflaming the men's passions, threats were freely uttered, and it might have gone ill with Luce Burdette had he entered the place just then, for some still believed he had robbed the prospector.

"Nex' time we won't worry the marshal," a burly miner said, and there was a sneer in the last three words. "A rope or a slug is the on'y cure, an' I guess we can 'tend to that, ourselves."

"Shore thing, an' interferin' outsiders c'n have a dose o' the same," growled another, with a drunken glare at Green, who, with one elbow on the bar, was chatting with the saloon-keeper and watching the scene amusedly. The marshal, standing not far away, heard sundry far from complimentary criticisms of himself with an expression of surly contempt; he had a poor opinion of "dirt-washers," as he termed them.

"Feelin' plenty brash, ain't they?" he sneered. "Give 'em two pinches o' yaller dust to buy licker with an' they're gory heroes right off."

His comment was addressed to Magee, but before that worthy could reply, even had he intended doing so, the door swung open and Whitey entered. At the sight of that blood-drained face Sudden rubbed the back of his head, and in so doing, tilted his hat forward to hide his own features. He recognized the fellow--there could be no two men in the South-west like that--yet he asked a whispered question.

"Who's yore friend?"

Magee looked at him. "Shure an' I'm not so careless pickin' me frinds," he replied. "They call him `Whitey' -- niver heard any other name. He rides for the Circle B, an' 'tis said he has twelve notches on his guns."

"Reg'lar undertaker's help, huh?" the puncher replied lightly. "Shucks! Notches ain't so much; where's the sense in whittlin' yore hardware all to bits thataway?"

He faced around, thus presenting his back to the newcomer, hut he did not lose sight of him; mirrors behind a bar are meant to be useful as well as ornamental, so Sudden was able to watch the gunman unobserved.

With a curt nod here and there, Whitey walked to the bar and called for liquor. Sudden noted that he helped himself sparingly from the bottle pushed forward. Also, save for one fleeting glance, he appeared uninterested in the puncher; there had been no gleam of recognition in that look. "He don't know me," Sudden reflected. "Guess I've altered some since we met. Well, I ain't remindin' him." At the same time, that singular sixth sense which men who tread dangerous paths somehow acquire, was warning him to be on his guard. Presently he became aware that the gunman had moved nearer and was now looking directly at him.

"I guess yu're Green--the new C P foreman," he said in a flat voice. "Take a drink?"

"Yu guess pretty good," the puncher replied, and pointed to his almost untouched glass. "I'm all fixed; like yore-self, I ain't much on liquor."

Whitey's slit of a mouth twisted sneeringly. "What about a li'l game? But mebbe yu ain't much on kyards neither?"

"Like I said, yo're a good guesser," the foreman agreed. He was alert, wary, suspecting the fellow was intent on forcing a quarrel. His reply brought no expression to that corpse-like mask, but the pupils of the pale eyes narrowed to pin-points.

"Is there anythin' yu are much on?" came the contemptuous inquiry.

"I'm reckoned good at mindin' my own business," drawled the puncher.

The snub apparently left the gunman unmoved, but it advised the rest of the company that something unusual was taking place. The rattle of poker chips, slither of dealt cards, and murmur of conversation ceased. An atmosphere of menace seemed to envelope the gathering, and every man there, save only the puncher lounging lightly against the bar, seemed to sense what was coming. Magee made an effort to avert the storm. Thrusting forward a bottle, he said placatingly, "Whist now, Whitey, don't be after makin' throuble. Have one on the house--both av ye."

The gunman glared at him. "Better take a lesson from this fella an' mind yore own business," he snarled, and turned on Sudden. "Yu come here, a stranger, glom on to a good job, an' git too uppity to drink or play with us. Who the hell are yu to put on frills?"

Sudden smiled tolerantly; he knew now that his suspicions had been correct--the man was there to kill him, perhaps at the instigation of King Burdette. He determined to let Whitey force the issue.

"Didn't just look at it thataway," he admitted. "Seein' yo're sot on 'em, we'll have the drink an' the li'l game."

He saw the look of chagrin in the killer's eyes; it was not the reply he had played for. In fact, Whitey was disgusted; matters had been going just right for him, and now the fellow had crawfished. He emptied his glass, his right arm dropping to his side. A bitter jeer was in his voice when he replied, "Thought better of it, huh? Well, that won't help yu none. I ain't takin' favours from yu, yu son-of-a --"

The epithet was one which only an accompanying smile could excuse. Whitey was not smiling, and, as he uttered the word his body fell in to a crouch, while his right hand snapped back to his gun. There was a hurried scuffle as men in the vicinity got themselves out of the way and then--a breath-stopping silence.

"Flash it, yu white-livered sneak," croaked the killer.

For an instant he thought his prey would escape after all, for the puncher half turned as though about to decline the challenge. Then recollection came; he saw a picture from the past, and the clammy fingers of fear clutched at his heart. He knew that movement, knew too that he was about to suffer the same fate as those he had himself wantonly destroyed. It was too late to retract; even as the thought darted through his brain he was dragging at his gun with the desperation of despair. He got it clear of the holster...

All the nearest spectator could afterwards say was that, following a bang and spurt of flame from the puncher's left hip, he saw Whitey stagger, double up at the knees, and sink slowly down to lie grotesquely sprawled on the sanded floor, his weapon clattering beside him. "Never see Green go for his gun a-tall, but he musta done, o' course," he added. "An' fast? I'm tellin' yu, I believe he could make lightnin' hump itself."

The crash of the shot ended the tension. Forgetful of their games, the gamblers crowded round the bar, jostling one another to get a glimpse of the dead man. One of them picked up the dropped revolver and ran a finger along the nicks in the butt.

"Kept his tally--six of 'em," he remarked. "If there's the same number on the twin, he's sent twelve fellas to wait for him on the other side."

"He tried for one too many," was Weldon's comment. "Me, I'm sooperstitious thataway; when I've bumped off a dozen, I'm stoppin'."

The remark, despite the presence of death, raised a laugh. Men who made it their business to kill received small sympathy when they paid the penalty. In Western idiom, Whitey had "got what was comin' to him," and there was no more to be said.

Sudden went to the marshal, who was looking curiously at the body. "Yu know where I'm to be found if yu want me," he said.

"This hombre asked for it," the officer replied. "I ain't wantin' yu, but--others may," he added meaningly.

The cow-puncher shrugged his shoulders and went out. Gradually the players returned to their games, the corpse was removed, and the episode, for the time being, was ended. When, a little later, Mart Burdette came in, there was nothing to show that a man had but just died. Standing near the door, the newcomer looked the room over.

"Know where Whitey is?" he asked the blacksmith.

"Well, I dunno how long it takes to get to hell, but I guess he's there by now; he started half an hour back," was the grim reply.

Mart stared at him. "Yu mean he's--dead?" he asked incredulously.

"Shore I do," Weldon told him. "He's most awful dead, that Whitey fella."

The Circle B man's breath whistled as he drew it in. "How come?" he inquired.

"He got to domineerin' that stranger--the one what fetched in Kit Purdie," the smith explained.

"An' he beat him to it?" the other cried amazedly.

"Yu might call it that," Weldon grinned. He was enjoying himself--he did not like the Burdettes. "Green let him get his gun out an' then--well, Whitey sorta lost interest, as a fella will with a slug between his eyes."

Mart turned away, and his informant, with a sardonic smile, watched him go.

"He seems quite astonished--an' upset," he remarked to his neighbours. "Didn't know the Circle B was that fond o' their riders."

Mart went straight to where Slype was sitting. "I hear Green has shot Whitey. What yu goin' to do about it?" he asked truculently.

"Bury the body," the marshal said. "Whitey would have it, an' he drawed first."

Mart frowned. "Is that what I'm to tell King?"

"Shore an' yu can add that Whitey warn't good enough," Slippery said meaningly, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in his foxy eyes.

Burdette gulped a drink and went in search of his elder brother. He found him in "The Plaza," exchanging pleasantries with its fair owner. Drawing him aside, Mart told what he had learned and delivered the marshal's message. King's eyebrows grew black as he listened.

"Whitey's gun musta snagged," he suggested.

"Nary a snag," Mart assured him. "He had it out afore the other fella made a move, an' Whitey could pump lead quicker'n anyone I ever see, not exceptin' yu."

"If Green's as good as that we gotta try somethin' else," King said musingly.

"Get Luce to plug him from behind like he did Kit," Mart proposed jocularly.

To his surprise his brother took him seriously. "That's an idea," he said.

"Shucks, I was jokin'," the big man protested. "Why, him an' Green are friendly."

"An' yu are a chump, Mart," King grinned, slapping a genial hand on his shoulder. "It's a good thing the Bur-dette family has me to do the thinkin'."

With a smile on his face he went back to his philandering. He had staked, lost, and must stake again; that was all there was to it. But, next time, he would see to it that the deck was stacked.

"Honey," he said. "Do yu think it possible to bring down two birds with one stone?"

"It must be difficult unless the birds are close together," Lu Lavigne laughed.

"In the case I have in mind, they would be some distance apart, which shorely adds to the merit o' the performance." Burdette chuckled, and would tell her no more.

Chapter XI

MRS. LAVIGNE tripped daintily along the clumsy board sidewalk, not in the least unconscious of the admiration she aroused. The wide, floppy straw hat she wore shaded her face from the searching rays of the sun, but in no way concealed its attractiveness, and from every citizen she encountered came a smiling greeting or a respectful salutation, for the owner of "The Plaza" was not only a pretty woman but--among the sterner sex, at least--a popular one. So that it was a shock when a man she knew, head hunched and hatbrim pulled low, endeavoured to pass without a word. Impulsively she caught his arm.

"Luce Burdette!" she cried. "Which have you lost--your eyesight or your manners?"

The boy stopped instantly, dragging his hat from his head. "Folks ain't anxious to know me these days, Lu," he excused. "It mightn't do yu any good to be seen speakin' to me. King..."

She snapped her fingers. "That, for King. I choose my own friends," she said, and shrugged her shoulders. "For the rest, well, my reputation is beyond repair, you know," she laughed, albeit a trifle bitterly.

Her kind, quizzical eyes studied him, noted the newborn lines in the young face, and divined the deep-seated misery which possessed him.

"Yo're a good fella, Lu, an' if ever I hear a man say different I'll make him wish he'd been born dumb," Luce told her.

"Thank you, Luce, but you won't hear much from the men," she replied. The acid touch in her tone deepened. "It takes a woman to damn a woman."

"An' a man to damn a man," he said with a wry smile. "Well, it's shore good to know I got one friend, Lu, an' I'm thankin' yu."

"You have more than that, boy. I'm guessing there's another across the street right now and--I'm sorry I stopped you."

On the other side of the churned-up, dusty strip which separated the buildings Nan Purdie had just climbed to her saddle and was riding slowly away. To all appearances, she did not see Luce and his companion. Mrs. Lavigne's shrewd eyes read the young man's face.

"I don't think she saw you," she said, well aware that this was not the truth. "If you want to speak to her, don't mind me."

Luce shook his head. "Miss Purdie ain't got no use for a Burdette," he said, also meaning to mislead.

The lady laughed. "You are terribly young, Luce," she told him. "Some day you'll learn that a woman has a use for the Devil himself if she cares for him. There, I'm getting sentimental in my old age, and forgetting one of the reasons for stopping you. Tell your friend Green that a certain outfit is rather peeved at losing its star gun-fighter, and will take any chance to even the score."

"I'll give him the message, but if King knew yu sent it..."

"Oh, shucks," she responded. "Your big brother may have this town buffaloed, but I'm not scared of him."

"That's mighty interestin'," drawled a harsh voice behind her, and King Burdette stepped from the store outside which they were standing. How long he had been there they had no means of knowing. He did not appear to be in a pleasant humour, but his scowling face did not daunt the lady. Her shapely head lifted and she faced him unflinchingly.

"'Lo, King, eavesdropping, eh?" she gibed. "Well, you know what they say about listeners."

Ignoring her, he spoke to his brother. "So yo're still around, huh?"

"Yu see me," Luce retorted. "Get yore guns back?"

The red surged into King's cheeks at the taunt. "Yu'll step in my way once too often, yu fool," he threatened. "For now, make yoreself scarce; I've got somewhat to say to this--lady."

The girl's eyes flashed at the sneer on the last word, but with the sweetest of smiles, she held out her hand to the younger man.

"So long, Luce, and the best of luck," she said. "Come and see me whenever you like." When he had gone, she turned to King and said lightly, "And what does your Majesty want with me?"

He was silent for a moment, his sullen gaze roving over her, absorbing the dark beauty, noting how her soft draperies, wafted by the wanton wind, outlined her perfect figure. She was a picture to stir the pulse of an anchorite, and King Burdette was not that. But she must have a lesson--women, like horses, had to be mastered. So he veiled the admiration in his bold eyes and said brusquely.

"What were yu sayin' to that pup?"

"So you didn't listen?" she countered.

"I was at the back o' the store, an' on'y come out in time to hear yu tellin' the town how brave yu are," he said heavily.

"If it requires courage not to sit up and beg at your order, I have it," she replied. "However, I don't mind informing you that I was trying to cheer up that poor boy, and also, I asked him to warn Green that your outfit is not particular how it squares an account."

"Yu dared?" King stormed.

"Oh, I'm brave--you said so yourself," she mocked. "It is almost my only virtue."

"What's yore interest in that damned cow-wrastler?" he rasped.

She smiled contentedly; he was jealous, and therefore victory was hers. "I like him," she said easily. "We have one quality in common--courage; he gave your hired killer more than an even break."

"I had nothin' to do with that--it was a private affair--I reckon they had met afore," King defended.

"Oh, yeah," she murmured.

"Yu don't believe me?" he queried.

Her eyes twinkled. "As if I could doubt you, George Washington Burdette," she reproached.

The man glared at her. "Lu Lavigne," he said thickly, "One day I shall twist that slim neck o' yores."

"That would be a pity--it has been admired," she smiled. "Now, I've a score of purchases to make. If Your Majesty has no further commands ..." She slanted her eyes at him and waited, demurely obedient.

Burdette was recovering his poise. "Yo're a provokin' little devil," he said. "Lemme come an' help with the shoppin'."

The girl elevated her hands in horror. "Mercy me! And what of my character?" she cried. "It would be all over the town that we were setting up housekeeping together."

"An' why not?" King said eagerly. "Come to the Circle B an'--"

"Take the peerless Miss Purdie's leavings, were you going to say?" she asked sweetly.

The change in his face astounded her; stark fury flamed from his eyes. Through his clenched teeth he hissed, "So the young skunk blabbed, did he? Well, that'll be all, for him. I'll..."

Terrified at the result of her shot in the dark, she hastened to repair the damage. "If you mean Luce, he said nothing to me of Miss Purdie and yourself," she urged. "It was a guess, King, just to tease you, and I'm sorry."

He scowled at her in savage doubt, but the dark eyes met his steadily, and he knew that, whatever her faults, Lu Lavigne was not a liar. He nodded, as though in answer to his own thought.

"I'm takin' yore word. If yu wanta do Luce a good turn, get him to punch the breeze; this place ain't big enough for both of us--an' me, I'm aimin' to stay. Shall I see yu to-night?"

"I can't prevent you. I shall be attending to my business of helping men to forget they are men," she said wearily, and turned away.

King Burdette strode up the street, his mind filled by two women. Honey-coloured hair and blue eyes warred with black hair and eyes until, with a sardonic grin, the man decided there was only one way out of the difficulty--he wanted, and would have, both. "What King Burdette goes after, he gets," he muttered darkly. As for that cursed cow-puncher and Luce, they were obstacles in his way, and must be dealt with. Whitey had failed, and even now that staggering fact seemed hardly credible. A lurid oath escaped his lips, and a small urchin trailing behind, trying to ape the great man's walk, garnered with glee the--to him--unmeaning words.

"Gee! I'll spring that one on Snubby," he promised himself. "Bet it'll make his eyebrows climb some."

The passing of Whitey and the manner of it aroused great excitement in the hunkhouse of the C P, and at once put the new foreman on a pinnacle. The prowess of the dead gunman was not mere hearsay, two of the notches on his guns having been acquired since his appearance in Windy, and it was commonly believed that only one man in the district would have any chance against him in an even break. This was King Burdette, and though the test had never been made, there were those who held him the faster of the two. At supper, on the night following the killing, the point was being discussed.

"King is fast all right, but yu gotta remember that Green let Whitey git his gun a'most clear before he started," Curly pointed out.

"A left-handed shot, an' he put the pill plumb atween the eyes," Moody contributed. "That's shootin'."

"Shorely is," Flatty agreed. "Hi, Bill, why didn't yu warn us that the noo foreman was a six-gun wizard? One of us mighta called him."

"He'd 'a' boxed yore ears," Yago grinned. "Shucks, Jim ain't so much; o' course, I'm not sayin' he's slow exactly . . ."

His deprecatory drawl was drowned by a volley of scathing expletives which brought a broad smile to his leathery countenance; his friend had made good, and the boys would follow him to hell and back again. The talk veered to other topics, and Moody began to relate a snake episode. Now snake stories in the West rank with fishing yarns in the East, and get much the same credence. This one proved no exception.

"I was 'bout half a mile from the line-house when I a'most rode on to a coupla big rattlers thrashin' about in the grass," Moody began. "The funny thing was that though they were fightin' they seemed to be tryin' to git away from one another. Pretty soon I savvied the trouble: they musta bin wrastlin' an' some way had got their tails tied together; o' course, the more they pulled the tighter the knot got, an' there they was, tuggin' an' strikin' like all possessed."

"An' yu got down, untied 'em, an' they lifted their hats, bowed politely, an' went off arm in arm," Curly suggested.

"I did not," the narrator replied. "I blowed the heads off'n them reptiles. If yu don't believe me, ask Strip; I showed 'em to him when we passed the place later. Ain't that so, Strip?"

Levens grinned widely as he said, "Yeah, but I figure yu shot them varmints first an' tied their tails afterwards."

A yell of derision greeted the statement and a rush was made for the tale-teller. In the midst of the ensuing hubbub Yago slipped away and went in search of his foreman. He found him sitting in front of his own quarters, smoking and gazing reflectively at the valley, over which the last rays of the sinking sun were shedding a golden radiance. Squatting beside him, he rolled a smoke, and for a time there was silence. Then, when the red disk had disappeared behind the shoulder of Old Stormy, and the purple shadows were deepening in the hollows, Yago said:

"It was a frame-up, Jim; the Burdettes meant to get yu."

The foreman's slitted eyes rested on him. "Yo're that bright to-night, Bill, I can't hardly bear to look at yu," he said with gentle sarcasm.

"Quit yore foolin'," his friend retorted. "They'll try again; yu gotta keep cases."

"I had a message from Luce sayin' just that," Sudden said.

"From Luce Burdette?" Bill cried amazedly.

"Through him, I oughta said. Actually, it was sent by Mrs. Lavigne."

Yago emitted a snort of disgust. "Hell's bells, Jim, don't yu get cluttered up with a petticoat," he urged.

"I ain't no right to, anyway, till I've found them ferias," the foreman mused, his mind on the past.

Yago was silent for a while; he knew of the strange quest which had made a wanderer of his companion. Then he blurted out :"They say she's King Burdette's woman."

"Liars are plenty prevalent in places like this," Sudden told him, and smiled into the thickening gloom. "Alla-same, ol'-timer, she sent me the warnin'."

Even had Yago any reply to this, the appearance of Purdie and his daughter would have closed his mouth. The rancher nodded to both.

"Well, yu scotched one snake, Green, but there's others in the nest," he said. "Yu'll need to watch out."

"I'm aimin' to," the foreman smiled, "but yu'll have me all scared to death. Yu just said what Yago was rammin' home, an' before him, Luce Burdette."

"He warned yu? Whyfor, I wonder?" the rancher queried.

"But if he has quarrelled with his brothers, Dad," Nan suggested.

"Bah ! There's somethin' back o' that," the old man grunted.

The girl said no more. She had not dared to tell her father of the scene in the glade and the humiliation to which King Burdette had been subjected, and which--knowing the man--she was sure he would never forget or forgive. It was left to Green to reply.

"I still think yu've got Luce sized up wrong, Purdie," he said quietly, and Nan's heart warmed to him. True, he had shot down a fellow-being less than twenty-four hours ago, but she was Western bred, knew that the fight had been forced upon him, and that he had slain, in self-defence, a man who was not fit to live.

"Have it yore own way, but don't let him get behind yu," the rancher said harshly. "What did the marshal have to say?"

"Just that he didn't want me," the foreman smiled. "Too raw a deal even for him, huh?" Purdie sneered. "Yu'll have to keep an eye on Slype, an' so will Burdette, though he's bought an' paid for him; Slippery's the right name for that fella."

He said good-night, took the girl's arm, and went into the ranch-house.

"Tough ol' citizen, Chris," Yago commented. "My, but ain't he a good hater too? Mind, he'd be just as strong for a friend, but he don't regard young Luce thataway at present, an' I'll bet a month's pay he never will."

"Take yu," the foreman said. "So long, Bill. I'm for the hay.

Yago, left abruptly alone, stared at the closed door of the foreman's shack. "Now why in 'ell did he snatch at that wager?" he muttered in perplexity. "What's he know that I don't? I'm bettin' m'self I lose that bet, cuss him; he's as hard to follow as a flea with its specs on."

The man behind the door listened to the monologue with a smile of contentment. Life had no better gift than a staunch friend, and in Bill Yago he knew he had one who would "stay with him" to the dark doors of death itself. The old dangerous days in the West bred such comradeships, and men fought and died ignominiously because of them.

Chapter XII

ANOTHER week drifted by without any further act of aggression on the part of the Circle B. Sudden had figured that, for the sake of appearances, they would allow a little time to elapse before striking another blow. Whitey's attempt had been, as Purdie put it, somewhat of "a raw deal," and King Burdette knew that, despite his denials, he was commonly reputed to have set the killer on. Overbearing and intolerant though he might be, he was proud of his power in Windy, and did not wish to strain it unduly.

"Make the other fella put hisself in the wrong an' yu take the pot," was how he stated it to his brothers when they complained of inaction.

"Squattin' on our hunkers doin' nothin' don't rid us o' Green," Mart observed sourly.

"Get out yore li'l gun an' go abolish him," King advised. "Mebbe Whitey'll be pleased to see yu."

"Talk sense," snarled the other.

"Right," returned King. "I'll start by sayin' yu ain't neither o' yu got the brains of a rabbit, an' yu better leave the plannin' to me. When I want yu to do anythin' I'll let yu know. Get this into yore thick heads--I ain't asleep. Savvy?"

The proof of this came two days later. The C P foreman was riding along the rim of the deep canyon which formed the eastern boundary of the ranch on his way to the line-house. It was a blazing hot afternoon and he was in no hurry. Suddenly, from the other side of the chasm, came the sharp report of a rifle and a ballooning puff of smoke jetted out from a knob of rock at which he happened to be looking. He was conscious of a stunning shock which flung him out of the saddle, and knew no more.

When sense returned he discovered that he was lying in a grass-covered crevice on the brink of the canyon. His head throbbed with pain, and blood was trickling down his cheek. Gingerly he put up a hand; there was a nasty lump and the scalp was cut. How long he had been there he did not know, but from the position of the sun he judged that nearly an hour had passed. He decided to remain awhile; the hidden marksman might not be satisfied. He contrived a clumsy bandage for his hurt, and, cautiously parting the grasses, provided a peep-hole through which he could watch the spot from whence the shot had come. It seemed to be deserted, and he fell to speculating on what had happened.

"Fools for luck," he told himself. "I was shore invitin' it, paradin' along in the open thataway, an' I damn near got it too. That slug must 'a' hit the buckle of my hatband, an' if I'd been lookin' straight ahead I'd be climbin' the golden stairs right now. Wonder if it's the jasper who cut down on Strip? Wish he'd show hisself."

But the unknown declined to oblige, and after giving him a further chance, Sudden crept from his cover and shivered when he saw how nearly he had missed tumbling headlong to the bottom of the abyss. No shot saluted his appearance, and he concluded that the assassin had departed.

Both hat and horse were missing; the former he could do without, but the latter was a necessity, for he was still half-dazed, tottery on his feet, and his head ached intolerably. Moreover, he thirsted for the rifle under the fender of the saddle; to be set afoot and without a long-range weapon was a situation not to his liking. Nigger, he knew, would not go far after the first scare of the shot and unseating of his rider.

A clump of brush about fifty yards away seemed to be what he was looking for, and he painfully crawled towards it, keeping in the long grass as much as possible. He reached it safely, and from the security of the cover it afforded uttered a low whistle. Almost immediately came an answering whinny, and from a nearby hollow the big black emerged, head up, distended nostrils sniffing the air. Sudden repeated the signal and stepped out. With another whinny, Nigger trotted sedately up and rubbed a velvety muzzle against his master's shoulder.

"Glad to see me, huh, yu ebony rascal?" the puncher grinned, as he pulled the animal's ears. "Well, that goes double. Yu come almighty near losin' yore owner." He climbed painfully into the saddle, and, as the horse essayed a playful pitch, added, "Easy, damn yu; my blame' head feels like it was about ready to fall off."

In the blistering heat of the afternoon Windy's one street was well-nigh deserted. Two or three citizens lolled on the bench beneath the board awning outside "The Lucky Chance," and the marshal, slumped in a chair, decorated his own door a few yards distant. One of the loungers sent a spirt of tobacco juice at a post and watched the greedy rays of the sun lick up the moisture.

"Hell, ain't it hot--an' slow?" he grunted. "Wish suthin' would happen."

Came the quick thud of hammering hoofs, and one of the other men glanced up lazily. "Looks like yu got yore wish," he said. "They's a lunatic a-comin'."

Along the eastern trail a rider was approaching at breakneck speed; they could see the rise and fall of his arm as he plied the quirt to the flanks of a horse already doing its best.

"Year or so back you mighta guessed Injuns, but they've bin quiet a goodish while now," the last speaker continued.

"Shucks! It's Riley, o' the Circle B; reckon he's on'y thirsty."

By this time the panting pony had rocketed along the street and, in a shower of dust, had been pulled to a sudden stop in front of the marshal's quarters. The rider, a diminutive, bow-legged man with a hard, sly face, sprang down, and wiping his dust-caked lips with the back of his hand, cried,

"Hey, Slippery, come alive an' git busy."

The marshal tilted back his chair and surveyed the speaker sourly; he had to put up with hectoring from the Burdettes, but he was not going to stand it from their underlings, and he didn't like his nickname.

"What might be yore particular trouble?" he drawled. "Somebody bumped off King, by any chance?"

"If they had, the Circle B wouldn't be botherin' yu," was the blunt reply. "No, sir, but I got a notion the C P is shy a foreman, mebbe."

This statement brought the officer to attention and the loafers from their shelter. With an upraised hand Riley stilled the babble of questions.

"Here's the how of it," he said. "I'm crossin' yore range, marshal, on my way to town, hour or so back. I'm 'bout half a mile from Dark Canyon when I sees Green on the other side of it--can't mistake that black o' his. He's amblin' along casual-like, pointin' for the C P line-house, I figure. Naturally, I ain't interested, an' I'm just turnin' away when there's a shot from that tree-covered bump what sticks up like a wart to the east, an' I sees Green pitch out'n his saddle to the edge o' the canyon; his hoss bolts. Me, I hunt cover plenty rapid, guessin' the gent with the gun has more'n one ca'tridge.

"Nothin' happens for a spell. Green don't show up, an' havin' seen his lid sail into the canyon, I'm bettin' high he's went with it. The fella what did the shootin' must 'a'come to the same conclusion, for presently he busts from his hiding-place an' rides hell-bent for that splash o' pines east."

"Reckernize him?" the marshal asked.

"Too fur away, an' I on'y see his back," Riley replied, "but he was atop of a grey hoss, an' I'd say he was redheaded."

"How in hell?" began the officer.

"He warn't wearin' a hat," the Circle B man explained. "Left it behind or got it tied to his saddle-strings, I s'pose."

"Odd, that," the marshal mused. "Well, I reckon I better look into it. Yu boys comin' along?"

The reply was an immediate scattering in quest of mounts and rifles; hot as it was, they were not missing anything that promised a little excitement. In less than a quarter of an hour, the men, headed by the marshal and the bringer of the news, were riding rapidly for the scene of the outrage.

"Redhead with a grey hoss huh?" Slype remarked, his crafty little eyes on his companion. "Curious yu didn't know him."

"Ain't it?" Was the sardonic retort. "My sight is mebbe not so good, an' it's powerful glary out on the range." The marshal grunted his disbelief in this explanation and became more confirmed in his suspicion, which, had he but known it, was just what Riley intended. The Circle B man's admiration for the officer would have been hard to discover.

In the West of that day representatives of the law were seldom popular. There were among them men who did their work fearlessly and honestly; whose efforts to establish and preserve order in an untamed land laid the foundation stones of the great and flourishing cities which have replaced the huddles of huts they knew. But many were, as the common phrase put it, "as crooked as a cow's hind leg," and held their places only because they were more ruthless, and could shoot quicker than the ruffians they had to rule. Slype belonged to neither of these groups; he had been put in power by the Circle B, and though he talked loudly in public, it was generally known that when King Burdette whistled, the marshal had to come to heel.

He now rode in silence, trying to fathom what lay behind this latest development. Beyond a plain intimation that Luce was no longer to be regarded as one of the family, the Burdettes had told him nothing, but the marshal had means of obtaining information, and little happened in the neighbourhood that he did not hear. He knew, for example, that King Burdette's belt had been left at "The Lucky Chance" by his youngest brother, and had slapped his thigh in unholy glee at the news. For though he served them--or perhaps, because of that--he hated the Burdettes with all his mean, shrivelled soul. Riley's voice interrupted his speculations.

"Yonder's the knob where the shot come from. Green must 'a' bin pretty close to here."

They had reached the canyon and were riding along the edge, slowing in order to search it thoroughly. Riley, bending down in his saddle, was scanning the ground closely. Presently he dragged on his reins and jumped off.

"Thisyer's the spot," he said. "See where the hoss r'ared?" He pointed to several hoof-prints deeply indented in the short turf. A tiny reddish-brown splash on a blade of grass caught his eye, and he stepped to the brink of the precipice. At his call, the others left their horses and came clustering round. He was pointing to a little crevice, a notch in the rim of the canyon wall, the long grass in which was flattened, broken, and stained in several places with dried blood.

"He dropped here, shore enough, but where the devil's he got to?" Slype queried.

"Rolled over, I'd say," one of the party offered. "That crack goes plenty deep, I'm thinkin'."

"Hell's delight, it's a long ride to git down there," the marshal said disgustedly. "S'pose we gotta do it."

A further search revealing no sign of the missing man, the posse retraced its steps to the entrance of the canyon.

"We'd oughta come here first," said one when they reached it.

"If everybody done what they oughta, somebody would 'a' bumped yu off for a chatterin' fool years ago, Pike," the marshal said savagely.

The offender subsided; he owed Slype money, a fact that worthy had not forgotten when he uttered the insult. Since the rest of the party, save Riley, were in the same predicament, the journey along the gorge was made in silence. It was the Circle B man who first saw the hat, and spurring his pony, leant over, lifted it from the ground and waited for the marshal. The broken buckle and jagged hole with bloodstained edges appeared to tell a plain story.

"Got him good, 'pears like," Slype decided. "But where the blazes is the body? Even if the bullet didn't do the trick, the fall would break every bone in him."

They scanned the grim, overhanging wall above them, and the man Pike ventured an opinion. "That crack in the rim comes down a consid'able ways; mebbe he slipped into that 'stead o' droppin' clear."

It appeared to be the only solution; seen from below, the fissure in question seemed more than capacious enough to conceal a corpse. The marshal grudgingly accepted the explanation.

"Likely enough," he said. "Well, if he's there it's as good a grave as we could make him. Let's git outa this damn gully--it gives me the creeps."

Once more they retraced their steps, and emerging into the open, headed for the knoll from which the shot had been fired. It was a mere mound, covered on the side facing the canyon with a thick screen of spruce, catclaw, and cactus, being therefore an ideal spot for the purpose to which it had been put. Hoof-prints showed where a horse had been tied, and lying near the top of the hillock was an old grey Stetson. The marshal pounced on it; in the sweatband were the letters "L. B."--done in ink--but nearly obliterated by time and wear.

"Luce Burdette," he muttered. "But how come he to leave this behind?"

The spot where the hat had lain was littered with cigarette stubs. "Squatted here some time, an' took his lid off while he waited," Slype went on. "Then when he's did what he come to do, bolts off an' forgets it." He picked up a shining brass object. "She's a .38 shell. I reckon that settles it; we gotta find Mister Luce, an' right speedy."

"Huh, I'll bet he's throwin' dust an' yu won't see that hombre no more," Pike said.

The marshal eyed him speculatively. "How much yu wanta lose?" he asked. "I got ten dollars that says we'll find him in town. Yu takin' it?"

"Betcha life," the man replied. "Easy money, marshal."

"Don't think it," warned a friend. "Coin yu collect from Sam ain't ever that."

The trip back to Windy was made at speed, and the whole party piled into the hotel, where, as the news spread, they were quickly followed by others. They found the man they were in search of calmly eating a meal in the dining-room. The marshal shot a triumphant glance at Pike and then turned abruptly upon Luce.

"Where yu bin this afternoon?" he inquired.

The young man did not need to be told there was trouble in the air; the fact stuck out like a sore thumb. "Prospectin' south o' the river, if it's any o' yore damn business," he replied.

This was in the opposite direction from where the ambushing had occurred, and the officer's thin lips curledin a sneer as he went on, "Anybody with yu to prove that?"

"No, I didn't see nobody. What's the idea?"

"That can wait. Still usin' that .38 o' yores?" and when the other nodded, "Have it with yu to-day?"

"Shore I did--don't aim to be caught out on a limb if I can help it," Luce said, adding scathingly, "Bushwhack-in' is too prevalent around here."

"Yu said it," the marshal agreed, and held out the second hat they had found. "Know who owns this?"

The boy's eyes opened in surprise. "It's mine," he said. "I left it behind..."

"Yeah, we know; when yu downed Green," Slype put in.

Luce Burdette sprang to his feet, eyes wide with amazement, and every gun in the room instantly covered him. But he made no attempt to draw his own.

"Green downed?" he cried, and there was deep concern in his voice. "An' yu think I did it? Yu must be loco; he's about my on'y friend."

"He was got with a .38 shell, by a fella ridin' a grey hoss, an' we find yore hat on the spot," the marshal said incisively.

"That lid's an old one which I left at the Circle B when I cleared out," Luce explained. He pointed to the chair beside him. "There's the one I'm usin'."

Slype laughed nastily. "Bright boy, ain't yu?" he sneered. "But it don't go this time. Twice yu bin lucky an' got away with it, but this is yore finish." He surveyed the crowded room, narrowed lids hiding the malevolent triumph in his gaze. "Some o' yu mebbe ain't got the straight o' this; here it is," he said, and went on to give a brief summary of the facts as he knew them. His concluding words were, "I reckon that's good enough for us to go ahead an' try this fella right away."

"Try him?" echoed a hoarse voice. "Oh, yeah, an' give him a chance to lie hisself out of it again. Yo're mighty fussy, marshal, 'bout stringin' up a cowardly coyote who kills from cover. Mebbe it's 'cause he's a Burdette, huh?"

The speaker was Goldy Evans, still sore at the loss of his dust, and a chorus of approval showed that he had plenty of support. The marshal drew himself up with a farcical attempt at dignity.

"A Burdette gets the same treatment from me as any other man," he announced. "I represent the law, an' there'll be no necktie party--if I can prevent it." The pause and the lowered tone of the last few words told the turbulent element in the crowd all it wanted to know. Slype had made his protest; if they forced his hand . . .

Magee, who, arriving late, had only contrived to make his way just inside the door, threw up a hand.

"Aisy, bhoys, give the lad a hearin'," he shouted. "Shure it's agin all nature he should do this thing--Green saved his life, ye mind. Lavin' th' hat behind looks purty thin to me."

But for once the saloon-keeper, popular though he was, found himself powerless; only a few voices backed him up, and these were drowned by the opposition.

"Aw, Mick, one customer won't make much difference," a miner gibed, and the Irishman's protest ended in a burst of laughter.

The brutal witticism, typical of a land where tragedy and comedy frequently stalked hand in hand, conveyed no hope to the accused. He knew that these men, having decided by their own rough and ready reasoning that he was guilty, would hang him with no more compunction than they would have in breaking the back of a rattlesnake. The old Biblical law, "An eye for an eye," was perhaps the only ordinance for which they had any respect. Nevertheless, the boy faced them boldly, making no resistance when two of them grabbed his arms and hustled him towards the door.

"Hand the prisoner over to me," Slype blustered, and made a belated attempt to draw his gun, only to find that some cautious soul in the press behind him had already removed it.

"Best not interfere, marshal," the fellow--a red-jowled, stalwart teamster--warned. "Yu can have yore shootin' iron when this business is settled."

The officer shrugged his shoulders resignedly; he had put up a bluff, but with no intention of trying to make it good. He saw the condemned youth vanish through the door in a medley of heaving bodies, and presently followed, to make a final effort, not to save the victim's neck, but his own face. The fools, he reflected; they thought they had beaten him, and were only doing just what he wanted them to. He strode after the jeering, shouting crowd, and like peas from a pod, men popped from the buildings on either side of the street and joined the procession. By the time it stopped, nearly every man in the place was present.

The halt was made at a cottonwood which shaded the last shack--going east--in the settlement, and had the distinction of being the one tree the actual town could boast. It was a giant, only its great girth having saved it from transformation into building material. Round it the spectators milled, jockeying to get a good view of the tightlipped, grey-faced boy who flushed a little and then proudly straightened up when the rope, with its running noose, was dropped over his head. The other end was pitched over an outflung branch above him and three men gripped it.

"Anythin' to say, Burdette?" ripped out Goldy Evans, who had constituted himself leader of the lynching party, and added, "Yu might as well tell where yu cached my dust--it won't be no use where yo're goin'."

The prisoner looked at the ring of threatening, ghoulish faces thrust eagerly forward to see him die. "I never had yore dust, Evans, an' I didn't shoot Green," he replied firmly. "Yo're hangin' an innocent man."

Magee and several of the more solid citizens believed him, but could do nothing against the overwhelming odds. The bulk of the crowd received the statement with ornate expressions of unbelief; the lust for blood was in their nostrils; nothing short of a miracle would stop them now. The marshal knew it; this was not the first Western mob, with its weird ideas of justice, its mad desire to destroy, that he had seen. He voiced one more feeble protest.

"Boys, I can't let this go on--it ain't reg'lar. Yo're robbin' the law of its rights."

"Git to hell outa this an' take yore law with yu," snarled the teamster who had threatened him in the hotel. "That there branch'll bear two, an' we can easy find another rope."

Slype turned away with a well-simulated gesture of despair, and the teamster plunged again into the jostling throng, anxious not to miss the climax of the drama. Every eye was now fixed on the slim, youthful figure waiting tensely for the word which would hurl him into eternity. No one noticed the approach of two riders who, about to enter the town, had pulled up at the sight of the gathering. Evans was about to give the fatal signal when another command rang out :

"Drop that rope, yu fellas!"

Heads turned and oaths sprang from amazed lips when it was seen that the speaker was none other than the man whose murder they helieved themselves to be avenging. The C P foreman's face was of beaten bronze, and out of it his slitted eyes gleamed frostily upon the executioners; they let go the rope as though it had been red-hot.

"What's Burdette been doin' now?" Sudden asked.

A dozen voices told him the story, and as he heard it, the cow-puncher's lips curled in a sneer of disgust. Then he drawled, "Seein' as I ain't dead none to speak of, I reckon the prisoner can shuck that rope an' stand clear."

In a flurry of dust Mrs. Lavigne pulled her pony to a stop at Sudden's side. Returning from a ride, she had only just heard the news. When she saw the puncher's contemptuous smile and Bill Yago's broad grin, the colour crept slowly back into her cheeks.

"They told me you were--dead, and that they were going to hang Luce," she said breathlessly.

"All a mistake, Mrs. Lavigne," Sudden said lightly. "As yu see, I ain't cached, an' the lynchin' will--not--take place."

The marshal fancied he saw a chance to reassert his authority. "Hold on, Green," he snapped. "What right yu got to call the turn? If this fella didn't bump yu off, he tried to, an' I'm holdin' him on that." A murmur from the rougher element in the assembly encouraged him, and he went on, "As marshal o' this yer burg..."

"Yo're a false alarm," came the acid interruption. "Yu stand there like a bump on a log while a man who ain't been tried is strung up." The speaker's quick eye saw the empty holster, and he laughed aloud. "Cripes! So they took away yore gun?" He turned to the crowd in mock reproof. "Boys, that warn't noways right--it don't show a fittin' respect for the law. How'd yu know he don't want to argue with somebody--or somethin'?"

This brought a cackle from one of the audience, and the merriment spread. Conscious that they had nearly committed a terrible blunder, the men were willing to forget it in ridiculing Slype, whose sallow face grew more sour as the jesting voices rose.

"Give the man his gun," someone cried. "Whats a good of a marshal without a gun?"

"Huh! Whatsa good o' some marshals with one?" another wanted to know.

Sudden had one more thing to say. "Someone tried to get me to-day, marshal, but it wasn't this Burdette," he said meaningly. "Don't let anyone persuade yu different. It's mighty lucky for yu I came along in time; yu sabe?" The marshal did, and the chill in the quiet voice made him shiver. The foreman turned to Luce. "I'm a-goin' to the hotel; yu better come with me, if there ain't no objections."

There were none; this satirical, long-limbed young man who had beaten Whitey to the draw was clearly not a person to take chances with, and the squinting, hopeful eyes of Bill Yago, who was known as a willing and enthusiastic fighter, did not add to the attractiveness of the proposition. So the crowd opened to let through the man it had come to hang, and, with the volatile spirit of the time and place, was grimly humorous.

"We was plenty near puttin' one over on you, Luce," grinned a miner. "Yu shore oughta sell that grey; what'll yu take?"

"Damn good care yu don't get him," retorted the youth, and looked at the marshal. "Yu can tell yore boss, King Burdette, that yu've fallen down again on the job o' gettin' rid of me. I'm stayin'."

Without waiting for a reply from the rageful, stuttering officer, he joined Sudden, Yago, and Mrs. Lavigne, walking beside them as they paced up the street. At the door of "The Plaza" the girl spoke,

"Didn't you get any warning?" she asked.

"Yes, an' I'm thankin' yu, ma'am," Sudden replied. "I allow I was plumb careless--an' fortunate."

"A man can play his luck too long," she said, and with a wise little nod, left them.

Yago's gaze followed her. "She's too good for that skunk," he remarked. "Got guts, that gal has."

Which inelegance, coming from a confirmed misogynist, was indeed a compliment. The foreman regarded his friend with surprise, and then a mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes.

"Pore of Bill," he murmured. "It's wuss'n measles when yu get it late in life, love is. Look at him a-blushin,' Luce." Which was an obvious libel, since Yago's leathery skin was as incapable of blushing as a boot-sole. "Rotten trick for Master Cupid to play on a fella what's been damnin' women all his life," the tormentor went on. "Yu ain't got a chance, ol'-timer, but never yu mind, slick yoreself up, buy a new shirt--yu can do with one, anyway--an' --"

"Aw, go to hell, yu--yu blatherskite," Yago shouted.

"Let's make it the hotel--they tell me drinks ain't too plentiful where yu said, an' I'm as dry as the Staked Plain," his foreman smiled.

Chapter XIII

THAT same evening, on the verandah at the C P, Sudden related the day's happenings to an interested audience of two. The rancher's brow grew black when he learned of the attack on his foreman. Angrily he struck in on the story,

"By God ! I've a mind to round up the boys an' go clean up the Circle B right away," he said.

"Which is just what they're hopin' for," Sudden pointed out. "No, we gotta lie doggo an' let them do the movin'. Yu ain't heard all of it."

He went on to tell of the attempted lynching, and though Purdie did not interrupt again, he exploded when the tale ended.

"Pity yu didn't show up a bit later," was his cruel comment.

"But, Daddy, if Luce wasn't guilty," Nan protested, and there was a tremor in her tone.

Purdie had not seen her cheeks pale, or noticed the little gasp of relief when she heard that the accused man had been delivered from danger; he grasped one fact only--a Burdette had escaped a fate he held to be richly deserved.

"He's earned it a'ready," he growled harshly, and both his hearers knew that he was thinking of his son.

The foreman shook his head. "Still can't agree with yu on that, Purdie. As for to-day's play, it was a plain frame-up, an' a clumsy one too, though it nearly came off; if that bullet had got me right, nothin' could 'a' saved Burdette. Now, ask yoreself a question: If Luce is in with his brothers, why should they try to get him stretched?"

"I dunno, but it might 'a' been him," was the obstinate reply.

"Not a chance," Sudden said. "Luce ain't such a fool as to leave his name an' address like that."

"Huh! Any fella who has just downed another in cold blood is liable to run off an' forget a hat," Purdie persisted. "An' if he had got yu, who'd ever find the spot he fired from? It was on'y by chance Riley was passin'."

"Was it?" the foreman asked dryly. "Riley rides for the Circle B, an' was comin' to town. What was he doin' so far off the reg'lar trail?"

"Yu suggest he did the shootin'?"

"No, but I'd say he was there to take the news in an' lead the posse to the place."

"Well, I ain't convinced," the rancher replied. "An' watch out for yoreself, Jim; the Burdettes ain't quitters, which is the on'y good thing I can say for 'em."

He went into the house, and the girl followed. The foreman caught a murmured "Thank you" as she passed him. He smiled as he reflected that Luce might be having a thin time just now, but there were compensations to come. His thoughts went to "The Plaza," but he jerked them savagely away and stalked to his own quarters.

Riley, for reasons of his own, did not return to the ranch, but he took care to keep clear of "The Plaza"; the boss of the Circle B had a nasty habit of venting his displeasure on the nearest object. Therefore, no other member of the outfit having been to town, King Burdette rode in that evening blissfully ignorant of what had happened. But he knew what he expected to hear, and his darkly handsome face wore an expression of satisfaction when he tied his horse to the hitch-rail in front of "The Plaza" and walked in. Lu Lavigne greeted him with her usual smile, and the customer to whom she was chatting promptly drifted away. King's keen eyes searched the girl's face for any sign of distress and found none; she appeared to be her own gay, impudent self. The hand which poured a drink for him was perfectly steady.

"Well, honeybird, what's the good news?" he smiled.

She bobbed a mocking curtsey. "The best I can offer Your Majesty is that the coward who tried to shoot Mister Green from ambush this afternoon failed, and another gang of cowards who would have hanged Luce for it, failed also."

She was laughing as she spoke, but her dark eyes watched him; she had not forgotten his cryptic reference to the bringing down of two birds with one stone. But King Burdette was an expert poker-player, and though the information had hit him like a blow, not a muscle of his face moved. Still smiling, he said drawlingly:

"So somebody took a shot at the estimable Green, huh? On'y shows that even a fella like Whitey may have friends, don't it?"

"Why should he fasten the crime on Luce?" she asked.

"Him being already under a cloud, it seems a pretty bright idea," he replied carelessly. "As regards Luce, I'm sorry . . ."

Lu Lavigne pushed out a slim white hand. "That pleases me, King," she said warmly.

"Sorry they didn't succeed in hangin' him, I was goin' to say," he finished harshly.

"But--after all--he's your brother," she protested.

"Don't think it," he said sharply. "When Luce left the Circle B he stepped right outa the family--he's no more to me than any bum who tramps the trail. If I'd been at the stringin'-up I wouldn't 'a' raised a finger to stop it."

She knew he meant it, and the vicious savagery of his attitude appalled, and yet, in some curious way, appealedto her. She too was a creature of extremes, of fire and ice, primitive in her passions, not to be bound by the humdrum conventions of civilization. King Burdette was a kindred spirit, and she was aware of it; though she condemned, she could not help being attracted.

"Look here, sweetness, to the devil with that young cur," he said. "I came to see yu."

She had an impish desire to plague him. "Really?" she doubted. "So Nan Purdie did dare to turn you down?"

At once she saw that she had struck home. For all his iron control, the raging fiend within the man showed in his evil eyes. And then he laughed.

"Shucks," he said. "Jealous huh? Yu needn't be. No milk an' water for me, honey; I like a dash o' somethin' stronger."

She allowed herself to be persuaded, and as he could be very entertaining when he chose, the pair of them were soon laughing merrily. Some of the men in the place shrugged significant shoulders.

"Callous devil," muttered one. "Yu'd never think they mighty near hanged his brother this afternoon."

"He wouldn't care if they had--seein' they've quarrelled," said another. "That's the Black Burdettes all over; the Ol' Man would 'a' shot any son that disobeyed him. Holy terror, he was; an' it wouldn't surprise me none if one o' the boys wiped him out."

"Hey, Simmy, yu owe me ten dollars. Ante up," chimed in a third in the party.

"What's the matter with yu? Didn't I say I'd pay yu to-morrow?" Simmy said indignantly.

"Shore, but if yo're goin' to talk like a fool, there won't be no to-morrow for yu, an' I can use that dinero," was the reply, with a meaning glance at the lounging figure at the bar.

But the Circle B man had no eyes for anyone but the beauty before him. He was aware that there were probably men present who hated him, but such a thought would add to his enjoyment rather than otherwise, for inaction on their part meant that they feared him, and fear, King Burdette held, was the ruling passion of life.

He left "The Plaza" early and went to "The Lucky Chance," where he found Riley, considerably the worse for liquor.

"I'm wantin' yu," King said shortly, and led the way out of the saloon to an empty space at the back of it. Then he turned on the man and said fiercely: "Why didn't yu come back to the ranch an' report to me?"

The cowboy blinked owlishly at him. "Well, the bottom sorta fell out o' things," he excused.

"Yu damned fool, all the more reason for lettin' me know," the other rapped back. "'Stead o' that, yu gotta get soaked."

"Yore han's have to ask yore permish to take a drink?" Riley asked impudently.

The boss of the Circle B looked at him for a moment, calmly measured his distance, and struck. Before the piston-like force of that blow the man went full-length to the ground. Ere he could rise or pull the gun at which he was clawing, King jumped forward, picked him up, shook him till his teeth rattled, and again flung him headlong.

"Now pull that gun an' go to hell," he snarled, slanting his own weapon on the sprawling form. "Argue with me, will yu, yu scum?"

Riley, making no effort to reach for his pistol, climbed slowly to an upright posture again. The man-handling had driven the drink out of him.

"Forget it, King," he said. "I'm sorry I sassed yu--reckon I must 'a' bin lit up. What yu want me to do?"

"Find yore bronc an' get back to the ranch for now," Burdette said. "An' keep yore trap shut, or ..."

He did not voice the threat, nor did he holster his pistol until the man had disappeared in the shadows. Then he returned to the front of the saloon, mounted his horse, and drove the animal mercilessly in the direction of the Circle B. By the time he reached it the poor brute's sides were deeply scored and the rider's spurs dripped blood. In the living-room he found Mart, his big body sprawled in a chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a bottle of whisky beside him. He greeted his elder brother with a grin.

"Back early, huh?" he said, and then the scowl on King's face apprised him that something was wrong. "What's eatin' yu?"

"How far off was Green when yu fired?"

"Little over a hundred yards, I'd say."

"An' yu missed ! " King said contemptuously.

"Missed nothin'! I saw him tumble into the canyon; must 'a' broke his neck anyways."

"He didn't; yore bullet creased him, an' he fell into the long grass on the rim. He rides into town just as they're goin' to string up Luce, an' that lets him out; yu can't hang a man for murder when the victim is standin' by. I guess the C P outfit an' half o' Windy is laughin' at us right now."

The big man stared at him. "It ain't possible; I saw him drop," he argued.

King's gesture was not complimentary. "Mart," he said, "all the brains yu got would go into a nutshell, an' yu wouldn't have to take the kernel out neither."

"Well, it warn't my plan," the other grumbled.

"Nothin' wrong with that, but I thought yu could shoot," his brother sneered. "How close do yu have to be?"

The taunt sank in, as the speaker intended it should. Mart's heavy face was flushed, his lips in an ugly pout. "I'll get him," he said thickly. "I'll call him down."

King's laugh was not pleasant. "Mebbe Whitey was just unlucky," he said satirically.

"Not that way," Mart explained. "He's too good for me with a six-gun, but with these I..."

He flexed the fingers of his huge hands, clutching the empty air as though he had already the puncher's throat within them, while the biceps in the gorilla-like arms bulged beneath the blue flannel shirt. In brains and dexterity King was the master, but when it came to a question of brute force .....

"That's certainly an idea, but let it ride a spell," King said. "Mebbe there's a better trail out."

"Suits me," Mart said. "Yu on'y gotta say the word. Saw that Purdie gal in town s'mornin'. She's sprouted up into a mighty good-looker; I've a mind to..."

The elder man flashed round on him. "Lay a finger on her an' I'll fill yore fat carcase with lead," he said fiercely. "She ain't for yu."

Mart's eyes opened. "No call to get het up," he said mildly. "Yo're a reg'lar hawg though. What 'bout Lu Lavigne? That dame is liable to put a pill into yu if yu play tricks."

"I've got a use for Nan Purdie," King replied.

"Me too," Mart said coarsely, and laughed.

"Then yu better forget it; I meant what I said. Bein' my brother won't save yu," King rasped, and went out of the room.

"He'd do it too, damn him," Mart muttered. "Well, she's a pretty nice piece, but ... Wonder how in hell I missed that cussed cow-punch?"

Chapter XIV

THE C P foreman had mounted his horse and was pacing away from the corral when Yago came up.

"Which way yu headin', Jim?" he asked.

"Mind yore own damn business," Sudden grinned. "Aimin' to ride herd on me?"

"I ain't, but if yu don't show up, it'd be useful to know where to look," Bill told him.

"That's so," the foreman agreed soberly. "Never can tell in these stirrin' times. I'm pointin' south-west--ain't looked over that part o' the range yet."

"She's pretty wild--not much good for grazin'," Yago told him. "Dangerous country, I'd call it."

Sudden nodded and smiled; he knew his friend was warning him. Passing the ranch-house, he struck off to the right, climbing the lower slope of the mountain. At first he followed a faint trail, but presently left it and headed for a point he had already picked out--a clump of tall pines which rose above the surrounding timber. He noted that the feed was sparse and poor in quality; there were few cattle about. The pines proved to be further away than he had thought, masses of rock from the peak above and thickets of prickly pear making detours inevitable.

When at length he came in sight of it he was surprised to find a habitation. It was a tiny place, tucked in among the trees, and built of unbarked logs. A hole in one corner of the earthed roof served as a chimney, and from this a thin twist of smoke was ascending. From the small pole corral behind the hut a burro brayed, and Sudden's mount responded with a friendly whicker. Instantly a man showed himself in the open doorway, clutching a rifle, and peering suspiciously from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Hold on thar or I'll drill yer. What yer want?" he barked.

The puncher flung up a hand, palm outwards, to signify that his intentions were peaceful, and came steadily on. Evidently the man now recognized him, for he lowered his weapon and gave vent to a throaty chuckle.

"Yu, mister, is it?" he said. "Yu gotta s'cuse me--my danged eyesight ain't as good as it useter be. Rest yore saddle--I got some coffee boilin'."

It was the old prospector, California. The visitor got down, trailed his reins, and seated himself on a rude bench outside the shack door. In a few moments his host joined him, bearing two tin mugs of steaming, black beverage.

"I'm out o' milk, but there's more sweetenin' if yu want her," he apologized.

Sudden sampled the liquid and pronounced it excellent, which brought a satisfied grin to the old man's wrinkled features.

"Guess I c'n make coffee," he said. "Oughta be able to --musta made enough to float a fleet in my time."

"First look I've had at this part of our range," the foreman remarked. "Didn't know anyone was livin' up here. What yu got--a quarter-section?"

"No, I ain't a 'nester'--can't be bothered with land nohow," California explained. "Why, I'm liable to pull stakes an' drift any time. Purdie gimme leave to run up the shack an' scratch around. It's nice an' quiet up here."

The visitor smiled; he was listening to an incessant, rumbling roar, like that of heavy seas breaking on a shingly shore, but without the sucking swish of the backwash.

"Thunder?" he queried.

"Aye, li'l old Thunder River," the miner grinned. "Fella gits so useter that he don't notice it. Yu oughta hear her when snow flies on Stormy. I've sat for hours watchin' the water rippin', tearin', an' thrashing its way through the Sluice; she must be just lousy with gold."

"What makes yu think that?" Sudden asked.

"Don't think--I'm dead shore," California retorted. "Anyone as knows gold would be. Why, even some of them lunkheads down yonder"--he jerked a derisive thumb in the direction of Windy--"has got their suspicions. Lookee, yu can git `colour' most anywheres on the banks o' the river, an' there's patches of alluvial gold an' small `pockets' on the slopes o' the valley, but it's all surface stuff--go deep, an' yu git nothin' but a hole. Now, where's it come from? Didn't fall out'n the skies, I reckon. No, sir, its bin washed down, an' I figure that at one time mebbe a thousand years ago, before the stream had cut itself a channel to run in--this yer valley was periodically flooded an' the fine gold was deposited then. I ain't no scientist, but that's the way I dope her out."

"Sounds likely," the puncher admitted. "But if it's so, all yu gotta do is trace the source o' the river"

The prospector emitted a cackle. "Yo're pickin' a job, I knows of over two score--some of 'em underground springs," he said. " 'Sides, how'd yu know where the water picks up the dust? No, yu can't get at it thataway." His little eyes gleamed cunningly. "But she's here, on Ol' Stormy, just waitin' to be found."

"So right now we might be sittin' atop of a gold-mine," the foreman smiled.

"Yo're shoutin', though I reckon she's higher up," the old man returned seriously. "Somewheres around there's rock that's just rotten with gold." He read the incredulity in the listener's face. "Yu don't believe me?" he cried, and dived into the hut. In a moment he reappeared. "What d'yu make o' that?" he asked triumphantly.

"That" proved to be a piece of quartz about the size of a large egg, jagged and irregular in shape, which the miner almost reverently placed on the bench between them. The puncher picked it up, marvelling at the weight until he saw that the stone was thickly veined with yellow; even a novice would have known it for what men live, and die, to obtain.

"Hell's bells! she's mighty near half gold," Sudden ejaculated.

The prospector chuckled delightedly at the effect he had produced. "yessir, just around," he agreed. "A ton o' rock like that would put even a spendin' fella beyond the reach o' poverty."

Then came the natural question: "Where'd yu find her?"

The crafty eyes twinkled. "It wouldn't help yu none if I told yu," California said, after a pause. "That's `float,'... An' there ain't a smidgin' o' rock like it where 'twas picked up. May have took hundreds o' years to git there or bin dropped by some fella. Think o' searchin'?"

Sudden laughed. "No, never did have the gold fever," he said.

"If yu had yu'd never lose it," the miner said. "Me, I bin scramblin' round Stormy for years--like to have busted my neck a score o' times. An' what for? It ain't the wealth, stranger; all the money in the world won't make me a day younger; it's just findin' it."

"An' yu have found it?" the foreman queried.

"Mebbe I have an' mebbe I ain't, was the non-committal answer. "Didn't expect me to say, did yer?"

Sudden shook his head. "Yu've talked too much as it is; if a whisper o' this got abroad in Windy ... Anyways, yu can reckon me dumb."

"Yo're dead right, Mister, an' I'm obliged," the old man said. "I'm a chatterin' of fool when I talk about gold." The puncher swung into his saddle again, and neither he nor the miner saw the shadow that slipped from the end of the shack, slid along the corral rails, and vanished in the brush at the back. Thus safely concealed, Riley, the Circle B rider, watched the visitor depart. His squinting eyes were popping with excitement. Told off by King Burdette to watch Green, he had hung about the C P and followed him to the prospector's hut, where he had arrived in time to hear the major portion of the conversation and see the "specimen."

"Sufferin' snakes!" he muttered. "What made the old fool open up to that fella? Wonder whether he told him anythin' 'fore I come up? Hell! Mebbe he's goin' there now. I gotta see; Cal will keep."

Hurriedly he went to where he had hidden his horse, mounted, and set out after the C P man. The necessity for keeping under cover made pace impossible, but his quarry was in no hurry, and presently he espied him. The foreman had dismounted again and was gazing on a scene which, even to the most surfeited sightseer, could not but be awe-inspiring. A giant gash in the side of the mountain, resembling the mark left by a mighty axe-blow, provided a passage for the river. Prickly pear, catclaw, and other shrubs fringed the rims of the chasm for the most part, but there were a few spaces where the very brink could be approached. In one of these Sudden was standing.