Sudden (1933)

The Sluice. The name was not an inapt one for this long, narrow stone trough with its spray-splashed, almost vertical, bare walls. Leaning forward, the puncher could see where the water entered, cascading over a fall of twenty feet, snow-white and glistening with points of fire like a stream of jewels in the rays of the sun, to drop into a yeasty smother of foam and spray, and then--as though it had finished with play--to roll on through the rift with the smooth, sinuous ease of a gigantic reptile.

"She must be some sight when Stormy sheds his winter coat," Sudden mused. He watched the fragments of froth as they eddied and swirled some forty feet below, and nodded understandingly. "Don't 'pear to be travellin' fast now, but she is; fella wouldn't have much chance in there, I reckon. Must be another fall below--that one ain't makin' all the racket."

Meanwhile, Riley, having found his man, had also dismounted and was creeping up on him. Save for keeping under cover, he had no need for caution, the roar of the river drowned every sound, and the foreman had no thought of company in that wild spot. The Circle B man's eyes were gleaming vengefully, and his brain was busy.

"Bet he's the on'y one the ol' fossil has yapped to," he muttered. "With him outa the way, Cal could be made to talk. Gawd! What a chance; wish I could swing it alone, but it's too big--I'll have to let King in." He looked round suspiciously as he suddenly realized that he was speaking aloud, and then he laughed. "I'm a plain damn fool," he went on. "Why, fella could shout an' yu wouldn't get a whisper. Here's where we even up for Whitey."

He had reached the last clump of foliage between himself and his unsuspecting victim, only a few yards separating them. For a moment Riley paused, his lips drawn back in a vulpine snarl, his slitted eyes gauging the distance he had to spring. Sudden, poised almost on the edge of the chasm, was rolling a smoke, his mind mulling over what the prospector had told him. If the Burdettes learned of the mine they would stop at nothing to get possession of the C P. He had warned California not to chatter, but he knew the type. Liquor would loosen his tongue and he would boast; many a miner who had made a lucky strike had lost all, even life itself, because he could not keep his mouth closed.

He had snapped a match alight and was applying it to the cigarette between his lips when a jarring thrust from behind sent him staggering towards the abyss. For an instant he tottered, trying to regain his balance, and then, realizing that he must fall, pitched headlong. Riley, crouching above, watched the body drop like a stone and plunge into the depths. It had been easy; three long strides, a push, and the deed was done. He waited till the puncher rose to the surface, dragged out his gun and fired--twice. He saw the man in the water fling up his hands, and sink. Dropping to his knees, he waited, scanning the stream closely; there was no sign. Riley stood up; his hands were shaking.

"Reckon I fixed yu, Mister Green," he said hoarsely. "Gotta go an' break the bad news to King now; he'll be some grieved--mebbe."

At the moment that he mounted and rode away the man he believed he had murdered slid his head above water and eagerly gulped air into his aching lungs. The initial plunge into the icy stream had driven the breath from his body and he had been forced to come up immediately. Then, though he had not heard the reports, he had seen the spit of the bullets in the water beside his head and gathered that the man above meant to make a job of it. Promptly sinking again, he swam beneath the surface, his own efforts and the powerful current taking him a considerable distance. Sudden was an expert swimmer, and water itself had no terrors for him. With his nostrils just clear he waited for the ominous "plop" of a bullet; it did not come, and he smiled grimly.

"Lucky for me I ain't red-headed or bald--that jasper would 'a' got me," he told himself. "Wonder who it was? Mebbe California got sorry he talked so much, but I'm bettin' it was a younger an' stronger man gave me that jolt."

Satisfied that the would-be assassin had departed, he raised his head and looked about. The dark walls between which the stream was swiftly swinging him held out no hope whatever. Rising sheer, they presented for the first ten feet a smooth, polished surface, the work of the springtime floods.

"I'll need wings to beat this proposition," Sudden reflected, adding sardonically, "an' I'm liable to get 'em, but it'll be too late."

Conserving his strength for the struggle he knew must come, he let the current carry him, content just to keep afloat. Soon he noticed that the reverberating roar of the river was becoming louder; that must mean only one thing --another fall, and he knew it could not be a little one. Desperately he searched the walls of his watery prison, but no crack or cranny affording hand- or foot-hold presented itself; a cat could not have climbed them. Then, as he swung round a bend, he saw a sight at which even the bravest might well have quailed.

Little more than a hundred yards ahead, the sides of the gully closed in, forming a narrow, tunnel-like passage through which the stream swept at incredible speed. Along the centre of this outlet Sudden could see a tumbled, boiling ridge of foam, tossing like the wind-worried mane of a huge white horse. He knew the meaning of that; rocks there--jagged teeth which would tear him to bits when the cruel current hurled him upon them. Even if he escaped this fate, the deafening thunder told him that it would only mean death in another form, beaten and pounded in the fury of the larger fall.

The prospect spurred the puncher to action; he now began to savagely fight the force he had hitherto submitted to, heading for the rock wall, where he hoped to find the current less powerful. It was not long before he realized that his efforts were futile. He was a strong man, his open-air life had endowed him with muscles of steel, but his soggy clothing and the numbing chill of the water werebeginning to tell, and against the terrific thrust of the torrent he was impotent. Fight as he might, he felt himself being forced nearer and nearer to that awful gully of death. Thrashing out with leaden limbs, his hand struck something, and he clutched desperately; it was a submerged needle of rock. With an effort he got his other hand to it and held on, though his arms seemed to be leaving their sockets. Conscious that he must soon let go from sheer exhaustion, he fought his way round to the up-stream side of the rock, and was immediately flattened against it. The pressure was enormous, but the position eased his aching muscles.

"Guess I know now how the meat in a sandwich feels," he mutttered, and made an heroic attempt to grin. For some moments he clung there, breathless and gasping, while the galloping stream, like a live malignant thing, strove to tear him away. He was now perilously near the danger-spot. Idly he watched the stump of a tree whirl past to vanish in the welter of warring waters, saw it leap into view again, white streaks showing where it had been riven on the rocks, disappear, and emerge once more still further shattered. Sudden knew that it would be spewed out of that deadly maw as splintered fragments. That would be his fate unless . . .

Lifting himself a little in the water, he searched again. Twenty yards distant, at the foot of the dank wall on his left, there appeared to be a small ledge, thinly covered by the stream; if he could reach that he would, at least, be no longer in danger of being swept over the fall. He decided to take the risk, and in a moment was again at the mercy of the current. This, fortunately, carried him straight to the spot, and a lucky snatch kept him from going past it. The struggle to climb up took his last ounce of strength.

Slimy and water-swept, the ledge was heaven itself after the incessant battle with the river, and for a long time

Sudden lay there like a log, conscious only of one fact--the necessity for violent exertion had, for the time, passed. Spent both in body and mind, he was satisfied with the present, and the point that his prospect of escaping was as minute as ever did not trouble him. Lying full length on the ledge, his eyes closed, the greedy stream clawing feebly at his wracked body, he was content to rest. A flick of something across his face aroused him : he sat up, and for a moment fancied that a snake had fallen from the cliff above. Then he saw a dangling rope with a noose at the end. A slight bulge in the rock-face prevented him from seeing the rim from which it had been dropped.

"Somebody's invitin' me to hang myself," he reflected.

Climbing cautiously to his feet, he adjusted the loop under his armpits and shook the rope. In a few moments he was dragged sprawling over the edge of the chasm. At the other end of the taut rope was his own horse, Nigger, and looking down upon him was Yago, whose anxious countenance split into a broad grin when he saw his foreman stand up and throw off the loop.

"This yer passion for bathin' is likely to be yore finish one o' these days," he remarked.

"Yu ol' fool," Sudden smiled. "How in hell did yu find me?"

"Just luck," Bill said offhandedly. "Ran into Cal, who said he'd seen yu, an' come across Nigger, with the reins hitched round the saddle-horn. Knowed yu wouldn't leave him thataway, so I scouted round some an' found a place where it looked like yu'd took a high dive. Then I come down-stream hopin' to find yore remainders."

"It musta' been a disappointment for yu," the foreman said gravely.

"Shucks, yu know what I mean," Yago replied hastily.

A listening stranger would have deemed one man ungrateful and the other indifferent, but they understood one another, these two. Sudden knew that his friend had purposely followed him in case of danger, and Bill was well aware that the foreman would give his life for him if occasion demanded, but, for untold gold, neither of them would have admitted this.

When the rescued man's clothes had dried somewhat and he had smoked several much-needed cigarettes, they rode along to the end of the Sluice and viewed the fall. With all his nerve, the foreman could not repress a slight shudder as he looked at the narrow gut, with its twisting, tearing, racing torrent of water, fighting its way through to pitch, a sheer forty feet, into a tossing, tormented smother of spume and spray. The rolling roar of the river made speech impossible and it was not until they were some distance away that yago heard the whole of the story. His expressed intentions regarding the unknown assailant were definite and lurid. The foreman listened with a quizzical expression.

"There was once a lady who wrote a piece 'bout cookin' a hare," he remarked. "It started off with, `First catch yore hare.' "

"Aw, go to hell," was Bill's inelegant rejoinder.

Chapter XV

HAVING, as he believed, successfully disposed of the rider, Riley turned his attention to the man's mount, patiently awaiting his master's return. Reluctantly he knotted the reins and flung them over the saddle-horn; the animal might return to the C P, but being almost a stranger there, it was more likely to drift around.

"An' mebbe I'll `find' yu later," the Circle B man muttered. "Just now it wouldn't be noways safe."

With a flick of his quirt he started the horse off, mounted his own beast, and set out for the ranch on Battle Butte. He found King Burdette in the living-room, and chuckled inwardly when his entry was received with a black look; his news would soon change all that, and he meant to make the most of it.

"What the blazes do yu want?" came the surly question.

The visitor seated himself on the side of the table, rolled a smoke, and swung a nonchalant leg. He still bore the mark of King's fist on his face, but he was a different man. Burdette sensed the change and watched him narrowly.

"I got news," Riley began. "They'll be needin' a new foreman at the C P."

King straightened up with a jerk. "How come?" he asked. "Has Green gone?"

"Yu could put it that way," Riley said. "He slipped into the Sluice s'mornin'."

"Slipped--into--the Sluice?" the other repeated. "What in the nation was he doin' there?"

"Just lookin'--seemed to be admirin' it," Riley said casually. "Reckon he turned dizzy, or fancied a bath mebbe."

King's cruel lips curled contemptuously. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Who told yu this fine yarn?"

"No one didn't tell me--I saw it," the rider retorted.

King Burdette laughed; he knew the Sluice, and he guessed what had happened, but he wanted to be sure. "Mebbe he can swim," he suggested.

"Carryin' too much weight," Riley said meaningly. "Slugs don't help a swimmer none whatever."

"Better 'a' left it to the river," King commented. "If he's found with lead in him . . ."

"Ever seen them teeth in the gut?" the other asked sneeringly. "Bah! there won't be enough of him to put a cross over."

King nodded. "That's so. Well, yu done a day's work, Riley, an' I ain't forgettin' it. Whitey"

"Was to have had five hundred. I want more'n that."

It was a guess, but a good one, and the other man did not trouble to deny it.

"Shoot," he said.

The cowboy was in no hurry. "I've got hep to suthin' big--too big for me to tackle alone, which is why I'm talkin'," he said, after a pause. "But first, I want yore honest-to-Gawd promise that I share equally with yu, Mart an' Sim. What's the word?"

King did not reply at once; Riley's air of repressed excitement evidenced tidings of importance, and though he could lose nothing by agreeing to the proposal, he was far too astute to do so immediately; after all, the man was only a tool, and must be kept in his place. At the same time, he was curious.

"That goes with me, Riley, an' I can speak for my brothers," he said at last. "Spill the beans."

Whereupon the rider told of the conversation he had overhead between California and the C P foreman, speaking in a low, husky voice which positively shook when he attempted to describe the nugget the prospector had so proudly produced.

"My Gawd, King, yu never see such rock," he exclaimed. "Near as big as my fist, an' more'n half pure gold, I'll lay a fifty."

"Findin' `float' don't mean yu got the mine it come from," King objected, but it was more for the sake of prompting his informant; his interest was plain enough.

"Yo're right, but Cal knows--he was just all swelled up," Riley said confidently. "He may have let it out to Green; I warn't there when the pow-wow began."

"It's big news, shore enough," King decided. "An' yu done right to come to me--I'll play fair. Allus knowed there was a gold-mine up on Stormy--that's one reason why I've been so hot on gettin' the C P." He paused, his eyes glinting with savage satisfaction. "We'll have 'em both now; there ain't nothin' to stop us. First thing to do is get hold o' Cal an' put him where he can't chatter--'cept to me."

The sun had dropped over the horizon in a glory of red and gold; down in the valley it was already dark, and on the mountain-side the dusk was rapidly deepening. California, busy preparing his evening meal, was oblivious to these natural phenomena. Therefore he did not see those silent shadows stealing from tree to tree until they reached his habitation, and only became aware of their presence when a hoarse voice barked :

"H'ist 'em, pronto ! "

The old man dropped the skillet he was lifting as though it had burned him and spun round, both hands raised. A tall, masked man stood in the doorway, his gun levelled. He stepped forward, and others followed, dour-looking fellows, slitted kerchiefs across their faces, and armed."What's the game?" the prospector shrilled.

"Shut yore trap, come quiet, an' yu won't be hurt none," the man with the gun told him. "If we have to reason with yu..."

The implied threat was unnecessary--Cal had no thought of resistance. Blindfolded, his hands tied behind, he was hustled out and lifted on to a horse. The leader then searched the cabin, found what he was looking for--the piece of "float"--and joined his companions. At a word the party set out for the valley, taking a line, however, which would enable them to keep clear of the town. At the end of what seemed to him an interminable ride, California was yanked from the saddle, the handkerchief over his eyes removed, and he was thrust into a small log shack.

"Talk to yu later," he was gruffly told, and then came the creak of a turning key.

The prisoner's reply took the form of a stream of curses, blistering, vitriolic, the cream of all he had gathered in the many mining-camps and tough towns he had known. It was an impartial, comprehensive cursing, for, starting with his unknown captors, it went on to include Windy and its inhabitants, and finished with a whole-hearted condemnation of himself and the foreman of the C P.

"No fool like an old 'un, they say, an' of all the old fools I'm the daddy," he wheezed when his breath and memory were beginning to fail. "I'd oughta be split in two with a hatchet for openin' my face to that slick-eared, double-faced cow-punch, burn his soul. O' course he yaps to Purdie, an' here I am, boxed up on the C P. Got no more sense than a burro, Cal, yu ain't, but from now on yo're dumb, whatever play they make."

Outside the door a tall man listened and laughed silently.

"Mouthy old bird," he muttered. "But that's a sound idea 'bout Green--we'll have to let him go on believin' that. Yu'll be good an' hungry in the mornin', friend, an' mebbe not so dumb as yu think; an empty belly is a powerful persuader."

***

It was not until the second evening after his adventure in the Sluice that Sudden visited town again. He had told no one of this further attempt on his life, and had sworn Yago to secrecy. His appearance at "The Plaza" evoked no surprise; several of those present gave him friendly nods; others watched him indifferently as he stepped to the bar and greeted the proprietress. Evidently his supposed demise was not yet generally known. Lu Lavigne welcomed him with a smile, but there was a shadow in her eyes.

"I'm guessin' yu ain't pleased to see me," he said bluntly.

"You know that isn't true," she replied. "But why come looking for trouble?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled up. "An' I came to see yu," he reproved.

She shrugged impatient shoulders. "I ride towards Old Stormy nearly every morning," she told him.

"I'll shore remember," he grinned. "Mebbe yore bronc will get away from yu again, an' li'l Miss Tenderfoot'll want help."

She had to laugh, but her face quickly sobered, the muttered "Oh, damn," accenting the change. Usually her mild expletives had a whimsical unreality--they might have been uttered by a child--but this time she meant it. Sudden did not move, but the mirror behind the bar enabled him to see that King Burdette had thrust open the swing-door and was strolling towards them. The puncher, head hunched, waited until the newcomer was near and then straightened up and turned round.

"God ! "

King Burdette, taken off his guard, had recoiled, staringwith wide eyes at the man he believed to be drifting, a shapeless mass, in the depths of Thunder River. Almost instantly, however, he got over the shock, and an expression of sneering rage replaced his amazement. He glared at the girl.

"What's this fella doin' here?" he asked.

There was nothing mirthful in the cow-puncher's smile. He had learned what he wished to know: Burdette was aware of, and perhaps concerned in, the effort to send him to a horrible death in the Sluice.

"Why don't yu ask me?" he suggested.

Burdette's gaze was fixed on Lu Lavigne, and it was she who replied. "This is a public place; he has as much right to be here as you have."

Her defiance spurred his rage. "So that's it?" he sneered. "Got a new playthin', huh?" He laughed hideously. "But yu ain't finished with me yet, yu"

A cold, rasping voice cut in; Sudden was bending slightly forward, his hands hanging at his sides, death in his eyes.

"That'll be all from yu, Burdette," he said, and waited.

King turned his malevolent gaze on the interrupter. "I've on'y got one thing to say to yu, an' that is, don't crowd yore luck too close," he warned. "It's saved yu twice"

"Three times," the puncher corrected, "An' that's my limit." He noted King's momentary start of surprise, and went on, "If yo're honin' to make it a fourth, why, I'm waitin'."

King Burdette hesitated. He had plenty of pluck, and he was consumed with a desire to shoot down this man with the cold eyes and voice which stung like acid, but a demon of doubt assailed him. Whitey had failed and paid the penalty. King had no wish to follow him, especially now, when things were breaking right and a prospect of almost unlimited wealth was opening out. But it was a direct challenge and must be met. The sardonic voice of the C P foreman lashed him .

"Take yore time, Burdette; yu got all eternity ahead o' yu."

With a snarl of fury the baited man turned on the speaker, ready to snap out the word which would set guns spouting flame and hot lead. But another voice intervened.

"There'll be no gun-play here, gents; I'll down the first fella what pulls."

Slype, who during the conversation had apparently been intent on a card game, was now standing near, his gun out. Sudden saw the swift look of relief in Burdette's face and laughed aloud.

"Pretty neat, marshal," he said. "Yu figure I'd beat him to the draw, so I'd get yore pill. Well, I ain't obligin'. Wasn't yu a leetle late gettin' into the game?"

"No call for me to interfere because two fellas quarrel over this yer woman," Slype said insolently.

The puncher's eyes grew chilly. "`Lady,' yu meant to say, didn't yu, marshal?" he suggested, and there was an ominous purr in his tone. "Yu ain't denyin' that Mrs. Lavigne is a lady, are yu?"

The officer shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. The "lady" saved him the embarrassment of replying.

"Thank you, Mister Green, but I don't care a hoot what that dirty little pack-rat thinks I am," she said. "His good opinion would be an insult."

"Bully for yu, Lu," shouted one of the company, and most of the rest laughed approvingly.

The marshal saw that he had blundered. "I warn't meanin' no offence," he said, but his look at the lady was poisonous. "As law officer of this yer town it's my duty to stop a ruckus."

"An' yore boss is no doubt much obliged to yu," Sudden cut in. He turned to Burdette. "I'm servin' notice that yu've reached yore limit," he warned.

"I make my own limits an' for yu the roof's off," King retorted, and calling for a drink, presented his back to the puncher. Outwardly calm again, he was a volcano within. For the first time in his life he had lost self-confidence. Why had he backed down before this stranger of whom nothing was known save that he possessed a deadly speed with a six-shooter? By what wizardry had the fellow escaped from the Sluice? Riley's shots must have missed, of course, but King knew the place, with its slimy, vertical walls and exit over the fall which spelt certain death. Had Riley pushed the wrong man in? No, he could not have made such a mistake in broad daylight, and Green had said, "Three times."

He was aware that the subject of his thoughts had gone out without replying to his last remark; aware too that he had lost prestige with the men present. Most of them had resumed their amusements, but there were nods and muttered comments. Even the marshal--his creature--was regarding him doubtfully. Burdette turned a frosty eye upon him.

"Wonderin' why I didn't take that fella up, Sam?" he asked. "Well, I ain't mixin' it with every stray gun-fighter who comes glory-huntin', an' there's other reasons to that." He spoke loud enough for the room to hear, and then dropped his voice. "I wanta find out what fetched him to Windy--he didn't drift in just by chance, I'll bet a stack. Hello, what's come o' Lu?"

The bar-tender, to whom he put a question, informed him that Mrs. Lavigne had retired to her room, on the plea of a headache. King swore under his breath and turned again to hear the marshal saying.

"Funny 'bout that of dirt-washer."

"Ain't heard," Burdette said indifferently. "Which of 'em?"

"California," Slype told him. "No one's seen hide nor hair of him for a coupla days."

"Sick, mebbe, or out on a prospect."

"No, he ain't at his shack, an' his tools an' burro is; Goldy Evans went to see."

"Oh, he'll show up. Anyways, I ain't lost any prospectors."

"That goes for me too, but his friends is clamourin' for a search-party," the marshal grunted. "Them damn' gophers act like they owned the town."

"Let 'em look for him themselves," the Circle B man said contemptuously. "They're full-growed, ain't they?"

"That's an idea," the marshal said. "I'll tell 'em to fly at it."

He went out grinning, and King, seeing that Lu Lavigne did not reappear, followed soon after. Though his lean, sneering features did not show it, he was amused at the commotion caused by the disappearance of the hoary-headed old gold-seeker. One thing was certain : the mining element--which was fairly strong in the town--must not learn the truth. Loping leisurely along the trail to the Circle B, he suddenly startled his horse by emitting a throaty chuckle.

"Got it," he exclaimed. "That'll explain things an' mebbe put a crimp in yu, Mister Green."

He ripped out an oath as he recalled the humiliation the puncher had inflicted upon him in "The Plaza." It was the first time any man had outfaced him and got away with it, and he was still trying to explain his own attitude to himself. He had been glad the marshal had interfered, but now he cursed him, and yet--in the same circumstances he knew he would be glad again. And Lu Lavigne?...

"Damn them both," he cried aloud, and raking the spurs along the ribs of his mount, sent it headlong through the gloom.

Chapter XVI

THE foreman of the C P arose on the following morning with an uneasy feeling that all was not well with the missing prospector, whose absence was the chief topic of conversation in the town. He confided his fears to Yago, adding that he intended riding to the old man's shack. Bill promptly announced that he was coming too. Sudden surveyed him disgustedly.

"Yu talk like I was a kid," he said.

"Yu act like yu was," Bill retorted bluntly. "From what I know o' this Burdette fella, `Percy Vere' are his middle names, an' he'll try again. Yu've had the luck of a fat priest up to now, an' it's due to turn."

"Cheery li'l fella, ain't yu?" his friend smiled. "Don't this allus lookin' on the bright side hurt yore eyes?" When they reached the shack the owner's burro pushed its head between the corral bars and brayed a loud welcome. "Say `Howdy' to your relative, Bill," the foreman smiled. Yago's face was a picture of commiseration. "An' yu kickin' at bein' called a kid," he said witheringly.

Having forked some hay into the corral and filled the rude drinking-trough, they entered the hut. A skillet containing half-cooked bacon by the dead fire, and a pot of cold coffee beside it, showed that the occupant had left in the midst of preparing a meal. The pile of blankets which did duty as a bed had been pulled aside, disclosing a small cavity in the packed earth floor.

"That'll be where he cached his dust, an' it's went," Yago observed. "Looks like he didn't leave willin'."

"Somethin' else has gone too," Sudden said, and told of the piece of rich "float."

Bill's eyes widened. "Somebody got wise."

The foreman nodded and went outside. He found plenty of tracks in the soft soil, for Evans and his friends had been there, but presently, casting a wider circle, he came upon a fresh lot, those of half a dozen riders, headed away from Windy. He studied them closely for a while, and then returned to the shack in a thoughtful mood. Yago, who had been searching for another possible hiding-place, looked up expectantly.

"Looks thisaway to me," Sudden said. "Someone followed me that mornin', overheard the conversation here--the ol' man warn't exactly whisperin', an' there's boot-tracks an' cigarette ends side o' the shack--pushes me into the Sluice, an' six of 'em come back later an' collect Cal. Reckon they got him holed up somewheres, aimin' to make him talk."

"Mebbe they took him to the Circle B?" Bill suggested.

"Mebbe they didn't do nothin' so foolish," his foreman replied. "We gotta try an' trail 'em."

"Ain't yu goin' swimmin' this time?" Bill innocently inquired, and was given an order he declined to obey.

"It's hot enough here," he said. "Betcha a dollar them jaspers has blinded their trail."

For a few miles they had no difficulty in following the horsemen, and then, on a wide stretch of arid, stony ground to the north of the town, all traces ended. After an hour's fruitless search, they gave it up.

"These hombres knowed where to come; yu could march a regiment across here an' a Injun couldn't follow it," Sudden said. "Seem to be headin' away from the Circlue B, too, but that don't mean nothin'. We'll have to try an' pick up a pointer in Windy."

"I'll keep my ears open," Yago offered.

His friend grinned. "We shan't miss anythin' then, even if it's whispered," he said, with a sly glance at his companion's hearing appendages.

Bill's reply was sadly devoid of the deference due to his superior; their friendship was not of yesterday. Other work claimed their attention, and it was not until the approach of dusk that they got back to the ranch. On the way to the bunkhouse, Purdie called his foreman. He had just returned from town, where he had heard about the missing miner.

"What d'yu suppose has happened to the old chap?" he asked. "Shouldn't 'a' thought he was worth robbin' even, let alone makin' away with."

Whereupon the foreman told what he knew of the matter, including his own perilous part in it. Purdie's eyes grew big.

"Yu got out the Sluice?" he cried.

"With the help o' Bill Yago," Sudden reminded.

"Yeah. But them currents an' whirlpools! Why, I wouldn't tackle it for a million dollars," the rancher said, and meant it. "Yu must be half a fish."

"I swim pretty good," the puncher admitted, and, with a whimsical smile, "I didn't have no choice, yu know."

"Got any notion who shoved yu in?"

"Nope. But King Burdette knowed about it. He looked like I was a ghost when he saw me in `The Plaza.' Yu think that ol' skeezicks really has struck it rich?"

"Shouldn't wonder--there's allus been a tale of a lost mine up on Stormy. Never took no stock in it myself, but if Cal or anybody else finds it they're welcome, far as I'm concerned."

"Even the Circle B gang?" Sudden suggested.

The rancher's head snapped back. "No, by God! " he cried. "Yo're right, Jim; anybody but them thieves an' murderers." His brow grew dark and furrowed. "I mis-doubt I should 'a' dragged yu into this," he finished gloomily.

"Shucks!" the foreman laughed. "Blame that little fella in Juniper. I'm wonderin' what the next move will be?"

As if in answer to the words came a flash from a belt of pines six hundred yards down the slope, a current of cool air passed between the faces of the two men, and a dull thud told that the bullet had buried itself in the ranch-house. Then followed the muffled crash of a rifle-shot. Instantly from the top of the trail came an answering report, and a shadowy rider raced through the dusk towards the pines.

"Near thing, Purdie," the foreman said coolly. "Moody will smoke him out if he waits, but I'm bettin' against it. I've been expectin' somethin' o' the sort, an' we gotta take turns sleepin'." He grinned at the men who had come piling out of the bunkhouse. "It's all right, boys, no damage done, an' there ain't anythin' we can do--yet," he said, adding meaningly, "An' we shore make a fine target bunched together like this."

The men took the hint and returned to the bunkhouse, but the muttered threats boded ill for the Circle B if the two outfits came to open warfare. The rancher and his foreman retired to the house, where they found Nan anxiously awaiting them. Sudden had paused on the way to dig out the bullet. Now, by the light of the lamp, he was examining it.

"Another .38. Still clingin' to that notion, seemin'ly," he remarked.

The girl's question brought the reply she might have expected from her father. "Luce Burdette, tryin' to lay me alongside Kit," he said savagely. "Dirty, bushwhackin' skunk."

Her face paled, but she did not reply. The foreman took up the cudgels. "Someone is framin' that boy, Purdie," he said. "An' it was me they were after; remember, they don't know how much Cal told me; whoever's got him is back o' this."

The owner of the C P shrugged his shoulders. These repeated outrages were sorely trying his patience--short, at the best of times--and the thought that the shot in the dark might have struck down his daughter filled him with fury. A forthright man, with the simple creed of the frontier, he would have gathered his riders and gone in search of his foes but for his foreman.

"That's what they're workin' for," Sudden had more than once told him. "It'll come to that in the end, but for now, let 'em run on the rope; we'll throw 'em good an' plenty when the time comes."

And because of his growing faith in this confident young stranger with the steady eyes and firm lips upon which danger brought no more than a sardonic smile, Purdie let him have his way.

*

The marshal draped his spare form against the bar of "The Lucky Chance," wrapped his fingers round the glass of liquor he had just poured out, and gave a comprehensive glance at the company. The place was fairly full, but the man he sought was not present. Mart Burdette, however, was lolling on a near chair, and a brief look of understanding passed between them.

"Evenin' Sam," the saloon-keeper greeted. "Anny news o' th' missin' man yit?"

"Nope," the officer replied, "but I'm expectin' a fella who may be able to gimme some, an' here he is."

"Is it Green ye mane?" Magee asked, as the C P foreman and Yago entered. "What will he be after knowin' about it?"

"I'm here to find out," the marshal said somewhat loudly. "Hey, Green, I want yu."

The cow-puncher detected hostility in the tone but he smiled as he inquired.

"What's the charge, marshal?"

"There ain't none--yet," was the retort. "Just a few questions, that's all."

"Toot yore li'l horn an' go ahaid," Sudden replied, as he leaned lazily against the bar and sampled the drink Magee pushed forward.

"It's about--Cal," Slype began slowly. "I hear yu was the last man to see him alive."

"Why, is he dead, then?" the puncher inquired.

"Mebbe he is an' mebbe he ain't," the marshal snapped. "I'm doin' the askin', an' I wanta know whether yu was up at his shack the day he disappeared?"

Sudden did not reply immediately; the question had taken him by surprise. A hush had come over the gathering, and he divined that some of those present had known of the marshal's intention. Save for Purdie, Yago, and the prospector, only the assassin had been aware of his visit to the shack, and if the latter had talked it could only be for a purpose.

"I certainly had a chat with Cal that mornin'," he said. Slype's small eyes gleamed triumphantly at this admission. "What took yu that way?" he asked.

"It's part of our range," the puncher pointed out. "Didn't know the old chap was located there till I happened on him. He was alive an' kickin' when I left."

The marshal's face shot forward, an ugly grin on his bloodless lips. "Yu said it," he sneered. "A fella would be apt to kick if he was slung into the Sluice."

A threatening growl from some of the auditors greeted this; Sudden stared in bewilderment at the speaker.

"Yu suggestin' I throwed the old man in the river?" he cried. "Yu must be drunk or dreamin'."

"Don't think it; I'm sayin' that's just what yu did do," the officer retorted. "An' then yu went back an' stole his dust."

The accused man glanced round the room and despite the black looks he met with, laughed scornfully.

"Someone's been stringin' yu, Slype," he said. "Yu got the story all wrong."

"I wasn't just expectin' yu to own up," the marshal said with heavy sarcasm. "As for stringin', I had it from Riley o' the Circle B, who chanced to be on the other side o' the river, an' saw the whole affair."

The name told the puncher much of what he wanted to know. "Yeah," he commented reflectively. "Wasn't it Riley who claimed he saw Luce tryin' to bump me off?" And when Slype nodded. "Useful fella that--reg'lar johnnyon-the-spot, ain't he? The Circle B shore oughta pay him well."

The marshal made no attempt to reply, but another did. Heaving his big bulk out of his chair, Mart Burdette thrust forward an ugly, threatening face and said with savage intensity.

"Meanin'?"

The foreman was now sure that the whole scene had been pre-arranged, but it made no difference to his attitude.

"That Riley is a liar, an' that yu an yore brothers know it," he said deliberately.

This was fighting talk; every man there knew it, and wondered when he saw that Mart was not wearing his belt. A Black Burdette without a gun was a sight no one of them could remember. Sudden's keen eyes had noted the omission as soon as the fellow stood up, and sensed its significance. There was an evil satisfaction in the big man's gaze as he replied to the puncher's accusation.

"Fella with a gun can allus talk biggity to the chap what ain't wearin' his," he sneered. "If yu got the guts to shuck that belt, I'll kill yu with my bare hands."

He spread the fingers of his great paws as he spoke, opening and closing them with a slow, gripping motion horribly suggestive of his purpose. His leering look of savage anticipation told that this was what he had been hoping for. The challenge was one the cow-puncher could not decline, and he had no thought of it. The Burdettes had "framed" him, and he must go through with it. He smiled grimly at the thought that he had taught them to respect his gun-play.

"Forgot to put yore belt on, huh?" he said acidly. "Or mebbe yu remembered not to put it on. Anyways, yu played it safe."

By this time games were forgotten, and the players were congregated in a circle round the two men. Willing hands pushed tables and chairs out of the way until a space was cleared for the contest. Excited voices offered and accepted bets and wrangled over the merits of the combatants. Most of those present favoured the bigger man, who was deemed the best rough-and-tumble fighter in that part of the country, and certainly the huge mass of him and the bulging muscles of his mighty limbs suggested that they were right. But a few studied the other with appraising eyes, noted the lean, wiry frame, remembered the swift, pantherish action of his body, and divined the steely sinews which rippled beneath his skin at every movement.

"He's fit from the toes up--all bone an' gristle--an' Mart is too fat," Weldon, the blacksmith, remarked. "Green looks like he's fought afore too. I'll take twenty to ten about him."

"Go you," replied the other. "Burdette'll break him in two when he gits holt of him."

"Yeah--when," agreed the smith. "Well, he's a-goin' to have his chanct."

For the puncher was unbuckling his belt and passing it to Yago. The little man's face expressed both anger and concern.

"Yu must be loco, Jim," he whispered. "He's big enough to swaller yu."

"I'll stick my elbows out, amigo," Sudden smiled. "What yu want I should do--run away?"

Bill did not, and said so--ornamentally. "Couldn't yu see they was layin' for yu?" he asked testily.

"Shore, an' they got me," his friend said easily. "Ever hear o' the biter bein' bit?"

Yago apparently had not. "He'll do that if he gits a chanct," he returned seriously. "Everythin' goes, bar weapons, in this sort o' scrap."

Sudden's face assumed a whimsical look of pity. "Bill, did yu ever have a grandmother?" he asked solicitously.

The little man stared at him. "I reckon so. Why?"

"Then I expect yu tried to instruct her in the art of extractin' nutriment from an egg by means o' suction," his foreman said gravely, but his eyes were twinkling. "Now, keep yore hair on, Bill, yu can't afford to lose any."

"This ain't no time for laughin'," Bill snorted.

"Why not ol'-timer? Mebbe my face won't be in no shape for it presently," Sudden grinned.

A harsh, sneering voice stilled all the others. "If yu done dictatin' yore last will an' testyment, what 'bout makin' a start?"

Mart Burdette, eager for the fray, and confident of victory, stood waiting. He had discarded his vest, and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt disclosed a powerful pair of arms in which the knotted muscles stood out as he clenched his fists and squared his shoulders. A stillness succeeded the hubbub as the puncher also removed his vest, slung his hat aside, and stepped forward. The physical disparity between the two men became more apparent as they faced one another in the cleared space.

"Two to one on Goliar," shouted a would-be wit, whose early teaching had not entirely left him.

"Yu can double that an' be safe," the big man boasted. "I'm a-goin' to show yu where this fella steps off when he ain't got a gun."

Dropping his head, he made a sudden plunge at his opponent. If he had hoped to take his man by surprise he was woefully disappointed, for the puncher slipped aside, drove a fist into the thick, corded throat, and stood waiting, a little smile of derision on his lips. Again and again Burdette, with lowered head, rushed in like a charging bull, and each time the other planted a vengeful blow and got away unhurt. These tactics did not suit the bulkier man's backers; they saw that their man was making no progress, and moreover, it was not their idea of a battle. They were not slow to voice disapproval.

"Stand up to him, cowboy; this yer's a fight, not a perishin' foot-race," growled one.

"Shut yore face, keep back, an' give 'em space, or I'll shoot some toes off," Yago snapped, and drew a gun.

"Shucks, they got plenty room to scrap," was the disgusted rejoinder, and despite Bill's threat, the ring closed in.

Partly owing to this, and to the fact that Burdette realized that he could not finish the fight offhand against such a nimble opponent, the character of the contest changed. It was now Mart who held off, and to Yago's utter disgust and despair, Sudden went after his man, giving blow for blow, taking what punishment came, and hurling his fists with venomous ferocity into the gross body. In a few moments the battle had become one of blind fury.

The blood-stained, staggering principals, hemmed in by a circle of sweating, brutal faces eager to see every phase of the fight; the dull slap of fist on flesh and the grunt as a blow went home; the swaying lights, half-obscured hy clouds of tobacco smoke and the dust of stamping, struggling feet; lips dripping profanity as the tide of fortune ebbed and flowed, all formed a picture Hogarth alone could have done justice to.

Sudden knew that he was wrong--that it was sheer madness to disregard his friend's frenzied entreaty to keep out of Burdette's reach, but for once, passion had overcome his patience, and he allowed himself to be dominated by the desire to pay the brute before him in his own coin; the urge of the primitive man was upon him, and he lusted to batter those bestial features. Time after time he took a blow he might have avoided, simply to satisfy this craving, and Yago was rapidly swearing himself to a standstill in consequence.

Then what his friend had feared happened. Sudden's foot slipped on the sanded floor and in an instant he was caught in a grip like that of a grizzy bear. Vainly he struggled to free himself from the vice-like grasp under the pressure of which his ribs were already bending. The giant, his swollen, evil eyes alight with murderous triumph, teeth bared like those of an animal, the hot breath coming in gasps from his bruised lips, slowly tightened his hold. The puncher realized that he could not break away, and suddenly let his whole body go limp.

"Yu got him, Mart. Break his blasted back," croaked a voice from the mist of smoke and dust, and Sudden had a momentary glimpse of the twisted, gloating face of Riley.

The abrupt downward drag of the relaxed body took Burdette by surprise; he stumbled, and they fell together, a quick turn on the part of the under man saving him from the full weight of the other. The fall loosened Burdette's grip, and the puncher was able to breathe again. Twisting, thrashing on the floor, each striving to pin his enemy down, Sudden was conscious of a hand clawing at his face, the questing thumb seeking for an eyeball; the beast was trying to blind him. In a flame of fury he smashed his fist into the thick neck below the chin. Gasping, choking, the big man sprawled sideways, momentarily helpless, his agonized throat well-nigh paralysed. The puncher got up, weak and dizzy, to stand waiting, much to the surprise of the spectators.

"Now's yore chance, boy; beat hell out'n him," cried the blacksmith.

The advice was fully in accordance with the ethics of the time, but the puncher's only reply was a lop-sided grin; he did not fight that way. Yago knew this, and though he inwardly cursed his foreman's ideas of fair play, he said nothing. Mart Burdette soon recovered. The pain of the blow, crippling for the moment, had lessened, and with a rumbled curse he climbed to his feet.

"Damnation, I'll tear yu apart for that," he threatened.

Sinking his head, he rushed in, his right fist shooting forward with the force of a mule's kick--a blow which might well have proved fatal. But Sudden was watching. With a lightning snatch he caught the descending wrist, twisted round, bent his back, and dragged the arm forward and down over his shoulder. As though propelled by a catapult, the big man shot up over the curved shoulders to land full length on the floor with a crash which shook the building. For some moments he lay there, supine, only the great heaving chest showing that life was still in him. Then the swollen eyes opened, he raised himself on one elbow and turned, glaring dazedly at the now silent spectators. Gradually understanding came to him, he realized that he had been beaten, and by the slim, blood-stained, battered man who now stood waiting for him to do something. A fury of hate flamed through his veins. Fumbling at the belt of his pants, he snatched out and levelled a gun.

"I'll git yu anyways, yu" he snarled.

Even as he pulled the trigger, however, Sudden flung himself forward and struck up the barrel; the bullet buried itself in the roof, and an instant later the weapon was wrenched from the assassin's grasp and turned upon him.

"Yu cowardly, white-livered cur," the puncher rasped. "So yu had a gun hid out on me?"

Facing those blazing eyes, with the gleaming steel barrel at his head, and the knowledge that the slightest movement of the finger nudging the trigger would send him into eternity, the bully's courage broke. There would be a jarring thud, a searing pain, and then--what? He shrank back.

"Don't--shoot," he gasped weakly, and held up his trembling hands.

The puncher hesitated for a few seconds, and then thrust the weapon behind his waist-band. "Get," he said tersely. "Outa the country, or I'll send yu out--in a box."

With an effort the beaten man stood up, collected his belongings, and staggered out, the onlookers parting to let him pass. He dared not raise his eyes, for he knew that there would not be a friendly face. Rough, unscrupulous, hard-shelled as these men were, they had a code of their own, and he had outraged it. To have lost meant little had he fought fairly, but ... His reeling brain was conscious of only one thing--he must get away, and far, since wherever the story followed he would be a figure for scorn. Moreover, that damned puncher was not bluffing. He must see King, though the prospect of the elder brother's anger and contempt was hard to face. Wearily he dragged himself into the saddle and headed into the darkness.

Back in the saloon the victor was receiving the congratulations of most of those present. He had put up a straight and clean fight, and moreover, had dealt a crushing blow to the supremacy of the Burdettes, a fact certain citizens appreciated. These well-wishers, however, did not include the marshal, who had slipped away immediately after Mart's discomfiture.

"Sorry Slype's gone, I wanted him to hear the truth about my visit to Cal's shack," Sudden said. "S'pose yu tell the boys, Bill, while I clean up some."

So Yago told the story of that day's events, and the eyes of his hearers bulged, profane exclamations of amazement punctuating the narrative; all these men knew the Sluice.

"So, yu see, Green couldn't 'a' chucked Cal in, 'cause I saw him potterin' round his place later," Bill concluded, having said nothing of the old man's reputed discovery.

"Who the hell tumbled Green in?" asked Weldon.

"Mister Riley oughta he able to tell us," Bill replied.

But the Circle B man, like the marshal, was, as one of the company phrased it, "plenty absent". He too had got away unobserved in the excitement of Mart's downfall. When Sudden returned, having removed such marks of the conflict as could immediately be dealt with, he was not surprised to learn of Riley's retreat.

"Did yu expect he'd wait?" he asked sardonically, and then, "I'm feelin' some used up--like I'd had a busy day. What 'bout headin' for home?"

Yago surveyed the cut and bruised features critically. "Yu look better'n yu did a piece back, but I wouldn't say it was the time to have yore picture took," he replied. "Yu trail along an' I'll foller--got a li'l matter to see to."

The foreman achieved a painful grin. "Yu idjut," he said. "I wouldn't leave yu, but I know yu won't find him."

Outside the saloon he made a discovery--his horse was missing. Had Mart turned it loose from spite, or had he himself tied it insecurely? In either case he did not think Nigger would stray far, and set out on the search. It proved a longer job than he expected, for it was nearly an hour before he located the truant. The reins were twisted round the saddle-horn. This was clear proof that the animal had been set free, for had the reins been trailing, Nigger, a well-trained cow-horse, would not have drifted. Attributing it to petty malice on the part of his fate antagonist, the foreman mounted and rode slowly back to the ranch.

Chapter XVII

HE was awakened on the following morning by Moody, who brought a message that the Old Man wanted him. There was undisguised admiration in the cowboy's expression as he noted the decorations the foreman's face had acquired over-night.

"Gosh! He ain't marked yu so awful much," he commented. "It musta bin a dandy scrap though; I'd 'a' give a month's pay to seen it."

"I'd 'a' paid twice that to 'a' been in the audience my own self," Sudden grinned. "Fightin' is one o' the games where the looker-on gets most o' the fun."

He made a hasty toilet and went to the ranch-house. On the verandah was Chris Purdie, and facing him--still in their saddles--were Slype and Riley. At the sight of the latter the foreman's eyes narrowed. The Circle B man evidently observed the look, for he unobtrusively contrived to move his unbuttoned vest, thereby bringing into view the badge of a deputy.

"Yu wantin' me?" Sudden asked his boss.

"I'm wantin' yu, Green," the marshal cut in harshly.

"Perseverin' fella, ain't yu, Slype?" the foreman gibed. "Yu was wanting' me last night an' ran away. Changed yore mind again, or have yu fished Cal's body out'n the river?"

"I ain't," replied the officer shortly. "What time yu git back to the C P las' night?"

"Well, I dunno as it's any concern o' yores, but I should say it was around twelve."

"An' yu left `The Lucky Chance' soon after nine; it don't take all that time to ride up here."

"I had to find my hoss--someone had unhitched him; took me near an hour."

Slype smiled evilly. "Tell me yu broke a leg," he suggested sarcastically. "Mebbe I'll believe yu." At which Riley emitted a derisive cackle. "Someone saw yu climb yore bronc outside the saloon an' ride hell-bent on the Circle B trail."

The foreman looked at Riley and laughed. "Yo're good at seem' things, ain't yu?"

The marshal chanced a lie. "It warn't him--I saw yu myself," he said.

Sudden regarded the pair grimly. "I'm tellin' yu just what happened," he replied quietly. "An' here's somethin' yu wanta remember, them tin stars yo're wearin' won't begin to stop a bullet. Now, come clean, marshal; what's worryin' the thing yu call yore mind?"

"I ain't worryin' none whatever--that's yore part," Slype retorted. "Mebbe yu'll say it's news to yu that Mart Burdette was shot from behind--bushwhacked--'bout a coupla miles outa Windy las' night?"

Like those of a rat, his beady little eyes watched the cow-puncher to note the effect of this announcement, but Sudden's surprise semed genuine enough.

"Mart Burdette--shot?" he cried, and in a flash realized why his horse had been missing. "Yu accusin' me?"

The marshal nodded to his deputy. "I told yu this fella had brains," he said.

"Pity yo're shy of 'em," the foreman said. "If I wanted to put Mart outa business why didn't I do it in the saloon, where I had every right to?"

"Grand-standin'?" Slype sneered. "Lenin' him go that-away shore made a hit with the boys."

"Which is the way yu'd have played it yoreself, I s'pose," Sudden said scornfully. "Well, what yu aim to do about it?"

"I'm takin' yu in," the marshal answered, with an evident effort to speak confidently.

"Is--that--so?" the foreman said, and laughed unpleasantly. "Any idea 'bout how yo're goin' to do it?"

The marshal had not, and his attitude betrayed the fact. He realized now that to come to the C P on such an errand with one man only, expecting that the puncher would tamely surrender, had been a futile proceeding. But he doubted if he could have raised a posse--most of the citizens would take Green's view of the matter. His visit was largely a bluff, but he made another attempt to carry it off.

"Resistance to the law on'y proves guilt," he remarked sententiously.

"My gracious! Have I resisted yu?" the foreman queried. "Why, yu ain't done nothin'? Don't happen to be tied to that saddle, do yu?"

Apparently the marshal was, for he made no attempt to get down. A glance at his newly-made assistant was met by an emphatic shake of the head; Mister Riley was willing enough to use the law as a shield, but his enthusiasm went no further. The cold-eyed, confident young man leaning carelessly against one of the supports of the verandah, thumbs hooked in his belt, did not strike him as even a reasonable risk. In desperation Slype appealed to the rancher:

"Purdie, as a law-abidin' citizen, I call on yu"

"I've noticed it, an' I'm telling yu plain that if yu do it again I'll have yu rid off the ranch on a rail," the cattleman interrupted harshly. "Roll yore tail, yu runt, an' take that shifty-eyed son of awith yu."

The marshal's pasty face turned livid. "I'll remember this, Purdie," he threatened.

"I'm advisin' yu to," the old man retorted. "Scratch gravel, yu scum."

Without another word the visitors whirled their mounts

and set off down the trail. Sudden watched them for a moment and then turned to his employer.

"I'm thankin' yu, seh," he said.

"Shucks, it ain't worth speakin' of, Jim," the rancher returned. "O' course I know yu didn't wipe out Mart, an' that marshal fella knows it too. It was me they were aimin' at, an' King Burdette is behind it; he owns Slype."

"I guess things is liable to liven up any moment now," the foreman offered.

Purdie looked at him in astonishment. "Yu ain't complainin' of a dull time, are yu?" he asked.

The puncher grinned widely. "I ain't noticed it," he admitted. "Allasame, King will lay the loss of his brother to our account, an' there'll be doin's."

Something of the same thought was in the mind of the marshal as he rode away from the C P. Incensed as he was at the humiliation he had met with, there was a certain satisfaction which he took care not to impart to his companion. Riley had no such feeling. He had surmised that Green must suspect him of the attempted drowning and had accepted the offer of a deputyship in the hope that it would protect him from the puncher's vengeance, but the latter's attitude had shattered his belief in the majesty of the law. For reasons of his own, he proceeded, after riding in silence for a while, to inflame his chief's anger.

"I take it Purdie ain't friendly to yu," he remarked.

The marshal looked at him suspiciously. "How ever did yu discover that?" he sneered. "Yu must be awful cute at readin' sign--good as an Injun."

"I was askin' a question," Riley replied. "I'll take it he ain't, an' that yu wouldn't be terrible grieved if some-thin' happened to him."

The marshal exploded. "Yo're damn right, I wouldn't," he said fiercely. "Yu can burn his ranch an' wipe out every rat in it an' I won't stir a finger, blast his soul! Fly at it."

"Didn't say I was aimin' to do anythin'--just wanted to know how yu felt 'bout it," the deputy explained. "Goin' to see King now?"

The marshal nodded sullenly, and for the rest of the ride had nothing to say. They found the boss of the Circle B awaiting them in the big front room; the scowl on his face deepened as he listened to Slype's account of their visit to the C P.

"So yu went to all that trouble to make a damn fool o' yoreself?" was his comment. "Did yu reckon Green would follow when yu whistled?"

"He's put hisself on the wrong side o' the law by resistin', an' so has Chris," the marshal protested.

King's gesture was one of impatience. "Who the hell cares about yu or yore law in Windy?" He tapped his gun-butt. "This is the on'y law that goes in these parts. If yu'd took a dozen men . .."

"An' where was I to find 'em?" Slype asked angrily. "After las' night's play the town's mighty near solid for him."

"Yu could 'a' found 'em here," Burdette replied. "No matter; I'm takin' hold from now on. All yu gotta do is not interfere whatever happens. Yu sabe?"

The marshal hesitated. "Yo're askin' a lot, King," he demurred.

"Damnation! I ain't askin' a thing--I'm givin' yu orders," King roared, his voice vibrant with menace. "Yu'll obey 'em too, or I'll tear that star off an' cram it down yore throat."

Either from anger or fear Slype's face paled at the threat. "That's no way to talk to yore friends, King," he ventured. "O' course, I know yu must be feelin' sore about Mart..."

"Mart was a fool an' paid for it--as fools usually do," the other cut in brutally. "Friends? I ain't got none. I'm King Burdette--a lone wolf, but my teeth are sharp, Slype, damned sharp, an' I'm goin' to bite."

He snarled out the last words as though he were indeed the animal he had named himself, poured a liberal drink from the bottle on the table, swallowed it at a gulp, and flung down into a chair. The marshal changed the subject.

"I was figurin' to hold the inquiry on Mart to-morrow mornin'; that suit yu?"

"Inquiry? What in hell for? He was hit in the back o' the head with a .45 slug, an' there ain't nothin' to show who fired it. Yu, like a half-wit, say it was Green, an' it suits me to have it thought so. Hold yore fool inquiry when yu please--I shan't be there."

He took no notice when they went out, sitting there chewing savagely at an unlighted cigar. Though his hard, self-centred soul was incapable of affection, his brother's end had roused a demon of rage within him; he regarded it as a blow at himself; and besides, Mart would have been useful.

"Damn them all ! I'll make this town smell hell," he swore.

Outside the ranch-house, Slype looked at his deputy and jerked a meaning thumb at the room they had just left.

"Fightin' drunk," he said. "Yu'd better stick around, Riley. See yu later."

Slumped in his saddle, the marshal rode slowly back to town. There was an expression of malicious content on his ferrety face despite the tongue-lashing he had been twice subjected to. But his muttered monologue showed that they still rankled :

"Purdie'll ride me on a rail, an' King'll cram my star down my throat if I don't come to heel, huh?" He laughed disdainfully, a hoarse cackle which had no mirth in it."Go on thinkin' that, yu clever fellas, till yu wake up an' find yu've played my game for me. Wipe each other out an' leave the field clear--for me; I won't interfere, Mister King Burdette, not any." He pondered for a moment over the prospect his mind had pictured. "Gotta find Cal, though --he's the trump card. Wonder where King has him cached?"

For Riley, in a burst of confidence, had told of the old prospector's abduction, though he did not know where he had been taken. King Burdette trusted no man overmuch, and once the captive was clear of the town, he had himself conducted him to the hiding-place, sending his men back to the ranch. Riley had searched, but so far without avail. He was beginning to regret that he had confided in the Circle B autocrat, and that was why he had told Slype. Possessed of a certain low cunning, he had guessed that the marshal--given the opportunity and a sufficient inducement--would not hesitate to double-cross Burdette, and he argued that Slype would be the easier of the two men to handle. In which, had he but known it, he was entirely mistaken.

* * *

The inquiry into the death of Mart Burdette provided no sensation. It took place in "The Lucky Chance" and was conducted by Slype, who combined the duties of coroner with those of marshal. He stated the facts baldly to a hastily-empanelled jury, adding that it was a plain case of murder, but that there. was

no evidence pointing to any particular person, at which the foreman of the C P, lounging in the doorway, smiled satirically; Slippery was playing his cards close. The Burdettes were not present, but at the burial--which took place an hour later--King and Sim rode behind the body. Their set, scowling faces showed no sign of grief; the Black Burdettes were not given to affection. They had followed their father to his last resting-place with the same dark indifference, and if they had sworn vengeance upon the slayer it was only to serve their own ends. When the ceremony was over they rode back to town and entered the hotel. With a word to the landlord, King led the way to an empty room and closed the door carefully behind them.

"Mart bein' in the discard it follows yu an' me gotta talk things over an' settle what we're goin' to do," was his opening remark. "Yu got any ideas?"

The face of the younger man was gloomy and vindictive; he had less command over his emotions and possibly some trace of feeling for his dead brother.

"First thing, I reckon, is to search out Green an' abolish him," he replied. "I've half a mind..."

"Yu ain't, or yu wouldn't talk like a fool," King cut in. "Mart figured thataway, an' where is he? 'Sides, Green didn't do it, though if folks choose to think he did I ain't objectin'. What I want to play for is a show-down." He dropped his voice, and spoke earnestly for some moments; Sim listened with growing unease.

"But that'll turn the whole town agin us," he expostulated.

"To hell with the town," his brother responded roughly. "It'll set the C P a-bilin', they'll attack us, an' we'll have a good excuse for wipin' 'em out. If, in the ruckus, Green an' Purdie get rubbed out, well, it ain't nobody's fault, an' we get the ranch."

"What about the girl--it'll belong to her, won't it?" Sim suggested.

"An' she'll belong to me--if she's lucky," King said coolly. "Ownin' both the ranches--to say nothin' o' the mine--I'm sayin' Windy will take notice when a Burdette talks."

Sim's eyes shone at the prospect; he had all the other'sgreed, if less of his courage. The audacity of the scheme dazzled him, and he had unbounded faith in the clever, unscrupulous man who had evolved it.

"Shore listens good, if we can swing it," he agreed. "Has Cal opened up yet?"

"No, damn him, but he can't hold out much longer," King replied, adding with sinister intensity, "I ain't begun to persuade him yet."

"Yu think he really has somethin' to say?"

"Shore, he has the goods this time."

"How yu figurin' to deal with Lu?"

The elder man laughed. "She'll do what she's told, like the rest of 'em round here," he said arrogantly. "I aim to be King in somethin' more than name, boy, an' don't yu forget it."

"Yu ain't no piker, an' that's a fact," Sim rejoined. "I'm with yu all the way, but I wish them skirts warn't mixed up in it; I've a hunch we'll trip over 'em."

King clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Yu needn't to worry 'bout that," he said. "Leave me to handle 'em; I know the trick of it."

They went downstairs, and the man who had been sitting with an ear glued to the wooden partition of the adjoining room straightened up and rolled a cigarette. It was Luce Burdette, and his face was a picture of perplexity. Though he had not been able to hear all the conversation, he had gathered that some sinister plot was projected which, unless frustrated, would bring dire misfortune upon Nan Purdie. How could he prevent it? He was himself a Bur-dette, an outcast from them, it was true, but shamed, suspected; no one would listen to him; even those who hated his family would doubt his story. To visit the C P was to invite a bullet. His only hope was in one man. Having watched his brothers ride down the street, he went in search of Green. He met him coming out of the store.

"'Lo, Luce, where yu been hidin' lately?" the foreman smiled.

"Don't have to hide," came the bitter reply. "Nobody sees me anyway. There's somethin' I guess yu oughta hear."

He told his tale, and Sudden's face grew grave. "I've knowed all along King's game was to make us jump first," he said. `But how's he goin' to do it? Ain't yu got a guess?"

The boy shook his head. "He lowered his voice when he told Sim that, but it's somethin' the town won't like."

"Don't tell us much--easy for a Burdette to do that," the foreman retorted. "So, like I reckoned, they have got Cal?"

Luce nodded. "I'm goin' to find out where he's hidden. I s'pose half the fellas here think I've murdered him."

"Mebbe, an' the other half are believin' Riley's yarn that I pushed the ol' chap in the river," Sudden grinned. "Shucks, what do we care? Me, I never did hanker for a halo anyway." He sobered again. "If yu can find Cal before he talks, get him some place where they can't grab him; that's goin' to put a crimp in their plans."

"I'm startin' right now," Luce told him, and as he turned away, added, "Take care o' Nan."

The foreman nodded, got into his saddle, and rode back to the C P. He had plenty to occupy his thoughts. King Burdette was about to strike, and he had no knowledge which would enable him to anticipate the blow. All he knew was that it would be directed at the ranch for which he was now virtually responsible. And the C P could look for little help from the citizens of Windy, few of whom would care to stand out openly against the gang of ruthless, quick-shooting ruffians who made up the Circle B outfit.

"Right or wrong, there's allus fellas who wanta be on the winnin' side," he cogitated. "Nig, ol' hoss, we're shorely goin' to be shy some sleep for a spell."

Chapter XVIII

LUCE, headed for the Circle B ranch, selected a route which took him towards the northern wall of the valley. His progress was slow, owing to the necessity for keeping under cover--he had no wish to be seen by any of the Burdette riders. So that the shadows were lengthening when he slipped over the rim-rock and plunged into the pines which masked the outer slope. The cool, quiet and aromatic tang of the trees, brought relief to both body and mind. It was almost dark in the wood, the sun's rays being powerless to penetrate the dense roof of foliage, and on the thick carpet of pine-needles the horse paced noiselessly.

He was no longer making for his old home, for, thinking the matter over as he rode, he had come to the conclusion that his brother would not risk taking the prospector there. Searching in his mind for a likely hiding-place, he had remembered the little hut in the pine forest, some four miles from the Circle B. His father had built it, but for what purpose he had never learned.

Constructed of untrimmed logs, it consisted of one room only; there was a small hole to admit light, and a door secured with a heavy padlock. As a boy the place had appealed to his curiosity, but for years he had not given it a thought. Conscious that he was nearing the spot, he dismounted, tied Silver in a clump of brush, and set out afoot, slipping like a shadow from trunk to trunk. The wisdom of this precaution was soon apparent. Outside the shack stood a big roan, and fumbling with the lock was the eldest Burdette. No sooner had he entered than the watcher ran lightly forward and crouched down at the back of the hut. He was in time to hear his brother's first words.

"Well, old fool; ready to talk yet?"

Nearly starved, his old bones cramped by his bonds and eyes aching for light--he was still blindfolded--California, in fact, had a great deal to say, but it was not quite what his visitor had come to hear. In his high, cracked voice the old man poured a stream of vituperation upon his unknown gaolers; evidently he had not entirely wasted the long hours of his captivity. In awestruck admiration Luce listened to the spate of outlandish oaths and scarifying insults. As he said afterwards, "I never thought the ol' fossil had that much venom in his system. It was like a stampede o' words, a-jostlin' an' a-tumblin' over one another, an' they was bilin' hot too."

King Burdette waited till the prisoner paused for breath and then said sarcastically, "Cussin' won't get yu nowhere. I want the location o' that mine." Getting no reply, he went on, "What's the use o' bein' obstinate? Yu'll get yore share."

California snorted. "Yeah, but my share'll be the wrong kind o' metal--a slug o' lead."

"Shucks, I'll play fair," the other urged.

"Yu can go plumb to hell; the gold's mine an' I'll have it--spite o' the Devil hisself," the old man said stubbornly, and when the visitor let out an oath of exasperation, he added, "Cussin' won't get yu nowhere."

The gibe exhausted Burdette's patience. "Yu damned ol' bone-rack, so yu won't tell, huh?" he stormed. "Well, yu don't eat again till yu do, an' if yu ain't ready to come clean to-morrow mornin' ..."

The unspoken threat only produced a hoarse chuckle.

"Laugh yore fill now," King went on. "Hangin' by yore thumbs, with a slow fire under yu, mebbe won't seem so humorsome."

California shook his head. "I ain't scared a mite," he said. "Yu dasn't do it. I'm old; treat me rough an', I passin my checks. Where'd yu be then? Nobody else knows where the gold is."

"Didn't yu tell Green?" Burdette asked, and instantly cursed himself for a thoughtless fool.

The prisoner straightened up suddenly. "So yu ain't him?" he said softly. "Kinda fancied he warn't the crooked sort too. Who may yu be?"

The visitor made a quick decision. Stepping forward, he snatched away the bandage. The abrupt change from darkness to light made the bound man blink.

"King Burdette, huh?" he said wonderingly, his mind busy with the problem of how the Circle B autocrat could have nosed out his secret. Green would certainly not have told him, and no one else--so far as he was aware--had even a suspicion.

"Makes a difference, don't it?" King asked sneeringly.

It did. Weak for want of food and drink, the old man sat huddled on the rough bench which was all the furniture the shack contained. He knew that this was the end--he could expect no mercy from the Burdettes. Once he had told ... He clamped his parched lips, and a spark of the old pioneer spirit which had enabled him to overcome the dangers of desert and wilderness flamed again in his breast. Defiance flashed from his faded eyes.

"Go ahead with yore murderin', King Burdette," he croaked. "Kill the goose, like the damn fool in the storybook; yu won't git a yap out'n me."

The younger man's face became that of a fiend. He sprang forward, clutched his captive by the throat, shook him with savage ferocity and flung him to the floor.

"That's on'y a taste o' what yu get to-morrow mornin', yu earth-worm," he grated. "I'll make yu speak if I have to flay yu alive."

He got no reply. California, dazed and breathless from the rough handling, lay where he had fallen. The brute who had thrown him there gave one glance to make sure he still lived and went out, locking the door, and still muttering threats. Luce waited until he saw the roan and its rider vanish amidst the pines and then slipped round to the front of the hut. The fastening presented a difficulty, but in a pile of rubbish he found a rusty iron bar with which he contrived to wrench out the staple. The prisoner, still prone on the ground, hardly looked at him.

"Do yore damnedest--I ain't speakin'," he quavered, and then, as he recognized the newcomer, "Think yu'll have better luck than that hell-hound, yore brother, huh? Well, yu won't; not a cent's wuth."

"Yu oughta know that him an' me ain't likely to be workin' together," the boy said. "I've come to turn yu loose."

California peered at him suspiciously. "Sounds good, but what's yore price? The Black Burdettes do nothin' for nothin'."

Luce shrugged his shoulders. "Yo're a grateful cuss, ain't yu?" he said, as he severed the old man's bonds. "I'm givin' yu yore freedom, an' there's no strings tied to it."

The prospector stretched his stiffened limbs and swore at the pain the movement provoked. Then he staggered weakly to the door and peeped out.

"Let's beat it--that devil may come back for somethin'," he urged. Brave enough when his position appeared hopeless, his keyed-up nerves gave way when escape became possible, and he was in a twitter to be gone. "Ain't got a chaw o' tobacker, I s'pose? It stays the stummick; I done forgit when I eat last."

"Which I'm shorely dumb--brought this a-purpose," Luce replied.

The old man yelped when he saw the thick bacon sandwich, and bit into it like a famished dog, and the flask of whisky which followed it made his eyes glisten. "Boy, yo're savin' my life a second time," he mumbled, "but let's git; I can tackle this on the way."

They went out and Luce drove the staple back into its place. "They'll wonder how yu got clear; there ain't but one key to that lock an' it's in King's pocket right now," he chuckled. "The next point is, where d'yu want to go? Yu'll have to lie mighty low or they'll nab yu again."

The food and drink had put new energy into Cal's old but tough carcasse. He was stepping along spryly enough now, and his cunning brain was busy. When they reached the spot where Luce had left Silver, his plans were made.

"Git me to my shack, where I can rustle some grub an'--such-like," he requested. "I knows a place to hide out; I aim to be missin' a spell yet."

Luce having no better plan, they set out, Silver making light of a double burden. The sun had dropped over the rim of the world, dusk had deepened into dark, and stars were peeping out of a velvety sky when they reached the hut on Old Stormy. The burro raised its voice in welcome from the corral but otherwise the place was deserted. The prospector lit the stump of a candle, saw the ravaged cache, and danced with rage.

"Hell blister their lousy hides, they've took it, an' the dust as well," he raved.

Luce stemmed the stream of profanity which followed by asking what he had lost. The old man looked at him with sudden suspicion.

"Oh, it ain't nothin' much," he replied offhandedly, "but a fella don't like his things took." He essayed a grin. "No good to nobody but me. Anyways, I'm all right now, boy, an' I ain't forgettin' what yu done. Never thought to thank a Burdette for anythin', but I'm doin' it. S'long."

Riding slowly along the winding trail down the mountain-side, the roar of the river rang in the boy's ears. He had heard it often enough, but to-night it seemed to convey an intangible menace, a threat of impending danger. To his mind, attuned to the solitude, gloom, and his own troubles, it sounded like the rolling drums of a funeral march, voicing the inevitability of death. For tens of thousands of years it had gone on, and for as much or more, after he, poor atom, had ceased to be, it would continue. The boy shook himself and laughed.

"Old age must be creepin' up on me, Silver, or else I'm goin' loco," he told his horse. "Mebbe we ain't here long, but we gotta do the best we can. Anyways, that's one bad mark I've saved the Burdette family."

Early morning found King and Sim Burdette dismounting outside the hut in the pine forest. There was nothing in the appearance of the place to warn them of the surprise in store. The elder brother unlocked the door, flung it open, and strode in.

"Come to yore senses yet, Cal?" he asked harshly, and then paused in bewilderment. "Hell's flames, he's gone!" The strips of rawhide which had bound the prisoner caught his eye and he picked them up. "Clean cut," he decided. "Who the devil can have knowed he was here?"

Sim's expression was ironical; had it not also been a blow for him he would not have been sorry to see his cocksure brother bested for once--that was the Burdette nature.

"Someone musta trailed yu yestiddy," he suggested, and his tone implied carelessness.

"Brainy, ain't yu?" sneered the other. "P'r'aps yu can tell who it was?"

Sim nodded. "Our dear brother, for an even bet," he replied, and pointed to the patch of sand in front of the door. "That footprint looks mighty familiar to me; Luce walks toed-in, like an Injun."

Instead of the explosion he expected there was a silence,and then King said slowly, "So it was Luce, huh? I shall have to deal with him." Quietly as the words were spoken, there was a deadly purpose in them. "Meanwhile, we gotta find that cursed old fool again. Yu send that note off?"

"Yeah," Sim told him. "But I don't like it, King; I guess yo're goin' the wrong way to work. If we can get the gold, why fuss about the C P?"

His brother whirled on him. "Where d'yu s'pose the mine is, yu chump?" he asked. "I'll tell yu: around Stormy--on C P land, an' if it warn't I'd still go after Purdie, crush an' tromp him in the dust, him an' his. Now d'yu understand?"

Familiar as he was with King's savage humours, the fierceness of this outburst surprised the younger man. Hard-shelled and devoid of scruple himself, material gain bulked greater in his eyes than mere revenge, but if both could be attained ... His thin, cruel lips shaped into an ugly grin.

"Suits me," he said. "I ain't lost any Purdies. What yu want I should do?"

"We gotta search out Cal. Take a look at his shack--there's just a chance he's been dumb enough to go back. I'm for town, to see if I can get a line on him there. Yu'Il need to watch out; if them C P hombres catch yu snoopin' round yu'll likely stop lead."

"Can't afford to do that--the fam'ly is gettin' considerable thinned out," Sim said grimly. "Yu reckon one of 'em got Mart?"

"I dunno--yet," King replied darkly. "Somethin' queer about that."

The younger man nodded agreement, swung into his saddle, and began to pick his way through the pines in the direction of Old Stormy. King slammed the door of the hut, locked it, and set out for Windy. Though he had not betrayed the fact, his mind was in a ferment of fury over the escape of the prisoner, and the knowledge that Luce had brought it about added fuel to the fire of his wrath.

"Time that snake was stamped on," he muttered.

Sim's reference to Mart recalled another mysterious taking-off, that of his father. Though he had, as part of his policy, openly blamed the C P for the killing, he did not actually believe it. Much as he hated Purdie, he knew him to be a fair fighter who would face his man and scorn to take a mean advantage.

Curious glances greeted him as he rode along the street, his handsome features marred by a heavy frown. Local gossip held that King Burdette was taking the passing of his brother far too quietly, and was wondering when the fur would begin to fly. The marshal, peeping through his window, saw him pass, and grimaced at his broad back.

"King, huh?" he gibed. "Knave would suit yu better, though mebbe yu won't be no more'n a two-spot when it comes to a show-down."

The object of this malignant criticism dismounted at "The Lucky Chance" and went in. The place was empty, save for the proprietor, dozing behind the bar.

"Howdy, Magee. Hot, ain't it?" Burdette began. "Joinin' me?"

The saloon-keeper shook his head. "I've quit--waste o' good liquor; ye sweat it out 'fore ye know ye've had it."

The customer accepted the excuse--he knew it was but that--with a gesture of indifference. "Suit yoreseif," he said. "Better not spread the notion about though; it might be bad--for trade." He waited to let the covert threat sink in, and then, casually, "Any news o' that miner who was missin'?"

"Divil a whisper," the Irishman said. "It sticks in me moind they've made away wid him."

"Mebbe Riley was right," Burdette suggested slyly, anxious to make the other talk.

"Mebbe he was not," the saloon-keeper retorted. "I'd name that fella for a direct descindant o' Mister Ananias. Yago saw Cal after Green had gone, an' I've knowed Bill a consid'able whiles."

"Green's his friend," King persisted.

"His foreman, which ain't jist th' same thing," Magee corrected. "An' the pair av thim is straight as a string."

"Takin' sides with the C P, huh?" Burdette fleered.

"I am not, but I ain't takin' orders neither," Magee replied bluntly.

King's sallow face flushed at the open defiance, but he kept his temper. "No call to go on the prod, ol'-timer," he laughed. "yo're takin' one order anyways--I want another drink."

The saloon-keeper pushed forward the bottle, but he was not deceived by this display of good nature; he knew quite well that the Circle B man would not forget the incident. But he was not scared; running a Western saloon in the bad old days was no job for a weakling. Burdette stayed a few moments longer, chatting casually, and then made his way to "The Plaza." Here again customers were scarce, two miners wrangling over a game of seven-up representing the total. Lu Lavigne stretched a hand across the bar, sympathy in her dark eyes.

"King, I'm so sorry--about Mart," she said.

"Shucks, whatsa use? I ain't grievin'," he returned callously. "I'd like to meet the coyote what did it, though." His brooding brows came together. "Seen anythin' o' that fella Green lately?"

She shook her head. "you are not suspecting him, are you?"

Her apparent interest stung him. "Why not? He ain't no shinin' white angel, I'd say," he gibed.

"Don't be childish, King," she chided. "I don't think he'd shoot a man from behind."

Her defence of the puncher added to his anger, and he struck back. "S'pose yu know why yu haven't seen him?" he asked.

She knew he was meaning to hurt, divined the evil in his mind, and it roused her to retaliate. "I expect he's afraid of you, King," she murmured, but her twinkling eyes belied the statement.

The blow went home; she saw his jaw tighten and the fingers of his right hand bunch up; had she been a man he would have hit her. And then he laughed.

"Mebbe yo're right, but there's a better reason," he told her. "Green's too busy runnin' around after Nan Purdie to give yu a thought, my girl."

The effect of this assertion surprised him, for Mrs. Lavigne buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking convulsively. For an instant he was deceived--he thought she was weeping--and then she peeped at him between her fingers. Certainly the tears were there, but they were those of merriment.

"Oh, you men ! " she gasped. "King, you'll be the death of me one day."

The man glowed at her. "Yo're damn right I will, if yu play tricks on me," he growled. "Anythin' funny about Green shinin' up to Purdie's gal?"

"No," she replied. "The amusing part is that you should think it mattered to me."

The tone and look which accompanied the words convinced him that he had made a fool of himself, and, strangely enough, restored his good humour.

"Aw, well, take it I'm plain jealous," he said placatingly. "Yu know I think a lot o' yu, Lu."

"Oh, yeah," she teased, and with a smile, "What did you come to find out?"

"I came to see yu," he replied, and when she emphatically shook her sleek head, added, "I was certainly meanin' to ask if yu'd heard any tidin's o' California?"

"I haven't. Goldy Evans was in last night, and he thinks the old man is being kept prisoner somewhere." King's eyebrows went up. "Whatever for?"

"Goldy's idea is that Cal has struck it rich and is being held until he tells."

Though she spoke casually, the man was aware that she was watching him, and schooled his features to indifference; King Burdette had abundant self-control when he chose to exercise it. Inwardly he was wondering how a theory so near the truth had got abroad, and cursing Riley for a chatterbox. With a careless shrug he said:

"Pretty far-fetched notion. My guess would be that the buzzards has picked the old boy's bones by now. When yu goin' to pay that visit to the Circle B, Lu?"

She slanted a mischievous look at him. "Some day--when you're not there; I'll learn all your secrets then."

"Do that an' I'll have to keep yu there--a prisoner," he threatened. "Think yu'd like it?"

"I don't know--yet," she smiled, and then, as more customers came in, "Now I've got to be busy, if your Majesty will excuse me."

She bobbed an impudent curtsey and tripped away to serve the newcomers. King lingered a moment and then went out. Some of the men greeted him, but others took no notice, which brought the scowl back to his face. He was realizing that since the advent of Green the dominance of the Burdettes had seriously suffered. He cursed the citizens contemptuously, promising himself that he would whip them to heel when his hour of triumph arrived. Then he almost collided with Riley.

"Want yu," he said shortly. "What's this talk in the town of Cal strikin' it good an' bein' held till he opens up?"

"Ain't heard it," the man replied.

"Well, I have, an' they got the story pretty straight. Yu been yappin'?"

"Is it likely? My neck's long enough--I don't want it stretched none," the cowboy lied stolidly.

"Which it will be if this town learns the truth," King assured him. "Where is Cal?"

Riley stared at him. "How in hell should I know? Yu took him off yoreself."

"He's got away," Burdette informed him, and added a few particulars.

"Damnation! Yu lost him," the cowboy cried, and there was consternation in his voice. "Then he'll know ..."

"Shucks, anybody could use that shack, an' he thinks it was Green put him there," King said mendaciously, unwilling to let the man know too much. "Point is, who's got him now? He ain't showed up in Windy. Sim reckons it was Luce--claims he recognized a footprint. Yu better keep tabs on him; we gotta find the of devil."

He swung away. Riley waited until he saw him riding the eastern trail, and then dived into Slype's quarters. The marshal heard his story in silence, and then said.

"Wonder if he's double-crossin' yu?"

The same suspicion had already occurred to the Circle B rider--it was what he would have done himself--but he shook his head.

"My hunch is he was givin' me the goods," he said. "Someone has stole a march on him, an' likely enough it was Luce. I'm a-goin' to sleep on that young fella's trail."

The marshal nodded. "If yu find out anythin', Riley, come to me," he urged. "King Burdette couldn't act straight if he wanted to, which he never does. Yu an' me can put this through together. Sabe?"

Riley agreed, not that he had any illusions regarding the honesty of the marshal, but he believed that, of two rogues, he was choosing the lesser. Also, he wanted the officer's protection against Green, who might, at any moment, become actively hostile. Riley had courage, but it was the kind that requires the odds to be slightly in its favour, and he knew his limitations. For instance, he would never have dreamed of drawing a gun upon Whitey, and therefore the prospect of a "run in" with the slayer of the Circle B gunman aroused no enthusiasm in his breast.

Chapter XIX

To Nan Purdie, loping along the trail to the valley, the world would have looked very good indeed had it not been for the shadow of the recent tragedy and the trouble likely to come of it. The slanting rays of the sun were not yet too hot for comfort, and a light breeze, spicy with the odour of the pines, stirred the foliage and dappled her pathway with moving patches of shade. Birds twittered in the trees, squirrels chattered, and a tiny stream sang as it merrily danced down the hillside.

Conscious as she was of the beauty around her--for she loved the land she lived in, and its many phases were a never-ending source of delight--yet she was not thinking of it. Her mind was dwelling on a certain glade, and a man she sometimes met there. She had not visited the spot since the day Luce had delivered her from his brother. Somehow this morning the handsome, insolent, debonair face of the eldest Burdette would intrude. The warm glow which filled her heart when she thought of Luce changed to a cold fear when her mind reverted to the other. A shrill, treble voice from behind brought her back to realities.

"Hi, Miss Nan ! "

She pulled up her pony and turned; shambling along the trail in pursuit of her came a boy of twelve. Speed was a matter of difficulty, for the trodden-over boots into which the tops of his ragged pants were thrust had been originally the property of a grown man. Nan recognized the broad, freckled face, with its tousled head of tow-coloured hair, as belonging to a lad who did odd jobs at the hotel.

"Why, Timmie, what has brought you into this neck o' the woods?" she smiled.

"I was headin' for the ranch," the boy explained, "An' was havin' a rest--guess I dozed some"--rather sheepishly. "See yu go by an' took out after yu. These blame' boots warn't made for runnin'--none whatever."

"But you haven't walked, have you?"

"No'm, got the of mare back in the brush--Turkey said for me to borry her." "Turkey" was the name by which McTurk, the proprietor of Windy's one hotel, was universally known. "She ain't much, but she was a good cow-hoss once, an' we all gotta git old, I reckon," the boy added philosophically.

Nan divined the working of the youthful mind. "Quite right of you to give her a rest," she told him. "But why were you going to the ranch?"

Timmie's face opened in an expansive grin. "Well, darn my whiskers if I warn't near forgettin'; I've brung this for yu." He dived into his one sound pocket and produced a somewhat crumpled and soiled envelope. "Turkey tol' me to give it when yu was alone; I reckon I'm some lucky meetin' up with yu."

The girl took the missive, saw that it bore her name and was marked "Private." A suspicion as to the identity of the sender fetched a warm flush to her cheeks, the effect of which the boy noted.

"She's as purty as a spotted pup," was his unspoken criticism.

Somewhat to his disappointment, she tucked the letter unopened into the pocket of her shirt-waist.

"Mebbe there's an answer," he suggested.

"Then I'll send one of the boys in with it," Nan smiled. "Now, Timmie, you must thank Mister McTurk for the trouble he has taken, and..."

The boy looked at the coin she slid into his hand.

"Shucks, Miss Nan, I don't want no pay doin' things for yu," he protested manfully, for the sum was more than he earned in a week.

"That isn't pay, Timmie," the girl explained. "It's just a little present--something to buy cartridges with, so that you can kill that thieving old coyote I've heard about."

For Timmie's mother was trying to raise chickens, a difficult proposition in a land where those lean grey prowlers of the night were prevalent. The boy brightened up--this altered the case; the money was bestowed where the letter had been.

"Yessir--miss, I mean; an' I bet I'll git that of pirut nex' time," he said, and pulling a lock of hair--he had no hat--he went whistling cheerfully in search of the mare.

Nan rode on and presently pulled out the mysterious missive, studying it. She did not know the writing, but then, the man she had instantly thought of had never written to her. Tremulously she tore upon the envelope; the note inside appeared to be no more than a hurried scrawl, in pencil.

"DEAR NAN,

I am leaving the country--can't stand it any longer. Will you be at the old place to-morrow morning? Please come; I got to see you before I go.

LuCE."

For a moment the girl thought her heart had ceased to function. He was going away--she would never see him again. In that instant she comprehended what this enemy of the Purdie family had come to mean to her. Though he had never spoken of it, she knew that Luce cared, and now, she too.... Hopeless as it all was, Nan felt that she must see him. Impulsively she swung off the trail, turning her pony's head in the direction of the glade.

It did not take her long to reach the place; one glance told her no one was there, and her feeling of disappointment frightened her; life without Luce was going to be harder than she had feared. Trying to account for his absence, she remembered that no time had been specified. Also, the writer could not have foreseen that his messenger would meet her on the way, thus enabling her to reach the glade earlier than he might expect. She decided to wait; that such an act might be unmaidenly did not occur to her frank, open nature.

Seated upon the fallen tree, she took out the note again; it was the nearest approach to a love-letter she had ever received, and a sad little smile trembled upon her lips as she read and re-read it. So absorbed was she that a faint rustling of the bushes behind failed to attract her attention --until too late. She turned only to encounter a blackness which blotted out the sunshine, and the suffocating folds of a blanket which was being drawn around her head. At the same moment her wrists were gripped, forced together, and tied. Then, despite her resistance, she was dragged along the ground, lifted to the back of a horse, which, following a gruff command, began to move.

With a sinking heart she divined that she had fallen into a trap, baited by a letter which was not from Luce. Who were the abductors? A sudden chill came over her as she remembered that only one man knew of their meetings in the glade. King Burdette! She recalled his threats and his hatred for her father; it could be no other. One grain of comfort presented itself--her lover was not leaving the country.

She had no means of ascertaining where she was being taken, but the fact that her mount swished through long grass, slipped and slithered down stony declivities, and that branches brushed against her body, indicated that they were travelling a new or little-used route. Occasionally, when a mis-step on the part of her steed caused her to sway in the saddle, a hand gripped her arm. She gathered that there were several in her escort, but they spoke little, and then only in low tones so that words and voices were indistinguishable.

Nearly choked by the stifling folds of the blanket and wearied by the constant effort to stay in the saddle, the ride proved exhausting enough to the prisoner. At length, however, it came to an end. Lifted down, she was led into a building, up some stairs, and, following a curt order, subsided upon a seat of sorts. Then the blanket was removed and she looked into the grinning, triumphant face of King Burdette. He bowed mockingly.

"Welcome to the Circle B, Miss Purdie," he said. "The invite was a trifle pressin' mebbe, but it shows how eager we were to have yu."

The girl faced him with stormy, undaunted eyes. "What do you expect to gain by this outrage?" she asked.

"Just everythin' I want, honey," he replied. "An' that, o' course, includes yu."

Her gesture was contemptuous. "You must be mad," she told him. "How long do you think you can keep me here without it being known, and what will the men in town do to you when they hear?"

He smiled. "I ain't aimin' to make a secret of it, an' the fellas won't do a thing when they hear that yu came of yore own accord," he said.

"Do you imagine they'll believe that lie?"

"Why not? Yu won't be able to tell 'em any different. When yo're my wife

Her scornful, incredulous laugh moved him, but his face showed no sign of it. His insolent, appraising eyes travelled over her from head to foot, taking in the supple slimness of her rounded form, the youthful beauty of her features, weighing her up as he might have done a horse he contemplated buying. Under that searching scrutiny Nan felt the hot blood flame in her cheeks; she could not know that beneath his cold exterior the man's heart was pounding with passion, and that she had never been in greater danger. Burdette nodded slowly as he continued :

"That is, o' course, if I decide to concede yu a ceremony," he said carelessly. "So far, it hasn't been my custom, but in yore case it may suit me, even though yu are a Purdie."

If he expected this outrageous insult to cow the girl he was woefully mistaken. Nan came of a fighting stock--the daughter of a woman who had dared the dangers of the wilderness and fought Indians side by side with her man, was not of the breed to scare easily.

"You unspeakable beast," she cried, and the disgust in voice and look roused a demon of rage in him.

"Yu said it," he snarled. "I'll make that good."

With the speed of a striking snake his arms shot out, clutching her round the waist, raising and drawing her writhing form to his. In that grip of steel she was well-nigh powerless, but as the leering, lustful face neared her own she lifted her bound fists and brought them down full upon it. She expected he would kill her, but King Burdette only laughed in savage glee.

"That's the spirit," he cried. "Fight, my beauty, fight; I love yu for it. I don't give a damn for woman or hoss without some devil."

A quick snatch with his left hand imprisoned her wrists, forced them down, and she was helpless. Sick with horror, she felt his hot lips bruising her own, and then, as her body went limp in his grasp, he flung her from him so violently that she staggered and fell. For some seconds he stood over her, his hands clenched convulsively, battling with the desire which turned his blood to liquid fire. Then he laughed again, contentedly.

"That'll do--for now," he told her. His hand went to his face, wiping away a little smear of red. "Yu ain't begun to pay for that yet, but yu will; no man or woman ever struck King Burdette an' got away with it."

He went out, and she heard the key turn in the lock. Then despair claimed her and for long she lay sobbing on the floor.

It made a charming picture, the shadowy dell with its green carpet gaily spangled with flowers and slashed with golden light where the sunbeams penetrated the leafy branches overhead; the saddled pony, reins trailing, contentedly nibbling the grass, and the seated girl, arranging a lap-full of blossoms and crooning an old Mexican love-song. It was her voice that had drawn the C P foreman from the trail, and for a little he sat watching her, before riding forward. Not until he reached her did she look up, and then she was prettily surprised.

"Why, it ees my so brave deliverer of distressed damsels," she cried. "But thees time, senor, my pony no run away."

The puncher grinned. "Yu look a heap younger out here, but that ain't no reason for the baby-talk," he said.

"But, how ungallant," she reproached, "to accuse a lady of speaking childishly. Senor, I thought better of you."

"It's somethin' that yu thought of me a-tall," he retorted, and brought a tinge of colour into her softly-brown cheeks. "Yu have some right pretty blooms there."

"I love flowers," she said. "I think they're so--pure." She held up a Spanish bayonet, with its sheaf of creamy, waxen blossoms. "Doesn't look dangerous, does it? Yet see what I got when I gathered it." She pointed to a scratch on her slender wrist.

"I reckon every livin' thing has to fight some way orother for existence," Sudden smiled. "An' Nature provides the weapons accordin'. Roses has thorns, cats has claws"

"And poor woman?" she queried.

"Has a tongue--an' it's a-plenty," he finished.

She stood up, letting the flowers fall, and regarded him in mock displeasure. "I don't think you are a bit nice," she decided. "As a punishment I shall inflict my company on you for a while."

Before he could get down to help her she was in the saddle, moving with a swift, easy grace, and sat there smiling.

"Li'l Miss Tenderfoot is shore learnin'," she said, copying his own slow drawl, and set her pony moving.

"Shore is," he agreed, and swung Nigger beside her.

Silence held them for a time, the girl covertly studying this long, supple young man with the spare, bronzed face and smiling eyes which, on occasion, could become ice-cold and deadly in menace. She admired the careless confidence with which he sat his mount, reins hanging loosely, the slightest pressure of a knee seeming sufficient to guide the animal. His eyes too were busy. She rode well, her body swaying in rhythm with her pony's movements. She caught one of his admiring glances, and again the red blood stained her cheeks. She spoke hastily:

"I hope you haven't been swimming again?"

The corners of his mouth puckered up. "I'm game to try anythin' once, but I ain't a hawg," he replied. "As a bathin'-pool the Sluice is certainly over-rated."

"I went to see it--a horrible place," she said, and shivered. "I can't understand how you ever got out."

"I had a good friend," Sudden said simply.

"Yes, Mister Yago, wasn't it? I think it was fine of him. Some men would have left you there in the hope of getting your job."

"Bill can have that, or anythin' else I got--there's no limit," was the calm reply.

She knew he meant exactly that; his life even was included in the sweeping statement; it was no mere figure of speech. Though the words were spoken casually there was an under-current of feeling which carried conviction.

"Yet you haven't known him long," she mused.

He shot a sharp look at her, wondering if there was anything behind the remark. "Yu don't have to," was his noncommittal reply.

Again the conversation halted. She was considering him, curious to know something of his past. The long stirrup-leathers, which left the rider nearly standing, told of California, while the braided rawhide lariat and heavy Visaliatree'd, single-cinch saddle spoke eloquently of Texas. He talked like a Texan too, but there were times when his voice dropped to a low, indolent drawl, reminding her of a man from Virginia whom she had known. Impatiently she shook her head; she could not place him. Watching her eyes, he had divined what was in her mind.

"I was raised in Texas an' used to ride 'Pache fashion, knees up," he offered. "I reckon this is more comfortable."

Mrs. Lavigne put a blunt question. "What brought you here?"

"A restless nature an' this black lump of iniquity I'm a-top of," he answered lightly, patting the neck of his mount.

She saw that he was not to be drawn, but she tried again.

"The handsome stranger falls in love with his employer's daughter, rescues her from deadly peril, marries her and lives happy ever after," she bantered.

The picture drew unrestrained merriment from her companion. "This ain't no dime novel," he pointed out. "The lady ain't liable to be in deadly peril, an' her affections unless I'm mistook--is already corralled. As for the 'handsome stranger' "--he grinned joyously as he repeated the phrase--"he's got a job that'll keep him driftin' mebbe for years." The mirth died out, his face grew hard as granite, and his next words were spoken more to himself than to her, "I gotta find two men before I think of--one woman."

In that single flash the girl saw a phase of him she had not suspected--the careless, good-humoured cowboy had suddenly become a grim, relentless instrument of vengeance. There was death in the chilled gaze--death for those two men. She could not repress a shudder. The sardonic voice of the puncher recalled her straying thoughts.

"Shucks, I'm talkin' like a dime novel my own self," he reproved, and then, "What's been happenin' here?"

They were passing through the glade which had been the scene of Nan's capture, and the foreman's keen eyes had at once noted the hoof-torn, trampled grass near the prostrate tree. He slid from his saddle to examine the marks more closely, but they told him nothing save that a struggle had taken place. Then he picked up a crumpled scrap of paper--the note the girl had received, which had fallen unnoticed from her hand when she had been overpowered --and read it with knitted brow. In the bushes at the back of the fallen tree he found traces of waiting riders. Lu Lavigne watched him wonderingly, but asked no question, thereby raising herself in his estimation.

"Somethin' queer 'bout this," he remarked, as he mounted again. "I'll have to see Purdie right away. Do yu reckon yu can find yore way back?"

She looked at him, and the dark eyes were a shade reproachful. "You don't trust anyone overmuch, do you?" she said.

"This ain't my business," he evaded. "I'm real distressed I can't see yu on yore way."

And since he very evidently meant it, she smiled and again mimicked his own speech. "Li'l Miss Tenderfoot can take care o' herself, I reckon, partner," she said.

With a wave of her hand, she whirled her pony and trotted down the trail. His gaze followed the trim form until it vanished amid the trees.

"Partner," he mused. "Yu'd shore make a staunch one too." And then, "Hell, I'm gettin' soft in the head. Shake a bit o' life into them legs o' your'n, Nig; we got no time for dreamin'."

He reached the ranch-house only to find that Purdie was out on the range. An inquiry for Nan elicited the fact that she had gone out early for her morning ride and had not returned for the mid-day meal; the cook, who supplied the information, had to admit that this was unusual.

"She mighta gone to town," the foreman suggested, but the kitchen autocrat negatived the notion; on such occasions she always asked if supplies were needed. All the same, Sudden sent Curly to Windy, and sat down to wait for his employer. It was two hours later that Purdie came in and learned of his daughter's absence. At first he appeared little concerned.

"Nan was raised here, an' she knows the country," he said. "Happen her hoss has played out on her."

But his attitude altered abruptly when the foreman produced the scrap of paper and told how and when it had been found. Purple with passion, Purdie slammed one fist into another.

"That skunk writin' to Nan, an' askin' her to meet him?" he stormed. "By God, I'll..."

"Slow down, Purdie, we don't know that Luce Burdette sent that note," Sudden said quietly. "I've a hunch it's more serious than just a love affair."

"Nothin' could be more serious than my girl's carryin' on with one o' that crowd," the old man said savagely. He pulled out his gun, spun the cylinder to make sure it was in order, and said grimly, "Get me a hoss, Jim."

The foreman saw that in the rancher's present state of mind, argument would be useless. When he returned, riding Nigger and leading another horse, he found the cattleman striding up and down the verandah.

"No call for yu to come," he said. "I don't need help to kill a snake."

"I'm goin' along," Sudden said firmly. "If Luce had anythin' to do with this business I'll not interfere, but I'm thinkin' different; that boy may be a Burdette, but he's a white one."

The rancher snorted his disbelief, climbed into the saddle, and sent his pony down the trail on a dead run. The trip to town was accomplished in silence. The elder man was too full of anger to talk, and the younger's mind was busy with the problem of what had happened in the glade. It was possible that Luce and the girl had cut the knot of their perplexities by running away together, but they would scarcely have left the tell-tale note behind, and there would have been no indications of a struggle, or of hidden riders. If Luce had not written the note...

Daylight had departed when they reached Windy, and the town was a blur in which occasional blotches of pale light from a window here and there only served to accentuate the surrounding gloom. From "The Plaza" came the tinkle of a guitar and the chorus of a cowboy ditty; behind a cabin the dismal howl of a dog ended in a yelp of pain and a curse of content as some unseen sufferer hurled a rock successfully. Outside the saloons, rows of patient ponies announced that the usual evening entertainments had commenced. The C P pair dismounted at the hotel and inquired for Luce.

"He rid out this mornin', an' I ain't seen him since," McTurk informed them. "No, his war-bags is in his room."

The rancher's face grew darker. "Think he's at 'The Lucky Chance'?" he asked.

"Guess not," was the reply. "He'd have put his hoss in the corral, an' it ain't there; thinks a lot o' that grey, he does."

"We'll be back," Purdie said. "If young Burdette shows up --"

"Who wants me?" a quiet voice asked.

The man they were seeking had just entered; his tired, listless face hardened when he saw the elder of the visitors. Sudden stepped forward.

"Luce, can we have a word with yu--private?"

The boy led the way upstairs, lighted the lamp in a small sitting-room, and then faced them.

"Well, Jim, what is it now?" he asked wearily.

The foreman came to the point at once. "Is that yore writin', Luce?" he questioned, and placed the pencilled note before him.

Burdette read it with widening eyes. "No, it ain't," he said immediately, "but it's a pretty fair imitation."

"Yu didn't write or send it?" Sudden persisted.

"I did not," was the reply. "I wouldn't have the nerve anyway. What's it all mean?"

"We're tryin' to find out," the foreman explained, and told as much as they knew.

On the boy's face as he listened, bewilderment, suspicion and anger displayed themselves in turn. Even Purdie, prejudiced though he was, could not doubt his ignorance. But another aspect of the matter was rankling in the rancher's mind.

"Why should a writin' from yu fetch my gal to this place?" he asked. "Yu met her there afore?"

"Two-three times--allus by chance," Luce admitted, and then looked the old man squarely in the face. "See here, Purdie, I'm ownin' to bein' in love with yore daughter, an' that's why I couldn't pull on yu a piece back, but if yu think there's anythin' between us yo're insultin' her. I'd give my life to keep her from harm, but whether she cares for me I dunno; we never had no love-talk. She once said, in my hearin', that she could not marry a Burdette."

"She told yu that?"

"No, she said it to King; I was present. Things bein' as they are, yu may as well hear it all."

He went on to describe what had taken place at his last meeting with Nan in the glade, and the father's hard face grew grimmer and his fingers knotted into fists as he heard the story.

"She never let out a word," he muttered.

"Why should she?" Luce asked bitterly. "Warn't there trouble enough a'ready between yore family an' mine?"

"An' yore guess is that King has carried her off?" the foreman queried.

"Who else?" the boy retorted. "He alone knew of our friendship--must 'a' seen us there one time, an' he'd have some o' my writin' to copy. This must be the move he was talkin' about to Sim." A hot gust of rage shattered his control. "By heaven, if he hurts a hair of her head I'll kill him, brother though he may be."

Chris Purdie stood up. "Yu won't have to," he said, and his voice was cold, passionless, set with resolve. "If Nan is harmed I'll send King Burdette to hell myself. Jim, we'll go get the boys an' clean up the Circle B right now."

Luce shook his head. In the last few moments he seemed to have sloughed his youth, and when he spoke it was with the assurance of a man speaking to men.

"Yu can't do that, Purdie," he said.

The cattleman scowled at him. "What damn business is it o' yores?" he asked harshly.

"My name has been used to get yore girl into a trap," young Burdette replied steadily. "I aim to get her out of it, whether yu agree or not." The glare he received left him unmoved. "Yo're overlookin' the fact that if King holds Miss Purdie he has yu hog-tied. What's goin' to happen to her if yu move against him?"

The rancher's flushed face paled. "He dasn't harm her," he muttered.

"If yu think that yu don't know my brother," was the grim reply. "Yu gotta remember too that he has twenty men--trained fighters--an' he'll be expectin' yu."

"He's talkin' sense, Purdie," the foreman added. "While King has Miss Nan all the town can't help yu, an' to go up there in force would be just what he's hopin' for. Got any plan, Luce?"

"I know the Circle B," the young man pointed out. "Mebbe I can find out where she is an' steal her away. Once she's clear o' King's clutches"--he looked at the rancher--"Yu an' yore outfit can go ahead."

The old man sat thinking, chin sunk in his chest, his lined features drawn and grey; the blow had hit him hard. One hideous fact blotted out everything else--his daughter was at the mercy of one who laughed at the laws of God and man, and whose reputation regarding women was of the worst. Never until this moment had this dour frontier fighter known fear. Presently he looked up.

"If yu can bring Nan back I'll be willin' to believe there can be some good even in a Burdette," he said.

The boy's eyes brightened at this grudging admission. "I'll do it," he replied, and to the puncher, "By the way, I found Cal--they had him cached in the pines to the north o' the Circle B; they got nothin' out of him."

"Where is he now?" Sudden asked.

"I dunno," Luce told him. "Said he had a hide-out where he'd be safe." He smiled wryly. "Yu don't s'pose he'd trust me, do yu?"

"Yu done a good job," the foreman said hearteningly,and turned to his employer. "Better keep all this to ourselves; we don't want anythin' started that'll force King's hand till Luce has had his chance."

"I'll get her or they'll get me," young Burdette said firmly, and Sudden saw the rancher regarding the boy curiously; he was evidently getting a new angle on this member of a hated family.

Riding back to the ranch, the foreman essayed a word of comfort :

"No need to worry about Miss Nan--yet; she's King Burdette's best bet, an' he knows it. 'Sides, Luce'll fetch her back; he's got sand, that boy."

But this rubbed a raw place. "Damnation, Jim, do yu fancy I wanta be under any obligation to one o' that breed?" he snapped, and relapsed into a moody silence.

Chapter XX

BREAKFAST in the C P bunkhouse on the following morning was not the usual cheerful function, for the strange disappearance of their young mistress had a depressing effect on the riders. Though they did not know, they guessed shrewdly, and, after the manner of their kind, yearned for action.