Sudden

"What's come to the Old Man?" Curly said querulously. "Ain't them Burdettes prodded him enough a'ready?"

"Huh! Reckon it's Green holdin' him off," Moody surmised. "Odd too, for he don't seem the long-sufferin' sort."

From the head of the table Yago grinned at the malcontents. "If yu fellas had longer ears it'd be damned hard to tell yu from jackasses, on'y burros has more brains," he said pleasantly.

"Solomon was the wisest man ever lived--up to his time," Flatty informed the company. "O' course, Bill was born later."

Yago joined in the laugh. "Awright, yu chumps," he returned, "Yu'll get yore bit o' blood-lettin' yet."

Later, as he and the foreman were riding for the northern rim of the valley, he remarked casually :

"The boys are spoilin' for a scrap; they figure the Circle B has run on the rope a-plenty."

If he was fishing for information the attempt failed dismally; the answer he got was a question : "What yu think o' the marshal?"

"Don't think of him--nasty subject," Bill grinned. "Sooner occupy my mind with rattlers, centipedes, an' poison toads."

"I reckon yu'd be right at that," Sudden conceded. "But what part's he playin' in this yer game?"

"He's Burdette's dawg, to be petted or kicked at his master's pleasure," Yago said contemptuously.

The foreman's gesture was one of disagreement. "Slype ain't no dawg--not even a yaller one," he said. "He's a coyote, an' a cunnin' one. I'm beginning to have ideas 'bout that fella."

"Is that why we're pointin' for his place?"

"Yu've ringed the bell first rattle."

"If yo're wantin' to see him it's odds yu won't; he ain't there much."

"Which is why we're goin'," his foreman told him, and held up a hand to enjoin silence as a clink of iron against stone reached them.

Curious to know who it could be, Sudden slid to the ground and stepped to the brush-fringed rim of the ravine along the side of which they were riding. Thirty feet below, in the bed of the gully, the man they had been speaking of was jog-trotting in the direction of his ranch. A perfectly natural proceeding, but the fact that the marshal, like they themselves, had selected a roundabout route, seemed suspicious.

"We'll keep an eye on that jigger," the foreman decided. "Mebbe he's meetin' somebody."

The guess proved a good one, for after less than a mile had been covered they heard the marshal utter a surly, "Howdy."

Promptly they dismounted, dropped the reins, and crawled to the edge of the ravine. Squatting cross-legged on the ground, a cigarette drooping from his thin lips, was the Mexican half-breed, Ramon. The marshal descended from his saddle, tied his mount, and sat down facing the man who had evidently been awaiting him.

"What's yore notion, draggin' me out here?" he growled. "Too lazy to ride in huh?"

"Walls have ears, senor," Ramon replied. "What I weesh to say is ver' private, yu sabe?"

Slype pulled out a black cigar, lit up, and said tersely, "Shoot."

The Mexican appeared to be in no hurry; his dark, cunning eyes were studying the diminutive, hunched form of the man before him. Apparently the scrutiny pleased, for a sly smile flickered across his face.

"Yu know California, ze miner, he vanish, senor?" he began.

The marshal glared at him. "Yeah, an' George Washington's dead they tell me," he said with savage sarcasm. "Yu bin asleep the last two-three weeks?"

Ramon was unperturbed. "Yu know where he go?" he went on.

"King Burdette collared him an' somebody snaked him away," Slype retorted; and with a sneer, "P'raps yu can tell me where he is?"

Ramon shook his head; he was a little surprised to find that some of his news was not news, but he replied confidently enough, "I don't know--yet, but I shall. Yu know King Burdette have keednap Miss Purdie, huh?"

This time he scored a bull; the marshal sat up with a jolt, staring unbelievingly. His informant nodded.

"It ees true; she is at ze Circle B now," he said.

"Hell's bells! " the marshal exploded. "What does King expect to git by that?"

"He get ze girl, ze C P ranch, an' mebbe ze gol'-mine California deescover," Ramon pointed out.

"There's Purdie an' his outfit to be reckoned with first," Slype argued.

"King holds ze girl," the other said softly, with an expression which gave the words an ugly significance.

The marshal sat silent, brooding over the astounding information. He recognized that by this daring move Burdette had made himself master of the situation; with Nan in his power he could dictate what terms he chose, and his crew of cut-throats was strong enough to protect him. The owner of the two big ranches would practically rule the town, and he, Slype, would remain the nonentity he had always been. The sudden crumbling of his own cherished scheme brought a bitter curse to his lips. The Mexican watched him narrowly, a little smile of satisfaction on his sinister features; this was a man he could mould, evil, but lacking the usual dominant quality of the "Gringo."

"King Burdette play ze beeg game, but Meester Slype play a beeger one, huh?" he asked slyly.

"What the hell yu drivin' at?" the marshal snapped.

"I tell one leetle story," Ramon replied. "Once I see two mountain lion fight over ze carcase of a deer. It was one great battle, senor, an' when it was feenish both ze lion was dead. Si, zey keel each other, yu sabe. An' zen a coyote sleenk outa ze brush, where he been watchin', an' he get ze meat."

The little parable produced an almost audible chuckle from the unsuspected listeners on the rock-rim above.

"Take a peep at what Slippery calls his face," whispered Yago. "I'm damned if he don't look like a coyote, an' a poor specimen at that."

In fact, the officer's snarling lips and savage little eyes were sufficiently animal-like to justify the companion.

"Yu tryin' to be funny?" he growled. "Talk straight, yu yeller dawg."

The Mexican raised his shoulders. "I t'ink I make it ver' plain," he said quietly, though his eyes had gleamed wickedly at the epithet. "Ze Circle B an' ze C P are ze lion an'"

"I'm the coyote, huh?" rasped the marshal. "Yu dirty"

Ramon lifted a hand, palm outward. "Merely a--how yu say--feeger of speech, senor," he explained. "Now, in my leetle story, ze coyote did not keel Ol' Man Burdette."

He saw the start of surprise, the flash of fear in his listener's eyes, and exulted inwardly; the chance shot had gone home. He coolly continued, "An' make out it was ze work of ze C P. Yu know why King shoot Kit Purdie an' try to peen ze deed on his brother Luce, senor?"

With an effort the marshal got control of himself. "I dunno nothin' ahout it," he said sullenly.

"Luce in hees way," Ramon resumed. "I t'ink King deescover Nan Purdie look kindly at hees brother an' he want her heemself. Almos' yu help heem when yu nearly hang Luce for bushwhackin' Green; Mart do that. Shall I tell yu who keel heem too?"

The marshal shivered; this fleering devil with the soft purring voice had him in his power; he, a white man, was at the mercy of a "Greaser"--his own paid hand. Mingled with his fear was a cold rage which was growing steadily stronger.

"Yu seem to know a hell of a lot," was all he could find to say.

"I make it my beesness to know--everyt'ing," Ramon replied. He leant forward and the taunt vanished from his tone. "I put my cards on ze table, senor; ze game is too beeg for one man, but wit' me, yu can win."

Slype's crafty eyes narrowed. "An' yore price?" he asked, and folded his arms.

"We split ze profit two ways--feefty-feefty," the Mexican said. "My share to include--Nan Purdie."

For a long moment the marshal sat silent, and then suddenly his arms fell apart, a gun in the right hand spat viciously--once; Ramon fell back with a bullet through his chest. Shaking with passion, the assassin scrambled to his feet and bent over his victim, who, twisting in agony on the sand, was making feeble efforts to reach his own weapon. Then he fired again, and the Mexican's body shuddered and was still.

"Know every'ting, huh?" the marshal mimicked. "One 'ting yu didn't savvy anyways, an' that was when to keep yore mouth shut."

With trembling fingers he untied his horse, flung himself into the saddle, and with never a backward glance, galloped up the gorge. The shots might have been heard, and though the slaying of a Mexican was no great matter, he had no wish to be seen in the vicinity. The deed itself caused him little uneasiness; his explanation that the fellow had threatened him would be accepted. Upon the two spectators of the drama, the killing had come like a clap of thunder. As the marshal fled, Yago's hand went to his pistol, but his foreman stopped him.

"Let the reptile go--we can get him any time," he said. "Mebbe the Greaser ain't cashed."

A hundred yards further along they found a spot where the bank was less vertical, and the horses made the descent safely, mostly on their rumps.

"We'd oughta fetched skids, my bronc has damn near rubbed his tail off," Bill complained.

When they reached the Mexican they found that Sud-den's surmise was correct--he was not yet dead, though it was obviously only a matter of moments. He opened his eyes when Yago raised his head and gasped, "Water!"

"This'll do him more good," Bill, said, and passed over a small flask of whisky. "Carry it in case o' snake-bite," he explained with a wink, when his foreman's eyebrows went up.

The raw spirit put a little strength into the wounded man, and with it came a desire for vengeance; a spark of hatred shone in the glazing eyes.

"The marshal--do--this," he muttered. "Write--write --I put name."

Sudden searched, found pencil and a fragment of paper, and took down the dying man's statement, which they had already heard. Gasping for breath, every word a conscious effort, Ramon told his story, and gripping the pencil in nerveless fingers, scrawled his signature. Then a dreadful smile contorted his features and his head fell forward. They caught a last whisper.

"Gracias, senores. Adios."

Yago laid the dead man gently on the ground, stood up, and said slowly, "Well, amigo, yu was a Greaser, but yu shore died fightin', an' I'd sooner call yu `brother' than the vermin what put yore light out."

"Fightin' an' bitin'," the foreman agreed. "I reckon he's earned a quiet grave."

With hands and knives they scooped out a shallow trench, wrapped the corpse in a blanket, and heaped rocks above to prevent a prowling coyote from disturbing the murdered man's last rest.

"Saves us a journey," Sudden said. "No need to go snoopin' round Slype's place now."

"What we goin' to do 'bout that jasper?" Bill inquired, as they rode south along the ravine.

"Nothin'--yet," his friend decided. "We'll let him play his hand a bit longer. If he's double-crossin' Burdette, he's on our side, that far."

"Sufferin' snakes, if King knowed that Slippery bumped off his Ol' Man there'd be proceedin's."

"Shore would, but until the girl is back at the C P again, King has us where the hair's short."

The marshal rode rapidly towards the town. Despite the blazing sun, beads of cold sweat oozed from his brow when he thought of the danger he had been in. If the Mexican had taken his tale to King Burdette ...

"I'd be like him--buzzard-meat," he croaked aloud, and a shudder shook him as he recalled the stark still form he had left in the ravine. "Oughta planted him, I s'pose," he continued. "Hell, corpses can't chatter." The corners of his mouth came down in an ugly sneer as his mind reverted to the "leetle story" the dead man had used. "Coyote, huh? Well, I reckon he knows now that them critters has got teeth."

He drew his gun, reloaded the empty chambers, and pulled his horse down to a steady lope. He wanted to think. Purdie would go up in the air when he heard about his daughter. The marshal could vision him with his outfit riding headlong for the Circle B. There would be a battle and Purdie would lose it--maybe his life as well. Perhaps King too. ... Ramon had said the mountain lions had slain each other. That might happen--or could be made to; a marksman hidden in the brush. . . . He grinned devilishly; the "leetle story" might yet come true.

Chapter XXI

FOR a while after his visitors had gone Luce Burdette sat slumped in a chair, fists clenched, eyes staring into vacancy, his heart filled with a bitter fury against the man who had done this thing. The darkly handsome, satirical face, with its mocking smile of triumph, rose before him, and coupled with this knowledge of King's cruel, callous nature, suggested fearful possibilities.

"An' he's kin to me," the boy groaned. He struck the table fiercely. "He shan't have her, damn him, not while I live."

Two hours later he was threading a thicket of live-oaks which masked the slope at the rear of the Circle B ranch-house. Fortunately for his purpose the night was dark. Leaving his horse among the trees and carrying his lariat, he approached on foot, walking Indian-like on the balls of his feet and testing each step lest a cracking twig should betray him. It was a slow business, but presently he reached a strip of open ground where he would have to risk being seen. Here he paused, scanning the building. There was a lighted window just opposite to where he was crouching--the kitchen, which was his objective. For the rest, the place was in darkness, so far as he could tell. Light shone from the bunkhouse, fifty yards distant, and he could hear voices; some of the outfit would be there, playing cards, and yarning. Stooping, he sprinted across the shadowy space, reached the window and looked in. As he had expected and hoped, Mandy, the old coloured cook, was alone. Familiar taps on the pane brought her waddling hurriedly; she peered out and then cautiously raised the sash.

"Foh de Ian's sake, it cain't be yo, Massa Luce," she whispered tremulously.

"Shore is, Mammy," he replied, calling her by the name he knew she liked him to use. "Say, who's in the house?"

"Dey ain't nobody but me," she told him. "Dem King an' Sim done went out; mebbe dey is in de bunkhouse wid de boys. Yo don' oughta be hyar, honey; dat King, he massacree yo if he cotch you aroun'."

There was a mingling of fear and affection in her voice --Luce had always been her favourite; for his brothers she had little but dread.

"Good old Mammy," the boy said. "I ain't goin' to be `cotched.' " He bent forward so that he could see her face and said earnestly, "Are yu shore there is no one in the house but yoreself?"

At this question Mandy recoiled and the whites of her eyes showed big. "Lawdy, ain't I tol' yo?" she quavered, but Luce interrupted sternly :

"Come clean, Mammy; it ain't like yu to lie to me." Still she hesitated, pulled two ways by affection for the lad before her and terror of his elder brother; the former triumphed.

"King'll sho'ly take the hide off'n my back if he knows," she said huskily. "Dey's a gal locked up in yo ol' room. I dunno who she is--they done hustled me outa de way when she was fotched in."

"It's Nan Purdie, Mammy," Luce told her. "God! It makes me ashamed to know I'm a Burdette."

The deep disgust and anguish in his voice made the old Negress look at him strangely. This was not the merry lighthearted lad to whom she had been a mother. A sudden decision firmed her face.

"Yo needn't to be, honey. Yo ain't a Burdette, an' yo nevah was one," she said, and then, as she read his expression, "No, I ain't out o' ma haid--I'm tellin' yo true. Long time back, when we was crossin' Injun country on de way hyar, Ol' Man Burdette fin' yo cryin' in de brush--yo was 'bout knee-high to a jackrabbit. Pretty soon we light on a burned cabin an' two bodies; dey was white an' dat was all we--but I don' need to tell yo 'bout dem red devils. Mis' Burdette figured dey was yo folks an' 'lowed she'd 'dopt yo. The Ol' Man say, `Brand an' throw him in de herd, de damn li'l maverick; he'll make a Burdette one day.' But yo nevah did, honey; allus dere was a difference. Now, don't yo care ..."

To the boy the revelation and all it meant to him swept everything else from his mind. He did not doubt the story, and, looking back, found much to confirm it. Father and brothers had always treated him with a sort of good-natured contempt, an attitude he had put down to his age. Even after the Old Man's death he had not been admitted to the family's councils, nor invited to join in those periodic mysterious expeditions from which the men returned weary with riding and sometimes wounded. These things had hurt him, but now he was glad. Nameless and of unknown origin he might be, but he was not a Burdette, and Nan ... At the thought of her he drew himself up, his eyes shining.

"Care?" he echoed. "Why, Mammy, it's the grandest news I ever heard."Hell, if yu'd on'y told me afore."

"I was feared o' grievin' yo," the old woman said.

"Shore, yu couldn't know," Luce told her. "Now, I gotta get Miss Purdie outa this. If you hear anythin', warn me."

He melted into the shadow of the building, stealing along Until he stood beneath the window of his old room. It was nearly ten feet above his head--for the Circle B ranch-house boasted two storeys--but he was prepared for that. Close by stood a big cottonwood, a stout branch of which passed above the window. Hanging the lariat round his neck, he began to climb the tree, almost smiling as he recalled how often, as a boy, he had done the same thing with no other object than to enter unknown to his fatherand brothers. Dark as it was, he soon found the familiar hand and footholds, and in a few moments had swung himself along the branch. Kneeling upon the sill, he thrust up the unlatched sash and whispered :

"Miss Purdie--Nan."

A muffled mumble was the answer. He struck a match, shielding the light in his cupped hands that it might not show outside. The girl was seated on the bed--his bed once--her hands and feet tied, a handkerchief knotted over the lower part of her face. With great staring eyes she gazed at him, and then an expression of joy drove the fear away. She trembled as he removed the gag.

"Luce--you?" she breathed. "Oh, take me from this dreadful place."

"That's what I'm here for," he assured her, as he severed the bonds. "Yu ain't--hurt--any?" His voice shook as he asked the question.

"No," she whispered. "Only frightened of that,horrible man. Your brother."

"He ain't that, an' I'm not a Burdette, Nan," Luce told her exultantly. "No time to explain now--we gotta hustle. Do yu reckon yu can walk?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, stretching her cramped limbs experimentally.

"The door's locked, so I'll have to let yu down from the window," he went on, and slipped the loop of his rope beneath her armpits. "All yu gotta do is sit on the sill an' slide off."

All went well. With feet braced against the wall, Luce paid out the rope slowly when he felt the girl's weight upon it, and soon a whisper from below apprised him that she had landed safely. Then he retraced his way along the branch and in a moment was by her side.

"Where do we go now?" she asked.

A mocking laugh answered her. "Yu don't," said a hated voice, and a lifted lantern drove away the darkness. King Burdette was standing a few yards in front of them, one thumb hooked in his belt and a jeering grin on his face. Like a flash Luce whipped out his gun and covered him.

"Stand outa the way or I'll send yu to hell pronto," the boy rasped.

The threatened man laughed. "Yu couldn't kill one o' yore own kin, Luce," he said.

"Yu ain't that, thank God," came the retort.

King laughed again. "Found that out at last, huh?" he sneered. "Well, it shore was funny to see yu swaggerin' around, puttin' on frills as one o' the family when allatime yu was on'y a nameless brat."

"I'd a thousand times sooner be that than a Black Burdette," Luce retorted passionately, and, as his finger tightened on the trigger, "I've warned yu that there's nothin' to prevent me shootin' yu down..."

The elder man snarled a curse. "Nothin' to prevent yu?" he repeated. "Why, yu young fool, there's a dozen guns coverin' yu right now. Fire, an' be damned to yu; we'll go together, an' instead o' one admirer Miss Purdie'll have quite a number."

The fiendish threat underlying the last words drove the blood from the rescuer's cheeks. He looked around and saw dark forms with levelled revolvers step from the shadows into the lamp-light. He was trapped. Doubtless King had been watching for some such attempt--Luce knew Mandy would not betray him--and had enjoyed allowing it to almost succeed; it was in keeping with the cruel humour of the man. With a smothered groan he holstered his weapon. He might have killed King, but he would lose his own life and leave Nan at the mercy of men who did not know the meaning of the word. Once more the hateful laugh rang out.

"Learnin' sense, huh? Well, I'm a good teacher," King said. "Unbuckle yore belt an' let it drop."

"That's a trick I taught yu," Luce reminded him, as he complied with the order.

The gibe sank in; King's face became a mask of malignity. "Don't push on yore reins, boy," he hissed. "I'll be learnin' yu aplenty afore I'm through." He turned to his men. "Tie an' lock 'em up--apart, an' then cut that damn tree down."

Luce looked at his fellow-prisoner. "I'm sorry, Nan," he said miserably. "Reckon I've on'y made things worse for yu."

The girl smiled bravely. "No, it was fine of you to come, Luce," she replied, and her tone was a caress. "I'm not afraid now."

"Better tell him good-bye; yu won't be seein' him again," King mocked.

The threat did not have the effect he expected--it only roused the girl's fighting spirit. "I'll do that," she said quietly. "Thank you, Luce, and in case this coward means what he says ..." She reached up and kissed the astonished boy full on the lips. "I'll never forget, dear--never," she whispered.

To have his taunt flung back in his face was more than Burdette had bargained for, but he repressed his rage and substituted a sneer: "Make the most of it, my fine fella--it's the on'y one yu'll get; the rest'll be mine." He growled an order to his followers, "Take 'em away. Sim, I hold yu responsible till I come back."

"Yu needn't to worry--they'll be here," the younger brother assured him.

King nodded, went to the corral for his horse, and was soon on the way to Windy. He was in an exultant mood, things were going as he had planned--with one exception --the escape of California. Luce must be made to tell where the miner was hiding, and then, if the move he was now about to make proved successful, the game was won.

*

In her own little sitting-room at "The Plaza," Lu Lavigne listened with growing astonishment while King Burdette outlined the situation. It was a pleasant place, tastefully furnished, gaudily-coloured Navajo blankets and a fine grizzly pelt concealing the bareness of walls and floor; on the centre table stood a great jar of flowers. The daintily-dressed girl, with her trim, shining head and wide, deep eyes, was not the least of the room's attractions, and the visitor, lounging easily in a chair, was fully aware of the fact. He was speaking softly, persuasively, his bold eyes paying her the homage dear to the heart of every woman, be she princess or peasant. A different man this smiling, low-voiced, handsome fellow to the cynical, ruthless devil she knew he could be, and, strangely enough, this was the King Burdette she feared, for, with all her independence, in this mood he could bend her to his will.

"So that's how the cards lie, honey," he concluded, triumphantly. "All we gotta do is lay the hand down an' rake in the pot."

"And I'm to help you to the C P ranch and--a wife?" she queried resentfully.

"Shucks, Lu, yu got me all wrong," King replied. "When Purdie hands over the ranch he gets the girl back, an' Luce can have her for all I care. Time comes I want a mistress for the C P yu know where I'll look, don't yu, sweetness?"

The caressing tone and the ardent look which accompanied the words brought a flush to the girl's cheeks, and convinced her that he was speaking the truth. As to the morality of what King was attempting, that troubled her not at all; Nan Purdie lived on a different plane and theywere not even acquainted. Even in this far-off corner of the earth a woman who ran a saloon could not hope to meet on equal terms the daughter of a big cattleman. Moreover, in those days too often might was right, and Burdette had been at pains to fabricate a grievance against Chris Purdie. The only qualm she experienced was when she thought of the C P foreman, and that she resolutely dismissed from her mind; he had told her plainly that women could have no part in his life, and the fascination King Burdette had for her was still strong. Because of it she consented to do his bidding, though she told herself she was a fool to mix in the affair.

Chapter XXII

WHEN Sudden and Yago returned to the C P in the early afternoon the cook came from the bunkhouse on the run.

"Hey, Jim, the Ol' Man's just bin aroun'--said for yu to go see him as soon as yu showed up," he explained. "I'm bettin' suthin' has broke loose--he was lookin' as mad as a singed cat."

Turning his horse over to Bill, the foreman strode to the ranch-house. Tied to the rail of the verandah was the pony Lu Lavigne rode, and on stepping into the living-room he saw the lady herself, seated in a large chair. She greeted him with a cool nod, and then her attention went back to Purdie, who was pacing up and down in an obvious attempt to overcome his passion. He paused as the foreman entered, and growled.

"Glad yu've come, Jim." He waved a hand savagely at his guest. "One o' Burdette's creatures; he hadn't the sand to come himself an' sends a woman."

The girl flushed. "That's not true," she protested. "I have no part in King Burdette's business--he is merely a friend. He asked me to bring his message because he expected to be shot on sight if he showed himself here."

"He was damn right too," the rancher grimly agreed. "That's my way o' treatin' vermin."

Lu Lavigne shrugged her slim shoulders. "It would have helped your daughter so much, wouldn't it?" she retorted.

The foreman judged it was time to put in a word: "Burdette makin' an offer, Purdie?" he asked.

The cattleman stopped and whirled. "Yeah, the sort yu might expect from such a dirty road-agent," he replied fiercely. "I'm to sign a paper that woman has fetched, makin' over my ranch an' cattle to him for value received, an' in return, I get my girl back unharmed."

Sudden did not reply at once; the magnitude and audacity of the demand staggered him. He looked at the lady, sitting there with a set, wooden face devoid of all expression, and his thoughts went straying.

"An' if the paper ain't signed?" he said at last.

"Luce Burdette will die, and your daughter, Mister Purdie, will want to," the messenger replied tonelessly.

"So Luce failed?"

"King was watching; he let them almost escape."

Sudden nodded; it was a jest which would appeal to the elder Burdette, and he could picture his unholy glee in thus playing cat and mouse with his captives. Purdie paused again in his perambulation.

"He can kill Luce an' welcome--it's on'y a Burdette less in the world an' all to the good," he rapped out. "Do yu reckon he'd dare do what he threatens to my daughter?"

"I am quite sure of it," the visitor said coldly.

The old man glared at her. "An' yu stand for that?" he asked.

"What is it to do with me?"

"She's a woman--like yoreself."

Lu Lavigne smiled bitterly. "No, she is not a woman like myself," she retorted. "Nan Purdie is a superior being, with a college education, a wealthy father, and far too proud to look at the keeper of a drinking-saloon. Why should I worry what happens to her? How should it concern me if you and King Burdette have a difference and he takes his own way of settling it?"

The foreman was watching her, and under the steady scrutiny of those grey-blue eyes her own dropped. Then he spoke, quietly :

"Possibly yu have a right to think like that, but yu--don't," he said. "Is there any way yu can help us, ma'am?"

She shook her head. "I can do nothing. King Burdette holds all the cards."

The cattleman's harsh voice cut in : "Yo're a particular friend o' his, ain't yu?"

The girl's manner was instantly hostile again. "Has that anything to do with it?" she said icily.

"I figure it might have," the rancher replied. "Yo're one o' the cards he don't hold at the moment; s'pose we keep yu here?"

Mrs. Lavigne's laugh was genuine. "Do you really imagine King would let that interfere with his plans?" she asked. "You should study your enemies better, sir." Her voice took on a touch of acid. "And what would the town think? A most respectable citizen entertaining a dance-hall drab at his most respectable ranch in the absence of his most respectable daughter. Why, Mister Purdie, even your most respectable foreman will tell you that it wouldn't do at all."

The gibing, scornful tirade ended; the speaker was watching Sudden, who appeared to be searching for something. Noting her interested gaze, he explained.

"I'm lookin' for that foreman yu was mentionin'," he said quizzically. The disarming grin, which brought tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes, drove the ill-humour from the girl's face and brought a look of contrition instead.

"I'm a nasty little spitfire," she murmured. "I take it all back."

"Which means we ain't respectable," Sudden smiled. "Ma'am, I'm thankin' yu." Then he added gravely, "But this ain't helpin' us."

Purdie, who had thrown himself into a chair, glaring moodily at the ground, now looked up. His face, grey and haggard, was set with resolve.

"I've gotta sign, Jim," he said slowly. "As Mrs. Lavigne" --it was the first time he had used her name, and it brought the ghost of a smile to her lips--"says, he holds the cards. It'll mean startin' life all over again--for every-thin' I got is in the ranch--but sooner that than hurt should come to Nan. It won't be the first time I've been set afoot."

For a space no one spoke. The girl's eyes were downcast, and the foreman appeared to be concerned only in the construction of a cigarette.

"Shore looks thataway, Purdie," he said presently, "but there's a kink in the rope that has to be straightened out first. The C P is another card Burdette don't hold--yet; sign that paper an' yu fill his hand. Who's to guarantee he'll keep his word? Me, I ain't trustin' him as far as I could throw a steer."

"How'd yu propose to get around it?" the rancher asked dully.

"That's what we gotta figure out, an' it'll need sleepin' on," Sudden told him. He turned to the messenger. "Yu can tell Burdette he'll have his answer in the mornin', an' that's final," he said, and opened the door leading to the verandah.

Lu Lavigne went without a word and the foreman followed her. Not until she was standing beside her pony did she venture a protest.

"You are taking a big risk," she said.

"I'm used to it," he grinned. "Takin' risks is the salt o' life--for a man." Then, with apparent irrelevance, "Yu are too nice a woman to be mixed up in a mess o' this sort."

With a gesture of impatience, she disdained his proffered help and swung into her saddle. Always this sardonic, gravely-smiling man baffled her.

"But where's the sense in it? At the first sign of attack on the Circle B the girl--pays," she urged. "You know Purdie will have to sign in the morning--there is no other way."

"I reckon yo're right--mebbe," he agreed.

With a little shrug of despair, she sent her pony clattering down the trail. Sudden watched till she rounded the bend, before turning to re-enter the ranch-house.

"I said `mebbe,' Mrs. Lavigne," he smiled.

He found Purdie hunched up at the table, gloomily fingering the document which would take away practically all he possessed and rob him of the result of his life's work. This, following the loss of his son and the peril in which his daughter was placed, had brought him, tough as he was, near to breaking-point. But Chris Purdie had lived a life full of hard lessons and had learned to "take his medicine" without whining. So that it was a fighting face which greeted the foreman, grief-lined but determined, with narrowed eyes and clamped jaw, the face of one who could be crushed but never heaten while breath was in his body.

"Well, Jim, what's the idea?" he asked. "I'm s'posin' yu got one, or yu wouldn't take the chance o' Burdette not waitin'."

"He'll do that," Sudden said confidently. "He figures he's got us cinched, an' besides, he wants Miss Purdie hisself--which is one reason why he won't play fair."

The knuckles of the rancher's clenched hands showed white beneath the tanned skin. "But that woman said " he began.

"He's double-crossin' her--she's been persuaded that he's on'y usin' yore girl to get the ranch, but Luce has told us different," the foreman pointed out. "Signin' that paper won't fetch Miss Purdie back, though it might save her somethin'," he finished awkwardly.

The elder man rasped out an oath. "I'd sooner see her dead than tied to that spawn o' the Devil. Spill yore plan, Jim."

"I'm goin' to try Luce's trick, but in a different way. If I can't get them..."

"Them?" interrupted the rancher brusquely. "Yu ain't goin' to bother about that Burdette fella, are yu?"

"He went there to save yore daughter," Sudden reminded.

The owner of the C P was a fair-minded man, not afraid to admit when he was in the wrong. "That's so, Jim; sorry I forgot, but the very name o' Burdette is pizen to me. Yu ain't said how yu propose to get 'em. I don't cotton to the notion o' yu bein' alone."

"She's the on'y chance--the place'll be guarded," Sudden told him. "It'll mean Injun work, but I was raised amongst redskins."

"An' I gotta sit here doin' nothin'?" Purdie grumbled. "Not any; yo're goin' to have one busy session. Soon as I'm away, round up the boys. Tell 'em to come, fixed for trouble. Yu got any friends yu can trust in town?"

Purdie nodded.

"Send 'em word to meet yu some place, but they gotta get away without anyone knowin', 'specially the marshal. Yu Babe?"

The rancher nodded again. His air of despondency had vanished and his eyes were shining; the prospect of action was meat and drink to him.

"When yo're all set, fetch the men to the Circle B an' plant 'em in the brush to wait for the signal, which will be a 'Pache war-cry--twice. That'll mean we're clear o' the house an' yu can start to clean up. I don't know how long it will take me, but I figure yu won't get that signal till around daybreak. Yu gotta hold the boys back; if they start the ruckus too soon, there'll be hell to pay an' no pitch hot."

A grim smile flitted across the cattleman's rugged features. "Don't yu worry 'bout that," he assured. "They'll be good; they think a heap o' Nan, an' damn near as much o' yu. Get the prisoners in the open an' we'll give them Battle Butte bushwhackers somethin' else to occupy 'em. I'm a mite curious how yu aim to do it?"

"Ain't got it worked out yet," the foreman evaded, for he did not wish to dash Purdie's hopes with details of the desperate endeavour he had in mind. "Tell yu all about it later--mebbe," he supplemented, with his whimsical grin.

To Bill Yago he was no more communicative, and the little man voiced his views plainly. "Goin' to take another fool chance, huh?" he said. "Well, I'm admittin' that up to now yore luck shore has been amazin'--too damn good to last."

"Yore idea would be to sit back an' let King Burdette take all the tricks, I s'pose?" Sudden rejoined, knowing full well that he libelled his friend grossly.

"My idea is that two heads is better'n one," was the sage, if ungrammatical, reply.

"Yeah, but it's a matter o' feet not heads," the foreman retorted, with a sly glance at the generous extremities of the grumbler. "Them wagons yu walk on would make as much noise trampin' through the brush as a herd o' cattle. 'Sides, the Ol' Man wants yu, now, pronto, an' at once."

Yago departed with a snort of disgust, and when he returned Sudden had set out. Bill followed, but in a different direction, having first given orders which turned the hunkhouse into a hive of frenzied activity. Weapons were carefully overhauled, belts stuffed with ammunition, but only the menace of their preparations betrayed the fact that the men were about to engage in an enterprise which might result fatally to some of their number. Not one of them thought of this, but beneath the light banter there was a substratum of grim resolution. For the Circle B had stepped into the open--the abduction of Nan Purdie tipped the balance--and the opportunity of paying for many months of stealthy aggression and studied insult had come at last. They did not know the whole of the story--there was no need--the rancour between the two ranches was of long standing, and for months the outfits had but waited the word to fly at one another's throats.

"King Burdette has shore got his gal," Moody said. "Hi, yu thief, drop them shells; I'll want 'em all my own self."

Flatty relinquished the box of cartridges of which he was about to take toll. "An' that's whatever," he said pointedly. "Any hombre yu throw down on has on'y gotta stand still to be safe."

Moody's reply to this libel on his marksmanship took the form of a chunk of wet soap; Flatty ducked sideways and got the missile in the neck, at which the thrower chuckled gleefully.

"Why didn't yu stay put, fella?" he gibed.

"On'y proves what I said," Flatty responded, grabbing the nearest article to dry himself, which elicited a wail from Levens.

"That's my shirt yo're usin'."

"Well, I don't mind--much," the offender told him. "Soap won't hurt it none--time it saw some anyways."

"Strip allus washes his shirt once a year, whether she needs it or not," was Curly's contribution.

The appearance of their employer put an end to the joshing. "Get a wiggle on, boys," he urged. "Jim may be through quicker'n he figured, an' we gotta be on hand when he wants us."

A few moments later they set out, every man of the outfit save the cook, who, from the bunkhouse door, watched till the darkness blotted them out.

"Hell! Rustlin' grub ain't no job for a man," he told the world. "Hope they bring back Miss Nan an' hang every thief at the Circle B."

He dragged a chair to the door, lit a pipe and sat down, a loaded shotgun across his knees. For the first time in his life he was in sole charge of the C P, and he did not intend to be caught napping.

Something less than a mile from Windy, Sudden swung off to the left and began the task of finding a way through the brush and thicket-clad northern slope of the valley. It was imperative he should not be seen, the success of his audacious attempt depending entirely on a surprise. He had calculated that this way of approach would take twice as long as the open trail, but he soon discovered that he had underestimated the difficulties. The night was dark--no moon or stars in the black void overhead--and while he was grateful for that, it did not make the picking of a path through dense thorny undergrowth easier. Moreover, he had to rely on his sense of direction, and as progress meant frequent twists and turns to avoid impassable obstacles there was danger of losing his way.

"Durn it, a'most wish I'd chanced the trail," he muttered, as, for the twentieth time perhaps, he found himself in a blind alley which necessitated retracing his steps and trying again. He felt his horse wince and quiver beneath him, guessing the reason. "Thorn, huh?" he said. "I feel like a blasted pincushion m'self."

For what seemed like hours the weary struggle went on. At long intervals they found open spaces across which they moved swiftly only to renew the battle with the brush on the other side. Though the need for watchfulness was constant, Sudden's subconscious mind reverted to the man who was really responsible for his being there--that quiet little citizen with the compelling grey eyes which had twinkled when he said in all seriousness, "If yu get into a mess, you must get out again; I can't help yu." Well, he was in a mess, and whether he could get out remained to be seen.

For another half-hour man and beast pursued their painful progress. Owing to the tardy appearance of scattered stars the light was a trifle better, and through a break in the trees Sudden could make out a huge black mass looming up ahead of them, and guessed they had reached the end of the valley. He tried to locate his position, and decided that he was not far from the wagon road which slashed the face of the butte and formed the usual approach to the Circle B. But this he dared not use--it would certainly be watched.

Picketing his horse in a grassy grove, he began to climb the scrub-covered slope, heading in the direction he believed the ranch-house to lie. He made good progress at first, for the rise was gentle, but it grew steeper as he went on and soon, despite the chilly night air, he was perspiring freely. Slipping, twisting, hauling his body up by sheer strength, scratched by thorns and bruised by encounters with protruding rocks invisible in the gloom, he at length reached a tiny shelf and flung himself down to rest.

"Hell, I feel like I'd been washed an' wrung out," he soliloquized. "I'd give a month's pay for a smoke." He had no means of discovering the hour, but calculated that it was well past midnight. "Purdie an' the boys should be along soon." He flexed his aching muscles and the resultant pain produced a grunt. "Sittin' here won't buy me nothin' --gotta keep movin'."

Another short burst of strenuous endeavour brought him to a patch of stunted pine. Here the ascent was less abrupt and the carpet of pine-needles provided easy going. Gliding swiftly and silently from tree to tree, the puncher went upwards until he was conscious that the incline had almost ceased; he must be nearing the plateau on which the Circle B was built. Then a faint shaft of yellow light shone through the foliage, apprising him that the end of his journey was at hand. For long moments he stood motionless in the deep shadow, peering and listening. A whiff of a familiar odour--burning tobacco--came to him; he was facing the faint breeze, therefore the smoker must be ahead. Dropping down, Sudden crawled slowly forward, feeling every foot of the ground in front before making a movement--the snapping of a tiny twig might mean ruin to his hopes. Presently he could see the fellow, a dim shape, squatting, back against a tree and a rifle across his thighs. His complaining voice reached him:

"Damn this job. What's King scared of, anyways? He's got the C P tied, an' them rabbits in Windy don't have the guts to move."

There was no reply; evidently the sentinel was relieving his feelings by talking to the air. The intruder smiled forbiddingly and continued his advance. When he was within two yards of the unsuspecting guard he rose to his feet and drew a gun. Two silent strides, a swift downward chop of the steel barrel, and the sentinel sagged senseless where he sat. Sudden dragged the fellow further into the gloom, gagged and hound him with his own neckerchief and belt, and then, keeping under cover of the growths which skirted the edge of the plateau, made his way towards the ranch-house. Approaching from the side, he slipped over the rail of the verandah and creeping along in the shadow until he was beneath the lighted window, lifted his head cautiously and peeped in.

One glance told him all he wanted to know; it was the living-room, and King Burdette was there--alone. Reclining in a big chair, a bottle of spirit on the table beside him, the Circle B man appeared to be half asleep. He had discarded his belt, which was hanging on the back of another chair some feet away, a fact the visitor noted with a grin of approval.

"Luck is shore runnin' my way," he commented softly, and cat-footed to the front door, where again fortune favoured him; he found it unfastened.

Chapter XXIII

"PuT 'em up, Burdette ! "

The low, harsh command brought the dozing man to his senses like a dash of ice-cold water. With unbelieving eyes he stared at the granite-hard face of the man he hated and whose presence there he could scarcely credit. Then, as the threatening gun-muzzle dropped an inch and he saw the thumb holding back the hammer relax, he pushed his hands above his head.

"Good for yu," the visitor said grimly. "Yu were just one second away from hell when yu done that."

King Burdette knew it was no bluff--this man would have shot him down without hesitation; the puncher with the sardonic smile and lazy, drawling voice had metamorphosed into a lean-faced, cold-blooded killer, and notwithstanding his hardihood, he felt an unaccustomed chill in the region of his spine. With an effort he flung off the feeling and regained something of his usual bravado. Inwardly he was cursing his men for letting the fellow pass, and himself for being caught without his weapons. His eyes went to them, and then to the lamp. An acid voice cautioned him.

"Yu couldn't make it, but"--the fell eagerness was evident--"I'd admire for yu to try. I'm hopin' yu will."

Burdette, who had tensed his muscles in readiness to thrust the table over and jump for his guns, relaxed them again before the deadly menace of the warning. He locked his hands behind his head and laughed.

"Nervy, ain't yu?" he sneered. "An' now--what? Goin' to hold me here till one o' my men comes in?"

"Yu better pray hard that don't happen--it'll be yore death-warrant," Sudden said. "Seem' I got a use for yu that'd be a pity. Stand up--slow--an' lead the way to Miss Purdie, an' mind this, Burdette, if things don't go slick, yu will."

Footsteps sounded outside, and Sudden slid behind the half-open door. "Send him on his way," he hissed, and the threatening gun backed up the order.

"Everythin' all right, Boss?" asked a voice.

"Get to hell outa here," King shouted, furious at the ignominious part he was being forced to play, and the man went away muttering.

"Come ahead," the visitor curtly commanded.

For some seconds King hesitated, his subtle brain busily seeking a means of turning the tables on the man who had trapped him. But he could see no chance; save for old Mandy and the prisoners, he was alone in the house, his brothers and the outfit being either on guard or in the bunkhouse. Any attempt to summon them meant instant death; this grim-faced gunman who had slain Whitey was definitely not a man to gamble with. King had courage, but to die uselessly was no part of his programme. So he nodded suddenly and stepped to the door, consoling himself with the thought that his men were watching every avenue of escape. The fools might get clear of the house, and then...

Well aware of the gun-barrel nudging his ribs, he led the way upstairs, unlocked and threw open a door. In the dim light of the coming dawn they saw Nan Purdie, sitting with bent shoulders on the side of the bed. At their entrance she started up, her eyes wide with fear when she saw the Circle B owner.

"It's all right, Miss Purdie," Sudden's voice assured her. "Mister Burdette has had a change of heart--he's here to help yu." His eyes narrowed when he saw her bound wrists. "Turn her loose," he ordered, and King, knowing that the shadow of death was very near to him at that moment, hastened to comply. "Now we gotta collect yore brother, Luce," the puncher said.

King emitted a savage snarl. "Don't call that sneakin', white-livered cur brother to me," he snapped. "Yu can have him, an' welcome; he ain't worth the price of a rope."

They found the other prisoner in the next room, bound hand and foot. When he had been released, Burdette turned a jeering face upon them. "What's the next bright move?" he asked. "My men has orders to shoot first an' inquire after."

"Yu better hope they don't spot us, 'cause if they miss yu, I shan't," Sudden told him. "We'll go out the back way." He handed one of the guns to the boy. "If anythin' breaks loose, head for the brush an' get Miss Nan as far from here as possible; don't think of nothin' else whatever."

A streak of faint grey light on the eastern horizon heralded the birth of a new day, but the valley below the Butte was still a pool of blackness. They crossed the open space at the back of the ranch-house safely and were about to plunge into the undergrowth when fortune forsook them. Sudden, intent on watching their conductor, trod on a loose stone, which, turning under his foot, flung him violently forward. Instantly Burdette was upon him, clutching his gun arm, and shouting lustily for his men. Sudden's voice rang out low and vibrant.

"Get the girl away, Luce; run like hell!"

Little as he liked it, the boy obeyed. Gripping Nan by the wrist, he dragged her into the brush, heedless of direction, intent only on putting distance between themselves and their prison. They were only just in time, for as they panted up the slope which sheltered the ranch-house, they could hear a medley of yells, curses, and pounding feet as the hands in the bunkhouse answered their employer's call.

Meanwhile, the man they had left behind was fighting for time as well as life; the longer he could give the fugitives the better chance they had of evading pursuit in the tangled scrub. King Burdette, furious at the failure of his plans and the humiliation the puncher had put upon him, fought like a tiger-cat. Sudden's unlucky slip had handicapped him almost hopelessly, for, as he fell, Burdette had dropped upon him, and now knelt across his prostrate body, one hand pinning down his gun, while the other squeezed his throat. In that vice-like grip the foreman was unable to give the promised signal. Conscious that aid was coming for the other man and that he had only a few moments, Sudden exerted himself to the utmost in an effort to break that murderous hold. But Burdette was a powerful man and his mad rage doubled his strength. Half-choked, his starved lungs aching for air, the puncher knew he could not bear the intolerable pressure much longer. The hate-filled eyes and snarling lips told that the man on top knew it too.

"Got yu this time, Mister Green; got yu good," he panted.

Even had he wished to, the foreman could not answer; the pain in his throat was paralysing. With his free hand he struck feebly at his foe, wondering how much longer his ribs would bear the terrible strain to which they were being subjected. In an odd way his failing senses carried him back to his battle with this man's brother; Mart's mighty arms were crushing him again, and in a flash he remembered how he had escaped from that bear-hug which had so nearly proved fatal. Suddenly ceasing to struggle, he closed his eyes, let his head fall back and his whole body slacken. The ruse succeeded. Believing his man to be beaten, and in dire need of a respite himself, Burdette relaxed a little of the pressure. Instantly, digging his heels into the ground, Sudden bucked like an outlaw pony, and Burdette, taken by surprise, had to fling out his right hand to save himself from being thrown headlong. One deep breath of air was all the puncher dared allow himself, and then from his tortured throat the one-time dreaded Apache war-cry rang out--twice. No sooner was it uttered than King was on him again.

"Can't scare us with that old trick, my friend," he jeered, and swore as the foreman's fist caught him full in the face.

Again Sudden struck, blindly, hopelessly, with the primitive instinct of a cornered animal to die biting; he knew he could not get away. Burdette's followers were joining in the tussle. One went down with a gasp of agony as the foreman's heel landed in his stomach; a second, trying to catch a jabbing fist, got caught by it himself and retired to spit out teeth and curses; and then it seemed to Sudden that the whole of Battle Butte had fallen upon him.

"Take care o' the houn' till I come back," King cried, and darted after the fugitives.

They had not got far--the steepness of the rise made speed impossible. Fiercely as he hated leaving their deliverer, Luce knew he must obey orders, so, bidding the girl follow him, he went doggedly on, breaking a way through the dense vegetation which, while it impeded also served to hide them. From below they could hear someone thrashing through the brush in pursuit. Lacerated by thorns they had no time to avoid, and with leaden legs, the runaways scrambled on, but Luce knew that the terrific exertion was telling upon his companion. She did not complain, but her panting breath and lagging steps were eloquent. King Burdette, following a path already made and not hampered by a slower person who needed help at difficult places, gained ground on them rapidly. They could hear him, stumbling, cursing, not far away, and behind him, others. Presently, at the foot of a steep wall

of rock which shot up out of the verdure, Nan slipped and fell.

"I just can't go on, Luce," she groaned wearily. "I'm sorry--to be--such a drag."

"Yu've been splendid," he replied, and drew his pistol. "This is a good place to stand 'em off; they can't get behind us anyways."

The crackling noise of trampled twigs and branches was very near now and then came a louder crash and a rumbled oath; someone had tripped and fallen. The boy's face grew hard. Nan was on her feet again, and they were standing in the deeper shadow of a big bush which partly masked the wall of the cliff. It was too late to resume flight, for in another moment their pursuers would be upon them. And then the miracle happened.

"Hey, Luce, duck in here," a husky voice murmured.

The boy turned, saw a ghostly hand beckoning from the blackness, and seizing Nan by the wrist, hurried her towards it as King Burdette burst from the bushes. Following whispered instructions, they squeezed through a jagged crevice in the rock wall, stooped to crawl along a narrow tunnel, to find themselves in a small cave. Here the light of a solitary candle showed them that their deliverer was none other than the missing miner.

"He, he," the old man chuckled as he saw their amazed expressions. "Didn't figure on findin' me hyarabouts, huh?"

"Shore didn't, an' we're mighty glad to see yu, Cal," Luce replied. "Yu got us out of a tight place, unless..."

The prospector read his thoughts. "Don't yu worry, son," he said. "King won't find us. Why, I've bin livin' here since yu took me outa that hut. No, sir, we've razzledazzled that triflin' relative o' yores this time. How come he's chasm' the pair o' yu?"

The young man told the story, and the miner's bright, squirrel-like eyes twinkled. "So yu ain't a Burdette, arter all? Well, that's good hearin'," was his comment. "Reckon King has bit off more than he can chaw for once." A string of dull, muffled explosions reached their ears, and the old man dived into the tunnel. In a moment or so he was back again, his shoulders shaking with malign mirth.

"They's a-fightin' down there," he told them. "I'm guessin' the C P is takin' a hand in the game. What's in yore mind, son?"

Luce was moving towards the exit. "I'm afraid they've got Green," he explained. "Mebbe I can do somethin'"

California shook a gnarled finger at him. "Didn't he tell yu to stay with the gal?" he asked.

The boy looked uncomfortable. "Yes, but..." he began.

"Ain't no `buts'," the other cut in. "Yu gotta obey orders. When that foreman fella talks he sez somethin'; lots o' folk just make a noise."

"Yo're right, Cal, but I owe him more'n yu know, an' it's hard to sit still when . . ."

Leaving the sentence unfinished, he seated himself by the side of Nan on the shakedown of spruce-tops covered by a blanket, which was all the furniture the place could boast. In a moment, however, he was on his feet again, holding under the candle-light a chip of rock he had picked up from the floor.

"Why, Cal, there's gold here," he said excitedly. One glance at the grimy, scored face told him the truth. "Yu knew?" he added. "So yore mine ain't on Ol' Stormy?"

The old man's face split into a grin. "He, he, fooled yu too," he cackled in his high-pitched voice. "This of gopher ain't so dumb as some o' yu reckons. Wouldn't King r'ar up if he knowed the gold he was tryin' to steal laid right under his nose?"

"Ain't yu scared I'll tell, Cal?" the boy bantered.

The miner shook his head knowingly. "Not any, son," he said soberly. "Yo're goin' to be my pardner. Yessir, if it hadn't bin for yu I'd likely be toastin' my toes where gold melts mighty quick."

"But, Cal..."

The protest was cut short. "Like I told yu, afore, there ain't no `buts.' I've spent all my life lookin' for the durn stuff, an' now I'm 'most sorry I've found it; won't have nothin' to live for."

Luce looked at the girl in amused surprise; youth can rarely realize that achievement is not an unmixed blessing. "Yu'd think he'd lost a fortune 'stead o' findin' one," he whispered. "It's going to mean a lot to us."

She smiled teasingly. "I didn't hear that I was included," she said. "I'm glad you are to be rich, Luce."

"Yu know what I mean," he told her tenderly. "I'd be the poorest man in the world without yu, Nan."

A cool little hand slid into his, and he was still holding it when Cal, who had slipped down to the entrance of the cave, came back. He coughed ostentatiously as he emerged into the light.

"Been young myself once, though yu mightn't think it," he chuckled. "The ruckus is still proceedin', an' I reckon we better stay put till we know who's goin' to win out."

Save that they kept well away from Windy, Purdie and his men used the regular trail until they were near the Circle B, when they dismounted and approached on foot. Split up into pairs, spread out in a line along the slope facing the ranch buildings and securely hidden in the scrub, they waited for the signal. Out of a deeper blotch of blackness which they knew must be the ranch-house a lighted window gleamed like an eye; elsewhere was darkness.

Somewhere an owl hooted dismally, and at intervals a stealthy movement in the brush denoted a four-footed prowler in search of prey. Waiting proved weary work, and as the moments crawled sluggishly by, Purdie grew impatient.

"Damn this doin' nothin'--looks like things has gone wrong," he grumbled. "We've been here an hour."

"Day ain't broke yet," Yago pointed out. He could understand the cattleman's anxiety; if the foreman failed...? This suggested a new angle. "S'pose we don't git that signal, what then?" he asked.

"We gotta fade--without firin' a shot--an' Burdette takes the C P," Purdie said heavily. "Jim is our one hope. I dunno what he was aimin' to do . . ."

"He ain't the chatterin' kind--didn't tell me neither--but I'm bettin' he'll make the grade," Bill said confidently. "We'll git the word all right."

His employer grunted doubtfully; the silence and suspense, coupled with the inaction, were telling on his nerves. In a lesser degree some of the other men were feeling the same. Flatty and Moody, holed up together in a clump of brush from which, when they stood up, the front of the ranch-house was visible, were also getting restive. The night air was cold, and they dared not smoke.

"Wish they'd start the damn dance--my toes is froze," Moody complained. "An' yu would pick a catclaw to camp in, wouldn't yu?"

"She's a good place," his friend replied complacently, although inwardly he was cursing the fact himself. "Afeard o' gettin' yore lily-white skin scratched, huh?"

Moody's reply was a quiet but vigorous slap on his own thigh. "Got any spiders yet?" he inquired.

"Gawd, no. Was that?"

"Yeah, tarantula--on'y a little 'un, though," Moody lied, and chortled as he heard his friend's feet fidgeting; he well knew Flatty's antipathy for that poisonous pest. "If yu feel a ticklin' shall I come an' pat yu?" he went on solicitously.

"No, I'd sooner be bit," was the unthankful retort. "Ain't that blasted day ever comin'?"

"She shore is," Moody said.

Behind the Butte a pale grey glow was spreading over the sky, rimming the surrounding ridges with silver, but the valley was still a sea of ink. Then came a shout from the plateau, shattering the silence, and the bunkhouse came to life. Lights appeared, a door gaped, and dark figures tumbled out in answer to the call of their leader. The men in ambush watched in perplexity; they had strict orders to wait for the signal. Chris Purdie swore; he did not know what to do.

"I'm feared Jim has slipped up," he said gruffly. "Can't we do nothin', Bill?"

"Stay put," the little man advised, though it was against the grain. "If he wants us he'll let us know."

They could not see what was happening on the plateau, but it had set the Circle B humming like a hornets' nest. Then, above the shouts and curses, once--twice--the eagerly-awaited signal rang out.

"Let 'em have it, boys, but keep under cover," Purdie cried.

From a dozen points along the slope vicious spits of flame stahbed the gloom, and before that unexpected hail of lead the Circle B riders fled for shelter. One of them, racing for the ranch-house, stopped suddenly, and then toppled over.

"Tally one for the C P," Moody called out exultingly. "See that, Flatty? I got him, an' he was a-runnin' too."

"On'y proves what I said," Flatty retorted. "If he'd stood still . . ."

"Aw, go to blazes, an' don't forget this yer catclaw ain't bullet-proof, or yu will," the marksman warned, peering out cautiously in the hope of a second success.

But the Circle B men had all gone to ground and were lying close. That first volley had told them they had a job of work to do, and they meant to put it over. Unable to see the enemy, they fired at the flashes, and it soon became evident that Burdette's followers knew how to use a rifle. The growing light would give them a greater advantage, for the cover of the attacking force was woefully thin, and to cross the open plateau to rush the ranch-house would be little less than suicide. Purdie recognized this, but, satisfied that his girl was no longer a prisoner he was determined to give the abductors a lesson they would not forget. After the first furious fusillade, the firing on both sides slackened and became a matter of marksmanship. A movement in the scrub or a shadow near one of the shattered windows of the building instantly brought the questing lead. Moody, furtively shifting a cramped limb, swore in sudden agony as a bullet zipped past.

"Whatsa matter?" asked his companion, from the other side of the bush. "Yu hit?" Getting no reply, he added anxiously, "Ain't dead, are yu? Can't yu say somethin'?"

Moody could and did; he said a great deal, quickly and emphatically, his topics comprising bloody-minded bandits, catclaw bushes as cover, and jackass cow-punchers who selected them as such. Incidentally, Flatty gathered that the bullet had driven sundry thorns into his friend's cheek. He listened spellbound until, from sheer lack of breath, the speaker paused.

"Sounds like yu was a bit peeved," he said, and when the storm of words began again, "Awright, I heard yu the first time. Where did that jasper fire from? Let's argue with him."

"End upstairs window to the left," Moody growled, whereupon the pair of them directed an unceasing stream of lead at the window. The man crouching behind it had his hat snatched from his head, his shoulder perforated, and when he poked his rifle out to reply to this scandalous onslaught, the weapon was jerked from his tingling fingers, a ruined, useless thing. Cursing, he went in search of a bandage and a safer position.

"Guess if we ain't got him he's discouraged a whole lot," Flatty chuckled.

Moody did not reply. He was extracting further thorns from his epidermis, and the painful process moved him to speech again--vitriolic speech.

Chapter XXIV

SUDDEN'S first conscious thought was that someone was banging his head on the floor and causing a cracking kind of explosion each time. Then, as the mist cleared from his brain, he recognized that though his head throbbed with pain, he was alone, and the noise came from without. He understood--the cleaning up of the Circle B was in progress. He tried to get up, but his bonds would not permit this; he could only lie and wait. So far as he could remember, he was in the room from which he had rescued Nan Purdie. He wondered if the pair had got away?

"Guess they made it, or Purdie would 'a' been forced to let up," he reasoned. "Why didn't Burdette bump me off at once? Aims to use me to bargain with, if things go against him, mebbe."

For some time he lay there, listening to the intermittent crash of rifle-fire. He did not know the hour, but it was almost full daylight, and the fight must have been on for some time. Presently his quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy step outside the door. Were they coming to finish him off?

"Massa Luce, yo dah?" asked a low, quavering voice.

A woman--it could only be Mandy, the black cook; Sudden had heard the boy speak of her. A strange voice would frighten her away; Sudden groaned. His ruse succeeded, a key turned in the lock, and the Negress entered; she had an open clasp-knife in her hand. At the sight of the bound figure she started back in alarm.

"Yo don't be Massa Luce," she said.

"I'm his friend--I came here to help him an' got catched myself," the puncher explained. "Yu must be Mandy; Luce has told me of yu; I reckon he would like for yu to cut me loose."

She was shaking with fear, but she stooped and hacked through the thongs on wrists and ankles. Sudden hoisted himself to his feet, weak and tottery, one hand feeling gingerly at the back of his head, which throbbed incessantly. He found a noble bump, but no blood.

"So it ain't really fallin' apart," he said, and grinned. "We gotta get away from here plenty quick."

"Yassuh, dat King neah kill me for dis," Mandy said, her eyes big with terror.

"I'm figurin' he's got his hands middlin' full just now," the foreman assured her.

Noiselessly they stole down the stairs. The frequent crack of a rifle and the thud of striking lead told that the battle was not yet over. As they passed the door of the living-room a choking cry and a curse announced that a bullet had found a billet. A voice called a hoarse question.

"Solly's got his--plumb through the throat," came the reply. "The damn fool would take a risk--I done told him them hombres could shoot."

They found the back door unguarded--with the steep Butte behind him, King had no fear of heing outflanked--darted across the cleared space and plunged into the welcome shelter of the trees. For a long ten minutes, Sudden led the way, twisting and turning in the densest of the scrub, and then he paused.

"Reckon yo're safe now, Mandy," he said. "Wait here till the firin' stops an' then come in; we'll take care o' yu.

"Yassuh, I suah will do jus' dat," she replied, and with the fatalistic resignation of her race, sat down to await whatever the gods might send.

Sudden headed for the scene of the conflict. Around him birds were chirping, the slanting rays of the early suntrickled through the trees, a tiny rivulet bubbled with mirth as he stepped across it, and his lips set in a wry smile as he reflected that only a few hundred yards away men were striving to slay their kind. Far up in the sky a great hawk swept in a wide circle.

"Another killer," he mused. "But he's gotta live. Well, so've we, an' if Burdette's sort ... Shucks! Mebbe it's hard to justify, but it's gotta be did."

Which sage conclusion brought him to a little rise from whence he could see the ranch-house verandah. Even as he looked, a stick with a soiled white rag tied to it was thrust from a shattered window, and a voice called out.

"Hey, Purdie, I got somethin' to say. Yu willin' to listen?"

"Speak yore piece," came the rancher's reply.

Sim Burdette stepped into view. He carried no gun, and there was much of his elder brother's jaunty impudence in his attitude as he rested his hands on the verandah rail and coolly faced the foes he could not see. There was a smear of blood on his dark, sneering face, and his voice, when he spoke, had the harsh, dominant note characteristic of the Black Burdettes.

"We've got yore foreman, Green, hawg-tied upstairs," he began. "If yu wanta see him again--alive--yu better call this fight off right now. That's--"

Somewhere in the scrub a rifle barked, and the slim figure on the verandah staggered as from a blow and fell forward across the rail, sagging limply, head down, arms swinging. A howl of rage came from the ranch-house, and above it the voice of Chris Purdie rang out:

"Who fired? By God, I'll hang the skunk who did that with my own hands!"

With the spring of a panther, King Burdette leapt through the window, lifted the body of his brother, and shook a furious fist.

"Purdie, yu've signed Green's death-warrant," he shouted. "Do yore damnedest, yu dirty coward."

Savagely he struck down the white flag and slowly bore his burden back into the building.

"King, I had nothin' to do with it," the cattleman called out. "I'd 'a' give my right hand sooner than it should 'a' happened." A jeering laugh was the only answer he received. Turning helplessly to Yago, he said, "What in hell am I to do?"

The appalling tragedy had produced a paralysing effect on all save two of the spectators. One of these was the assassin, and the other, Sudden himself. The fatal shot had been fired but a bare dozen yards from where he was standing. He had seen the sun glinting on the gun-barrel without a suspicion of what was to follow. The foul deed stirred him to instant action, and he hurried towards the spot. A natural hedge of prickly pear, with its shining armour of spines, forced him to circle round, and he arrived only in time to see the killer, a wisp of smoke still curling from the muzzle of his weapon, vanish in the thick brush. Sudden stared.

"The marshal," he ejaculated. "What the devil...?"

He did not pursue the man; it was of more immediate importance to let Purdie know he was at liberty. He hurried along the slope and appeared on the scene just as the rancher asked his despairing question.

"Burdette is four-flushin', Purdie," he said quietly. "The card he thinks he has up his sleeve is here. Yu can call his bluff."

The effect of his arrival was ludicrous. Yago slapped his back, swore in sheer delight, and turned triumphantly to his employer.

"Didn't I tell yu he'd make it?" he crowed. "Got as many lives as a cat, this fella."

Purdie wiped beads of cold sweat from his brow. All he could say was, "Jim, I'm damned glad to see yu," but his hand-clasp spoke volumes. "An' Nan?"

"Safe somewheres with Luce," the foreman told him.

The rancher's face clouded for a moment, and then, as he realized what the news meant, he said grimly, "Then we can finish the job. Bill, tell the boys to give 'em hell."

"So yu fetched the marshal along after all," Sudden remarked.

"I certainly did not--gave particular orders to prevent his knowin'."

"Somebody's got a loose tongue; it was Slype who shot Sim Burdette."

"Slype?" ejaculated the rancher. "But he's a Burdette man hisself. If he'd downed me now ..."

"There's depths to that fella yu ain't plumbed yet," Sudden told him. "When we've cleaned up here there's another mess waitin' in Windy."

Purdie was hardly listening; his mind was puzzling over what he had just heard. "Can't see why he should kill Sim," he muttered.

"He wanted the ruckus to go on, an' he figured it would mean my finish--which it shorely would if I'd waited," the foreman pointed out. "He don't like me a lot."

"The cowardly coyote," Purdie growled. "I said I'd hang the cur, an' I will, star an' all."

Meanwhile, in the Circle B ranch-house, King was also getting a surprise. Having laid his brother's body on a form, he strode from the room, his handsome face distorted to that of a devil. His men watched him in stern silence. Only when he had vanished did one of them speak:

"Good-bye, Mister Green," he said, and added an ugly laugh.

As King raced up the stairs the firing outside recommenced, a perfect hail of lead spattering the building. He shouted a scornful gibe:

"Shoot, yu fools; yu won't save him thataway."

On the threshold of the room into which Sudden had been thrown he paused in bewilderment. Then he saw the thongs lying on the floor and snatched them up. One look told him they had been cut, and he guessed the truth.

"That black bitch has turned him loose," he stormed. "I'll..."

Mad with rage and disappointment, he sprang down the stairs in search of the Negress, only to find that she too had gone. For a few moments he went berserk, kicking the kitchen furniture to kindling wood and smashing everything within reach; had he laid hands on Mandy then he would have killed her. His violence served its purpose; the fit passed, and he began to remember that if he was beaten now, to-morrow was another day. He had control of himself again when he re-entered the big room. Looking round, he saw that eight men only were left on their legs, and of these, two had slight wounds. With hard, reckless, smoke-grimed faces they waited for their leader's orders. They knew they were fighting a losing battle. To approach the windows meant death or disablement, for the lynx-eyed marksmen in the brush allowed no movement to escape their attention.

"Green's gone, boys, an' the jig's up," King said curtly. "No sense in stayin' here to be wiped out. We can beat it up the Butte--there's hosses in the corral at the top an' some cattle we can take along. They needn't know we've vamoosed till we're well on our way, an' I guess they won't follow. Anyhody got other ideas?"

"Reckon yo're right, King," one of them said. "We lose this time, but we can allus come back."

"Yo're shoutin', Dandy," Burdette said darkly. "I aim to come back; don't doubt it."

Their preparations did not take long, and soon, one by one, they crossed the cleared space at the rear of the ranch-house and disappeared in the undergrowth. King was the last to leave, his set face showing no sign of the raging fire which burned within him.

The shots from the slope became less frequent and presently ceased altogether when the attackers realized that no response was coming from the battered building. Silence ensued for a time, and then Strip Levens, who had been creeping nearer and nearer, suddenly made a dash for the verandah. One look confirmed what he had suspected.

"Come ahead, fellas," he yelled. "They've skedaddled."

The place presented a picture of death and destruction. Glass had disappeared from the windows and the frames hung in fragments. The walls of the living-room were scored and pitted by bullets, and on the floor were the huddled, twisted forms of the fallen. Yago counted them.

"Five, includin' Sim, an' the two outside who dropped at the first rattle," he said. "Must be some more upstairs."

There were four, and one of them, a craggy-faced fellow of over forty, stirred as Yago bent over him and regarded the C P man maliciously.

"Too late, ol'-timer," he said.

"Where's King an' the rest?" yago asked.

"Half-way to Windy by now," the man lied loyally. "Half-way to hell," Bill retorted.

"Same--thing," the fellow gasped. His head fell back and his lower jaw dropped in what appeared to be a ghastly grin at his last grim joke.

Yago straightened the body out. "Yu had yore own notions o' livin', hombre, but yu shore knowed how to die," was his comment.

He joined Purdie and the foreman in front of the ranchhouse and made his report. "Seven or eight, of 'em musta got away," he concluded. "Hey, boss, look who's comin'."

His excited cry was drowned in a whoop of delight from other members of the outfit as their young mistress came running across the plateau to fling herself into her father's arms. She was followed by Luce, and Mandy, whom they had found sitting stolidly where Sudden had left her.

"Gosh, girl, but it's good to have yu back, safe an' sound," Purdie said, when he had heard her story. "As for yu, Jim, I'll never be able to pay what I owe yu. If I'd 'a' knowed yu was goin' to hold up that thievin' devil single-handed ..."

"Shucks! Forget it, Purdie," the foreman smiled.

"Not while I got breath in my body," the rancher returned warmly. His eyes went to Luce. "I never thought the day would come when I'd thank a Burdette for any-thin', but I guess I gotta," he added, slowly putting out a hand.

From the shelter of her father's shoulder Nan laughed shyly. "Hurts your pride, daddy mine, doesn't it?" she whispered. "But it need not--Luce is no more a Burdette than you are."

"What do yu mean, girl?" he asked.

Nan told the news, and Mandy, with many nods, confirmed it. Purdie looked at Luce again, and saw what blind prejudice had prevented him from recognizing before: this red-headed, open-faced boy, who did not in any way resemble the Black Burdettes, could not have treacherously slain his son. Chris Purdie was a white man; his hand came out readily enough now.

"I'm right glad, Luce," he said simply, and meant it. "I've had some hard thoughts about yu, but I'm hopin' yu'll forget it."

The boy gripped the extended hand. "That's done a'ready," he said. "The way things looked, I couldn't blame yu."

Purdie gazed round. "Seems I gotta thank Mandy too," he went on. "An' that of scamp, Cal, an' all the boys. Reckon I'll have to sell the C P to meet my ohligations."

He grinned hugely; the recovery of his daughter and the paying of an old score had put him in great good humour. "I'm bettin' we've seen the last o' King Burdette."

"Yu'd lose, Purdie," Sudden said quietly.

A little later, Yago called the foreman aside. "Thought yu'd like to know I found a .38 rifle an' fodder cached in a cupboard in King's bedroom," he said. "Sorta bears out Ramon's story, don't it?"

"Shore does," Sudden agreed. "Don't tell nobody else; we got trouble enough ahead without gettin' Purdie on the rampage again."

"What d'yu reckon King'll come back for?" yago asked.

"To do yu a good turn, Bill," Sudden said, and smiled at his friend's puzzled expression. "Yeah, he's goin' to try an' make yu foreman o' the C P."

The little man understood, and his comment was vivid.

Chapter XXV

SAM SLYPE sat in his office, teeth clamped on a black cigar, brows knitted in thought. It was a blazing afternoon and the street outside was deserted. Two days had passed since the fight at Battle Butte and the excitement had to some extent died down. Save to the more lawless element, the crushing of the Circle B had brought satisfaction--Windy had long resented the arrogance and domination of the Burdettes and their riders. The marshal's own position had been delicate, but he flattered himself that he had adopted the right attitude. While, in deference to his office, he deprecated Purdie's appeal to force, he was careful to also make it clear that, in abducting the girl, King had placed himself outside the pale.

He smiled sourly as he remembered that these sentiments had met with general approval as being those of a fair-minded man who held a public position. But the marshal was by no means satisfied. The Burdettes were shattered, and this he had longed and schemed for, but Green remained. For he both hated and feared this capable young man who, drifting casually into the town, had at once began to make his presence felt. When, following an overheard remark, he had trailed the attackers to the Circle B, it had been in the hope of a furtive shot which would pass unnoticed. It might have been King, Green, or Purdie; it chanced to be Sim, who died because he was a Bur-dette, and, as the slayer had argued, his death would infallibly bring about that of the C P foreman. It was this disappointment over which he was brooding.

"Cuss the crooked luck," he muttered aloud.

"Conscience troublin' yu, Slippery?" asked a cool, amused voice.

It was King Burdette, and the marshal was aware of an inner icy chill which nearly stopped the beating of his heart. So absorbed had he been in his meditations that he had not heard the door open. Before his bulging eyes pale phantoms of the Burdettes he had so foully murdered seemed to stand beside this one and gibber at him. One thought obsessed him--had King learned the truth? He was smiling, but he was of the type who smiled as they strike.

"Anybody'd think yu weren't pleased to see me," the visitor went on, leaning lazily against the closed door.

The marshal collected his scattered wits. "I was thinkin' o' yu right when yu walked in, King," he stammered.

"Grievin', huh? The town don't appear to be mournin' none."

"Yore friends is sorry."

"But bein' in the minority an' wise men--as my friends would be--they're doin' the Br'er Rabbit act an' layin' low; oughtn't to blame 'em for that, I s'pose. What action yu takin', Sam?"

The unexpected question gave the officer a nasty jar. "Me?" he cried, and his amazement was real enough. "What can I do?"

Burdette surveyed him with very evident disgust. "Yo're the marshal," he reminded. "See here, Purdie rounds up an army--there was townsfolk in it--shoots me up, killin' eleven o' my men an' damagin' my property. Yu goin' to tell me that's accordin' to law?"

"Yu stole his gal, King," Slype protested.

"Stole nothin'--she come of her own free will," came the easy lie. "When it got out, we pretended she was a prisoner to save her good name. I sent word to Purdie that I'd marry her an' end the trouble between the two families. Yu know what his answer was."

"Sounds fair to me, King, but her tale don't tally."

"O' course not; did yu think it would?"

The marshal had not thought so; he knew the story was an invention to hit Purdie through his daughter, but that did not concern him. What he wanted to know was why Burdette had come to him, for the pretext of appealing to the law did not deceive him for an instant; he knew the Burdette nature better than that. Summoning his nerve, he put the question.

"I want justice," King told him sternly, and Slype's face turned to a sickly yellow. It was coming now; this savage devil would shoot him down without mercy unless ... Fear was driving him to snatch at his own gun in sheer desperation when the visitor spoke again. "Purdie must make good the damage he an' his men have done."

The marshal's suspended breath expelled itself in a gasp of relief, and, satisfied that his hide was not in danger, his cunning brain got busy. He could not fathom Burdette's attitude, but an inspiration came to him.

"Purdie figures yu've gone for good," he said. "I hear he's givin' the Circle B to Green." King straightened up, his careless, cynical expression changing to one of fierce surprise. "An' Green don't aim to be lonely up there on the Butte--he's bin at `The Plaza' most all day," Slype supplemented. "Betcha he's there now."

The poisoned shaft bit deep. Burdette was cruel, heartless, incapable of real affection, but he had his pride. The muscles of his jaw tightened, his lips curled back to uncover the clenched teeth, one hand went to his gun as he leaned forward.

"Yu lie," he hissed.

The marshal's puny soul shrivelled within him; he saw death itself staring out of those narrowed, flaming eyes. One moment of weakness would be the end--for him. His statement regarding the Circle B and Green was a deliberate invention, made to inflame the visitor, and despite the latter's fierce denial, Slype knew it had succeeded. He fought down his fears and answered steadily:

"I'm givin' yu the straight goods. Actin' friendly to yu don't buy a fella much, King."

The other ignored the reproach, but relaxed the tenseness of his attitude. The marshal's heart skipped a beat when King pulled out a gun, spun the cylinder, and replaced it carefully in the holster. He ventured a question.

"Yu didn't come in alone, King, did yu?"

The tall man looked down at him disdainfully. "Yeah, why not?" he retorted. "Do yu s'pose I'm scared o' this rabbit-warren? If anybody wants to argue with me I'll he right pleased, but I got a little business to 'tend to first."

"What yu aim to do?"

"I'm goin' to make shore that Mister Green don't get what belongs to me," was the reply. "See yu later."

Slype tried hard to keep the exultation out of his voice. "Well, a fella has a right to protect his own property, I reckon," he said. "Good huntin'." And when he was sure his visitor had gone, added venomously, "I hope yu get him an' that he gets yu, blast yu both."

Sitting slackly in his chair, he waited hopefully for the sound he wanted to hear--the crack of exploding cartridges. With these two men out of the way his path would be easy. Burdette's return was going to prove a godsend after all, though he was still trembling with the fright it had given him.

"Mebbe yu ain't so plucky as some, Sam," he told himself, "but yu got the savvy to plan big, an' the guts to put it through. If Riley has searched out Cal's secret, there'll on'y be Purdie to deal with. . . ."

Had Burdette heard the conclusion of the marshal's valediction it would probably have aroused only amused contempt; to him the fellow was a mere tool, and he would have ridiculed the suggestion that he might be dangerous. At the moment he had forgotten Slype entirely. Full of his fell purpose, he paced slowly down the street, sitting carelessly in the saddle, head thrown back, and insolent eyes challenging the curious glances of the few men he met. No one accosted him, and the sneer on his tight lips grew more pronounced as he proceeded. Rabbits! They believed he had run away, and that was one reason why he had returned to ride, unconcerned and unattended, in broad daylight, through the town. He had dared them, and they had done--nothing. The prestige of the Black Burdettes was still powerful.

He pulled up outside "The Plaza," got down, and trailed the reins. He did not enter immediately, though the presence of the big black horse at the hitch-rail indicated that the man he sought was within. A peep through the window confirmed this and supplied what else he needed to know. Only five men were in the place, four of them playing poker at a table on the left of the entrance, and the other, Green, leaning against the bar chatting with Lu Lavigne. She was smiling at something the puncher had just said, and Burdette gritted his teeth at this apparent substantiation of what the marshal had told him. The shapely head, with its coils of shining black hair, sparkling eyes, and delicately-tinted cheeks, seemed more desirable than ever, and jealousy fanned the flame of his hatred to a white heat. For a few seconds he stood glaring like a wild beast, and then, pulling both guns, he kicked open the swing-door and stepped in.

"Reach for the roof--all o' yu ! " he spat out. "I'm on'y sayin' it once."

Almost before they looked up the men at the card-table were obeying the command--they recognized the voice; they knew too that when King Burdette threatened lie was apt' to keep his word. Sudden followed suit; already covered by the gun of a man who was killing-mad, he had no choice. The girl only disregarded the order, stepping calmly from her place behind the bar, and facing the newcomer unflinchingly. Her low-cut, short-skirted dress showing her white shoulders and slim, silk-clad ankles, brought a savage gibe to King's lips.

"All prinked up for yore new lover, huh? Yu ain't lost any time, have yu?"

"I have no new lover, King," she told him quietly. "And no old one either it seems." There was a touch of bitterness in her tone as she went on, "Perhaps I thought I had, but not being heiress to a ranch ..."

"So that's the tale that lyin' houn' has been tellin' yu?" Burdette burst in angrily.

"I haven't discussed you with anyone," she replied. "I didn't need telling, King; it was plain enough."

She was playing for time, hoping that some interruption might occur to prevent him carrying out his deadly purpose, for the moment he came in she knew he was there to kill Green. Standing half-crouched, alert for every movement, his levelled guns dominated the room. Murderous hate blazed in his slitted eyes, his mouth was twisted in a feral snarl. The sight of the man who had beaten him at every point of the game, and--as he believed--stolen the woman for whom he at least lusted, had turned him into a fiend indeed. He was on the point of pulling the trigger when the girl's cool voice intervened.

"You must be mad or drunk, King, to come back to a town where every man's hand is against you."

"Hell, I'm King Burdette, an' there ain't one of 'em dare face me," he sneered.

His swift glare at the card-players provoked no response; they knew what he could do with a six-shooter; a movement would mean instant death to two or three of them. They sat in their places as though petrified.

"Except the man who is facing you now, and from whom you ran away when it was a question of an even break," she said scathingly.

The words cut him like a knife. "Shut yore cursed mouth, yu Jezebel, or I'll send yu along with him," he raved.

"Keep outa this, Mrs. Lavigne," the puncher urged. "Yu might get hurt. He's loco, an' may shoot wild."

His voice was steady and his grave eyes stressed the request. He did not for an instant believe what he had said, but he wanted her to. Burdette was a master of his weapon, and even in the grip of passion could not miss at that short range, and shooting at one who was, in effect, unarmed. Lu Lavigne looked at him wonderingly. With the shadow of Death hovering over him his one concern was for her safety. She had never met a man like this, and her heart told her she must save him--at any cost.

"Don't do this thing, King," she cried impulsively. "Go away now and I will come with you. I'll do anything you ask; be your slave--your toy . . ."

A hideous laugh cut her short. "Hark to her," King jeered. "Willin' to buy yore triflin' life with her beautiful body, Green--there's devotion. But the price ain't nearly high enough. Yu die."

Sudden drew himself up and looked coolly at the menacing muzzle. He had faced death before, had dealt it to others, and was not afraid.

"Shoot an' be damned, yu coward," he said.

Watching the killer's eyes, alight with the lust to slay, he knew that the moment had come, and prepared to fling himself forward in a desperate effort to beat the bullet. It was one chance in a thousand against a good gunman. Burdette's finger was actually squeezing the trigger when Lu Lavigne, with a cry of "No, no, you shall not kill him," stepped swiftly in front of the threatened man. The crash of the report was followed by a tiny slap as of a drivenrain-drop on a window-pane, and the horrified spectators saw the girl drop limply into Sudden's arms.

King Burdette stood as if turned to stone, stunned by the crime he had committed. A growl of rage from the card-table apprised him of his own danger--the men were reaching for their guns. The noise of the shot would bring others. If he wished to live he must move quickly. With lightning swiftness he sent two bullets at the card-players, and without waiting to see the result, darted to the door, hurled himself on his horse, and raced down the trail.

In the saloon Sudden was kneeling beside the girl who had given her life for his, one arm supporting her head. The bullet had struck her just above the heart, and he knew there was no hope. Her eyes opened.

"I always knew it would be King," she whispered. "Don't be too sorry for li'l Miss Tenderfoot." Her voice faltered, and then, "you are a good man--Jeem"--her brave attempt to smile was heartbreaking--"but women are fools and don't always find it out--in time. Would you ... ?" Sudden read the request in the big dark eyes and bent his lips to hers. "Tell the boys good-bye," she murmured, and that was the end.

When the foreman stood up his face was a mask of bronze, his voice sounded strange and unnatural. " 'Tend to her," he said. "I gotta 'tend to him," and stepped swiftly from the saloon.

"An' I hope he gets him," growled one, whose right arm hung useless. "If he hadn't been so blame' quick I'd 'a' nailed the skunk my own self."

"Green'll get him, yu betcha," another said grimly. "Did yu see his face? If Burdette owed me money I'd call it a total loss right now."

Sudden swung into his saddle, gave one look at a distant cloud of dust on the trail through the valley, and sent Nigger charging after it. Behind him the town was in a ferment; from every building men popped out, asked one excited question, and raced for "The Plaza." Soon after the puncher had left, an armed band of dour-faced riders followed him; Lu Lavigne had been well liked.

Sudden rode like a man whose brain has been numbed; the completeness of the catastrophe had overwhelmed him. His mind slid back into the past, to an incident of his boyhood, when he had seen another lad slashing beautiful wild blooms with a stick for the selfish pleasure of seeing them fall, bruised and broken, at his feet. Without quite knowing why, save that it had seemed a pitiful, wanton waste, he had thrashed that boy. And now--he must catch the man in front.

"We gotta do it, Nig, even if we go to the edge o' the world," he muttered.

The big horse pricked up its ears and settled down to the job in earnest. Not often was he allowed to run as he liked; he would show his master, who sometimes asked a great deal, but was never unkind, and who always saw to his, Nigger's, comfort before his own, what he could do. The great corded muscles slid easily to and fro beneath the skin, like well-oiled pistons, driving the body forward in a tireless, leaping stride. Slowly but surely the black was gaining ground.

The first few miles of the trail to the Circle B ran straight along the open floor of the valley, and the fugitive soon became aware that he was followed. One hurried backward glance told him who it was--there could be no mistaking the horse--and he cursed himself for an oversight.

"Why'n hell didn't I turn the hoss loose, or shoot it?"

He knew why, he had had only one thought--to get away. The accusing dark eyes in the flower-like face rose before him now, and he strove to find excuses. It was an accident--he could not have foreseen that she would stepin front of the puncher. But though such a plea might salve his own conscience he knew it would carry no weight in Windy. In a land where men were hanged for even attempting to steal a beast, this thing he had done would be dealt with in only one way; a rope and the nearest tree would be his portion if he were taken. For he had threatened to kill the girl. Damn it, Sim had been right; he had tripped over a skirt, and the crash of the fall had shattered his nerve. He, the last of the Burdettes, was fleeing for his life from one man.

One man! Why not stay and shoot it out? He stole a look rearward. The black horse was nearer now--noticeably nearer--and further back along the trail was a bigger smother of dust in which dark spots moved swiftly. Bur-dette knew what this signified, and snarled an oath.

"Hell's fire! If I down Green they'll get me," he muttered, and savagely spurred and quirted the racing beast between his knees to a greater burst of speed. For a moment or two the animal pluckily responded, but could not keep it up. Foot by foot the black was drawing closer and, notwithstanding the intense heat, a clammy wetness bedewed Burdette's brow. His horse was nearly exhausted, while that of his pursuer appeared to be running easily, as fresh as when it started. Was this to be the end? Tough as was his nature, he could not repress a shudder. He was still young, and life could be sweet. In another country, under a new name.... But first he must deal with the relentless devil behind.

Desperately his brain worked on the problem. A turn of the head told him that Green was now perilously near--sufficiently so to shoot him down if he wished, while the posse was still some distance away. But the expected shot did not come. Into the hunted man's eyes crept a gleam of hope. Furtively he got out his gun and reloaded the three empty chambers, shivering a little as he recalled the reason for his having to do so. Hell! It was her own fault, he told himself savagely. Holding the weapon in front of his body, he waited, conscious that he would soon be overtaken. What would Green do? Shoot it out, giving him an even break? yes, that was the sort of fool he was. His thin lips twisted in a scornful grimace.

The drumming beat of the oncoming black was louder now, and his own mount was visibly tiring. A bare twenty yards separated them. King's haggard, dust-grimed features hardened. They were nearing the point where the trail skirted the broken, wooded country around the base of Battle Butte, and if he could contrive to cripple the black or his rider he would have time to disappear before the posse came up. There were places . . .

Swiftly he slewed round in his saddle, fired twice, and stooped low over the neck of his pony to escape an answering bullet. None came; only the hammering hoofs grew more distinct, ringing like a death-knell in his ears. Again he flung two shots behind him, but travelling at such a pace it was impossible to aim with accuracy. He saw Green's hat fly from his head and cursed in bitter disappointment; an inch or two lower.... In a sudden spate of despairing ferocity King used his bloodied spurs cruelly. This savage act proved his undoing; his pony, already dying on its legs, lunged blindly, put a foot in a hollow and pitched forward. Burdette was a fine rider, but, caught unawares in the act of turning to fire one more chance shot, could not save himself, and was thrown headlong. In an instant the black thunderbolt was upon them; it missed the struggling pony but caught the man. Sudden, wrenching impotently at his reins, had a brief glimpse of a fear-riven face, heard a shriek of agony, and then--silence.

The posse scampered up to find the C P foreman looking down upon the huddled, broken body of King Bur-dette. The pony had scrambled to its feet again and now stood head down, with heaving sides and every limb trembling.

"So yu got him?" one of the men said.

Sudden shook his head. "My hoss trampled him--broke his back, I reckon. I couldn't stop him in time."

"Well, it don't matter so long as he's cashed," another said callously. "We heard shootin'." The puncher explained, and the man's eyes widened. "Why the blazes didn't yu cut down on the coyote?" he wanted to know.

"I hadn't figured it that away," was the grave reply.

A discussion arose as to the disposal of the body. "I'm for takin' him in to town," Weldon said. "He was a big man hereabout--once."

"This'll be bad news for Slippery," someone remarked. "How comes he ain't here?"

"Said suthin' about ridin' to his ranch this afternoon."

For the marshal, listening in his office to the shooting, had purposely made a belated appearance at "The Plaza," arriving after the posse had departed.

"I reckon Sam'll want to see the last of his boss," Weldon said grimly, little dreaming how near he was to the literal truth.

So it was decided. King Burdette made his last journey to Windy slung over the back of his pony, and Sudden, pacing behind the gruesome burden, remembered that he had brought young Purdie home in just the same fashion. And King had bushwhacked Purdie! His mind reverted to "The Plaza," and a gust of anger moved him.

"He died too easy," came the bitter reflection.

Chapter XXVI

THAT evening, behind the bolted door of his quarters, the marshal and his deputy had a lengthy conversation. The death of King Burdette was not all that Slype had hoped for.

"That cursed cow-punch is still blockin' the trail; we gotta git rid o' him," he said. "I guess it's up to yu, Riley."

"Yu can guess again," Riley replied unhesitatingly. "I pass. That fella's too damn lucky, an' likewise, too spry with his guns."

"Scared, huh?" his chief sneered.

"Shore I am," the other admitted, adding bluntly, "An' so are yu."

Slype scowled, but did not deny the imputation. "We'll have to find some way," he said, and sat thinking. Presently he looked up. "Reckon I got it. How about this?"

The deputy smiled crookedly when he had heard the scheme. "She's a great notion," he agreed. "Won't nobody be able to heave rocks at yu neither. Yu certainly have got a headpiece, Slippery."

"I figure it will work--for us," the marshal said. "If it does, the game's our'n. Cal's back an' we can make him come clean when we want."

"Yu ain't forgettin' Purdie?"

Slype snapped his fingers. "Without Green he'll be easy," he replied. "Git a-movin'."

"The Plaza" was closed. Because of that, and the exciting events of the day, "The Lucky Chance" and smaller drinking-places were crowded. From one to another of these the marshal and his deputy severally gravitated, mixing with group after group of the customers and joining in the conversation. Naturally there was only one topic--the day's doings--and the opinions of Slype and his assistant were singularly alike. Burdette was dead, and there was no harm in hanging a halo on him. The marshal did not state it in that way, but he voiced a doubt as to whether the Circle B boss was quite so blameworthy as appeared. He put forward a somewhat altered explanation of the kidnapping .Burdette believed he had a legitimate claim against the C P and was holding the girl to enforce it in order to avoid bloodshed--a laudable object.

"Bit high-handed o' King, I'm willin' to say," Slype admitted, in the tone of one anxious to be fair to both sides, "but that don't justify Purdie wipin' out the Circle B like he done."

The slaying of Lu Lavigne was an obvious accident for which, according to the marshal, Green was really responsible. He had announced that he would shoot Burdette on sight, and naturally the menaced man, finding his enemy in "The Plaza," had got the drop on him. When King, half demented at having killed the woman he worshipped Slype inwardly smirked when he used the word--rushed away, the puncher followed, and having the better horse, caught him.

"An' what happens?" the marshal asked, and proceeded to answer his own question: " 'Stead o' shootin' it out man to man as any fair-minded gent would, Green knocks him off his busted bronc an' lets that black brute o' his tromp King to death."

All of which, when backed up by liberal doses of free liquor, sounded plausible enough, especially to the turbulent faction of the community, to whom the spectacular lawlessness of the Black Burdettes had appealed. There was further talk of strangers who drifted in and tried to "run the town." By midnight, such is the mercurial quality of public opinion, the late owner of the Circle B was being almost regretted and the man who had beaten him correspondingly condemned.

The result of the marshal's activities was evidenced early next morning when a freckled-faced lad rode up to the C P and in a shrill treble yelled, "Hello, the house."

Sudden, on his way to his employer, stopped short and surveyed the young visitor and his aged mount with a good-natured grin.

"We ain't takin' on hands for the round-up yet, son," he remarked.

The boy squirmed in his saddle. "I warn't ..." And then, with a rush, "Slippery sent me up to git yu."

The foreman flung up his hands in mock alarm. "Don't shoot; I'll come quiet," he promised. "Middlin' young for a deppity, ain't yu, Timmie?"

"Aw, quit yore joshin'," the boy expostulated, and pulled the brim of his battered hat as Purdie stepped from the house. "They's holdin' a inquiry on King an' Mrs. Lavigne this mornin'; I ain't grievin' none 'bout him, but" --there was a little break in the childish voice--"she was mighty kind to me."

"That's all right, sonny, we'll be along," the rancher told him. "Fed yet?"

"Shore seems a while ago, seh," Timmie confessed.

"Cut along an' see the cook," Purdie smiled. "Two breakfasts never did hurt a boy yet." He turned to his foreman. "What's back o' this caper?"

Sudden's face was set. "I sort of expected it," he said. "Slippery is puttin' up his last bluff, an' I aim to call it."

"Get Bill an' half a dozen o' the boys," the cattleman said. "Where's Luce?"

"Gone ridin' with Miss Nan," Sudden replied, and waited for the explosion.

It did not come. Purdie just nodded, and said, "Reckon we can manage without him. I had that boy figured up all wrong, Jim; there's times he reminds me powerful o' Kit."

Whereat the foreman smiled covertly and was wisely dumb.

Windy had not attained the dignity of a court-house, and meetings of any public importance took place in a large room adjoining "The Lucky Chance" which had been originally created for a dance-hall. Here, lolling on forms or leaning against the walls, the C P contingent found most of the citizens. Seated behind a table borrowed from the bar was the marshal, with his deputy near at hand. His face darkened when he saw that Sudden had not come unsupported.

"Mornin', Purdie," he greeted. "Was there any need to fetch along a young army?"

The rancher looked around. "Where is it?" he asked. "My boys got as much right to be here as yu have. What's the fuss about?"

"No fuss a-tall," Slype returned. "Just a friendly meetin' to investigate the passin' o' two prominent citizens."

"One bein' a common thief an' hold-up," Purdie said caustically.

"That ain't no way to speak o' the dead," the marshal reproved. "Fact is, the evidence 'pears to show Burdette warn't as bad as his reputation."

"Huh! He musta had a hell of a reputation, then," the rancher retorted. "All right; get on with the whitewashin'."

"This meetin' would like to hear yore foreman's account o' what happened yestiddy," Slype began.

Sudden told the story, plainly and briefly. The marshal's cunning eyes glinted with satisfaction when it was finished.

"Yo're admittin' that the killin' o' the woman warn't intentional?"

"Shore--the shot was meant for me. She ran into it."

The marshal nodded sagely. "I knowed it," he said. "So did everyone else, yu damn fool," Purdie told him, and several of those present smiled audibly.

"Why should she protect yu, Green?" was the next question.

"She cared for King, an' I figure she didn't want to see him commit murder. His guns were out when he came into the saloon, so he had the drop on me from the start."

"Yu had threatened to shoot him on sight."

"That's not true."

The questioner shrugged his shoulders. "Yu claim King's hoss throwed him--one o' the best riders hereabouts," he went on, incredulity patent in his tone.

"He was twisted in his saddle to fire at me when his bronc went down."

"An' instead o' givin' him a chance, yu rode over him?"

"What chance was he givin' me in `The Plaza'?" the puncher retorted. "An' he buzzed four bullets at me when I overtook him, without waitin' to warn me too. Allasame, I tried to avoid the tramplin'; I wanted to shoot him."

"Yu meant to kill King although yu knowed what he had just done was an accident?" Slype said quickly.

"I certainly did," Sudden said, and there was a flicker of a smile on his grim lips. "Did yu suppose I wanted to congratulate him?" The faint amusement faded from his face. "Listen to me, Slype; this was Burdette's fourth try at puttin' me outa business. First, King sends his gunman, Whitey, an' when he fails to turn the trick, Mart bushwhacks me at Dark Canyon, an' yu nearly hang Luce for it. Then another of his men, Riley there, pushes me in the Sluice an' sends a couple o' slugs after me for company."

The deputy sprang to his feet. "That's..."

"The truth--an' yu know it," Sudden said sternly. "On the top o' that, King carries off Miss Purdie."

"Bah! She warn't in no danger," the marshal sneered. "He was just usin' her to collect his debt from her father."

Purdie stepped forward, his face flaming. "There yu lie in yore throat, Slippery," he cried. "All I owed the Circle B could be paid with a bullet. Burdette's word to me was that unless I made over my ranch an' cattle to him he'd throw my daughter to his men."

The statement brought forth oaths of surprise and indignation from the audience. Rough, uncultured, hard-shelled as these men were, they possessed the instinctive respect of their type for the weaker sex, be she never such a poor example of it. The marshal saw the effect created and hastened to destroy it.

"Sheer bluff," he asserted. "Burdette wanted to git yu on yore knees without a battle. But we're driftin' from the point, which is this; ever since this fella Green appeared this town's had trouble, an' he's bin the hub of it. I reckon yu gotta git a new foreman, Purdie."

"Meanin' yu aim to run him out?" the rancher asked. "I'll see yu in hell first."

The marshal stood up, his thin, rodent-like jaws working. "I'm lettin' yu down easy," he rasped. "This yer town stood for Burdette's bullying, but it ain't goin' to stand for yores. Sabe?"

A confirming growl told him he had struck the right note. Sudden, sardonically scanning the coarse, savage faces around the room, saw that, for the moment, the marshal was on top. He knew the shallow minds of these men, easily stirred to passion, and jealous of their rights as free and independent citizens. He knew too the swift certainty with which they would strike when once they had come to a decision. He glanced at Purdie and guessed his thought; the C P owner was wishing he had brought more of his outfit. Ere the stinging retort which might have precipitated a fracas could leave the rancher's lips, the foreman interposed.

"How long yu givin' me to leave, marshal?" he quietly asked.

The puncher's friends could scarcely believe their ears. Slype's expression was one of mingled triumph and amazement; he had not looked for so easy a victory. The fellow was a four-flusher after all. He laughed evilly.

`Yu got till sundown; after that, yore stay is liable to be plenty permanent," he answered.

Someone sniggered at the. gibe. Bill Yago opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking when he caught his foreman's eye. Weldon, the blacksmith, moved as though about to say something, but changed his mind when Sudden shook his head. Leaning indolently against the wall, his thumbs tucked in his belt, the man who had been so unceremoniously told to "pull his freight" looked at the ring of faces. Many of them were hard and hostile, others contemptuous, while all expressed curiosity. Deliberately he got out his "makings," rolled a cigarette and lighted it. He dropped the match, placed his foot upon it, and straightened up as though he had reached a decision.

"Good enough, marshal, that'll give me time to complete what I came to these parts to do," he said. Holding open one flap of his vest, he disclosed a metal star sewn on the inside. "Yu know what that is?" he questioned. They all did, and a ripple of surprise ran through the spectators. What was a United States deputy-sheriff doing in Windy? Upon Slype the appearance of an officer whose authority far exceeded his own fell like an avalanche. Half-dazed, he heard the C P foreman explain that he had been sent to investigate the Black Burdettes, tales of whose plunderings for a hundred miles round had come to the Governor's ears. This statement restored the marshal to normality; the Battle Butte gang was broken, the deputy's work was done; he, the marshal, had nothing to fear from him. Satisfied on this point, he began to bluster.

"Why didn't yu come to me right away an' declare yoreself?" he asked. "I could 'a' helped yu."

Sudden smiled mirthlessly. "Yu did, but I ain't thankin' yu," he replied. "When yu bumped off Mart Burdette ..."

The marshal jumped as though jerked with a string. "Why, I was in the bar there when the fight ended," he protested.

"Yu left before he did, an' turned my hoss loose so that I'd be delayed, which would help when yu tried to throw suspicion on me," Sudden replied evenly. "Raw work, marshal."

"All damn nonsense," Slype sneered. "Mart was a friend."

"An' so was Sim, huh? Yet yu shot him down under a flag o' truce in the fight at the Circle B," the cold voice continued.

The hiss of indrawn breath betokened the amazement of the spectators of this strange scene. Save for the scuffle of restless feet as men leant forward, there' was little sound. All eyes were focused on the man in the chair, who from being accuser had so swiftly become the accused.

The marshal's laugh was not convincing. "Musta bin a wonderful shot," he said, "seein' I was in town an' asleep at the time, Purdie not havin' asked for my assistance."

This remark caused some merriment, but the puncher's next statement stilled it.

"I saw yu at the moment yu fired," he said.

"That goes for me too," came the wheezy, cracked voice of California. "Shore thought yu was on Purdie's side an' that mebbe yu didn't notice the flag."

The marshal's agile brain was racing. How much did this damned interloper know? He must gain time to think.

"Might as well claim I wiped out King too while yo're about it," he sneered.

"Not exactly, but yu had to do with it," Sudden returned. "He came straight from yore office to `The Plaza,' an' I figure you sent him in search o' me, hopin' we'd kill one another."

Slippery shrugged his shoulders disdainfully; the needed flash of inspiration had come, and he thought he saw a way out. He turned to the waiting, breathless company.

"Well, boys, I s'pose I gotta explain," he began. "For quite a while I've knowed the Burdettes was bad medicine --robbers, rustlers, an' killers."

"But friends o' yores," came the acid reminder.

The marshal achieved a passable chuckle. "I let 'em think so," he said. "A fella what represents the law don't allus have to show his hand; yu didn't yoreself, Green." A sly glance at his hearers told him he had scored a point. "I kept cases on 'em an' waited for opportunities. Some o' yu may think it was a sneaky way o' doin', but, when yu go after a wolf yu don't give him a chance to bite, an' if I'd come out into the open, how long would I 'a' lasted, marshal or no? Well, I got Mart an' Sim, an' would 'a' got King in time, doin' this yer town the biggest service any fella could." He affected a jocularity he was by no means feeling as he nodded at the deputy-sheriff. "Me an' yu was workin' on the same job, an' if yu'd come to me at the start it might 'a' bin put through in better shape."

He slumped back in his chair and mopped his brow, conscious of excited whispering. His story was clever, plausible, and daring. Because the Burdettes were a threat to the town he had made war upon them. His methods might be questionable, but he was not the first law-officer to strain his powers and shoot a criminal instead of arresting him; such a procedure was only too common in those turbulent times. These fools would swallow it, was his thought. Then he looked at his accuser, and shivered; here was a man who would not. For in the narrowed eyes he read the scornful disbelief of one who knows what he has heard to be untrue. Sudden's voice, coldly impassive, told him that the battle was not yet over.

"Slype, yu are a liar from yore toes up. The two crimes yu have confessed to were committed not by virtue of yore office but for yore own ends. When yu murdered Old Man Burdette ..."

"Gawd A'mighty, did Slippery do that too?" Weldon shouted, and his remark was followed by profane expressions of astonishment from all parts of the room.

"... an' let the C P be suspected, yore object was to bring the ill-feeling between the two ranches to an open rupture. Yore plan seemed to be succeedin' when King shot young Purdie an' let Luce shoulder the blame."

Sudden heard a muttered exclamation, and knew that Purdie's last lingering doubt of his daughter's suitor had vanished. For the rest, some nodded meaningly as if to say they had known it all along, while others appeared incredulous. Slype, scanning their faces narrowly, took his cue from the latter.

"Easy to pin things on a fella if yu kill him first," he scoffed. "Yu ain't proved anythin' yet. Why should I want the Purdies an' Burdettes a-scrappin'?"

"So that, if they wiped one another out, yu could grab their ranches--yu knew neither o' the families had any kin. Also, yu wanted Cal's gold mine," Sudden said sternly, and then his voice changed. "Yu played ze beeg game, senor." So life-like was the imitation that the marshal started and glanced fearfully round the room, almost convinced that it was the dead Mexican who had spoken. He had a swift vision of the pain-wrecked, twisted body, with its wide-open, glazing eyes, lying in the sun-drenched gully. The puncher's next words dispelled the illusion. "No, Ramon is not here, Slype; yu made shore o' that. Do yu remember the `leetle story' he told before yu shot him down?"

Under the shock of this further blow the marshal shivered. What else did he know, this saturnine devil of a deputy-sheriff who had dropped from the clouds? He tried to think, but his brain seemed to be paralysed. The net was closing, he was in deadly peril, he must say something--but what? When at length his trembling lips formed the words he did not recognize his own voice:

"He tried to down me."

Sudden's expression was withering. "What's the use o' lyin'--Ramon never went for a weapon," he said. "Me an' Bill Yago, up on the rim, saw an' heard everythin'. Yu an' the Mex were sittin' face to face. Yu folded yore arms, an' when he made his proposition, yu pulled that double-barrelled derringer yu wear under yore left shoulder, shot him twice, an' galloped away. He warn't dead when we got to him, an' he signed this before he cashed in."

The scrap of paper he produced passed rapidly from hand to hand, the eyes of each man as he read it going to the drooping figure in the chair. Somehow the marshal seemed to have shrunk, his clothes hung loosely upon him. In an ashen mask, his eyes were cavernous pools of stark fear. He realized that he was doomed; one look at the ring of silent, relentless faces was enough to tell him this. He knew these men--had drank and gamed with many of them--and yet, they would hang him and go back to their work or play with a scornful jest on their lips. He had, without a qualm, hurled others into the unknown, and now the Dark Destroyer was at his own elbow; a few moments of agony and then--what? The thought appalled him; terror spurred his frozen faculties to action; in a hoarse, unnatural voice he made his last bid.

"Green, yo're an officer o' the law; I demand to be taken to the country seat."

It was his only chance. The country seat was weeks distant; he might escape on the journey. Even if he did not, a smart lawyer could find excuses for putting off the trial; the jury would be composed of strangers; in the lapse of time evidence might cease to be available. In any case he would procure a respite, and to the abject, broken wretch who felt death clawing at his throat, a few weeks, days, or even hours seemed a priceless boon. Shaking as with an ague, he looked fearfully at the man who held his fate in his hands. The deputy-sheriff's face was that of a statue, his eyes cold, expressionless.

"I don't remember any talk o' the country seat when yu were lettin' 'em hang Luce Burdette," he said slowly; and the cowering man in the chair knew that he was being condemned. "When I came here the Governor gave me a free hand." He paused a moment, considering. Slype's lips moved, but no sound came from them. Sudden's narrowed gaze swept the silent assembly, and when he spoke again his words fell like hammer-blows upon the numbed brain of the man to whom they were addressed.

"These men made yu marshall it is for them to judge yu."

As the puncher passed through the empty bar Slype's agonized accents followed him. He could vision the fellow, crazed by the dread of death, frantically appealing on his knees for the mercy he could not hope to receive. Hesitation claimed him for an instant, and then another picture presented itself--that of a little grey-eyed man who had said sternly, "Make a clean job of it."

He went on, out into the sunlight.

Some weeks later a rider, on a big black horse, paced slowly in the direction of the tiny cemetery. It was early morning, and the oblique rays of the rising sun filtered through the foliage and blotched the track along which he rode with dancing splashes of shadow. There were little currents of air, pine-laden, and the whistling of the birds accentuated the silent peacefulness. In the depths of the valley an opalescent haze was lifting.

Sudden had said good-bye to the C P, and it had not been easy. To all Purdie's offers--they had been more than generous--he had but one reply:

"That little Governor fella will be wantin' my repawt."

To the young couple who owed him so much, and the outfit generally, he used the same excuse, but to Bill Yago --whose pride in his promotion to the post of foreman was entirely submerged by the fact that in gaining it he lost a friend--he gave a different reason--he had another task. And Bill, who knew what it was, snorted in disgust.

"Aw, hell, yu'll never find them hombres, Jim."

"Not if I wait for 'em to come to me, ol-timer," Sudden had replied. "No, I got a good reason for goin' an' none for stoppin'--now."

Which cryptic remark Yago might have better understood had he seen his late foreman bending over the recent grave to lay upon it an armful of blooms gathered in a certain glade which had taken him somewhat out of his way. And Bill would scarcely have known him. The hard lines which playing a man's part in a world of men had graven upon his young face had gone, the steel-like eyes which could be so forbidding were gentle, even misty.

"Yu was fond o' flowers," he said softly. "I won't be here, but Miss Nan has promised ..." And then, after a pause, "I wish he had got me."

He rose and stood, hat in hand, looking down upon the simple mound beneath which lay the gay, tempestuous girl who had given her life for him. What freak of fate had brought her to this wild corner of the world? Misfortune, a spirit of adventure inherited from some filibustering forbear--she had Spanish blood in her--or a rank rebellion against the restraints of civilization? He would never know now.

"I reckon Life gave yu a raw deal, ma'am," he whispered. "Mebbe Death will be--kinder."

Slowly mounting his horse, he turned to face a world which, all at once, seemed strangely empty.

THE END