Sudden Law o The Lariat

Law O' The Lariat

Oliver Strange

*

PROLOGUE:

"WELL, Forby, yu got anythin' to say afore we string yu up?"

The harsh question conveyed the inevitability of death, and the speaker evidently regarded it as a mere formality. A powerfully-built man of little more than thirty, attired in the garb of the cattle ranges, he stood rocking on his heels, both thumbs caught in his gun-belt. His deep-set eyes, hooked nose and out-thrust jaw gave him a predatory appearance, and had the thin, cruel lips not been concealed by a drooping black moustache he would have suggested a vulture even more patently. That he possessed both force and passion was evident.

The man to whom he spoke was of a different type. Older by twenty years, with greying hair and beard, he had the strong patient face of one who plods on, knowing his task in life is well-nigh hopeless, but doing it nevertheless to the best of his ability. He was of those who peopled the great waste spaces of the American continent, fighting against almost impossible odds, and wresting a bare subsistence from the untamed soil. He sat now on a log, hands tied behind his back, chin sunk in his chest, his whole attitude one of despair. At the words, however, he straightened up, and his gaze went instinctively to the rough little log cabin he had built with his own hands, the rude corral, the patch of fenced ground, which was only now beginning to be productive, and the stream with its shady willows and cottonwoods. He had made the place, he loved it, and now he must leave it, perhaps in a shameful way. Somehow it seemed unreal. The sun shone, the birds chirped, the murmur of the stream came like a whisper, and yet the air was pregnant with tragedy.

His gaze swept the six men who stood round in a half-circle regarding him curiously but implacably. They were cowboys--hired creatures of the man who had spoken, and he knew he had nothing to hope for from them; they would do as they were bid. And then he looked their leader squarely in the face and spoke, his voice low, steady and without rancour.

"I can on'y repeat what I said afore--I never touched any o' yore stock, Bartholomew," he said heavily.

"Yet we find 'em in yore pasture, with the brand changed from Bar B to Four B," retorted the other; adding with a sneer, "Yu chose a mighty convenient brand, didn't you?"

"The Four B was my brand years afore I come to these parts, an' I'm usin' my own name, too," the older man pointed out. "If I'd done what yu say, d'yu think I'd be such a fool as to leave 'em run along with my cattle with the brands unhealed?"

"Oh, yu dam nesters think yu can get away with anythin', an' yu didn't know we suspected yu," said Bartholomew. "How d'yu account for 'em bein' there anyways? Yore pasture's fenced an' cows ain't got wings."

"I dunno how they come there," said the other dully. "I was in Hope last night, gettin' supplies. Someone musta driven 'em in while I was away."

"Likely tale that," said the big man. "Yu done it yoreself an' went to town to put up an alibi. Mighty smart, but it don't go."

The accused man shook his head dubiously. This was the end. Ever since he had taken up his quarter section he had had to fight. He had been threatened, his cattle stolen, his horses maimed, and once his little crop of hay for winter feed burned, but he had hung on doggedly, hoping that strict attention to his own affairs would overcome the local prejudice against "nesters". And this might have come about but for the hostility of the man before him.

"I've a right here," he said, answering his own thought. "It's State land."

"It's 'free range'," Bartholomew said tersely.

"Yes, free to yu an' not to me," flashed the prisoner.

"I was here first," the other pointed out; then : "but we've had all this out a'ready; nothin's free to a rustler except a rope."

The seated man shrugged his shoulders with an air of resignation. "I ain't a thief, but seein' yu got me thrown an' tied, I reckon I gotta pull my freight," he said. "If it warn't for my boy I dunno as I'd care; I'm tired o' buckin' the odds, but he ain't got no one else."

"Pull yore freight?" gibed the big man, a cruel scorn in his tone. "It's too late, my fine fella, yu should 'a' done that when yu were told to, months back."

The bound man looked at him in slow surprise. Hitherto he had believed that he had only to quit the country, but now he saw that Bartholomew was ruthless and meant to have his life. The charge against him was a "frame-up", probably contrived by the man who had condemned him, but he could not prove his innocence. He studied the faces of the other men, but while one of them, whom he knew as Darby, turned his eyes away, the rest showed nothing but sardonic contempt; to them he was a cattle thief and deserved no mercy.

"Yu boys stand for this?" he asked hopelessly.

Darby was the only one who spoke. "Aw, boss, if he clears out o' the country--" he suggested.

Bartholomew swore an oath. "No, by God ! " he gritted. "Nesters is like Injuns--the on'y good 'uns are dead 'uns. He had notice, an' now we've got him with the goods he's had a fair hearin'. He's outstayed his welcome, an' p'raps it'll be a warnin' to others that nesters ain't wanted here. Get yore rope, Penton."

The man addressed walked to where the horses were grouped, took his lariat from the saddle-horn and returned with it swinging in his hand.

"Yu turn my dad loose or I'll blow yu to hellamile, Bartholomew."

The command came in a shrill, childish treble, that trembled with rage or fear, and every eye turned to the speaker. He had stolen up unperceived and now stood only a few yards from the group round the condemned man. A mere lad of about twelve, shabbily dressed in a blue flannel shirt and faded overalls, his ultimatum would have been something for men to laugh at but for the fact that his youthful fingers gripped a heavy rifle, the barrel of which was directed full at Bartholomew's breast. The boy's features were distraught with passion.

"I'm meanin' it ! " he cried. "Turn dad loose, or yu'll get yores, Bartholomew."

The threatened man laughed. "All right, kid," he said, and stepped towards the prisoner, at the same tirne winking significantly to the man with the rope. The boy, watching the leader, did not see Penton's sudden wrist-flick, and only realised the truth when the noose settled over his shoulders and a sharp jerk flung him from his feet. Nevertheless, even as he fell, he pulled the trigger, but the bullet went wide.

"Young hell-cat," snarled the rancher, when the boy had been overcome and bound. "If he was a bit older I'd make a clean job of it. One o' yu take hirn into the house an' keep him there until--after."

Darby volunteered for the job, and carried the lad, kicking and mouthing boyish curses, into the building. Bartholomew turned to the others.

"Put a light to the shack when yu done, an' fetch the stock along," he ordered curtly, and, mounting his horse, rode away without another look at the man he had left to die.

An hour later the boy crept from the brush fringing the stream, and, with a sob as he passed the smouldering ruins, made his way to the big cottonwood in front of what that morning had been his home. A violent fit of trembling seized him when he saw the gruesome limp form hanging from a lower limb, and for a moment he could not move. Then, making an effort, he went on. Beneath the body was a small heap--a worn purse, a tobacco pouch and pipe, a locket, which he knew contained his dead mother's portrait, a jack-knife and a slip of paper. Scrawled in pencil on the paper were the words :

"Goodbye, son. I'm goin' game. Don't forget me. I know yu'll do what's right. Dad."

With blurred eyes, and strangling the sobs that nearly choked him, the boy read the pitiful message.

"I'll shore do what's right, dad, to that hell-hound," he muttered thickly.

Then, as he had done many a time before just for amusement, he climbed the tree, and severing the rope, allowed the corpse to slump to the ground. For an instant he clung to the branch, sick and dizzy, and then dropped down to kneel by his father's body. He kissed the cheek, and the cold contact sent a shiver through him. Presently he got up, and, going to the little garden patch, returned with a spade and began to dig.

It was a big job for hands so young, and the sun was low in the sky before the hole was large and deep enough. Dragging the body into it the boy covered it with a layer of green boughs, to shield the poor clay from the earth from which it sprang, and, ere the opening was completely filled in, he fetched heavy stones from the stream bed and packed them in that the grave might not be violated by wild creatures.

The burial finished, he was about to depart, when a sudden thought came to him. Opening his father's jack-knife, he set to work. When at length he turned to leave, the tree trunk bore, in letters a foot long and deeply cut, his father's brand:There, in the gathering twilight, the white letters stood out, marking the last resting place of another victim of Judge Lynch. In the corral the boy found one pony and his own worn saddle. For these he knew he must thank the man Darby, who, on senting him free when the house was fired, had promised to leave them.

"I can't do nothin', son, but they shan't set yu afoot," he had said.

Everything else was gone; and, having saddled and mounted the pony, the boy, with a last look and a tightened throat, turned his face to the wilderness.

"I'm comin' back, Bartholomew," he said aloud. "An' when I do I'll be--shootin'."

Chapter I

THE little town of Hope Again lay dormant under the blistering heat of the midday sun, a heat which made exertion a curse and any sort of shade a blessing. The origin of the somewhat quaint name was a mystery, but it is conceivable that the place was christened by some luckless pioneer who, having survived the maddening monotony and deadly menace of the desert which stretched to the south, was moved to inspiration by the sight once more of water, trees and the distant hills.

Hope--as the dwellers therein usually called it--little warranted so encouraging a name. A far-flung frontier settlement, it differed in no way from a hundred others of its kind. Two straggling, irregular lines of apologies for buildings, constructed of timber, 'dobe or both, formed some sort of a street, and the spaces between them, littered with tin cans and other refuse, added to the unlovely picture. Only two of these erections aspired to the dignity of a second story, the "hotel" and the largest of the saloons--Muger's--which bore the inviting title "Come Again", and to which a dance hall was attached. The rest of the town comprised a bank, solidly built of 'dobe bricks, a blacksmith's, two general stores, one of which was also the posn office, several smaller saloons, shacks and dugouts, which sheltered the permanent population. Board sidewalks made progress for pedestrians possible, and at one end of the dusty, rutted road a rude timber bridge spanned the little river which, after a tortuous journey from the Mesa Mountains in the north, supplied the town with water and went on to lose itself in the sands of the desert less than a mile away. And over everything an almost impalpable dust cast a grey-white mantle.

The town appeared to be deserted save for two men standing in the doorway of one of the lesser saloons. One was the owner of the place, Bent, a short, squat fellow, with a craggy face in which the eyes twinkled good-humouredly. The other was a stranger, and the saloon-keeper--as is the way of his kind--was curious about him, but not unduly so, for in the West curiosity, like dynamite, must be handled carefully.

He was a tall man, apparently nearing thirty, with the wide shoulders and narrow hips of the athlete. His clean-shaven, deeply-tanned face, with its steady grey-blue eyes and firm jaw, had the gravity of an Indian's, but there was a quirk of humour in the little lines at the corners of the mouth. His cowboy rig was plain but neat, and had evidently seen service; and the same appeared to be the case winh the two guns which hung low on his hips, the ends of the holsters tied down to facilitate the draw. A furtive examination of his horse in the corral behindthe saloon had told Bent nothing. He did not know the brand.

Bent, covertly regarding the lithe, lounging figure, continued his inward speculation. Was he an out-of-work puncher, a gun- man, or both, and what had brought him to Hope, which was on the direct route to nowhere? His meditations were interrupted in a curious manner. From up the street came a crack like a pistol-shot, a yelp of animal pain and a volley of oaths. Then from the door of the "Come Again" saloon a dog hurtled forth as nhough forcibly propelled. There was a rope round its neck, and holding the other end came a cowboy wielding a wicked quirt and a still more wicked tongue. The dog, having recovered from its ungainly sprawl in the dust, set off down the street, the man following, tugging on the rope and flicking the animal with the whip.

"I'll larn yu to fly at me, yu mongrel whelp o' nhe devil, if I have to lift the hide off'n yu an inch at a lick," he yelled. "Take that, yu--"

With the savage words the whip cracked again, and a fresh bleeding spon on the dog's back showed when the cruel end of the lash had bitten, removing hair and skin. The yelp of the tortured beast and the laugh of its persecutor rang out together. The apparent report of a firearm peopled the place as if by magic. From doors and windows heads protruded, while a few men, more curious or more venturesome than their fellows, came out on the sidewalk, but cautiously, for lead might be flying about, and a bullet is no respecter of persons. When they saw what was happening several of them smiled. "Mad" Martin was at his tricks again.

"Stay with him, boy. Ride him," one shouted.

"I'll ride him to hell an' back," yelled the cowboy, as, dragged by the nearly demented dog, he jerked by, his dug-in heels sending up clouds of dust. Opposite Benn's saloon he swung his quirt for another blow.

"Drop that whip ! " came a curt command.

The stranger had suddenly come alive; one stride took him to the edge of the sidewalk, and it was he who had spoken. Martin stared at him, a savage surprise in his beady eyes. Leaning back, he checked his progress for a moment.

"Yu can go plumb to hell," he retorted.

"Drop it, yu skunk," came the further order, and this time there was a cold menace in the tone.

Martin recognised it and knew that he must either obey or fight. He elected to do both. Dropping the quirt he snatched at his gun. The other man appeared to make no move until the weapon was clear of the holster, and then came a spurt of smoke from his right hip, and Martin toppled sideways into the dust,letting fall his own gun and the rope as he did so. The stranger stepped into the street and stood over the prostrate man. "That dawg belong to yu?" he asked.

"Yes, an' what the hell business is it o' yores, anyways?" spat out the other, his baleful eyes glaring murder.

"I've made it my business, an' I'm buyin' yore dawg," replied the stranger coolly, as he took a roll of bills from his pocket peeled off one and flung it down. "That's five times the dawg's value an' fifty times yores," he added contemptuously.

"This don't finish here--I'll get yu," Martin gritted.

"Better get--yoreself," the stranger warned sardonically.

The wounded man staggered to his feet and floundered back up the street, clutching his hurt arm, from the fingers of which the blood dripped redly. The victor watched him for a few moments and then stepped to the sidewalk again, whistling to the dog, which had paused uncertainly a few dozen yards away. Apparently recognising a friend, the animal, little more than a pup, of a mixed breed in which the wolfhound predominated, obeyed the call, alternately cringing and wagging its tail. The rescuer stooped and scratched its head.

"Yu shore have had a raw deal, old fella," he said. "An' by the look o' yore ribs meal times ain't been any too regular. We'll have to find somethin' to fill out them dimples."

"You coward ! "

The voice was low and should have been sweet, but now it was charged with anger and scorn. In startled amazement the dog petter looked up to find that the words had been spoken by a girl, who had apparently emerged from the neighbouring store. Despite her evident temper, he had to admit she made a pretty picture. Of medium height, her slim, rounded figure showed to advantage in the short riding skirt, high-laced boots and shirtwaist, with a gay handkerchief knotted round her throat cowboy fashion. Her soft slouched hat did not entirely conceal a profusion of brown hair, to which the sun added a gleam of new bronze.

"You might have killed him," she went on vehemently.

Instinctively the stranger removed his hat. He knew, of course, that she was referring to the dog's late owner, and there was a spark of devilrnent in his eyes.

"Shore I might--if I'd wanted to," he said gravely. "But I on'y winged him--just put him out of action; he'll be as good as new in two-three weeks. I take it yu don't like dawgs, ma'am?"

"Yu take it wrong--I'm very fond of them," the girl retorted. "But I don't place them on the same level as human beings."

The stranger's eyes twinkled. "Yo're dead right, ma'am," he agreed. "Sometimes that wouldn't be fair to the dawg."

The girl bit her lip. "You provoked that man into drawing his gun knowing you could shoot first," she accused.

"An' me not havin' seen the fella afore," the unknown reproved gently. "He got his gun out too, an' he shore meant business."

"An even break--the old excuse of the professional killer," she sneered. "That is what you are, I suppose, and all you cared about was adding another notch to your gun. Why, you laughed when you fired ! "

With a sudden movement the man lifted the handles of his guns so that she could see them, but he spoke to the dog squatting contentedly at his feet, "Shore, I like to see 'em kick," he grinned. "Reckon I'll have to get some nicks put on these guns though; that's a bet we've overlooked, pup."

The girl glared at him with stormy eyes. "You're utterly contemptible," she said, and stalked into the store.

The man replaced his hat and pulled the dog's ears. "We ain't a mite popular, old fella," he told it. " `Less than the dust' don't begin to describe us with her, but she shore rests the eyes, an' I reckon when she smiles--"

His speculanions were cut short by the sudden advent of four riders, who pulled their mounts to a sliding stop in front of the saloon. The leader, a big, black-haired man, with a hooked nose, was obviously in no amiable mood.

"Yu the fella that shot up one o' my men?" he blurted out.

The stranger straightened up and looked at him.

"Speakin' to me?" he asked, and then, "I put a bullet into a two-legged skunk just now, but if he's one o' yore outfit I reckon yo're a mighty poor picker o' men."

The big man ignored the slur on his judgment. "What dam right yu got to interfere between a man an' his dawg?" he asked.

"I got a right--an' a left," grinned the stranger, his fingers sweeping the butts of his guns.

"Huh! One o' them funny jiggers, eh?" sneered the other. "What's yore business hereabouts?"

"My business," retorted the stranger emphatically. "You the sheriff--or somethin'?"

The slow drawl and the tone in which the words were uttered rendered them plainly insulting, and the big man's jaw clenched. "I ain't the sheriff," he said, "but--"

"Yu own him," interrupted the mocking voice. "Well, that's just as good, ain't it?" And then, in a different tone: "If that fella behind yu don't keep his hands still yu'll likely be shy another man."

"Stay out o' this, Penton, I'm runnin' it," the leader said, andto the man on the sidewalk : "I asked what yore business here is. Yu better not try my patience too much."

The unknown laughed. "Try yore patience!" he echoed. "Well, yu got yore nerve--we'll try that." His hands flashed to his sides, and in an instant both his guns were covering them. "Now," he rasped out, "I can put the four o' yu on yore backs in as many seconds. Roll yore tails, every dam one o' yu--I'm short on patience my own self."

The whole aspect of the man had changed. The lounging, nonchalant figure was now tense, the narrowed eyes grim and alert, and though there was a smile on the lips it was no more suggestive of mirth than the bared teeth of a savage animal. There was no mistaking the reality of the threat. Unterly taken by surprise, the four men had no option, and with one accord they turned their horses' heads up the street. Their leader, the last to go, had a final word.

"Yu got the drop--this time," he scowled. "But there'll be others."

"I'm hopin' that," retorted the unknown.

Watched by the wondering population, the discomfited riders paced slowly back to the "Come Again" saloon, and when they vanished behind its doors the stranger turned to find Bent regarding him with a look in which amazement and consternation were oddly mixed.

"What's the trouble, old-timer?" he inquired.

"Trouble?" repeated the saloon-keeper. "My ghost, yu shore have bought into a packet of it yoreself. Yu know who that was?" And when the visitor shook his head. "That was Black Bart; most o' the folks in this burg sit up an' beg when he talks."

"Is that so?" returned the stranger easily. "Well, it musta been quite a change for him to find one that didn't." And then, with a quick grin, he added : "Though I gotta admit he didn't look none pleased."

"It ain't no laughin' matter," reproved Bent. "He's got all the power round here, an' if he comes back with his outfit they'll just naturally shoot yu to bits."

"Then T hope the town's got a nice roomy graveyard an' a hospital, for both '11 be wanted," returned the other grimly.

"That's all right--no doubt yu'd git some of 'em, but what's the use? One man can't win agin twenty, an' though I ain't lovin' Bart any, I don't want my joint shot up--though, if it comes to it, yo're right welcome."

The stranger's eyes lit up. "Yu are shore white, seh, an' yu've called the turn," he said. "I'll be on my way--for now."

Going to the corral he saddled his horse and brought it round to the front of the saloon. There was no haste in his movements,for he knew that he was being watched, and had no desire to give the impression that he was running away. But the discomfited quartette made no further dernonstration, and after a leisurely drink with the proprietor the unknown came out of the saloon, mounted and jogged slowly out of town on the trail to the east.

Quirt--for so he had named the dog--scampered ahead, chasing imaginary rabbits, and returning at short intervals to salute his new master with joyful yelps.

"Yo're a grateful cuss, ain't yu?" the rider apostrophised, after one of these ebullitions. "But don't yu be cheerful too soon; yu ain't nearly paid for yet, or I miss my guess."

The saloon-keeper watched him depart, and returned to his empty bar in a reflective mood.

"Gentlemen, hush," he muttered. "I'm tellin' myself the news : a man has come to town."

Chapter II

PHILIP MASTERS, owner of the Lazy M, was sitting on the broad veranda of the ranch-house, chewing the butt of a black cigar and moodily watching the trail, which like a narrow white ribbon, wound down the slope and across the open range in the direction of Hope Again, some twenty miles distant. A short, sturdy man of fifty, with greying hair and a clean-shaven face, on which the mark of mental stress was plainly set, he was somewhat of a problem to those who knew him. Though at times he could be jovial and carefree, he had, during the last few years, become a prey to spells of black depression utterly out of keeping with his apparent prosperity. For Masters' was reckoned the best ranch in the county, and unlike most of the big cattlemen, he actually owned many square miles of the land his herds ranged over.

Presently the ranchman's trained eye caught sight of a dot far away on the trail, and his face cleared a little. Fifteen minutes passed and the dot resolved itself into a rider, with a smaller dot running ahead.

"Must be him, but what's he doin'--chasin' a coyote?" muttered the watching man.

At the foot of the rise to the ranch-house the trail twisted and the rider was lost to view behind the ranch buildings, consisting of a roomy bunkhouse, blacksmith's shop, a big barn and severalcorrals. Impatiently the ranch-owner rose and paced up and down the veranda. He had not long to wait; soon the rider appeared, raised his hand in salutation, and, halting the horse a score of yards away, dismounted and trailed the reins.

"Lo, Severn, glad to see yu," greeted the cattleman. "Come inside out o' this blame' sun."

The room they entered was, for the time and place, a luxurious one. There was a carpet on the floor, the heavy oak furniture was solid and comfortable, and the visitor noted with some surprise, a piano. All of these articles must have been brought by wagon from the nearest railway point, forty miles away. The pelt of a grizzly bear lay in front of the open fireplace, and the walls were adorned with numerous hunting and Indian trophies. The host set out a bottle and glasses and pushed over a box of cigars. The guest helped himself, and waited.

"Somebody got Stevens, my foreman, two weeks ago," Masters began abruptly. "His hoss drifted in an' I sent the boys out searchin'. They found him in a gully up towards the Pinnacles; he'd been bush-whacked--shot from behind. A steady, quiet fella, hadn't no enemies that ever I heard of, but--he was loyal to me. The man who takes his place runs the same risk. Yu get that?"

"Shorely," replied Severn unconcernedly.

"For years now a man has had me where the hair's short," the cattleman went on. "I've handed over money till I can raise no more, an' now he's takin' cattle; next it'll be the ranch, which is what he's afner. I got a scheme to beat him, but I can't put it in operation without a good man to take charge here. It's a gamble an' I may lose out, but that's why I sent for yu. What's the word?"

"Who's the man?" countered the visitor.

"Bartholomew, owner of the Bar B over towards the Mesa Mountains," replied the rancher.

"I'll go yu," Severn said shortly.

The ranch-owner's face showed relief, but he was a white man. "If yu want to chew it over, take yore time," he warned. "I'm tellin' yu it's a man-sized job yu'll be tacklin'. Black Bart is nearly Gawd A'mighty in these parts, an' people that fall foul o' him don't last long unless it's worth his while to let 'em, which explains me."

"That's all right for my end of it," Severn told him, "but there's somethin' yu gotta know." The older man looked his question, "Judge Embley introduced me to yu as Jim Severn, but I used to be called `Sudden'. Mebbe yu've heard the name?"

The rancher straightened up with a jerk and looked at his visitor incredulously. Heard of him? Who had not? Could this be the famous outlaw, the man who was said to bear a charmedlife and whose lightning gunplay had made his name a terror even to the most hardened "bad men" of the West? The face was quiet, confident, smiling, but the steady, steely eyes and lean, hard jaw carried conviction. Masters did not hesitate.

"Shake," he said, and then, "Jim--I reckon I better go on callin' yu that?" Severn nodded. "I guess my luck's turnin' at last. If I'd gone through the Territory with a fine tooth-comb I couldn't 'a' found a better man. Then yo're Peterson o' the YZ? But whyfor are yu takin' a hand in this?"

"Embley's an old friend o' mine, an' I had a reason o' my own. I got another one now," Severn grinned, and proceeded to tell of the discomfiture of the Bar B owner in Hope, omitting, however, any reference to the girl.

Masters laughed aloud. "Hell's bells, I'd 'a' give a stack o' blues to 'a' seen it," he burst out. "Black Bart an' three of his houn's sent scuttlin' by one man, an' all Hope a-lookin' on. I reckon that's the bitterest dose he's ever had to swallow, an' he won't forget it. Martin, too, is as venomous as a sidewinder; yu'll need to watch out."

"I'm aimin' to," Severn said. "Yore outfit to be trusted?"

The ranch-owner shook his head. "I dunno," he replied. "That's somethin' yu'll have to find out for yoreself. Stevens reckoned some were straight, but he gave me no names. Several of 'em Bartholomew sent here an' T had to take 'em. I'm givin' yu a free hand."

The visitor nodded. "Yu say Bart's takin' yore cows. Do yu mean he's rustlin' 'em?" he asked.

"No, blast him," exploded the rancher. "He just asks for fifty or a hundred to make up a trail herd an' I have to send 'em. Like I told yu, there's a reason why I can't refuse--yet. I'm mighty relieved to have yu here, Severn; I got a hunch yu'll save me an' Phil if anybody can."

"Phil? I didn't know yu had a son," said the visitor.

"I ain't, but I allus wanted one, an' when it come a girl I just had to call her Philipina," the cattleman explained.

From outside came a cry of "Hello, the house," in a fresh young voice.

"That'll be Phil,' said the ranch-owner, rising. "She don't know nothin' o' this, remember."

Severn followed his host through the long window opening on to the veranda. The girl had danced up the steps and greeted her father with an impetuous hug before she noticed the visitor. At the sight of him she shrank back.

"Phil, meet Jim Severn, who has come to take charge here in place of Stevens," Masters said.

She did not offer her hand, and there was no welcome in her eyes. "I have already met Mr. Severn," she said distantly.

The rancher looked surprised, and the newcomer explained. "Miss Masters happened to be present when I bought my dawg. As I told yu, I had to argue some with the owner."

He spoke with all gravity, but the girl sensed a sardonic note of amusement, and it increased her resentment. The rancher looked at the dog, patiently sitting by its master's horse.

"I ain't up much on dawgs, but I don't see no points about that one to call for argument," he commented. "'Pears to me just an ordinary dawg."

"Which yu got it--first wallop out o' the box," smiled the owner of the animal. "An ordinary dawg, that's what I liked about him. No fancy breeds for mine. That dawg is just folks, ain't liable to pun on frills, or h'ist his nose in the air an' think his boss is on'y a common cowpunch. No, sir, that dawg's got savvy, he's wide between the eyes, an' he'll do to take along."

The cattleman laughed, but his daughter did not share his amusement; beneath the gentle raillery she suspected a rebuke for herself, and her eyes remained frosty.

"Yu will take supper with us, Severn?" asked Masters.

"I'm obliged, but I'll eat with the outfit," the new foreman said, noting that the girl did not second the invitation.

The rancher nodded, and then, as a group of riders scampered in, he said, "Come along, I'll make yu acquainted. Back soon, Phil."

The girl gave the visitor the curtest of bows and then stood for a moment watching them. Though she disliked the new man, she could not help noticing the easy grace with which he moved, so distinct from the jerky, toed-in walk common to the cowboy. Somehow he suggested a panther on the prowl, and she shivered without knowing why.

The men were busy unsaddling, but they paused when they saw that their ernployer had something to say. The introduction was brief and to the point.

"This is Jim Severn, boys. He's come to take Stevens' job, an' he's in charge from now on."

Some of the men said "Howdy", others nodded, and a few looked only, and Severn fancied that the looks were not entirely friendly. He himself was silent, watching.

"There's yore quarters, Jim," Masters said, pointing to a small log house standing apart from the other buildings. "It's been made ready, but if there's anythin' else yu want, the cook'll get it for yu. So long."

Severn put his horse in the corral and carried his saddle and war-bags to the foreman's hut. This consisted of one room only, containing a bed, table, cupboard and several chairs. There was a window at both back and front. Quirt, having sniffed inquiringly all round, curled himself up on the foot of the bedand lay there blinking at his master. The man grinned at him. "Suits yu, eh?" he queried.

Having removed the dust of his journey, he sauntered down to the bunkhouse. As he approached the door he heard voices.

"I don't like dawgs no time an' I'se done skeered of 'em at night," Jonah, the cook, was explaining.

Severn's entrance, followed by the subject of the conversation, put an end to it. The new foreman smiled when he saw the big negro shrink away from Quirt.

"I can tell yu a better plan, Jonah," he said. "You give the dawg a chunk o' meat to chew on an' he'll be yore friend for life. Dawgs ain't like humans--yu treat a dawg right an' he don't ever forget it."

The black man's face split into a wide grin. "Yessah, I'll suah feed him," he said.

So it came about that when the men sat down to supper Quirt lay by his master's chair at the head of the long table, contentedly gnawing a big beef bone. Severn himself was silent, studying the men with whom he had to work. There were ten of them, and the foreman learned that three more were line-riding in distant parts of the range. Youth and middle-age were both represented, and Severn decided that on the whole they appeared a capable crew. One of them in particular claimed his attention at once, "Bull" Devint. A medium-height, chunkily-built man of around forty, with a heavy-jowled, somewhat bloated face, small eyes and a long mousnache which accentuated an habitual sneer. Severn guessed that his nickname was short for "bully"--the man looked it. He was one of those whose eyes had not welcomed the new foreman. With a similar expression he was now regarding his coffee.

"Hey, yu lump o' black rubbish, what d'yu call this?" he shouted.

Severn smiled and sampled his cup. "Seems pretty fair coffee to me," he said mildly.

"Think so?" sneered the bully. "Depends what yu bin used to, T s'pose. Stevens wouldn't 'a' stood for it--knew his job, he did. We won't get as good a foreman as him in a hurry."

The clumsy effort to be offensive was apparent, but before Severn could reply, Linley, a boy who was always chaffing the cook, took up the cudgels.

"Snevens was a good man all right, but yu shore are a mite late discoverin' it, Bull," he grinned. "I didn't notice that yu shed any tears or went into mournin' when he was fetched in."

Severn thought it was time to interrupt the verbal warfare before worse befell.

"Masters was tellin' me that Stevens' death was an absolute mystery," he said, speaking to the table generally.

"Mystery nothin'," said a lanky rider whose name was Bailey, but who was known as "Bones" because he consisted of little else. "The White Masks done it, I'll betcha."

"Yu advertise that idea an' yu'll be able to ask Stevens yore-self," Devint warned.

"Who are these White Masks?" queried Severn. "That's a new one on me."

"Funny the Old Man didn't tell yu," Devint said, and his tone implied that the omission was in some way not complimentary to the new foreman. Severn ignored the innuendo and looked a question at Bailey.

"They're a gang o' bandits operatin' all round an' nobody knows who they is," replied that worthy. "It's said they got a hide-out which they call The Cavern somewhere in the Pinnacles. A fella in Hope claimed to have bin there an' offered to lead a posse to it, but Tyler, the sheriff, laughed an' told him to go sleep it off. Well, he's doin' that now--in the graveyard."

"How come?" asked the foreman.

"Oh, he got into a knife-throwin' contest with a stranger in the `Come Again'--an' he lost," was the grim explanation. "They holdin' anythin' against Stevens?" Severn asked. "Reckon not, but he may have drifted too near their hideout," Bailey suggested. "White Masks is shore enough bad medicine, an' I reckon even Black Bart ain't anxious to offend 'em."

"Huh, Bart'll go up there an' eat 'em one o' these days when he's got time," sneered Devint, and Severn made a mental note of the remark. It was probable that he had found one of the men who had been wished on the Lazy M by the local autocrat. "He's quite a while findin' time," put in Rayton, a sober, elderly man. "I reckon if Sudden, who cleaned up the Hatchett's Folly gang, was around, yu'd see them coyotes point for the skyline imrnediate."

"They say he was quick," Linley contributed.

"Quick?" echoed Rayton scornfully. "Well, I s'pose yu might call lightnin' that."

"Huh, I'm bettin' he ain't so fast now; gettin' tied slows a man up, T've heard," Devint said cynically.

"Mebbe, but if I bumped into him he should have the road," the other smiled.

Sitting at the head of the table, Severn listened to this conversation with inward amusement. So Sudden was not forgotten. He wondered if Rayton had met him before, but could find no sign of recognition in the puncher's face. He did not think that "getting tied" had slowed his gunplay, but time would show. Anyway, it was good to be in the game again.

He remained for a while chatting with the men after the meal was over, and then retired to his own shack, followed by asatisfied Quirt--the cook had seen to that. For an hour he sat, smoking and turning things over in his mind. That Masters was a badly-scared man was obvious, though why, and how he proposed to evade the threatened loss of his ranch, Severn could form no conjecture. The only clear thing seemed to be that he had picked a rough trail to follow. Well, he had guessed as much when his old friend, Judge Embley, had first appealed to him, but he had his own reasons for accepting.

Chapter III

IMMEDIATELY after breakfast on the following morning Severn found the men assembled near the corral awaiting orders for the day's work. Devint, a man named Darby, and a Mexican he had heard called Ignacio, were standing in a little group apart, and the new foreman scented trouble. He walked straight up to them.

"I'm told yu been actin' straw-boss since Stevens passed out," he said to Devint, and when the man nodded sulkily, he added, "Yu can go on doin' it."

In the bully's eyes came a gleam of malicious triumph; if this new fellow wasn't afraid of him, he at least didn't want trouble. He squared his shoulders and thrust his chest out aggressively.

"Yu got the job that oughta come to one of us," he began. "I reckon the Old Man has played it low down on the outfit, bringin' in a stranger thisaway."

The other men stood round watching. Plainly Devint had been talking, and they had known that he intended to test the new foreman. Severn's mind worked quickly. He did not want an open rupture with any of them just yet, but he recognised that he rnust show the men he had to handle that he was capable of doing it. He looked at Devint and there was a glint of amusement in the glance.

"What's it gotta do with me?" he asked. "Yu ain't expectin' me to tell Masters he's appointed the wrong man, are yu?"

Several of the onlookers sniggered, and the bully glared at them; he did not at all relish being made game of, and he also realised that in a warfare of words with this man he would have no chance.

"I can tell Masters all I want to tell him myself," he said, the scowl on his face deepening.

"All yu gotta tell him is that I've fired you," Severn saideasily, and then, as Devint made a threatening movement, "Take yore hand off that gun--yu haven't the pluck to pull it." For a few seconds the two men stood, less than a couple of yards apart, half-crouched, their eyes watching alertly for the first sign of action. Then the bully's gaze wavered and fell. The forernan had forced the issue and found him unprepared.

"Like I said--yellow," Severn sneered, and half turned away.

"Damn yu," yelled Devint. "I'll--"

But ere he could get the snatched-at gun from its holster Severn's expectant eye had caught the movement, and his left hand darted out, gripping the wrist with a clutch of steel, while his right seized the would-be slayer's throat.

He shook the powerless man savagely, sinking his fingers still more deeply in the flesh of his neck. Devint, his eyeballs bulging and his face a dark purple, was on the point of suffocation when, with a sudden thrust, Severn flung him headlong into the dust, where he lay gasping, his labouring lungs sucking in the air in great gulps. It was some moments before he could get on his feet, and then the foreman said shortly :

"Go up to the house, get yore time, an' hit the trail."

With an evil look and a muttered threat the beaten man slouched away. Severn turned to the others; the anger had gone from his face but there was still an acid touch in his voice.

"Anyone else got notions?" he asked.

"I go wiz Meester Devint," the Mexican said.

Severn nodded, and looked at Darby, who answered the unspoken question with a grin.

"I'm stayin' put," he said.

"Good enough," replied the foreman, and proceeded to detail the duties for the day.

"My Gawd ! " said Linley, as he rode away with Darby. "Did yu see? He was actually laughin' when he guzzled Bull."

"Laughin'?" retorted Darby. "Yes, laughin' like a wolf does when it's pullin' down a calf. I reckon hangin' won't be no surprise to Bull now."

Having sent the men off, Severn went up to the ranch-house. He found Masters and his daughter in the front room. The girl was dressed for riding and her forehead creased in a little frown when he entered.

'Lo, Severn, started weedin' a'ready, I hear," the cattleman greeted.

"I had to part with two o' the outfit," the new foreman smiled. "They didn't seem comfortable."

"They've been comfortable enough till now," the girl interjected. "Both reliable men, recommended by Mr. Bartholomew."

The bitterness of this attack surprised Severn but his voice was cool and easy when he replied :

"I shore didn't know they were friends o' yores, Miss Masters."

"I don't make friends with cowboys or Mexicans," the girl retorted coldly. "I suppose you followed your usual method and provoked them in the hope of a gunplay?"

Severn grinned. "An' two more notches, eh? Well, the only provocation I gave Devint was to offer him the job of straw-boss, which he declined--without thanks. When he tried to shoot me in the back I just naturally had to reason with him. The Greaser took up his end of it."

"Mr. Bartholomew won't like it," the girl said.

"Damn Bartholomew," her father exploded. "This is my ranch an' I'm runnin' it. When I put a man in charge I back his play; yu can fire the whole bunch if yu need to, Severn. Any-thin' else yu wantin' to see me about?"

"No, I'm just goin' to have a look over the range," Severn replied, and then an imp of mischief prompted him to add, "I thought if Miss Masters was thinkin' o' ridin' she might show me around."

The girl's eyes met his in contemptuous astonishment. "I've something else to do," she said shortly.

Setting out on his tour of inspection, the new foreman addressed the dog gambolling a few yards in front of his pony's nose.

"The Princess regretted she had another engagement, Quirt, so we gonta go it alone," he said quizzically. "Don't look so blame' joyful--she don't like us, old-timer; she's got no more use for us than she has for a boil on the neck, an' that's a fact."

*It must have been somewhere about midnight when Severn was awakened by a low throaty growl from the dog curled up on the foot of his bed. Raising himself, he looked round. There was no moon, but the stars provided a murky light, and he fancied he saw an indistinct shadow outside the back window.

"Quiet, boy," he whispered to the dog, and sat watching, his right hand gripping a six-shooter.

Again he saw what he had taken to be a shadow, and then came an unmistakable creak as though someone was trying to force an entrance. Severn remained motionless, but for some moments there was no further sound. Apparently the intruder, satisfied that hes had not disturbed the sleeper, renewed his efforts, for a further creak sounded as the sash of the window was forced up several inches. Then came a light "flop", and the shadow vanished, but not before Severn caught a glimse of a white blot, with two dark holes for eyes. He smiled to himself;the outfit was playing a joke on its new foreman and that was why he had been told of the White Masks.

"Dam fool, whoever it may be," he muttered. "If I'd fired--"

The sentence remained unfinished, for at that rnoment he heard a sharp hiss, followed by a curious sound, somewhat resembling the crumpling of a parchment, and he knew that there was a rattlesnake in the room. Sensing danger, the dog growled again, and the man, putting his hand on it, found the animal trembling, the hait of its neck bristling. He himself had an unpleasant prickling sensation under his scalp.

For a moment he listened intently, hoping to locate the reptile but the faint slither of its body as it moved on the earthen floor gave no indication of its whereabouts. The rattlesnake, Severn knew, is a coward and will rarely attack unless forced to defend itself, but this one must have just been released from captivity and would be fighting rnad. One thing was certain, he must have a light, and his rnatches were on the table in the middle of the room. Gingerly reaching out, he felt for his boots, dropped at the side of the bed, found and pulled them on.

This was the ticklish time. Slipping from the bed, gun in his right hand, two long noiseless strides brought him to the table, where he pawed eagerly around for the matches, nearly upsetting the lamp. He could not fmd them and had to move his position. Every step he expected to feel a squirming body under his foot and the sinking of the deadly fangs in his flesh. In groping about he made a slight noise and his blood chilled when the ominous rattle sounded again, and very near. Then his fingers closed on the matches and, spilling them on the table, he snapped one alight with his thumb-nail. Less than a yard away was the reptile, coiled upon half its body, poised in readiness to strike. He had just time to spring back and send a bullet into the flat, venomous head. Then, with shaking fingers, he lighted the lamp, and kicked the still quivering carcase into the open hearth. A scurry of footsteps came from outside, voices and a knock on the door. Opening it, he saw several of the men, partially clad, but every one of them carrying a gun.

"What's doin'?" asked the foremost, the man named Darby. "A diamond-back come a-visitin'," Severn explained. "Had to abolish it some."

The men crowded in and examined the snake, which was alarge one.

"Ten rattles--he was a daddy, shore enough," commented one. "Wonder if he fetched his farnily."

A search of the room revealing no further visitants, the cowboys returned to their bunks, all save Darby, who lingered.

"Funny 'bout him," he said, jerking a thumb at the dead repnile. "There's gravel all round this shack an' snakes don't like gravel."

He walked to the window, stooped and picked something up. "He shore meant to stay, too--brought his war-bag." He held out a leather sack, the mouth of which could be closed with a draw-string; it was rank with the peculiarly offensive odour of the rattlesnake. "Yore fondness for pets has got around," he went on. "Mebbe yu'll get a skunk next."

"I could 'a' got one to-night if I'd knowed," the foreman replied, but gave no information. Though the man seemed friendly, he was not trusting anyone yet. That a dastardly attempt on his life had been made was clear, but he had no evidence to locate the culprit. When Darby had gone he turned in again, but not without a commending pat for Quirt.

"I reckon yu'll pay for yore keep, old fella," he said.

At sunrise he was searching the ground outside for tracks, but, as Darby had said, there was gravel all round, and he found nothing until he came to a strip of sand some ten yards distant, separating the gravel from the grass. Here were the deep marks of two heels, as though the wearer had stood there for a while, and the right showed little indentations in the form of a cross. Masters, when he heard of the incident, scouted the idea that the bandits had anything to do with it.

"Never had any trouble with the White Masks, an' don't want none," he said. "They may lift a steer now an' then for the meat, but this ain't the kind o' play they'd make. Looks more like a Greaser trick to me."

This agreed with the foreman's own view, and he left it at that. He spent the day riding the range, "having a look at the country" was how he would have expressed it, and returned in the evening to find a man waiting to see him. The visitor, chatting casually with nhe outfit, was a plumpish young man of just under medium height, with fair hair, pale blue eyes, and a round, youthful face which the sun had reddened rather than tanned.

"I'm guessin' yo're the foreman," he said, when Severn approached.

"Yo're a good guesser, seh," the other told him. "What might be yore trouble?"

The visitor's eyes twinkled. "Well, barrin' a severe pain in the pants' pocket I don't know as there's anythin' the matter," he replied.

"Yu wantin' a job?" asked Severn.

"I'm needin' one, which I s'pose amounts to the same thing," was the answer. "Yu see, years back, I got into the habit o' eatin' regular meals."

"Which is shore a hard one to get out of," the foreman agreed. "Yu understand cattle?"

"Cattle? Me? Why, they raised me on cow's milk," smiled the stranger.

"Yu don't say," ejaculated Severn gently, looking down from his superior height. "They didn't raise yu too much, did they?" The visitor joined in the laugh that followed, and the foreman continued: "I can certainly use another man. What are we to call yu?"

"Anythin' yu like, an' I'll come a-runnin' all same good dawg," retorted the workless one with jaunty impudence.

"Right," Severn smiled. "We'll call yu `Sunset'--the name shore fits yu like yore skin."

For a moment the pale eyes flashed and the young man's face grew even redder; then his mouth opened into a wide grin.

"Sunset goes, though my name's Larry Barton," he said. "An' I shorely asked for it, didn't I?"

Severn nodded. "Supper'll be ready soon," he told him. "Gentle Annie will find yu a bunk." He waved a hand towards Linley, and that youth's face promptly rivalled that of the new hand. "What the hell--" he began, but the forernan interrupted him with a smile. "I heard yu singin' this mornin'," he explained.

"Yu an' me shore oughta be friends," Sunset said, as he followed Linley to the bunkhouse. "We've been christened together."

The boy grinned sympathetically, but he then and there abandoned any ambition he may have cherished regarding an operatic career.

Later on in the evening Barton sneaked up to the foreman's shack, slid inside without the formality of knocking, and grinned impudently at his new boss, who grinned back again.

"Sunset, yu are right welcome," he said.

"If I'd guessed yu would plaster that dam label on me Iwouldn't 'a' come," retorted the other. "I oughta known--"

"Better than to get fresh with me," interrupted Severn.

"Besides, yu got company."

Larry laughed. "Shore, Gentle Annie. How come yu to hit on that?"

"He was bellerin' like a sick calf this mornin',Gentle Annie, do you lo-o-o-ve me, As you did long years a-g-o-o-o?

I just couldn't help it, but I reckon he's a good kid all the same. He'll stand the iron."

"What for sort of a bunch is they?" asked the new man.

"That's what I want yu to find out," said the foreman. "See, here's the how of it."

He proceeded to recount his experiences since he had arrived in Hope, his companion listening with a widening smile.

"Huh ! Ain't missed any opportunities, have yu?" he commented. "A coupla weeks an' yu'll be as popular as a fella with small-pox." He dropped his bantering tone. "Did yu ever wonder why I was so set on comin' here winh yu?"

"I put it down to yore natural desire to dodge regular work," the other grinned, and then, when the answering smile and usual retort did not come, he added soberly, "Tell me, Larry."

With a face of stone, from which all the youthfulness had gone, the other told the story of the hanging of the nester, Forby. Save for a huskiness, there was no emotion in his voice, but the deadliness of purpose in the concluding words could not be mistaken. "I was that boy; it was my dad they did to death, an' I've come back to make them pay."

Tight-lipped and with an out-thrust jaw the foreman stood up and dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Yu know these fellas, Larry?" he inquired.

"I remember every one o' their damn faces, but I ain't got all their names," the boy replied. "Darby is in yore outfit now, but he done what he could an' that squares him. There was a Greaser, Ignacio, an' two o' the others were called Penton an' Fallan."

"Yu don't have to worry 'bout him: he pulled a gun on me in Desert Edge," Severn said grimly. "Ignacio was here but drifted when I come; we'll find him again, an' the rest o' the murderin' houn's. Bartholomew's got a bigger bill to pay than I reckoned, but we'll collect it--together--in full."

"I'm thankin' yu," was all Larry could find to say, and, after an awkward pause, "What kinda hold has Bartholomew got on Masters?"

"He didn't tell me, but I'm guessin' it's a strangle-hold," Severn said. "Masters don't strike me as bein' anyways soft."

"What's the girl like?" was the next question.

"Well, she's amazin' like--a girl," smiled Severn.

"Huh!" grunted Larry. "Don't tell me yu've fell in love with her."

"Bein' a truthful an' a married man, I won't," his foreman said. "An' yu bein' a sorta friend I'll let yu into a secret--she ain't fell in love with me neither; in fact, she regards my presence on the earth as an unwarrantable intrusion."

Larry spat disgustedly. "Seems to me the on'y friend yu've made is thisyer pup."

"A pup is a good pal," Severn rejoined. "An' now I've got two of 'em--"

"Here, cowboy, who're yu callin' a --" began the other, but his host ushered him to the door.

"Don't yu worry, old-timer, Quirt ain't carin'," he said. "Beat it to the bunkhouse, an' remember that the foreman ain't goin' to be too pleased with yu, an' yu don't like him none too much, 'less yu know yore man awful well, savvy?"

"Playin' I don't like yu'll be the easiest job I ever tackled," Larry said, but there was a warmth in his tone which told a different story. "Say, Don, but it's good to be on the warpath again with yu."

"Who do yu think yo're talkin' to, yu idjut?" Severn asked quickly. "I'm Jim Severn, yore foreman, an' don't yu forget it. Now, go pound yore ear, little fat fella."

Barton beat a hasty retreat, and Severn grinned as he closed the door. They understood each other very well, these two.

Chapter IV

THE dismissal of two of the men he had sent to the Lazy M was regarded by Bartholomew as an act of open defiance, and he lost no time in taking up the challenge. The following afternoon found him reining in his mount by the veranda of the Masters' ranch-house. His hail brought out the owner.

"Hello, Masters," he greeted. "Come to take Phil ridin', but first I want a word with yu."

He dismounted with an ease one would not have expected in so bulky a man and followed his host into the room.

"What's the idea in firin' Devint an' Ignacio?" he asked abruptly.

"Devint was offered the job o' straw-boss, went on the prod, an' tried to pull a gun on my foreman," Masters explained. "The Greaser fired himself."

"Well, if yu didn't like Devint, I could 'a' got yu someone else," said the Bar B owner. "Where'd yu come across this chap Severn?"

"Heard of him in Desert Edge," Masters replied. "'Pears to be capable."

"Mebbe," returned Bartholomew coolly. "But I don't like him, Masters, an' he's gotta go."

The cattleman's eyes flashed defiance for an instant, and then fell before the implacable gaze of the man who was giving him orders.

me goes to-morrow," Bartholomew interjected. "An' by the way, I'm shy seventy-five three-year-olds for a trail herd; I'll send over for 'em in a coupla days' time."

The cattleman raged inwardly; he would have given almost anything he possessed for the power to pull his gun and shoot down the man who so ruthlessly rode him, but that would not save him. More than once the tyrant had said, "As long as I live yo're safe, Masters."

He was saved the trouble of replying by the scurry of hoofs outside and the appearance of Phil, mounted on a mettlesome cow-pony. The girl rode cowboy style, almost standing in the stirrups, and her laughing face was flushed with the effort to restrain the bunch of nerves and steel wire she bestrode. At her gay call, Bartholomew mounted, wheeled his horse beside her, and they loped away. Severn entered the bunkhouse as they passed.

"That was yore new foreman, wasn't it?" Bartholomew asked. "What do yu think of him, Phil?"

"I don't think of him," the young lady replied playfully, but not altogether truthfully.

"Shucks, then I needn't 'a' worried," said her escort. "Yu see, I've been advisin' yore father to get rid of him, an' if yu'd lost yore heart--"

"My affections are not so easily captured, Mr. Bartholomew," she bantered back. "T hope Daddy will take your advice."

But even as she said the words a doubt crossed her mind, for short as the time had been, she fancied that her father had been more his old self since the arrival of the new foreman.

Bartholomew, satisfied that she was not interested in the newcomer, made no further reference to him. From time to time his gaze rested possessively on the fresh young beauty who rode beside him. He wanted her and was determined that she should be his. Without openly making love, he had given more than a hint of his hopes. There was a considerable difference in their ages, but, as he told himself, he was still young, and had the additional antractions of wealth and influence.

The girl's thoughts were on the same subject. She knew perfectly well that the owner of the Bar B admired her, and, liking him, the facn gave her pleasure. Though he dressed in the garb of the range, his clothes were of good quality, and he was careful of his appearance. A fine figure of a man, most women would have voted him, virile, self-assured, and, when he chose, entertaining. Though she had never given the subject serious consideration, Phil supposed that they would be married--it seemed the natural outcome--but to-day she found herself criticising her escort, and to her annoyance comparing him with theLate that evening the foreman heard a subdued rap at his door, and opened it to admit his employer. The cattleman's face was grim, and when he spoke his voice had a ring of determination.

"Bartholomew was here to-day, an' things has come to a showdown," he began. "I've got orders to hand over seventy-five head an' fire yu to-morrow. I'll see him in hell first." He waited a moment, but Severn had nothing to say, and the ranch-owner continued. "It's come a bit sooner than I figured, but that can't be helped. Now, get this, Bart's hold is on me--personal, but if I ain't here--"

Severn grinned and nodded comprehendingly. With the owner absent, the blackmailer's power over the ranch vanished too.

"This is how I've planned it," Masters went on. "I just fade out, leavin' no word, an' yu take hold an' run the ranch. Tf I don't show up again in reasonable time I s'pose it will be assumed that I've cashed, an' Judge Embley, over to Desert Edge, will take charge as executor o' my will and guardian to Phil, who won't be of age for another twelvemonth. Yu know the Judge, for he recommended yu to me; he ain't wise to what I'm goin' to do, but he'll help yu if yu get crowded."

"It's shore goin' to be tough on yore girl, not knowin' whether yo're alive," the foreman pointed out.

"I've thought o' that, but there ain't no way round it," therancher replied. "If I left any message, her manner would givethe game away, an' Black Bart would hunt me down. I want him to figure I'm dead--that'll give rne a free hand. At Phil's age griefs ain't lastin', an', anyways, it's the on'y wagon-trail out." He paused for a moment, evidently milling things over in his mind, and then, "I've had to mortgage this place pretty deep to raise money for Bartholomew. Judge Embley fixed it for me, an' I reckon he can hold the fella who lent the cash--for a' while, anyways--an' that's all I'm needin'. Ridge of the XT wants four-score three-year-olds, an' that'll give yu coin to pay expenses. Yu see, I'm trustin' yu, Jim, an' I'm doin' it on what Embley said of yu."

"Yu can gamble on me," the foreman said quietly.

"Which I am, an' puttin' up every chip I got," replied the cattleman. "Now, remember, yu ain't seen me to-night an' don't know nothin' o' my movements. Adios."

They gripped hands for a long moment, and then the rancher slipped out of the shack, feeling more cheerful than he had formany a month. He was in desperate trouble, trusting a man who was almost a stranger, and yet he had no doubts. Somehow this keen-eyed, capable fellow inspired him with confidence. To beat Bartholomew and nhrow off the bondage he had smarted under for years had seemed a vain dream, but now he felt that it was possible. It meant risking all he had, but he stood to lose that in any case to the blackmailer.

The absence of her father at the morning meal, though it surprised Phil, did not arouse any uneasiness; he had ridden away early on other occasions, though he usually left word for her. But when the day passed without any sign of him, she made inquiries, to find that his favourite horse was missing, but that no one had seen him leave. When another day dawned without news of her father, the girl's anxiety became acute, for the tragic fate of Stevens at once recurred to her. Much as she disliked doing so, she went to Severn, but he could tell her nothing.

"He had a deal on with the XT--mebbe he's gone there," he suggested. "Or p'raps he went to Desert Edge an' couldn't make it back to the ranch."

Phil shook her head. "He's never gone anywhere without telling me," she said, and then, as one of the men approached, "What is it, Darby?"

The man looked uncomfortable. "I just wanted a word with the foreman, Miss Phil," he replied.

The girl's face grew pale. "If it is about my father I want to hear what you have to say," she said sharply.

Seeing that the cowboy still hesitated, Severn said, "Go ahead, Darby; what's yore news?"

"The Old Man's hoss has just drifted in--it's down there by the corral."

Phil said nothing, but, white to her trembling lips, walked towards the corral, the two men following. As they did so, Darby contrived to whisper :

"Can't yu keep her away? There's blood on the saddle."

Severn shook his head, and indeed it was too late, for the girl's quick strides soon brought her to where the horse was standing, muzzle drooping, and evidently played out. The reins were over the horn, where they might have lodged accidentally as the rider lost his seat, the rifle was gone, and on the saddle-flaps ominous dark stains were visible. The girl stared at them with a growing horror in her eyes, and as she realised what they might mean, a gusty sob burst from her lips. It was Severn who broke the tension.

"Get busy, boys," he said. "Hosses, guns an' grub; we gotta comb the range.'The sharp order brought the girl out of her stupor of misery.

"I shall need my horse, too," she said, almost defiantly, looking at Severn as though expecting opposition.

But the foreman made no demur. "Shore, yu'll want to help," he said. "An' yu know the country."

Split up into pairs and with orders to stay together, the men were sent on their quest, each couple having a section of the range to cover. Phil was coupled with Rayton, one of the older hands, while Severn, the last to leave, was alone, save for his dog. He had allotted himself the task of searching the country towards the Pinnacles, where Stevens' body had been found.

Turning things over in his mind as he rode, he had to confess himself puzzled. The return of the horse was unexpected, for in the cattle country no man deliberately sets himself afoot, and this, with the bloodstains and missing rifle, seemed to point to an unexpected disturbance of Masters' plans. Had he met the fate of the old foreman, and, if so, who was the assassin? Clearly Black Bart could not be involved, since his interests depended upon the ranch-owner being alive. Had Masters unknowingly incurred the enrnity of the mysterious White Masks? Impatiently he dismissed the hopeless problem from his mind and set himself to the task in hand.

But his search proved abortive, and when he returned to the Lazy M, it was to find that the others had also been unsuccessful. Day after day the hunt went on, messengers being sent to Hope and Desert Edge, but no trace could be found of the missing man. It was early on the morning of the sixth day that Severn, going to the ranch-house, found Bartholomew and Phil on the veranda. The big man was explaining that he had been away, and had only just heard of her trouble. His face settled into a scowl when he saw the foreman.

"Yu can have my outfit if yu want it, Phil," he said. "Beats me where he can have got to. S'pose yore fellas have covered the ground pretty well?" This to Severn, who nodded. "Can't see much good in searchin' any more," the visitor went on. "If he's above ground, he'll turn up; if he ain't--" He shrugged his shoulders expressively, and suddenly darted a question at the foreman. "Yu got any ideas about it?"

"No, I'm in the dark," Severn replied, meeting the keen gaze unconcernedly, and Bartholomew turned again to the girl.

"Nothin' to do but carry on an' hope for the best," he said. "An', by the way, yore father promised me seventy-five threeyear-olds to fill up a trail herd."

"You will see they are delivered," the girl directed Severn. "What price yu payin'?" asked the foreman.

Black Bart's face darkened. "There ain't no question of price," he said. "The cows are in part payment of a debt," he added, to Phil.

'Got any writin' to prove that?" Severn persisted.

'What the hell's that gotta do with yu?" stormed the other. "Yu've had yore orders."

"I ain't takin' orders--certainly not from yu," came the cool retort. "I'm in charge, an' while I'm willin' to study Miss Masters' wishes in reason, I ain't handin' over property I'm responsible for on the say-so of any man, 'cept the owner."

"Yo're in charge, huh?" jeered Bartholomew. "Well, now yu ain't--Miss Masters is firin' yu right away."

The foreman looked at the girl. Her face was flushed, her lips trembling, and it was evident that she was content to let the rancher speak for her.

"That's somethin' she can't do," Severn said quietly.

"Can't, eh?" Bartholomew sneered. "The ranch ain't hers, I s'pose?"

"Yore s'pos'n is correct," the other pointed out. "It don't belong to her until her father's death is proved, an' only then when she's of age. Masters put me here an' I'm stayin' put, an' that's somethin' yu can bet high on."

There was a cold finality in his tone, and, having delivered this ultimatum, he turned and went about his business. Bartholomew stared after him for a moment, and then said to the girl :

"That fella is due for a lesson, an' I'm goin' to see that he gets it. Yu leave him to me an' don't yu worry."

Long after her visitor had gone, Phil sat trying to size up the situation. All through the week, grief over her father's disappearance, and the consequent hard riding--for she had done her share with the men--had driven every other consideration from her mind. But the clashing of wills she had just witnessed had brought her position home to her. Though familiar with the daily routine work of the ranch, she knew nothing of the business side, and greatly as she resented Severn's calm assumption of authority, she was dimly conscious of a sense of relief. But she would not admit it; she hated him, of course, and she would go on hating until Bartholomew succeeded in getting rid of him, a task in which she mentally promised him her hearty support.

Chapter V

Two weeks passed without news of the missing rancher, and the regular routine had been resumed at the Lazy M. The new foreman's handling of Devint had, as he intended, convinced the other men that he was not one to be trifled with, and this, added to the very evident fact that he knew his job, eliminated any further opposition. Phil, though she persisted in regarding him as an overbearing, tyrannical bully, had to admit that he could handle men.

One morning, Dinah, who acted as cook and housekeeper at the ranch-house, came to his shake with a message that "Missy Masters wanted for to see him." He found her waiting in the big room. She was looking pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, which showed that the stress of the past two weeks was taking its toll.

"I hear you are getting a herd together," she said. "I presume it is for Mr. Bartholomew?"

"No," Severn replied. "It is for Ridge of the XT. Yore father had arranged the sale, an' I need the money."

"You need it?" she queried sarcastically.

"Certainly; I gotta pay wages an' expenses," the man retorted. "P'raps I oughta said `we', but it comes to the same thing."

"Please don't deliver the cattle until I return; I am going to Desert Edge," the girl said coldly.

Somewhat to her disappointment he betrayed no curiosity. All he said was, "Yu can't ride there alone." She waited, wondering if he would have the temerity to offer himself as escort, and framing a crushing refusal, but again her hopes failed to fructify. "I can spare Barton," he said.

Thus it came about that some time later the girl and Larry were riding at a good road gait over the Desert Edge trail. At first the cowboy had kept a little in the rear until Phil, tired of her own company, had requested him to keep pace with her. In truth she liked the look of the new hand, whose rotundity of face and figure somehow gave him such a harmless appearance. He had little of the awkward shyness the average cowpuncher was afflicted with in the presence of all but some women. When she asked him if he liked the ranch, he said it was a "humdinger", but when she put the same query about the foreman, he did not reply either so quickly or so enthusiastically.

"He's certainly wise to his work," he allowed cautiously. "But he ain't no easy fella to satisfy. Yu see, Miss, he 'pears to want things done just so, an' he's liable to raise Cain an' Abel if they ain't."

"Obstinate and a bully," the girl summarised.

Larry squinted at her sideways and choked on a chuckle. "I wouldn't call him obstinate--though mebbe he's a bit sot in his ideas," he said.

"He looks to me like a professional gunman," the lady said contemptuously.

"Might be, o' course," Larry agreed, "but I'd say not; that sort is usually mean about the eyes. Allasame, I reckon a gent who pulled a gun on him would likely find hisself a trifle late."

He went on to talk to her of killers and gun-fights, of Wild Bill Hickok, Slade, Sudden and others, of the bad old times in Abilene and Dodge, and tried to show her the big part these men and their like had played in the settlement of the country. And when she protested that the law was there to punish evildoers, he laughed.

"What's the use o' the law to a dead man?" he asked. "No, ma'am, in those parts an' in these right now a man's gotta have his law handy on his hip, where he can get action on her speedy. Me, I'm a peaceable fella, but I like to know I got the means to protect m'self, yu betcha."

With conversation of this kind he kept her amused and interested until they reached their destination. Desert Edge was a replica of Hope Again, but on a larger scale, plus a railway depot and pens where the cattle could await shipment. Though Phil had visited the place several times on her way to the East, she had but little knowledge of it. An inquiry of a shock-headed man, whose hand went instinctively to remove a hat he was not wearing, elicited the information she desired--the whereabouts of Judge Embley.

The Judge, whose title was official and not one of courtesy only, was a tall man of sixty, with a square, rugged but kindly face, and an unruly mop of grey hair which brush and comb were powerless to subdue. He was in his shirt-sleeves when his landlady entered the apartment which served as sitting-room and office, with the information that a young lady wished to see him. Slipping on his long black coat, he laid aside his cigar and greeted his visitor with a smile.

"So you are Philip Masters' little girl, eh?" he said when she had told her name. "No news of your father yet, I suppose?" And when she shook her head, he added, "Well, well, it's too soon to despair yet, you know. Now sit down and tell me how I can help you."

The girl took the chair he placed for her; she liked the old man at once, and felt that he could be trusted.

"I've been looking through Daddy's papers," she began, "and I found one saying that if anything happened to him"--her voice shook a little--"I was to come and see you."

"Quite right," the Judge said. "I've had the handling of your father's business for some years now, and a few months ago I drew up his will, under the terms of which I now become your guardian. May T say that while I deplore the necessity, I'm very proud of the position." He bowed with an old-fashioned courtesy which gave point to the compliment. Then, seeing that she did not quite understand, he added, "It amounts to this, until your father returns or we have definite news concerning him, I stand in loco parentis as we lawyers phrase it, or, in plain English, I take his place until you are of age."

The girl was silent, pondering. "And suppose--I wanted--to get married," she said slowly. "Your consent would be necessary?"

The shrewd old eyes under the bushy brows twinkled a little. "I am afraid that is so," he admitted. "The will specially provides for such a contingency, and, failing my consent, your inheritance is reduced to a small annual income. What reason your father had for inserting that clause I cannot say, but apparently he regarded it as important."

Again the girl was silent. She had vaguely thought of marriage with Bartholomew as a means of ousting Severn from the position of authority he had assumed, if all else failed. Had the clause been directed at the owner of the Bar B? Her father had always been friendly with the big man, but she had begun to suspect lately that he did not like him.

"If you are concerned about the conduct of the ranch, you need not be," the Judge remarked. "You have a good foreman."

"I don't like him," Phil said bluntly. "He acts as if the place belonged to him."

"He represents the owner, and he's there to give orders," Embley reminded her.

"Yes, but not to me," the girl retorted hotly.

"Has he done so?" the Judge queried.

The girl hesitated. "Well, no, not exactly," she admitted, "but he refused to obey my instructions." She related the incident regarding the steers Bartholomew had asked for.

"He was entirely right," the old man said gravely. "I am fairly conversant with your father's affairs, and I know of no debt to this man Bartholomew. I may tell you that I recommended Severn to your father, and I am pleased to find that he is justifying my confidence."

' His tone was kindly, but in it there was a note of determination which told her that it would be useless to suggest the foreman's dismissal, as she had been on the point of doing. The astute old lawyer had divined this, and had cleverly saved both her and himself the pain of a refusal. Also, his reference to Bartholomew had made it plain that he did not entertain a highopinion of the owner of the Bar B ranch. Bitterly aware of a fruitless errand, she stood up to go; the Judge misread her doleful expression.

"Now, my dear, don't assume the worst," he said. "I am having inquiries made in all the outlying towns, and I've no doubt we shall hear of your father before very long. Come or send to me if you are in any difficulty, and--you can trust your foreman."

Larry had a very silent companion on the ride back to the ranch, and in truth the girl had plenty to occupy her thoughts. She had set out in the morning full of hope that the Judge would be able to establish her authority and set her masterful foreman in his place, or, better still, out of it, and instead he had only given her a fuller realisation of her helplessness. Mainly the visit had been a gesture of revolt against Severn, and it failed. Her heart grew hot within her at the thought of this cool, confident stranger controlling her and her property. At least he should get no help from her, and Bartholomew was on her side and would know h w to deal with him.

When the owner of the Bar B came over on the following morning, she told him e ough of her conversation with the Judge to let him understand her position, and though he concealed his chagrin fairly wel, he was frowning heavily when she finished.

"Wonder why yore dad'' put that old fool Embley in the saddle?" he speculated. "There's somethin' funny behind all this. We gotta watch out, girl; it may be a frame-up."

"How do you mean?" she. asked.

"Well, I don't say it's so, but listen to this," the rancher replied. "Embley draws up yore father's will an' gets himself made executor an' yore guardian. Stevens is rubbed out, an' he introduces Severn. Then yore dad vanishes an' Embley an' Severn get control o' the best ranch in the county. Say, I'm bettin' yu can't marry without the Judge's consent, eh?"

"Not until T'm of age," the girl admitted.

"I knew it," Bartholomew cried. "Damn 'em, they've got every hole stopped. Don't yu see how it all fits in? When they've got control o' the ranch, Severn makes up to yu--" The girl smiled wryly, and he guessed her thought. "Don't make no mistake--some men think the only way to attract a woman is to hold her off an' ride her on the curb. I'll lay the Judge would say `yes' to that proposition fast enough, but we won't give him the chance, eh, Phil? We'll beat Mister Severn in spite o' the stacked deck. How's he fixed for funds?"

"He's selling four-score head to Ridge."

"When is he sendin' 'em up?"

"The day after to-morrow."

"Good enough," the big man grinned. "That'll give me time to put a little crimp in his plans."

She did not ask what he intended to do; she suspected that he would in some way prevent the delivery of the cattle, so that Severn would not get the cash he would be needing, but her resentment against the man made her blind to the fact that she might be working in opposition to her own interest. Bartholomew's specious reasoning had so poisoned her mind that she was ready to believe in the reality of the vile plot he had outlined, and to do anything to circumvent it.

Chapter VI

A SOILED, folded scrap of paper of the kind a storekeeper might use to wrap up a parcel, and on it, pencilled in rude capital letters, the following message :

"If yu take the XT herd through Skull Canyon yu'll lose it. A FRIEND."

Severn had found it thrust under the door of his shack on the morning of the second day after Phil's visit to Desert Edge. Sardonically he wondered as to the identity of the unknown "friend". Was it an attempt to delay the delivery of the herd, on to force him to choose another route? Thrusting the warning into his pocket, he went to the bunkhouse in search of Darby

"Is Skull Canyon on the trail to the XT?" he asked, watch- ing the man closely.

"Shore--'bout halfway," was the reply. "The trail to Ridge': takes a turn there, an' cuts into the rough country around the lower slopes o' the Pinnacles. She's good enough goin' alla-same."

"Tell the boys we'll make the drive to-morrow 'stead o' today," Severn said.

"One day's good as another, I guess," the man replied, anc his expression told the foreman nothing.

Severn nodded, got his horse, and followed by Quirt, rod( away on the northern trail; he meant to have a look at the ground himself. The XT was twenty miles from the Lazy M and for nearly half the distance the trail passed over the open range; then, as Darby had said, it took a turn and plunged intc a network of low wooded slopes, ridges and ravines. It was however, well-defined, wide and practicable for cattle, being itfact the route used by Ridge when he drove his herds to Desert Edge.

Severn had left the open country, and was passing through a shallow basin, when from a point in the brush covering the upper rims came the flat report of a rifle, and a bullet whistled viciously past his ear. Tnstantly he swung his horse, raced up the opposite slope and dived into the undergrowth, followed by another bullet, which clipped the brim of his hat. Dismounting, he tied the animal where a questing shot would be unlikely to find it, ordered the dog to lie down, and, taking his rifle, made his way back to the open. His face was grirn, and promised little mercy for the bushwhacker. Flinging himself at full length in a slight hollow, he poked his rifle forward and fired at the spot the shots had come from, which he had/ taken care to mark down. An answering shot from a point ten yards away showed that the unknown assailant was taking no /chances.

"Still there, huh?" Severn grunted. "Well, friend, we'll try a little trick on yu. P'raps yu ain't so smart, after all."

Wriggling backwards until he was/ able to stand up without disturbing the foliage, he went and/ fetched the rope from his saddle. Tying one end to the root of a small, thick bush, he crept away and lay down, rifle cuddled to his cheek in readiness to fire. Then with his right hand he twitched the rope, shaking the bush to which it was attached. Instantly a shot came from across the basin, and with the speed of thought itself he pumped three bullets into the thinning smoke, aiming each a shade to the left of the preceding one. No reply came, and he shook the bush again without eliciting any. Suspecting that the other man might have tumbled to the ruse and be playing a trick on him in turn, he lay quiet for a while, and then fired again. Nothing happened, and Severn got up and went to his horse.

"I either got him or scared him off, Quirt," he said. "We'll go an' see, but not bein' of a confidin' nature, we'll go cautious-like."

Leading the horse through the brush, he skirted round the basin until he came to the spot from whence the ambusher had last fired. A horse tied to a tree whinnied as they approached, and a dozen yards away a man lay, face downwards and arms asprawl, behind a clump of brush. In the upturned heel of one boot was a cross formed with nails. Turning the body over, Severn saw that it was Ignacio. A bullet had perforated his throat.

"Masters was right, an' I kinda thought it my own self," Severn muttered. "Well, yu won't go rattler-huntin' no more, yu coyote. Wonder if yu was layin' for me, or if yu just grabbed Mister Opportunity?"

Methodically he searched the dead man, but found only a fewcoins, some tobacco and a scrap of paper. Half of this had been torn away, but on the remainder he read the words:

"... yore last chance. I got no use for Bunglers.

THE MASK."

"Huh ! Seems I may 've been steppin' on nhe toes o' these folk without knowin' it," Severn commented. "He didn't oughta use that capital B, 'specially when he makes 'em thataway."

Putting the paper carefully in a pocket, he picked up the ambusher's rifle. It was a Winchester repeater, and on one side of the stock were the letters P. M., made of tiny silver nails driven into the wood.

"Philip Masters," muttered the finder. "Now how in Hades did the Mexican get this?"

He examined the dead man's pistol and found that it was a .45. In all probability Masters used a .44, which would take the same cartridge as his rifle. Severn shook his head dubiously; he did not like the look of things. With a puzzled frown he mounted and continued his journey to Skull Canyon. He soon recognised it--a deep, narrow gulch, with sharply-sloping, rocky sides covered with clumps of stunted shrubs. It was an ideal spot to waylay the herd, for the cattle could not spread, there was plenty of cover for the attackers, and practically none for the attacked. One glance was enough; the foreman turned his horse and rode slowly back.

That evening, in the seclusion of his own quarters, he told Larry of the day's events, omitting the name of the would-be assassin. His friend's comment was characteristic.

"Well, they say fools is lucky," he said.

"They must be, or yu would 'a' been wearin' wings long ago," Severn retorted.

"Two shots at yu in the open, an' missed," Sunset went on. "Course yu was jumpin' when he fired the second."

"I shore wasn't stoppin' to pick flowers," grinned the other. "I didn't look to be bushwhacked there, neither."

"D'yu reckon Stevens an' Masters did?" asked Larry sarcastically.

"Masters may turn up again," the foreman stated, though without much conviction in his tone.

"Did you know that bushwhackin' skunk?"

"Yeah, it was Ignacio," was the reply.

Larry whistled. "S'pose yu left him there," he suggested.

"No, I put him where he helped to put yore dad, an' cut a coupla notches on the tree," Severn said. "That'll get 'em guessin'."

"Tally two for the 4B," the boy said caustically. "I'm thankin'yu, Jim."

"Shucks! He was shootin' at me," the foreman reminded him. "What yu got to tell me about the outfit?"

"I reckon they're all pretty straight bar one--that fella Geevor, just in from ridin' the line. He's one o' Bart's men, an' I've seen him af ore." Severn nodded understandingly. "How many yu takin' to-morrow?"

"Six, includin' myself; oughta be enough to swing a little herd like that."

A reminder that an early start had to be made in the morning sent the guest back to the bunkhouse, his curiosity unsatisfied. "Bloomin' clam," he muttered disgustedly. "But he's got an ace in the hole all right, I'll betcha."

Soon after daybreak the drive started. Severn gave instructions that the cattle were to be permitted to go their own pace, being merely kept on the move; he did not want the beasts tired in case it should be necessary to push them hard towards the end of the journey. With such a small herd and an easy trail, he reckoned on reaching the XT during the afternoon. Mile after mile dropped behind them, and nearly half the distance was accomplished without incident.

A couple of miles from Skull Canyon Severn called a halt for rest and a meal. When the journey was resumed, the foreman, riding ahead, turned into a growth-cluttered gully almost at right angles to the trail they had been following. Gecvor, stationed on the left front of the herd, spurred across.

"Hey, boss, this ain't the way," he cried. "The trail to the XT goes right through Skull Canyon."

"I know, but I reckon this is safer, Geevor," the foreman replied, and did not fail to note that the shifty eyes fell before his own.

"Well, it's yore say-so, but this is one hell of a place to get cows through," came the sullen retort.

"Yu think Skull Canyon would 'a' been easier, eh?" Severn asked meaningly.

The man muttered something about its being an open trail, and subsided. The next few miles justified his criticism, for the cattle had to be driven over ground bristling with natural obstacles. Dense undergrowth, thickets of young trees, streams, rocky ridges, and declivities all had to be overcome, and the riders had their work cut out to hold the herd together. They had got over the worst of it and emerged into an open, grassy stretch when two pistol shots rang out, and Severn turned to see Geevor staring stupidly at the smoking gun he was holding. Angrily he rode over.

"What's the big idea?" he asked. "Tryin' to stampede the herd, huh?"

"Gun wasn't ridin' easy, so I pulled her out an' blame me ifshe don't go off," the cowboy explained. "Dunno how it happened."

The foreman had to be content with the explanation, though he felt convinced that the shots had been purposely fired. Was the fellow in league with the bandits? It was more than likely and Severn gave the word for more speed. He kept a watchful eye on Geevcr, and presently noticed that the man's horse was limping.

"Hoss has gone lame; I'll have to catch yu up," the rider said sullenly.

The foreman bit on an oath. "Yu'll stay with us, Geevor," he replied acidly. "If yu keep yore toes outa his elbows the hoss'll soon get over his lameness."

"I ain't--"

"Straight--T know it," Severn cut in. "When we get back to the Lazy M, yu can drift, but for now, yu stay with the herd." The shifty eyes again wavered and dropped.

After about three miles, the detour they had taken brought them back to the trail again, and to the XT ranch without further difficulty. Then only did the foreman explain to his men his reason for the extra labour they had been put to.

"Mebbe it was a false alarm, boys, but I couldn't afford to take the chance," he said. "I'm shore obliged to yu for puttin' it through."

Ridge, a bulky man of middle-age, with a broad, weather-worn face, rnet them outside an empty corral, looked over and counted the herd, and invited Severn to adjourn to the house, at the same time telling two of his men to make the visitors welcome.

The foreman had a last word. "When yu boys have fed yore faces yu can start for home," he said. "I'll be follerin' later." And to Larry, "Come to the house an' tell me when yo're ready to go."

The meal over, the two men adjourned to the "parlour" to settle their business.

Severn was expressing his thanks when Larry came to say the men were about to start. He drew his foreman aside.

"I'm agoin' to stay an' ride back with yu," he said. "It ain't safe for yu to be projectin' about here on yore own."

"Yu'll do as yo're dam well told an' go with the others," the foreman replied. "When I want dry-nursin', I'll let yu know. What time did Geevor go?"

"Who told yu? Well, it's a good guess, anyways," said Larry. "'Bout half an hour back he slid out, an' we ain't seen him since."

"Take care o' this--it's the money for the herd," Severn went on, handing him a roll of bills.

The boy bestowed the cash in a pocket. "Jim, it's a risk," said soberly.

"Life's full of 'em," Severn said lightly. "Now run along, little man, an' keep yore mouth as near shut as yu can get it." Larry's retort, heard only by his foreman, was neither respectful nor complimentary.

Less than an hour later, Severn also set out for the Lazy M. His chat with Ridge had cheered him, for it showed that Bartholomew's hold was not so complete as he had feared. Though he felt that the XT owner could be trusted, he did not tell him of the slaying of Ignacio, and the finding of Masters' rifle; he was playing in a risky game, and wanted to be sure of every step before he took it. Later on he had reason to wish he had been more confiding.

He took the trail by which they had brought the cattle, but this time he did not worry about detours, riding straight for Skull Canyon. He did not hurry, and it was dark when he reached the dismal defile. Suddenly two shadows slid from behind a great boulder on the edge of the trail, and he heard a hoarse command :

"Stick 'em up, pronto, an' climb off'n that bronc ! "

Peering through the gloom Severn could make out that two men, wearing white masks, had their pistols trained on him. With a grin they could not see, he raised his hands, and kicking his feet free of the stirrups, flung one leg over the horse's head and slid to the ground. Instantly one of the hold-ups advanced a step and said :

"Cough it up."

"Meanin'?" Severn asked.

"The mazuma Ridge paid yu for the steers, o' course," was the reply.

The Lazy M man laughed aloud. "I ain't got it, friend," he said quietly. "One o' my men carried that; yu mighta seen 'em pass."

"Bah! he's lyin'; go through him, Slick."

"Ain't yu got no sense at all?" snarled the man addressed, adding a savage curse.

"I said go through him slick--meanin' don't waste time," said the other quickly, and the prisoner laughed again.

"Clever fella," he jeered. "Who told yu T'd have the moneyGeevor?"

"No," was the unthinking reply, and then, "Never heard of him."

"Another afterthought--yo're pretty good at 'em, ain't yu?" Severn bantered.

The man gritted out an oath, and sheathing his gun, made a rapid but thorough search of the prisoner, while the other manstood by with levelled revolver. Not finding the plunder, he turned his attention to the horse, with a like result.

"It ain't here," he said disgustedly.

"I done told yu that already, Mister Afterthought," Severn said. "I reckon yu can't be in the habit of associatin' with truthful men."

The goaded searcher snatched out his gun and thrust it into his captive's face. "One more yap outa yu an' I'll blow yu four ways to onct," he threatened.

But this was where he made a slip. Severn's elbows had been dropping imperceptibly during the search and now, with an upward and outward fling of his left hand, he was able to knock the gun muzzle wide, and at the same moment his right fist, with a stiff, short-arm jolt, thudded into that centre of nerves and tissue known to scientists as the solar plexus. Under that paralysing blow the recipient doubled up like a hinge and went down gasping in agony. His companion fired but missed, and Severn, grabbing his own gun, drove a bullet into him before he could pull trigger again. One leap landed him in the saddle, and he was pounding through the canyon before the bandits realised what had happened to them.