Sudden Law o The Lariat (1935)

"Yu see," he explained to Larry that evening, when the latter came to hand over the money, "Geevor's anxiety that we should go through Skull Canyon made me suspect him. When his gun went off twice by accident, I felt pretty shore it was a signal, an' when his hoss goes lame so's he can have an excuse to fall behind, I knew. I figured he'd slip away early an' tell his friends I was goin' back alone, an' havin' missed the herd, they'd lay for me to get the dollars. They'd never suspicion I'd trust one o' the men with the roll, so they'd let the outfit go by. It worked just like I played it would."

The foreman told no one else of his adventure, but somebody must have talked, for the outfit got to know of it, and the foreman's reputation did not suffer in consequence. On the following morning, Severn found Geevor talking with Miss Masters.

"What became o' yu last night, Geevor?" he asked.

"I started afore the rest, thinkin' my hoss might go lame agin, an' it did, so I couldn't make the ranch," the man said.

"Come down to my place an' get yore time," Severn said, in a tone which conveyed his disbelief.

"Why are you dismissing Geevor?" the girl asked sharply. "He couldn't help his horse failing."

"He's goin' because there's times when he's ashamed to show his face, ain't that so, Geevor?" the foreman returned.

The man flushed and scowled. "I'm not stayin' where I ain't wanted," he said truculently.

"That's whatever," the foreman agreed. "An' keep clear o' the Lazy M or yu'll likely be stayin'--permanent."

The girl, with one withering glance at Severn, stalked into the house. She did not see the look which followed her, and in-hetstate of anger would not have read it aright if she had. She sought comfort where she had always found it as a child--on the broad bosom of Dinah.

"Don' yu worry, honeybird," the old negress soothed. "Sump'n tell me Massah Philip he come back, an' dat no-'count husban' o' mine say Mistah Severn good fella--he know his job."

This was the last straw. Phil flew to her room feeling that she hadn't a friend in the world.

Chapter VII

THE boss of the Bar B dropped into a chair, lit up a cigar, and surveyed his surroundings with savage disgust. Tt was essentially a man's room, and the bare floor, clumsy furniture and litter of saddles, guns, ropes and other paraphernalia of the range contrasted unfavourably with the corresponding apartment at the Lazy M. Old Robbie, a cowpuncher who had got too terribly stove up in a stampede to ride again, could keep house after a fashion, but he had not the instincts of a home-maker. Hitherto the matter had not troubled Bart; when he married, they would live at the Lazy M, but to-day that event appeared somewhat remote. And it had all seemed so easy; everything was coming his way until the advent of the new foreman and the disappearance of the owner had put a new complexion on matters. He knew well enough why that marriage clause was in the will.

His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Penton, the one man of his outfit who was admitted to a measure of familiarity. A thin-faced, sour-looking fellow, with clamped lips and small, ruthless eyes which read the bigger man's expression at a glance. Flinging his hat on the table, he sat down.

"What's eatin' yu, Bart?" he inquired, and then, "I saw the Masters girl in Desert Edge."

"She went to see Embley, actin' on instructions she found in her father's papers," Bartholomew explained. "The old fool's made the Judge her guardian, an' she can't do a thing without his consent."

Penton whistled. "That postpones yore nuptials quite a piece, don't it?" he queried. "What happens if she takes a chance?"

"She loses the ranch," Bart growled.

"The hell she does, the cunnin' old coyote," commented the other. "She's a mighty nice gal, but the prettiest of 'em looks better framed, an' the Lazy M is shore a handsome frame."

Bartholomew scowled his agreement with the sentiment. "Yu find out anythin'?" he asked.

"Precious little, 'cept that Embley don't love yu," Penton replied.

"That's news," sneered his employer. "Yu didn't say yu come from me, did yu?"

"No need--he knew, an' as soon as I mentioned Severn he tells me I can get all the information nearer home--from Severn himself, an' bows me out, grinnin' like a cat."

Bartholomew nodded comprehendingly; he had met the Judge more than once, and he knew that grin.

"Severn ain't well known in Desert Edge--came there a few times to see Embley, but nobody knows where from," Penton went on. "Yu remember Fallan bein' wiped out there by a stranger? Well, it was Mister Severn. Oh, there ain't no fuss; it was more than an even break, an' the deceased warn't popular. The on'y mourners were the folks he owed money to. He was the first to go."

"What're yu drivin' at?" Bartholomew asked, but Penton preferred to tell the story his own way.

"Comin' back I took the trail past the old Forby placedunno why," he resumed.

"The big cottonwood is bearin' fruit agin--there was a body hangin' from the same old branch, an' when I got it down I found it was Ignacio; he'd been shot in the throat an' then strung up. Odd, ain't it?"

Black Bart ground out an oath of surprise.

"Yeah, an' on the trunk o' the tree there's two notches, new cut, over the Forby brand," added Penton. "Now Fallan an' the Greaser were in that business, an' there's five of us left, yu, me, Darby, Devint an' Geevor. I'm wonderin' which of us the next notch'll be cut for."

The rancher laughed harshly.

"Bah, yo're losin' yore nerve an' seein' things, Pent," he said. "Ten years ago : why, somebody's bound to get bumped off in that time. As for the Greaser, he warn't no-ways popular, though I'll admit it's curious the chap who downed him should have picked on that particular tree as a gallows. Now, see here, that can wait; we got somethin' bigger to think of. I hear that Severn took his herd through to Ridge an' got back with the cash, so there he is firm in the saddle at the Lazy M, withauthority an' money to carry on. What we goin' to do about it?"

Penton was silent for a while, his cold eyes, half-lidded like reptile's, staring vacantly at the wall. Presently he spoke, an from his tone no one would have supposed that he was suggesting the murder of a fellow-creature.

"Put Shady on to him--he's fast with a gun an' he ain't known in Hope, so we needn't to show in it," he advised.

"He's fast all right, but I doubt if he could beat Severn to it on an even break, an' we don't wanta lose Shady," Bartholomew objected.

"Who said anythin' about an even break?" queried the other coolly. "Shady can frame him; we're strong enough in town to see that he makes his getaway."

The Bar B owner pondered on the proposition, his face set in a savage sneer. His decision was soon made.

"Reckon yo're right," he said. "I'll fix it, an' in the meantime it won't do no harm to sorta hint that Severn knows somethin' o' Masters' disappearance. Savvy?"

"Bump hirn off an' get shut of hirn, that's my hunch," Penton said. "Who's goin' to care, seein' he's a stranger here? I'm tellin' yu, he's bad medicine for yu an' me, an' I'll feel a heap easier when he's buzzard-meat."

"Dropped 'em in a cleft, way off the trail, where they won't be found. We don't want no inquiries," was the callous reply. Black Bart nodded his agreement, and Penton left him.

It was late in the afternoon when Severn and Larry rode into Hope and pulled up in front of the bank. The foreman was carrying a sum of about two thousand dollars, and wished to rid himself of the responsibility. The bank staff consisted of a manager and an assistant, and the latter being out on an errand, the former attended to the visitors himself. Mr. Rapson was an Easterner, and had never been able to acclimatise himself. A short, fat man, his wrinkled, black frock-coat, shiny bald head and spectacles gave him rather the appearance of a parson down on his luck. When the transaction was concluded, Severn began to chat about the town, and the banker immediately declared himself.

"As a business man, Mister Severn, I make it a rule never to take part in any local controversy," he stated. "I cannot afford to. The facilities of this establishment are at the disposal of any reputable person."

He puffed out his chest as he pompously gave vent to these sentiments, and Larry smothered a yelp of delight. It tickled him to death to hear someone hurling what he termed "dictionary stuff" at his friend, and he eagerly awaited the volley of high-flown language he expected would be the reply. But Severn sold him.

"I reckon yo're right, seh," was all he said.

Barton swore disgustedly as they emerged. "Cuss the fella; yu never can tell what he's liable to do."

"If yo're referrin' to that windbag, yo're wrong," his companion replied. "It's a shore thing he'll play safe every time."

Larry let it go at that and followed his foreman along the street to Bent's Saloon. It proved to be empty of customers, but from behind the bar the proprietor smiled a wide welcome.

"Which I shore am pleased to see yu again, gents," he said, reaching for a bottle on a back shelf. "That's the brand I take my own self, an' I think yu'll like it. How yu makin' it at the Lazy M?"

Severn sampled the liquor and pronounced it good before he answered the question. "Fine and dandy," he said easily. "We ain't had no trouble as yet."

Bent slapped his thigh delightedly. "Yo're the fella I've dreamt of--the fella this town needs bad," he said.

" `One man can't win agin twenty,' " Severn quoted with twinkling eyes.

"Awright, I said it an' I don't take it back," Bent grinned. "But the right fella, with a few good men to back his play, can win agin double the number, see?"

"Shore," Severn agreed. "How would Ridge of the XT do for one?"

"Which I should say so," replied Bent with evident enthusiasm. "He's as square as they make 'em, an' he's got friends. Yu seen him? But o' course yu have--yu got yore herd through; they was bettin' three to one agin it at the `Come Again'."

Severn digested this information in silence. Did the frequenters of Muger's know that an attempt would be made to lift the cattle, or were they gambling on the chance of the White Masks seizing the opportunity? One thing was very clear--someone was keeping a sharp eye on what was happening at the Lazy M.

"Them bandits in the Pinnacles don't 'pear to be interfered with," he remarked casually.

"Well, they ain't bothered Hope none as yet, an' Tyler, the sheriff, won't never lose his eyesight lookin' for work," the saloon-keeper replied.

"I'm leavin' the findin' of them goodt men to yu," the Lazy M foreman said as they left the saloon.

"They'll shore be on hand when yu want 'em," Bent assured him. "An' they'll come painted for war, yu bet yu."

The adjacent store was the next place of call, for supplieswere needed at the ranch. The proprietor, Callahan, a dried-up little Irishman, looked at them with snapping eyes.

"Yis, this is where Mister Masters allus bought," he said, in answer to a question from the foreman. "But I've had orders not to sarve ye."

Severn stared at him. "Then I'd better go over to Winter," he said, naming the other storekeeper.

Callahan laughed. "Shure, Bart owns him, lock, stock an' barrel, an' he'll be after havin' instructions too," he countered. "Then the Desert Edge merchants are shore in luck," the foreman retorted.

"Aisy now," smiled the Irishman. "As I said, I've had orders but divil a bit did I say I was goin' to give anny heed to 'em. Bent is a good friend o' mine, an' Black Bart's order not to supply yu was the first I ever had from him. Now, what're ye wantin'?"

Severn detailed the various articles required, arranged to send in for them the following day, and the two men drifted out in search of a meal. In the course of it, Larry, after a long silence, made a casual comment.

"This burg ain't so composed o' tame animiles as I was reckonin'."

"No, some has got ideas o' their own," his friend agreed.

Muger's saloon, the "Come Again", was, for a small cow town, a place of luxury. Both the bar, which was also the portion devoted to the Goddess of Chance, and the dance hall were lavishly supplied with gilt mirrors, and there were pictures, mostly of women in various stages of undress, on the walls; the furniture was good of its kind. A long bar, plentifully stocked with an assortment of liquors, faced the main entrance, and the intervening space was filled with tables and chairs. These were pretty well occupied when Severn entered--alone--and sauntered to the bar. Calling for a drink, he sipped it leisurely and looked about.

He knew that his appearance had provoked comment, for he saw men whispering and glancing in his direction. The only one who did not seem to be interested was a young red-faced puncher who had entered almost on his heels, and now leaned against one end of the bar cuddling his glass as though it was a lost friend, although by the look of him the separation had not been a long one. At the other end, Black Bart was chatting with Penton and Martin, but the latter disappeared almost immedi- ately. Severn was about midway between the solitary cowboy and the Bar B group.

Idly he wondered how many of Bent's "good men" were present. He did not quite know why he had thus invaded the headquarters of the Bartholomew faction; it was largely agesture of defiance, a "grand-stand play", as he defined it in his own mind. He did not expect anything to happen, but there was a chance of picking up information. Larry, after a vigorous protest, had declined to accompany him, and Severn smiled to himself when he saw his friend sneak in.

Men who spend their lives in an atmosphere of danger develop a kind of instinct which warns them when peril is present, and Severn had not been in the saloon very long before he divined that something was going to happen after all. Martin's exit was not natural, for it made him appear cowardly, and he would not risk such an imputation without a good reason. Leaning sideways against the bar, Severn kept a wary eye on the Bar B couple, arguing that any trouble would be likely to originate there. This was sound reasoning, but he was to learn that Bartholomew had depths he had not yet plumbed. Obsessed by the idea that he must watch Black Bart, he did not notice the entry of another customer, who slouched in, greeted no one and took up a position at the bar behind, and only a yard or two distant from, the Lazy M foreman.

The newcomer was not unworthy of attention. Of medium height, his great breadth of body made him appear shorter than he really was. His attire was that of a range worker, and he wore two guns, low down on his hips, and tied. The long, claw-like right hand was burnt brown by the sun, a fact instantly noted by Larry, who was scanning the fellow covertly but closely.

"I've seen him afore, some place," he mused. "Where's he come from an' what's he doin' here? Dasn't wear a glove on that right paw. He's a killer, shore enough."

The man looked it. His heavy face, with knobbed muscles round the square jaw, colourless cold eyes, dirty yellow skin and the limp moustache, which did not conceal thin lips, conveyed an impression of soulless indifference, repellent, nauseating, altogether inhuman. The drink he poured himself from the bottle pushed forward by the bar-tender was of modest dimensions, a fact the watching cowboy instantly noted.

Larry called for a cigar, lit it with the inexpertness of one who has imbibed a shade too freely, and took a surreptitious peep around the room.

"Who's he after?" he muttered. "Bet m'self two dollars suthin's goin' to bust loose 'fore long. Hello, here's the sheriff; mebbe that'll cramp his game some."

Henry Tyler, his nickel star well in evidence, followed by Martin and another citizen, promptly joined the Bar B couple, and, as though he had been waiting for them, Black Bart at once made a move for the bar.

"Set 'em up, Sam," he said to the dispenser of drinks.

As the five men lined up at the counter, Severn was cornpelled to move further along in order to give them room. This brought him close to the stranger, of whose presence he was still unaware. Then came the tinkle of a smashed glass.

"Damn yu, yu clumsy cow-thumper. I'll teach yu to keep yore hoofs to yoreself," snarled a savage voice behind him, and he felt a hard, round object which he knew to be a gun-barrel jammed in the small of his back. "One move an' I'll just naturally blow yu apart," the voice continued.

Severn stiffened; he knew he had been caught, and the rasping, metallic tone of the threat told him that it was no idle one; the least movement on his part would mean death. His eyes met those of Bartholomew, and noted the interest, mingled with a _-gleam of amusement, in the Bar B owner's face. The whole room was now silent, tense; the flip of cards and rattle of poker chips had ceased.

"Don't yu," warned another voice, and there was no mistaking the menace in it. "If that gun ain't dropped when I've counted three, yu will be. One--two--"

The stranger cast a hurried glance over his shoulder and saw that the speaker was the young cowpuncher. He had apparently got over his intoxication, for the gun in his hand was unwavering, the pale eyes were like chilled steel and the lips clamped on the cigar gave him a ferocity oddly out of keeping with his age. The unknown's gun clattered on the floor.

"All right, Don; I've pulled his teeth, yu can handle him now," said the man with the drop, but he did not lower his gun. Like a flash Severn turned, and, as he did so, his right fist came round and up, with all the impetus of his body movement behind it. The blow caught the stranger fairly on the left point of his jaw, lifted him clear of the ground and hurled him, a senseless mass, on to a neighbouring card-table. The piece of furniture instantly became kindling wood, cards and chips went flying, and two of the players executed pretty back somersaults. Severn stepped forward, his hands in close proximity to his guns, then turned to face an angry sheriff. Tyler was not at any time an imposing person; his bloated face and mean eyes betrayed him for what he was--a blustering bully.

"What's yore idea?" he bellowed. "Comin' here a-disturbin' the peace an' knockin' respectable folks about. I've half a mind--"

"Yo're flatterin' yoreself, sheriff; I shouldn't say yu had that much," Severn retorted, and a snicker went round the room, which infuriated the officer still more. "O' course, I didn't know this fella was a friend o' yores."

"Friend nothin'--I never seen him afore," the sheriff disclaimed, "but I represent the law--"

"Ain't yu a mite late gettin' into the game, sheriff?" queriedSevern sarcastically. "When that fella had his gun jammed into my back yu gave a pretty good imitation of a gob of mud. Yu aw him jump me."

"I saw yu deliberately spill his drink an' tromp on his feet," the sheriff returned viciously. "An' if he'd beefed yu it would 'a' served yu right."

Severn smiled at the circle of spectators, which now included everyone in the room.

"Yu oughta get yore eyesight seen to, sheriff," he said. "It'll play yu a trick one o' these days." And then the mirth died out of his face. "I've seen quite a few sheriffs an' marshals, but yo're the worst specimen ever," he said acidly. "What's the matter with this town that it has to go into the desert an' fetch in a poison toad like yu to hang a star on?"

The officer's face grew pale, his cheeks puffed out, and his beady eyes snapped with rage until he actually suggested the reptile to which he had been likened.

"Yo're insultin' an' opposin' the law," he screamed.

In sheer desperation, Tyler's hand went to his gun, and, in a tone he tried hard to make convincing, he said :

"Put up yore hands, I'm arrestin' yu."

Severn, lolling easily against the bar, laughed in his face. "Why, yu pore skate, I could blow yu to bits before yu could get that cannon out," he jeered. "See here, sheriff, I'll make yu an offer. We'll get a deck o' cards--a new one--an' have one cut each. The man who cuts the high card has first shot at the other from two paces--even yu couldn't miss that far away. That'll give yu an even break. What about it?"

The sheriff's face palpably lost some of its colour as he heard this amazing suggestion. He had made his bluff and the other man had called it. He swept a furtive glance at the onlookers, but could see nothing but eager curiosity. If he asked for help to arrest the puncher, he would probably die swiftly--Severn's eyes had told him as much. On the other hand, the thing he would have called his soul shivered at the thought of staking his life on a cut of the cards. Fair as it undoubtedly was, the very cold-bloodedness of the proposition appalled him. And he knew he would lose--one look at the mocking, satirical face of the challenger, radiating confidence, settled the issue. A loophole occurred to him.

"Pretty cheap bluff," he croaked. "Yu know dam well I can't take yu up wearin' this," and he touched his badge of office.

"It ain't sewn to yore skin, is it?" queried the other, and then, "Well, I didn't think yu'd jump at it, sheriff; sorta guessed yu'd find a hole to crawl into, but just to show I warn't bluffin', the offer is open to any o' yore friends--or his."

He pointed to the senseless figure on the floor, but his eyeswere on Bartholomew. The Bar B owner shrugged his shoulders as he replied :

"That jasper's a stranger to me. I fight my own battles, my own way."

"So I've heard," Severn commented, and his sneering smile conveyed anything but a compliment. "Tell that fella when he comes round where he can find me," he said to the bar-tender, and unconcernedly turning his back, walked out of the room.

A little way out of town he waited, and presently Larry came loping up. The little man cut short his thanks.

"Nothin' to that," he said. "It was a plain frame-up. I was watchin' an' yu never touched the fella; he was there a-purpose, an' he was sent for when they see yu come in. I couldn't place him at once, but after yu handed out that wallop it came to me. His name's Shadwell, but he's generally known as `Shady', which shore described him to a dot. He's a gunman, an' fast. Whyfor did yu make that fool offer to cut the cards? S'pose the sheriff had took yu up?"

The foreman laughed. "I knew he wouldn't--he's yellow right through," he said. "It warn't meant for him. An' it ain't quite the same as an ordinary gun play where there's allus the chance o' bein' a split-second quicker'n the other fella. Cuttin' the cards for first shot is a cold gamble, live or die, an' it wants a hell of a lot o' nerve to sit into a game like that. Some o' the men in the saloon who knew I was talkin' at Bartholomew, are thinkin' he oughta called me, an' that's why I made the play. Yu thought I was just grand-standin'?"

"I thought yu was bein' the natural dam fool yu are an' takin' an unnecessary risk," came the blunt answer.

"It's the loss in prestige, Larry," Severn pointed out, his voice serious but his eyes twinkling. "Yu gotta consider the psychological aspect."

"Aw right, professor, I pass," that young man interjected hurriedly.

Chapter VIII

To Phil Masters at the Lazy M ranch, the days came and went with leaden feet, and with the passing of each one, hen hopes of again seeing her father grew fainter.

So far as the ranch was concerned, work went on as usual, and she realised with some bitterness that the absence of themaster was making no difference. Severn seemed to get on well with the men.

Passing the foreman's hut, she saw the door was open, and the curiosity of her sex demanded a peep within. The room was empty, but in one corner stood a Winchester rifle, at the sight of which she stopped as though a bullet from it had struck her. She was about to step inside to examine it when a low, throaty rumble halted her, and she saw Quirt regarding her with questioning eyes. While she was hesitating she heard a step behind her, and turned to face the foreman.

"Did yu want to see me?" he asked.

"Yes, but your dog appears to have other views," she replied.

He called the animal, which came with a bound and squatted beside him. Even in the short time since she had first seen the dog it had grown appreciably, and she commented on the fact.

"Good grub an' a lazy time will work wonders," he smiled. "If yu stroke his head he'll know yu are a friend, an' remember."

She looked at him sharply, and then did as he suggested. Quirt submitted to the caress, and again she was conscious of the feeling of revolt against the will power of its master; everybody and everything seemed to do as he desired. Even she--Abruptly she turned upon him.

"That is my father's gun," she said, pointing. "How does it come to be there?"

Severn hesitated, conscious that she was watching him narrowly, but his face betrayed no emotion, though he was inwardly cursing himself for not having put the weapon where it would not be so easily seen.

"I found it," he said, and, anticipating her next question, "It was the day before I took the herd to the XT. I was ridin' up that way when a fella cut down on me from cover an' I had to deal with him; the gun was beside the body."

"You killed him?"

"Shore. It was him or me."

"Who was it?" she asked, and he could read the horrified conjecture in her eyes.

"The Mexican--Tgnacio," he told her.

"Ignacio? And you suggest he killed my father?" she cried, incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me at the time?"

"It don't amount to anythin'--the Greaser may have found or stolen the gun," Severn pointed out. "I didn't want to worry yu."

The girl's face was pale and tense, her hands clenched until the knuckles showed white beneath the skin, and her big brown eyes were stormy. His excuse brought a disfiguring curl to her lips.

"Where is Ignacio's body?" was her next question.

"I don't know," the foreman said. "It vanished from where I left it--complete."

"And do you expect me to believe this--story?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," replied Severn, and his voice was hard and even-toned. "I don't expect yu to believe anythin' I say, Miss Masters, because yu have been told different, but yore not believin' it doesn't alter the truth."

With a look which clearly expressed her contempt, the girl turned away. The foreman looked after her; his jaw was set grimly, but his eyes were soft.

"The Princess continues to have no sorta use for us, Quirt," he said, scratching the dog's head. "She's thinkin' now I bumped off her daddy an' I dunno as I blame her; she's havin' a tough time."

Phil, turning as she entered the ranch-house, saw the dog standing on its hind-legs, enthusiastically endeavouring to lick its master's face and getting its ears playfully cuffed. Her anger blazed anew.

"The brute!" she exploded, and it was very evident she was not referring to the dog. "Bartholomew was right--there must be a conspiracy. Oh, if I find that man killed my daddy, I'll never rest till he is hanged."

The second warning arrived in the same mysterious manner as the first, a few mornings after Severn's visit to Hope. The paper and crude lettering were identical, and even the wording had a like laconic similarity, for it read :

"If yu leave yore cash in the bank yu'll lose it.

A FRIEND."

Severn pondered over it. What did it mean, and where did it come from? The only possible source he could think of was Darby, who being at the Lazy M, as he thought likely, to spy for Bart, might be turning down his old boss for his new, in gratitude for his life. However that might be, there the warning was, and having decided to act upon it, he headed for the town. Though he did not imagine there was need for haste, he rode at a sharp pace and reached his destination before eleven o'clock.

He offered no explanation to the bank manager, but, having drawn t money in one-hundred-dollar bills, thrust it into his pocket and went along to Bent's. In the saloon he got a surprise, for Ridge was there, laughing uproariously at something the saloon-keeper had told him.

"Severn, I'm shakin' with yu," he cried, extending a hand like a young ham. "I just been hearin' how yu threw another monkey-wrench into Bartholomew's works."

The foreman gripped and grinned. "I got a rooted objection to gun-barrels in my ribs," he said. "Fussy o' me, p'raps, but there yu are."

"It's done Bart more harm than a public lickin'," said Bent. "The whole town's talkin' about it. As for Tyler, it's made his life a misery; everybody's askin' him to cut the cards. What's brought yu in agin so soon, Severn?"

The Lazy M man showed them the warning, and told them of the other he had received.

"I dunno who sent it, or what the fella's drivin' at, but I'm playin' it to win, like it did the first time," he said. "Who's back o' that bank?"

"Well, it's called the Pioneer Banking Corporation, but I've a suspicion that's just a fancy title an' the real owner is Rapson, the manager," Bent told him. "He's been here some time an' is reckoned straight. I got a bit there I don't wanta lose."

"Same here. T'm goin' to follow yore hunch, Severn," Ridge said. "So the White Masks took a chance at yu, eh?"

"Two fellas with their faces draped did, an' that was all they took," Severn smiled. "Know anybody around here named `Slick'?"

"A chap called Slick Renny used to ride for Bart but he left the neighbourhood over a year ago," Bent said, and Severn did not pursue the inquiry.

"Who does that old ruined cabin way up the creek towards the Bar B belong to?" he asked. "Looks a likely location."

"That's what the fella who built it thought--a nester o' the name o' Forby--but he figured wrong," the saloon-keeper said. "Yu see, Bart regards it as on his range."

"What happened?"

"Accordin' to Bart, the nester pulled his freight an' burned the shack outa spite, but some of us has other ideas. There's fools as say the place is ha'nted, an' on'y a week or so ago, Old Spilkins come bustin' in here with the story that he'd seen a shadder hangin' another shadder on the big cottonwood by the cabin, but he was middlin' full o' rye at the time an' liable to see anythin'."

After the customary round of drinks the men separated, and Severn, who had no other business in town, rode back towards the ranch.

He was within a few miles of the ranch when he turned off the trail, heading for the southern boundary of the range, an area he had not yet explored. He found that the grazing, doubtless owing to the nearness of the desert, was not so good; there were few cattle, and he saw none of the outfit. Realising that his mount was tired he took things easily, and did not reach the Lazy M until daylight was fading. Outside the corral the men were unsaddling. Suddenly came the distant pound of hoofs and along the trail they could see a dark blob which became rapidly larger.

"Won't be that gent's fault if he's late," remarked Big Boy, as he watched the oncoming rider. "He's shore hittin' her up a few."

"Why, it's Gentle Annie!" cried Bones. "Must be a man after her."

The burst of laughter this sally produced had but died away when Linley dashed up and pulled his pony to a sliding stop, the dug-in hoofs sending up clouds of dust.

"Anyone chasin' yu, Gentle?" queried Larry, and when the boy shook his head, he added : "Well, yu needn't to have hurried, supper ain't ready yet."

"Yo're a nice lot, ain't yu?" Linley retorted, surveying the grinning faces around him. "Yu don't deserve to know." He leaned forward in his saddle and scanned them carefully. "Wonder which of 'em was in it?" he speculated aloud.

Severn saw that the boy had news.

"Better spill it, Gentle, 'fore they shake it out o' yu," he suggested.

Linley grinned at his foreman and delivered his tidings with dramatic suddenness. "The bank at Hope has been cleaned out an' Rapson perforated," he stated.

A chorus of exclamations and questions followed the announcement, and in the midst of in came the clangour of a beaten tin pan which was Jonah's intimation that supper was awaiting their attention.

"Come on, boys, Linley will give us the straight of it while we eat," Severn said, and led the way to the bunkhouse.

The story, shorn of extraneous matter in the shape of comment and surmise, was as follows : Not long after noon--colloquially known as "third drink-time"--three strangers rode into Hope and pulled up at the bank, which was situated at the eastern end of the street not far from the bridge over the creek. They were dressed in cowboy rig, with hat-brims slouched down to conceal the eyes, and each wore a kind of white muffler which hid the lower part of the face. They were well armed and mounted. The two who had entered the building wasted no time. The moment they were inside they pulled their white chokers above their noses a levelled their guns on the startled manager, who was alone, 's assistant having gone to lunch.

"What do you want?' he stammered.

"All yu got," retorted one of the bandits. "An' pronto."

The savage tone and the menacing weapon told the managerthat there was nothing for it but to obey, and he opened the safe. The other robber had found a leathern satchel and this was soon stuffed with all the currency in the bank. Rapson, white and trembling, had to look on while his ruin was accomplished. The thought drove him to desperation. In a drawer beneath the cashier's counter he knew there was a loaded pistol: if he could contrive to fire that someone might hear.

The thieves, doubtless out of contempt, were not watching him very closely. Still holding his hands above his head he backed cautiously towards the counter. One of the ruffians was making a final search of the safe and the other, having apparently heard a sound outside, was listening and looking away. This was his chance, and with a sudden snatch he had the drawer open, clutched the pistol and pulled the trigger. He did not attempt to aim, his only thought being to give the alarm. The man whose attention had been distracted whirled upon him.

"Damn yu for a sneakin' hound," he cried, and fired pointblank.

With a hollow groan Rapson slipped to the floor, and the bandits jumped for the exit. At the sound of the shots the man outside had promptly drawn his rifle, and when an inquisitive citizen stuck his head out of a window some fifty yards up the street, a bullet which burned his cheek effectually checked his curiosity. The succession of shots roused the town, but men reached the open only in time to see two men emerge from the bank on the run, one carrying a bulging satchel. They jumped into their saddles, wheeled their horses and spurred across the bridge on the eastern trail before the spectators had grasped what was happening.

"An' yu can bet yore Sunday shirt that Hope is 'bout the maddest town this side o' the Rockies," Linley concluded. "No, Rapson ain't cashed but he's hurt oad--how bad they dunno till the doc comes from Desert Edge."

"Was Bartholomew in town?" asked Severn.

"He rode in 'bout half an hour later, an' he went on the prod immediate--bawled Tyler out for not roundin' up the White Masks till Hen almost blubbered. Bart claims they got five thousand o' his money, paid in yestiddy. He was organisin' a posse when I left an' threatenin' to flay them bandits alive when he catches 'em."

Amid the chatter and excitement the foreman sat silent, seeking some clue as to the identity of his mysterious correspondent. Clearly the unknown was aware that the robbery was to take place. Who could it be? He went to his own quarters, and was wrestling with the problem when Barton entered.

"The boys have bin indulgin' in a chin-wag," he began, "an' I'm here to say that if the loss o' the herd-money cramps yu any they all are willin' to wait for their wages till yu can pay 'em."

The foreman smiled, but his expression showed that he was touched. "They are shore white," he said. "But I drew that mazuma out this mornin'."

"Yu drew it out?" repeated Larry in amaze. "Well, of all the lucky old--"

"No, it warn't luck," Severn chipped in. "Look at these."

He produced the two warnings he had received, and explained how they had come to him. Larry gave vent to a whistle.

"Odd number, ain't it?" he queried. "Yu must have a guardian angel somewheres, Jim, an' Gawd knows, yu need one. Any idea who it may be?"

The foreman mentioned his suspicions of Darby, but his friend did not agree.

"S'pose he is pryin' for Bart, that don't connect him up with the White Masks," he pointed out. "An' it was Darby first suggested the boys should wait for their pay."

"Well, I shore owe him somethin', whoever it is," Severn admitted. "An' I like to pay my debts."

"Mebbe yu'll get a chance," said the other. "Meantime, don't push yore luck too hard--this guardian angel may be human an' want a nap now an' again."

"I gotta play the hands what's dealt me--win or lose," the foreman told him. "Yu can say to the boys that I'm shore obliged an' that I ain't forgettin' it."

Chapter IX

ON the following morning Bartholomew, riding a weary horse, made his appearance at the Lazy M. The posse, of which he was the virtual leader, had gone back to town. As Darby had surmised, they had lost the trail on the Stony River bed, and after hours of search, had failed to pick it up again. The big man looked tired, untidy and sullen. As he walked towards the ranch-house he met Darby and stopped.

"Ain't seen yu at the Bar B lately," he said. "There's some dollars due yu."

"I don't aim to collect 'em, Bart," was the reply.

The Bar B owner raised his eyebrows. "How come?" he asked sharply."I ain't proposin' to earn 'em," Darby explained.

"Goin' to renig, huh? Roundin' on me, are yu?" sneered the rancher.

"No, that was never my way--what I know I'll keep under my hat," the cowboy said quietly. "I'm just droppin' a job I never liked, an' from now on I'm playin' square with the man who pays me."

"Meanin' Severn?"

Darby nodded. His face was pale and his lips set. He knew perfectly well that he was risking his life in thus defying his late employer, but he had no hesitation, and Black Bart, though he did not want to lose the man, realised that he could not persuade him. His face settled into a savage sneer.

"All right, Darby," he said. "It's a free country, but freeze on to this--fellas as ain't for me are agin me, an' take their chances."

"Anythin' yu put over lets me out an' I talk, Bart," the man retorted.

With a laugh at the threat the rancher went on to the house. Phil met him on the veranda and her big eyes softened when she saw how jaded he looked. With a grunt of satisfaction he dropped into one of the roomy chairs, and then turned to her with a grin.

"Phil, I'm about all in, an' it's a long way to the `Come Again'," he suggested.

The girl laughed, vanished inside, and reappeared bearing a bottle and glass. The man's eyes took in the daintiness of her, the desirableness of her surroundings--mentally comparing the place to his own--and his jaw firmed with decision : he would have her, come hell or high water, was his unspoken vow. He poured himself a drink, raising the glass in salutation.

"Here's how," he said, and then : "Gosh ! I wanted that. Huntin' needles in a haystack's easy compared with findin' thieves in this man's country. Yu heard about the bank hold-up, o' course?"

"Yes, it was the White Masks, I suppose?"

"Well, I reckon it was, but the question is, who are the White Masks? There's somethin' queer about this robbery; two or three fellas drew all their money out just before it happened an' Severn was one of 'em. O' course, it might be it just happened so, an' then again, it might not."

"Is Rapson much hurt?"

"He looked pretty desperate. He was just able to say what I told yu, an' that the fellas' faces were too muffled for him to know 'em again, an' then he fainted. Yu got any news, Phil?"

She told him of the finding of her father's gun and Severn's explanation; Bartholomew's lips twisted into an incredulous sneer as he listened. At once he saw how the story could be used for his own advantage.

"Yu ain't swallowin' that, are yu, Phil?" he asked sardonically. "Shucks, T gave the fella credit for more savvy. He'll have to produce the Greaser's body to make that tale stick, an' that's somethin' I'm bettin' high he can't do, for I happen to know Ignacio has left the country. Now see here, don't tell no one else about this; we'll lay low an' let him run his own silly head into the noose."

"Yu think he killed daddy?" the girl asked, a break in her voice.

"I ain't any doubt myself, but we gotta get more proof," he returned. "An' we gotta find out if I'm right about Embley bein' in with him. Then there's this White Mask business. Was Severn about the ranch when the bank was cleaned?"

"No, he came in just before supper," she replied. "I chanced to see him."

"Huh, an' he left town in plenty time to meet his pals an' circle back," Bartholomew said. "Far as I can gather, the fella that downed Rapson was about Severn's build. But that's all guess-work, an' we gotta be shore before we move." He stood up and patted her shoulder. "Don't yu trouble, Phil," he added. "Once things is straightened out I'll have something to say that I hope yu'll be glad to hear."

The gesture and the look which accompanied it made the girl flush; she knew what he meant, but she was aware that there was no answering thrill in her heart. Somehow, though she could not account for it, Bartholomew seemed to have lost in attractiveness. She was not sorry when her visitor went, and she put it down to worry. Bart himself divined nothing of this; he rode away from the Lazy M in a pleasanter frame of mind than he had been in for weeks. Things were looking brighter for him.

Severn did not see the Bar B owner, having left early in the morning with several of the outfit for the southern part of the range, where a miniature round-up was taking\\place, the foreman being desirous of getting an approximate idea of the number of cattle the ranch was running. It was late in the afternoon when he returned to his hut, and his sharp eye immediately told him he had had a visitor. Little displacements of various articles showed that the room had been subjected to a search, and in several spots small holes had been m de in the earthen floor, as though someone had thrust in a rod\ or stick. Nothing had been taken, and the foreman grinned as he looked around. Then he went down to the bunk-house.

"Anybody been a-visitin' to-day, Jonah?" he inquired. "Yessah, dat no 'count punchah, Geevor, come pesterin'roun' dis afternoon," replied the grinning darky. "Went up to yo shack an' was an almighty long time findin' I done tole him de trufe when I say yu wasn't to home."

The foreman went back to his quarters in a thoughtful mood. At first his suspicions had suggested Phil, searching for further evidence of her father, though it was difficult to believe her guilty of so mean an action.

The evening passed without incident, and though Geevor's appearance was discussed and speculated upon, Severn did not tell the others of the man's real object. Bones, who had met an XT rider on the range, brought the news that the doctor gave Rapson one chance in ten to recover. He was too ill to make any statement, and the search for the hold-ups had been abandoned as hopeless.

The foreman did not join in the "kid's poker", which was the outfit's name for the ten cent limit game they played among themselves. On the step of his shack, his back against the side of the open door and a cigarette between his lips, he squatted, gazing at the diamond-dusted sky.

"Mister `Friend' is the joker in the pack," he mused. "If I could locate him it would shore be helpful."

But though he stayed there for more than an hour thrashing the matter out, he was no nearer a solution at the end of it, and at last gave it up in disgust and turned in.

It must have been near to midnight when a warning growl from the dog aroused him. Slipping from his bed, he crept noiselessly to the window and peered out. The night was dark but the stars provided a little light, and he had an impression of a blurred, shadowy form slinking in the direction of the ranch-house. Hurriedly he got into his clothes, and not waiting to buckle on his belt, seized one of his guns and stepped outside; he did not take the dog. Softly but swiftly he made his way to the house, watching warily for any movement.

The place was in darkness, and there was no sign of a marauder, but Severn was not satisfied; he was almost sure he had seen someone. A careful examination of the front of the house showed nothing suspicious, and the foreman went round to the back. Here he found an open window, and climbing through, realised that he was in the kitchen. The door of this opened upon a large hall, from which a flight of stairs led to the upper floor. At the foot of these Severn paused in doubt. The window could have been overlooked, and his eyes might have deceived him. What would Miss Masters think if he were discovered wandering about the house at midnight? He could vision her scornful disbelief of his story, and was on the point of beating a retreat when a low, harsh voice pulled him up. He could not distinguish the words, but it was a man speaking, and he was upstairs. Noiselessly Severn mounted and halted at the top of the flight, listening to locate the room.

Phil Masters, awakened out of a deep sleep, stared in terrified amazement at the dark, slouch-hatted figure standing by her bedside. Before she could speak the intruder said :

"Keep quiet an' yu won't be hurt."

"Geevor ! " she cried, recognising the voice. "What are you doing here? How dare--"

"Shucks, war-talk won't get yu nowhere," the man returned easily. "Tell me where the money is an' I'll go." Then seeing the look of bewilderment on her face, he added, "I mean the two thousand bucks Severn got for the XT herd. He drew it out just before the bank was gutted, though how he got wise beats me."

I know nothing about it," the girl told him, her courage beginning to assert itself. "If Severn drew it out I suppose he must have it."

"It ain't in his shack, for I've searched, an' he wouldn't tote that amount around with him, so it must be here somewheres," Geevor returned doggedly.

"You cur," she said. "I don't know where the money is, and if I did I would not tell you."

"We'll see about that," he growled.

A sudden dart of the long arms and his fingers, claw-like, gripped her shoulders, tearing the frail fabric of her night attire, and exposing the white flesh beneath; the man's eyes gleamed bestially at the sight.

Frantically she beat him with her fists, but in that iron grip she was almost helpless, and the leering face with its lustful lips came nearer and nearer as he dragged her towards him. His liquor-laden breath told her he had been drinking heavily.'

"Bartholomew will hang yu for this," she panted, and with a last despairing effort her nails scored the evil face now so near her own. With an oath of pain and rage he drew back.

"Yu cursed cat ! " he snarled. "I'll close yore mouth for good an' The man was mad with passion, beyond all control; his lust was now for blood. His right hand flew to his belt and shot into the air, gripping a knife. The girl's terrified eyes wavered between the gleaming blade and the murderous mask of the ruffian who held it. Another second and it would have been buried in the round white throat, but Severn's gun barked from the doorway, and Geevor, a look of wide surprise on his face, buckled at the knees and fell prone. The girl, half-fainting, gave an inarticulate cry, and sank back upon the bed. Striding into the room, Severn did not pay any attention to her, but seizing the dead man by the ankles, hauled him on to the landing outside. When he returned, Phil had utilised the opportunity he had given her to don a dressing-gown.

"Ain't hurt yu, has he?" he asked, and when she shook her head, "Yu needn't to worry any more. I reckon he was playin' a lone hand, but I'll have the house watched."

On the floor lay the knife, winking wickedly in the faint light. Severn picked it up and went out of the room without waiting for any reply. At the top of the stairs he found Dinah, staring aghast at the corpse. She had heard the shot and come up from her room beside the kitchen.

"Foh de deah Lawd's sake--" she began, but the foreman cut her short.

"Yore mistress has had a shock; go an' stay with her," he said, and slinging the body over his shoulder, carried it out of the house by the way he had come in.

Early on the following morning when he returned from breakfast at the bunkhouse, he found Phil waiting outside his door. She was looking pale and drawn, but her eyes had lost the frostiness hitherto always there when they met.

"I want to thank you for coming to my aid last night," she began.

The foreman flushed and looked uncomfortable. "It don't need speakin' of," he replied, and added something about it being part of his job.

"I cannot understand how you came to be there," she said.

"I caught sight o' someone sneakin' up to the house, an' followed," Severn explained, and then as Quirt came trotting up and thrust a cold nose into the girl's hand, he added, "There's the fella yu gotta thank. If he hadn't roused me--"

"Then I ought to be very glad you--bought him," she said shyly.

The foreman smiled, and there was a warmth and boyishness utterly foreign to his customary rather stern expression when with her.

"We both got reason to be glad, I reckon," he returned whimsically. "This ain't the first good turn he's been guilty of."

He went on to tell of the rattlesnake incident, and the girl's gaze widened in horror as she listened.

"Hideous," she cried. "The man who could conceive such a thing is not fit to live. Did you find out who it was?"

"Yeah," he said, "Mister Ignacio played that prank."

Phil's eyebrows rose, and with a touch of her old manner towards him she said, "Someone told me just lately that he had left the country."

"That's true, but an understatement; as I told yu--he's dead," Severn said.

"But you can't prove it," she protested.

"No," he agreed gravely. "I can't prove it, but it's so."

For a moment there was an awkward silence. The foreman knew her suspicions were returning, and the little oasis of kinder feeling produced by the events of the previous night was being engulfed by a desert of doubt. Deliberately he changed the subject.

"Yu oughtn't to stay alone in that house," he remarked.

"I have Dinah," she said. "And her husband usually sleeps there, though last night he stayed in his kitchen at the bunkhouse."

"I'd let yu have Quirt, but I'm afraid he wouldn't stay put," he smiled.

She was about to reply when she saw his face change; the old Severn was back, the mouth hard and cynical, the eyes cold. She followed their gaze. Bartholomew was dismounting in front of the ranch-house.

"Again, thank you--and Quirt," she said, and walked away.

Chapter X

THOUGH she had resented the foreman's suggestion to be accompanied on her rides, Phil soon discovered that the escort added to her enjoyment. On the first morning Larry, rifle across his knees, had loped at a deconous distance behind her, until she smilingly told him to sheathe the weapon and ride by her side. The cowboy needed no second invitation. These excursions were the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, and his glance, whenever it dared to rest upon her, was full of adoration. The trim figure, poised so buoyantly in the saddle, the proud little head, and the firm but wilful lips had got him, in his own phraseology, "thrown an' tied". And she--well, she liked his merry eyes, his boyishness and the shyness which she could dissipate with a smile. It was youth calling to youth.

He did not talk much of himself, but by questioning she learned that he had "no folks" and had been "in cattle" since he was big enough to "straddle a hoss". Also that he had "drifted a bit", which, on investigation, turned out to mean that he had travelled and -worked-Over several thousand miles of the country. It amused her to note that when they got down to rest or admire a view he always took his rifle from its scabbard.

"I don't believe there is any danger," she said, when the third ride had passed without incident. "I should be quite safe alone and it is a waste of your time."

"Do yu want that I shouldn't come?" he asked.

The warmth in his tone and gaze sent the hot blood to her cheeks and she was conscious of a thrill of pleasure. She was considering how best to put this daring young man in his place when he leaned forward and grabbed the bridle of her horse. Instantly she saw why. Round a curve in the gully, less than a mile away, six horsemen had trotted. They had white blotches where their faces should have been, and at the sight of the girl and her companion they quickened their pace.

"The White Masks," Phil gasped.

"Looks like," Larry agreed. "Mebbe they don't want us, but I ain't takin' chances. We gotta punch the breeze."

Whirling their horses, they headed for the ranch at full speed. A savage whoop came from behind and, turning, Larry saw that the unknown riders were spurring hard in pursuit. For a while the fugitives held their own, and then it became evident that the pursuers were gaining, slowly but surely.

"We'll never make it--they got better horses," the cowboy concluded, but he kept it to himself.

Side by side they raced on, the wiry little cow-ponies at full stretch, willing to run till they dropped; the girl rode magnificently, as though part of the animal beneath her and coaxing every foot of speed out of it. Larry looked back and stifled a curse when he saw that the pursuers had gained. Then a bullet whined past and they heard the crash of the report.

He had no doubt it was the girl they wanted. Another shot " came, his horse stumbled, and the cowboy jumped clear just as the animal pitched headlong, quivered and lay still. The girl pulled up with a cry of dismay.

"Go ahead--ride for the ranch," he cried. "I can hold 'em for a piece."

"But they'll get you, Larry," she protested. "Jump up behind me."

"We couldn't make it ridin' double; they don't want me--it's yu they're after," he urged. "Ride like hell for the boys. Tell Severn I did my best."

"I'll remember, Larry--I'll always remember," she said softly, and he saw that her eyes were misted.

Without another word she raced off and the cowboy dragged his rifle from under the saddle and stretched himself behind the dead horse. The bandits had halted and were bunched together about six hundred yards away, but a bullet from Larry which dropped a horse sent them out on a half circle. A couple of shots came in reply but they went wide. To his surprise the men made no effort to follow the fleeing girl. Certainly the two on the extreme right and left began a detour, but they rode slowly and presently vanished. The others remained, standing near the horses, and well out of range.

"Goin' to sneak up on me from the back," Larry surmised. He looked and saw that there was a ridge behind him which would make the manoeuvre a simple one. "Wish I had a hoss."

But it was no use wishing, so he rolled a cigarette, lighted it and lay smoking, waiting philosophically for the next move in the game. Half an hour passed and then from the ridge behind came a gruff command :

"Drop that gun, shuck off yore belt, an' elevate yore paws; two of us has got yu covered."

Larry stood up, leaving his rifle on the ground, unbuckled his belt and let it fall, but instead of putting up his hands he used them to make another smoke.

"Come ahead," he said coolly.

Two masked men rose up from the brow of the ridge and stalked down upon him, rifles ready for the least movement.

"I told yu to put yore hands up," growled the one who had spoken before.

"I forgot, an' I'm keepin' on forgettin'," laughed the prisoner. "What yu goin' to do about it?"

The man snarled out an oath, scooped up the rifle and belt, and sent his companion for their horses. At the same moment the other four came galloping up, two of them using the same mount. One, who appeared to be the leader, jumped down and, producing a piece of paper from his pocket, fixed it in a cleft stick and jammed it into the ground. Larry watched' this proceeding amazedly.

"If yo're erectin' a eppytaph to the hoss his name's 'Bouncer'," he volunteered.

"Tie him on a hoss--two o' yu'll have to 'de double," was the only response.

So Larry, astride one of the bandit horses, his legs roped beneath its belly, found himself heading for the Pinnacles,ignorant of the fate in store for. But he was not unduly downcast; Phil's last words, and fact that she was safe, were a sufficient compensation.

The arrival of the girl at the ranch, riding a spent and lathered pony, brought the foreman and those of the outfit there running. In a few words she told what had happened. Severn wasted no time.

"Hosses an' guns," he ordered.

"One for me, Darby," Phil added.

The foreman looked at her. "I doubt if yo're fit--" he began.

"I'm going," she told him. "It was for me--" She broke off and turned away.

Severn made no further objection, and in a few moments he, six men and the girl set out for the scene of the attack. They rode in grim silence, the only sound the jingle of spur or bit and the creak of saddle leather. Not until Phil warned them they were nearing the spot did they slacken pace. Presently Severn called a halt, just short of a ridge the girl remembered crossing directly she left the cowboy.

"Stay here, boys," he said. "They may be waitin' for us, an' there's no sense in our buttin' into an ambush."

He rode forward alone, topped the rise and vanished.

"Black Bart would 'a' sent one of us to do that," the girl heard Darby say, and the other men laughed assent.

Somehow she felt that it was true, and a spasm of respect for the man who took the risk himself when he need not shot through her. Then came another thought, bred of Bartholomew's poisoned suggestions : was there any risk to Severn, or was he only playing a part? Her speculations were cut short by the return of the foreman.

"The hoss is there--what the buzzards have left of it--saddle an' bridle gone, an' no sign of Larry barrin' this paper," he said. "Here's what she says :'We got yore man, Severn. If yu want him, be at Skull Canyon to-morrow about noon, an' fetch along two thousand dollars. If yu ain't there, or try any tricks, he stretches rope.--THE MASK.' "

A cry from Phil, and a chorus of muttered curses frorn the men greeted the epistle, which was scrawled in pencil on a page apparently torn from an account book, for it was ruled for figures and numbered. The writing, Severn noted, appeared to be the same as on the scrap he had taken from Ignacio's body. Moodily he gave the word to return, and the girl whirled upon him.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" she asked. "Surely you're not leaving him to die?"

"There is nothin' we can do now," Severn told her. "They'll have covered their tracks, an' s'pose we could trail 'em, we'd on'y run into an ambush; they ain't overlookin' that bet." She stared at him, storm in her eyes.

"I call it cowardly," she said. "If you won't lead the men, I will."

Severn did not reply and, looking at the others, she knew that they would not follow her. It was Darby who answered. "The foreman's right, Miss Phil," he said. "No good buttin' yore head agin a rock. S'pose we did find 'em, an' it ain't likelyin that pile o' up-ended country, they might hang Larry pronto. They got us out on a limb, shore enough."

With a glance of contempt which made the men squirm in their saddles, the angry girl swung her horse round on the home trail. She rode in silent disdain, trying to reconcile the smiling face of the boy who had squired her so joyously in the morning with the grim-faced man who had so roughly told her to "ride like hell for the boys", and who had cheerfully sacrificed, perhaps his life, for her sake.

When, after a troubled night, she came down on the following morning, she found the foreman waiting to see her. Handing her a roll of bills, he said :

"That's the money for the herd, less what I've paid for expenses; yu had better put it in a safe place."

"Why are you giving it to me?" she asked.

"Yu are forgettin' that I've got an engagement," he pointed out.

"You are going to Skull Canyon?" she cried. "But then you will want the money."

"Of course I'm goin', but I'm not takin' any cash," he said. "I ain't a kid."

"But what do you intend to do?"

"I dunno; I'll have to see what cards I get before I an play 'em."

His tone was light, and there was even a quirk of amusement in the corners of his eyes. Yet he was taking a desperate chance. But was he? Despite her better feelings the old suspicion recurred.

"Perhaps it isn't so dangerous after all," she said coldly. "You may have friends there."

For a single instant the man lost his iron control and she quailed before the savage anger in his eyes.

"Listen to me, girl," he said. "God Almighty placed a pretty head on yore shoulders an' it seems impossible that He shouldn't have put some brains in it. Use them."

Without another word he strode from the room, sprang into the saddle of his waiting horse, and rode off. The girl, aghast at the sudden spate of passion she had aroused, saw him wave a farewell to the watching outfit and vanish. Then she dropped into the nearest chair and stared with hard, unseeing eyes, at the wall. She had encountered a novel experience and she did not like it. Men in anger she had often seen enough, but never had that anger been directed at her. Little demons of doubt pursued her all day; she found herself watching the northern trail anxiously, and knew she was looking for Larry.

Chapter XI

BY the time he had covered a mile Severn had recovered his customary calm, and was taking himself to task for having lost it.

He had told the truth when he admitted that he did not know how the rescue of the prisoner was to be effected; he had made no plans. He figured that the bandits did not want Larry, and the fact that he had been named as the bringer of the ransom made him pretty certain that he was the one they wished to lay hands on; it was a trap and the cowboy was the bait. He smiled grimly; he was willing to be caught.

"What with the girl, Bart, an' these fly-by-nights, I'm 'bout as welcome as a wet dawg in this neck o' the woods," he soliloquised.

It was nearing noon when he reached the entrance to Skull Canyon, pulled up and sat waiting, a smile of contempt on his lips. He would not have been surprised to see a spurt of flame from the brush and to feel hot lead tearing through his body, but instead, a hidden voice hailed him.

"Drop yore belt an' rifle an' put up yore hands, Severn; we got yu dead to rights."

The foreman obeyed the order, and a masked man, leading his horse, emerged from a clump of undergrowth twenty yards away. Picking up the discarded weapons he climbed into his saddle and said gruffly :

"Foller my tracks, an' if you feel like makin' a break, just remember there's a coupla chaps behind yu with orders to shoot."

"I didn't come here to play the fool," Severn said acidly. "Where yu takin' me?"

"Wait an' see," was the laconic answer.

"The wisdom o' the ages in three words," commented the captive lightly.

The guide only grunted and led the way through a thicket of spruce and aspen to the right of the canyon, after which they plunged into some of the wildest country Severn had ever seen. The trail, a mere pathway, had been little used, and the prisoner guessed that this was not the direct route to the robbers' roost.

Throughout the journey they had been gradually climbing, and presently they reached the lower slopes of the mountains and rode amidst the serried ranks of a pine forest. The air was cooler, for the sunlight only penetrated the thick foliage overhead in shafts; on the soft carpet of pine needles the hoofs of the horses made no sound. Glancing back, Severn saw two masked riders, rifles in readiness across their knees. Evidently they hadclosed up, for although he had heard, this was the first time he had caught sight of them. Gradually the trees grew scantier and more stunted until presently they left the pine-belt behind and headed along the side of the rnountain. Above them loomed one of the giant teeth of the Pinnacles, towering in solemn majesty. A long, slight descent brought them to the edge of a cup-like depression in the side of the range. It was perhaps a mile in length and half as wide, and the whole expanse, save the rock-rimmed, brush-cluttered walls, was covered with luxuriant grass. In the centre was a small lake, fed by numerous streamlets from the heights above. Cattle and horses were dotted about, grazing.

At first sight there appeared to be no entrance to the valley, but the guide did not hesitate. Sliding his horse down a sharp incline, he circled some bushes, and came to where a break in the rock formation afforded a natural gateway. Passing through this they came to a rude corral./

"Turn yore hoss in there, we gotta walk some," the captor commanded, setting the example himself.

Severn complied, and then followed the other up a narrow, stony path which climbed up and along the steep face of the mountain. At a height of about a hundred feet above the floor of the valley the path broadened out into a ledge, and here were several openings in the rock face. Severn knew it for an old Hopi Indian haunt, and smiled sarcastically at the thought that the present inhabitants were probably considerably more savage than the first of the cave-dwellers. Several of the caves had rude doors fitted, and into one of these the prisoner was directed.

"Stay there till yo're wanted," his captor said. "Hungry?"

"Well, breakfast shore seems a long time back," the Lazy M man replied, and then, fishing out a five-dollar bill, "D'yu reckon yu could find a bottle o' whisky? I'm feelin' sorta shaky."

"Dutch courage, eh?" chuckled the other. "See what I can do."

He went away, padlocking the door first, and presently returned with meat, bread and a flask of spirit.

"Go light on that hooch," he warned. "It's wuss'n dynamite if yu ain't used to it."

Severn nodded; he knew the stuff. When the man had gone he examined his place of confinement. It was a mere hole in the rock, entirely dependent for light and air upon the filtrations through the ill-fitting door. He made his meal, took a mouthful of spirit and spat it out, poured two-thirds of the remainder on the ground and placed the bottle beside him.

Squatting with his back against the wall and a cigarette between his lips he calmly awaited the next development. That he had been brought there with his eyes unoandaged and his handsat liberty was an ominous sign; they were sure of him and did not mean that he should leave the place alive. He wondered where Larry was. His first task was to find him.

Two hours passed and then a step outside sent his head slumping down, hat pushed back, figure sprawled as though in a drunken stupor. The man who had brought him swore when he looked at the bottle.

"Yu damn fool--I told yu to be careful," he said.

"I'm aw ri'," Severn mumbled. "Whadye wan'?"

Helped by the bandit, he got to his feet. Still gripping his arm, his conductor led him, not without difficulty, to a larger cave with a high, domed roof. Numerous other caves apparently opened upon this, and into one of these near the entrance he was thrust. It was a biggish place, lighted by a hole in the rock face, and in it seven men were lolling in rough chairs; all were masked, only their eyes showing through slits in the dirty whine kerchiefs.

"Why for didn't yu tie him up?" asked one, whose figure seemed somehow familiar to Severn.

"Huh! Look at him--he's tied hisself up," replied the other.

"Hittin' the bottle, eh?" sneered the first speaker, who was evidently in some authority; and then to the prisoner, "Where's the dollars?"

Severn drew himself up in drunken dignity and nearly lost his balance.

"Shay, fella, whadye take me for, thinkin' I'd fall for that?" he asked. "I ain't no ch-child."

"If yu ain't brought 'em I'll hang the pair o' yu," snarled the unknown.

Severn leered at him and shook his head. "Nothin' to that, ol'timer," he said thickly. "Whatsa good o' two corpsed cowpunchers? Can't even sell the hides an' t-taller. Listen to m-me. How do I know yu got my m-man? Might be somebody else's fella yu grabbed, see? Yu prove he's m-mine an' I'll write to the r-ranch for the rnoney. One o' yore c-chaps can go for it. What's fairer'n that, huh?"

"Fetch the other fool in," commanded the leader, disgustedly surveying the smiling, rocking figure before him.

In two minutes Larry, his hands tied behind him, came in and stared in amazement when he saw his foreman peering at him with heavy, blinking eyes.

"'S' Larry, shore enough, but why's there two of him?" Severn muttered bemusedly. "Mus' be twinsh. Betcha they come from the sarne family, anyways. Yessir--" he drew himself up and looked at his audience with owlish gravity. "I never knew a case o' twinsh with different parents."

Laughter came from behind the masks; the bandits wereenjoying the spectacle and their vigilance was relaxing. This was what the foreman was playing for. He noted that the man who had brought him in was just behind. His face took on an expression of maudlin concern.

"Twinsh is dangerous to c-community--can't tell t'other from which," he stated seriously. "Gotta 'bolish one of 'em." His hands dropped to his holsters and a look of astonishment came on his face at finding them empty. "Losht my guns," he mumbled. "'S' funny." A roar of raucous merriment greeted the announcement and they saw him suddenly stagger backwards and throw his hands wide in an effort to keep on his feet. In another second he leapt sideways so that every man in the room was in front of him, and the guns he had snatched from the unwary man behind him was /threatening them.

"Reach for the roof, every dam one o' yu," he ordered. "As I was sayin', twins is dangerous, an' these guns is twins."

The drunken cowpuncher with the slurring, tripping tongue had disappeared and, in his stead, was a crouching, alert gunman, with narrowed eyes, a savagely snarling mouth and death in either hand. T' was one man against eight, and all of them had courage of a kind; by a concerted effort they could overwhelm him, but at least one would die swiftly and none of them wanted to be that one. So the command was obeyed.

When this had been done, as it was in quick time, Severn holstered one of his guns, stepped forward and borrowed a knife from the belt of one of the bandins in order to free his friend. The knife having done its work, he added, "Pull their teeth, get one o' them ropes, an' tie their hands behind 'em."

With a joyous yelp, Larry came to life and leaped to obey. The guns he flung into the middle of the floor, and cutting a lariat into suitable lengths proceeded to bind the wrists of the captives with an enthusiasm which drew hearty curses from his victims. This done, Severn searched for and found his own revolvers, but had to content himself with another rifle. Then he stepped up to the bandit who had done the talking and jerked the masking handkerchief from his face.

"Just as I reckoned," he said. "Yore figure is a trifle uncommon, Mister Shadwell. Step ahead, we're takin' yu with us."

"Damn yu, I'll get yu both for this," the man hissed.

"Mebbe, but for now, we've got yu," Severn told him. "March, you mealy-mouthed son of a she-dawg, or I won't leave enough o' yu to bury."

Under the urge of a gun-barrel in his ribs, the ruffian slouched out and down the mountain pathway, his captors, having first pitched all the weapons collected into the valley,followed him. At the corral, Severn took his own mount, Larry picked the best he could to replace the one he had lost and Shadwell was mounted on a third, his hands released and his feet tied to the stirrups. Then the foreman threw the loop of his rope round the prisoner's neck and secured the other end to his saddle-horn.

"If yu like to bolt for it an' save the hangman a job, I ain't objectin'," he remarked pleasantly.

The only reply was a venomous scowl which left the recipient untouched; he had encountered hard looks before. He merely told the fellow to go ahead and take the nearest trail for Hope.

"An' don't yu delay none, for if we get tired o' yore company there's trees a-plenty," he warned him.

"Yu old son of a gun," Larry said, as they rode behind the prisoner. "Couldn't yu get any o' the boys to come with yu, or did yu wanta hog all the glory?"

Severn explained the reason for his solitary effort.

"Boun' to do somethin'--the Princess was right peeved with me," he added, and chuckled when he saw the boy's face promptly justify his nickname.

"What we goin' to do with this jigger?" Larry nodded towards the outlaw, riding chin down, hunched in his saddle, ahead of them.

"Hand him over to the sheriff."

"Tyler'll on'y let him go."

"Yu bet he will, an' that'll put him in wrong with more'n half the folks in Hope. The sheriff ain't goin' to be a bit grateful, believe me."

Either on account of Severn's warning, or for some reason of his own, Shadwell appeared to be as eager to reach town as his captors, and under his guidance they made such good time that they arrived before nightfall. Their appearance filled the street, and an eager crowd followed them to the shack which served the double purpose of lock-up and sheriff's quarters. Tyler was at home, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw who the prisoner was.

"What's the big idea?" he asked.

In a few brief sentences Severn told of the capture and rescue of Larry and of the taking of Shadwell who, sitting erect now, listened with a scowling face. At the conclusion of the story he broke into a torrent of protest.

"It's a lot o' damn lies. I dunno nothin' about a girl, an' the on'y time I seen these fellas afore was when one of 'em held me up an' the other slugged me in the saloon yonder. I was ridin' the Desert Edge trail 's'afternoon when these two jumped me an' fetched me here."

"An' this ain't your'n, o' course," Severn said, fishing the dirty white mask from his pocket.

"Never seed it," the prisoner lied stolidly. He turned to Tyler. "Yo're the sheriff, I believe; these jaspers yore deppities?"

"They ain't," replied that worthy emphatically.

There was a stir as the crowd opened to let Bartholomew through. The big man looked at the outlaw, and there was not a trace of recognition in his glance.

"So that's yore bandit chief, is it?" he said. "Well he's ugly enough." Some of the crowd laughed, and Sever , who was watching Shadwell, saw an angry gleam come to his eyes. "Ain't he the fella that was in the ruckus at the 'Come Again'? What's the yarn?" Bartholomew went on.

The sheriff repeated what Severn had told , and the Bar B rancher turned to the foreman "Yu go that notice they served?"

Bart glanced over it, and at his suggestion the prisoner was taken into the sheriff's office, given paper and pencil, and made to write down the words of the notice, which Bart read out to him. A comparison of the two plainly showed they were written by different hands.

"That don't help us," the big man said, and put the papers in his pocket.

Instantly Severn stepped forward. "That notice belongs to me, an' I'll trouble yu for it," he said.

"Rightly, it's evidence, an' the sheriff takes charge of it," was the reply.

"When he wants it I'll be on hand," the foreman retorted, and there was a threat in his tone. "Pass it over."

For an instant Bartholomew hesitated, his face dark with passion, and then he flung the paper on the table.

"Yu keep a-pilin' up the score, Severn," he rasped. "There's gotta be a settlin' some time."

Severn picked up the document, looked to make sure it was the original and laughed as he thrust it back into the pocket of his vest.

"Shore, an' in full," he said, and turning to the sheriff he added, "If yu got pluck enough to smoke out these coyotes, gather yore posse an' I'll guide yu to their hang-out."

"When I want yore help I'll ask for it," the officer blustered. "As for this fella--" He looked at the Bar B owner.

"Yu better take charge of him," Bart said. "I'll be seein' Miss Masters in the mornin' an' we'll know how much o' this kidnapped cowboy yarn is true. I ain't takin' the word o' any man from the Lazy M."

"Not since the men yu put there to spy left the country," Severn came back at him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the other give a little start of surprise. He did not reply, however, and Severn went in search of his horse, satisfied with having put the sheriff in an embarrassing position.

A burst of cheering from the bunkhouse brought Phil to the veranda, and she witnessed the triumphal entry of the foreman and the man he had gone to fetch. Her first impulse was to run down and welcome them, but a thought which brought a blush to her cheek restrained her. Intermittent merriment from within the bunkhouse whetted her curiosity, but she had to wait for the appearance of Jonah before it was satisfied. And then, when the grinning darkie had told the story, she did not know what to think. Was it possible that this one man had gone into a nest of desperadoes, outwitted them, and brought away not only the captive but the chief of the captors? It seemed incredible, and yet, knowing the man himself, cold, confident, quick-thinking, she realised that it was not. That he now had the outfit with him to a man she knew; had he plotted the whole episode with just that end in view? She gave it up in despair.

It was a curiously shy but smiling girl who responded to Larry's hail next morning, when that young man came to know if she wished to `go a-ridin'." After she had told him how glad she was to see him safely back again, she said :

"I don't feel like a ride to-day, Larry."

The boy's face fell; he had wanted to tell his tale.

"We could go south," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No, I've a visitor coming," she smiled. Larry knew who it was, and smothered a curse. "Well, soon then," he pleaded, and his heart was in his eyes.

She nodded consent, and as he turned away, Bartholomew cantered up. His bold gaze followed the retreating cowboy from under bent brows.

"Mornin', Phil, what's that pup want?" was his greeting, as he swung from the saddle.

The girl's forehead creased in a little frown; she did not like his tone or the epithet, and her mental comparison of the clean-limbed, smiling youth with the hard-bitten, aggressive older man was not to the latter's advantage.

"He came to ask if I intended to ride this morning; nowadays I have to have an escort--the country is not safe, even for a girl," she said rather pointedly, and went on to tell of her encounter with the White Masks. "So you see," she concluded, "adventures are `comin' in bunches', as Larry would say."

The man's frown deepened at her familiar reference to the cowboy; here was a possibility he had not figured on.

"So that part o' the tale was true then," he remarked. "By the way, Phil, I don't like yore cavortin' round the country with a common puncher," he added.

The girl's eyes widened and there was a flash of anger in them as she replied, "I shall do as I please. You have no right to criticise or dictate to me."

"I reckon I have," he said. "We're goin' to be married, yu know "

"I don't know, and at present, anyway, I have no wish to," she retorted.

Although, realising he had tried the wrong tactics, he did his best to make peace, she refused to go riding with him and Bartholomew left in a savage temper. He had learned that Larry came to be at the Lazy M, and whether he was an accomplice or not of Severn, he was a disturbing factor, and must be dealt with.

The trail to the Bar B took a north-westerly line straight across the open range and then dipped down into a pocket of broken country for some miles, winding through miniature forests, rock and brush-strewn ravines and tiny canyons, the walls of which scarcely rose above the level of the surrounding plains. It was known as The Sink. Passing the mouth of one of these canyons, Bart suddenly noticed the tracks of a horse leading into it, and back again. They were not fresh, and in that sheltered spot might even have been made months before. His curiosity aroused, he followed them, forcing his way through the foliage which overhung the sandy bottom.

At the end of about two hundred yards, the tracks led to a thick bush growing close to the face of the canyon wall, and the rancher was about to turn away with an oath of disgust for his wasted time when he caught a gleam of something through the leaves. Dismounting and pulling the bush aside, he uncovered a fissure in the rock, and saw that it contained clothing. There was a vest--a shiny button of which had attracted his notice--pants, a shirt and a sombrero. One by one he drew the garments out and examined them. In the sweat-band of the hat he found the letters P. M. in ink, and in the pocket of the vest was an empty envelope addressed to Philip Masters, at the Lazy M ranch.

The discovery drew a whistle of amazement from the finder. How came the clothes of the missing ranchman, which he recognised as being the last he had seen him wearing, in such an out-of-the-way spot? Where was the body? For he had no doubt now that the owner of the clothes no longer lived. Painstakingly, foot by foot, he searched the whole of the little canyon, but found nothing more.

"On'y been one fella in here before me," Bart muttered, as he carefully studied the prints in the sand.

Sizing things up, he came to the conclusion that the murderer must have buried the stripped body elsewhere, or left it to the natural scavengers of the plains, the coyotes and vultures. Then he had hidden the tell-tale clothing in the cleft, where only one chance in a thousand would lead to its discovery. Replacing the articles as he had found them, he rode on his way deep in thought, and presently a grin of malicious triumph twisted his lips.

"Couldn't be better. I'm reckonin' I can use yu just as well dead, Mister Masters," he sneered.

That night he and Penton were closeted long together, and when they parted, even the bitter face of the Bar B foreman wore the semblance of a smile. But it was not a good one to see.

Chapter XII

IT was two days before Phil redeemed her promise to go riding again with Larry, and in that time he had scarcely seen her. Tn truth she had avoided him, an unaccountable shyness making her fight the growing desire to see him of which she was conscious. So that it was a new Phil, demure, tremulous, and utterly sweet, who loped beside the young cowboy towards the southern region of the range. She listened eagerly to his account of what had happened to him after she left on her wild dash to the ranch, but his praise of the foreman left her unmoved.

"I didn't know he was such a friend of yours," she remarked. "He ain't," Larry lied. "But I shorely gotta be grateful; he took a big chance for me."

"What do you think of Mr. Bartholomew?" she asked.

Larry was not to be caught. "T dunno much about him," he returned. "But I wouldn't ride for the Bar B."

He could have said nothing more damaging; a torrent of abuse would have been far less effective. The girl was silent for a time; she had been discovering of late that it was difficult to find anyone who had a good word for the local autocrat. True, the criticism was usually of a cautious character, but always it condemned.

"So you don't think that Severn is an outlaw?" she queried presently.

Larry shook with internal mirth. "I ain't sayin' that, but I'll gamble against him bein' linked up with that gang in the Pinnacles," he replied.

They were pacing along a narrow winding draw, the rocky sides of which were splashed with patches of dwarfed shrubs and cactus. In places the spreading branches of larger trees met over their heads and filtered the afternoon sunshine, throwing shifting shadows as the light breeze swayed the foliage.

"Oh, what a beauty," the girl cried, suddenly reining in.

Her companion followed the direction of her pointing finger, and saw up on the rock face, a magnificent bloom of the ocatilla. Before she realised it, he had slipped from his saddle and was climbing the side of the draw. Phil also got down and seated herself on a fallen tree-trunk. In a few Imoments he was back again, and the blood-red blossom was in her hands. He wa in the act of presenting it when a rider trotted round a juttin rib of rock which formed one of the bends in the draw; it was Devint. For an instant he pulled on his reins, land then recognising them, came on, a grin of derision on his \lips as he noted their flushed faces. His hat came off in an ironically elaborate sweep as he passed.

"Shore am sorry to have butted in," he said, and there was that in his tone which made the remark an insult.

Receiving no reply, he loped slowly on, and with a mocking wave of the hand vanished round a further curve. Phil, stealing an embarrassed glance at her companion, saw that he was staring after the intruder, his eyes bleak and his jaws clamped together.

"Who's that fella?" he asked, almost roughly.

"Devint," she replied. "I wish he hadn't seen us; he's sore at the Lazy M because the foreman fired him, and he'll--talk."

"Huh! We better be gettin' back," Larry said.

The ride home was made almost in silence. The cowboy was forcing the pace, as though in a hurry to get home. He spoke seldom, and all the gaiety had gone from his face, to be replaced by a grim intentness. The girl tried to rouse him.

"You look as if you were going to kill someone," she bantered. His head came round with a jerk, and she saw his cheeks redden. Then he laughed.

"I am," he said. "I'm agoin' to just naturally slay Jonah if he ain't got a good meal ready."

Phil said no more; the jocular reply had only served to deepen her doubts; she felt uneasy, frightened. When they arrived at nhe ranch, Larry took the ponies to the corral straight away, which was unusual, and presently she saw him, mounted on a fresh horse, shoot out on the trail for town; he had not waited to feed. Her feeling of unrest pursued her, and when Severn returned with the outfit, she called him aside and related the incident of the afternoon.

"Larry looked as if he recognised Devint, and--hated him,yet he asked me who he was," she said. "Of course, the man was insolent, but I somehow feel it wasn't only that."

"Damnation," swore the foreman, and forgot to apologise. "I reckon yo're right, Miss Masters. For some reason or other, he's gone to find that scallywag. Devint's yellow, an' a bad actor, but he's reckoned fast with a gun."

"Oh, hurry, perhaps you'll be in time to prevent their meeting," she urged.

"If I ain't, an' anythin' happened to Larry, Mister Devint won't see another sunrise," was Severn's sinister promise.

Striding down to the corral, he caught and saddled a horse and set out for the town at full speed. He had no hope of catching Barton, but there was a chance that the two men had not yet met.

The "Come Again" was filling up for the evening festivities, and Muger, the fat, oily-faced proprietor, rubbed his hands and smirked contentedly as he glanced over the gathering; it looked like being a profitable night.

"Wonder what's bitin' Bart?" he muttered.

In truth, the Bar B owner's face justified the title by which he was commonly known. Standing apart, he was talking in low tones to Devint, and it was very evident that the conversation was not of a pleasing nature so far as the rancher was concerned. The cowboy had, in fact, been relating his encounter with Phil in the afternoon, and with the savage malice of one who delights in giving pain, he had lied, cunningly but convincingly. Bartholomew's rage, fanned to fury by the recital, showed plainly in his distorted features.

"I'll give five hundred bucks to the man who puts that pup outa business," he said vehemently, and then seeing the satirical look of inquiry on the other's face, he added, "I'd do it myself an' be a heap pleased to, but it'd get me in wrong with the girl."

Devint nodded, satisfied with the explanation and the chance of earning the money. The fact that he had to extinguish a human life to do so meant nothing to him; he had killed men before, and for less reward. It was at this moment that Larry entered the saloon.

"There's the fella himself," Bart whispered, and immediately left the man whose gun he had hired and went out of the saloon.

Larry's quick eye had seen the movement, and he guessed that Devint had wasted no time in telling his tale. He looked round the room, nodded to Ridge, who was playing poker with two of his outfit and the storekeeper, Callahan, and then fixed his attention to Devint, who was now talking to three other men.

"Bah! Wimmeln is all alike," the bully sneered. "Take that Masters girl, f'r instance; I come on her this afternoon in Snake Coulee, a-kissin' an' cuddlin' one of her own men, a ornery forty per cowpunch, who ain't been in the outfit more'n a month or so."

He leered triumphantly at his audience, some of whom sniggered. Others who had been only half listening, suddenly became aware that there was a purpose behind the talk, and ceased their games to watch. Utter silence seized the room, and all eyes were turned upon the alert, tense figure of the Lazy M cowboy, at whom it was evident the slander had been directed.

"Devint ! "

The word came like a shot from lips tightly set, and was followed by a scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet, ashose in the vicinity unostentatiously withdrew from the line of fire between the two men. Larry, his right hand hanging by his side with fingers apart, glared at the bully through slitted eyes, oblivious to all else. The rage which filled him was not patent to the spectators, he was not even consciousofit himself; all he knew was that something evil stood before him and he must destroy it.

As for the traducer, his brutal face betrayed one feeling only --that of venomous satisfaction; he had obtained the necessary provocation to justify the killing. So he grinned insolently as he answered :

"My name. Why, gents, if it ain't the guy I bin tellin' yu about--Phil Masters' latest fancy. Look at him a-blushin'."

In truth, Larry's face was red, but his voice was ice-cold, cutting, and charged with deadly menace; the added insult did not cause the lossofself-control.

"Devint, yu are a liar an' a coward," he said deliberately. There could be only one reply to that. Stung as by the lashofa whip, the bully snatched at his gun.

"Yu damned whelp ! " he roared.

The guns spat flame at the same second, and the Lazy M cowboy spun half-round as from a blow under the impact of a heavy slug in his left shoulder. Devint spluttered an oath, rocked on his feet, and pitched sideways to the floor, his pistol clattering beside him; he had been shot through the chest. Seeing that he was not yet dead, Larry staggered forward, and kicking away the weapon, knelt beside him.

"Devint," he said. "There's somethin' I want yu to know."

He whispered a few words and the eyesofthe dying man opened in wide surprise. "Hell ! " he gasped. "Yu--" A raucous rattle in his throat choked further utterance, and his head fell back. Devint was done with bullying.

Larry climbed painfully to his feet and slumped into a chair someone pushed forward. His wound was bleeding, and he feltsick and giddy. Ridge and his men pounced upon him and began to bandage the hurt. The hush that had endured ended, and the spectatorsofthe duel began to discuss it, crowded round to look at the stricken loser and the wounded victor. In the midstofthe excitement the sheriff arrived.

Some of the crowd made way, and at the sightofthe body, the sheriff gasped in surprise. "Why, it's Devint," he said. "I thought--they told me it was someone else." An unprejudiced observer might have said that he was disappointed.

A dozen eager witnessesofthe fight gave him the details and the officer's bilious eyes turned with evil satisfaction to the hurt cowboy.