Sudden Plays a Hand

Sudden Plays A Hand

Oliver Strange

*

Chapter I

`KEEP yore han's mighty still an' explain yoreself.'

The curt command was delivered in a tone which was, in itself, a menace, and the appearance of the speaker did little to lessen it. A big fellow, seemingly in the mid-thirties, with enormous shoulders and a gross body to match. From beneath the brim of his slouched hat black eyes gleamed fiercely, and his thick lips, unhidden by a straggling moustache, were pursed in a savage pout.

The man to whom the order was given seemed in no hurry to reply. He, too, was big, but less heavily built, and perhaps eight years younger than the other. His clean-shaven face was hard and reckless. Sitting their horses, some dozen paces apart, on opposite sides of a tiny break in the woods through which a faint trail led, they eyed one another steadily. At length the younger man spoke : `What right you got to hold me up thisaway?'

The ghost of a grin passed over the other's lips. `No right, on'y a left,' he replied, raising that hand enough to reveal a leveled revolver. `This is my country.'

The threatened man merely shrugged his shoulders. `I ain't passed any fences,' he pointed out.

`You wouldn't--my name's better'n barb' wire,' came the boast. `Bardoe--Bull Bardoe. Mebbe that wises you up some?'

`Not one damn bit,' was the drawled reply. `Never heard tell o' you.'

Bardoe did not detect the lie, but he was very sensible of the sneering tone, and it deepened his scowl of aggression.

`You must shorely be a pilgrim,' he gibed in turn. `What might yore name be?'

`It might be Judas Iscariot, but it ain't,' the stranger retorted. He appeared to be deliberately trying to incense the other. `You'll have heard o' Old Nick? Well, I'm Young Nick. I was called after the Devil, an' have been on the way to him ever since.'

`Cease foolin' or I'll shorten yore journey,' Bardoe snarled, and then a surprised look of comprehension widened his eyes. `Tellin' me yo're Nicholas Drait, o' Shadow Valley? And you never heard o' me?'

`Brother, that was a slip,' Drait returned mildly, but his narrowed eyes watched warily. `What I meant to say was that I never heard any good o' you. Rustler, road-agent, train hold-up, murd...' He saw the movement he was waiting for, and his own weapon--long held in readiness--came up. The reports merged into one, shattering the silence and causing a frightened fluttering in the greenery overhead. The younger man felt the burn of a bullet on his cheek, and then saw Bardoe lean forward and pitch ,sideways to the ground.

`Hell!' he cried.

The exclamation was one of amazement; where he had looked for an empty saddle he saw a girl astride the stricken man's horse; Bardoe's bulky body had effectually concealed her from his view. She was young--not much over twenty, he judged, and was dressed in a worn calico gown, clumsy shoes, and an old sun-bonnet which had slipped back to reveal an untidy mop of golden-brown hair. She seemed pitifully small on the back of the big beast she bestrode. Drait got down, dropped the reins over his pony's head, and stepped towards her. As though frozen with horror, she remained bent and motionless, her gaze glued to the sprawling form of the shot man.

`Who the deuce are you?' Drait asked roughly.

Getting no answer, not even a look, he muttered an impatient oath and turned to his victim. With cold, callous eyes the victor surveyed his work, stooped to lift the wide-flung left hand, let it fall limply back to the ground, and began to search the body. In a vest pocket he found a slip of paper, and on it, scrawled in pencil: `One hundred three-year-olds at 10 a head-1,000 bucks.'

`C'rect,' he commented grimly, and thrusting it into his own pocket, bent to his task again.

Around Bardoe's middle, concealed by the slack of his shirt, he discovered a money-belt--a heavy one. He began to buckle it about his own waist, but on second thoughts, rolled it up and placed it in one of the saddle-pockets of the owner's horse. This brought his attention back to the girl, and he stood considering her with a sombre puzzled expression. At length he appeared to have reached a decision. She was looking at him now, her large eyes full of fear.

`Climb into the saddle,' he said. `We've a long way to go.'

She scrambled over the cantle, while he shortened the stirrup leathers so that her feet could reach. Then, handing her the reins, he mounted his own beast and rode out of the glade. Sitting slackly, head down-bent, she followed. They moved slowly, for the nature of the country, rough and broken, made speed only an invitation to accident. Several times he spoke to her but received no reply, and with a lift of his shoulders, he relinquished the attempt to make her talk, and gave his attention to the tricky trail they were traversing. But from time to time, when it was possible for them to ride abreast, he found himself studying her. The sun-bonnet had been pulled on, hiding the face, but he noted the youngness of her, and the smallness of the toil-worn hands which gripped the reins.

`Bull Bardoe's woman,' he told himself. `Well, if that's the best he could give her in the way o' clothes, I guess she won't lose on the exchange.'

When the dropping sun set the western sky ablaze, warning that the day was about to die, Drait halted on the bank of a small creek and turned off the trail, following the water, to stop finally on a little grassy level shut in by undergrowth.

`We'll camp here,' he said. `Get down an' rest--you look tuckered out.'

She obeyed in silence, seating herself on a slight mound, whence she watched listlessly while he unsaddled and led off the horses to picket them some fifty yards away where the grass was more luxuriant. Returning with an armful of dry wood, he built a fire, and while it was burning up, opened his blanket roll to unearth a battered coffee-pot, a frying-pan, and a tin mug. He surveyed the latter with a half-grin.

`On'y got one,' he remarked. `We're a mite short o' grub, too. You see, I warn't expectin' comp'ny.' If the girl heard, she gave no sign, and he went on, `Mebbe Bull can help us out.'

A search of Bardoe's blanket revealed another mug, coffeepot, part of a loaf, a slab of cooked deer-meat, and a tin which Drait took to be salt, out on tasting, found to be sugar.

The coffee-pot, filled from the creek, was set on the glowing embers. When it boiled, he cut two slices of bread, put a layer of meat between them, and poured steaming liquid into one of the mugs.

`Cawfee should be hot as hell, black as a nigger's soul, an' sweet as sin,' he grinned. `Come an' get it.'

`I'm not hungry,' the girl said.

It was the first time he had heard her voice, and he was struck by the low, vibrant tone--clear-sounding, like the note of a harp. The effect was curious--it made him angry.

`Allasame, you'll eat, drink, an' like it--I don't want a sick woman on my hands,' he grated, and when she still made no movement, `Do I have to take my quirt to you?'

This brought her to the fire, where she ate and drank in sullen silence. Drait took no futher notice, devoting himself to the meal, and the fact that it had been mainly provided by the man he had shot did not appear to have affected his appetite. When they had finished, she looked up and said abruptly: `Why did you kill him?'

Drait laughed harshly. `To save myself. His gun was out first; he meant to get me--a stranger he'd never set eyes on.'

This silenced her; she had seen Bardoe furtively draw his weapon the moment they had met. Moodily she looked on while he replenished the fire and spread the blankets, one on each side, with the saddles for pillows.

`There's yore bed,' he said. `Better turn in--we'll be makin' an early start.'

He set the example, rolling himself in the blanket, and in a few moments, regular breathing told that he was asleep. The girl lay down, but only to stare, wide-eyed, at the dark dome above, in which points of light were now beginning to peep. The one thought in her mind was to get away, somehow, somewhere. Presently she raised herself, making a little noise, and gazed at the recumbent form across the fire. It remained motionless, and satisfied that her captor slept, she stood up and stole in the direction of the horses.

No sooner had she melted into the shadow than the sleeper flung aside his blanket, a heavy scowl on his brow. Cat-footed, he followed, reaching her as she stooped to pull the picket-pin of Bardoe's mount.

Tryin' to run out on me, huh?' he said, as she shrank back in alarm. `Well, I treated you fair, but now ...'

He left the sentence unfinished, and gripping her wrist, dragged her back to the camp. Obeying his gesture, she sank on the bed again. Drait fetched his own blanket and saddle, arranged them, stretched himself beside her, and slid an arm about her shoulders.

`I ain't trustin' you no more,' he said gruffly.

Swift-born panic seized her and she struggled to rise. Her resistance infuriated him, and his fingers, vice-like, bit into the soft flesh of her arm as he pulled her nearer. She fought back, to her own undoing, for contact with her lithe young body roused a devil of desire and rendered him ruthless. His hot breath scorched her cheek, and then avid lips found her own, and held them.

When she awoke, the day was but a few hours old. On the other side of the fire, Drait was preparing breakfast. He pointed to the creek.

`A sluice'll freshen you up, an' you'll be needin' food,' he said. `We got some hard ridin' ahead.'

The roughness had gone from his voice, but she was too crushed to notice. Wearily she went to the stream, and kneeling, bathed her face and hands in the ice-cold water. Back at the fire, she swallowed mechanically the bread, fried bacon, and coffee he passed to her. She was vaguely conscious that he was regarding her with an air of puzzlement. At length the silence proved too much for him.

`Why'n hell didn't you tell me--'bout yoreself?' he burst out. `How was I to know? I figured you were--'

`Bardoe's plaything, and therefore, anybody's,' she finished stormily, roused by his attempt to put the blame on her. `I wasn't--I never saw him until an hour before we met you. He offered me work--at his ranch.'

Drait's lips curled in a sneer. `An' you believed that?'

`Why not? Are all men liars?' she retorted. `I'd run away, and was lost in the woods.'

`What were you runnin' from?'

'Another beast like you,' she flashed back.

Bit by bit, he got the story. She had lost her parents early, and was raised in an orphanage. At sixteen, she had been found employment with a small farmer. She had been well-treated, and for nearly four years, was happy. Then misfortune came, the family returned to the East, and she took another situation. Here she was wretched; the wife was cruel, and the husband wanted to be kind--too kind. In the midst of a terrible scene, she fled, not even waiting to collect her few possessions.

`What's yore name?' Drait asked.

`Mary,' she replied shortly.

`We'll be on our way,' he said.

He fetched and saddled the horses, packed the gear, and threw water on the blazing sticks; whatever laws he might break, that of guarding against the forest fires was not one of them. She was struggling to get astride the big horse when two strong arms lifted her into position. In another moment, he was in his own saddle and heading for the trail.

At the end of five miles, they paused on a lofty bench which gave them a view of the surrounding country. Away on their right, several columns of smoke indicated a settlement.

`Burnt Hollow,' he muttered. `Find what we want there, mebbe.'

`What are you going to do with me?' she asked fearfully. `Marry you,' he replied bluntly.

The reply deprived her of speech; she could only stare at him round-eyed. The hard jaw and sombre expression told her he was not joking; he would do it, and she was powerless. Dimly, she understood that he was trying to put things right, but her animosity remained. She shrugged her shoulders in contemptuous despair; what did it matter?

The tiny township of Burnt Hollow was just awakening when they rode in. Drait drew rein outside a building labelled `General Store,' through the open door of which a man in his shirtsleeves was sweeping yesterday's dirt.

`Got any duds for a woman?' he asked.

`Shore,' was the reply. `Step right in.'

They hitched their horses and followed him into the store. `I want a complete outfit for this girl,' Drait said. `Can you do it?'

`Well, if you ain't lucky,' the tradesman smiled. `Got one for the darter o' Lem Wilkins, the big cattle-man, you know.' He cast a measuring eye over the girl. `She's just about yore build, ma'am. My missus 'll fix you up.'

An angular grey-haired woman answered his call, and when he had explained, said to the girl, `Come with me, my dear,' and to Drait, `It's goin' to cost you somethin, Mister.'

`Go the limit,' he told her, and turned to the storekeeper. `I need some cartridges an' smokin'. Got a parson?'

`I don't stock 'em, but there's one in town--'bout twenty yards along the street,' the merchant grinned.

The customer nodded, perched himself on the counter, and rolled a cigarette. He smoked that one and another before the woman reappeared, and then he had to look twice ere he recognised his fellow-traveller. The calico dress had been replaced by a neat riding-skirt, with a shirt-waist, and a light coat; the clumsy shoes by high boots, and the sun-bonnet by a soft, black felt hat beneath which the trimmed, golden-brown curls showed to advantage. In one hand, the girl carried a small grip. The clothes set off the shapeliness of her youthful body, and Drait suddenly realised that a smile on the cold, immobile face would have made it beautiful.

`There's extras in the bag,' the woman said anxiously. `You said for to make a good job of it.'

`You've done fine, ma'am,' Drait replied, as he paid the bill. `I'm obliged.'

They went out and walked down the street. The storekeeper laughed. `That's a weddin'-dress you've sold, mother,' he said. `Askin' for a parson, he was.'

`Looks more like she's goin' to her funeral,' the woman retorted.

Meanwhile, the pair they were discussing had stopped at a small log cabin on the door of which a notice announced, `Josiah Jones, Minister.' Drait rapped, and the man himself appeared. A frail figure, prematurely grey, utterly unfit it would seem to `fight the good fight' in a place where the laws of neither God nor man were of little avail. Yet there was a simple dignity, derived, no doubt, from his calling.`We want you to marry us,' Drait said.

The minister nodded and took them into the parlour. It was a small room, neatly but poorly furnished with plain wood chairs, a desk, and table on which lay a Bible and prayer-book. They sat down, and he asked their names, ages, and whether either had been married before, entering their replies in a book. He knew quite well that he could not prove or disprove anything they told him, but the formality satisfied his conscience.

`Mary Francis Darrell, twenty-one, and Nicholas Drait, twenty-seven, both single,' he read out. `We shall need two witnesses; my good neighbours usually oblige.'

He went out and presently returned with two youngish men who favoured the bride with an immediate stare of admiration, which ceased abruptly when the groom turned his own narrowed eyes upon them.

`Cut out the frills, Padre, we're pressed for time,' Drait requested.

A runaway pair, the minister decided.

He began the service, omitting all out the essential portions. The girl listened with a face of stone, but made her responses clearly and firmly.

`With this ring.....' The minister paused and looked expectantly at the bridegroom.

Drait bit back an oath, then grinned, and fumbling in the breast of his shirt, produced a narrow gold band hanging round his neck by a string. Snapping this, he slipped the ring on the bride's finger and became aware that her hand was icy.

Having pronounced them man and wife, the minister recorded the event, all present signed their names, and the ceremony was over. The witnesses went out, richer by easily-earned dollars, and the minister handed a copy of his entry to the bride.

`Take good care of that, my dear, and I hope you will be very happy,' he said.

`Thank you,' she murmured, and for an instant there was a gleam of warmth in her sombre eyes.

Drait laid a bill on the table. Will that cover yore fee?' he asked.

`More than five times,' the little man smiled.

He watched them walk up the street, mount, and ride away. All was not well there, but he could do nothing. `A pretty lass,' he mused. `She reminds me of someone; but it was long ago.'

Clear of the town, the newly-wedded couple came to where the trail forked, and Mary Drait, without a glance at her husband, said acidly : `Where are we going, to your ranch?'

'I don't have any,' he replied. `An' in case yo're beginnin' to regret Bardoe, you may as well know that he was a cattle-thief, an' worse. His "ranch" was just a place where he kept stolen steers till it was safe to sell 'em.'

`You said you had never heard of him,' she reminded.

`Shore,' he admitted. `His gun was out an' mine warn'tthen.'

`Is it worse to steal cattle than money?'

`Guess not, but Bardoe would 'a' stripped me s'pos'n the luck had gone the other way. Besides, if you'd been what I figured, the coin was due to you, an' that's why yo're sittin' on it right

now; I should 'a' pointed you for the nearest town an' that would 'a' been the finish.' He read the unbelief in her eyes and a gust of anger swept over him. `Ten miles along that trail to the right'll fetch you to Midway; it can still be the finish--if you want.'

With a furious look, she snatched the quirt hanging from the horn of the saddle and for an instant he thought she was about to strike him. Bun the lash fell on the flank of her horse, and sent it dashing along the trail to which he had pointed. Drait swung into the other. In less than five minutes he heard the pad of pounding hooves, and smiled mirthlessly, but did not slacken his pace.

`Better the devil you know,' he muttered. `Reckon I guessed correct--for once.'

He was not travelling fast, and she soon overtook him. `Changed yore mind, huh?' he asked.

`I come with you only on your promise to keep secret this--marriage,' she said.

`Ashamed of it?'

`Yes,' was the furious retort.

`Folks will have notions,' he offered.

`I don't care what they think. You promise?'

`Suits me,' he replied indifferently. `An' now, Miss Darrell, we've got quite a piece to go afore we get home.' There was a gibe in the last word.

Chapter II

Two riders were loping lazily along a little-worn track which had begun to dip down into a patch of scrub and larger trees. They made an odd couple, for apart from being obviously cowpunchers, they were entirely unlike.

The elder, lean, longlimbed, and wide of shoulder, was not yet thirty, but his tanned, clean-shaven face, with its firm jaw and steady, grey-blue eyes, was that of a man who has seen life and its many problems, and death, which solves them all, and is prepared to face either unflinchingly. To the casual observer, the crossed cartridge-belts slung about his hips, and the shiny butts of two six-shooters protruding from their holsters, would have proclaimed a person perilous to provoke. The casual observer would have been right, for this was `Sudden'--wanted, unjustly, as an outlaw in faraway Texas, and reputed throughout the South-West for reckless daring and dexterity with any weapon.

His companion did not appear formidable. Still in his teens, he was of small but wiry ouild, his features thin and angular, with eyes ever alive. He wore one gun only, but his hand was never far from it, a fact the older man noted with a smile.

`Expectin' trouble, Yorky?' he asked presently.

`Guess not, but there's no harm in bein' ready,' the youth replied. `She's liable to be just round th' corner. Don't you reckon we'll get some excitement this trip, Jim?'

`You're a bloodthirsty young devil,' came the answer. `This is just a holiday, an' we're mindin' our own business, yu sabe?'

`Figure you can, Jim?' Yorky asked slyly.

`Meanin'?' with an assumption of fierceness.

`Well, if you'd made that a rule, I'd be fillin' a hole in th' ground right now, an' Dan an' Doc Malachi wouldn't be arguin' over which of 'em has th' finest kid.'

The grin which made a boy of him again sofnened Sudden's saturnine features. `Awright, yu win,' he said, and then checked his mount as a rasping voice reached them.

`Anythin' to say, Drait, afore we jerk you into the next world?'

Sudden twisted his reins round the saddle-horn, pulled both guns, and forced his horse through a break in the underbrush. Yorky followed.

The scene upon which they burst was a curious one: a man with hands bound behind, standing beneath a tree. From an overhead branch dangled a lariat, the loop around his neck, and the other end in the hands of two burly ruffians. A couple more stood a few yards away, gazing with malevolent satisfaction at the prisoner, whose expression was one of sneering contempt. On one side of the open space, four horses nibbled contentedly at tufts of grass, and on the other a further two, on one of which sat a girl, wrists tied and head bent. A dark-faced, broken-nosed fellow was raising a hand as a signal to the executioners when Sudden spoke.

Put 'em up, pronto,' he said, and there was a bite in his voice which told that delay would certainly be dangerous.

The command was promptly obeyed, the pair holding the rope letting go as though it had suddenly turned into a rattlesnake. This stranger on the black horse appeared to know

exactly what he wanted and to be capable of raising Cain if he did not get it. True, they were four to two, but each of them was well aware that a bullet could travel faster than the hand of

the greatest gunman. The unknown accepted their obedience as a matter of course.

`Now that we're all comfortable, mebbe one o' you will tell me what's goin' on?' he suggested.

`We're stringin' up this fella,' the broken-nosed man snarled. `Ain't that plain enough?'

`As plain as yore face, an' that's Gawd-awful plain,' Sudden replied, adding sharply, `What's yore name?'

`Lanty,' was the unthinking reply, and nhen, `What's it gotta do with you, anyway?'

`I might need it for yore tombstone.' Lanty looked alarmed; this two-gun stranger was not his idea of a humorist. `Why are yu hangin' this man?'

`He's a cattle-thief.'

`Appearances shorely are deceivin'; I'd 'a' picked yu for that part, Mister Vigilante,' Sudden said. `I don't see any cattle. Have yu searched him?'

It was the accused who answered, with a grin. `Did so, an' all they found was a couple o' calves--on my legs; they took my wad instead.'

`That warn't noways right, Mister Vigilante,' came the reproof. `Dollars ain't evidence; they might 'a' been earned honest.'

'My name's Dirk,' Lanty snapped. `We didn't need no proof. That's Nick Drait, a nester, an' they all steal stock. That hoss the gal's on bears Bardoe's brand.'

`I borrowed it for the lady,' came the prompt explanation. 'Was Bull there at the time?' Lanty wanted to know.

`Shore, an' raised no objection.' This with a grim smile. Sudden did not understand, but his heart warmed to a man who could find anything amusing in his present situation. `One of us,' he reflected, and turned his attention to the other horses.

`You ridin' for the S P?' he asked, and got an affirmative nod

Drait spoke again. `An' that's a lie. The S P has a new cook; ask 'em to tell you the colour of his hide.'

The challenge met with sullen silence. At a word from his friend, Yorky slid from his saddle, released the girl's wrists, andperformed a like office for the accused. Then the two of them collected the weapons of the four, Drait taking his own and his money from Lanty. Standing in front of him, he said: `You hit me after I was tied up. Well, a blow for a blow is my motto, an' I'm actin' up to it.' Measuring his distance, he drove a fist into the scowling face, with a force that lifned its owner from his feet and dropped him on the back of his neck several yards away. Spitting a tooth and a torrent of oaths from his gashed mouth, the prostrate ruffian gasped:

`I'll git you for that, Drait.'

`Try, an' I'll send you to hell so quick they won't be ready for you,' was the reply. He went to the S P horses, slung the saddles to the ground, and knotted the bridles together. `I'm takin' 'em back to the S P--mebbe,' he said.

The prospect of being set afoot brought immediate protest from the victims; a cowboy would almost rather ride in a hearse than walk. Their leader appealed to Sudden.

`Them horses was loaned us,' he explained. `Our'n was played out an' we left 'em in exchange.'

`Comin' so late, an' on top o' yore other claim, that's a pore tale,' Sudden told him. `Toddlin' home'll give yu a chance to think up a better one. Yo're lucky; I've seen men swing for

less.'

Driving the tied animals ahead, the nester and his party turned back into the trail, Sudden and Drait in the lead, with Yorky and the girl behind. `I'm shorely obliged,' the rescued man said. `It was curtains for me if you hadn't shown up.'

`Forget it,' Sudden replied. `One look at that Lanty fella's face told me yu were gettin' a raw deal. So yo're a nester?'

`Sort of. I'd like fine for you to see my place, Mister.'

`Green is the name; it ain't a long word, but "Jim" is shorter,' the other smiled. `My side-kick is called "Yorky" an' he's a good kid; we're just takin' a look at the country.'

`She's worth it, but reptiles is mighty prevalent,' was the sardonic answer.

Meanwhile, Yorky was endeavouring to thaw the human iceberg riding beside him, and meeting with little success. Hard-eyed, she stared at the trail before them, and replied to his remarks in words of one syllable. At length, he fell oack on his favourite topic--his friend. So she learned of the coming of the cowboy to the Circle Dot, the restoration of his own health, and the amazing adventures which followed. Despite herself, she was interested, and her gaze went from the trail to the broad back of the man she was hearing about.

`Why are you called Yorky!' she asked.

`Just a name th' boys give me. You see, I was born in li'l old Noo York.'

`I never would have taken you for an Easterner.'

That made a friend of him; for many months he had been striving to eradicane all trace of the East from his speech, and only in moments of high excitement did he now relapse.

`Don't you ever want to go back?'

`No, ma'am. Look !' He swept a hand towards the distant mountains. `Me for th' West, every time.'

`It's a cruel country, and its men are like it,' she said bitterly.

`Fella has to be tough, but that don't mean bad,' the boy defended. `Now yore--friend, Drait,'--he did not notice her shiver--'he's tough, but I'd trust him; he has a straight eye. An' wasn't that the gran' daddy of a wallop he give that Lanty jasper?'

`Is brutality the only remedy for evil?'

`I guess so, in a land where there ain't no law.'

`Oh, I might have known,' she said. `You men always hang together.'

Yorky grinned delightedly. `If hangin' together keeps us from hangin' separate it gets my vote.'

She did not smile, and if she had intended to reply, the distant report of a rifle, followed by several more, drove in from her mind. Drait straightened up in his saddle, and swore.

`Damnation ! That's Shadow Valley way; somethin' wrong. We gotta hurry.'

The big Mexican spurs rasped the ribs of his mount, quickening its pace. Very soon he swung off the main trail to the left, plunging into thick scrub with only a few hoofprints to point the way.

`This'll save some miles, but it's tricky travellin',' he explained. `Them hosses is goin' to hamper us.'

`Easy settled,' Sudden replied, and beckoned to Yorky. Put yore loop over one o' the broncs an' lead 'em behind us.' He watched approvingly as the boy made the throw and held the captives until the two men had passed.

`Ain't forgot all I taught yu,' he smiled.

`Not any, an' learned a lot more,' Yorky retorted, as he resumed his place by the again silent girl.

They descended a long slope by means of a series of wooded shelves, and as Drait had warned, care was essential and speed out of the question. No more firing was heard, but a column of black smoke staining the sky some miles off brought another curse to the lips of their leader.`If that's my place some o' the cattlemen round here are goin' to need new ranch-houses afore long,' he gritted.

Presently they reached a level expanse of short grass, on the far side of which was what appeared to be the mouth of a gorge. Barely forty yards apart, rock walls rose abruptly on either side, curving inwards as though to meet at the top to form a gigantic natural arch. Huge boulders lying near supported the theory that once it had existed, but now only the pillars remained.

They passed through this gateway, and Sudden was surprised to find, instead of the stony gully he had expected, an open oval valley, shut in by miniature cliffs. A bend prevented him from seeing the full extent of the valley, but it appeared to be about a quarter of a mile in width, and the floor was carpeted with good grass. An imprecation from the nester stopped further observation.

On the fringe of the brush the charred remains of a log hut were still smoking. Only when they were close did they see, hanging from a tree-branch, the horror awaiting them. A little while earlier it had been a man, but now, the sagging head, with its bloated features, outthrust blackened tongue and goggling eyes presented only a hideous travesty of God's handiwork. The girl screamed, Yorky's face whitened, but the two men stared at the thing in hard-lipped silence; they had seen the like before. Drait rode forward, and standing in his stirrups, slashed through the rope and lowered the body gently to the ground. Then it was he saw the paper pinned to the shirt. Printed in crude capitals, it read : `Get out, Drait. Yo're next.'

He folded and put it in a pocket. Then came the hammer of hurrying hooves, as four riders raced up and slid to a stop. At the sight of the dead man they removed their hats.

`So they got Eddie,' commented one of them, a small, grizzled bowlegged cowboy, older than the others. `We didn't know that.'

`What do you know, Quilt?' Drait asked.

`Mighty little. We was up at the other end, blockin' the outlet like you said. We saw smoke an' come a'bilin'. O' course, they spotted us an' ran, the damn cowards. We see it was on'y the cabin an' took after 'em, loosin' lead, but havin' no luck. They'd got too big a start, an' when they split in the brush we lost 'em.'

`How many?'

`Nine, I reckoned. No, couldn't pin a name to any--we on'y saw their tails. There was a biggish chap who might 'a' bin Cullin, but I wouldn't swear to him.'

Drait's eyes went again to the limp, pitiful figure, over the contorted face of which he had put his own hat. `Think of it,' he said bitterly. `He was crippled for life--his hoss rolled on him--an' the bastards had to hang him, for no reason 'cept he worked for me. By God! Eddie, they shall pay, in full.'

`Haven't yu got a sheriff?' Sudden asked.

`I ain't, but the cattlemen have,' was the ironic reply. `They appointed him an' he wants to keep his job; figure it out for yoreself.' He got back into his saddle. `Quilt, you an' the boys take care o' Eddie--next that Palo verde he used to sit under. Where's Beau?'

`Took the buckboard to Midway for them supplies you ordered. Be along any time now.'

The nester nodded. `Want you all to feed at the house this evenin'. We gotta talk things over.'

Some two hundred yards further along the valley brought them to the house. A low building, constructed of squared logs, it covered considerable space. There was a raised veranda along the fronn, and at the back the ground had been cleared halfway to the overshadowing cliff. On the left was a small horse-corral, and a little to the right was the bunkhouse. Flaying unsaddled and corralled the horses, they walked to the house. A stout, middle-aged Negress met them at the door.

"Lo, Lindy,' the nester greeted.

`Sho' am pow'ful glad to see yoh, Massa Nick,' she replied. `What happened?'

`Eddie tells me go hide in de brush 'case dere's trouble. He went to fin' out what dem riders was afteh. I ain't seen Eddie no mo'.' she ended fearfully.

`You won't--they murdered him.' He saw her mouth open and eyes fill with tears, and spoke roughly. `He died doin' his duty, an' weepin' won't help.' He pointed to an open door. `Jim, there's the parlour; you an' Yorky make yoreselves to home; grub'll be ready soon.'

When they had gone he turned again to the black woman. `Lindy, this is my friend, Miss Darrell; she's stayin' here. Do all you can to make her comfortable. Jusn now she's tired an' would like to wash an' tidy up. See to it, an' then fix a meal here for all of us.' For the moment the Negress forgot her grief, and beamed. `Yuh come wi' me, honey,' she said. The girl hesitated, and Drait said quietly, `You can trust Lindy, as I would, with anythin' I possessed.'

Plainly fitted as the bedroom was, it should have represented luxury to Mary Drait, but the events of the past twenty-four hours, culminating in the awesome sight of the murdered man, had produced in her a snate of stunned hopelessness; it seemed like a terrifying nightmare from which she could not wake up.

The Negress helped her remove hat and coat, and poured water into the basin. Her motherly gaze noted the white, drawn face, the haggard eyes. `Yoh et sence mawnin'?' And when the girl shook her head, `I jes' knowed it; dat Nick thinks we all strong as bullocks, like hisself. Now yoh lie down an' rest while I git a meal foh yoh an' nine'--her voice faltered--'eight hungry men.'

She hurried away, and the exhausted girl threw herself on the bed and presently slept.

Having entrusted his `guest' to the care of the black woman, Drait joined his guests in the parlour. It was a large room, and the big centre table suggested hospitality, the solid chairs, comforn. A high, old-fashioned dresser with cupboards, and a writing-desk relieved the bareness of the walls and rugs of cured skins did the same for the board floor.

`Guess we'll have to wait a spell for our meal,' he said. `It's a bigger party than Lindy was lookin' for, an'--Eddie used to give her a hand.' Yorky stood up. 'Helpin' cooks is my strong suit,' he said. Despite their host's protest, he grinned and vanished in search of the kinchen. Sudden laughed. `Leave him be,' he said. `When he had it to do, he hated it; now he don't have to, it's a treat. That's human nature.'

He proceeded to give the boy's story in brief, concluding with, `There ain't much of him but it's good, an' he's just full o' sand. I promised him a holiday when I left the Circle Dot, an' I guess he's been livin' for it.'

`I hope runnin' into me ain't goin' to spoil things for you.'

Sudden chuckled. `Just before we met up with yu he was complainin' we hadn't had any excitement.'

When Yorky returned to say the food was coming, and the men arrived in a bunch, Drait went to fetch his wife. His knock aroused her, and thinking Lindy had come back, she opened the door.

`Supper is ready,' he said.

`I'm not hungry,' she replied, and remembering her former use of the same words, added, `Didn't you oring your quirt?' The sarcasm produced no effect. `I want to present the boys to you, an' there's a lot to discuss,' he replied evenly.

`I don't wish to meet them, and your affairs are no concern of mine,' she said stubbornly.

`Yo're wrong there. This business of pore Eddie has brought matters to a point when I gotta know how I stand. I'm puttin' my cards on the table an' givin' everyone the opportunity to duck out from here. That includes you.'

She was silent for a moment, studying him with scornful eyes. `What happened to the women who wore this before me?'

In the palm of her hand was the ring he had placed on her finger.

`There was on'y one, an' she is dead.'

`You killed her?'

`A good guess. She was my mother, an' died to bring me into the world,' he replied sternly. `Come.' And when she did not move, `This mornin' you promised to love, honour, an' obey; I ain't insistin' on the first two, but I will have obedience.'

In the parlour seven men were sitting round the table, at one end of which were two empty seats. All stood up when Drait and his companion entered.

`Boys, this is Miss Darrell, my--guest,' the nester said.

The announcement produced surprise, mingled in one or two cases, with a half-shamed expression. Sudden surmised that the girl had been discussed in the bunkhouse, and probably allotted a less complimentary status. Quilt, the oldest, spoke for all.

`We're mighty glad to meetcha, ma'am,' he said, and a murmur of assent came from the others. Her `Thank you' was almost inaudible, and her frozen features failed to conjure up even the semblance of a smile. `An' we shore hope you'll make a long stay, ma'am.' This from a tall, black-haired cowboy whose handsome face was marred by an habitual sneer.

`I'm obliged,' Drait said, and turned to his wife. `That was Beau Lamond, the dandy o' the outfit; Quilt there is foreman, an' has the levelest head; next to him is Smoky, a good cowhand but a gamblin' fool--he'd sooner bet an' lose than not bet a-tall; the other two are the Horns, Long an' Short; they're twins--one of 'em beat his brother into the world by about twenty minutes, an' they're still arguin' which it was. Now you know 'em all, so let's eat; we can talk afterwards.'

The next half-hour was devoted almost exclusively to what, for men who have been in the open all day, is the serious business of feeding. Juicy steaks, swimming in rich brown gravy, with roast ponatoes, bread, and a dried-apple pie, the whole washed down with mugs of steaming black coffee disappeared magically before the onslaught of these sons of the saddle. Sudden leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction, and smiled at his host.

`That's my best meal for many a day,' he said. `Yu shore have a fine cook.'

`We know, but don't advertise it, Jim.'

Lindy, clearing the table, grinned delightedly.

When she had retired, Drait rapped on the table.

`I'm goin' to tell you the story o' Shadow Valley,' he began. `Less'n a year ago, a fella named Rawlin bought the land fromthe State, built an' furnished this place, an' settled down with his wife an' three kids, the eldest a boy o' sixteen. Rawlin was from Kansas, a harmless critter, but with a streak o' obstinacy; he was warned he'd have trouble but wouldn't listen.

` "It's my land an' I've a right to stay on it," he argued.

`He'd fetched in some twenty head o' stock. Well, there was feed in the valley for many more'n that, an' all round for miles the range was free--but not for him. A few months went by an' nothin' happened. Then he gets an unsigned paper tellin' him to pull his freight, carries it to the sheriff, an' is advised to obey. He took no notice. Two weeks later, in broad daylight, eight masked men rode up the valley, returning in about half an hour. Rawlin asked what they wanted.

` "We've been lookin' over yore herd," one of 'em said. "Nine unbranded calves in it, an' the ear-notches show that they belong to ranches around here."

` "I ain't got no calves," Rawlin replied. "Somebody must 'a' put 'em there."

` "You bet somebody did," the fella said. "Stealin' cattle is a hangin' matter in these parts, Rawlin, but we're givin' you a chance."

`They ordered him to hook up his wagon, pack his family into it, with whatever few possessions they had room for, an' drift. While he was arguin', the boy--who had been huntin' at the end o' the valley--came runnin' up, an' one o' the skunks shot him. They escorted Rawlin' damn near to Midway, an' left him with a warnin' that if he tried any come-back, he an' his would be wiped out.

`He went to the sheriff, an' was asked if he could identify any o' the visitors? He couldn't--all of 'em had their faces covered an' rode unbranded bosses. Havin' made shore o' this, the sheriff went with Rawlin to the valley. They found the boy's body an' his rifle, which had an empty shell in it.

` "Proves he fired first an' makes it a case o' self-defence," was Camort's reasonin'. "I can't do a thing. You oughta took my advice."

`I met Rawlin in Midway; he was broke--heart an' pocket; all he had was in this venture. I bought the land, house, furniture, an' stock, at his price; the cattle went when they took away the planted calves. Now, the murderin' curs are after me, but they've another kind o' man to deal with. The unsigned warnin's have happened along, an' today--Eddie. I'm stayin' put, an' fightin' back with everythin' I got until these greedy swine have learnt their lesson.'

The harsh voice ceased. There had been no attempt at oratory; it was just a man, making a plain statement of fact, but the hard, cold eyes glinting through narrowed lids, and knotted jaw muscles, told of passion sternly controlled. Presently he went on: `I ain't tryin' to drag you boys into my quarrel, but it's on'y fair no tell you how things are. If any or all o' you want yore time, I'll think no worse o' you. Remember, throwin' in with me may mean bein' outlawed, because the cattlemen own the Law, such as it is. If you wanta think it over, tell me in the mornin'.'

He leaned back in his chair, fashioned a fresh smoke, and waited, but not for long. Quilt was the first to speak.

`I'm stayin' with my job, Nick, an' thanks for the offer.'

`Me too,' Smoky said. Next to the foreman in point of age, he was of medium build and placid appearance. Only those who knew him well were aware that when roused he could develop all the attributes of a tiger-cat.

`I dunno what this bean-pole is aimin' to do, but I'm stickin's to you like yore skin, Nick, come hell or high water,' Shorty announced.

The bean-pole replied in kind. `Then I gotta come in; can't have the fam'ly represented by half a man.'

`It's the useful half anyways--the rest is just dead wood,' the smaller twin snapped back.

Lamond's lazy voice interrupted. `You can count on me.' Only the girl at the head of the table noted that his eyes were fixed meaningly, and not for the first time, on her.

Drait's relief was evident; save in one case--that of the last to speak--he knew these men well, and could rely on them. `I'm mighty glad,' he said. `It's a big gamble, with our lives as the stake, but with you boys backin' me, we may win out. Those killers o' children will have six men to handle 'stead o' one pore of pilgrim.'

Sudden had listened attentively to the story, and studied each speaker in turn. A whispered word to Yorky was answered by an emphatic nod.

`Mebbe I'm wrong, but I figure there's eight of us,' he said. Drait looked up quickly. `Meanin' you an' yore pal will chip in?' he asked.

`Why not?' was the cool reply. `We're adrift, an' tired of it, but we ain't joinin' just for amusement. I'm peacable by nature, but a cowardly murder gets my dander up. So if yu'll have us...'

For the first time since they had returned to the valley, the nester's eyes lost their dourness. `You'd better believe I'll have you,' he cried, and his tone said more than mere words. `There's somethin' else I gotta mention--them five hosses I fetched in. The big one is Bull Bardoe's. I met up with the gent yestiddyafternoon; he had me covered an' meant to get me, but--I got him, though he didn't miss oy much.' They could all see the livid mark on his cheek. `The other four carry the S P iron, but Bardoe's men were usin' 'em. They ambushed, an' were about to give me a dance on nothin' when Jim an' Yorky kinda interfered. A fella named Lanty seemed to be in charge. Know him?'

`Yeah,' Quilt growled. `He's Bull's right-hand man, an' that's the on'y right nhing about him. Hope you swung the lot.'

`Shore would if I'd knowed 'bout Eddie,' Drait said heavily.

`Bardoe is no loss anyway,' Quilt shrugged. `Just a double-crosser, workin' with the cattlemen an' robbin' 'em at the same time.' He looked at the clock. `Time to hit the hay, fellas.'

As they filed out, with a `So long, Nick,' and a shy 'Goodnight, ma'am,' to the lady, Drait said to his foreman, `See that Jim an' Yorky are comfortable; but for them, you'd all be ridin' the grub-line tomorrow.'

When they had gone, Drait looked at the girl, white-faced, impassive as a statue. He had said nothing about her, and though this was a relief, it had not lessened her hostility. He was saving himself, she decided; his men, rough and primitive as they were, would have despised him.

`They all stood by me,' he reflected, deep appreciation in his voice.

`To keep their jobs.'

The sneer angered him. `Evidently loyalty means little to you. What are you goin' to do?'

The question stirred her. `Have I any choice?' she retorted. `Why did you bring me to this place of hatred, violence, and crime?'

`Eddie was a surprise to me too,' he said sombrely. `I did the best I could. You are clothed, housed, have a servant to do yore work, and--I've given you my name.'

`The name of a murderer, liable to be hanged or shot as an outlaw,' she said passionately.

His face did not change, but his tone became harsh. `You can live in Midway until my bein' shot or hanged gives you back yore freedom, or remain here,' he replied. `An' I don't care one solitary damn which you choose.'

Chapter III

Drait breakfasted alone, and gave an instruction to Lindy. `Miss Darrell's had a tryin' time lately so don't disturb her. She needs rest.' The Negress nodded understandingly. `Mighty purty gal, but she ain't lookin' noo brash.'

`Take care of her,' he said.

At the bunkhouse Quilt got his orders : `Have lead-ropes fixed to those hosses I brought in; I'm returnin' 'em this mornin'. Two men, with rifles, must guard the valley ennrance --we can't afford to be caught nappin' again; the rest can continue the closing o' the other end. I'd like for you to come with me, Jim.'

By the time they had fetched their saddles from the house and reached the corral, Smoky and Shorty had done the first job. Rope in hand, the nester stepped through the gate and stood watching the circling band of nearly two dozen excited animals. Then his lariat snaked out and the loop fell over the head of a sturdy piebald. The thrower instantly dug his high heels in and flung his weight back on the rope. The tightening of the noose told the horse that resistance was useless, and it trotted demurely behind its captor.

`Neat work,' Sudden commented. `Me, I'm a lazy devil.'

He gave a low whistle, and a great black chasing round with the others, stopped abruptly, whickered, wheeled, and came pacing to where the puncher stood. Drait studied it with the appreciative eye of an expert.

`He's a beaut,' he said. `I'll swap any two in the corral.'

`Yu got some good ones, but I wouldn't part with Nigger for the whole bunch,' Sudden replied.

`I didn't expect you would,' Nick said. `Hope you ain't over-tamed him, or he'll be stole.'

`Go to put a hand on him, but--watch out.'

Drait stepped forward and reached. The horse's ears flattened, the lips curled back, and the great teeth clashed within an inch of the outstretched arm. Then, with a squeal of rage, it reared; a moment and those terrible fore-hoofs would have descended on the nester's head with the force of pile-drivers.

`Steady, boy,' Sudden warned.

The effect was magical; the ears became erect again, the teeth covered, the wildness went from the eyes, and the threatening hoofs dropped softly back on the ground. Drait caught up a breath he had lost.

`Killer, huh?' he said.

`He could be,' the puncher admitted, and told only a half-truth, 'He knows his friends--an' mine.'

The two cowboys accompanied them to the entrance; they were taking the first spell as sentries.

`Not much for the men to do,' Drait remarked. `I ain't got any cattle yet.'

They had reached the frowning buttresses flanking the outlet, and Sudden pulled up, his interest aroused by what he saw.

`There's plenty work here worth doin',' he said. `Why not close the gap with a stone wall--hosses could drag the larger rocks into position--an' have heavy double doors, secured by bars, in the centre. It'd stop cattle from gettin' out, an' visitors from comin' in without permission.'

Drait slapped his thigh. `Jupiter! that's an inspiration, Jim,' he cried. `Shorty, fetch Quilt; we'll set about it right away.'

The foreman was soon on the scene, and Drait explained the idea. Quilt was enthusiastic.

`Bully,' he beamed. `It's up to us to make a good job of a good notion, Jim. We'll build her plenty high, with a platform inside so we can look over,' he chuckled. `Leave it to me, Nick; we're startin' now; t'other end can wait.'

Taking the lead horses, Drait and his companion went on their errand. They had gone less than a mile when the nester twitched the loop from the Bardoe animal, and smote it across the rump.

`Mebbe find its way home, an' if it don't, I ain't carin',' he said. `What you think o' the outfit?'

`A fine crowd, I'd say.'

`Hand-picked--brought 'em with me.'

`Includin' Lamond?'

`Why, no, he's come recent--joined me just after I bought the valley.'

`At his suggestion, or your'n?'

`He was out of a job, an' asked for one,' Drait explained. `Know anythin' against him?'

`Never seen or heard o' the fella,' was the careless reply. `He just don't seem to fit in.'

Too much of a dude for them rough-necks o' mine,' Nick laughed. `They've been raised on raw meat.'

Sudden laughed too, and dropped the subject. He noticed they were travelling north, and asked a question. `We'll get rid o' these broncs first off,' Drait told him. `The hombre yo're goin' to see to is the foreman, an' he's runnin' the ranch till the owner can be found. 01' Sam Pavitt passed in his checks 'bout a year ago, leavin' all his property to his on'y child--a daughter, or her issue. She ran away near twenty-five years back--he was a hard man to live with, by all accounts-an' never returned. His lawyer is tryin' to trace her.'

`Shouldn't be difficult unless she's left the state, or is dead,' Sudden remarked. `I understand they got mighty little to go on. One letter from her was found among Sam's papers; it told that her husband--the cause o' the trouble atween 'em--had passed on, but called him by his front name only, an' mentioned a kid named "Frankie." The address had been torn off, so I guess she never had a reply. It's a fine ranch, an' I guess Gilman is featherin' his nest a-plenty.'

`Crooked, huh?'

`A corkscrew would look straight by the side of him.'

The first few miles took them over scrub-dotted plain, and no trail being visible, Sudden guessed they were making a short cut. Then they emerged upon a rough wagon-road, pitted with innumerable hoofprints. Drait jerked a thumb to the right.

`Leads to Midway,' he said. `We'll be samplin' it later.'

They turned left, and after a while--to Sudden's surprise--the road began to improve; trees and brush had been cut down or uprooted to make it wide enough for two vehicles to pass, and attempts made, in bad spots, to level the surface, but there were signs that the wilderness was encroaching again.

`Ol' Sam had nhis done an' damn near lost most of his riders over it--cowboys don't cotnon to road-makin',' Drait informed. `Gilman ain't takin' risks, seemin'ly.'

A gradual rise of another mile brought them to the end of the road and a wide strip of open country covered with crisp, brown grass. In the midst of it, a group of buildings, and behind, a background of low, tree-swathed hills.

`Nice location,' Sudden commented.

`You said it,' his companion agreed. `Good ranch-house, lashin's o' the best feed, an' plenty water,' he grinned. `If I owned this place, damn me if I wouldn't turn honest.'

`It would certainly be a temptation,' Sudden smiled.

As they neared the ranch-house, a stocky, powerful man came out, and, leaning against one of the supports of the veranda roof, watched them ride up. There was no welcome in the bunton-like eyes, set too closely no a beak of a nose, and the thin lips, clamped to the butt of a black cigar, did not suggest amiability.

`What's yore errand?' he asked brusquely, as they drew rein. `Fetched back four broncs wearin' the S P iron, an' I want a receipt for 'em,' Drait replied. `How come they're in yore hands?' `Four o' Bardoe's toughs were ridin' 'em, an' not bein' satisfied with their explanation, an' for another reason, I set 'em afoot.'

`What was the other reason?'

`They tried to hang me.'

The man on the veranda scowled. `Didn't it occur to you I might 'a' loaned them hosses?'

`That didn't occur to them till it was too late to put it over,' the nester retorted. `Besides, I figured you wouldn't be quite so all-fired friendly with the 8 B outfit.'

He got an oblique glance from the shifty eyes. `An' that's correct,' Gilman growled. `Back in a minute.' He went through a door, and presently returned with a slip of paper. `I'm obliged,' he said. 'Anythin' Bardoe gits his claws on is apt to be a total loss. I'll give you a word of advice, Drait; if you've fallen foul o' Bull, hit the trail; you've no chance here, anyways. Don't forget what happened to Rawlin.'

`I ain't likely to,' Nick replied. Was Bardoe in that?'

`If I knew, d'you think I'd tell you--'specially in front of a witness?' Gilman asked ironically, with a measuring look at the other visitor.

`Jim Green--he's ridin' for me,' Drait introduced. `Jim, this is Jack Gilman, foreman here.' The two men nodded `Any news o' the missin' heir?'

`No, damn it, I wish they'd git the business settled,' was the reply. `Got any cattle in Shadow Valley yet?'

Drait shook his head. `What I bought from Rawlin were stolen.'

The foreman's expression of concern seemed genuine. `Too bad,' he said. `Come an' see me before you buy any more; mebbe I can save you some coin.'

`I'll remember that,' Drait replied. `An' in case there's any doubts floatin' around, you can pass the word that the Valley belongs to me, an' I'm stayin' in it.'

Gilman sent an ugly look after them as they rode away. `Stayin' in it?' he repeated. `Mebbe yo're right; young Rawlin is doin' the same. Wonder where he picked up that two-gun hombre? He ain't no pilgrim, an' his hoss warn't born this side o' the Border. Needs keepin' an eye on, that fella.'

Which thought, curiously enough, was in the minds of both his visitors.

`Well, what d'you think of him?' Nick asked.

Sudden's grimace was expressive. `I wouldn't, 'less I had to,' he answered.

`Same here, but I'll be interested to know how he's goin' to save me money, an' I'm willin' to bet I'll save more if I don't let him.'

`I ain't takin' yu,' Sudden laughed. `Where we goin' now?'

`The licentious an' thoroughly disreputable settlement of Midway,' Drait replied. `An' it ain't called that because it's halfway between Heaven an' the other place, for Midway is next door to Hell.'

`Sounds fierce.'

`That's how it is. Coupla years back, when the Judge was appointed, the decent citizens looked for better things, an' they built him a fine new court-house an' calaboose--hopin'. But the cattlemen got hold of him an' like the sheriff, he wants to keep his job.'

`But that depends on the Governor,' Sudden objected.

`Who wouldn't have any use for a dead judge,' was the grim retort.

`The ranchers must be pretty strong.'

`Their custom means a lot, an' they have the lawless element with 'em. How many? Well, there's the S P, north; the Big C--Cullin's, south-east; the Double V--Vic Vasco's, southwest; the 8 B--Bardoe's, due west; so I've got em all round me. It's a swell nest o' yeller-jackets you've stepped into.'

`My hide is thick,' the puncher smiled.

To the unaccustomed eye, Midway could only appear as a blot on the landscape. A few of the buildings boasted a second storey, some were false-fronted to convey that impression, and others were just cabins with sodded roofs. As they entered the town, Drait pulled up, and pointed.

`There she is,' he said. `Midway's pride.'

It was a big building, standing back from the others. Substantially constructed of squared logs, it had a second floor, and three doors, the boards above which told that here was congregated, in the court-house, gaol, and sheriff's office, the whole machinery of the Law.

`Looks fine from here,' Sudden said. `Seen the inside?' `Not yet,' the nester grinned. `There's Judge Towler.'

Sudden saw an oldish man passing on the other side of the street. Even without his battered high hat he would have been tall but for a pronounced stoop. A full-skirted shabby black coat flapped about his thighs, his boiled shirt was wrinkled and soiled, and his grey beard unkempt. Nevertheless, he still presented a kind of decayed distinction. Eyes bent, he seemed to be choosing his steps carefully, and twice they saw him stumble.

`I'm told he's hittin' the bottle pretty constant,' Drait remarked. Pity--he's got brains; if he on'y had courage too....' They went on to dismount at a saloon which announced itself as `Merker's.' Underneath was the statement, `No Fancy Names and No Funny Business.'

`An' that's no brag,' Drait said. `If you lose here, you have lost, an' if you win, yo're paid.'

The company within was small--less than a dozen men were seated at the tables in front of the bar, and the various games of chance were idle. Behind a barrier of polished mahogany stood a dark-haired, smooth-chinned man whose face would not have appeared out of place above a clerical collar.

`Glad to see you, Nick,' he greeted, and when the nester presented his companion, added, `You too, Mister Green.' He set out the inevitable bottle and glasses, and in a lowered tone, said, `The sheriff is makin' a big talk an' is lookin' for you.'

`Now if that ain't lucky,' Drait replied. `I came a-purpose to see him; get a bit further away, Jim; you don't know me till we hear what he has to say.'

A moment later, the swing-door was thrust aside, and the officer entered. Short, barrel-like in body, with stumpy, powerful legs, he waddled rather than walked in. Meanness was evident in his puffy cheeks, slit of a mouth, and cunning eyes, which gleamed for a moment when they rested on the nester, and then almost vanished, as though a light had been lowered inside him. He had been given--but did not rejoice in--the nickname of `Stinker,' owing to a reputed adventure with a skunk.

Pompously throwing out his huge chest, on which his badge was prominently displayed, and hitching his gun-belt so that the butt was handy, he growled, `Drait, I wanta see you.'

Nick turned slowly. `Help yoreself,' he said. `But don't come too close--my nose is a mite sensitive.' A chuckle from an onlooker did not improve the officer's temper. `Funny, huh?' he sneered. `Well, laugh this one off : I'm arrestin' you.' `Is--that--so?' the young man queried. `I've often wondered how it felt. Seems simple. What d'you do next?'

The sheriff ignored the question--an evasion which made some of those present smile, but their faces became serious enough when he continued. 'Yo're charged with stealin' four hosses from the S P.'

The accused grinned. `How on earth did you find that out, Stinker?' he wanted to know.

`That's my business.'

`Shore it is, but you never do it, an' didn't this time. You had yore information from a cow-thief named Lanty.'

`That amounts to a confession,' the sheriff said eagerly.

`How d'you figure it?'

`Because' he paused, suddenly aware of an obstacle, and Drait finished the sentence :

`Lanty won't like bein' dragged into it, but he's goin' to be. Yestiddy, he an' three o' Bardoe's bullies ambushed, an' were just about to string me up when a couple o' strangers happened along an' interfered. The Bardoe men were usin' S P broncs, an' claimed to be ridin' for Gilman. I didn't believe it, an' set 'em afoot. So Lanty tries to come back at me by tellin' the sheriff he'll find stolen stock at Shadow Valley. Sent there yet, Stinker?'

`Yeah, an' if my fellas do find 'em you'll swing yet, for all yore fairy tale,' was the answer.

Drait, leaning comfortably against the bar, glanced round at the audience. `A hard man, our unworthy sheriff,' he remarked, and passed a piece of paper to the saloon-keeper. `Suspicious, too. Tell the company what that is, Sol.'

Merker read aloud : `Received from Nick Drait, four S P horses he had reason to believe stolen from this ranch.' He paused a moment. `It bears today's date, an' is signed by jack Gilman.'

Open sniggers greeted the discomfiture of the officer, who was by no means popular with some of the townsfolk upon whom he had been forced. He glared at the offenders, but could conjure up no retort to the blow. The nester spoke, contemptuously:`So you see, Stinker, I gotta decline yore invitation to the calaboose, but if I'm robbin' you o' one job, I'm givin' you another. When I reached home in the afternoon, I found Eddie Olsen--dead, an' hangin' from a limb. That don't seem to surprise you.'

The sheriff's unhealthy face had become a shade paler, and his attempt to depict astonishment was a poor effort. He lifted his massive shoulders.

`Nothin' that happens in Shadow Valley surprises me, 'cept that a damn fool should try to live there,' he sneered. `Gimme the facts an' I'll look into it.'

`As you did the murder o' young Rawlin?'

`That was self-defence, an' I'll bet this was too.'

`You'd lose; Eddie was crippled, an' he didn't tote a gun. He was hanged just as a warnin' to me.' A long-faced, bearded man at one of the tables looked up. `Why, there wasn't no harm in Eddie,' he remarked. `Hanged, huh?'

`Yeah, Pilch,' Drait replied. `Nine full-growed, masked men to murder one disabled, unarmed lad.'

`Yore chaps reckernize any of 'em?' the officer asked.

`Do you think I'd be here if they had?' Nick said savagely. The reply seemed to relieve the questioner. `Cattle-thieves, I reckon,' he said. `There's plenty about.'

'Yo're right, an' all of 'em own ranches. But these houn's warn't after cattle, but me, an' this proves it.'

He read out the notice the killers had left, and the sheriff shut his teeth on an oath; why did the cursed fools have to be so theatrical?

`What you expect me to do?'

`I ain't expectin', Camort,' Drait told him. `You'll do what yore masters' tell you, like any other tame dawg.'

Hard-boiled as he was, the bitter taunt stung, and the sheriff's face purpled with passion. But the flinty-eyed man who had hurled it at him was an unknown quantity, and Camort had a fondness for certainties. Remembrance came that, by virtue of his office, he was a privileged person. An ugly light in his slitted eyes, he ordered a drink, and turned on his tormentor.

`That'll be all from you, Drait,' he said furiously. `Pull yore gun, you...'

As the last word left his lips, he grabbed the glass on the bar, flung the contents full in the nester's face, and reached for his hip. Drait was helpless, blinded by the fiery spirit, and it seemed the dastard design must succeed. Camort's gun was out, and his finger actually pressing the trigger when flame jetted from the left hip of the strange puncher, now standing clear of the bar; the threatening weapon clattered on the floor, and with a yelped oath, its owner clutched a ripped fore-arm. Before he could move, iron hands gripped his throat, shook him like a rat, and flung him away. Against the power in those long, muscular arms the sheriff's bulk availed him not at all. The astounded spectators saw him stagger backwards, crash into a table, and lie prone amidst the ruins. The puncher stepped towards him.

`Stinker is correct,' he said. `Of all the rotten skunks I ever met--an' that's quite a few--yo're the meanest. I oughta blowed yore light out; if yu get in my way again, I'll do it--that star yu disgrace ain't a circumstance to me.' Camort, understanding that he was safe for the time, ventured a threat : `I'll git you both for this.'

Sudden laughed, and looked at the company. `Make a note o' that, gents. If we're found shot from behind, yu'll know who did it.'

`You betcha,' Pilch replied. `An' don't judge this town by that fella, Mister--he warn't no pop'lar selection. If he'd downed Drait by that trick I'd 'a' laid him out too, an' that's whatever.'

`Good for yu,' the puncher smiled, and seeing that his friend now had the use of his eyes again, added, `Comin', Nick?'

When they were in the saddle again, the nester said, `That's the second time in twenty-four hours you've saved my life. Hell, I'll be scared to go about without you soon, but if the ante is too big, I ain't holdin' you.'

`Shucks!' the other said. `Why, that two-bit imitation peace-officer would say I'd run away from him. No, sir, I'm seein' this game through to my last chip.'

`I'm shore obliged,' Drait said, and meant much more.

Chapter IV

A week passed uneventfully. Every morning Mary rode up the valley with her husband for a lesson in shooting, only to come back with a sense of frustration. He was a considerate, attentive companion and nothing more; all her advances failed to penetrate the armour of bluff good-fellowship in which he seemed to have encased himself. At times, she wondered if he suspected her design and was also playing a part--a thought which only stiffened her resolve to punish him. But nevertheless, she enjoyed the jaunts, the valley had an endless variety of interest. So she was conscious of real disappointment when Nick announced he could not accompany her.

`Gotta go into town,' he explained. `O' course, you could take Beau.'

The suggestion was casually made, but there was an expression on his face she could not read. `I shall be quite all right by myself,' she replied.

`I dunno--that end ain't plugged yet,' he said doubtfully. `Have yore gun along.'

She promised, and then remarked, `The sheriff of Midway doesn't think much of you, does he?' This brought the ghost of a grin. `I wouldn't wonder if he's thinkin' quite a lot o' me,' he drawled. `Are you taking Mister Green?'

This time there could be no evasion. `Who's been talkin' outa turn?' he asked.

`I don't know,' she told him, adding softly, `I only want you to be careful.'

In the case of nine men out of ten, her apparent solicitude would have produced some sign, but the nester's face remained unchanged. Muttering something about chattering chumps, he went out. At the corral he met Yorky and gave him instructions, concluding with, `Don't show yoreself 'less you have to; guess there ain't any real risk, but till that far end is corked up ...'

Yorky nodded; he would have liked to ask a question, but had been well-schooled by Sudden, and knew when to keep his mouth shut. As Drait rode away, the boy's approving eyes followed him. Two of a kind--Jim an' him,' he informed the air. `Gosh! Glad I'm on their side.'

Nick found the rest of his outfit busy at the wall, which was now a formidable obstacle. Calling Quilt aside, he explained about Yorky, and added a word of praise. `We'll finish her today, an' she ain't no slouch of a job,' the foreman said. `If yo're needin' Jim....'

`Why should I be?'

`Headin' for town, ain't you?'

`Well?' Sharply.

The sheriff is shootin' off his mouth quite a bit. Shore, he's still crippled, but he has friends.'

Drait frowned. `Who's been yappin' around here?'

`I can tell you one who ain't an' that's the fella what knowed all about it--reckon he was raised among Injuns,' the little man grinned. Was you expectin' to keep it secret?'

`Beats hell how the news gets about in this country,' the nester grumbled.

`Little birds certainly ain't scarce,' Quilt agreed, and when the other was out of hearing, added, `Nick, if you wasn't more generous with yore dollars than yore words nobody'd work for you 'cept damn fools like me.' He pondered a moment. `An' I shore am one; if I hadn't mentioned Jim, mebbe you wouldn't 'a' gone alone; I oughta be booted.'

Mary, riding slowly along the valley, was thinking much the same thing. The rebuff she had received still brought the colour to her cheeks. She had learned from Lindy of the bearding of the sheriff. Brutal, unscrupulous the nester might be, but she had to admit that he had the quality most esteemed in the West--courage. Fight--that was Nature's universal law....

An amused voice broke in on her meditations. `You didn't oughta be all alone this bright mornin'.'

She turned to find Beau Lamond pacing just behind, hat in hand, a confident gleam in his dark eyes. She drew rein. `Did Mister Drait ask you to ride with me?' she enquired. `Why, no, must 'a' forgot,' he smiled.

`On the contrary, he offered me your company, but I told him I preferred my own.'

His conceit would not accept this. `Say, but that was real cute of you,' he complimented.

`Not at all, it was true,' she returned icily, and rode on.

He made no attempt to follow her, save with his furious gaze.

`So that's the way of it, huh?' he growled. `Well, it takes two to make a game, an' I can wait.'

Savagely he wrenched his horse about and spurred to the gate. Smoky read the flushed features aright.

`Sorta took the wrong turnin', Beau?' he queried.

`Mind yore own damn business,' the other snapped.

`Somebody just bin tellin' you that?'

Before the incipient quarrel developed, Quilt crushed it. `Better both try it,' he said sharply. 'Git busy.'

The girl did not look round. Her anger was not all caused by the cowboy's presumption, some of it being due to the unwelcome feeling that she was missing the big, taciturn man who had been her daily companion. Resentfully, she told herself that it was absurd, but nevernheless, the valley did not seem quite the same. She passed the pool, almost without a glance, dismounted and fired twelve shots at the tree, hitting it twice. This would please Nick, at which thought she straightway resolved not to tell him.

On reaching the end, she faced round and sat drinking in the scene. The green oval, with its mirror-like pool and frame of grey, toothed rock, seemed utterly peaceful. The bulge in the cliffs prevented her from seeing the ranch-house, or the entrance where the men would be working. The sun's rays, growing stronger, were licking the diamond drops from the grass. Mary breathed deeply.

`Brownie, it's--just--Eden,' she told her pony.

`Needs an Adam though,' chuckled a gruff voice.

She turned her head; a big man on a horse was just at her shoulder; it was Bardoe. Her cry of astonishment and attempt to back away brought suspicion. Grabbing her rein, he bent and peered closely; recognition dawned in his eyes.

`So it's you? Well by Gawd, that's luck I warn't lookin' for,' he cried. His gaze travelled over the trim figure gloatingly. `I knowed you was a pretty piece, but duds shore do make a difference.'

He leaned nearer and she tried to sway away. `I thought you were killed,' she said.

`Near thing,' he replied, tapping the soiled rag twisted about his head. `Creased me, that's all. I was out for a coupla days, an' them cussed idjuts o' mine had me all ready for plantin'. Funny to come to life in yore coffin. You don't seem overjoyed.'

`Why should I be?' she retorted. `I'm glad you escaped, but

`One man's as good as another, huh?' he sneered. `Mebbe better, if he buys you fine fixin's. Allasame, yo're wrong--Drait ain't goin' to last ten flicks of a cow's tail. He makes mistakes; the man who steals my hoss, money, an' woman, has gotta take my life too.'

`I was not your woman,' Mary said furiously. `And

`Don't say it,' he grated. `We're startin' for the 8 B right now.'

He dragged her pony's head round. Suddenly she remembered, drew her revolver from the holster, and levelled it at his head. `Get away from me or I'll fire,' she threatened.

For an instant he paused, staring, and then, with a grin, came closer. She pulled the trigger, but only a click resulted; she had neglected Drait's instruction to always reload at once. In anger and disgust she flung the weapon to the ground. Bardoe's laugh was torture.

`I like 'em with guts,' he said. `Yore man should 'a' told you that an empty gun is more dangerous than no gun a-tall.' `He did,' she muttered miserably. `I forgot.'

`Well, well, you'll know better next time--mebbe,' he jeered, and jerked at the rein of the unwilling Brownie. `C'mon, lift yore damn legs, you.'

`Lift yore damn paws, you,' echoed a rather high-pitched but very steady voice.

Bardoe dared not disobey; one glance at the girl's face told him he was trapped. As he made the movement, he risked a lightning peep over his shoulder but got no satisfaction. The newcomer was young, little more than a boy, but there was nothing juvenile about the Winchester he held, finger tight against the trigger; the slightest increase of pressure.... Like most of his kidney, Bardoe was a willing gambler, but here he had no chance; long before he could start anything, hot lead would be boring his body.

`Shuck yore shootin'-irons--all of 'em,' came the curt order. `An' make it snappy.'

The ruffian obeyed; with the enemy behind him, even a gun in his hand was of no use. A pair of revolvers and a rifle dropped to the ground. Lynx-eyed, Yorky watched the operation.

`You all right, ma'am?' he asked.

`Yes,' she replied. `Please let him go.'

Yorky did not approve of this--he wanted to hand the fellow over to Quilt--but the girl was obdurate, and he gave in. 'Yo're playin' in luck, hombre, but don't figure on it,' he said. `Next time you'll be shot on sight. Now fade.'

`Yore turn today, mebbe mine tomorrow,' Bardoe retorted, with a black scowl.

The boy waited until he disappeared, and then, having fetched his horse and collected the forfeited arms, they set out for the house. After she had thanked him warmly--to his great discomfort--she wanted to know how he happened to be at that end of the valley.

`I was lookin' for another way out, an' stickin' close to the cliff,' he explained.

`Did you find one?'

He shook his head. `Ain't finished searchin'.'

She suspected this to be a mere excuse but did not pursue the subject. Yorky, she learned, had come upon the scene only a moment before he intervened and did not know the intruder's identity.

`That was Bardoe,' she told him.

`Hell's gates!' Yorky swore, apologised, and added bitterly. `I savvied we was wrong to turn him loose.'

`That was my doing,' she said.

The reappearance of the man was a shock, and his parting threat told her that she had not seen the last of him. The remembrance of the unconcealed lust in his gaze made her shiver. Odd that she might yet come to regard Drait as ... She drove away the thought impatiently; at the best, he could be no more than the lesser of two evils.

*

The foreman of the S P watched the approaching horseman and grinned crookedly when he recognised him. `Boy, you got a nibble, but you need to play him afore you strike,' he told himself. `He ain't no sucker.' And when the visitor reached the ranch-house, "Lo, Drait, take the weight off'n yore saddle.'

The nester complied, and sat rolling a cigarette, waiting for the other to open the ball.

`How's thing's at Shadow Valley?' Gilman began.

`Fine as silk,' Nick replied easily.

`Been to town lately?'

`Any good reason why I should?'

`No, but there may be one for keepin' away.'

`You ain't referrin' to that bum sheriff, are you?' Drait asked scornfully.

`Not as a good reason,' Gilman laughed. `Allasame, if you do have to go, take yore friend along, an' tell him to be more careful where he plants the pills; shootin' the buttons off'n a rattler may be fine marksmanship but it's pore judgment. Still figure on stayin' in our midst?'

`Shore do--there's plenty room for another range without crowdin' anybody,' Drait replied.

`Well, it ain't worryin' me none,' the foreman said carelessly.

`Mebbe if I owned the S P I'd talk different, but ...' He finished with a shrug.

`You should have a good job here.'

`Don't think it; that law-sharp at Rideout keeps me mighty close-hauled--you'd fancy the damn place belonged to him. I'm runnin' the whole shootin' match an' drawin' a foreman's pay. Is that fair?'

`I'll say it ain't,' the other agreed. `Mebbe the new owner'll make it up to you, when they find him.'

`More likely to turf me out, figurin' to do it better hisself,' Gilman said gloomily. `Started yore herd yet?'

`You said you might do somethin' about that.'

`How about sixty yearlin's an' forty calves at eight bucks per head all round?'

`Sounds cheap.'

`It is, but the ranch is short o' ready coin. It'll be unbranded stock, mostly our'n--my fellas ain't too careful--with mebbe a sprinklin' o' strays, but when yore iron's on 'em it'll be nobody's business.'

His slitted eyes watched the nester closely as he made this proposition, but he saw only what seemed to be appreciation of a real bargain.

`I'm obliged,' Draft said. 'I'll certainly chew on that.'

`Let me know, an' the beasts'll be ready. You can collect at daylight--I don't want it knowed that the S P is pushed for money.'

Drait came away in a thoughtful frame of mind. Either Gilman was deliberately robbing his employers, or he was setting a trap, and it was more than possible he was doing both. Dealing with a lawyer who knew nothing of the cattle business the former would be easy, but the alternative required serious consideration. Probably the foreman was working with the other ranchers, and Drait had no desire to hand them a weapon against himself.

When he arrived at Shadow Valley he found the wall completed, and he had to wait while a grinning Smoky unfastened and flung open a half of the massive gates.

`Well, Boss, here she is,' he said. `Strong enough to stop a stampede, an' six fellas what can shoot'll hold her agin a regiment.'

Drait nodded. `Shouldn't have no more surprises.'

But there was one waiting for him at the house. Mary was at the door, and he almost fancied she was relieved to see him. `There is something you have to know,' she began. `Bardoe is alive.'

With a frown which grew heavier he Iistened to her story.

Only when she had finished did he make the comment. `You let him go?'

`I was to blame,' she replied. `Yorky wanted to hold him.' `Yorky was right.' He looked at her ironically. `You tried to shoot the man, an' then .. .

`I can't explain,' she interrupted passionately.

`I s'pose you thought I'd finish what I'd bungled,' he said, and when she did not deny, `I don't shoot unarmed men--he'd have had an even break, which is more than he gave me. Well, that job's still to do, but there's another I must be seem' to.'

He strode to the bunkhouse, where he found the outfit, all save Smoky. The foreman asked a question.

`Good work,' Drait replied. `But there's a rat-hole at the other end that's gotta be stopped complete an' pronto. Yorky, I'm right obliged to you.'

The boy squirmed uneasily. `Ain't worth mentionin',' he said. `If I'd knowed who he was ...'

`Shore, I understand,' the nester smiled. `Jim, there's somethin' I wanna ask you.'

When they were outside the bunkhouse, Drait told of the offer he had received. `O' course, he'll put the dollars in his own pocket--after squarin' his men,' he concluded. `I don't care none about that; what I'm wonderin', is he diggin' a hole for me?'

`If the critters ain't marked, I don't see how he could do anythin',' Sudden said. `There's one precaution yu might take; where does he bank?'

`With the Western Union; it's the on'y one in Midway; we all use it.'

`Good. Draw the money out in big bills, have the manager make a note o' the date an' numbers, an' tell him you might need to know who pays 'em in again. If Gilman tries any tricks, he may get tangled in his own rope.'

`I want those beasts, an' I figure he'll play straight, anyway till he's got some more o' my dollars. But I'll do as you say--fix it in town tomorrow. Oh, there won't be no trouble, but come if you like an' fench Yorky along; I owe him a break.'

So the morning found the three of them outside the bank premises in Midway. The nester went in to transact his business, and his companions waited, looking at an all too familiar scene. Heavy freight wagons, drawn by plodding mules, churned up the dust, distributing it impartially on passing pedestrians. In front of the saloons stood lines of patient ponies, their flicking tails waging the unending war against the flies. The passers-by afforded a wide choice in race and colour; roughly-dressed, craggy-faced whites, yellow-skinned Mexicans,slit-eyed, smiling Chinamen, and Negroes. Sudden, sitting carelessly in his saddle, appeared indifferent, but his keen eyes missed nothing, and he at once noticed that the nester's arrival had aroused interest.

`Somethin' in the wind,' he said to Yorky. `Where's that lousy sheriff off to, an' what's he so pleased about?'

Camort had passed on the other side of the street, his arm still in a sling, and his face alive with malignant satisfaction. Yorky studied the stumpy figure.

`If he smells as bad as he looks they've christened him correct,' he decided. `How do things like that git their jobs?'

`Just because they are things like that,' Sudden said caustically. 'Comin' from where yu do, yu oughta know. The big men have the whip-hand. The election is a farce; the outfits have to vote as they're told, an' the tradesmen daren't offend large customers. The ballot ain't secret, an' Heaven help the fella who supports the wrong side.'

Drait rejoined them. `All fixed,' he said. `Williams, the manager, is a good chap; he don't admire the way the town is run, but like plenty others, he has no play his cards close. I hear the sheriff is on the warpath again; seen anythin' of him?'

`He watched yu go inno the bank, an' it shore looked like the answer to a prayer. Then he seemed to remember somethin' important.'

`You don't say,' Nick grinned. `What we goin' to do?'

A man slouching slowly by answered the question: `Scatter dust if yo're wise. Camort reckons he's got you cinched.' `Thanks, friend, but he's a pore reckoner--lack of schoolin' I expect. We'll go find him.'

The unknown shrugged. `It's yore funeral,' he said.

`Oh, I guess not,' Nick replied. 'On'y the good die young an' I'm bad--terrible bad.'

They proceeded to Merker's, the owner of which greeted them with, `Nick, you can crowd yore luck too close.' The warning of a well-wisher, an explanation was due. `I came into town on my own affairs,' the nester replied quietly. `Then I hear a man is anxious to see me. I don't like disappointin' folks.'

`He thinks he has you,' Merker said.

`He's thought that before,' Nick smiled, and glanced about him. `Midway 'pears to be thirsty.'

`No--curious,' was the meaning answer.

So that was it; those present knew what was afoot, and had gathered to see the fun--if any. A stirring apprised him that something was happening. He turned his head. The sheriff marched in, followed by a lanky, hawk-faced fellow carrying a sawed-off shot-gun, which, spraying its load of buckshot, made missing, at short range, well-nigh impossible. This individual, whose eyes seemed to have a permanent difference of opinion, and in consequence, was generally known as Wall-eye,' was the newly-appointed deputy to the peace-officer. The pair halted in front of the nester and his companions.

Drait broke the silence: `Hired yoreself a bodyguard, Stinker?'

The sheriff's reply was addressed to his assistant. `If any o' them guys makes a move, let fly.'

`If he does, you'll wake in the next world, Camort.' This from the saloon-keeper, who leaning forward on the bar, had a forty-five in his fist, trained directly on the man he warned. `An' I don't mean--mebbe,' he added.

The sheriff glared. Merker was a quiet man who minded his business, but was known to be impatient of interference, as more than one obstreperous customer had discovered; he did not waste breath on empty threats.

'Yo're obstructin' me in the execution o' my dooty,' Camort blustered. `I represent the Law.'

`Mebbe--it's usually described as an ass,' Merker replied coolly. `Anyway, you don't turn a riot-gun loose on my premises. I'm rememberin' that time when you blinded a man, an' then tried to down him.'

The other's face was venomous. `I ain't forgettin' this, Merker.'

`Which you'd better not. Now, spit yore poison, an' fade.' `Suits me. I got a warrant, signed by the Judge, for the arrest o' this jasper, Drait.'

The jasper in question received the news with a sober nod. `On what charge?' he asked.

Waylayin' an' murderin' Bull Bardoe,' Camort exulted. `Is that all?'

`You'll find it a-plenty.' He addressed the audience. `Bull was found over a week back by some of his own men up on the Table Mesa trail, shot through the head.'

`Very sad,' Nick murmured. `Did he say I killed him?' `How?' the sheriff began, and then saw the twinkle in the nester's eyes. `Funny man, huh? Well, have yore laugh while you can. The Judge will hold the trial this afternoon, an' by sunset you'll be swingin' high an' dry.'

`Fast work, Stinker,' the accused retorted. `What are you afraid of?' Getting no answer, he went on, `You gotna give me time to prepare my defence an' call a witness.'

`On'y one?' Camort sneered. `Twenty won't help you.'

`Got it all planned out, huh?' Drait smiled. `Yeah, just one--Bull Bardoe hisself.'

He saw the flicker of fear in the man's eyes, and then came a guffaw, too forced to be natural. `I doubt if you'll have time to dig him up.'

Someone thrust aside the door of the saloon, and stood there. `Hi, Stinker, look what's blown into town,' he cried.

Every eye was turned to door or window, to see the familiar figure of Bull Bardoe pace slowly along the street, quite unconscious of the sensation he was causing. The occupants of the saloon gazed in bewilderment, the sheriff's expression was one of rage, and his utterance anything but pious, and Nick Drait grinned. Merker spoke:

`Bull certainly is the most active corpse I ever saw; it don't seem proper for a murdered man to go cavortin' about like that.'

The laughter which followed the irony had little of amusement in it, and Camort realised that he was the recipient of sinister looks; he must do something.

`I've bin misinformed--made a fool of,' he said indignantly.

`Then somebody's wastin' time,' Drait said caustically. `It's a plain enough frame-up, an' that's why you were rushin' things. Bull was to keep under cover until you'd jerked me into the next world. One o' you seems to have slipped up.' He turned to the spectators. `I hope yo're proud o' this dawg you made a sheriff.'

`We ain't, not none,' Pilch growled. `We'd like to hang him a whole lot.'

`It's all a lie,' Camort asserted. `I was told he was dead, an' that the hoss he allus rode was in Drait's corral.'

`Bull's forkin' that same boss right now,' someone pointed out. `I ain't shore we didn't oughta do what Pilch sez.' The ring of threatening faces made the sheriff's heart skip a beat; Western mobs were easily inflamed, and his friends the cattlemen and their outfits were far away.

`I was on'y tryin' to do my dooty,' he protested lamely.

Jeers greeted the statement. The nester stepped forward and took the warrant from the officer's nerveless fingers.

`I'll see Towler myself about this,' he said. `Twice you've planned to put somethin' over on me; the third time won't be lucky--for you. Now, get out.'

`An' stay out,' the saloon-keeper added.

The sheriff and his deputy slouched through the door, and the latter made no secret of his feelings. `It ain't offen I'm glad to leave a saloon, but I'm admittin' this is one o' the times,' he said. `We wasn't a bit pop'lar in there.'

`If it's popularity yo're after you got the wrong joo,' his boss

told him. `As for them sots, they jaw plenty but dasn't do any-thin'. I'd like to give Bull my candid opinion.'

`Shall I find him for you?' Wall-eye offered.

`I can do that for myself--if I want him,' the sheriff said, knowing perfectly well that he would not. He had courage of a kind, but it was not of the quality necessary to bully Bardoe.

The nester and his friends followed soon after, making their way to the Judge's office, which adjoined the court-room, and was part of the gaol building. An unceremonious entrance brought the judicial feet from the desk-top to the ground, and a look of astonishment from their owner as he recognised the leading visitor.

`What are you doing here?' he asked, with as much dignity as a man caught napping might immediately muster.

`Not expectin' me, Towler, huh?'

`Hardly--in this part of the premises,' the Judge retorted. Drait threw the warrant on the desk. `Did you sign that?' `Certainly, it is one of my duties.'

`Do you require proof that the person named may be guilty?' `Evidence is the sheriff's affair; I deal with it when I try the case.'

`Are you aware that Bardoe--the man that paper accuses me of killin'--rode into town, alive an' well, less'n half an hour ago?'

The Judge sat up straight. `Are you insinuating--?'

`No, I'm just tellin' you,' Drait cut in harshly. `In front of twenty others, Camort said I was to be tried an' hanged before sunset--that I hadn't a chance. An' this for a crime which existed on'y in his--an' yore--imagination.'

`This is an outrage,' Towler spluttered, but his watery eyes dropped before the fierce gaze of the nester. `Shore is,' the latter agreed drily. `Whan you goin' to do about it?'

The Judge re-lighted the stub of a cigar, and remembered that he was an important personaget `I was referring to the insult directed against myself,' he replied. `Any difference you have with the sheriff is no concern of mine.' He was rather proud of this effort.

`An' the recent murder of two men in Shadow Valley is also no concern o' yores?' Drait asked cynically. `I am not here to discover or arrest malefactors,' Towler said disdainfully. `I am answerable only to the Law--'

`An' the Governor who appointed yu,' Sudden reminded.

The Judge looked at this hard-featured man whose cold, level voice he heard for the first time. This must be the fellow who had crippled the sheriff. He decided not no reply.`Yo're forgettin' Stinker an' the cattlemen,' Drait said.

The taunt stung like a whip-lash. Quivering with rage, the badgered jurist cried, `I won't put up with this; I'll have you charged with contempt of court, and...'

`I'll plead guilty to that,' was the biting reply. `Listen, Towler; I came here to find out whether you were fool or crook. Yo're both, but you haven't the guts to be real bad, or to run winh the rats who are usin' you. Yo're on the wrong trail, an' it'll land you in the pen--if you live. Adios.' With which ironical farewell, the visitors filed out. Towler sat staring at the closed door for some moments, and then opened a drawer, produced a flask, and took a hearty pull at it.

`Damn Bardoe,' he said fervently.

Chapter V