Sudden Takes The Trail (1940)

The men retired to rest again, but for some time the scheming brain of the bandit chief was busy, and not on their account. The result of his deliberations was a shave, and an attempt to smarten his appearance in the morning, an unusual proceeding which inevitably provoked curiosity.

"Who's the dame, Jake?" one asked.

"Dame Fortune, the on'y one o' her sex worth troublin' about," was the cynical reply. "I'm goin' to Welcome.""Ain't that a risk?" Pocky inquired.

"Not to you, anyways. I'm ridin' in from Drywash, to see Dutch."

"But he's cashed."

"News to me, an' I'll be the most astonished fella in the place when I hear it." Javert nodded. "He's right; it's a good bluff, an' oughta lay out any suspicion of us bein' mixed up in that bank affair." It was not until early afternoon that Mullins reached Welcome. The visitor rode to his late abode, dismounted with a sigh of relief, and after a peep through the neatly-curtained window, entered. His step on the board floor brought the Widow from the kitchen. Astonishment checked the customary greeting.

"Howdy, ma'am, I expect yo're s'prised to see me," Jake said, as he removed his hat and sat down.

"What--do you want?" she stammered.

"I'm peckish, an' not partic'lar; I'll leave it to you," he replied.

She served him in silence, and he too had nothing to say until he had done full justice to the food, but his eyes were busy and found her more desirable than ever. When she came to remove the empty plates, he was rolling a smoke.

"That was bully," he complimented. "I once said you couldn't cook; I was wrong."

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

"You've made a new place o' the shack," he went on. "Curtains, tablecloths, everythin' clean, it's a dandy layout, an' good grub. I allus said it takes a woman to make a go of a joint like this. I hope the hawgs appreciate it." A tiny frown creased her brow at the epithet, but all she said was, "My customers seem to like it."

"Trade good, huh? Makes me feel 'most sorry I sold out. There's possibilities here. Build an extension--a dance-hall, freight in a pianner, an' have social evenin's, mebbe a game or two. It'd need capital, but I could find that"

"I have no desire to sell."

"I ain't suggestin' any such thing," lie continued. "You'd run the show, just exactly as you pleased, understan'? Yo're the king-pin; I put up the dollars an' be sort o' pardner." He paused for a moment. "Why, what's the matter with makin' it a real pardnership?" He bent forward, his eager eyes devouring her, and she realized that, for the time being, at least, he was in earnest.

"Are you, by any chance, asking me to marry you?" she said coldly.

"Shore I am--I've allus wanted you," he cried. "I ain't no good at makin' fancy speeches, but I'll treat you right. Mebbe I run a bit wild after you took Gray; that's all over. Girl, we'd have a shore-enough bonanza in this of barn. What d'you say?"

"No, now and always," she replied steadily.

The low voice carried conviction, and the crash of his new-born hopes aroused his anger. Thrusting a threatening face near to her own, he spoke through his clenched teeth:

"I'm not yore class, I s'pose? One o' these days I'll make you ask for what you just turned down. I'll "

"Why, Mister Mullins, what brings yu amongst us again?" The ruffian turned round. Dave Masters was smiling, but his eyes were flinty. Entering from the rear, he had approached unnoticed. Jake had his answer ready :

"I come to see Dutch--heard he was here."

"Yu heard correct; we'll go find him," Dave remarked cheerfully. "All yu've gotta do is pay for what yu've had." He looked at the used crockery. "Steak an' fixin's, pie, cawfee--that'll set yu back one dollar. Ante up, an' we'll be goin'." Jake's expression was one of irate doubt; he did not know how to deal with this apparently good-tempered young man, who had, however, handled Sark--a big fellow--capably.

Outside, the deputy looked at his companion with twinkling eyes. "We'll need a spade," he said.

The visitor's start of surprise was well done. "You tellin' me Dutch is dead?"

"Adam ain't no deader. Didn't yu know?"

"Ain't seen him since the day I left Welccme--we fell out," Mullins lied. "How did it happen?"

"He was ridin' in the dark, got throwed, an' hurt his back," was the somewhat incomplete explanation.

"Talked some, before he passed out--wild stuff 'bout a bank hold-up, an' mentioned yore name." Apprehension came and went like a flash, but Dave saw it. "Must 'a' bin out'n his head," Jake replied, the mask of indifference back again. "I don't take no stock in the ravin's of a dyin' man. Now, if you've finished shootin' oft yore mouth, I'll be on my way."

"Just one more thing," Masters returned. "I heard yu raise yore voice to Mrs. Gray. That ain't allowed, an' I'm servin' notice on yu to get out an' stay out o' this burg, or by the livin' God I'll send yu to join Dutch. yu sabe?" The careless, bantering youth had gone, and in his stead was a hard-faced man, with a jutting jaw and hostile eyes, who clearly meant what he said. So swift had been the change that for one bewildered moment, Jake stared at him in silence. Then he remembered that he had been given an order.

"This ain't finishin' here," he warned.

"I'd noticed that," came the gibe. "Split the wind, yu misfit." With studied deliberation, the ruffian rode down the street, and the young man's eyes gleamed mischievously. Pulling his gun, he sent a couple of bullets under the pony's pacing feet, flinging the frightened beast into a mad gallop, and nearly unseating the surprised rider. Then, with a contented grin, he went into the restaurant, just as its owner, white-faced, appeared.

"I heard shots," she said.

"His hoss was lazy--I just livened it up some," he explained. "What was he after?" The colour came back into her cheeks. "He was after--me," she replied demurely.

"The devil he was?"

"Your astonishment is hardly a compliment," she smiled. "Yu know I didn't mean it thataway."

"You only make it worse; I'm afraid you'll never be a success with the ladies."

"I don't aim to be, 'cept with one," he said warmly.

She changed the subject. "I haven't seen the marshal to- ay.

"Gone to the Bar O; told me to stay an' keep shop," Dave informed. "Said there might be another unruly customer to chuck out. Now how in blazes could he know that?" She shook her head. "He is a clever man; if I had any secrets I should be afraid of him. Did he say anything else?" Dave grinned gleefully. "Shore, he reminded me to make the fella pay first, an' I did--this time." The subject of their conversation was certainly on his way to the Bar O, but the route he had selected was by no means the nearest. In fact, he had gone straight to the Silver Mane. The place had a fascination, and he was convinced that it held a secret. But he failed again to find anything, and after a patient search, he gave up and rode along The Step until he came to where it dipped down and could be crossed.

On the far side, he found a wide slope of sparse grass, and presently he came upon cattle, grazing in twos and threes. Acting on an impulse, he chased one group, and when sufficiently near, whirled his rope. The loop dropped neatly over the head of a steer, and Nigger sat back on his haunches. The running beast went down as though its feet had been snatched from under it, with a jar which knocked the breath out of its body. Ere it could recover, the horseman was by its side.

He needed but one look; true, it was a Dumb-bell brand, but one half was inflamed, having evidently been recently added. To make sure, he ran down several other bunches, and without troubling to use his rope again, found further damning evidence.

"Reckon this will interest Owen," he said grimly. "I'll have to go to the Bar O after all." But he was saved the trouble, for on covering only a few miles, he heard a hail, and saw the rancher coming towards him.

"'Lo, Jim," he greeted. "Seen any cattle-hungry hombres around?"

"No, but I'd like to show yu somethin' if yu ain't in a hurry."

"I got all the time there is."

"C'mon then," Sudden invited. He swung his horse round and the other followed.

"Smart work snatchin' the pot from those bank-breakers," the rancher remarked. "You must 'a' been born lucky, Jim." Sudden did not reply, save by a smile, bitter, without mirth. He was thinking of the youth--not then twenty--who, on the flimsiest evidence, had been branded thief and murderer, a price put upon his head, driven to herd with outlaws and fight for his freedom.1 Lucky? Well, perhaps he was--to be alive.

They crossed The Step and soon came upon the cattle. The marshal roped and threw one, Owen watching the operation with appreciative eyes; rarely had he seen such skill and precision; he said as much.

"Punchin' is my business," was the reply. "Take a squint at the brand, an' give me yore opinion." One look sufficed, but one word did not. "Sark?" Owen cried. "So he's the damned, dirty, thievin' dawg? Of all the ..." A string of blistering, vitriolic terms tripped from his tongue in swift succession until, invention and breath failing, he stopped, looked at the marshal--and laughed.

"Damn' silly, but if I didn't cuss I'd just naturally explode," he excused. "But that's enough to make any cattleman mad, ain't it?"

"Shorely, but there's one thing I can't understand," Sudden replied. "The brand is badly botched--a kid could do better, an' I reckon Sark's hands are cowmen."

"Some of 'em are better gunmen," Owen responded. "I'm needin' an explanation right now. Let's go." Driving their captive before them, they set out.

As they drew near the forest, they could see the ranch-house standing clear of the trees, with the other buildings and corrals a little distance away. Constructed mainly of 'dobe, it was larger and more pretentious than the Bar O. It had the usual raised terrace in front, giving access to the dwelling, and below this, flower-beds had been laid out, but these now showed every sign of neglect.

"Amos had 'em made for Mary Gray," Owen said. "It's a blazin' shame they should belong to this coyote."

"I'm agreein' with yu. He's comin' to meet us. Keep yore wool on, John; we're an easy mark." In fact, Sark was swinging towards them, but presently he stopped and waited for them to ride up. His expression of insolent surprise was not one of welcome.

"Well, well, the last two people I'd expect to bring me a present," he began, his gaze on the steer, still held by Sudden's rope.

"Look at the brand," Owen said curtly.

Sark stepped closer. "Ragged work," he replied coolly. "If I can find out who did it, he gets his time. I'm obliged to you."

"Quit stallin'," Owen rapped out.

"You suggestin' I'm stealin' yore cattle?"

"What else? Here's a beast with my iron altered to yores an' there's others where we found it, just this side o' The Step, on yore range." Sark glared. "A part I don't use," he said, "but no matter. Listen: when I want the Bar O, I'll take it--hook, line, an'sinker, not a few measly cows at a lick. Get that? Now, make tracks, afore I have you run off my land, an' take yore hired killer with you." He had raised his voice, and several men--appearing from the outbuildings--drew nearer. Sudden saw the backward glance and spoke for the first time :

"I wouldn't crow too loud, even if yu are on yore own dung-hill. An' don't rely on that bunch o' bush-whackersyu'd be buzzard's meat when they started anythin'. That"--he pointed to the steer--"needs explainin'; I've seen men hanged on slimmer evidence." The cold, passionless tone brought Sark up with a round turn. He spat disgustedly.

"My fellas would do a better job than that, an' wouldn't leave the cattle where you could find 'em till the wounds were healed," he pointed out. "I'd say someone is doin' this to throw suspicion on the Dumb-bell, an' cover their own tracks."

"If you'd said that right off we might 'a' believed you," was Owen's comment. "If you ain't liftin' the cattle, I'll bet a blue stack yo're buyin' 'em. It wouldn't be the first rotten trick you've turned, you--jail-bird." Sark's face became livid. Dumb with rage, he made a movement towards his gun.

"I--just--wouldn't," the marshal said.

Simple as the words were, they carried a threat which penetrated the mind of the half-demented man. His hand stopped, and then, with a furious wave of dismissal, he turned and walked back to his ranch-house. Owen had a parting shaft:

"We're leavin' the cow you paid for." No response coming, they rode unhurriedly away. For a while neither spoke; the marshal was the first to break the silence.

"Has he really been a guest o' Uncle Sam?"

"Yeah, it ain't generally knowed, but he got two years in the pen; that finished him with Amos."

"Yet he leaves him practically all his property. Odd, ain't it?"

"So damned odd I can't believe it, but the will seemed straight enough. O' course, Amos was queer in some ways, but he thought a lot o' Mary." Another silence ensued, and then the rancher remarked, "Well, I got troubles o' my own. What am I to. do 'bout this brand-blottin'?"

"Yu can't move till yu know for shore," Sudden told him. "It might be a frame-up like he claims."

"I'll stake my life he's mixed up in it," Owen said stubbornly. "They steal, an' he buys--cheap; that's my guess."

"Yu may be right," Sudden agreed. "I was watchin' him close an' he didn't seem so surprised as he oughta been, but we gotta have proof. It'll mean waitin', but we'll get it. I'm beginnin' to feel a whole lot interested in Mister Sark."

Chapter XII

SEVERAL days had passed, and Sudden was again at the Silver Mane, watching the sheet of water sweep over The Step, to drop, with a continuous boom, into the stream beneath and go dancing and eddying away between the willow-lined banks.

He waded through the water and rode to the other side. Dense masses of evergreen masked the sides of the fall, but pushing into these he found a narrow space between them and the wall of rock. Following this, he came to a ledge of stone some three feet in width, directly under the Silver Mane, and there, completely concealed, was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Though it was high enough to admit a horseman, he decided to explore on foot.

As he had expected, the opening led into the bowels ofThe Step itself. By the light which came, as from a window, through the sheet of water, he could see innumerable hoof-marks, both of horses and cattle. So this was how Pockmark's companion had got clear.

The tunnel sloped slightly upwards, and from the roughness of the walls it was evident that man had no hand in the making of it. As the faint light from the entrance failed he found that the passage veered to the left, and since it soon became entirely dark, he had to feel his way. He had covered something more than two hundred paces when a voice came to him, reverberating weirdly through the gloom.

"I'll see you," it said, and a curse followed. "Damn it, two-handed poker never was no good to me." Sudden went on, but more warily, until, groping round a bend, he saw that which sent him swiftly behind a projecting spur of rock--a fire, and beside it, two men playing cards on a spread blanket. The leaping flames showed that here the tunnel gave upon a large and lofty cave, the full extent of which he was unable to determine; on the far side, through an irregular opening, he could see daylight.

The gamblers were conversing in low tones, and the marshal was considering an attempt to get near enough to overhear when an indefinite sound of movement from behind arrested him. Ere he could even turn, a heavy body dropped on his back and sent him sprawling. At the same moment, steel-like claws gripped his throat and strove to choke him. Spread-eagled on the ground, his face forced into the sand, and pinned down by the panting burden above him, he was well-nigh helpless; but not quite. Arching his spine, he bucked violently in a desperate effort to throw off the weight which was crushing the breath from his body. He came near enough success to draw speech from his assailant:

"Hi, fellas, come an' give a hand." The card-players rushed over and flung themselves on the struggling pair just as Sudden had again almost unseated his rider. But those digging fingers on his wind-pipe were sapping his strength, and the reinforcement rendered resistance futile. He drove a heel into the midriff of one newcomer, to send him down, groaning and gasping, but that was all; a few more hectic moments, and his wrists were tied behind his back. The two who had done this stood up, breathing hard; it had been no picnic.

"That's that," one of them said.

The prisoner's guns were removed and he was hustled to the fire. As they entered the circle of light, the one who had spoken before emitted a whistle of astonishment.

"The marshal, by thunder ! If we'd knowed you were payin' us a visit, the welcome would 'a' bin warmer."

"I ain't complainin'," Sudden replied. He remembered the man, Galt, who had left Welcome with Mullins; the third he did not know. He sat down. "Nice place yu got here," he remarked casually.

"Yeah," Pock-mark snarled. "an' as we aim to keep it to ourselves, yore findin' it may be awkward--for you." *

"I'll have to talk that over with Jake," Sudden said coolly.

"Shore you will. Better fetch him, Pocky--he's at the corral," the third man said, and was promptly cursed by the others. "Hell, what's the odds? Dead men don't squeak." They wrangled for a few moments and then the pitted ruffian departed, grumbling. The remaining couple squatted one on either side of the captive. Galt picked up Sudden's guns and examined them.

"Thought you was a killer," he remarked. "There ain't a notch on 'em."

"They're kind o' new," the marshal said gravely. "My old ones was so carved up that there warn't sca'cely any wood left, an' it spoilt the balance; I was shootin' fellas through the eyes 'stead of atween 'em. Not that I had any complaints, but I like to do a neat job." The rustlers received this boastful bit of imagination with hard grins and the conversation languished. This was not tothe marshal's liking. He was testing the bonds on his wrists; the rope was thick for the purpose, and not tied in the manner of an expert cowman. He could feel the knots give a little, and with the loss of some skin, there was a chance of freeing himself. But he must have time, and keep their attention occupied.

"Ever travelled in Texas?" he asked, and when both shook their heads, "Fine country, but too many law-officers an' coyotes." The speaker paused, but his hands went on working; the knots were slackening.

"Is there any difference?" Galt asked.

"On'y in the number o' legs," Sudden agreed pleasantly. His hands were nearly free; if he could hold their attention another moment.

Galt guffawed. "That's a good one."

"An' here's a better," the marshal added.

With the words his right fist swung round and landed with venomous precision on the rustler's chin, stretching him senseless; one leap put the prisoner in possession of his weapons, and before the other man could recover from the paralysing swiftness of the attack, a crashing blow from the butt of a gun tumbled him by the side of his companion. The murmur of voices outside warned Sudden that he had no time to lose, and gaining the tunnel, he dashed down it at the risk of breaking a limb. Reaching the outlet safely, he found his horse, and set out for the Bar O. He had not gone far, however, when the unwitting reference to a corral recurred to him. It would not be for the horses--they would want those handy, and Pocky had been quite a while fetching Jake.

"They'll flit now their hide-out is discovered," he reasoned. "An' mebbe try to take some stock along. If I can find the other entrance to that cave . . ."

"Yi-i-i-i-i-i-ip ! " The shrill call advented the approach of a racing pony which slid to a stop by the marshal's side. The rider straightened up and disclosed the cheerful features of the Bar O foreman.

"Found any rustlers?" was his greeting.

"Yeah, like to see some? If yu got nothin' to do ..."

"Me? I just come out for a ride."

"Is there a gully runnin' at right angles to The Step and just south o' the fall?" asked Sudden.

"Yu mean Dark Canyon--one hell of a place. There's no way out this end, an' don't I know it? Tried her for a short cut once; I was wrong."

"I expect yu didn't look careful," was all the sympathy he got.

Reaching the place, they dismounted and crept through the thick brush which fringed the edges of the gully. There was no sign of life, save birds.

"We're outa luck," he said. "Let's try further along." They pushed their way to another position some fifty yards distant, and were duly rewarded; in an open patch below stood a group of saddled ponies, two of which carried packs. Then, from behind a dark mass of undergrowth, men appeared, eight of them, mounted and set out.

"Why, there's Jake," Reddy whispered excitedly.

"Shore it is, an' we gotta follow. Fetch the hosses." For about a mile they kept pace with the riders, of whom they got only occasional glimpses. This brought them to a spot where the walls of the gully flattened out a little as it mounted towards the level of the surrounding country, and here was a grassy hollow, hedged in by thorn bushes, with a pool of water at one side. The entrance to this was closed with a crude gate of trimmed sapling trunks; inside the corral a score of cattle grazed peacefully.

"What we goin' to do?" Reddy asked, as they watched Mullins and his men ride up, and two of them jump down to remove the barrier.

"Scare 'em off," Sudden replied. "When yu've fired, break ground quick an' let 'em have another, pronto; they'll figure there's a lot of us." One after the other, they pulled trigger, and without waiting to see the result, ran a few yards right and left to repeat the process. The unexpected attack from unseen assailants caused something approaching a panic among the rustlers. The pair on foot dropped the pole they were lifting and jumped for their mounts; one of the riders cursed and grabbed his left arm; another reeled, but kept his seat in the saddle; a pack-animal squealed and kicked, dragging on its lead-rope. The fusillade from above continued and some of those below made an attempt to retaliate, firing at the smoke, but their leader soon saw the hopelessness of their position; they were just targets.

"It's no use, boys," he shouted. "Leave the cows an' git goin'." He set the example by spurring his horse for the mouth of the gully, and the rest followed. The marshal watched them.

"They're headin' north--for the hills," he said.

"One ain't," Reddy corrected, as a rider separated from the others and turned west. "Now what's that mean?"

"At a guess, I'd say Jake is visitin' the Dumb-bell." They rode to the end of the gully, and turning in, arrived at the corral. The remains of a fire, a straight iron lying beside it, betrayed the purpose to which the place had been put. The steers were Bar O three-year-olds, and on four of them the brand had been clumsily changed to the Dumbbell. Reddy snorted with disgust.

"Shore looks like yo're right about Sark," he said. "Jake ain't the sort to be makin' presents." Having rounded up the cattle, they commenced the task of driving them to the Bar O.

When, in due course, they drew rein at the ranch-house, Owen himself welcomed them with a whoop, inspected the recovered stock, frowned at the altered brands, and then dragged the two men indoors, eager to hear all about it. When Sudden told of the tunnel behind the Silver Mane, the eyes of both his listeners went wide.

"I warn't smart enough to remember that others might be usin' the tunnel," the marshal said ruefully, and related his capture and escape. "Then I met Reddy, an' the rest was easy," he finished.

"You done noble," Owen said warmly. "Wonder where they've gone?"

"They'll leave a trail."

"Not in the hill country they won't," the foreman stated.

The marshal's eyes twinkled. "One o' them pack-hosses had a sack o' meal across its rump," he said. "I put a bullet into it." The cattleman slapped his knee. "you think of every-thin', you durned ol'--methodis'," he grinned.

Chapter XIII

WELCOME lay sweltering in the midday sun. The marshal, his deputy, and factotum, draped over the only three chairs in the office, were smoking and sweating in silent discomfort.

"It's a nice day to go for a ride," Sudden remarked, after a while.

"It's a nicer day not to," Dave contradicted.

"Sloppy, wasn't yu around when Amos Sark was bumped?" Sudden went on.

The little man, who had been half-asleep, became swiftly awake. His expression was one almost of alarm, but he answered without hesitation.

"Yeah, I was livin' at Drywash."

"yu know where it happened?"

"The fella what--found him, pointed it out to me."

"I'd like to see it."

"Why, it took place over a year ago; what yu expect to find?"

"Oh, I'm curious."

"Curious is puttin' it mild--yo're a freak," Dave rejoined. They passed a side trail which would have taken them to the Dumb-bell ranch, and about a mile further on, Sloppy halted. "Here she is," he said.

In the bright sunlight it was difficult to conceive that there a man could be foully done to death, and yet the spot possessed the one necessary adjunct. The road, deep-rutted, was open, save for scattered trees, but on one side a solitary cluster of low bushes offered safe cover for a lurking assassin. Ten yards away was a young birch, and to this Sloppy pointed.

"Amos was lyin' there, on his face, arms spread; they figured he'd went over the hoss's head," he informed. "His money was missin'."

"So it might 'a' been robbery?"

"Yeah," Sloppy agreed, but his tone was not very convincing. "The track o' the slug showed he was shot from behind." The marshal dismounted and walked to the bushes. They were close-growing, but at the back was an opening where a man could stand and command a view of *_he road in both directions. With the barrel of a pistol he poked about in the rubble of lead leaves and coarse grass which obscured the roots of the shrubs. Presently he heard the unmistakable clink of metal against metal. The find proved to be a small, brass tobacco-box, dull and discoloured by exposure to the elements. It was empty, but on the lid inside, rudely scratched, were the letters E.K. Returning, he showed it to his companions.

"Remember anyone with those initials?" he asked Sloppy, and got a shake of the head for answer. "Then it don't help us any."

"Plenty people use this road," Dave said. "One of 'em could 'a' throwed it there."

"That's so," Sudden agreed, and slipped the box into a pocket. "Sloppy, d'yu know much about that law-sharp yu mentioned to me?"

"Slimy? Not enough to hang him--more's the pity."

"What's he done to yu?"

"Nothin'--I ain't anythin' to lose, so I'm safe from his kind."

"I'm beginnin' to suspect yu don't like the fella," Sudden said. "Amos Sark trusted him."

" `Used' is a better word," Sloppy retorted. "By all accounts, Amos could smell a skunk, two-legged or four."

"He let him make his will," the marshal persisted.

"I'm lettin' this hoss carry me, but I ain't trustin' him," the little man said, with a wry smile.

Nippert examined the brass box and shook his head. "Funny findin' it where you did, but it don't prove a thing," he said. "Yo're a clever guy, Jim, but the shootin' o' Amos Sark is goin' to be one too many for you."

"Dessay yo're right," Sudden rejoined. "I did hope them letters would give me a line. What sort of a burg is Dry-wash?"

"A lot bigger'n Welcome, an' as tough as a rawhide," was the reply. "They got a sheriff there--Blick--but Jesse Sark owns him, like he would the marshal here if you hadn't come along. You'll on'y be wastin' yore time there."

"I guess I'll look the place over," Sudden said carelessly.

So, in the morning, he set out. Curiosity was the excuse he gave his friends, but the real incentive was the possibility of unearthing information about the murder, in which the discovery of the tobacco-box had stimulated his interest. Amos must have had friends and probably enemies, there.

He had compassed about half the journey when, having crossed an arid area and entered the welcome shade of a small forest, he turned in his saddle just as a rider appeared on the other verge of the plain.

Concealed in the undergrowth, he waited, but when the rider at length arrived, jogging steadily along, it was Sudden who got the surprise, for the traveller proved to be Jesse Sark.

"What's his errand in Drywash?" he asked himself. "Mebbe I can find out." The leisurely pace enabled him to keep his quarry in sight without discovery, for the rancher rode with hunched shoulders, apparently deep in thought, and devoid of interest for what might be behind him. When they entered the town, it became more difficult, for though--as Nippert had said--it was a big place, it consisted of the inevitable one long street. Keeping in the rear of a loaded freight-wagon, Sudden contrived to trail his man to the Drywash Hotel. Here Sark dismounted and went in.

The marshal waited a while, and then--having ascertained that the bar was empty--followed. He ordered a drink and invited the shirt-sleeved dispenser of liquor to join him. Almost immediately a short, wizened, grey-haired man with a beak of a nose and lips so thin that they made a mere line on his face, bustled in and said sharply :

"Is Sark here?"

"Shore, Mister Lyman, in No. 7."

"Now, ain't that too bad?" Sudden drawled, when the other had vanished up a stairway. "I reckon I'll need a room to-night, an' seven is my lucky number."

"He don't off'n stay--just uses it for a business powwow, I guess," the bar-tender said. "I'll keep it for you."

"But I'm wantin' that apartment straight away--I've been ridin' since dawn, an' I'm aimin' to snatch a snooze afore I start in to set this burg alight," was the peevish reply.

"No. 6 is next door, an' just as good a room. If I'm gamblin' I like to begin with a loss."

"Somethin' in that too," Sudden allowed. "I'll go up pronto. Shore I'll take my spurs off--I ain't no wild man from the woods." With a broad grin, he went up the staircase and reached a corridor with numbered doors along one side. Stepping lightly as a cat, he located the one he was looking for and slipped noiselessly in. As he had hoped, the partition wall was of board, and with his ear pressed against it, much of the conversation in the next room was audible. Lyman was speaking, and his reedy voice was strident.

"So you've got the Bar O suspecting you, eh? That's not very clever."

"They can't prove or do anythin'," Sark replied. "I'm too strong for 'em."

"Jake seems to have muddled matters," the lawyer remarked. "A pity--it was a neat way of bleeding Owen."

"He was unlucky," Sark excused. "That cursed marshal..." Lyman cut short the string of oaths. "Blame yourself. Why the devil didn't you make a friend of the fellow instead of letting the Bar O get hold of him? These men all have their price. Now, I'll have to find a way to deal with him. Your head is just an ornament, and poor at that." To the surprise of the listener, Sark took the rating meekly. "I ain't got yore brains, Seth, but he queered our plan to make Mullins marshal, an' so "

"you have to show your hand by making an enemy of him?" the lawyer said testily. "One marshal is as good as another, if he's taking your pay. How are you getting on with the girl?"

"Oh, we're good friends," was the careless reply. "I don't want to rush things."

"No, you tried that and failed, didn't you? Don't lie to me, Jesse; I know what happens in Welcome."

"I was lit up, but she'll listen to reason."

"She'll have to, but it was another stupid blunder. Let it be the last, or . . ." Silence ensued, and then Sark said, "By the way, Seth, I've bin thinkin' that if yore office got burned out, or if anythin' happened to you, them papers "

"Are in a safer place than my office," Lyman interrupted.

1 1 A

"And if I met with misfortune, my friend, it would be awkward--for one Jesse Sark."

"But, hell, you might drop dead in the street, an' then "

"My troubles would be over and yours would begin," was the grim retort. "Brought the cash?"

"Yeah, an' it takes a lot o' findin'," Sark grumbled. "With Jake an' his men in the discard it'll be harder."

"Don't talk like a fool. They must go on worrying the Bar O, whittling down their herds, until Owen is willing to sell--at our price. I hear Mary Gray is doing well out of her eating-house; no chance of cutting in on her trade, I suppose?"

"Not any, the marshal an' his side-kick have made the town solid for her."

"She's got courage, ability, and looks," the lawyer said. "You're going to be a lucky fellow, if you play your cards properly. If I were twenty years younger ..."

"Well?" The other laughed wheezily. "I'm not, so it doesn't matter. Now, no hanging about here; get back to the Dumbbell." This was evidently not in accordance with the rancher's intentions. "Damn it, Seth, a chap must have some fun," he protested. "Yo're askin' too much."

"I'm not asking anything," Lyman rasped. "I'm giving orders." Sudden heard the door slam, the sound of one pair of feet on the stairway, and then Sark's hoarse, angry voice:

"you blood-suckin' leech. One o' these days I'm goin' to squeeze that shrivelled wind-pipe till the breath leaves yore rotten carcase." Having hurled this valediction at a man who could not hear it, he too departed. The eavesdropper waited until he consisted the coast would be clear. He found the barman in conversation with a stocky, abnormally broad individual, whose sheriff's star occupied a prominent position on his vest. His pig-like eyes, deep-sunk in a fat, pimply face, surveyed the stranger truculently. The latter's badge was not in evidence.

"Visitor, I guess," he opened.

"The same," Sudden returned easily. "Sheriff. I see."

"Correct, an' the name is Blick--mebbe you've heard o' me?" the officer said pompously.

"I'm new to these parts--just ridin' through," the marshal replied, and when the barman reminded him that he had booked a bed, added, "I like to play safe; sleepin' on my saddle ain't no treat for me."

"Cowpunch, huh?"

"yeah, but just now I'm takin' a li'l va-cation. Which is the best place in this township for a fella to amuse his-self?"

"The Square Deal," the sheriff replied. "Good liquor, pretty gals, an' straight games--you'll find 'em all there."

"Your joint?"

"Shore, but I ain't boostin' it on that account, eh, Tom?" This to the bar-tender, who shook his head and winked slyly to his other customer. "I'm a square man, an' a square deal has allus bin my motto, which explains the name. Come an' see for yoreself." He emptied his glass, and without waiting for an answer, strutted out. Sudden's sardonic eyes followed the stubby figure until it vanished behind the swinging door, and then turned to encounter the grinning face of the barman.

"He's certainly square--to look at," he commented.

"An' that's as far as it goes," the other said viciously. "Him an' Slimy run this burg to suit theirselves an' both of 'em is bad right through. If you win at Blick's, some yaller-haired hussy'll take it from you, an' if she don't, there'll be strong-arm gents waitin' outside." The marshal opened his wide shoulders. "Them last will have an interestin' time."

"Forget it," Tom told him. "Hocussed liquor makes their job easy." 114

"That's different. I'm obliged to yu, friend." Having put his horse in the hotel stable, and carried his saddle and rifle up to his room, he went in search of a meal. He found one, plentiful enough but poor as regards quality and cooking.

"Mrs. Gray is spoilin' me," he reflected as he came out. "She'd make a fortune here." Drywash was a busy place, for despite the heat, there was a certain amount of bustle and activity. Pedestrians of both sexes hurried or sauntered along the sidewalks, and outside the drinking dives men lounged, chatting and smoking. One of these spoke as the marshal swung past.

"Another sucker for Blick an' his like to trim," he laughed.

Further along the street, the object of their interest abruptly slid behind the projecting corner of a store as a familiar form stepped out; it was Galt. With his hat pulled well over his eyes, Sudden followed until the rustler disappeared into a building, on the door of which was the name, "S. Lyman." The marshal came away, and proceeded to try out a plan he had conceived. Entering a saloon, he ordered a drink, and reaching out the brass box--which now contained tobacco--began to construct a cigarette. None of the other customers evinced any interest, and leaving, he repeated the process at a number of places, but without meeting any success.

"There's nothin' to it," he decided. "It was a long shot, at the best." Night was coming on when at length he paid a visit to the Square Deal. It was large, and vulgarly ornate, the planed log walls garishly decorated with gaudy, gilt-framed mirrors, and pictures which owed nothing to art or decency. The shining mahogany bar, with its resplendent array of bottles, was an inmposing feature. To the right were the various games of chance provided by the establishment, and to the left a portion of the boarded floor was devoted to dancing; the space between contained tables and chairs.

117 The women present, for the most part, were employed by the house to dance and drink with the customers; their painted faces and tawdry attire proclaimed the fact.

The saloon was filling up, and the jangle of the ill-treated piano mingled with the medley of voices. No sooner had the marshal entered than a golden-haired girl in a crumpled muslin frock which displayed her figure somewhat freely, minced up and caught his arm.

"Buy me a drink," she invited. "I like cowboys." Sudden slipped a bill into her hand.

"Get yoreself one," he said. "I'm playin' another game tonight." She shrugged her bare shoulders. "Dame Fortune is hard to woo," she said. "You would find me less difficult." She thrust the money into the breast of her dress, and her bold eyes softened. "Good luck, friend, but--don't buck the wheel --for much." The last words were a mere whisper, spoken as she skipped away to be instantly caught in the arms of another man and dragged to the dancing floor. The marshal joined the crowd round the roulette board, and soon saw that the girl's warning had been well-meant; the wheel was under the control of the operator, who allowed small bets to win; worth-while wagers almost always lost. He collected a few dollars and drifted to the bar. A frowsy, half-tipsy fellow of about forty was arguing with the man behind it.

"You know me, Len," he said. "I've spent a lot o' coin here, an' now, when I'm cleaned, you won't stake me to a drink."

"You know the rule, Lumpy," Len replied, and jerked a thumb at a big notice behind him which read, "No trust."

"Have one with me," Sudden suggested, laying down a dollar.

"Why, that's mighty gen'rous o' you, stranger," Lumpy said, and grabbed the glass eagerly.

"Shucks ! " was the smiling reply. "I've been thirsty my own self."

"I dunno nothin' wuss," Lumpy said. "I once went three year without a man's drink, an' " He stopped, staring amazedly at his benefactor, who was rolling a smoke. "You ain't him, but you got his baccy-box, or the twin of it," he muttered.

"Know a fella who carries one o' these?" the marshal asked carelessly.

"Useter, but ain't seen him for a long whiles."

"This atmosphere would poison a dawg. I'm for fresh air. Comin'?" The other finished his liquor and followed. In the dark of the street, lessened only by the glow of an occasional lighted window, Sudden spoke again:

"I'd give twenty bucks to find the owner o' that box." The drunkard's eyes gleamed; he would have parted with his soul for that amount. His story was brief. He had known the man, who called himself "Ezra Kent," some two years earlier, in Bentley, but could not say what had become of him.

Sudden thought this over. The name fitted the initials, of which his informant had no knowledge. Bentley was about a hundred miles north, and possessed a prison; he remembered the enforced abstinence, smiled, and asked what Kent was doing there?

"Time," was the laconic answer. "He was in with his buddy--fellow Ezra called `Jesse'--but I didn't know him. What were they like? Well, now you got me--men look pretty much the same in the pen. Both was biggish built, an' favoured each other some. No, I ain't set eyes on neither of 'em since." Satisfied that the fellow could tell him no more, Sudden handed over the promised reward, and returned to the hotel.

Darkness was only beginning to give way to daylight when an urgent rap on the door awakened him. It proved to be the bar-tender.

"There's a man for breakfast this mornin', friend, an' if I was you I wouldn't wait for none," he said. "We've a back way to the stables, an' by keepin' behind the buildin's you can git clear o' the town without bein' seen."

"A killin', huh?" the marshal asked. "What I gotta do with that?"

"Nothin', I reckon, which is why I'm warnin' you, but he was last seen alive in yore comp'ny, when you took him out'n the Square Deal. Where'd you go after?"

"That fella? Why, we talked a bit outside an' then I came along here. He told me somethin' I wanted to know an' I gave him twenty dollars."

"He was found, stabbed in the back with his own knife, an' pockets empty. They're routin' out the sheriff now, an' knowin' his methods, you ain't got a chance."

"Runnin' away will pin the crime on me," Sudden objected.

"Mebbe, but it'll make it possible for you to go on breath- in'," the barman said drily. "I know this burg." The marshal saw the argument was sound. So, with a word of thanks to this friend in need, he hurried to the stable, saddled his horse, and slipped away unobserved.

He covered the first few miles at full speed, and then, satisfied that he was safe from pursuit, since they could not know which way he had taken, slowed down, his brain busy with what he had discovered. He shook his head in despair.

"Nig, I'm gettin' my rope all snarled up," he confided. "Stretch yore legs, yu black rascal, an' head for breakfast; I never could think on an empty belly."

Chapter XIV

"WHERE'S the body?" was the greeting the marshal received from Dave on his return.

"I left it behind," he replied, truthfully enough.

Not another word could be got out of him until he had dealt fully with the food Sloppy hastened to prepare for him.

"Havin' fortified yore system against famine for the next twenty-four hours, is there anythin' else yu need?" Dave inquired, with elaborate sarcasm.

"Yeah, a smoke," Sudden smiled, and got out his makings. As he rolled the little tube, he added casually, "Ever heard of a jasper named Ezra Kent?" Both shook their heads, but into the elder man's eyes crept the apprehensive look which the marshal had seen before.

"We gotta find him--he owns that box. Also, Mister Lyman--who is shorely one o' Nature's mistakes--has Sark hawg-tied, which requires lookin' into." Dave was gazing out of the window. "yu got yore chance right now," he remarked. "There's Jesse, agoin' into the Red Light."

"Good," the marshal said, getting up. "No, yu two stay put--we don't want a crowd." He found Nippert and the rancher alone; the latter accosted him genially.

" 'Lo, marshal, glad you come in. I've just bin backin' down to Ned, an' that goes for you too. Reckon I was all wrong 'bout Jake--he's crooked, that fella, an' I'm through with him; he's made trouble enough for me a'ready." Sudden exchanged glances with the saloon-keeper, noted the slight nod, and replied fatuously, "Why, that's good hearin', Mister Sark. Me, I never was one to nurse a grudge."

"Fine," the Dumb-bell man said, with a great show of heartiness. "Set 'em up, Ned." He laughed ruefully as he raised his glass. "It won't be pleasant to eat crow to John Owen, but I'll have to, I guess."

"Here's to a better understandin'," the marshal toasted.

They drank, and Nippert's grin told that he had grasped the inner meaning of the last word. When the visitor called for cigars, Sudden decided in favour of a cigarette. The appearance of the brass box made Sark start violently, and when he spoke, his voice was not quite the same.

"That's an unusual thing for a cowpunch to carry," he said hoarsely. "Where'd you git it?"

"Picked it up--recent," was the offhand reply.

"Dessay there's hundreds aroun', but it's the first I've seen. What'll you take for it?" The marshal made a negative gesture. "I've got fond o' the durned contraption, an' it keeps my baccy moist." He lighted his cigarette and put the box away. "I hear Dry-wash is gettin' to be quite a town; I must look it over one day."

"I ain't bin there in weeks," Sark lied. "Too many saloons an' dance-halls. I've bin thinkin' it's time I settled down, with a woman o' my own."

"If you've come a-courtin', Welcome ain't got much to offer," the saloon-keeper said.

"Bah ! " Sark cut in. "There's on'y one woman I'd look twice at her an' that's Mary Gray." Receiving no comment, he went on eagerly. "It'd mean a lot for her to be back where she oughta be."

"Yeah, but I fancy I heard she didn't cotton to the idea," the saloon-keeper suggested.

"That's so, but I was oiled an' overplayed my hand. Anyways, I'm goin' to put it to her again. I reckon she'll see which side her bread is buttered."

"Yeah, an' mebbe forget that she eats both sides," Sudden rejoined.

Not quite knowing how to take this, Sark decided that it was meant humorously, laughed, and went out. The two men looked at one another, and the saloon-keeper chuckled.

"He must fancy we ain't cut our eye-teeth," he said.

Before the other could reply, Dave came bursting in. "Sark's gone into the Widow's," he announced. "What's he want?"

"It's a place o' public entertainment an' he might want a meal," the marshal pointed out. "If you gotta know, he'sgone to offer her the Dumb-bell ranch, includin' his most unworthy self." The young man promptly loosened his gun in the holster and moved towards the door, but his friend stepped in front of him. "I'm bettin' the little woman can manage her own affairs. What right yu got to butt in?" he said.

Dave had no answer to this, and stood moodily watching the street. Fifteen minutes only had elapsed when they saw the rancher come out, fling himself on his mount, and begin to use spurs and quirt immediately. Head down, he passed at a furious pace, still thrashing the beast beneath him.

"Either he's hurryin' to fetch a parson, or . . ."

"Did yu see his face?" Dave asked, his own alight. "Shore. I'll bet she made herself plain."

"She couldn't ever do that," Dave laughed, and flushed boyishly. "I mean "

"Shucks! Yo're makin' yoreself mighty plain," Sudden grinned, and sobering, "She ain't done with him yet." The marshal was right; even as he spoke the words, Sark's frenzied, evil mind was working as he rode recklessly in the direction of his ranch. Mary Gray had listened quietly to what he had to say, and then dismissed him with a finality which would have convinced the most sanguine wooer.

Directly he arrived at the Dumb-bell, he despatched an urgent message to Mullins. When the rustler rode in, some hours later, it was to find him in the same ugly mood.

"Wantin' me?" Jake asked.

"I've a job for you--if you want it. If not, I can find someone else."

"Suits me," Jake said, and turned to go.

Sark had not expected his bluff to be called. "Don't be a damned fool," he retorted irritably, and pushed the bottle across the table. "There's a pretty pickin' in this for you. Take a chair and a drink." The visitor did neither; this was an opportunity, and he meant to make the most of it. "How much?" he wanted to know.

"A thousand bucks."

"About a hundred apiece," Mullins sneered. "Chicken-feed. What have we gotta do for it?" Sark outlined his scheme, and the other listened in silence, considering how it fitted in with his own plans. Having come to the conclusion that it might further them, he sat down and helped himself to whisky.

"You mean to marry her?"

"Certainly, fair an' square, but she needs a little assistance in makin' up her mind."

"Awright for you, mebbe, but me an' my men'll have to pull stakes."

"Meanin' the price ain't high enough?"

"Jesse, there's times you show real intelligence," Mullins grinned. He was enjoying himself.

Sark considered. "I'll double it, but that's the limit." The rustler nodded; he had his own ideas about that too. "When do we git the dollars?"

"When I take over the goods. Yo're holdin' her to ransom, an' I come along with the needful. She oughta be grateful, an' she will if you play yore part right by puttin' the fear o' something worse than death into her. Sabe?"

"Betcha life. Fixed the time yet?"

"No," Sark replied. "Make yore preparations an' be ready for the word." Jake emptied his glass and stood up. "Make it soon," he said. "We're all broke." The man departed, and the master opened a fresh bottle, and sat, drinking and brooding, until it was time to turn in. He awoke in the morning with a bad head and a worse temper. Two cups of strong black coffee restored him somewhat, but he was still unsteady when he shambled into the living-room to find Lyman awaiting him. The lawyer's ferrety eyes considered him with very patent disgust."That rot-gut will be your finish," he said sharply.

Sark blinked at him owlishly. "Special occasion, ol' timer," he replied. "To celebrate my forthcomin' weddin'."

"She's consented?"

"Not yet, but she's goin' to. I'm fixin' it. See?"

"That you're still drunk, yes," Lyman said. "Explain." The cattleman complied, and in his fuddled state, failed to note the growing concern on his listener's face. When he concluded with a triumphant, "What d'you think of it?" Lyman sprang to his feet and said angrily:

"Not only drunk but mad. How do you expect to get away with it? Your name will stink."

"Yore hearin' ain't too good this mornin'," Sark retorted. "Jake is the villain o' the piece; I'm on'y the good fairy who comes to the rescue o' the damsel in distress by payin' her ransom." From outside came the drum of hurrying feet and a moment later the door was flung back and one of Sark's men strode in.

"S'cuse me, boss, but I figured you'd like to know quick that the marshal is startin' for Bentley this mornin'." The rancher's face registered both amazement and dismay. `Bentley? What's his errand there?" The messenger spread his hands wide. "He didn't tell me --musta forgot to," he replied drily.

Sark checked the angry reproof on his lips--he could not afford to quarrel with any of his outfit just now--and having ascertained that the marshal was travelling alone, dismissed the bringer of the news. Then he said hopefully:

"It may not mean anythin'--just a chance visit."

"I doubt it," Lyman said. "Did you ever know a fellow called `Lumpy'?"

"N-no," was the reply.

"You don't have to lie to me," was the stern answer. "Was it in Bentley that you knew this Lumpy?" and when the other hesitated, "You don't seem to realize that you're in a very tight place."

"We are," Sark corrected meaningly.

Lyman's thin shoulders lifted. "I've a complete answer," he said. "But you, if the marshal unearth anything . . ."

"Lumpy ain't seen me since--them days, or he'd 'a' made hisself known," Jesse argued. "I guess we're bogglin' at shadows."

"A man like that doesn't ride two hundred miles to admire the scenery," the lawyer observed. "There's just one way out, now--the plan you spoke of."

"Changed yore mind 'bout that, huh?"

"A person who isn't prepared to do so, in altered circumstances, will get nowhere," was the quiet reply. "I don't like it any the more, but put it across and you may keep the Dumb-bell; fail, and your best move will be to saddle your fastest horse and get as far from here as it will carry you." The cattleman glowered at the hunched-up, shrunken figure of the man who was telling him that all he possessed, perhaps even life and liberty, depended upon one desperate throw of the dice. But, with his next remark, the lawyer identified himself with the enterprise.

"We'll have to move fast, before that damned gunman gets back. It must be to-night."

"I'll send word to Jake right now," Sark said, and went at once to give the order. He returned wearing a satisfied smirk. "That's fixed then. To-morrow me an' her'll ride into Dry-wash an' git hitched. That'll "

"Tell everyone you had her abducted and land you neck-high in the mire," Lyman harshly interjected. "Listen: you'll get the news when it is brought, and don't forget to be properly amazed. Some days must pass before--as her only relative--a demand for the ransom reaches you."

"S'pose they search for an' find her?"

"There mustn't be any mistakes. Rescuing the girl should square you with Welcome, which--with your customary stupidity--you have rubbed the wrong way."

"Hell, Seth, you got no call to bawl me out like that," Sark protested. "My nerves is all shot up--been hittin' thebottle too much, I guess. I ain't forgettin' all you've done for me."

"You'd best not," was the ominous retort. "I'm the boss; bear that in mind and we'll get along. Keep me posted." With this autocratic farewell lie departed. Sark gazed after the huddled, black-coated form seated clumsily in the saddle as it moved slowly across the plain; the fear that makes men murder was in his eyes.

He splashed some liquor into a glass and raised it in mock salutation. "Here's to yore everlastin' damnation, my--friend."

Chapter XV

IT was past midnight and Welcome lay shrouded in unbroken darkness when a band of five masked riders, with a led animal, pulled up on the outskirts of the town and dismounted. Leaving two of their number to take charge of the horses, the other three stepped cautiously forward until they reached the rear of the restaurant. Despite the gloom they could see that the door was strongly built.

"Forcin' that will make a noise," one of them whispered to the tall man who appeared to be the leader.

"I ain't a fool, Javert," was the reply. "There was two keys to this lock an' I still got one of 'em." He stooped, fumbled for a moment, there was a slight grating noise, and the door swung back. With a cat-like tread, the marauders filed in, and made their way to the bedroom. One of them stumbled as he entered, and a female voice asked :

"Who is there?" Instantly Jake's rough hand closed her mouth. "One more sound an' it'll be the worse for you," he said hoarsely. "Git some clothes on, an' if you want yore brat to live, keep mum. Wrap up, it's cold outside."

"Where is my child?" she cried. "What have you done with it?"

"I told you not to talk," was the stern reply. "The kid's safe--so far; it depends on you. Git busy--you got five minutes." The indistinct shadows in the room faded away. With frantic haste she dressed, her heart pounding with fear. Who could these men be, and what did they want with her? The voice of their leader, though obviously disguised, had a familiar note. She heard the door open.

"Time's up."

"Where are you taking me?" she ventured.

"Wait an' see." With a sob of despair she surrendered and allowed them to lead her to where the horses were waiting, and lift her to the back of the spare one. Then the journey through the night began. Once she looked round, but could see no sign of the child; one rider, however, was behind the others, and it might be .. .

Sick with dread, she rode on, sitting slackly in the saddle, utterly overwhelmed by this sudden catastrophe.

They had been riding for hours--as it seemed to her--when the distant sound of tumbling water told her that they must be in the neighbourhood of the Silver Mane, the only fall of any size near Welcome. Were they bound for the Dumb-bell? Had Sark dared to do this thing? But the voice of the leader was not his, and presently, having crossed The Step, they veered northward, climbing a long slope, fording the creek above the fall, and heading, as she now guessed, for the hill country. Her heart grew heavier, as tales of the wild men, cattle-thieves and outlaws, who found a refuge in those almost inaccessible heights, recurred to her.

With the coming of the dawn, her gaze went anxiously to the rear, but the last rider was a mere blur in the grey, misty light.

"Keep yore eyes on the hoss," a harsh voice ordered. "The hardest part is to come." Furtively she studied the speaker, but her scrutiny told nothing. Then, as his mount made a mis-step, he dragged on his rein, and she saw a white scar--relic of an old wound --running across the back of his hand. Mullins! She knew now why the muffled voice had seemed familiar. The knowledge contributed little in the shape of comfort.

Worn out, listless, and full of fear, the girl was aware only of an unending procession of straight black tree-trunks through which they wound with unerring precision. These seemed to have a mesmeric influence, and she was indeed barely conscious when they rode into the growing daylight once more and stopped at a stout, two-storied block-house.

"Git down." The curt command aroused her, but stiff with cold and fatigue, she could not move; the man had to lift her from the saddle. The brief contact bred a repulsion which gave her new strength, and when he would have helped her further, she protested.

"I--can--walk." Nevertheless, he gripped one arm and led her into the building, through a large room, and up a rude staircase to a smaller one, in which was a pallet bed, covered with a couple of coarse blankets.

"Rough quarters, but you won't be here long--if yo're wise," he told her.

He went out, locking the door, but returned in a little while with a glass containing liquor. She shook her head.

"Drink it," he ordered. "I don't want a sick woman on my hands." With an effort she swallowed the fiery spirit, which, though it made her choke, produced a warm glow in her chilled body.

"Bring my child," she said. "I've kept my part of the bargain."

"Go on keepin' it an' you'll see him--later," he replied, and with a leer in the slitted eyes, "I'll have to learn you a lesson if you don't behave, an' I'm hopin' you won't. Sabe?" She sank down upon the bed and buried her face in her hands. The screech of the key as it turned in the lock drove home the helplessness of her position. While they held the child, she was tied, forced to comply with any demand they might make.

Night was drawing on when Sudden reached his destination. Bentley was larger even than he had expected, and the main street--for the place boasted more than one--was thronged. The brightly-lighted stores and saloons lit up a scene which, at another time, might have been interesting, but the marshal's long ride had left him with little appetite for further exertion. Moreover, he was not anxious for his presence to be known. So having secured a meal and a bed at one of the smaller hotels, he retired to rest.

Early next morning, he presented himself at the prison, situated about half a mile from the town. To the armed guard at the great iron gate, he explained who he was, and requested an interview with the Warden. After a short wait in a cell-like room furnished only with a couple of forms and a table, he was conducted across a wide yard to the main portion of the structure.

The room into which he was shown differed vastly from the one where he had waited. A comfortably-fitted office, the walls book-lined, chairs which invited occupation, a leather-covered desk, and behind it, a grey-haired man of fifty, who scanned his visitor closely.

"Have a seat, marshal," he said. "And tell me what I can do for you."

"I thought mebbe yu could give me some information which might help in a matter I'm lookin' into," Sudden explained.

"I'm at your service."

"I've heard that yu had here, some years back, a man named Jesse Sark. Is that so?" The Warden rose, reached down a heavy register, and turned the pages. "Here we are," he said. "Jesse Sark, clerk, convicted of robbing the bank where he was employed, and sent down for two years. There's a picture of him, if that interests you." It did; the marshal stared at it in astonishment. "That's not the fella," he said disappointedly.

"It was taken when he came in, and the name is an uncommon one."

"He must 'a' changed considerable," Sudden reflected aloud.

The Warden looked up sharply. "He probably has--men do when they're under the turf, I believe," he replied drily, and added, "Sark died just before his sentence was completed--we had an epidemic of fever in the prison." Sudden's face fell. "Seems I've been followin' a blind trail an' bothered yu for nothin'," he said. A thought occurred to him. "There's just one point: did yore Sark have a confederate called Kent?" The Warden consulted another volume, and, after a short search, pointed to a page. "This must be the one : Ezra Kent, convicted with, and sentenced to the same punishment as Sark. Discharged at the end of his term. His portrait is here also. Why, what is the matter, marshal?" For Sudden's expression was one of complete puzzlement. "But that's the man I know as Jesse Sark," he cried. "Yu couldn't 'a' got the pictures mixed up, I s'pose?"

"Not possible," was the reply. "And if it had happened, this man"--tapping Kent's photograph--"would be in his grave."

"Shore, that don't explain it," Sudden agreed. "Well, seh, I was beginnin' to fear I'd wasted my time, but what yu've told me is goin' to be mighty helpful, though there's some straightenin' out yet."

"Anything more I can do?"

"If yu could give me a writin' that Jesse Sark is dead," the marshal suggested. "Somebody may want to call me a liar." The Warden smiled, his gaze taking in the lithe, muscular frame, resolute jaw, and steady eyes. "Hardly a likely occurrence, I imagine, but in case ..." He wrote a few lines, signed them, and passed over the paper. "That will save any argument." Sudden thanked him, and stowed away the document.

The Warden observed that the visitor's eyes were roving along the orderly rows of registers. "Records of rascality--. a sad indictment of the human race."

"I was admirin' the system. I s'pose yu can turn up partic'lars of any person who has been through yore han's?"

"Certainly. Have you any name in mind?"

"Two--Webb an' Peterson." It did not take long. The first name appeared twice, but when he saw the portraits, the marshal shook his head; the second name was not to be found.

"We don't seem to have entertained your--friends," the Warden said.

"It was on'y a chance, but friends ain't just the right word." Looking at the set face, which had suddenly become cold and grim, the man from the East realized that he was plumbing unknown deeps; he would not have cared to be one of those two men. The visitor had picked up his hat, and was speaking:

"Yu been mighty good, seh. I'm obliged."

"Glad to be of use, marshal," he replied. "Come or send, if you need further assistance." Getting his horse, Sudden set off at once for home, his mind full of the astounding discovery he had made. Jesse Sark was no more, and Kent was personating him in order to steal the Dumb-bell range. A friend of the dead man, he would know enough about him to make the imposture possible, the more so as Sark had never been seen in Welcome.

Lyman must know, and probably the whole plan was his contrivance.

"He certainly has Kent cinched, an' there ain't much doubt as to who drilled Amos," Sudden mused.

The latter part of the interview recurred to him. That his final inquiry proved a failure did not disappoint him; he had expected it. "They'll have swapped names frequent by now," he muttered. "Allasame, I'll find 'em." (How he eventually kept his promise has been told in another place.1) "Get some action on them triflin' legs o' yourn, yu dollop o' darkness." The horse whinnied a reply, and lengthened its stride into a long, easy lope which sent the ground sliding beneath its feet and could be maintained for hours. Nevertheless, when the sun, a red ball of fire, was slowly sinking behind the western sky-line, he had still about ten miles to cover. But this contented him, and he eased the black to a more leisurely pace as they breasted a slope mottled with patches of brush. Here his complacency suffered a rude awakening.

He had bent forward to stroke the shiny neck of his steed when the silence was routed by the roar of a rifle and his hat went skimming into the dust. Instantly he flung himself headlong from the saddle as a second bullet followed the first. He landed on all-fours and scuttled behind a near-by clump of scrub. Nigger dashed off, but his master knew he would not go far.

Peeping through his cover, he could see small clouds of smoke vanishing above another bunch of bushes some fifty feet away. He shook a branch to the left of his position, and dropped flat; a rifle crashed and the slug cut the twigs above his head; he fired at the flash, more to gratify his resentment than with any hope of hitting the hidden marksman.

Lying broadside on to the enemy, he agitated the foliage with a foot. Immediately a bullet tore through the spot, and he sent two quick shots to the right and left of the spirt of flame, at once shifting his own position. It was well he did so, for the reply was instant. Silence ensued, and Sudden puzzled over the problem of putting an end to this strange duel. It was difficult, for there was no cover between the parties, and until dark came, neither could leave his shelter. A possibility suggested itself. Prone on his stomach, a revolver in each hand, he fired a dozen shots, spaced at about a foot apart and aimed at the bottom of the bushes behind which his antagonist must be lying. Then, reloading rapidly, he waited for the response.

None came. Half an hour passed and nothing happened. It was now almost dark, and the marshal resolved to run a risk. Gun in hand, he stood up and backed away, keeping the friendly scrub between himself and the enemy. Then, when he judged he could not be seen in the deepening dusk, he circled round and approached from the rear, moving with the stealth of an Indian. A shapeless blotch lay on the ground, a rifle beside it.

"I've got yu covered; keep still," he warned.

Getting no response, he stepped forward, turned the senseless form over, and struck a match. The man's eyes opened; it was Squint.

"For Gawd's sake, gimme a drink," he croaked.

A long, low whistle and Nigger appeared from the shadows. The marshal unbuckled his water-bottle and held it to the wounded man's lips.

"How much is Sark payin' yu for this?"

"Five hundred," Squint replied, and then, "What you drivin' at, Sark ain't "

"Too late, fella; second thoughts are not allus best," Sudden said. "Where yu hit?"

"In the chest, an' it hurts like blazes. Hop yore hoss--I guess I'm through."

"Shucks, yu'll swing yet," the other retorted, as he examined the hurt and fixed a crude bandage. "Think yu can make it to Welcome?"

"Don't wanta go there," Squint protested.

"O' course, I could waste another ca-tridge an' plant yuhere," Sudden said meditatively, and this, being what the bushwhacker himself would have done, closed the argument.

His horse was fetched from a thicket where it had been hidden, he was hoisted into the saddle, and they took the road.

"I was told yu'd thrown in with Mullins," Sudden hazarded.

The man shot a sly glance at his questioner. "Never heard of him," he said.

"A pore liar too. How did Sark get hold o' yu?"

"I was busted an' went to him for a job."

"An' fell down on it. But don't yu fret, yore future is provided for. Come to think of it, yo're lucky to have one, for if I didn't happen to be the marshal . . ." Squint shivered; he knew that it was true; this man whom he had treacherously sought to slay had every right to put a period to his existence.

Chapter XVI

IT was late when the marshal and his prisoner arrived at Welcome to find it unusually awake for that hour. Lights were shining in almost every building. Sloppy's face, when he saw them ride in, expressed both relief and anxiety.

"Thank heaven you're back," he cried. "There's bad news an' we duuno what to do."

"Bad news'll keep," Sudden replied. "Shove this hombre in the calaboose, feed and fix him up, an' don't forget to lock the door."

"But, Jim "

"Fly at it. I'm bone-tired, but I guess I can stagger to the Red Light; Ned'll wise me up." The saloon was busy, but there was a difference; men drank, but no games were taking place, the customers standing around in groups, conversing with unwonted seriousness. He made his way to the bar, where Nippert was deep in a discussion with Gowdy, Rapper, and others.

"What's the excitement?" he inquired.

"Thunderin' glad to see you, Jim," the saloon-keeper greeted. "Ain't you heard?"

"I've on'y just got in," Sudden explained. "Sloppy tried to tell me somethin', but I wouldn't let him."

"Mrs. Gray has disappeared." The marshal stared at him. "Disappeared?" he repeated.

"Well, this mornin'--as usual--Miss Chips goes along to the Widow's, raps at the back door, an' there's no an Awer. She can hear the kid cryin' inside, so she keeps on hammerin'. After a bit, she gits scared somethin' is wrong an' fetches Chips. He busts the lock an' they go in. There ain't a sign o' Mrs. Gray, but the bedroom looks like she'd dressed in a hurry. I've had search-parties out all day but they ain't struck a trace of her. She didn't own a hoss, none is missin', an' she couldn't 'a' got far a-foot. What d'you make of it, Jim?"

"Can't say--yet. Where's Dave?"

"He's gone too," Nippert replied. "Soon as he got the news, he saddles his bronc, an'--judgin' by his face--it'll go hard with anybody who gits in his way. Dunno where he was makin' for, but he went west, an' was in a hurry to git there; I never seen a pony's legs move faster."

"Well, we can't do anythin' to-night," the marshal decided. "Better hit the hay--to-morrow may be a long day." He was turning away when the saloon-keeper stayed him. "Any luck at Bentley?"

"Plenty, but we gotta get Mrs. Gray back before I spill it."

"Who's the jasper you fetched in?"

"Fella called Squint. We had a li'l argument 'bout ten mile out; he wanted to down me, but I persuaded him agin it. Sloppy is patchin' him, an' I reckon he'll recover."

"He ain't done yore lid no good, an' from the position o' the holes, he loosed at you from behind," Rapper remarked.

"Shore he did," the marshal replied airily. "Squint holds that bushwhackers should be heard an' not seen."

"But why was he after you?" Nippert queried.

"Oh, he mistook me for five hundred bucks. Yu see, he was broke, an' when Sark offered just that sum for my scalp . .." Ejaculations of anger followed this revelation. "Sark did that?" Rapper exploded. "Don't we have anythin' to say about it?"

"Yeah, at the right time, but that's not yet," he was told.

When the marshal encountered Sloppy in the morning, he put a question: "Did yu ever see Sark before he turned up to claim the Dumb-bell?"

"No, he was a stranger to me."

"Would he be known in Drywash?"

"Never heard of him bein' there," Sloppy replied, and as though anxious to change the subject, "Jim, what d'you figure has happened to Mary--I mean, Mrs. Gray? I on'y use her front name to myself--she's like a daughter to me."

"I dunno, or-timer, but we'll find an' fetch her back," the marshal said heartily.

"S'pose you got what you went to Bentley for?" the little man ventured. "You allus git what you want, don't you, Jim?"

"I do not," Sudden laughed. "I'm needin' breakfast right now, an' it don't look like I'll get any." Half an hour later he was studying the ground outside the rear of the restaurant. There were footprints in plenty, but presently he picked out those of a woman and several men which led back from the building towards the open plain. These brought him to a spot where horses had waited --the deep dents of pawing hoofs were clear. For a short distance he followed them, but soon they were merged in a multitude of tracks on the road eastwards. He returned to the Red Light.

"She's been carried off," he announced. "Five fellas, I'd say, with a spare hoss. They was pointin' for the sunrise when I lost the trail, but that means nothin' a-tall."

"Someone must 'a' had a key to the door--it warn't damaged till Chips forced it," Nippert opined.

The blacksmith swore. "I got that lock for Jake, an' it had two keys," he said. "He might 'a' forgot to hand 'em both over."

"An' he was stuck on Mrs. Gray too," Cleaver contributed. The marshal's prediction had come to pass--the Widow was now his best customer, and her absence a matter of concern.

"So was Jesse Sark," the banker said.

"He wouldn't have the key, nor the pluck to make a play like that," was Gowdy's view.

"Well, boys, this ain't gettin' us no place," Sudden told them. "My guess is Mullins, an' I'm goin' to try an' locate him. I've a notion Dave thought the same, an' his not showin' up looks bad. No, I'm playin' a lone hand; if I discover any-thin', yore turn'll come." Despite the protestations, he insisted on this, and having made his preparations, departed.

The deputy-marshal's first reaction to the Widow's spiriting away was a feeling of numb despair as he suddenly realized what she had come to mean in his life. Hoping against hope, he hurried to the restaurant, found the tell-tale traces, and knew that she had been compelled to leave.

"Who the hell?" he muttered.

The remainder of the query died as he saw again a pale, frightened face, bent back in a desperate effort to evade the lustful lips seeking her own. Sark! His young face hard as granite, he hastened back to the corral and saddled his pony. Sloppy spoke but got no answer. Astounded citizens saw him drive madly up the street. Nip-pert shouted a question and got a reply he did not act upon. Instead, he went into the marshal's quarters.

"Where's Dave gone?"