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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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THROUGHOUT the day an undercurrent of excitement passed up and down the dusty street that bisected Burnt Ridge. As the night's soft shadows crept in from the prairie this excitement increased. All afternoon there had been a bustle of activity within the spacious quarters of Bill Beesom's Refuge—this at a time when Burnt Ridge invariably took its siesta. Something very extraordinary was on wing, something that drew riders from all parts of the country and filled the town as it had never been filled since that bygone day when Smoke Taylor went on trial for his life.
The word had gone out. Thus, even before the accustomed supper hour, the restaurant had done the peak of its business and all steps were turning toward Bill Beesom's Refuge until that palace of pleasure overflowed and spilled its customers back into the street, while the tobacco smoke and the hum and drawl of casual Western talk billowed rafter-high. Men winked portentously. Men rubbed shoulders who at a different time would have avoided each other as they would avoid the plague. The gleam of the forthcoming event lighted their eyes and they acted like a pack of school boys up to some solemn piece of deviltry. At Bill Beesom's command, riders went posting out of Burnt Ridge by the various roads, a sentry took station at each end of the street, and one especially reliable character stood guard at the saloon door. And finally Bill Beesom himself, a figure of influence and fame, cast a harried eye over the last detail, stepped on a chair and called for silence.
"Now, boys," he said, combing his cavalry mustache by way of introduction, "we got to have this go off like a shot. No bobbles allowed. When the loop falls it has got to land on its critter. Everybody remember his part. Meanwhile, some o' you boys go saunterin' along the street as if it was any other night. Jes' be casual, so's he won't git no idee till he steps inside this joint. Minute he does, let go. Shoot the roof full o' holes. I got to have it re-shingled anyhow. Another thing—no drinks served till he gits here."
"Supposin' the dern train didn't come an' he had to wait over a day," murmured an unknown pessimist. "Wouldn't that be a bust?"
Bill Beesom grunted. "I been worryin' about so many doggone things I couldn't git irritated none if the earth was flooded. But if that train don't come, I'll kill the engineer when I see him. All right."
Those nearest the door strolled out to enact their little part of the drama. The rest waited inside for the climax of the innumerable riders of the sage who had drawn his farewell to a certain man. And the unusual feature was that this man boasted no titles, owned no ranches, and had built no railroads. He was nothing more than a puncher—just one of the innumerable riders of the sage who had drawn his forty a month as they did, eaten his bacon and beans cold as they had, endured the same miseries and performed the same reckless stunts. But he was now leaving the country forever, packing away his gear, shaking the desert's dust from his feet.
In fact, as far as the country was concerned, he would soon be as good as dead—for he was going to that remote and strange land known as the East.
The saloon door popped open and a sharp, sunburned face blinked against the light. It was one of the lookouts, and he spoke swiftly. "He's comin' in from the Ten Mile road, ridin' with Steve Nebo."
"Steve," someone muttered, "is shore goin' to feel bereaved."
"Get set," was Bill Beesom's brittle injunction.
Meanwhile, the object of all this attention rode quietly through the night with his partner, Steve Nebo, beside him. Neither of these men lacked ready speech. Neither was of a naturally solemn disposition. But tonight they had spoken no word at all for seven good miles. The lights of town blinked cheerfully at them. Their journey was drawing to a close—as well as the partnership that had lasted through fair weather and bad weather over a period of ten years. They were as alike as a pair of gloves; even in the darkness, this similarity was present. They rode with the same slouch, the same tilt of their Stetsons. It might even be said that they cast the same kind of shadow, there being less than an inch difference in their stature or five pounds disparity in their weight. The memory of their common fortunes and misfortunes through all this time seemed to weigh them down. Yet, as the lights brightened and the shadow of the corrals grew more distinct, Lin Jessup made shift to speak.
"I'll be back sometime," he said.
"Not while water runs or grass grows," Steve Nebo muttered. His cigarette glowed brightly. A hand went up toward the starlit sky. "Nope. You ain't that kind, kid. You don't like to leave, but you'll get back there and dive into business so hard you won't think o' this land. It's your way, kid. You mix well an' you stick a job through to the end."
"Well, anyhow—"
"Oh, shut up!" Steve Nebo said gruffly.
"—I'll be writin' to tell you what stray brands I find, Steve."
Steve Nebo was not to be deceived. "They don't brand clothespins, Lin. So don't write me a syllable, see. I don't like to hear from the dead. What's done is done."
Far back, a coyote yammered, the echo floating faintly across the wings of darkness. "That'll be in Eccles Canyon," murmured Lin Jessup. His horse reared, then settled down to a tight rein.
"Listen to it," was Nebo's quick rejoinder. "You won't hear such music any more."
"That's right, hang crepe. Remember the jam we got into near the mouth of that canyon two summers ago, Steve?"
"Yeah. An' there'll be lots more hell in the same place after you're gone, kid."
Lin Jessup stirred in the saddle. "I hate to leave. Honest I do. There's goin' to be a big fight in these parts someday. I'd like to be in it."
"Breaks'll be turnin' yaller early this year."
It was Lin's turn to be fretful. "Hell, don't you know any other tune?"
"Me? I can't sing ragtime at a funeral, kid."
They arrived at the street end and fell under the rays of a transient light. Both were tall men, willowy. Both were young. They mirrored still the surging vitality and the bubbling restless humor that an open life could give. It was indelibly stamped on their tanned faces, in spite of the tight gravity each maintained at present. Steve was a dark man, scorched by the sun, and his eyes flashed in the yellow beam. Lin Jessup, he who was saying good-by, was fair, even to his corn-colored hair. Thus they traveled half the length of the street, noting here and there a clump of quiet figures. By the saloon they reined in and dismounted. Lin dropped a satchel to the ground.
"Well, let's go in for a drink. Train had ought to be along pretty soon."
"It'd be a better world without railroads," Nebo said. He stared at the solitary figure at the saloon door with a glance of comprehension and then stepped back to let Lin enter first. He knew of this night's celebration; it was perhaps the only secret he had ever refused to share with his partner.
Lin squared at the door, pushed it before him and stepped through into the blaze of lamplight. And as he did so, a hundred odd throats burst into the wild and free yell of the prairie. Up came all those gun arms and Bill Beesom's place roared and shook and cracked to the echo of a salute. It hurt physically, the report of that salute, and the powder swirled thick as a fog, stinging the nostrils. For a moment Lin stood, dumfounded, quite unable to fathom the meaning of these friends and acquaintances of his packed so tightly together. Yet before the sound had died and the powder had cleared, it came to him. A smile flashed across his lean face, and his gray eyes flickered with a gay recklessness. Steve Nebo stepped beside him, forgetting his gravity for a moment.
Steve struck him on the chest. "Fooled you that time, huh Lin?"
"The drinks—" Lin began, but Bill Beesom stopped him dead.
"The drinks, Lin, old horse, ain't on you. Now hush while we go through with our little ritual. Speakin' as constituted master o' ceremonies, I will now start the ball rollin'. I wish to say that this county has took official note o' the fact o' your departure. I wish further to say it seemed fittin' we should sorta celebrate that event—seemed like we'd ought to put a period to your career as a citizen o' the West. With that in mind, I will now call upon Jake Harper. Step on the table, Jake."
The designated gentleman fought his way through the packed ranks and with some evidences of stage fright, mounted the impromptu rostrum. In his fist he held a clipping of paper, and after clearing his throat of tobacco juice he began to read what was contained therein:
"Indian Butte County achieved national prominence through one of its distinguished citizens last week when word came from Providence, Rhode Island, that a Colonel Linton Jessup, wealthy manufacturer of that town, had died and left all his property to nearest kin. After great search it was discovered that said nearest relative was a man living right in the heart of our own glorious county, being none other than that lovable stormy petrel known as Lin Jessup, sometimes called ‘Cyclone.'
"According to the will, Lin falls heir to a hundred thousand dollars and the largest hairpin factory in Providence. The will further specified that if no heir appeared in the office of that factory in person by September 7 of the current year, his estate was to revert to charitable institutions.
"Since it took some time to locate this heir, the deadline date comes nearer. Nevertheless, our new capitalist debated his fortune at mature length, while finishing out the month as top hand on the Jughandle. However, Indian Butte's one and only hairpin magnate leaves east on the night local tomorrow, making the time limit by the skin of his teeth.
"Speaking editorially, we say that while there are other gentlemen who may be able to shoot better, ride faster, rope quicker, we can recall no one we more regret saying good-by to. Cyclone Lin Jessup stands alone. He has got into and fought out of more trouble than any man in the history of Indian Butte region. This county will seem a lot tamer—it will actually seem dead—when Lin pulls his picket. Lin, old scout, we'll miss you a hell of a lot."
Lin Jessup's grin wavered and grew set. But he broke the tension by drawling, "Well, it's right in parts anyhow. Ten thousand was the sum, and it's a clothespin factory, not hairpins. Otherwise I'm branded, dewlapped an' turned out to graze. Boys, anytime you might be needin' clothespins—"
He trusted himself no farther. Bill Beesom took the floor again. He too held something in his hand, keeping it carefully hidden, and the silence seemed to grow tighter. Beesom cleared his throat and raked all angles of his establishment with a weather-eye.
"Shucks, what can a gent say? I had a speech, but wouldn't I be a sucker to make it? Listen, Lin, it kinda goes against the grain. It sure does. You a-ridin' a swivel chair an' makin' clothespins for trade. Here's a sensible advice. Collect your money, sell the damn factory an' come back. . . . No, I'm talkin' like a fool. You wouldn't play the game like that. But . . . now why didn't I stick to my speech? But listen. You won't come to this godforsaken hutch any more. You won't ever roll your blankets acrost a clay mudhole. You won't never sleep like you slept under this sky an' you won't never taste anything half so good as beans'n' coffee three o' clock of a pitch black mornin'. Well, we boys have got a present for you. Carry it in your upper left-hand vest pocket. Consider it a piece o' Indian Butte. Wherever you go, you got a sample o' what's behind you. It's—it's—here, dammit, take it!"
It lay in Bill Beesom's open palm; a heavy watch surrounded by a heavy chain. Lin took it, turned it over. The back side bore an inscription, and although the letters of the inscription were plain and the light of the saloon was bright, Lin Jessup found trouble in reading:
"From the boys of Indian Butte
So-long, Lin."
Lin stared at it a moment. Suddenly he jammed it in his pocket and pivotted on his heel, seeing nothing. These were men he had worked and sweated with, played and quarreled with. Never in their lives had they spoken a word of sentiment. Not until now. He turned about.
"Look here, you miserable, ornery collection of poorhouse wrecks! Why—of all the assembled flat-footed, barrel-bellied cabbages, you sure take the prize! I got a mind to walk out on you. What's the idea o' playin' on a man's feelin's like this? It's indecent. Hell—let's have a drink!"
"A good idee," Bill Beesom said. "It'll wash the mush outa my mouth."
This broke the tension. They turned to the business of refreshment. In a little while the atmosphere cleared and Bill Beesom took the ceremony once more in hand.
"Got to have a speech from the soon departed. Up on the table, Lin."
Lin sprang up willingly, wanting to redeem his display of weakness. He grinned cheerfully and discovered he had absolutely nothing to say. Something still stuck in his throat.
"For the jewelry," was his halting start, "I thank you. What a clothespin king needs with time, I dunno, but I'll sure keep this ticker running sweet. Shucks, I don't want to leave here. Maybe you don't think I sweat a little blood makin' up my mind. But it looks like the world is cryin' for Jessup clothespins and I guess I've got to pick up the torch an' hustle it along. I'm goin' to keep the car windows shut from here to Omaha for fear o' jumpin' out. I'm apt to do something just that crazy."
"It wouldn't be the first time," Steve Nebo said.
Lin grinned. "That's a true sentiment, for sure. But you gents have me in a hole. If I was figurin' on livin' here I'd call you out for the no-account sons of Satan I know you to be. Since I'm goin' a long way off an' won't ever have to put up with you again, why—why—" He stumbled and had to clear his throat. Then he threw his hands wide apart. "Why, boys, I sure love you like brothers!"
A laconic, sarcastic phrase cut across this like a knife: "Leave me out of your affection, Jessup."
The crowd turned toward the door. Between the swinging portals, arms akimbo, there stood poised a giant of a creature. His shoulders rolled forward in heavy-muscled arrogance. His swart face glistened in the light. It was a face not to be forgotten, once seen; for it seemed to come to a point in a great broken nose and wide leering lips. The chin was narrow, the forehead narrower; and a slaty light poured out of eyes set close together. Conscious of the combined attention, the newcomer drew himself together.
"You can leave me out," he repeated. "I can do without your brotherly affection."
That evoked the reckless humor lying quiescent in Lin Jessup. He spoke soothingly. "Well, if it ain't brother Dunk Dalzell. Come to join my party, Dunk?"
"If I knowed you was here I'd of stayed away," Dunk retorted. He followed it up quickly. "Not that I'd ever back away from a gent with a low caliber muzzle like you."
"You're certainly in low spirits tonight, Dunk," Lin countered. "Ain't business well lately?"
"What business?" Dalzell snapped.
"I wouldn't be mean enough to speak it in public, Dunk."
Dalzell's temper rose like a piece of metal coming to red heat. He seemed on the point of sweeping the crowd before him and closing on Lin. But instead, he accepted the verbal challenge. "It's a blamed good thing you're runnin' away, Jessup. You been ridin' your hobby horse too high. In this country a man minds his own business. You never have."
"I guess I have dwindled your profits on certain occasions, Dunk," Lin suggested.
"Another loose statement," Dalzell said. "You're a man too free with your tongue. It hangs in the middle an' talks the wrong way."
"But never behind a man's back, Dunk." The smile faded from Lin's lean features, "And I never pointed my gun at a man's back, either."
As if moved by common thought, the crowd slowly pressed against the walls of the saloon until the two men faced each other down a lane. The room went utterly silent, for this was a duel of long standing and the knowledge of it extended to the four corners of the county. It had furnished many a camp fire with a night's topic; it had made many a man speculate upon the outcome. And on this night it seemed to those within the saloon that they were to witness the crashing finale to the long struggle. Dunk Dalzell's anger had reached the pitch of fury. He brought his shoulders together, his black face tipped forward. "Another lie, Jessup. If you want it now, you can have it now. Come out to the street."
In the long interval of silence all attention turned to Lin Jessup. He seemed to be struggling with something deeply buried in himself. But before he spoke, the crowd, knowing the signals of his temper through experience, foretold the answer.
"No, I guess not, Dunk. I'm not shootin' anybody on my last night." And he salved the climax with a little humor. "Anyhow, I'm reducin' the census by one in pullin' my ticket, so why should I reduce it another by killin' you?"
"Then sneak out!" Dalzell shouted.
"Your time will come, Dunk. You'll die out in the hills, howlin' like a wolf. And I'll send a basket o' clothespins to mark your grave. Happy days, Dunk."
Dalzell raised his fist, attracting the crowd's gaze. "Mark that gent," he said hoarsely. "The only difference atween him and a polecat is that a polecat's got a white streak down its back." And with that shot he threw his massive frame around the lane and strode out of the saloon.
Lin's humor could not be long suppressed. "In the line of sentiments, boys, we've had about everything so far. Now Steve an' I have got a chore up the street. See you later."
The two partners left the saloon and stood a moment in a corner of darkness. "What chore?" Nebo demanded.
"None. Let's walk a minute while I cool off. Steve, if I stayed in there another five minutes I believe I'd chuck clothespins. Those boys get under my skin. It's a sweet land. I won't ever find a better."
"You should of plugged Dunk," Nebo grumbled.
"And then what?" Lin murmured. "Not tonight. Not ever, I guess. Something funny coming over me. Wait a minute. Look over by the hotel."
They had arrived at a point directly opposite the hotel. Still in the shadows, they saw Dunk Dalzell slide through a patch of light and disappear somewhere down an alley between buildings.
"What's that for? Dunk ain't bashful."
"No," Lin replied. "But someone else might be. I told you. Look and pray."
A second figure traversed the pool of light, moving swiftly. But in the moment's interval the two partners had good sight of a cadaverous face and a flat-brimmed Stetson that was peculiar to one man of the county.
"Remy Cade."
"None other," Lin said. "You know what I know, Steve. But nobody else is in on the secret. One reason right there why I'd like to stay longer."
Something like hope came to Steve Nebo. "You doggone fool, stay then. We'll smash 'em!"
"It ain't any of our business. Lord, I wish it was."
Out of the near distance came the prolonged challenge of a train's whistle. The daily passenger of the Empire, Indian Butte and Southern—a little feeder line that left the main transcontinental line at one point, made an ox-bow into the country and returned to the main road farther east—was signaling for its halfway station. The partners turned and moved back to the saloon. The doors of Bill Beesom's Refuge swung wide before the emerging crowd. Lin got his satchel and patted his horse on the muzzle. For a moment he rested there and even then he had a strong touch of homesickness as the smell of saddle leather and the sound of the animal crunching on the bit came to him. "Take good care of that horse, Steve," muttered the new clothespin magnate. "This is worse than a toothache."
They aimed for the depot, arriving there as the antiquated engine brought its freight car and its day coach to a sudden, squealing halt. Lanterns bobbed through the darkness when Lin took his stand by the front vestibule of the coach. And for him at the moment the crowd became only a blur. He saw but two faces, those of Bill Beesom and Steve Nebo. Something funny about Steve's face. Looked as if his old partner was about to kill a man.
"I wish," Lin said wistfully, the echo of his words carrying across the deep silence. "I wish—so-long, Steve, so-long boys. So-long, Indian Butte!"
He gripped Steve Nebo's hand, blindly swung up the car steps, throwing his satchel before him. There was, at that instant, a sharp intake of breath and a woman's voice, saying, "If you please—" Lin Jessup caught the scent of perfume and dropped back to the ground. Down the steps came a girl, carrying her own bag and a purple parasol. The intermittent lantern light fell a moment upon a dark oval face and crisp black eyes. Dark hair ventured below a pert hat; she was gloved and tailored and booted trimly and the effect of it all upon the assembled crowd was to divert their attention from the departing Lin. The new clothespin magnate reached up for her bag and gave her a helping hand, the meanwhile murmuring an apology. "I'm sure sorry. It's so blamed seldom anybody ever comes off this train I figured—"
A flashing smile. "Anything might happen in the West." He felt the slight weight of her body on his arm as she dropped to the cinders. Seeing the crowd, she turned a more curious glance on Lin. "It seems you are going away. Well, good luck to you. Say hello to the East for me." Then she raised her voice to reach Bill Beesom and Steve Nebo.
"I'm Tamesie Lowell. How can I reach the Star L tonight?"
The conductor shouldered through the packed citizenry. "Board!"
It was a tribute to Lin Jessup that the crowd wrested its attention from the girl as the train began to move slowly along. Lin stood on the bottom step, the picture of a man thoroughly bewildered. A roar of guns sounded along the cindered walk, the engine whistling by way of answer. The town of Burnt Ridge passed, shacks and shanties, corrals and yard posts, until there was only a faint glimmering of lights behind.
Lin Jessup disappeared in the vestibule. A moment later, as the train settled into a steady gait, his satchel went flying through space on the far side of the train, closely followed by the clothespin magnate in person. He turned over twice and settled to rest in the rocky ditch with his stomach enfolding a discarded tie. The train whistled again and its lights trailed across the prairie, presently disappearing.
"Tamesie Lowell," Lin muttered, testing himself for broken parts. "Tamesie Lowell."
FINDING no serious abrasions, Lin Jessup rose and swept the circle of darkness with a comprehensive glance. Burnt Ridge glimmered a quarter of a mile down the track. The train had vanished. Night shielded him, for which he was devoutly thankful. He had done many an impulsive act in his life, but this latest seemed to cap and seal all others.
Imagine, he thought, a man o' my nature runnin' a serious business! Now what did I do that for?
He reached into his pocket for the gift watch and put it against his ear. Still ran, seemed sound. But, anyhow, he knew very well why he had deserted the train. The reason was Tamesie Lowell. He had never seen her before. In fact she had been taken East by her mother years and years ago, leaving old Buck Lowell forlorn and grim on the Star L.
Lin sat on a rail and soothed himself with a cigarette.
I can't be accused o' bein' turned from any capitalistic designs by a woman, he reflected. No, sir. She's pretty. She's actually handsome. But it ain't that. It's Buck Lowell I'm thinkin' about.
Buck Lowell was no more, of course. The old man had gone East a year back to die beside his estranged family, leaving the Star L under a superintendent. And there was the nubbin of the matter. The memory of Buck Lowell was bright silver to Lin Jessup. Buck Lowell had been his friend and counselor and for good or evil Lin could not stand by to see any of Buck's kin suffer trouble.
An' trouble there is sure to be, Lin Jessup thought. As a superintendent of the Star L, Remy Cade is a plumb good thief. Wonder if that girl is figurin' on just a visit, or goin' to make a stab at runnin' it? In either case it makes me creep to think of her bein' in arm's reach o' Cade. It surely does. He's made a bird's nest o' that place. Nothin' else. If the county knew what all I knew, it would hang him. But it doesn't know. So, Lin Jessup, you precipitate fool, go back and keep a look on things. Clothespins can wait. Buck Lowell was good to me. I'll take care of his interests a while.
He got up, found his satchel, and limped along the ties, puzzling out a decent course to follow. The county supposed he had gone away; thus he could move about unobserved. It might throw Remy Cade and Dunk Dalzell off guard. Those two hombres were neck and neck in deceit and the appearance of the legal owner of the Star L might make them a little reckless.
Wonder if she telegraphed Cade she was comin'? Lin mused. I'll bet not. She's got the old man's nature, which is abrupt and brief. All right. Now to find Steve.
He reached the station house, now dark and silent. He tarried in its shadow and scanned the street. Everybody seemed to have adjourned to Bill Beesom's place. Not a half-dozen lights left in town.
Somehow, Lin thought, I ain't half as sorry as I ought to be about jumpin' my ticket. Where. . . ?
Shadows ahead, cutting across the street; hoofs striking metal rails. Somebody was leading two horses and swearing as if from physical hurt. The shadows stopped and a match flared toward a cigarette tip. Steve Nebo's face wavered in the transient light, as hard as stone, eyes glittering. Lin Jessup drew back, ashamed to catch his partner off guard. But as Nebo came on, Lin spoke aloud.
"Guess I'll take my horse back again, Steve."
Steve halted in his tracks. Lin saw his partner's shadow straighten to full six feet and remain immobile. "Quien es?" Nebo muttered.
"Well, if you don't know my voice by now, I'll not be tellin'."
Silence—the silence of a man pulling himself together from a shock. Nebo's words plucked at the darkness, "Yeah, the voice is familiar. But if it's a gent imitatin' Lin Jessup, I'll kill you!"
"The dead one has resurrected."
Nebo spoke plaintively, but Lin made out his partner's effort to be casual. "Kid, please don't ever do that again. What for?"
"Thought I'd stay over to watch Mister Cade and all."
"And a minute back you said it wasn't none o' your business. Sometimes, Lin, I don't follow you at all."
Lin Jessup came forward. "Where's the girl now?"
"Eatin' at the restaurant with Cade. . . . Oh, I see. Yeah. Well, my boy, I was present when Cade met her. It knocked him cold. Plumb stone cold."
"Then she didn't give him any warnin'. We've got to hear some o' that parley. Come on."
They left the horses by the station and crossed the dark street, aiming for the hotel. "She talks straight from the shoulder," Steve observed. "Announced to Bill Beesom an' me she had come to pick up the strings of her dad's estate an' carry on. I gather she's all alone in the world. But what do you imagine she knows about runnin' a cow ranch?"
"I dunno," Lin rejoined. "It's why I come back. Buck Lowell was my friend. We'll have to assume some trouble, Steve."
"I could lick any man's army single handed this minute," Nebo said.
At the side of the hotel, they reconnoitered. The porch was wholly dark and nobody sat in the scattered chairs. Inside, they made out three or four lounging boarders, but caught no sight of either Cade or the girl.
"Comin' from the restaurant now," Steve muttered.
Without further word, the two of them climbed the porch railing and thus masked by the darkness, waited. Cade's gaunt frame appeared first in the patch of light streaming from the hotel's open door. Then the girl stepped into view. Cade had his head tilted downward. He was talking quite earnestly to her.
"But, ma'am, you should have let me know in advance. Now the ranch house ain't fit for a woman. Take a day or two to clean it up. Meanwhile you'd best stay here."
"Mister Cade, I want to go out this very night."
Cade shook his head vigorously. "No way o' gittin' there. I'll have to send for a wagon. It's right comfortable in this hotel."
They passed into the place, arguing. Lin nudged Nebo. "Steve, you run to the stable and rent a rig—that buckboard. Get Ben Tinchley's old army coat so's I can put it on an' sorta conceal myself. I'll wait by the alley."
Steve was too old a hand to ask questions. He hopped over the railing and vanished. Within five minutes he drove back with the buckboard. Lin slipped up to the seat and took the reins. "Now, you go into the hotel and tell Tamesie Lowell that old Happy Brand is drivin' home and that she could get a lift to her ranch from him if she'd want it. Catch on? Cade won't be able to see me in the dark. I can imitate Happy's voice."
Steve chuckled. "I give you credit," he said, and dropped to the street. Lin waited a decent interval and then drove slowly by the hotel. Steve appeared in the hotel door and called out, "Oh, Happy. There's a lady wants to go to the Star L. You're drivin' that way."
Lin stopped just beyond the rim of light. He had slipped into the borrowed overcoat and pulled up the collar. Thus concealed he waited as the girl hurried out, with Cade in stubborn protest. "Ma'am, I can't allow it. It ain't fittin' you should."
But Tamesie Lowell seemed to have some of her father's abruptness of manner. "I've come this far to see the ranch and I won't be delayed. Bring my bags, Mister Cade." Lin extended a helping arm and she sprang lightly into the seat. Cade followed with the luggage and threw them behind. Lin saw the superintendent's eyes trying to penetrate the darkness and identify him. Defeated, Cade strode off for his horse. Lin got under way, turned out upon the Ten Mile road and presently was beyond the station.
"It's very kind of you, Happy Brand," said Tamesie. "I hate hotels."
"Uhuh," grunted Lin.
Cade spurred up, speaking to Lin. "What's your all-fired hurry, Brand?" Without waiting for an answer he took up his argument with the girl. "Of course, ma'am, I'm glad to have you come. But it seems as if you might've sent me some warnin'. It's almost unneighborly."
"You'll soon learn I do things by fits and jumps," was Tamesie Lowell's reply. "I expect I'll never get over it—even managing Star L."
Cade's reply was sharply questioning. "Run it, ma'am? I thought you said it was a visit?"
"Both," said Tamesie Lowell. Lin Jessup noted how strongly she had the Lowell trick of biting her words. "For now on the ranch is my home."
Cade pondered on this for several hundred yards. The news must have hit him hard, else he would never have forgotten his suavity. "Pshaw, Miss Lowell. You want to leave managing to men that know how. I never saw an Easterner yet that did well with cattle."
"Well, if we're going to take off gloves," Tamesie responded sweetly, "I might point out you haven't done very well since my father died."
"The ranch was run down," Cade said gruffly. "I've had to build up."
"It was no such thing," Tamesie shot back. "Dad explained every figure to me, told me how absolutely every detail stood. I can recite you the beef turn off of Star L for the past ten years. It is—or was—a prosperous ranch, considering conditions."
"Seems to be all posted," was Cade's abrupt response.
"I am, as far as Dad could do it. Now, since we're on the subject, why haven't you continued to send me your monthly statement? I note you stopped it directly after dad's death."
"Was waiting to get proper orders."
"You got them—two or three times. And didn't answer them. That's why I came. Now, Mister Cade, I have much to learn, but I'm not simple and I imagine we might as well face the one main fact before we even reach the house. That is the relation between us. You are the foreman. I'll take every reasonable suggestion. But, of course, my decisions will have to be final—even if it wrecks the place."
Lin struggled to repress a whoop. This was old man Buck Lowell over and over again. Never use two words when one would fit.
Remy Cade fell silent and after a time the girl returned to the attack. "I hope that is agreeable to you."
"Your dad wouldn't have put it that way, ma'am. He took my word in most all cases."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not," was Tamesie's enigmatic answer. "But is it agreeable to you?"
"Let's not argue, ma'am," Cade said evasively. "It ain't fittin' we should."
Lin waited for the girl to pin Cade down, but strangely enough she abandoned the attack. And for the rest of the journey, which was some six miles, not a word was spoken between the two. When within hailing distance of the house, Cade suddenly spurred his horse and galloped ahead. Tamesie Lowell turned to her driver.
"What's the matter with Star L, anyhow?"
"What made you think anything was the matter?" Lin Jessup asked.
"I don't know. But there's something wrong. I've felt it since I left the train."
"A woman's sixth sense, I reckon," Lin observed. "Usually right, too."
Quite unexpectedly she laughed. The silver echo floated up and away, ringing like a bell against the night. Before he could ask the reason of it she shot another question at him. "By the way, who was that striking man leaving Burnt Ridge tonight on the train?"
"Lin Jessup," the masquerader grunted, feeling guilty.
"Oh. My father spoke of him." Then, as an afterthought, seemingly with no ulterior motive, she added, "Wasn't he rather wild and reckless?"
"Totally depraved," Lin sighed. They were within fifty yards of the Star L house. A light went out and flared again. Cade's figure was framed in the doorway. Lin spoke softly. "Ma'am, ride up to the line of trees on the west buttes tomorrow at ten. I knew your father well. Better than any other man but one. And I'll stake my cards on the Lowell name—anytime, anywhere."
"It's as bad as that, then?"
"Worse."
"I'll be there," Tamesie said, with the true Lowell snap judgment. Lin drew in front of the door, keeping his face muffled by the overcoat. Cade stood a little inside, his cadaverous, predatory features illy set. As Tamesie Lowell dropped from the seat she murmured. "Thank you for the ride—Lin Jessup."
Cade moved forward and took her bags from the bottom of the buckboard. "Get on, Brand," he said.
Lin drove away, hardly drawing a breath until beyond the Star L corrals. Then the words emerged like an explosion: "I'll be everlastingly damned! How in thunder did she know?"
He had not gone a mile when the drumming of hoofs warned him. A rider swept up and around the buckboard. Remy Cade's voice rose and fell in angry accents. "Listen, Brand, you're a meddlesome, consumptive wreck an' if you ever expect to stay alive, keep out o' my business! Hear that? What made you offer the lady a ride? I got a good notion to whip you down for a trick like that! When I want folks to come out to the Star L I'll do the drivin'—see?"
Lin held his peace. Remy Cade leaned in the saddle. His quirt sang against the night and fell stinging against the collar of the borrowed army coat. Lin rose, arms spread wide, and launched himself from his seat. He struck Cade full on, carried that gentleman out of the saddle and down to the sandy earth. In the moment's sharp struggle, Lin wrenched the superintendent's gun free of the holster and flung it far into the distance. Then he stepped back.
"I'm not Happy Brand, amigo. Be sure your man is a cripple next time."
"Who are you?"
"Presently you'll discover," Lin said. He got in the buckboard and drove away. Close by a solitary scrub pine, two miles farther on, he ran into Steve Nebo with the extra horse. It was an old meeting place for the partners and had been agreed upon before leaving Burnt Ridge.
"What next?"
"You rattle this rig back to town. Tomorrow I'm makin' a proposition to Tamesie Lowell. If it goes right you got a job. If it don't go right you got a job anyhow. Meanwhile, scout around and locate half a dozen reliable boys needin' employment. You know which ones. I think we're goin' to want 'em. I'm headin' into the buttes for some prospective news."
"Business is pickin' up," Steve murmured. "Happy days."
"Yeah. But this is the worst mess we've ever tackled, Steve. Somebody's goin' to die before it's over."
"Still an' all—happy days," Nebo said.
"Watch yourself, kid," Lin warned, stepping into his saddle. "Cade'll have a trailer on these wagon tracks. He's anxious to know who borrowed Happy Brand's handle."
"More an' more int'restin'. Say, Lin, how about clothespins?"
"Oh, shut up!"
Steve Nebo turned the wagon around, chuckling. "Well, it was a slick way to get a free watch."
Lin veered west and galloped for the buttes, promising himself he would still make Providence, Rhode Island, after this affair was over.
He made a wide circle in the prairie and ascended the ridge by a precipitous and little used pathway. From the very beginning of the upward climb it was a rugged section, and the farther he went the sharper did the trail twist and turn, passing between high rock walls, dipping into deep granite chasms. An hour of this with never a straight stretch nor a level piece of ground; immense walls of blackness reached toward the sky, pools of impenetrable shadows stretched below. A stranger, being led through the trail, would have sworn that it circled around and around some remote pit. In a measure this was true, and presently the upward grade passed through what appeared to be a tunnel and dipped down. At this point Lin checked his horse and went forward on foot. A jet of orange light pricked the heart of the darkness.
He moved with the sure foot of knowledge, always angling toward the light. It grew, and as he turned an obstructing ledge, the glow of the fire played vividly against a sheer bluff. He saw three figures lying near the blaze and by this he knew that three others were not far away. Switching his course, he reached the level of the fire. On his stomach he crawled to within twenty yards and halted behind a rock. Farther he could not go, nor was it necessary. The circling walls formed a perfect sounding board that reflected the least whisper across the intervening space.
He had come on a shrewd guess. Within twenty minutes he knew he had been right. The rhythmic pace of a horse rolled into the circle and the recumbent men rose, retreating from sight. At the same time Dunk Dalzell's giant frame appeared out of the trailing shadows, arms akimbo. Dunk stood thus until Remy Cade rode to view and dropped from the saddle.
"What's up?" Dalzell asked.
"That woman was Buck Lowell's daughter."
"What about it?"
Cade gestured impatiently. "She's come to the ranch. Intends to run the place. Now ain't that a fine mess?"
Dalzell squatted by the flames, squinting into the very heart of the coals. "Couldn't last forever, could it?"
"She's got to go!" Cade snarled. "One way or another, she's got to leave the Star L."
"Now wait a minute," Dalzell said. "Don't always get so excited. Mebbe she's a blessin' in skirts. Look here—don't you figger mebbe folks are ketchin' on to our little game?"
"Only two men know it," Cade replied. "One's gone. The other is apt to be soon dead."
"I ain't so sure," Dunk Dalzell said. "It's bein' advertised some. But with the lady present—an' she not knowin' about cows—we can still use Star L range. With her around everybody'll think it's a square shuffle, but we'll still conduct our private affairs. Why, Cade, it's perfect!"
But Cade shook his cadaverous face, and even the ruddy firelight could not put a color on his bloodless cheeks. "She's got to leave that house."
Dalzell rose. "What's in that house yo're so all-fired anxious to get?"
Cade stepped back a pace. "Nothin', you fool. But it's been our headquarters."
"That ain't all," Dalzell said. For a long while he studied his partner. He could have smashed Cade with a single sweep of his arm and it appeared to Lin that the giant struggled against the impulse. Then the booming voice floated up. "I think yo're holdin' somethin' out on me, Cade. If I discover such to be the case, Lord find you a soft grave. Things has got to be fifty-fifty."
"It's been our headquarters," Cade persisted. "She's got to go. One way or another. I'm thinkin' we'll give the lady a scare. Another thing. Somebody run a stunt on me tonight." He told the story of the buckboard and its unknown driver. "You trail them wheel tracks in the mornin', Dunk. Don't waste no time about it."
"Sounds like Lin Jessup's idee to me," Dalzell said. "If I didn't know he'd left the country. . . . How about Nebo?"
"We got to drop him, Dunk. He's as dangerous as Jessup. We got to drop him."
"Well, it's high stakes," Dalzell agreed. "I'm willin'. You dope it out. But, remember, don't keep anything on the shelf from me, Remy."
They said nothing more. Cade warmed himself a moment by the fire. Dalzell dropped to the ground, completely ignoring his partner. Presently Cade got a-saddle and rode away, his course marked by a distant echo for a good ten minutes. Then it died away. Lin Jessup retreated up the slope and found his horse, turning into another part of the mysterious well of night.
TAMESIE LOWELL stepped from the Star L house and stopped, a catch in her breath. On this morning she knew for the first time the thundering glory of a Western dawn. Along the eastern ridges stood a sheet of rose-flame and the sun's disk was like a war shield of yellow metal. The early morning mists had but a moment ago gone, leaving a touch of crispness behind. Westward, the tall buttes were turning from deep purple to streaks of raw color, and such was the thinness and clarity of the air that she felt she might reach out and touch those buttes. This was deception—that much she knew from her father's tales of the West. But there was no deception in the pungent smell of earth and sage rolling in toward her. Tamesie Lowell, quite sensitive to beauty, felt like shouting at the top of her voice.
Now I can see why Dad spent his life here, she thought. But why did mother bring me away when I was so small? Oh, all the years wasted!
Going across the yard, she caught sight of a squat puncher and called to him. "Saddle a horse for me, please."
The man appeared not to hear her. She had to call again. This time he stopped, a trace of uneasiness on his face. "Ma'am? Was you speakin' to me? A hoss? Well, I'll have to be askin' Cade if he wants it."
"What's Mr. Cade got to do with saddling a horse?" Tamesie demanded.
The puncher grew unaccountably sullen. "He gives orders hereabouts."
"So?" Tamesie murmured, pressing her lips together. This was no answer to give a Lowell on a Lowell ranch. "What's your name?"
"Charley."
"All right, Charley. I'm sorry, but you are going to have to take orders from a woman. Saddle me a horse."
But the puncher remained obdurate. "I'll have to ask Cade—"
As if in response to his name, Cade emerged from the bunkhouse, clothes flapping around his sparse frame. In plain light he was even more bloodless than she had supposed, even more cadaverous. His face resembled a skull wrapped by yellow parchment and when he removed his hat this resemblance was heightened by a glistening bald dome. He stooped as he walked, appearing to be in pious contemplation. Yet his fathomless eyes darted from girl to puncher, instantly comprehending the scene.
"Good mornin', Miss Tamesie. Want to go for a ride? You should let me know when you ride. Dangerous for a woman to go alone. Charley, saddle up Bell an' the blaze face. I'll string along, ma'am."
"I'd rather ride alone," Tamesie Lowell said.
"Couldn't think o' lettin' you do it, Miss Tamesie."
"Mr. Cade," Tamesie said, "I've never had a chaperone and I don't need one now."
"Couldn't allow it," Cade insisted. Tamesie saw a glance pass between the men. Charley walked off to get the horses, Cade meanwhile pursuing his topic. "I'm responsible for your safety—as long as you stay."
Tamesie was too much of a fighter to let that last phrase go unnoticed. "Don't harbor any doubts about my not staying permanently. And that brings us back to our conversation last night. You have yet to answer my question, Mr. Cade. Do you agree to accept my orders?"
Cade again refused to meet the direct challenge. "Your dad put a lot o' trust in me, Miss Tamesie. Anyhow, it takes a man to run this ranch. Couldn't think o' lettin' you ruin yourself. It's occurred to me you might be better satisfied to live in town an' jus' visit the ranch now an' then. It's pretty poor out here for a woman. Too cold or too hot. Ruins your clothes an' your skin. Now, I got a house in view—"
"I know it's very stubborn, but I seldom change my mind," Tamesie broke in. Pink color ran along her cheeks. "Another point. You must tell the men to accept my orders, Mr. Cade."
"Well, they been used to me," Cade drawled solemnly. "Sorta look to me. It'll take time."
Charley came up with the horses. Tamesie jumped into the saddle. Cade followed suit. "Which way, ma'am?"
"I have no idea where you're going," Tamesie said, "but I'm going off toward those buttes." She pointed west.
"Them buttes is a good place to stay clear of," Cade said. "Many a man killed thereabouts. But if you want we should take a look—"
He set his horse in motion. Tamesie remained perfectly still. Finally Cade circled back, with never a trace of emotion on his mask of a face. Charley was grinning outright. The danger signals flamed brighter on Tamesie's cheeks.
"I insist on going alone, Mr. Cade."
He only shook his head. "Your dad wouldn't never permitted it. Might as well take that view, ma'am. I'll run the ranch an' do my best for you. Takes a man."
Tamesie dropped from her saddle, eyes flashing. "Come to the house, Mr. Cade. We've got to fight this out."
Cade ambled after her, throwing a subdued word over his shoulder to Charley. Tamesie marched through the door of the ranch house and waited for him to come in. Then she pointed about the great front room. "Mr. Cade, why did you let this house go to pieces? Why is everything topsy-turvy? Where is all the furniture that used to be here?"
"Your dad left it in bad shape, ma'am," was Cade's slow answer. And as if the quarters were strange to him, he followed her sweeping gesture. It was a large room, dominated by a massive stone fireplace. Antlers and horns were mounted around the walls and the floor was scattered with cured pelts. But from top to bottom, the place showed the mark of violence. The floorboards sprung to Tamesie's light weight. She could see where nails had been pulled and boards raised. An old couch in one corner showed fabric ripped in a dozen places and a roll-topped desk opposite the couch—where she knew her father had kept his records—was broken along the paneling. Even the stones of the fireplace were loose in the mortar. Nothing had escaped havoc save perhaps an old terra cotta flowerpot that hung suspended from the ceiling by a tripod of baling wire. Yet, whatever flower or plant it once might have nurtured, nothing remained now save a few handfuls of packed earth.
"Don't tell me it was like this always," Tamesie said. "Dad gave me an itemized account of everything present. He told me exactly what I would find. Every room in the house is as bad as this one. What have you been doing, Mr. Cade?"
"I see you inspected the premises right close," Cade murmured, staring over her head.
For once, Tamesie changed the subject, reverting to her question. "Mr. Cade, are you willing to work under a woman?"
"Why, shucks, Miss Tamesie, of course I'm willin'."
"Then it is settled that you will respect my orders as well," Tamesie said. "And tell the crew they must do likewise."
"Well, I wouldn't be exactly rash, ma'am. As to the ranch, I know best."
Once again, the sparring. Tamesie grew angry. "I'll always listen to advice. But that isn't the point. Are you or are you not willing to accept my orders?"
Cade fell silent and had to be prompted. This time Tamesie was bound to have him meet the issue. And at last he raised his head, seeming quite somber. "I can't promise that, Miss Tamesie."
"Then," Tamesie said, "I'll ask you to leave. Since I met you last night I've felt you wouldn't work with me. What I've seen here and what I know of the former condition of the ranch makes me believe we had better break our business relations. I'll have a new foreman tomorrow."
Craftiness came to Cade's eyes. "Who you been talkin' to, Miss Tamesie? What did that Happy Brand say to you?"
"Nothing that could interest you, Mr. Cade."
"I ain't so sure." For once he came directly to the point. "But you can't fire me, Miss Tamesie. I won't be fired."
Tamesie had considered just such an event and so turned to her next weapon. "Please ask the crew to come here."
Cade went to the door and raised a shout. Presently the Star L punchers, some ten in number, were assembled inside the room.
Looking at them, Tamesie was not much reassured. Outside of her father she had never seen a man of the range until she had stepped from the train. Unconsciously, she measured these ten up against the picture of Lin Jessup as he stood on the car steps; also against Steve Nebo. And the contrast was startling. She had a moment of discouragement, even as she briskly addressed them.
"I have asked Mr. Cade to leave Star L. He refuses. Being a woman, I can't throw him out, but from this time on you will not accept his orders as foreman. There will be a new one on the ranch tomorrow. Is that clear?"
The heavy silence following sent a small stab of fear through her. There they stood, ten ungainly figures, hands hooked into low gunbelts, taciturn and grim-eyed. When she tried to meet their glances they fell away. Plainly, she had lost this fight. Cade, almost grinning, spoke up.
"You see? These men work for me. They take my orders. So I guess I ain't fired a while yet."
"Then you all must go," Tamesie said flatly.
"Not until I say so," Cade shot back with unusual energy. At this point he disclosed himself more than he ever had before. He said, more slowly, "I'll run the ranch, ma'am."
Tamesie measured him. She made her voice stay level. "You mean—I'm a prisoner on my own place?"
"Wouldn't put it that way," Cade drawled. "You're free to go back East or to live in town. But I'll run the Star L. It's my business."
"Must I have the sheriff out here?" Tamesie demanded, doubling her small fists.
Cade only shook his head. She couldn't make out what kind of an emotion passed across his colorless face, yet she clearly understood that he was as much as saying she would never reach the sheriff, or that if she did it would do her no good. So closely was she watching the man that she failed to observe a new figure standing in the doorway. When the newcomer spoke, he startled her as much as he did all the others.
"I reckoned trouble to come," he said. "Cade, you skeleton of a crook, I'm in on this deal."
To a man they snapped around. Lin Jessup lolled in the doorway, the picture of graceful indolence. A sawed-off shotgun tilted forward, covering the group. A piece of a smile skittered across Lin's face. Excitement flashed and glittered in his gray eyes like a storm warning.
"I've herded some o' you whelps before. I'm doin' it again. Now, the lady says vamoose. One by one, step out here while I draw your stingers."
"By God, you stay clear o' this parley!" Cade shouted. "Get off this ranch before I grind you to cinders! It's the last time I'll warn you!"
"March out," Lin said, withdrawing from the doorway. "You know my style by now, Cade."
Cade swung to the girl. "Ma'am, do you understand what he's doin'? That man is a renegade!"
Tamesie Lowell smiled. She said, "Lin Jessup is my new foreman. If you won't take my orders you'll take his."
Cade stared at her. "So you been listenin' to him, uh?"
"No," Tamesie replied sweetly. "I have just made him foreman this minute. He seems to be capable."
"March out," Lin Jessup repeated, grinning at Remy Cade.
A sawed-off Greening was a nasty instrument. Moreover these men knew Lin Jessup. Their ranks wavered. The man nearest the muzzle of the gun walked slowly through the door, elevating his hands. Lin tallied them, removed each holstered gun, lining them together in the yard. Cade followed last, his emotion sweeping a bilious yellow to his face. Lin nodded toward one of the crew. "Go saddle horses. Bring back a gunnysack. Shake the dust, now." Stepping back from the disarmed crew, he began to eject shells from each revolver.
Cade waved his skinny arm. "This is the last time you meddle, Jessup! Fair warning!"
"Fair?" Lin snorted. "Remy, you never did a fair act in your life. Don't be sentimental. All I want is for you boys to get off Star L. I misdoubt if you stay off long, but that's my worry. We'll sweep the barn clean even if it gets dirty again. Only, if you come back you'd better make it in a hurry and after dark. From now on Star L is going to be a legitimate brand. Sure sorry you've got to lose a lot of nursed stock. In case I can't identify original brands I'll call on you for help."
"More than one way to skin a skunk," Cade said.
"That's right, Remy," Lin agreed. "But all ways is odoriferous."
Up came a string of saddled horses. Lin made a gesture with his arm, at which the peremptorily discharged crew mounted. "Now," he went on, "just so there won't be any legal complications, I'm puttin' your empty guns in this gunnysack. You can sort 'em out and fill 'em again after you leave us. Adios."
The sullen Charley retrieved the laden sack and threw it across his saddle. Cade tarried for one last threat. "You signed your own warrant, Jessup."
"See you in Eccles Canyon some night," Lin said. "Now travel."
They galloped away, Lin watching them until the dust of their progress was only a blur in the south. Then he turned toward the girl. "Reckon I'll apologize for buttin' in. I got worried up on the ridge an' thought I'd better sneak down here. Cade ain't a man to trust very far."
Tamesie had a moment of weakness. A woman's weapons seemed singularly futile in this land. "Now what are we going to do?"
"We'll have six or seven good men on the job before noon," Lin said, and his smile broadened. "I'm a great hand to smell difficulty. So I had Steve Nebo look around for assistance."
"Come inside," Tamesie said. "I want you to know something."
Remy Cade and his men traveled swiftly away from the Star L, never stopping until the house was lost behind the curve of the prairie. Dipping into a dry wash, he raised his hand and brought them to a sudden halt. Charley silently distributed the guns, hurling the gunnysack as far away from him as he could. After they had loaded the empty chambers they waited for the ex-superintendent to announce his will. He seemed to be quite long in coming to a decision; so long, in fact, that the sullen Charley spoke up.
"Let's go back now. He's only one man, Cade."
"It'd be a fight," Cade mused, turning the proposition over in his head. "If it leaked out we was pluggin' bullets toward a woman, I don't misdoubt that the county would get sore."
"She won't leave," Charley insisted. "It's now or later. Why give up so easy?"
"Who's givin' up?" Cade snapped. "Shut your mouth. Mebbe we got to do it in the long run. But first we'll try other means. Right off, Lin Jessup's got to be disposed of. Next place, neither o' them two can leave that ranch. Not unless I got my eyes on 'em. Charley, you stick here till it goes on dark. No, leave your hoss here an' inch back to the house. Pot Jessup when he steps into sight. Better go along with him, Pete. When you get that took care of, let me know. But see Tamesie Lowell don't try to git away. If she does I'll settle with you boys and no mistake—"
One of the crowd had climbed up to the rim of the arroyo. He broke into Cade's orders. "Dust comin' up from Burnt Ridge way."
The party crawled alongside the lookout and waited until a squad of horsemen appeared in front of the dust. Charley moved uneasily. "Suppose Jessup went an' got help? I'll bet a hat it's Steve Nebo. Yeah, it's Nebo's big hoss. I reco'nize it."
Cade stepped back to the bottom of the arroyo. "Spread out. If it's Nebo we ketch him right now. By God, the Star L ain't goin' to have no help!"
"Make it a fight?" Charley questioned.
"If they start one," Cade muttered. He removed his sombrero and rubbed his head until it turned red. Charley began to swear and never stopped until the oncoming group was near enough for him to identify each man. Nebo. Ed Paris, dam' his fool heart! Lee Larelle. Benbow Collins. Zip Shugrue. "You bet they're aimin' fer Star L. Them fellas are all the same liver."
Charley began to swear again. Remy Cade put himself in the center of his line, reaching for his gun. "Wait for my shout. Hold it, Charley. What the hell ails you? Never swapped lead before? All right!"
Nebo and his four followers were within revolver range before they saw the Star L horses standing in the deep arroyo. That checked them, but directly afterward Cade and his men sprang into sight. Nebo started for his gun, halting the movement when he saw a rifle bearing down on him. He would have taken chances with a revolver, but that solitary rifle decided him to be peaceful. He dragged on the reins, stopped in a billowing of dust, hearing Cade's brittle challenge.
"High up! Don't make no false moves whatever! Now climb down!"
"In plain daylight," Nebo said, aggrieved. "We don't owe you nothin', Cade."
"You bet," Cade replied. "I'm seein' to it you won't, either. Vacation for you boys. Unload 'em, Charley."
"What's the rub?" Nebo demanded. "We run into your beef transactions? My, my, Remy, but you get yallower every day. Listen, we're mindin' our own business."
"At present," Cade said. "But you was on the road to cook up somethin'. Well, it'll be a wet an' dreary day afore you ever reach Lin Jessup at the Star L. Now climb back to them saddles."
"So Lin's there, uh?" Nebo grinned. "An' musta kicked you off. Well, he's a swift worker. I'd figgered to meet him along the bench." Still amiable, he stepped into the saddle and, along with his partners, was herded slowly away from the arroyo. "Haze 'em to Eccles Canyon," Cade ordered. "Hold 'em till you hear from me. Charley an' Pete, I want you to stay here for that other chore."
"You're gettin' bolder," Nebo observed. "Must think you got this county tied in a double bow knot, Remy. But you ain't. I'll be enjoyin' a pretty sight afore long—your legs tryin' to reach the earth an' your soul aspirin' for the sky. An' both will be plumb impossibilities."
"Go on," Cade snapped. "Get movin', dammit."
But the insouciant Nebo had a last word even as he was fogged along by his captors. "This is your fatal error, Cade. You should of played it safe. Dead is a long time."
"He said somethin'," sullen Charley grumbled, watching the group dwindle across the prairie. "Cade, I never knew you to be so reckless. That ranch house ain't worth fightin' for. It's blamed poor poker you played. We can do without it."
"Nobody gets to that house and nobody leaves it," Cade said angrily. "You boys sneak back there. Drop Jessup. Drop him, understand? Keep the girl on the premises. I'm goin' to Burnt Ridge."
He climbed into his saddle and rode toward the town, feeling not at all pleased with himself. The girl and Jessup had forced his hand. They had made him abandon his accustomed caution. They had broken through his false wall of legality. In that hour he had burned his bridges and committed himself to plain outlawry; a fact which, once spread abroad, meant his ruin. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was playing for high stakes. Nobody knew how high, not even Dunk Dalzell. It wasn't only the matter of using the Star L as a rustlers' harbor. It was something of infinitely more value inside the house itself.
"Have to work fast," he grumbled. "Git it an' leave the country. Let Dalzell an' the rest of 'em hold the sack." He repeated that phrase over and over again, trying to conceal the uneasiness he felt at having the security knocked from under his feet. In front of Bill Beesom's Refuge he added another equally abrupt phrase. "Where in hell could Buck Lowell have put it?"
In the Star L front room, Tamesie Lowell unfolded her story to Lin Jessup. And when she finished, Lin rolled a cigarette in profound silence, his eyes sweeping the big room shrewdly.
"An' so that explains why Cade's ripped this place from top to bottom. Looks to me like he even dug a tunnel under the sills from the outside. But he ain't found it yet."
"What makes you think so?" Tamesie inquired.
"He's a cautious critter, is Remy. Never likes to put his foot down except on solid ground. Now Dunk Dalzell would as soon fight as he would draw breath. But Cade ain't built that way. If he'd found what he was after he'd let you come. He'd been as pleasant as a June bride. An' he'd of skipped the country for his health. The fact that he's throwin' his whole pile of chips into this thing means he's makin' a last desperate play to control this house until he uncovers the secret."
He smoked over the problem. Tamesie, not ordinarily given to depression, drifted with the silence feeling quite fortified to have him around. The specter of open lawlessness she had seen for the very first time shook her more than she cared to admit.
Yet Lin Jessup seemed to be doing no worrying at all. Trouble sat lightly on his shoulders. He even grinned at some passing thought, and the girl, watching the outline of his boldly chiseled features, wondered how he ever got so much of a reputation for cold recklessness. He had not appeared to be very concerned when he faced Cade's men with a single gun, yet it seemed significant that they had not argued very long with him.
"Now let's go over this again," Lin said. "It sounds just like Buck Lowell, but it's a pretty strong story to believe. How much money did he hide here?"
"He didn't tell me exactly," Tamesie replied. "But from what he hinted, it was enough to cover some notes falling due this fall. And it was always his habit, he explained, to keep enough cash around for paying the men and buying extra cattle. Also, he'd just turned off better than four hundred head to market. I know it's more than twenty thousand dollars. He admitted that. Dad was a very secretive man, even with his family."
"I can understand that. He never put any trust in banks. He told me so himself. But why didn't he take it East when he left here?"
"Because he had his last attack in Burnt Ridge and he was afraid to ride back to the ranch. Afraid he might die before he saw me. So he just got on the train and came East." She hesitated. "And I suppose it does seem queer he wouldn't tell me where he'd hidden it. But—Dad was very sick. I don't want this to go any further, Lin, but his mind just seemed to collapse. Once in a while he pulled himself together and talked. The rest of the time he was under a kind of hallucination. He seemed to think he was being watched by his enemies. That will have to explain it."
"That would be Buck Lowell," Lin agreed soberly. "He had plenty of enemies, too, Tamesie. Any fighter has enemies." And at that Lin's eyes gleamed with humor. "Speakin' from experience. All right. There's twenty-some thousand dollars cached around this house an' Remy Cade knows it and wants it. How that mummified turtle caught on to the secret I dunno. Prob'ly by hearin' rumors an' studying your dad's habits. It was plain knowledge in this country anyhow. But Remy ain't found it, which means he'll be back. You bet."
"What are we going to do?" the girl asked plaintively.
"Meet trouble as it develops," was Lin's prompt answer. "I sent Steve Nebo off to enlist a half-dozen men we can depend on. You see, I figgered you'd need help one way or another. Wasn't just expectin' to have you give me this job, though. Ain't that snap judgment on your part?"
"I'm taking my father's estimate of you," she reminded him.
"God bless Buck Lowell." He frowned. "Say, how did you know it was me on that buckboard?"
She colored a little. "From the gold band ring you wear. I saw it when you got on the train."
Lin chuckled. Being a man with quick nerves, he could sit down only so long. Rising, he ranged about the room, kicking at the floor boards. "Well, it's just a ring, Miss Tamesie. I ain't married."
The color deepened on her cheeks. "That was uncalled for, Lin Jessup."
"All right. Consider it unsaid. Just my way of throwing my hat in the ring."
Nobody could long resist the man's humor, not even Tamesie. "You are reckless."
"Uhuh. Well, Nebo was to meet me on the bench. But he'll prob'ly see my tracks and follow back here with the boys he's picked up. We'll have a crew this afternoon."
At this point Tamesie Lowell made a Lowell decision. "All right, Lin. Everything is in your hands. I surrender the ranch to you. I won't give you any foolish orders and I won't interfere. Just consider me as a piece of the furniture until this is all settled. I do want you to know I'm not here for any treasure hunt. If we never find the money I won't be awfully worried. You see, my mother hated this country. She took me away to make a musician of me. Lin, I'm the world's poorest pianist, but her heart was set on it and I just labored along. She died right after father."
That was the story. Lin nodded gravely and Tamesie's voice added a swift, almost explosive phrase. "But this is where I belong! I love it! I won't ever leave!"
"Bein' a good Lowell, you wouldn't," Lin said. "Believe I'll mosey over to the bunkhouse."
It was cool inside the room and along the porch. Beyond, the land lay sweltering under a hot sun. Heat waves quivered up from the ground and a haze trailed like a gauze curtain against the horizon. Lin stepped through the door and out to the yard. He had gone perhaps twenty feet when something struck his attention and he turned to speak to Tamesie who had come to the porch. At that moment the sultry stillness was broken by the muffled report of a rifle in the near distance. Lin's body, half twisted, seemed to waver. He threw his arms forward and sagged, falling like a sack of meal.
Tamesie Lowell screamed. She ran out toward him, crying, "Lin—Lin!"
He turned his head slightly. "Get back in the house," he said.
"I won't. You're hit—"
"Get back in that house before the sucker takes another shot. He didn't hit me—it's only an old dodge. Go on!"
Tamesie wavered. The echo came once more, a bullet ploughing a furrow between her and Lin Jessup's prone figure. She ran for cover, but even then she refused to go beyond the door. Instead she stood by the porch support, trembling. Lin spread himself quite flat on the ground and inched backward. The unknown ambusher out beyond must have seen this movement, for a third bullet brought up a jet of sand less than a foot removed from his body. Hard upon this, Lin squirmed about, rolling over and over, his yellow hair afire in the hot sun. At the porch steps he rose and fell inside the flimsy shelter of the porch rail.
"Get in the house, Tamesie. I ain't hurt. I just want to spot this jasper if I can before he takes another shot at me."
TAMESIE leaned against the door jamb, fists doubled together. Lin, casting a swift glance at the girl, saw she was trying to bring her nerves together and get control of herself. The color came slowly back to her cheeks. Black eyes flashed. Lin spoke gently. "Good girl. The first sound o' lead comin' your way is mighty hard on the constitution. After a while you won't mind it."
"Have you been shot at before?"
"Lord, I'd think it was a poor season if somebody didn't send me them kind of compliments." He grinned, but Tamesie felt he was being light-hearted only for her benefit. Dust powdered his face and sweat ran across his forehead. Flat on his stomach, he stared across the shimmering ground. "That gent is a good quarter-mile away. Must be in the depression over near the road."
"Cade?"
Lin shook his head. "Cade's got no stomach for this kind of work. He prob'ly sent one of his men—"
A neat round hole flicked into the bottom step of the porch. Lin's gaze swept the earth's surface, backward and forward, and finally came to rest. Tamesie drew inside, oppressed by the ensuing silence. Nothing moved out there; it was deadly still. She heard only the pounding of her own heart and Lin Jessup's slow breathing.
"A good five hundred yard," he muttered. "Now, is it one man or is it the whole outfit? Tamesie, you better see all the windows are locked."
She went quickly through the house, glad to have a chore that occupied her attention. Then minutes later when she returned he was inside the big room. "Let's go upstairs. You keep a look around the back of the place." In a corner of the second floor he squatted by a window and once more painstakingly searched the ground. Tamesie called from across the hall, "I don't see anything." Then she heard a jingling of glass and ran back to Lin's station. He had broken a pane with the muzzle of his gun and was taking a long, steady aim. At that instant she understood why Cade's crew had walked meekly away from the ranch. The face resting along the butt of the gun was bleak, intent on destruction. Tamesie turned away as the room filled with the roar of the discharge. Lin moved back, murmuring softly.
"I'm a big fool for tryin' to reach him with this pea shooter. But I can see the sucker plastered out there. Don't see anybody else, though. All right, Tamesie. He's got the bulge on us until it gets dark. Then I'll take a little still hunt."
"Lin, you might be killed."
"I might, but I don't reckon so."
Tamesie decided she was entirely useless and went down the stairs to the kitchen. It was past noon and time to eat, even if they were besieged. A half-hour later she brought up an impromptu meal and they ate by the observation post.
"Point number two—you can cook," he said over his coffee cup.
"What was point number one?" Tamesie asked, on her dignity.
"You got courage to burn."
"You'd better wait until you discover some of my faults before you make rash proposals," she said. "He who leaps without sight always buys a bad bargain."
Then she smiled at Lin Jessup's embarrassment. He turned quite red and deserted her for the window. "Don't you think I'm so presumin' a fool," he said, "even if I talk wild."
"I like you better a little rash, Lin."
The afternoon rolled slowly on, the eastern rim began to glow under the sun's last long rays. Lin Jessup patrolled from room to room, watching all angles of approach. Tamesie, for want of a better thing to do, made more coffee. That and a can of plum pudding was their supper. "Steve Nebo," Lin said, "should have been here some time back. He's run into a jackpot."
"But he couldn't know you were here."
Lin knew his partner better, and said as much. "He would've found me. That's Steve. No, he's run into grief. I've got to locate him."
Of a sudden it was dark. And Lin, abandoning his long vigil, went downstairs and crept out a rear door. "Tamesie, you lock yourself in one o' those rooms. Don't move even if you hear a burst of shots. But if it happens Cade an' his party come trampin' in, you crawl out of a window and drop off the porch roof. Make straight down the road for town."
"Can't I go with you?" she asked wistfully.
Lin shook his head. Before he vanished in the shadows she touched his arm, saying gently, "Be careful." Then he was gone. She turned upstairs and went to the darkest corner she could find, her fists tightening as the dragging moments passed.
Lin circled the house, struck off at a tangent and crept into the prairie. After a while he dropped to his knees, aiming at the spot where he had last seen the ambusher. It was wholly black, with that peculiar density of a Western night without a moon. About three hundred yards from the house he stopped and put an ear to the ground. Nothing to be heard. The fellow had either retreated or was playing possum. A hundred yards more and he reached the depression. Now, it should be only a little way along this—
He brought out his gun. From this point he moved a foot at a time, raising and lowering his knees, stretching his arms ahead. Afar, a coyote sent its weird, unforgettable challenge up to the dim stars. A piece of a wind touched his cheeks. And he thought he heard something move directly across his path. Move and stop, and move again. Lin sank flat, listening.
A grunt, a soft intake of breath. After that a shadow wavered against the velvet pall, grew larger and quartered toward the ranch house. It vanished and then appeared again. The man was moving uncertainly. Perhaps the long wait and the darkness had touched his nerves. Lin stretched to his knees, got to his feet and sprang ahead. The shadow grew solid.
Lin plunged ahead. His gun barrel swept downward and grazed an arm. Breath exploded in his face and a fist struck him fair on the lips with stunning force. He caught at that fist, trying for a hold, but he was sent spinning. The shadow retreated. Then the fathomless depths of the universe were shattered by a gun's voice. Dull flame ran across the strip of space, the breath of powder touched him. Lin Jessup swung his shoulder sidewise, firing point blank. After that the silence seemed to deepen. But the unknown's shadow dropped lower by inches. Suddenly it merged with the ground. Lin heard a swift and labored intake of breath. Then a voice croaked, "I was a fool to pull Cade's ches'nuts outa the fire—"
The man was dead. Lin started to bend over, then was warned by the sibilant scraping directly in his rear. He turned. Halfway around, he met an oncoming body and went down in a wrestler's lock. The second assailant seemed to be all feet and legs. Lin rolled over and over. He wrenched an arm free and hammered at the base of the man's neck. It brought a mutter of pain; it loosened the fellow's hold. He heard a fist strike the sand beside him and, whipping every muscle to his will, he broke clear with a series of twisting, painful surges. His opponent was overset, a black, catapulting mass in the gloom. Lin aimed and struck. The barrel of his gun lay across flesh and bone—and there was no more resistance.
Lin braced himself on his elbows. Groping, he captured the man's weapons. Then he relaxed, aching in a dozen different spots.
"All right, come back to earth," he muttered.
The figure stirred. Lin crawled to his feet and placed the muzzle of his revolver against the man's spine. "Come on back. You ain't dead, but you ought to be."
"Charley—"
"Your partner's finished. Get up."
"Jessup?"
"You ought to know. Rise an' march."
The unknown one groaned. "Damn, I'm blinded. They's a sluice o' blood runnin' down my face. It's a knife you used on me, you dirty rat!"
But the pressure of the gun was against his back and Lin's arms were pulling him upright. So the man stood erect, swaying. Lin pushed him ahead, marched him across the prairie and to the ranch house. At the porch, Lin called to the girl and presently she came down, lighting a lamp. Lin shoved his captive into the room.
"Pete Sabin, uh? Well, Pete, I always knew you to be crooked, but I didn't figure you'd ambush a gent."
Pete wiped the blood from his face. "Talk ahead," he grumbled. "You won't be on top long. You're marked for a bullet."
"Where's Cade?"
"Town, I guess. An' that ain't all, either, Jessup. Your partner an' his party is bein' took care of, see. Oh, I guess your day is about finished."
"Where's Steve Nebo?" Lin pressed.
The captive remained glumly silent. Lin stepped back a pace, and the yellow lamplight flashed against his eyes. "Of course, Pete, if you're goin' to be stubborn—"
"Up in the canyon," Pete confessed reluctantly. Then he roared, "You devil, you'd torture me! When the time comes I'll burn your eyes out with my cigarette! You wait!"
Lin turned to the girl. "Tamesie, there's a lot of gear in that closet beside the fireplace. Will you find me a rope?"
Tamesie obeyed. Lin unwound the lariat she gave him and dropped a noose around Pete Sabin's neck. He led the man upstairs to one of the rooms, tied him to a bed and stuffed a gag in his mouth. "Sleep it off, Pete. I'll be back later."
Downstairs he faced Tamesie. "Nebo's in trouble. I've got to see what I can do. We can't hold this ranch alone. I'm blamed if—"
"I am going along," she broke in.
"But Tamesie—"
"No, sir!" was her swift answer. "I'd go mad if I had to stay here by myself. You'll have to put up with me."
He considered it gravely. There seemed no other way out of the tangle. If Cade came in the meantime and found the girl, the man probably would be in a frame of mind to kidnap her. "All right," he decided. "But it's going to be a tough night, I'm afraid."
Her small, compact shoulders rose and fell. "I don't care."
Lin went to the closet and rummaged out an old saddle. Then he stepped across the yard, slapped the gear on an extra horse from the corral and came back. Tamesie swung up. Together they rode away from the Star L ranch house.
"We're desertin', in a way," Lin said. "But we've got to have Nebo and whatever help he's raised. If Cade trapped 'em, it means most of the crew is up there, so the ranch ain't in much danger for a few hours. And even if Cade does come back while we're gone he won't find the money—seein' as he's hunted for it so long anyway. It's a gamble we've got to make."
Her hand fell on his shoulder. "I've got all my confidence in you, Lin."
"That helps," he said, and looked solemnly up to the dim stars. Life was like a jigsaw puzzle. Who would have thought, one short week ago, that he'd be riding across the Star L by night with Tamesie Lowell by his side—with Tamesie Lowell putting herself in his hands?
It grew crisp as they drew nearer the buttes. The wind freshened. Tamesie felt it, but she set her teeth and kept silent. Once, when Lin broke a long silence to ask her if she felt warm enough, she answered, "I'm all right." The man immediately pulled his mackinaw from the back saddle thongs and made her wear it.
"You mustn't worry about me," she protested. "We've got so many other things to consider. I don't want to be a burden." Nevertheless, the rough, heavy folds of the mackinaw comforted her. It smelled of tobacco, of wood-smoke; and when she tucked her hands into the big pockets she discovered an odd assortment of objects—staples, a pouch of tobacco, pliers, a length of rolled wire, keys. The things an outdoor man would carry with him.
She had no idea of how long it took them to cross the prairie and start up the side of the buttes. In the East, time had been the very essence of her life; the hour hands of the clock marked her duties and her engagements, regulating her being. Out here time slid along unnoticed, unimportant. An hour was nothing, a day little more. The West lived on a long swing, measuring its tasks by seasons.
But as the grade grew sharper, Lin went ahead and they traveled Indian file, turning and twisting until the girl lost all sense of direction. She felt masses of rock bulking alongside. She was aware of a great barrier rearing its opaque shadow above them. Lin's voice floated back to her, subdued yet astonishingly clear. "There's two ways of gettin' to the heart of this pile. One leads into Eccles Canyon from the south. A sort of alley openin' right off the prairie floor. This is a back entrance. Nobody ever uses this trail—too long an' too rough. You all right?"
"Of course. Don't worry about me. Where are we going?"
"You'll see in a minute."
Something closed about her. Cold air scoured against her face and she heard the slight drip of water. Reaching out, she touched the jagged edges of rock. "Bend low," Lin murmured. And then they were beyond the tunnel and the girl saw, far down, a flickering point of light. Lin Jessup had stopped; he was speaking just above a whisper. "Dunk Dalzell's camp. He's in fifty-fifty with Cade, though the county don't know it. Think Nebo's down there. You wait right here till I come back. There's a little shelf ahead where you can draw off the trail. Don't stray, even if you hear trouble brewin' below. It's dark and you're absolutely safe."
She felt a gun being pressed into her hands and she protested. "You're giving me your gun?"
A soft chuckle rose and fell. She could see nothing of him, but she heard a twang of excitement in his answer. "Lord, Tamesie, I'm weighted down with artillery like a Mexican bandit. That gun came from your dad's gear closet. All right, so Lin Jessup sneaks forth. I like to pull stunts on Dunk Dalzell—makes him so doggoned mad. It ain't a pleasure to fight with Cade, because that walkin' mummy won't swap slugs openly. Dunk will. He's got a liver."
Tamesie had a moment of nerves as she heard him drop out of the saddle. She wanted to hold him nearby a moment longer. But she fought the impulse and clenched both small hands around the butt of her weapon. A foot scraped across the rocks and then all sound of the man faded. For an instant it was as still as death; but presently the night filled with alarming echoes and mysterious shapes wavered about her. She thought she heard someone approaching from behind and she drew her horse closer to the side of the cliff. . . .
Lin Jessup lowered himself along the side of the canyon, following the path he knew so well. Once more he skirted the promontory and saw the canyon walls reflecting the blood-glow of the fire. Fifty feet farther down he stopped, inspecting the figures wrapped in blankets by the blaze. Six, he counted. Well, six was the number of Dunk's own gang, yet if Nebo and Nebo's men were being held captives hereabouts it was likely a part of the former Star L crew would be likewise on hand. Of them he saw nothing; nor could he find a trace of Steve Nebo.
Probably they were back in the shadows. The canyon walls made a convenient shelter to the west side of the fire where Dalzell's outfit could repair in time of storm. Lin abandoned his search and began to circle the bowl until he reached a spot that balked travel. He had to drop to the floor of the canyon and take his chances. So he crawled on, past the final protecting boulder, and found himself less than fifty yards from the blaze. Flat on his stomach, he inched over this floor to gain a refuge somewhere near the cavern. The firelight fell just short of him.
A horse whinnied somewhere deeper in the darkness—somewhere near the canyon's end. And he made out the jingle of bridle chains. It was, he knew, Dalzell's habit always to keep a part of the horse band saddled against emergency. Lin tucked the fact in the front of his head and pushed forward another five yards. Abruptly, he heard a familiar voice drawling through the darkness, "Say, you got one too many tucks in me. Loosen up this rope afore I bust an artery."
Lin laid his head flat on the sand. Nebo was just a few yards removed. Evidently there was a guard nearby. Presently this guard spoke, seeming to be still farther along the ground. "You ought to be glad it ain't worse."
"Yeah?" Nebo jeered. "That's a kind thought. I'll live to see you buried with yore socks on."
"Shut up. I got no palaver for you."
Lin heard his partner moving restlessly. This brought a quick warning from the guard. "Stop it! Won't do you no good to roll around."
Now, how was he to tell Steve of his presence? Lin studied the matter over and over until a happy thought arrived. Steve knew of the gold band ring on his third left finger. Sure. . . . He rose on his knees, advanced a matter of feet. Steve was softly cursing and by that Lin placed his partner's exact location. He raised his left palm and let it drop on Steve's face, the ring pressing against Steve's cheek. He felt his partner's muscles expand. Then he brought the hand away and ran it along the rope binding his partner by arms, shoulders and feet. And as he reached for his pocket knife, Steve spoke casually to the guard.
"What's the idee o' havin' us all scattered sep'rate like this? Where's the other five boys?"
Lin Jessup grinned. Steve was talking this way to tell him how things stood. The guard, apparently trying to get in a little sleep while on duty, spoke irritably. "For the love o' Pete, Nebo, hush! They're all picketed out like you. We ain't takin' no chances on havin' you loosen each other's knots, see?"
Lin's knife slid through the body of the rope, even as Steve Nebo cleared his throat to cover the sound "Well," Steve grumbled, "I don't see why I got to lay out in this draught. Put me with the rest of 'em. They're by the cave, ain't they?"
The guard swore roundly. He seemed to be rising from his blanket. In that moment of suspense, Lin drew his gun and waited. Nebo, though free to unwind himself from the rope, never stirred. The guard was moving toward the fire, body silhouetted against it. At the blaze he squatted to light a cigarette. Lin murmured into Nebo's ear, "Stick here while I—"
"Good work, kid," Steve breathed. "I been thinkin', all the aft'noon. They got hosses saddled an' tied to a pole rack against the west rock face. Twenty more loose head jammed against the end o' the canyon, held by a rope thrown acrost. Cut the rope, Lin. Stampede 'em into the fire. I'll do the rest."
Lin had brought two extra revolvers. One, from Buck Lowell's gear closet, he had given to the girl. The other was Pete Sabin's, and this he now passed to Nebo, retreating as the guard came ambling back. A short distance away he rose to his feet, reached the west wall of the canyon and groped along until he struck one post of the hitching rack. Bridle chains jingled once more; a horse stepped nervously. Lin skirted the rack and walked into the narrowing end of the canyon. Voices rose behind him. He heard Dunk Dalzell challenging:
"Lazear, that you? What's all the movin' about? Anybody by them horses? Lazear!"
Lin reached the rope barrier. His knife slashed down, the rope parted. This affair was beginning to warm up. Dalzell, he saw, was walking away from the fire, his immense frame outlined in the blood-glow. So he ran back to the rack, fumbled with a rein's half-hitch and threw himself into somebody's saddle. Dalzell challenged again, his words booming from wall to wall: "Who's that? Lazear!" The horse whirled to the spur, racing into the canyon's end and on through the loose stock, spreading confusion. Lin drew his gun and fired at random, adding a high-treble yell. That yell woke the echoes. Of a sudden the shadows swirled with milling horseflesh. A thunderbolt was launched as the loose stock raced away toward the canyon's mouth. Dunk Dalzell's frame bobbed like a cork in the light and vanished. Men screamed into Lin Jessup's vision and were lost in the midst of the careening stock. Nebo's voice sang upward along a weird harmonic scale—that was his cry of battle. And a gun report crashed across the wake of his yell. Then other guns broke in until this natural sounding board seemed to disintegrate under charges of dynamite. Lin galloped directly toward the fire which, trampled by the fleeing horses, was a glowing blur on the ground.
"Come on!" he yelled. "We got 'em trapped! Close that outlet, Sheriff! All right, scramble along the rocks! We got 'em boxed!"
This was for Dunk Dalzell's benefit only. The rustler renegade flung the challenge back into Lin's face. "Jessup, you die! If it's a thousand men with you—you die! Stand out an' fight it! Stick fast, boys!"
Lin veered back toward the tethered horses. Somebody was near the rack, breathing hard and fast. His brittle cry struck Lin like a blow. "Who's that? Lin? All right, all right! Zip Shugrue, Lin! What next?"
"Stay here. Got a gun, Zip?"
"Nope. Wait—hold on. Yeah. Here's a rifle in this joe's saddle boot. Happy days! I'm m'self onct more!"
"Pump a few shots into that fire. They're collectin' near it."
Nebo raised his cry, near at hand. Lin answered. Bullets smashed against the cliff; Dalzell was organizing his fight like a shrewd veteran. It was getting hot by the rack, for a fact. But Nebo seemed to have done his chore successfully. He reached the rack, glowing and bubbling over with the wrath of vengeance. Once aroused, Steve Nebo's mind worked like a machine and he was utterly lacking in caution. "All here? Collins—Lee—Paris—Zip? Now, by Jum, we pay our debts! Lin, let's ride! Ride 'em down!"
They were in the saddle. Lin Jessup vaguely saw them, heard them. Beyond the scattered fire he saw a flickering, purple row of flame jets, like the electric glow of fireflies. Lin gathered the impression that Dunk Dalzell had got his men spread out from wall to wall; six of Dunk's own men, and probably as many ex-Star L punchers. The odds were two to one. Not bad, but there were too few guns among Nebo's party to make it a decent scrap. He could afford to have none of his saddles emptied tonight. It must be cut and run, up the precipitous path he had traced earlier. Tamesie Lowell was up on the rim waiting, the Star L undefended. The ranch must see the showdown, not Eccles Canyon.
"Follow me," he said. "Up the slope."
"By Jum, let's scorch this stew!" Steve yelled.
"Hold it, you idiot. We've got our own stew to watch. Follow me!"
He galloped across the canyon floor and forced his mount along the rock-strewn side. "Can't make it with these brutes," Steve muttered.
"Got to," Lin said, dismounting. "Haul 'em if no other way."
He fought through and around the massive stones. Hoofs struck fire, saddle leather groaned. Dunk Dalzell had caught the maneuver and was lifting his guns, meanwhile bellowing like a gored bull. Bullets twanged past the fugitives, spat and ricocheted against the rock formation.
"Let him shout," Lin said. "It's his fight tonight. Come on, come on—can't you boys lift a horse, dead weight?"
"They make critters too damn heavy!" Steve panted. "Just one round, Lin! Let's stop an' go back!"
"Not in the books. Budge them brutes. We're halfway."
The loose rubble snared them, went sliding down the incline. Dunk Dalzell seemed to have followed a few yards and then stopped; the volleying died a little and fell behind them. Lin twisted and turned, pulling on the reins. His horse, lunging upward, knocked him aside, bringing the whole party to a halt. They stopped for a breathing spell, went on, stopped and went on again. The cold air crusted the salt sweat, and the dim stars seemed infinitely remote. They stopped again and then fought yard by yard along the last steep slant. Lin felt the pathway beneath his feet and led his horse aside. One by one the laboring men gained the top and dropped to rest.
Silence, below. The scattered embers of the fire winked out.
"No more," Steve Nebo said, the breath whistling through his windpipe. "Never no more. Guess I got to cut out them sawdust cigareets. It's awful!"
Lin walked along the trail. "Tamesie."
No answer. He reached his own horse. Then a dozen yards farther, discovered the girl's horse, riderless. "Tamesie!"
Somebody came running down the trail, regardless of the yawning chasm. The girl's voice struck through the darkness. "Lin? Oh, Lin!"
She collided with him and Lin put a supporting arm around her. "What's the matter?"
She was trembling, yet trying to command herself. "I heard somebody coming, just after you left. I slipped down and crawled away. There was somebody right near. I heard a horse turning on the rocks. I—I must be an awful coward. But it was a man, and he stayed within ten yards of this spot all during the fight. Just a minute ago he went back."
"It sounds like Cade," Lin muttered. "Always on the edge of a fight, but never in it. Well, we better hustle back to the ranch. I got a feeling in my bones we won't be none too soon."
He led Tamesie to her horse and lifted her to the saddle. The rest of the party fell in behind. They wound down the trail, through the tunnel and at last gained the level prairie.
Tamesie drew beside Lin. "Was anybody hurt?"
"Not any of our boys—yet."
"One o' Dunk's hired hellions got punctured," Steve Nebo offered.
"How do you know?" the girl asked.
"I punctured him," Steve said.
"And I started all this," she said. "It isn't worth it. No, it isn't."
"Don't think that for a minute," Lin made haste to say. "This has been brewin' for a long while. The time was ripe to call Cade's hand. Don't you be sorry for none of 'em. They're all free, white an' twenty-one. Likewise, they know the difference between right an' wrong. And they ain't much sorry, either. Why, Dunk loves to scrap."
"So do I," Nebo said. "But I'm off this climbin' stuff. It's ruined me." Then he laughed and the echo of it made a queer muffled pattern in the shadows. "Lin, you must've been awful excited. Here you had a good hoss waitin' for you up on the trail an' you took all the trouble to lug another critter four hundred feet skyward. Must love hoss flesh."
"Blamed if it didn't slip my mind," Lin chuckled. "Say, where is that other horse?"
"I cut the saddle cinches an' let him roam."
"Naughty, naughty. That wasn't brotherly, Steve. Dunk won't like it at all."
"I'll send him a bouquet, with regrets," Steve said.
"You won't need to send it far, I'm thinkin'. He'll be on hand to receive it, personal. The sooner we reach the ranch house the easier I'll feel."
They galloped eastward.
Dunk Dalzell stood by the wreck of his camp fire, calling roll. They were all present and unharmed save one. That one happened to have been the guard set over Steve Nebo. He lay on the ground while a mumble of pain and outrage seeped from his lips. Dunk stooped, running a heavy hand over the man's head. "On the coco, huh? What'd he do—belt yuh? Well, you careless fool, it's your own fault. I'd ought to end your mizry."
"I got a slug in my shoulder," the fellow said.
"Should of been in your head," Dalzell growled. He rose and went tramping into the darkness, his path luridly marked by the things he said. "This comes o' Cade's foolishness. What'd he want to trap Nebo for, anyhow? An' what'd he want to wish them jaspers onto me for? By the slinkin' Judas, I never heard of a man bein' so damned foolish an' premature! Any half-wit might know you couldn't kidnap six men permanent. An' he runs off an' lets me handle the mess! Where is that yaller fossil now? Where is he?"
"Went to town, Dunk."
"Went to town," Dalzell mimicked. "He's always slidin' away from trouble. The more I think about it, the worse it smells. He's too dam' interested in that ranch house for any good use. Well, he won't hang the sign on me—no he won't! If I ketch him at it he'll drop!"
The rest of the crowd stood silent. Dunk Dalzell, in this kind of humor, was not a man to bother. They heard him rumbling in the distance; presently he returned. "How many saddles we got left?"
"Seven horses on the rack, Dunk. But they's them saddles we took from Nebo's crowd."
"Couple you boys round up some o' that loose stuff. Enough to ride. Let the rest slide for tonight. Well, don't stand there with your thumb in your mouth! On the prod!"
A part of them moved off. The injured man on the ground spoke between breaths. "Goin' to let—Jessup get away with it?"
"No I ain't," Dalzell said. "It's one hell of a mess Cade got me in. Now I've opened myself wide for trouble. Them boys will spread it. I'd like to get my han's on Remy Cade's hen-sized windpipe! But Jessup's fooled me jus' once too often. I'll pay that debt if it puts me out o' the county. Where's them hosses! Sift around, you dumbwit! You been dead on your feet all night!" He lifted his voice and blared down the canyon. "Where's them hosses?"
He poured the lees of his temper on their heads for a good ten minutes, until the riders came back with a handful of the stampeded stock. "Saddle up!" he roared. "I'll show you rabbits how to make a fight!"
They scattered. The injured one broke in plaintively, "How about me, Dunk?"
"You'll die or you'll live. Damn if I care which. Come on—don't be creepin' like a bunch of angleworms!"
Somebody brought him a horse. He mounted and waited impatiently for the rest to come up. "Now, listen. We're ridin' for the Star L. They'll get dug in ahead of us, so we'll have to boost 'em out. That house burns, see? It burns like a torch! Right down to the last cinder. I'm settlin' with Jessup for good."
"It's kind o' reckless, Dunk. County's apt to put in an oar."
"Well, it's too late now. Cade made a big mistake in the first place. Never knowed him to be so foolish. I'll finish the proposition. If we got to pull freight we'll have somethin' to show for it. They ain't got more'n seven-eight in their crowd. We're fourteen all told. That's ample to do it in a hurry, providin' some o' you rabbits will quit squealin'. Come on."
He rode down the canyon with the injured one's last cry in his ears. "Hey Dunk! I'm dyin'! You ain't goin' to leave me alone?"
"Die," muttered Dunk Dalzell. "It'll be a new experience for you."
IT was exactly three o'clock in the morning when Lin and his party approached the Star L corrals and stopped. The girl was half asleep in her saddle, but as the men stepped to the ground and started forward afoot she roused herself.
"What's up?"
"Just takin' out a little insurance against surprise," Lin said. The six men deployed, inspected the outbuildings and crept toward the house. Nebo ran across the porch and slid through the open door. Presently lamplight gushed through.
"All right, come ahead."
They converged upon the place and went inside. Lin motioned toward the stairway. Zip Shugrue sprang upward, doors rattled to his exploring arms. "You'll find Pete Sabin tied to a bunk in the corner room," Lin called.
Zip Shugrue grunted and proceeded with his search. Lin appointed Benbow Collins to take care of the horses and also to take station out beyond the corrals for a while. The girl, he saw, waged a losing fight to keep her eyes open, so he made her lie on the couch, spreading his coat over her.
"I don't want to sleep," she protested drowsily.
"You won't miss anything," Lin assured her. "Rest while you got the chance. Tomorrow's another day." He hadn't much more than finished the sentence when she was quite lost to the world. Then Zip Shugrue came down the stairs with the captured Pete's gunbelt as a trophy. "I'll be needin' this," he said. "Where's the gun?"
"Nebo's got it now," Lin said. "That's our first problem. Well, the meeting will come to order to discuss ways an' means. Three revolvers on hand. One rifle. But there's just a few cartridges in the magazine of the rifle. After which it's useless to us. That leaves us with only those three revolvers and not too much ammunition."
"Considerin' the state o' my temper," Steve Nebo broke in, "I don't need a gun. My bite would be fatal."
"Well," Lin said, "there is one more gun and belt out in the prairie which we can get." Whereupon he explained his fight with Cade's two men and the death of Charley. "I got hold of his gun and threw the blamed thing twenty feet. We'll have to locate it. And we'd better pack Charley to the bunkhouse."
"Listen," Steve interposed, "whatever makes you think Dunk Dalzell will tackle us? That's a pretty strong move, even for a renegade like him."
"Well, wasn't it a pretty strong move for Cade to kidnap you boys? Same idea. If they'll do that, they'll try to polish off the job. They've gone too far to back up."
"I don't get it at all," Steve muttered. "I sure don't. It was a wild stunt for Cade to pull. What was the need of it? He don't have to use this house to rustle cattle. Him an' Dunk were plumb safe. Nobody had a speck of evidence on 'em. Now, what with all this shootin', they're both in a jackpot. Awful queer."
Lin was silent a moment. Yet, he had never kept a secret from his partner and it was no time to start such a habit. So he decided to reveal the lure that had caused Cade to upset a lifetime habit of caution. "It's like this, boys. Somewhere in the house is a sum of money exceedin' twenty thousand dollars. There's the honey they want."
"Oh, shucks, that's a fairy tale," Steve objected. "Said yarn has been percolatin' through the county better'n a year, but nobody believes it. Jus' a fairy tale."
"Nope, it's dead truth," Lin countered. "Old Buck Lowell told Tamesie."
Twenty thousand was so great a sum that Nebo, at the moment, couldn't comprehend the significance of it. His practical mind went directly along its accustomed track. "All right. If that's cold truth, you get the money on deck an' wake the girl. I'll ride into town with both. This ain't no place for a lady and her millions."
"There's a slight hitch," Lin Jessup said, grinning. "She don't know where it is."
Nebo's cigarette drooped. Ed Paris looked to Lee Larelle and Lee stared dumbly at Zip Shugrue. Nebo removed his cigarette with unwonted care. "Well, I'll be damned," he said blankly.
"I guess that explains all this feverish activity," Lin went on. "Cade got wind of it in some manner. He's ripped this joint from rafter to foundation. Don't it look wrecked? But he ain't found a red cent. And he's makin' a play to keep the house until he does find it. Maybe he thinks Tamesie knows where the money is located and he wants to hold her from walkin' away with it."
Nebo wasn't listening. He was doing sums on his finger tips, a remote expression flickering in his gray eyes. "Forty dollars a month is about five hundred a year. Ten years is five thousand. Forty years is twenty thousand. Yeah. If I worked forty years, played no cards, drank no liquor, ate like a sparrow an' bought no hosses, I'd make twenty thousand dollars. And that's the amount cached away on these premises. Totally buried like an old dog bone. Left in a house filled with thieves. My gawd, what a—"
"Buck Lowell's way," Lin said. "He never trusted banks after the Burnt Ridge National went bust. You bet Dunk Dalzell will pay a call. With Monseer Cade stringin' along."
"It sounds like a book," Steve grumbled. "All I got to say is we'd better find that chicken feed before they burn the house. Twenty thousand dollars of cinders won't help nobody."
Benbow Collins poked his head inside the door. "Listin, Lin, I don't mind standin' herd on a lot o' damn dark shadders, but it makes me nervous not to tote nothing more deadly than a collar button. How about a gun?"
Lin unbuckled his own belt and passed it to Collins. Benbow wrapped the armament to his body with somber relief. "If I don't have a ballast o' forty-five cartridges it makes me plumb giddy around the hips. Shadders git awful pers'nal to a unarmed gent."
"This weapon situation is sorta aggravatin'," Steve Nebo agreed. He scanned the room with a weather-eye. "Worst comes to worse I guess we can throw them fireplace stones or chuck the flowerpot at Dunk. Lin, I don't mind fightin'. Not at all. But it cramps my individuality to be worryin' about that money and also the lady."
"Now we're eye to eye on the subject," Lin said. He went to the door. At that hour, the darkest of the night, he could see absolutely nothing. Going out to the yard he dropped on his stomach and rested an ear against the hard packed earth. But the underground-telegraph was silent. Well, it might be a false alarm. Possibly Dunk Dalzell had put a curb to this headlong temper. Nebo came to the door with a suggestion.
"If I didn't know you so well, Lin, I'd suggest sendin' one o' us to Burnt Ridge for a little reinforcement."
"It's our fight," Lin replied. "Anyhow, I ain't any too sure of that new sheriff." He headed out into the prairie. "Stick to the place, Steve. I'm goin' out to find Charley an' lug him to the bunkhouse."
Somewhere beyond the bunkhouse he caught the faint echo of a board squealing. "Benbow, that you?"
Benbow Collins answered, "Yeah, I reckon it mus' be. Somethin' damn funny. . . ." The words trailed off. Several yards farther on, Lin heard Collins swearing doggedly, plodding right through all the known combinations of rugged blasphemy. Lin reached the depression and worked along it to approximately the point of his fight. He found Charley's lumpish body and then, on his knees, he made a painful circuit until he discovered the gun he had thrown away during the fight. Back to the dead Charley he went, appropriating the man's belt. Charley was a heavy creature, as difficult to handle in death as in life. Lin fought the man's bulk and got him on a shoulder, aiming for the bunkhouse. The light of the ranch house wavered in the deep fog. Eastward, the first strip of dawn broke the wall of black and Lin breathed a devout thanks.
Of a sudden Benbow's voice sputtered and rose. "Lin—hey, where you at now?"
"Over here."
"No. It ain't what I make—" An interlude of silence. Something crossed the saffron beam from the house. Crossed and disappeared. "No!" Benbow yelled. "What in—"
A shot beat along the fog, and at that signal, figures strained against the light of the house. Feet pounded on the porch boards. An angular silhouette stood in the doorway. Benbow challenged again, but his words were overborne by the familiar boom from Dunk Dalzell's throat. "Go on, you rabbits! Walk in! Walk in! Jessup, where you standin'?" The guns began speaking and the figures at the door sagged down, half across the threshold. Lin dropped his burden and raced toward the house, at the same time seeing a party of Dunk's men make an inward sally. The backwash of the ensuing fusillade rolled along the yard. Nebo stood in view for an instant. There came a woman's scream. Somehow the door was shut and Dunk Dalzell raged at his crew like a man gone stark mad. Lin kept his fire, running around the corner of the house. It sounded as if the porch were being ripped up, plank by plank.
At the corner he raked the porch with a brace of shots. That stopped them; it scattered them and broke their attack. Spurs jingled on the packed ground. "Cut him off!" Dalzell shouted. "It's Jessup. Circle the shebang!" Each word marked him nearer. Lin saw the renegade's great figure dimly in the sifting twilight. He fired. The man veered and faded to nothing. Benbow's shrill challenge rose over by the bunkhouse. "Come an' get it, you clay images!"
Well, Steve Nebo was doing nicely. Window glass cascaded on the porch roof. Somebody fired steadily through an upstairs opening. It seemed that Dunk's men were withdrawing a little way, though the volume of their guns swelled and roared.
Here, here, Lin chided himself. What are you trying to do, Jessup?
He had been trying to get inside the house. But now it occurred to him that he might play a better part out here for a minute. So he retreated, made a wide detour of the yard and arrived at the rear of the bunkhouse.
"Benbow," he whispered.
Benbow seemed to be crouching by the corrals. "Huh?"
"I'm goin' to set fire to the bunkhouse," Lin said. "That'll put Dunk's boys in the light."
"I'll hold the door," Benbow Collins said. "Go ahead."
Lin was already inside the place. He ripped the straw mattresses off the bunks, piled them in a corner and dropped a match. Benbow fired three times, each explosion tumbling over the other. A part of the renegade's outfit was running this way. Lin jumped out of the doorway and joined Benbow.
"I got a fella," said Benbow cheerfully. "Jus' beyont you."
Then both of them ducked. A streak of flame flashed near the corrals, right at their backs. Lin fired from his knees, scrambled aside and closed in. Somebody sighed, then moaned faintly.
Lin scrambled forward and thrust his revolver into the wounded man's ribs. "No tricks," he said, but the warning wasn't needed.
The man had sprawled full length at the foot of the corral bars. Lin retrieved the gun and ripped the cartridge belt free, strapping it about himself. Benbow seemed to be having trouble over by the bunkhouse, but Lin regretfully left that individual to fight his way clear. The windows of the bunkhouse were already reflecting the pyre of mattresses. In a little while the whole yard would be aglow. And Dunk Dalzell was making another attempt against the house. Lin ran along the yard and reached the back porch. He climbed the railing and threw himself on the shingles. He heard a door slam, and when he reached a window the pane shattered against his face.
"Easy there—it's Jessup," he called.
"It's lucky you spoke. Was about to send you a heavenly ticket."
That was Lee Larelle, breathing quite fast. The whole house shook. Nebo's voice rang up the stairway, and Lin, hearing the brittleness of his partner's warning, understood instantly that the attack was perilously close to breaking through the meager defense. He smashed the window with his boot and raced below, Lee Larelle just a pace ahead of him. The lamp in the room had been put out, but the growing blaze at the bunkhouse sent its red rays across the yard and partly illumined those in the room. Zip Shugrue stood by one window, Nebo at another. The girl had taken shelter somewhere out of sight while Ed Paris, without a gun, stood at the fireplace and held a pair of tongs. When Lin passed him a captured gun and belt, Paris seized them like one who had been pardoned from the gallows. "Now lemme die in glory," he said prayerfully.
"Watch it!" Nebo shouted. "Here's hell rollin' in on wheels!"
"And hell will go back on a shutter!" roared Shugrue.
The upper panel of the front door split. The triangular end of a stick of cordwood crashed through. At the impact, both hinges broke and down came the barrier. Several of Dunk's men reeled inward, stumbling aside from the line of fire. Lin stood to shoulder with Ed Paris, directly in the center of the room, firing as if at gallery targets. The flame jets crossed each other and such was the reverberation of that tight savage duel that the place rocked like the heart of a volcano. Zip Shugrue seemed unable to express the whole of his wrath with a gun. He struck at them with every barbed word he knew. He poured the facts of their outrageous history upon their heads as they twisted and wavered and fell and retreated. Nebo flung his fighting yell across the crowded space.
Lin said, "Haul around, Ed. They're comin' in a back window."
He was mistaken. They had crawled on the front porch and were running along the hallway above. Down the stairway they jumped, guns speaking as they came. Lin stepped into the mouth of the stairway. Powder stung his eyes and the hot wake of flame touched his cheeks. One of that descending party lost balance and came smashing onward. His body struck another and thus two of them piled up at the very feet of Lin Jessup, one never moving, the second rolling flat and spreading his arms across the floor in token of surrender. Lin started to kick the man's gun away when a third fellow cleared the stairway at one bound. He hit Lin so hard that the gun was jarred from his fist. He went staggering back, tripped on his spurs and fell. He got to his knee and was struck again, pinned down by the full weight of the other man's body. Thereafter, Lin lost the current of the general fight. He grimly struggled to right himself. He wrenched clear, half rose and was knocked toward a corner. Flat on his back, he raised both feet and struck his opponent full in the pit of the stomach. As the fellow doubled over, Lin pulled himself upright and started to close in. The man's gun came bearing around and Lin, throwing his arms forward, suddenly struck the suspended flowerpot. It had been a wholly unconscious move—the terra cotta pot had never entered his mind. Yet it served his purpose providentially. He broke it clear of the suspending wires and in the same sweep carried it onward and down against the other's head. He saw the pot crack in a dozen pieces. He saw the dirt pour out. . . .
It was curiously silent in the room. He heard Dunk Dalzell's voice in the distance, pouring wrath on his crew. But they were fleeing across the yard, on through the glare of the burning bunkhouse and into the protecting shadows beyond. Nebo spoke wearily. "It's a pity this house ain't burnin'. Mebbe that'd end the blood spillin'. Well, they're goin'!"
Hoofs drummed the ground and faded. One by one the men inside the house sat down. Lin counted five of Dunk's crew along the floor. Two were dead—unmistakably dead. The rest seemed to be in no critical shape. Not even the fellow he had stunned with the flowerpot. That flowerpot, now— He reached over and drew a square packet out of the dirt.
"I believe I'm pinked," Zip Shugrue said. "I sure believe I am."
"Where?" Nebo demanded, coming up.
"Arm's plumb dead. Oh, well, it's small potatoes, considerin' the mess."
Lee Larelle went up the stairway and came back. "Thought one of 'em was hidin' there. That Pete gent is still tied to his bunk. Guess they've gone for good, huh? Well, daylight's comin'."
"Where's Tamesie?" Lin asked in a flat voice.
The door of the gear closet opened and the girl stepped out. She was trembling, and at the sight of those lying still on the floor her face went dead white. "Oh, it isn't worth it, Lin! If I'd known, I wouldn't have come here to cause it!"
"Your comin' made no difference," Lin said. "It was bound to happen. Bound to."
"What you got in your hand, Lin?" Steve Nebo asked.
Lin turned a square packet over and over between his palms, studying it with narrowed eyes. "It came out of the flowerpot," he said slowly. Then: "I reckon it's the money Buck Lowell hid."
"In the flowerpot?" Steve Nebo breathed. "The most conspicuous darned place in the whole house? Well, I'm billy-be-damned!"
Lin offered it to the girl. She shook her head. "I can't touch it—now. There's blood on it. Keep it for me."
Steve Nebo's practical mind resumed its accustomed track. "What to do now? Think they'll be back?"
"It was their last play," Lin said. "My bet is they'll fog the county in a hurry. Yeah, it was their last play. Dunk Dalzell is done. And Cade—"
"I'd like to know where he keeps hisself," Nebo grumbled.
"Any place but where the shootin' is," Lin told him.
There was a moment's silence—the silence of men weary and a little dispirited. The tide of reaction flowed in. Lin moved toward the front door. A pace farther on he was arrested by a flat command.
"I'll trouble you to put your hands up, Jessup."
It fell unexpectedly. Not a man was in a posture of defense. All guns had been returned to holsters or laid aside. Still, the reaction possessed them and not until the second and sharper order did they obey. Remy Cade appeared in the corner by the couch. How he had gotten there or how long he had been there none of them knew. Nevertheless his gaunt frame stood to view and his cadaverous face, yellow and emotionless, passed from man to man and came to rest on Lin Jessup.
"All o' you line up by the wall," Cade said calmly. "And you're dead wrong, Jessup, when you say I'm afraid o' trouble. I been in this room since you come back from the buttes. I figgered the lady knowed where this money was hid. I see now she didn't. Still an' all, it's been found, so jus' drop it on the table as you pass by. Get to that wall—all of you!"
As they fell into place Cade scooped the packet into his free hand. "Miss Tamesie will ride a distance with me," he said. "No, I'm not kidnappin' her. But don't none o' you move out o' this room till I send her back. That's for my protection—"
"Cade," Lin said, "you can't go far enough and you can't go fast enough to be free of me. I'll follow you right to the rim o' the earth."
"You've always meddled in my affairs," Cade said, quite unruffled. "I'll let it pass. If I was a meaner man—but I ain't. Jus' remember, I always git my way. Without bein' forced to kill. Now, Miss Tamesie—"
Tamesie had her courage, and she understood clearly what her part must be. So she moved across the room. Cade backed from the rear door, shielded by her body. His final warning came flatly, surely. "Don't follow me. Not till I send the lady back to you."
DAWN flamed over the eastern peaks when Dunk Dalzell caught up with the fleeing members of his band. He had been the last to leave the scene of action. He had taken the last shot at the house. He had poured the last hot word across the yard. And now, as he circled the men and brought them to a halt—milling them in the manner of cattle—he was in the frame of mind to wreak his temper on whatsoever crossed his path. His left arm hung straight downward and there was a drying crust of blood on his sleeve. Nebo's last bullet had touched him.
Mutiny stirred in his men. He saw it at a glance. For the first time, they had refused to see a fight all the way to a finish. They were good stout men, too, but they were oppressed with the same fear that Dalzell himself had felt during the last twenty-four hours. That took the edge from his wrath. He spoke a little more calmly than was his custom.
"Well, you're a nice bunch o' rabbits. You got licked."
"It's too much," one of the more forthright members complained. "We boys never figgered to stage this kind of an affair. Now, listen Dunk—we ain't a-blamin' you as much as we blame Cade. He started this mess. But we was sure fools to tackle that ranch house. It's no go. They's a limit. This means the rope. Understan', Dunk? It means the rope for every damn one of us."
"We coulda had that house," Dalzell insisted.
"Yeah—an' then what? How long do you suppose the county'd let us keep it? No, sir, it was a fool play. We'd oughta stuck to plain rustlin'. They's five boys back there, a couple dead. An' nobody knows what happened to Charley or Pete. Mebbe they're dead, too."
"An' you're goin' to take it, huh?" Dalzell sneered. "Runnin' off like a pack o' whipped dogs!"
The spokesman protested. "Now, Dunk, don't get on the prod about it. Won't help you none at all. We're through. We aim to scatter an' put this state behind us."
"All right," Dunk agreed, changing his tune. "Let's go."
But the party failed to fall into the accustomed pace. Once more the spokesman issued the decision they had arrived at.
"We ain't ridin' with you Dunk. That's all over."
Dalzell looked him in the eye.
"So I ain't good enough for you gents any more?" he asked ominously.
"The halter is plumb tight around your neck," was the spokesman's blunt reply. "You're marked. We boys ain't goin' to make our bargain any the worse nor it is. The gang is shot. That's final. If you got a grudge against Jessup an' Nebo, settle it yourself."
Nothing is so irrevocably gone as lost authority. And Dunk Dalzell for all his hard-headed temper, understood it then. No longer was he the overlord. He commanded nobody but himself; the night fire in Eccles Canyon was extinguished. And as he rested in the saddle, a taciturn giant, wrestling with this new situation, the rest of the party rode quietly away and left him alone. Finally, when they were but small shapes in the distance, he turned west toward the buttes.
It was just as well. His own appetite for battle had been glutted. The farther he rode the more clearly did he see how he was marked. He never had been a lawful man; more than one notch could have rightfully been placed on his gun butt. But always these killings were under cover, or else protected by the code of the land. The fight at the Star L was different. It transgressed too far, and he well understood that from now on the desert would not be wide enough or the hills secret enough to give him protection.
Riding thus with the stark and bitter truth nagging at him, he raised his eyes to see a solitary horseman angle out of an arroyo and cut westward ahead of him. He recognized the angular and stooping figure in the saddle instantly and it evoked a great explosion from his throat. Down went the spurs. His mount leaped forward, cutting the earth at tremendous strides. He gained half the interval before the fleeing Cade turned to see him coming up. Instantly the cadaverous one stopped and came to a stand. Dunk Dalzell scarce waited to get within hailing distance.
"Where you been all this time?"
Cade shook his head, never stirring. His features, in the clear morning's air, were as yellow as parchment and just as devoid of expression.
"Answer, you skull-faced sheep or by the Judas I'll put you in a pine box!"
"I been tending to business affairs. Where's your men?"
"Gone to hell, where you suppose? Cade, you never was a rash man till that Lowell girl got on the scene. Then you lost all good sense. I'm thinkin' you're workin' me for the drinks, Remy. Well, it won't go. You're goin' to give me a plain story here an' now—"
Cade looked about. His eyes swept the rim of the prairie, then came to rest at a point directly behind Dunk Dalzell. The eyes narrowed. Cade's head moved slightly. "That some o' your men comin' up, Dunk?"
Dunk Dalzell turned. There was a flat echo—and Remy Cade galloped onward toward the buttes, never sparing a glance at the figure on the ground.
At noon Cade had passed the rugged buttes and was on the brink of the river that marked the county line. He had traveled in haste, for he too was bent on erasing himself from the land in which he had spent the greater part of his life. It had been a cautious life, a life of petty trickery. Cade was the kind of gambler that counted the white chips and took his small profits; or at least he had done so up until old Buck Lowell had put him in charge of the Star L. Even then, with great profits in sight, he still had cloaked his illicit transactions and walked with false humbleness. Yet, being a petty gambler, the suddenly discovered knowledge of a fortune hidden in the house had upset his balance, and when the time of trouble came it had made him desperately foolish.
Something of this passed through his mind in the morning's flight; for Cade was cold blooded enough to perceive his own weaknesses. The paramount fact was, however, that he had won. Scattered through his pockets were the bundles of paper bills ripped from the packet, money he intended should carry him to the farthest end of the earth. He knew just where he meant to go and just what subterfuges he would use in getting there. From this time onward the name of Remy Cade would be erased; nor did he ever intend to make the mistake of returning in future years to the scene of his crimes.
He stopped at the river ford and let the horse drink. His attention, roaming up and down the graveled margin, fastened upon what appeared to be fresh hoof tracks. Once more he scanned the surrounding country and for a long while he studied the little bluff on the opposite side of the water, debating the advisability of riding to the next ford before crossing. Somewhat irritably, he decided to pass the stream at this point, realizing that when time and caution conflicted he was forced to choose on the side of time. He had carried the girl a good two miles before letting her return, and he felt he had kept an appropriate distance between himself and Lin Jessup, always understanding that nothing would keep that puncher from pursuit.
I'd like to make a halt an' settle with him, Cade thought. But that was only for private satisfaction. He was glad to be away. A stand-up fight was not at all to his liking. So he pushed into the water and crossed, quite slowly reining the horse upward to the crest of the little bluff, all nerves seeming to collect in a bundle. Over there was the safety he sought.
"All clear," he said aloud in his dry voice. "What am I worryin' about?"
Something moved in the extreme corner of his vision; his elbows flew up at the sound of a voice. "Step down, Remy."
Lin Jessup rose from the sagebrush. The sun gleamed brightly along the barrel of his gun. Sweat and dust coated his face, yet Cade's anxious eyes sought and found no hint of intended violence. "Step down," Lin repeated. "I've waited here till my back is roasted plumb to the marrow fat. What was you debatin' about over yonder, anyhow?"
"Still poppin' into a man's business," Cade said mildly.
"You thought you was takin' a short cut across the buttes," Lin said. "But I don't reckon you know the trails as well as I do. Why, Remy, didn't I say the world wasn't wide enough to keep me from followin'?"
"Quit playin' with me," Cade said less calmly. "What you goin' to do?"
"Well, it's a foolish stunt, but I'm goin' to take you back and let the county hang your bones up in the air."
"Hang?" Cade studied him warily. "Hang for what? I did no killing. You know that."
"I'm inclined to believe it," Lin said, grinning broadly. "But you're up to the neck with Dunk and his bunch. You was in the fight and you'll share some of the blood. Try to convince a jury different. Won't that be aggravatin', though—hung for mischief you didn't do. Still, it won't really be a miscarriage o' justice, Remy. You planned that party."
"I planned nothing of the kind," Cade said. The current of his life seemed to be sinking down into remote depths. The emotion faded from his words. "Dunk Dalzell is responsible for the attack. I—"
He stopped. Lin Jessup prompted him. "Go on. Or don't it sound convincin'? You'll have to make a better speech than that to save your hide. Oh, but you won't, Remy. You'll never live to spend a penny of that twenty thousand. And by the way, how did you know it was cached in the house?"
"My business," was Cade's brief answer.
Lin swept the sky with his free arm. "Did you ever stop to think what a sweet world this is, Remy? Smell the sage. Look at them clouds. Off yonder is a thousand miles to ride in of a sunny day and a creation full of fresh air. Ever think what a comfort it was to squat beside a camp fire on a cold night, or drink a hot cup o' coffee at three o'clock of a roundup mornin'?" The smile left Lin's features. "Remy, you fool, what did you want to go crooked for? You've traded all this for a stinkin' brimstone pit in hell."
"Fine preachin'," Cade droned. "Maybe I'll go there—but I'll be a strawboss by the time you come, and I'll see you ridin' a saddle o' fire to the end o' time. Hear me!" All the while, his arms were plastered to his sides, fingers extended and rigid. As he spoke, his head began to rise and by the time he had finished he looked directly over Lin Jessup's head to something beyond. A glitter of emotion sliced through his lids. His lips parted to the grimace of a smile.
"It's my turn now, Jessup. Watch your back!"
Those rigid fingers trembled against his bony legs. Jessup's face veered and became a silhouette against the glare of the day. Cade's right elbow whipped to an angle. A gun rattled up from a holster. And there he was, a tall man bent in the shape of an arc with a yellow skin stretched across points of bone. There sounded a double blast, followed by a moment of shocking silence. Remy Cade's hat flew off, and the sun glowed on his bald head as he went down.
"My mama told me about that trick before I quit suckin' the bottle," Lin drawled. "But I give you a play, didn't I? Easiest way, Remy. Better to die by lead than to hang. Sorta stigma connected with a knot under the left ear. Let Dunk do the hangin'."
Cade twisted his face into the last living expression he could manage. His chips were all in. He had nothing to fear but the specter of death—and in the twilight of his career he seemed not to fear that. He spoke with a burst of energy. "Dunk is dead. I killed him. Never say I lacked the courage to stand up, Jessup. I'll be buildin' a saddle o' fire for you—"
Lin marched solemnly across the desert to a distant depression and got his horse. Returning, he built and smoked a cigarette.
Tamesie, you poor kid, he thought. A baptism o' blood. But it had to come, and I ain't sorry to've helped end it.
He took the bundles of money from Cade's coat pockets and tied Cade to the horse. Crossing the river, he started home. At twilight he reined before the bunkhouse with his burden. Nebo was alone, the rest of the crew having posted off on varied errands. And to Nebo, Lin told the short tale.
"Well," Steve breathed, "that wipes the county clean, except the six-seven that Dunk led by the nose. They'll be acrost the line by now an' hustlin' for parts unknown. Damn, but it seems peaceful on these premises. Me, I sent Lee Larelle for the sheriff an' coroner."
Lin walked toward the house. He found Tamesie in the kitchen making a supper from all the odds and ends she could find. And though the fighting and the blood spilling had sorely troubled her, she appeared gravely happy in her surroundings. Lin laid the money on a table.
"They's a note stuck in between those bills," he said.
Tamesie dried her hands and drew a long sheet of paper out of the packet. Lin watched her eyes go racing across the scrawled writing, watched her press down hard on her nether lip. Then she met his eyes.
"He needn't have ever doubted!" she cried. "Read it."
Lin obeyed:
"My dr daughter. I am putting this money in the flowerpot because its so clost under a man's eye he wouldn't think of looking there. But a woman likes to dig around flowers an I think you'll find it after a little.
"I said there was a treasure hid in the house. Well, to back up my word, Im puttin the sum of money here. Buck Lowell has been called a crazy galoot. Maybe I am. I always got a lot of fun out of bein thought a little wild in the coco. Whats livin for if not to drag a little dust? But Tamesie, when I said there was a treasure buried—I didn't mean this money. The treasure is in just livin out here. I always wished you could come an stay. But your mama wanted you should be a musician an I figured maybe she knew best. Since you last wrote an told me you didn't like music I hatched this idea. I aint got a great deal longer to live. I was afeered you might come here, git discouraged right off an pull freight. But if I could git you to stay six months I knew you wouldn't ever leave. So I rigged this treasure idea, hopin youd have a long search for it an by that time the West would sorta git you. Its a great land, Tamesie. God made it special.
"As for the money, it aint but a drop in the pitcher. Im rich plenty. An I have got it rigged with a lawyer to settle the estate with you inside of six months. In case you dont find this, youll be fixed anyhow. But I didn't want you to know about any other money till you'd been here long enough to let the sun an the air git under your skin.
"Your lovin Dad."
"He shouldn't ever have doubted," Tamesie repeated. "I wanted to come. Now that I'm here I'll never leave."
"Buck Lowell," Lin said, "was one great gent."
"I wish he knew," Tamesie murmured.
"Mebbe he does," Lin said. "But if you got to tell somebody, tell me."
Her hand went to his shoulder and pulled him down. "I like you a little rash, Lin. Haven't I told you?"
It must have been twenty minutes later when Steve Nebo saw his partner come out of the house and strike blindly off into the desert. It seemed very queer so Steve let out a whoop. "Where you goin'?"
"Huh?" Lin Jessup pulled himself together and aimed in the direction of his partner. "Oh, nothin'—nothin'. It's all right. Yeah, you bet I am."
Steve maintained a skeptical silence. Lin looked long and earnestly at his partner. "But it'll always be the same, won't it, Steve? Yeah, by golly, I'll sure maintain that contention."
"Cracked," Steve said sadly. "Absolutely cracked. Now, lemme ask you one intelligent question. What's the date o' the month?"
Lin assembled his thoughts. "Sixth, ain't it?"
"Sound and sensible," was Steve's dry answer. "An' do you think you can make Providence, Rhode Island, by the seventh, which is t'morra?"
Silence. A long, deep and fertile silence. Lin's answer came as if from remote space. "You know, I hadn't given it a thought."
"Natcherly. But you been nicked just ten thousand dollars and the biggest hairpin factory east o' the Hudson River."
"Clothespins," Lin corrected. He built himself a cigarette, from time to time turning to look at the light glimmering out of the kitchen window. Steve's eyes were filled with sinful malice. "Well," Lin continued, "charity is a noble institution, and who shall say it shouldn't have the money? I couldn't have turned it down cold without an excuse. That comes under the head of bein' simple-minded. But seein' as I did have a due and full reason why—why, I'm sure tickled to death. Anyhow, I've discovered something out here worth a hundred times as much."
"Another treasure," Steve grunted. But he pressed that point no further, he being a man of wisdom. "Goin' to tell Tamesie about them clothespins?"
"Don't you utter a syllable," Lin warned. "She'll hear soon enough. I sorta want things to get settled first."
"Which is a clear and complete statement of facts. Now I will ask one more question. What time is it?"
Lin pulled his gift watch from a vest pocket. He placed the glowing cigarette tip against the crystal, raised the instrument to his ear and gently waggled it. "Blamed thing quit runnin' at eight o'clock last Monday night. Ain't wound it."
"An' they gives you a watch!" Steve mourned. "I will say you worked a fine trick to git a piece o' jewelry."
Tamesie's voice floated across the yard. "Come to supper, boys."
Lin chuckled softly.
"All I want, Steve, is only about sixty years more just like that. By Jum, smell that bacon!"
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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