X
Harris had left the ranch an hour before daylight, his ride occasionedby the reports of several of the men. In the last three days eachcouple that worked the range had found one or more of the newwhite-face bulls shot down in their territory. The evidence, as Harrispieced the scraps together, indicated that a lone rider had made aswift raid, riding for forty miles along the foot of the hills in asingle day, shooting down every Three Bar bull that crossed his trail.A dozen dead animals marked his course. A few more such raids and theThree Bar calf crop would be extremely short the following spring. Thenear end of the foray had extended to within ten miles of the homeranch and Harris had gone out to have a look at some of the nearervictims. He located two by the flights of meat-eating birds but rangestock had blotted out all possible signs. He rode back to the corralsin the early afternoon and joined Billie and Deane.
"Not a track," he said. "We must expect more or less of that. They'llcut in on us wherever there's a chance."
As Harris left them the girl pointed out a horseman riding up the lane.
"The sheriff," she volunteered, and Deane noted an odd tightening ofher lips.
Alden dismounted and accosted Moore and Horne. From their grinningfaces she knew that they were deliberately evading whatever questionsthe sheriff might be asking. Horne's voice reached them.
"Whoever it is seems to be doing a right neat job," he said. "Why notlet him keep it up?"
The sheriff came over to Deane and the girl.
"Billie, I expect you can tell me who's doing this killing over in theBreaks," he said.
She was unaccustomed to the easy dissimulation that was second natureto the men of the whole countryside and her eyes fell under thesheriff's steady gaze. Deane was looking into her face and with ashock he realized that she could pronounce the name of the assassin butwas deliberately withholding it. She raised her head with a trace ofdefiance.
"No. I can't tell you," she said.
Deane expected to hear the sheriff's curt demand that she divulge thename of the man he sought. It must be easily apparent to him, as itwas to Deane, that she knew. But Alden only dropped a hand on hershoulder and stood looking down at her.
"All right, girl," he said mildly. "I reckon you can't tell. He can'tbe such a rotten sort; if you refuse to turn him up." He pushed backhis hat and smiled at Deane. "We have to humor the womenfolks outhere," he explained, as he turned toward the bunk house.
Deane, already at a loss to grasp the mental attitude of the rangedwellers, was further mystified by a sheriff who spoke of humoring theladies in a matter pertaining to a double killing.
"Billie, you know!" he accused; "why wouldn't you tell?"
"Because there's a good chance that he's a friend of mine," she statedsimply. "Those men had it coming to them and some way I can't feel anyregret."
"But if it was justified he should give himself up and stand trial," hesaid.
"Then let him do it of his own accord," she said. "I certainly won't."The memory of little Bangs, his adoring gaze fastened on her face, wasuppermost in her mind and brought a lump to her throat. "I hope hegets them all."
"Billie, let me take you away from all this," Deane urged again. "Letme give you the things every girl should have--shut all the rough spotsout of your path. I want to give you the things every girl needs toround out her life--a home and love and shelter."
Shelter! Slade's words recurred to her: "A soft front lawn to rangein."
"This is what I need," she said and waved an arm in a comprehensivesweep. Two hands, recently arrived, were unpacking before the bunkhouse. A third was shoeing a horse near the blacksmith shop. The muleteams were plowing in the flats. A line of chap-clad men roosted as somany crows on the top bar of the corral, mildly interested in theperformance of another who twirled a rope in a series of amazingtricks. "That's what I need; all that," she said. "And you're askingme to give it up."
"But it's not the life for a girl," he insisted.
"You've told me a hundred times that I was different from other girls.But now you're wanting me to be like all the rest. Where would thedifference be then?" she asked a little wistfully. "Why can't you goon liking me the way I am, instead of making me over?"
But Carlos Deane could not see. It was his last evening alone with herand after the meal they rode across the hills through the moonlight.In that hour she was very near to doing as he wished. If only he hadsuggested that she come to him as soon as the Three Bar was once more aprosperous brand; had only pointed out how she could spend months ofeach year on the old home ranch,--then he might have won his pointwithout waiting. But that is not the way of man toward woman. Hisplea was that she leave all this behind--for him. And his hold was notquite strong enough to induce her to give up every link of the life shehad loved for long years before Carlos Deane had been even a part of it.
"I can't tell you now," she said as they rode back to the corrals."Not now. It would take something out of me--the vital part--if I hadto leave the old Three Bar in the shape it's in today. It's sort oflike deserting a crippled child."
The next day her stand was unaltered and in the evening, when the wholeThree Bar personnel swung to their saddles and headed for the frolic atBrill's, Deane had been unable to gain her promise. His luggage hadbeen sent ahead in a buckboard, for the dance was to be an all-nightaffair and he would leave on the morning stage.
There were but few horses at the hitch rails when they reached the postbut a dozen voices raised in song drifted faintly to their ears andapprised them of the fact that other arrivals were not far behind. Asthe Three Bar girl entered at the head of her men she saw Bentley andCarpenter leaning against the bar, well toward the rear of the room.
Within the last week she had heard that Carp, after being let off byHarris, had started up a brand of his own down in Slade's range.Harris's remarks about Slade's mode of acquiring new brands recurred toher,--that he fostered some small outfit for a few seasons, then boughtit out. As the men scattered she commented on this to Harris. TheThree Bar foreman nodded.
"Likely the same old move," he said. "I've been trying to get a lineon Carp. He started off with a bill of sale from Slade for a hundredhead of Three Bar rebrands. But it didn't come direct from Slade atthat. Morrow engineered the deal. Said he came into the paper for twoyears' back pay from Slade; last year and the one before--had figuredto start up for himself and was to draw his pay in cows. The paper isdated at the time Morrow quit Slade last year. What can we prove wrongwith that? Morrow simply sells the paper to Carp. Of course it's aplant. All Carp has to do is to run Slade's Triangle on the hips ofany number of Three Bar she-stock. Like I told you, there's no way tocheck Slade up on the number of our rebrands. If Carp gets caught it'shis own hard luck."
A dozen men from the Halfmoon D swarmed in the door. Mrs. McVey, theowner's wife, stationed herself in one corner with the Three Bar girlwhile the men gravitated to the bar.
"I'll take Deane in tow for a while," Harris said. "And get himacquainted with folks." He led Deane to the bar and gave him scraps ofthe history of various neighbors as they arrived.
Harper's men came in, the albino standing half a head taller than anyother on the floor, and they mingled with the rest as if their recordswere the most immaculate of the lot. Two of Slade's foremen arrivedwith their families. The wife of one was lean and bent, worn fromyears of drudgery. The other was an ample, red-cheeked woman of greatself-confidence, her favorite pose that of planting both hands on herhips, elbows outspread, and nodding vigorously to emphasize her speech.
Bart Epperson, a trapper from far back in the hills, had brought hisfamily to the frolic. Mrs. Epperson was a tiny, meek woman who had butlittle to say. Her two daughters, in their late teens, had glossyblack hair, high cheek bones and faint olive tinge of skin whichbetrayed a trace of Indian ancestry.
Lafe Brandon came at the head of his tribe. Ma Brandon, white-hairedand motherly and respected by all, was p
ossessed of a queer past knownto the whole community. Forty years before Lafe Brandon had stopped ata sod hut on the Republican and found a girl wife with both eyesdiscolored from blows of her heavy-handed spouse. Lafe had left thebearded ruffian unconscious, with a broken nose and three fracturedribs, and had ridden off with the girl. Five sons and a daughter hadbeen born to them. Two years before, Kit Brandon, the daughter, hadbeen wed to a merchant in Coldriver. The traveling parson who marriedthem heard of the parents' queer case, learned that Ma Brandon's formermate was long since dead, and spoke earnestly to the pair. Both werewilling to do anything which might prove of future benefit to Kit. Theconference resulted in the old couple's standing before the parson andhaving the marriage service performed for them an hour before a likerite was rendered for the daughter.
Harris laughed as he informed Deane of this bit of history.
"They both considered it rather an unnecessary fuss," he said. "Andit's rumored that they had their first quarrel of a lifetime on the wayhome from the service."
Two of the sons were married and living at the home ranch. They cameto the dance with the rest of the family. Lou Brandon's wife, Dolly,was a former dance-hall girl of Coldriver, and Al Brandon's betterhalf, Belle, was the daughter of a Utah cowman.
An extra stage-load rolled in from Coldriver and four couples joinedthe throng.
"Ex-school-teachers," Harris informed. "They marry them so fast thatit's hard to keep one on the job instructing the rising generation inthe Coldriver school."
Deane shrank from the thought of the Three Bar girl in such a mixture.Someway she seemed many shades finer than the rest.
"It couldn't be otherwise," Harris said, when Deane expressed thisthought. "She was raised at the knee of one of the finest women in theworld. I remember her mother myself--a little; and I've heard my ownmother sing the praises of Elizabeth Warren a thousand times."
The albino interrupted them.
"Cal--how come?" he greeted. The three men conversed in the mostcasual, friendly fashion, as if there had never been a hint of frictionbetween Harris and Harper in the past.
A great voice rose above the buzz of conversation, filling the big roomto the very rafters.
"Choose your pardners for the dance!" Waddles bellowed from themakeshift platform at one end of the room. "Go get your ga-a-als!"
Deane moved across to the Three Bar girl. There was a general rush forthe side opposite the bar where the ladies had gathered. Couplessquared off for the Virginia reel, the shortage of ladies rectified bya handkerchief tied on the arm of many a chap-clad youth to signifythat he was, for the moment, a girl. Waddles picked his guitar; twofiddles broke into "Turkey in the Straw" and the dance was on withWaddles calling the turns.
All through the room they shuffled and bowed, whirled partners, lockedelbows and swung, the shriek of fiddles and scrape of feet punctuatedby the caller's boom.
"Grab your gals for the grand right an' left!" the big voice wailed."Swing, rattle and roar!" "Clutch all partners for a once and a half!""Swing your gals and swing 'em high!" "Prance, scuffle and scrape!"
Slade came in alone as the first dance was ended.
A croupier and lookout, imported from Coldriver for the event, openedBrill's roulette layout in one corner, a game he usually operatedhimself on the occasions when his patrons chose to try their fortuneagainst the bank. The rattle of chips, the whir of the ivory ball andthe professional chant of lookout and croupier sounded between dances.
"Single ought in the green," the croupier droned.
"Single ought in the green," the lookout echoed. "The pea-green shadeis the bank's per cent. The house wins and the gamblers lose. Placeyour bets for another turn."
"She's off," the croupier chanted. "Off again on the giddy whirl. Thelittle ivory ball--she spins!"
"Ten in the black," the croupier called. "Ten in the black," thelookout seconded. "The black pays and the red falls off; the evenbeats the odd."
The full enjoyment of a novel scene was spoiled for Deane by thesickening realization that the Three Bar girl was part of it, rubbingelbows with the nondescript throng. He looked again at Harper, therustler chief; at Slade, with his peculiar turtle-like face, Slade thecattle king--the killer. Billie Warren stood between the two Eppersongirls whose faces betrayed the taint of Indian blood, an arm about theshoulders of each of them. The sheriff who had said that men musthumor womenfolks was leaning against the bar. Deane turned to Harrisbut found him looking off across the room. He turned his own eyes thatway and glimpsed a dark man with an overlong, thin face and a set bleakstare. Morrow had just come in.
Five minutes later Harris stepped out the back door and Deane followedhim. At the sound of a footfall behind him Harris whirled on his heeland when he confronted Deane the dim light from the door glinted onsomething in his hand.
"Sho," Harris deprecated. "I'm getting spooky. I thought it was someone else." He slipped the gun back in its holster. "There's one ortwo that would like right well to run across me from behind."
"I followed you out to tell you it was decent of you to insist that Istay over a few days," Deane said. "It was a white thing to do,considering that we both want the same thing."
"We both want her to have what's best for her," Harris said. "And Idon't know as she could do any better than to take up with you."
"It may sound rather trite--coming after that," Deane said. "Butanyway, I'll have to say that I feel the same way about you."
"Then, if we're both right in our estimates, why she can't go very farwrong, either way she turns," Harris said. "So I reckon we're bothcontent."
Harris moved on and motioned Deane to accompany him.
"I thought I glimpsed a man I knew a few minutes back," Harris said."I'd like right well to have a talk with him."
They wandered completely round the post and looked in the shadows ofthe outbuildings but could find no trace of life.
"Likely I was mistaken," Harris said at last. "I saw a face justoutside the door. He was more or less on my mind--the party I thoughtit was. Some one else I expect, and he's gone inside."
They returned to the hall. Morrow stood with two Halfmoon D men at theend of the bar. Harris motioned him aside and Morrow withdrew from theothers.
"This is pretty far north for you, Morrow," Harris suggested.
"Is there any one restricting my range?" Morrow demanded. "If there isI'd like to know."
"Then I'll tell you," Harris answered. "The road is open--as long asyou keep on the road. Any time you stray a foot off the beaten trailyou're on the Three Bar range. I don't figure to get gunned up fromthe brush more than once by the same man. Every Three Bar boy hasorders to shoot you down on sight any time you heave in view anywherewithin twenty miles of the Three Bar; so I wouldn't stray off themain-traveled road any time you're going through."
Lanky Evans had detached himself from a group and Morrow looked up tofind the tall man standing at his shoulder.
"So you hunt in pairs," Morrow remarked.
"And later in packs," Lanky returned. "Why don't you ever come up andvisit us? Every time I'm riding north I keep looking back, expectingto see you come cantering up from the south. Harris been commentingabout the little dead-line we've drawn on you?"
"What's the object of all this conversation?" Morrow flared. "Ifyou've got anything to say to me why get it over with."
"Nothing special," Evans said. "I just thought maybe I could goad youinto being imprudent enough to come up our way--which I'm sure hopingto observe you north of the line and somewhere within a thousand yards."
Evans turned away and Morrow rejoined the two men he had left at thebar. Deane looked about him. Apparently no one had noticed the littleby-play.
"Evans didn't exactly mean quite all of that," Harris explained. "Ofcourse if Morrow does come up our way Lanky would prefer to see himfirst--but he would rather he'd keep away. He staged that little talkas a safeguard for me. If Morrow acquires t
he idea that several folksare anxious to see him up there, he's apt to be real cautious how heprowls round the Three Bar neighborhood looking for me."
Deane looked again at Morrow and saw that Moore and Horne had drawn himaside from the rest. The two Three Bar men were grinning and Morrow'sface was set and scowling.
"The boys must have framed it up among themselves," Harris said."That's the third pair I've seen conversing with him. It's doubtfulwhether Morrow is deriving much pleasure out of the dance."
Deane crossed over to Billie. The music started but she shook her headas he would have led her to the floor.
"Sit down. I want to talk with you. Long time no see 'um afterto-night," she said. "It'll be daylight soon and I've a long tale totell."
As the others danced she gave him a dozen messages to impart to variousfriends.
"Tell Judge Colton that Three Bar stock is rising," she said. "Andthat as soon as things are all smoothed out, he can expect me for aboarder. I'm going to make him one nice long visit."
Practically all of her time away from the Three Bar had been spent withJudge Colton's family and she was accepted as part of the household.It was there she had met Deane and those others to whom her messageswere sent.
Through an opening in the dancing throng Deane suddenly had a clearview of the open rear door--one brief glimpse before the crowd closedonce more and shut off his view. He had an idea that he had seen aface, hazy and indistinct, a few feet outside the door. He wondered ifit could be the friend for whom Harris had searched.
"Make the visit soon, Billie," he urged. "It's been a long month sincewe've had you with us. We thought maybe you'd deserted us back there.How soon will this visit start--and how long will it last?"
"It will start as soon as the Three Bar doesn't need me," she said."And last a long time."
Again a lane opened through the crowd, affording a view of the door.Deane saw the face outside in the night, and a foot or more below ifsome bright object glinted in the dim light which filtered through.The music ceased and the chant of the roulette croupier began, minglingwith the smooth purr of the ivory ball. There came a sudden hush fromthe vicinity of the rear door, a hush that spread rapidly throughoutthe room, so swift are the perceptions of a frontier gathering.
Old Rile Foster stood just inside, his gun half-raised before him.Canfield and Lang stood together in the center of the floor, apart fromthe rest and with no others in line beyond them. Rile tossed a bootheel on to the floor and as it rolled toward the two men he shotCanfield through the chest. Lang's gun crashed almost with his own.Rile's knees sagged under him and he pitched face down on the floor,his arms sprawled out before him.
The surge of the crowd, pressing back out of line, threw the albino onthe edge of it, his big form towering alone.
The old man raised his head from the floor and crooked his wrist withthe last of his ebbing strength.
"Four for Bangs," he said, and shot Harper between the eyes.