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Title: Prairie Flowers

Author: James B. Hendryx

Release Date: July 30, 2007 [eBook#22180]

Language: English

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PRAIRIE FLOWERSBy JAMES B. HENDRYX

Author of

"The Gun Brand," "The Promise," "The Texan,""The Gold Girl," etc.

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers New York

Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam'sSons

Copyright, 1920by

JAMES B. HENDRYX

Made in the United States of America

By James B. Hendryx

The Promise The Gun BrandThe Texan The Gold GirlPrairie Flowers Snowdrift

Connie Morgan in Alaska Connie Morgan withthe Mounted

Connie Morgan in theLumber Camps

Connie Morgan in theFur Country

This edition is issued under arrangementwith the publishers

G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York andLondon

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

CONTENTS

CHAPTERA Prologue

I.— An AnniversaryII.— Kangaroo Court

III.— The Stage ArrivesIV.— Y Bar Colston TalksV.— Alice Takes a Ride

VI.— At the Red FrontVII.— The Texan "Comes A-Shootin'"

VIII.— The EscapeIX.— On the RiverX.— Janet McWhorter

XI.— At the Mouth of the CouleeXII.— In Timber City

XIII.— A Man All BadXIV.— The InsurgentXV.— Purdy Makes a Ride

XVI.— Birds of a FeatherXVII.— In the Scrub

XVIII.— The Texan Takes the TrailXIX.— At McWhorter's RanchXX.— At Cinnabar Joe's

XXI.— The Passing of Long BillKearney

XXII.— Cass Grimshaw—Horse-ThiefXXIII.— Cinnabar Joe Tells a StoryXXIV.— "All Friends Together"XXV.— Janet Pays a Call

XXVI.— The Other WomanXXVII.

— Some Shooting

XXVIII.— Back on Red Sand

An Epilogue

Prairie Flowers

A PROLOGUEThe grey roadster purred up the driveway,and Alice Endicott thrust the "homeedition" aside and hurried out onto theporch to greet her husband as he steppedaround from the garage.

"Did the deal go through?" she asked, asher eyes eagerly sought the eyes of theman who ascended the steps.

"Yes, dear," laughed Endicott, "the dealwent through. You see before you agentleman of elegant leisure—foot-loose,and unfettered—free to roam where thegods will."

"Or will not," laughed his wife, givinghim a playful hug. "But, oh, Win, aren'tyou glad! Isn't it just grand to feel that youdon't have to go to the horrible, smoky oldcity every morning? And don't the soft air,and the young leaves, and the green grass,and the nesting birds make you crazy toget out into the big open places? To getinto a saddle and just ride, and ride, andride? Remember how the sun looked as itrose like a great ball of fire beyond themiles and miles of open bench?"

Endicott grinned: "And how it beat downon us along about noon until we couldfairly feel ourselves shrivel——"

"And how it sank to rest behind themountains. And the long twilight glow.And how the stars came out one by one.

And the night came deliciously cool—andhow good the blankets felt."

The man's glance rested upon the close-cropped lawn where the grackles androbins were industriously picking up theirevening meal. "You love the country outthere—you must love it, to remember onlythe sunrises, and the sunsets, and the stars;and forget the torture of long hours in thesaddle and that terrific downpour of rainthat burst the reservoir and so nearly costus our lives, and the dust storm in the badlands, and that night of horrible thirst.Why those few days we spent in Montana,between the time of the wreck at WolfRiver and our wedding at Timber City,were the most tumultuously adventurousdays of our lives!"

His wife's eyes were shining: "Wasn't itawful—the suspense and the excitement!And, yet, wasn't it just grand? We'll neverforget it as long as we live——"

Endicott smiled grimly: "We never will,"he agreed, with emphasis. "A man isn'tlikely to forget—things like that."

Alice seated herself upon the porch loungewhere her husband joined her, and forseveral minutes they watched a robindivide a fat worm between the scrawnynecked fledglings that thrust their uglymouths above the edge of the nest in thehoneysuckle vine close beside them.

"It was nearly a year ago, Win," the girlbreathed, softly; "our anniversary is justthirteen days away."

"And you still want to spend it in TimberCity?"

"Indeed I do! Why it would just break myheart not to be right there in that ugly littlewooden town on that day."

"And you really—seriously—want to liveout there?"

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't anyonewant to live there? That's real living—with the wonderful air, and the mountains,and the boundless unfenced range! Notright in Timber City, or any of the othertowns, but on a ranch, somewhere. Wecould stay there till we got tired of it, andthen go to California, or New York, orFlorida for a change. But we could callthe ranch home, and live there most of the

time. Now that you have closed out yourbusiness, there is no earthly reason whywe should live in this place—it's neithereast nor west, nor north, nor south—it'sjust half way between everything. I wishwe would hear from that Mr. Carlson, orwhatever his name is so we could go andlook over his ranch the day after ouranniversary."

"His name is Colston, and we haveheard," smiled Endicott. "I got word thismorning."

"Oh, what did he say?"

"He said to come and look the propertyover. That he was willing to sell, and thathe thought there was no doubt about ourbeing able to arrange satisfactory terms."

"Oh, Win, aren't you glad! You must sitright down after dinner and write him.Tell him we'll——"

"I wired him this afternoon to meet us inTimber City."

"Let's see," Alice chattered, excitedly, "itwill take—one night to Chicago, and a dayto St. Paul, and another day and night, andpart of the next day—how many days isthat? One, two nights, and two days and ahalf—that will give us ten days to sell thehouse and pack the furniture and ship it——"

"Ship it!" exclaimed the man. "We betternot do any shipping till we buy the ranch.The deal may not go through——"

"Well, Mr. What's-his-name don't own theonly ranch in Montana. If we don't buy his,we'll buy another one. You better see thatMr. Schwabheimer tomorrow—he'swanted this place ever since we bought it,and he's offered more than we paid."

"Oh, it won't be any trouble to sell thehouse. But, about shipping the furnitureuntil we're sure——"

Alice interrupted impetuously: "We'll shipit right straight away—because when weget it out there we'll just have to buy aranch to put it in!"

Endicott surrendered with a gesture ofmock despair: "If that's the way you feelabout it, I guess we'll have to buy. But, I'llgive you fair warning—it will be up to

you to help run the outfit. I don't knowanything about the cattle business——"

"We'll find Tex! And we'll make himforeman—and then, when we get allsettled I'll invite Margery Demming outfor a long visit—I've picked out Margeryfor Tex—and we can put them up a nicehouse right near ours, and Margery and Ican——"

"Holy Mackerel!" laughed Endicott. "Justlike that! Little things don't matter at all—like the fact that we haven't any ranch yetto invite her to, and that she might notcome if you did invite her, and if she didcome she might not like the country orTex, or he might not like her. And last ofall, we may never find Tex. We've bothwritten him a half a dozen times—and all

the letters have been returned. If we hadsome ham, we'd have some ham and eggs,if we had some eggs!"

"There you go, with your oldpracticability! Anyhow, that's what we'lldo—and if Tex don't like her I'll invitesomeone else, and keep on inviting until Ifind someone he does like—and as for her—no one could help loving the country,and no one could help loving Tex—sothere!"

"I hope the course of their true love willrun less tempestuously than ours did forthose few days we were under thechaperonage of the Texan," grinned theman.

"Of course it will! It's probably very

prosaic out there, the same as it isanywhere, most of the time. It was apeculiar combination of circumstancesthat plunged us into such a maelstrom ofadventure. And yet—I don't see why youshould hope for such a placid courtshipfor them. It took just that ordeal to bringout your really fine points. They werethere all the time, dear, but I might neverhave known they were there. Why, I'velived over those few days, step by step, ahundred times! The wreck, the celebrationat Wolf River—" she paused andshuddered, and her husband took up thesequence, mercilessly:

"And your ride with Purdy, and Old Batthrusting the gun into my hand and urgingme to follow—and when I looked up and

saw you both on the rim of the bench andsaw him drag you from your horse—thenthe mad dash up the steep trail, and thequick shot as he raised above the sagebrush—and then, the fake lynching bee—only it was very real to me as I stood therein the moonlight under that cottonwoodlimb with a noose about my neck. Andthen the long ride through the night, and themeeting with you at the ford where youwere waiting with Old Bat——"

"And the terrible thunder storm, and thebursting reservoir, and the dust storm inthe bad lands," continued the girl. "Oh, itwas all so—so horrible, and yet—as longas I live I will be glad to have lived thosefew short days. I learned to know men—big, strong men in action—what they will

do—and what they will not do. The Texanwith his devil-may-care ways that maskedthe real character of him. And you, darling—the real you—who had alwaysremained hidden beneath the veneer ofyour culture and refinement. Thensuddenly the veneer was knocked off andfor the first time in your life the fine fibreof you—the real stuff you are made of, gotthe chance to assert itself. You stood thetest, dear—stood it as not one man in ahundred who had lived your prosaic well-ordered life would have stood it——"

"Nonsense!" laughed the man. "You'regrossly prejudiced. You were in love withme anyway—you know you were. Youwould have married me in time."

"I was not! I wasn't a bit in love with you

—and I wouldn't have married you ever, ifit hadn't been for the test." She pausedsuddenly, and her eyes became serious,"But Win, Tex stood the test too—and hereally did love me. Do you know that myheart just aches for that boy, out there allalone in the country he loves—for he is ofdifferent stuff than the rest of them. Helikes the men—he is one of them—but hewould never choose a wife from amongtheir women, and his big heart is justyearning for a woman's love. I shall neverforget the last time I saw him—in thatlittle open glade in the timber. He hadlost, and he knew it—and he stood therewith his arm thrown over the neck of hishorse, staring out over the broad benchtoward the mountains that showed hazy-blue in the distance. He was game to the

last fibre of him. He tried to conceal hishurt, but he could not conceal it. He spokehighly of you—said you were a man—andthat I had made no mistake in my choice—and then he spoke the words that filled mycup of happiness to the brim—he told methat you had not killed Purdy—that therewas no blood on your hands—and that youwere not a fugitive from the law.

"Win, dear—we must find him—we'vegot to find him!"

"We'll find him—little girl," answered herhusband as his arm stole about hershoulders; "I'm just as anxious to find himas you are—and in ten days we willstart!"

CHAPTER I

AN ANNIVERSARY

The Texan drew up in the centre of a tinyglade that formed an opening in the bullpine woods. Haze purpled the distantmountains of cow-land, and thecowpuncher's gaze strayed slowly fromthe serried peaks of the Bear Paws to restupon the broad expanse of the barren,mica-studded bad lands with theirdazzling white alkali beds, and theirbrilliant red and black mosaic of lavarock that trembled and danced andshimmered in the crinkly waves of heat.

For a long time he stared at the Missouriwhose yellow-brown waters rolled wideand deep from recent rains. From thesilver and gold of the flashing waters hiseyes strayed to the smoke-grey sage flatsthat intervened, and then to the cool darkgreen of the pines.

Very deliberately he slipped from thesaddle, letting the reins fall to the ground.He took off his Stetson and removed itsthin powdering of white alkali dust byslapping it noisily against his leatherchaps. A light breeze fanned his face andinvoluntarily his eyes sought the base of ahuge rock fragment that jutted boldly intothe glade, and as he looked, he wasconscious that the air was heavy with thescent of the little blue and white prairie

flowers that carpeted the ground at hisfeet. His thin lips twisted into a cynicalsmile—a smile that added an unpleasanttouch to the clean-cut weather-tannedfeatures. In the space of a second heseemed to have aged ten years—notphysically, but—he had aged.

He spoke half aloud, with his grey eyesupon the rock: "It—hurts—like hell. Iknew it would hurt, an' I came—rode sixtymiles to get to this spot at this hour of thisday. It was here she said 'good-bye,' an'then she walked slowly around the rockwith her flowers held tight, an' the windripplin' that lock of hair, just above herright temple, it was—an' then—she wasgone." The man's eyes dropped to theground. A brilliantly striped beetle

climbed laboriously to the top of a weedstem, spread his wings in a clumsy effort,and fell to the ground. The cowboylaughed: "A hell of a lot of us that wouldlike to fly has to crawl," he said, andstooping picked a tiny flower, stared at itfor a moment, breathed deeply of itsfragrance, and thrust it into the band of hishat. Reaching for his reins, he swung intothe saddle and once more his eyes soughtthe painted bad lands with theirbackground of purple mountains. "Prettiestplace in the world, I reckon—to look at.Mica flashin' like diamonds, red rocks an'pink ones, white alkali patches, an' blackcool-lookin' mud-cracks—an' when youget there—poison water, rattlesnakes,chokin' hot dust, horse-thieves, an' thewhite bones of dead things! Everything's

like that. Come on, old top horse, you an'I'll shove on to Timber City. 'Tain't over amile, an' when we get there—! Say boy,little old unsuspectin' Timber City is goin'to stage an orgy. We don't aim to pull offno common sordid drunk—not us. Whatwe'll precipitate is goin' to be a classic—a jamboree of sorts, a bacchanaliancataclysm, aided an' abetted by what localtalent an' trimmin's the scenery affords.Shake a leg, there! An' we'll forget thebones, an' the poison, an' the dust, an' withthe discriminatin' perception of a beltfulof rollickin' ferments, we'll enjoy the pink,an' the purple, an' the red. Tomorrow, it'llbe different but as Old Bat says 'Wat dehell?'"

Thus adjured, the horse picked his way

down the little creek and a few minuteslater swung into the trail that stretcheddusty white toward the ugly little townwhose wooden buildings huddled togethera mile to the southward.

Before the door of Red Front saloon theTexan drew up in a swirl of dust, slidfrom the saddle, and entered. Thebartender flashed an appraising glance,and greeted him with professionalcordiality, the ritual of which, includedthe setting out of a bottle and two glassesupon the bar. "Dry?" he invited as he slidthe bottle toward the newcomer.

"Middlin'," assented the Texan, as hepoured a liberal potion. The other helpedhimself sparingly and raised his glass.

"Here's how."

"How," responded the Texan, andreturning the empty glass to the barproduced papers and tobacco and rolled acigarette. Then very deliberately, heproduced a roll of bills, peeled a yellowone from the outside, and returned the rollto his pocket. Without so much as theflicker of an eyelash, the bartender notedthat the next one also was yellow. Thecowpuncher laid the bill on the bar, andwith a jerk of the thumb, indicated the fourengrossed in a game of solo at a table inthe rear of the room.

"Don't yer friends imbibe nothin'?" heasked, casually.

The bartender grinned as he glanced

toward the table. "Might try 'em, now. Ididn't see no call to bust into a solo-toutwith no trivial politics like a couple ofdrinks.

"Gents, what's yourn?"

From across the room came a scraping ofchairs, and the four men lined up besidethe Texan and measured their drinks.

"Stranger in these parts?" inquired a tallman with a huge sunburned moustache.

"Sort of," replied the Texan, "but let'slicker before this sinful decoctionevaporates."

"Seems like I've saw you before,somewheres," opined a thick man withround china blue eyes.

"Maybe you have, because astoundin' as itmay seem, this ain't my first appearance inpublic—but you might be nature fakin', atthat. Where was it this here episode tookplace?"

The man shook his head: "I dunno, only itseems like you look sort of nat'chel,somehow."

"I always did—it's got so's it's almostwhat you might call a fixed habit—likeswallowin' when I drink. But, speakin' oftowns, Timber City's sure had a boomsince I was here last. You've got a newhorse trough in front of the livery barn."The tall man ordered another round ofdrinks, and the Texan paused to fill hisglass. They drank, and with an audiblesuck at his overhanging moustache, the tall

man leaned an elbow on the bar: "It ain'tnoways safe or advisable," he saidslowly, looking straight at the Texan, "ferno lone cow-hand to ride in here an' makelight of Timber City to our face."

A man with a green vest and white, sleekhands insinuated himself between the twoand smiled affably: "Come on, now, boys,they ain't nawthin' in quarrelin'. The gent,here, was only kiddin' us a little an' weain't got no call to raise the hair on ourback for that. What do you say we start alittle game of stud? Solo ain't no summergame, nohow—too much thinkin'. Howabout it stranger, d'you play?"

"Only now an' then, by way of recreation.I don't want your money, I got plenty of myown, an' I never let cards interfere with

business. Down in Texas we——"

"But, you ain't workin' today," interruptedthe other.

"Well, not what you might call work,maybe. I aimed to get drunk, an' I don'twant to get switched off into a card game.Come on, now, an' we'll have anotherdrink, an' then Jo-Jo an' I'll renew ourconversation. An' while we're at it, Percy,if I was you I'd stand a little to one sideso's I wouldn't get my clothes mussed.Now, Jo-Jo, what was the gist of that thereremark of yours?"

"My name's Stork—Ike Stork, an'——"

"You're a bird all right."

"Yes, I'm a bird—an' Timber City's a

bird, too. They can't no other town inMontany touch us."

"Wolf River's got a bank——"

"Yes," interrupted the bartender, "an' wecould of had a bank, too, but we don'twant none. If you want a town to go plumbto hell just you start up a bank. Theneveryone runs an' sticks their money in an'don't spend none, an' business stops an' thetown's gone plumb to hell!"

"I'd hev you to know," Stork cut inimportantly, "that Timber City's acowtown, an' a sheep town, an' a minin'town, an' a timber town—both of whichWolf River ain't neither, except cattle. Wedon't depend on no one thing like themrailroad towns, an' what's more, it tuck a

act of Congress fer to name Timber City——"

"Yes an' it takes an act of God to keep hergoin', but He does it offhand an' casual,same as He makes three-year-old steersout of two-year-olds."

The bartender grinned affably, his thoughtson the roll of yellow bills that reposed inthe pocket of the Texan. "Don't regard Ikenone serious, pardner, he's settin' a littleoneasy on account he got his claim allsurveyed off into buildin' lots, an' theyain't goin' like, what you might say, hotcakes."

"Oh, I don't know," Stork interrupted, butthe bartender ignored him.

"Now, about this here proclamation ofyourn to git drunk," continued thebartender. "Not that it ain't any man'sprivilege to git drunk whenever he feelslike, an' not that it's any of my business,'cause it ain't, an' not that I give a damnone way or the other, 'cause I don't, butjust by way of conversation, as you mightsay; what's the big idee? It ain't neither theThirteenth of June, nor the Fourth of July,nor Thanksgivin' nor Christmas, nor NewYear's, on which dates a man's supposedto git drunk, the revels that comes inbetween bein' mostly accidental, as youmight say. But here comes you, withoutneither rhyme nor reason, as the fellersays in the Bible, just a-honin' to git drunkout of a clear sky as the sayin' goes. Ofcourse they's one other occasion which it's

every man's duty to git drunk, an' that's hisbirthday, so if this is yourn, have anotheron the house, an' here's hopin' you live tillthe last sheep dies."

They drank, and the Texan rolled anothercigarette: "As long as we've decided to gitdrunk together, it's no more'n right you-allshould know the reason. It ain't mybirthday, it's my—my anniversary."

"Married?" asked the man with the chinablue eyes.

"Nope."

"Well, no wonder you're celebratin'!"

"Shorty, there, he's married a-plenty,"explained the man with the green vest,during the general guffaw that greeted the

sally.

Again Shorty asked a question, and theTexan noted a hopeful look in the chinablue eyes: "Be'n married an'—quit?"

"Nope."

The hopeful look faded, and removing hishat, the man scratched his head: "Well, ifyou ain't married, an' ain't be'n married,what's this here anniversary business? An'how in hell do you figger the date?"

The Texan laughed: "A-many a goodman's gone bugs foolin' with highermathmatics, Shorty. Just you slip anotherjolt of this tornado juice in under yourbelt, an' by the time you get a coupledozen more with it, you won't care a damn

about anniversaries. What'll be botherin'you'll be what kind of meat they feed thesun dogs——"

"Yes, an' I'll catch hell when I git home,"whimpered Shorty.

"Every man's got his own brand oftroubles," philosophized the Texan, "an'yours sure set light on my shoulders.Come on, barkeep, an' slip us anotherround of this here inebriatin' fluid. Onewhole year on crick water an' alkali dusthas added, roughly speakin', 365 days an'5 hours, an' 48 minutes, an' 45-1/2seconds to my life, an' has whetted myappetite to razor edge—an' that remindsme—" he paused abruptly and picking upthe yellow-backed bill that still lay beforehim upon the bar, crammed it into his

pocket.

CHAPTER II

KANGAROO COURT

Bottle in hand, the bartender eyed thecowboy quizzically. "What's the big idee—pinchin' back the dinero?" hequestioned.

The Texan smiled: "Just happened tothink, that this is the identical spot, a yearago, where I imbibed the last shot of redlicker that's entered my system till Iintruded this peaceful scene today."

"What's all that got to do with you grabbin'that there money which I want two dollars

an' a half out of it fer them two rounds ofdrinks that's on you?"

"Don't go worryin' about that. You'll getall that's comin' to you. But a littlereference to back history might fresh upyour memory that I've got four dollarschange comin' from a year ago——"

"Wha'd ye mean—a year ago? I wasn'there a year ago! My brother run this jointthen. I only be'n here a couple of months."

The Texan regarded the man withpuckered brow: "Well now, since youmentioned it, there is somethin' disparagin'about that face of yours that kind ofinterfered with me recognizin' it off hand.The Red Front, changin' hands that way,complicates the case to an extent that we'll

have to try it out all legal an' regular probono publico, kangaroo court. I studiedlaw once way back in Texas with a viewto abusin' an' evadin' the same, an' enoughof it's stuck to me so we can conduct thiscase ex post facto.

"Barkeep, you're the defendant, an' for thepurposes of the forthcomin' action yourname's John Doe. You four othercharacters are the jury, an' that don't leavenothin' for me to be except plaintiff,prosecutin' attorney, judge, an' courtbailiff." Jerking his gun from its holsterthe cowboy grasped it by the barrel andrapped loudly upon the bar: "O yes! Oyes! You bet! Court is now open! The firstcase on the docket is Horatio Benton,alias Tex, vs. John Doe, John Doe's

brother, an' the Red Front saloon et al."

"Hey, what's all this here damn nonsenseabout?" asked the bartender.

For answer the Texan rapped the bar withthe butt of his gun: "Silence in the court!"he roared. "An' what's more, you're finedone round of drinks for contempt of court."Taking a match from his pocket he laid itcarefully upon the bar, and continued:"The plaintiff will take the stand in hisown behalf. Gentlemen of the jury, thefacts are these: One year ago today, alongabout 3:30 P.M., I walked up to this baran' had five drinks, one of which was onthe house an' four on me at two bits athrow. I was packin' a couple of blackeyes, the particulars of which isextramundane to this case, an' the barkeep,

defendant here's alleged brother, askedcertain pertinent an' unmitigated questionsconcernin' the aforesaid black eyes. Inexplainin' to him how they were come by,I had occasion to take a shot at a mouse—the bullet hole, an' doubtless his dried-upremains can be seen yonder against thebase-board an' constitutes Exhibit A——"

"Well, I'll be damned!" exclaimed Shorty,his china blue eyes round with excitement,"I know'd I'd saw you before!"

"Me, too, we was settin' thereplayin'——"

Again the six-gun rapped on the bar:"You, Green Vest, you're fined a round ofdrinks for contempt of court. An' Shorty,you're fined two rounds. Not that there's

any doubt about your first statement, butthis here profanus vulgus business has gotto be cut out." Depositing three morematches beside the first upon the bar, theTexan proceeded: "Shortly thereafter, an'right in the middle of my remarks the saidbarkeep disembarked in tumultuous haste,like he'd be'n sent for an' had to go. Iwaited around a spell an' not favorin' thisspot for a permanent abode, I laid a fivedollar gold piece on the bar, an' rode off.Therefore, gentlemen of the jury, it's plainto see that I've got four dollars comin', asan offset to which the present specimen,here, has got a just an' valid claim fer tworounds of drinks to the total value of twodollars an' four bits, leavin' a dollar an'four bits still owin' to me. The case isnow closed, owin' to any testimony the

defendant, here, might introduce, would bemere hearsay an' therefore irrelevant an'immaterial, he havin' admitted he wasn'there at the time. Now, gentlemen of thejury, what's your verdict?"

Thus appealed to the four gathered at theend of the bar and held whisperedconversation, Shorty glancing furtively thewhile at the gun in the Texan's hand.

Presently, mouthing a corner of hismoustache, Ike Stork spoke: "It's theondivided opinion of the jury, exceptShorty disagreein' fer fear he'll git shot,that this here party behind the bar's nameain't John Doe, which it's Pete Barrassame as before, an' likewise he's got twodollars an' four bits comin' from you ferthe drinks. Them four dollars of yourn is

comin' from Sam Barras, which he'srunnin' a saloon over to Zortman."

The Texan produced another match andlaid it beside the others upon the bar:"You're fined a round of drinks formisnomer of the defendant," he announced,gravely. "An' seein' the jury is hung—whyit ain't be'n hung long ago is surprisin' tome—you're discharged—bob-taileddischarge, as they'd say in the army whichcarries with it a recommendation thatyou're a bunch of inebriated idiots that'spermitted to stand on your hind legs anwalk upright so's to make more room forregular folks to move around in. The caseis taken out of your hands an' adjoodicatedupon its merits which accordin' to thestatutes in such cases made an' provided,

judgment is rendered for the plaintiff, onaccount of the above transaction bein' withthe saloon, as such, an' not a personalmatter with the bartender. Plaintiff is alsoordered to take over an' run said saloon tothe best of his ability until such time as thesaid dollar an' four bits is paid."

"Look a-here, pardner," began thebartender, edging along opposite theTexan, "fun's fun, an' kangaroo courts isall right as fer as they go an' as long asthey don't mix up no regular money in theircarryin's on. Me an' my brother Sam ain'ton what you might say, fambly terms,which he'd of skun me to a frazzle on thishere deal if the claim I traded him fer thesaloon had of be'n worth a damn. But inspite of me an' Sam bein' what you might

say, onfriendly relations, I've got to sayfer him that he never pays a debt, an' ifyou've got four dollars comin' from himyou might as well set around like abuzzard till he dies, which he's that orneryit prob'ly won't be long, an' then file yerclaim ag'in his executioner."

The Texan grinned: "I hope fer your sakethat advice is sound, for I'm handin' itback in the original package——"

"You mean you ain't a-goin to pay fer themdrinks?" The bartender's voice held atruculent note, and his eyes narrowed."'Cause, believe me, stranger, if you thinkyou ain't, you're plumb misguided. Thingshas be'n quiet an' peaceable around herefer quite a spell, but you'll pay fer tworounds of drinks or Timber City's a-goin'

to see some excitement."

The Texan noted that the man's hand wasreaching along the under side of the bar,and his own dropped unobserved to thebutt of the six-gun that he had returned toits holster. "Speakin' of excitement you'resure some prophet," he observed, drily,"an' therefore, prob'ly without honour. Butas far as I'm concerned, your brotherSam's nothin' but a pleasant memory whileas we say in the law, this saloon here is acorporeal hereditament——"

"You're a damn liar!" flared the apronedone, indignantly: "They ain't no wimin'allowed in here—" With the words theman's hand leaped from behind the bar,there was a crashing report, a heavy six-shooter thudded upon the wooden floor,

and with a cry of pain the bartender spunhalf around clutching at his right arm.

"Backin' up hard words with gun play isdangerous business onless you're a tophand at it," observed the Texan, drily, ashe stepped around to the man's side. Amovement in front of the bar caused thesix-gun once more to leap from its holsterand at the action four pairs of hands flewceilingward. "Just you hombres belly rightclose up to the rail an' all yer hands openan' above board on top of the bar, an' you,Stork, you come on around here an' tie upthis arm or there'll be some morecasualties reported. If you're all as plumblanguid on the draw as yer fellow citizenhere your ranks is sure due to thin outsome." The Texan stooped to recover the

bartender's gun from the floor and as hedid so Ike Stork stepped around the cornerof the bar, and taking instant advantage ofhis position, administered a kick that sentthe cowboy sprawling at the feet of thebartender. Pandemonium broke loose inthe smashing of glass and the thud ofblows. Forgetting his injured arm thebartender joined Stork who had followedup his advantage by leaping upon thestruggling Texan. Reaching over the bar,Green Vest sent the heavy whisky bottlecrashing into the mêlée while his twocompanions contributed the array of emptyglasses and then valiantly bolted for thedoor. The narrowness of the alley behindthe bar undoubtedly saved the strugglingTexan from serious mishap. As it was histwo assailants hindered and impeded each

other and at the same time formed a bufferagainst the shower of glassware thatdescended from above. Freeing one handthe Texan began to shoot along the floor.With the first explosion the bartenderscrambled to his feet and leaped onto thebar at the precise moment that Green Vest,pausing in his flight toward the door,seized a heavy brass cuspidor and hurledit with both hands. The whirling missilecaught the bartender full in the face andwithout a sound he crashed backwardcarrying Ike Stork with him to the floor.The next instant the Texan was upon hisfeet and a gun in each hand, grinned downinto the face of the terrified man who layhelplessly pinned by the inert form of thebartender. "Any friends or relations youwant notified, Isaac, or any special

disposal of the remains?" he questioned,as the guns waved back and forth abovethe prostrate man's face.

"G'wan, shoot if yer goin' to. I ain't packin'no gun. I done my damnedest when Ibooted you down, an' we'd of had you atthat if them damned eediots hadn't begunbouncin' bottles an' glasses an' spittoonsoffen our head. Shoot—an' for Christ'ssake, make a job of it!"

The Texan's grin broadened, and reachingdown he rolled the bartender over, "Getup Ike," he said. "You're a he-one, allright, an' it would be a pity to waste you."

The other struggled to his feet and as hefaced him the Texan saw an answeringgrin widen the mouth beneath the heavy

moustache. "Pour us a couple of drinks outof that private stock, an' in the meantimeI'll just fog her up a bit as a warnin' to thecurious not to intrude on our solitude. An',say, watch this, so you can tell 'em outthere I can shoot." Four stacks of chipsremained on the table where the players ofsolo had abandoned their game, andshooting alternately with either hand, andso rapidly that the explosions sounded likeshots from an automatic, the Texancleaned the table and filled the air with ablue-grey haze and a shower of brokenchips. Suddenly he glanced at the clock.Its hands pointed to half-past four, andwith an oath he sent two bullets crashinginto its face. "Four-thirty!" he cried. "Ayear ago this minute—" He stoppedabruptly.

Ike nodded approval and raised his glass:"Now," he pronounced, solemnly, "I'vegot to own that they ain't none of us inTimber City that's as handy with guns aswhat you be—but, at that, most of us kinhit a man reasonable often—an' some ofus has."

"I'll give you a chance to do it again, then.But, first, you slip down cellar there an'h'ist me up a bunch of beer kegs. I'm goin'to build me a barricade so you birds can'trake the back bar through the window." AsIke passed up the kegs, the Texan arrangedthem in such a manner that from neitherwindows nor door could anyone upon theoutside cover the space behind the bar,and when Ike came up into the room heshook his head, gloomily: "What's the big

idee," he asked, "of startin' a war over adollar an' four bits? It ain't too late yet ferto leave yer guns in here an' plead guiltyto disturbin' the peace. That won't cost youmuch—but this way, how in hell do youexpect to play a lone hand agin a wholetown an' git away with it? You're eitherplumb crazy or drunk or there's somethin'settin' heavy on yer mind——"

"I want my change," insisted the Texanstubbornly, "an' I'm goin' to take it out intrade, an' also them fines—there's twentyor thirty drinks comin', accordin' to thematches. Pour me out a couple of more an'then you've got to take our little friendhere an' beat it before the fireworks start. Iain't drunk now, but I'm goin' to be! An'when I am—there's a little song we used

to sing way down on the Rio Grande, itruns somethin' like this." Raising his voicethe cowboy roared forth the words of hissong:

"I'm a howler from the prairie ofthe West.

If you want to die with terror,look at me.

I'm chain-lightning—if I ain't,may I be blessed.

I'm the snorter of the boundlessprairie.

"He's a killer and a hater!He's the great annihilator!He's the terror of the boundless

prairie!

"I'm the snoozer from the uppertrail!

I'm the reveller in murder and ingore!

I can bust more Pullman coacheson the rail

Than anyone who's worked thejob before.

"He's a snorter and a snoozer.He's the great trunk line abuser.He's the man who put the sleeper

on the rail.

"I'm a double-jawed hyena fromthe East.

I'm the blazing, bloody blizzardfrom the States.

I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the

Beast.I can snatch a man bald-headed

while he waits.

"He's a double-jawed hyena!He's the villain of the scena!He can snatch a man bald-headed

while he waits."

He finished with a whoop, and picking upthe glass, drained it at a gulp. "Beat it,now, Ike, ol' Stork!" he cried, "an' take abottle of bug-juice, an' our slumberin'friend, with you. So long, ol' timer! I'm awolf, an' it's my night to howl! Slip up tothe hotel an' tell the cook to shoot medown a half-dozen buzzard's eggs fried ingrizzly juice, a couple of rattlesnakesandwiches, a platter of live centipedes,

an' a prickly-pear salad. I'm hungry, an'I'm on my prowl!"

CHAPTER III

THE STAGE ARRIVES

The Timber City stage creaked and rattledas the horses toiled up the long slope ofthe Dog Creek divide. The driver dozedon his seat, his eyes protected from theglare of the hot June sun by the wide brimof his hat, opened mechanically atintervals to glance along the white, dustytrail. Inside, Winthrop Adams Endicottsmiled as he noted the eager enthusiasmwith which his young wife scanned thepanorama of mountains and plain thatstretched endlessly away to disappear in a

jumble of shimmering heat waves.

"Oh, Win! Don't you just love it? The bigblack mountains with their girdles ofgreen timber, the miles, and miles, andmiles of absolute emptiness, the smell ofthe sage—yes, and the very rattle of thisbumpy old stage!"

Endicott laughed: "I believe you do love it——"

"Love it! Of course I love it! And so doyou love it! And you were just as crazyabout coming as I was—only you wouldn'tadmit it. It's just as Tex said that day wayup on top of Antelope Butte. He wasspeaking of you and he said: 'He'll goback East and the refinement will coverhim up again—and that's a damned shame.

But he won't be just the same, because theprejudice is gone. He's chewed the meatof the cow country and found it good.' I'vealways remembered that, and it's true—you are not just the same, dear," shereached over and took his hand in both ofhers. "And, oh, Win—I'm glad—glad!"

Endicott smiled as he raised the slim handto his lips: "Considerable of aphilosopher—Tex. And cowboy parexcellence. I hope we can find him. If webuy the ranch I've been counting on him tomanage it."

"We've got to find him! And dear Old Bat,too! And, Win, won't it be just grand?We'll live out here in the summer and inthe winter we'll go to New York andFlorida, and we'll never, never go back to

old Half-Way Between. The place fairlyreeks of soap and whisky—and I don'tcare if their old soap does float!"

Again, Endicott laughed: "I suppose itwill do us lots of good. I'll probablyspend my days in the saddle and comehome smelling of horses, and coveredwith alkali dust."

"Horses smell better than gas, anyway,and alkali dust is cleaner than coal-soot.Look, Win, quick! A family of Indianscamped beside the trail—see the scrawny,sneaky-looking dogs and the ponies withtheir feet tied together, and the conicaltepee. And, oh, on that red blanket—thedarlingest little brown papoose! I canhardly wait to get into my riding clothesand gallop for miles! And, Win, dear,

you've just got to promise me that if we dobuy the ranch, you'll never bring a motorout here—not even a roadster—it wouldspoil everything!"

"Don't set your heart too strongly onbuying that ranch," cautioned her husband.

"But the man said he'd sell at a reasonablefigure."

"Yes, but you must remember that a'reasonable figure', when you're talkingabout an outfit that runs ten thousand headof cattle mounts up into big money. It alldepends upon the terms."

"Well, if he wants to sell his old ranch,he'd be foolish to haggle over a little thinglike terms. Some way, I just feel it in my

bones that we're going to buy. A womanhas intuition—you wait and see."

"Colston was to meet us at Timber Citytoday, and tomorrow we'll ride out andlook over the ranch. Do you think you'reup to a sixty-mile ride?"

"Sixty! I could ride six hundred!" Thebrake-shoes creaked as the driver drewhis horses up for a breathing spell at thetop of the divide. "See!" Alice cried,pointing far out into the foothills. "Thereis Timber City, with its little woodenbuildings huddled against the pinesexactly as it was a year ago today whenwe looked back at it from this very spot.And way beyond you can see the riverglistening in the sun, and beyond that arethe bad lands." Involuntarily she

shuddered: "It's all as vivid as though ithad happened yesterday—the dust storm,and the terrible thirst—only you and Texcheated and gave me all the water."

Endicott nodded: "I don't think we'll everforget it—it was a mighty close call forall of us." The stage descended the longslope and wound in and out among thefoothills, its two occupants contentingthemselves with watching the lazywheeling of the buzzards against the blue,and the antics of the prairie dogs thatscolded and chickered at the stage, only todive incontinently into their holes at itsapproach. The little steepleless churchloomed up before them, and Endicottglanced at his watch: "Four o'clock," heannounced, "I wonder if Colston is

waiting?"

"Well, if he is, he can wait a little longer,"smiled Alice. "Because the first thing wedo after we have removed some of thisdust, will be to go right over and call onthe Camerons—there's the cottage now,dear—just think, a year ago today westood in that little corner room and Mr.Cameron pronounced the words that madeus two the happiest people in the world—stop—please—Win! We're right in town!And if we hurry we can be there at thevery same hour and minute we were therelast year."

The stage drew up at the door of the littlewooden hotel. The driver tossed his reinsto the hostlers who were waiting withfresh horses, threw off the mail pouch, and

lowered the express box to the groundwhere it was receipted for by the agent,who was also the post-master, and theproprietor of the hotel.

Endicott approached that dignitary who,mail pouch in hand, was gazing toward alittle knot of men farther down the street:"I want to engage two rooms and a bath,"he explained.

The man favoured him with a glance ofsurprise. "Goin' to stop over?" he queried.

"Yes, my wife and I shall be here overnight."

"Married? What d'ye want of two rooms,then? Have 'em if you want 'em. Cost youmore—'tain't none of my business. Take

them two front ones—head of the stairs.Just give a hand an' we'll git yer trunk up,an' quick as the old woman gits the worshout you c'n have a tub of water—that'll befour-bits extry, though—an' a dollar if I'vegot to fill it up twict." As they descendedthe stairs the man's eyes sought the groupdown the street: "Must be somethin'scomin' off down to the Red Front. Theboys ain't missed a mail sence the day theystrung up Red Kelley, an' that's seven yearago, come August the fourth——"

"Fifth," corrected the stage driver whostood in the doorway.

"They brung Red in on the fourth, an' someof the boys hadn't got in yet, an' they didn'tgit in till after dark, so they helt Red over——"

"That was the third——"

"'Twasn't neither! I'd ort to know—it wasthe day my off leader throw'd his nigh foreshoe——"

Alice was manifesting impatience, andEndicott interrupted with a question: "IsMr. W. S. Colston here?"

"Colston? You mean Y Bar Colston? Yerright, Slim, it was the fifth, 'cause I got atooth pulled that same day, bein' as thedentist had rode over from Judith to seethe hangin'. Why, no, Y Bar ain't here. Hegits his mail an' trades over to Claggett."

"He was to meet me here today."

"Well, today ain't over yet. If Y Bar saidhe'd be here, he'll be here. Jest go in an'

make yerselves to home. You can't counton that tub for an hour er so yet, so if youwant to worsh up, go right on through an'you'll find the worsh dish on the benchbeside the pump—an', if the towel's crustyfrom the boy's worshin' up this noon, tellthe old woman I said to hang up a cleanone."

"Hurry, Win!" cried the girl as she gaveher face a final rub with the clean towel."We've got just time enough to get into ourriding togs. We both look like awful'pilgrims' and besides, I want it to be justlike it was last year."

A quarter of an hour later they werereceiving a cordial welcome from theReverend Cameron and his wife at thedoor of the little cottage beside the church.

"We were speaking of you today," said theminister's wife "and wondering how yourromance turned out."

"No need to ask," laughed her husband, ashe followed them into the little livingroom.

"You see," cried Alice, pointing to theclock, "we arrived at almost the exactmoment we did a year ago—" she startedslightly as a volley of shots sounded downthe street. "Oh!" she cried. "They'reshooting someone!"

Cameron shook his head: "No," he smiled,"we've learned that it is the single shots orone and then another, that mean trouble.When they come in volleys that way itmeans that some cowboy is 'celebrating'

down at the Red Front. When there arecowboys in town and they are singing, orracing their horses up and down the street,or shooting into the air or the ceiling, weknow they're all right. Of course, onecould wish that they wouldn't drink—but,if they must drink, by all means let's havethe noise with it. If cowboys are drinkingand silent, trouble follows as surely asnight follows day."

"Maybe it's Mr. Colston," giggled Alice.

"Colston, of the Y Bar," smiled Cameron,"no I think we can eliminate Colston. Doyou know him?"

Endicott shook his head: "No, exceptthrough correspondence. I was to meethim here today on business."

Cameron regarded him with suddeninterest: "I heard in Lewiston, a couple ofweeks ago, that the Y Bar might changehands and, frankly I will tell you that Iwas sorry to hear it."

"Why?" asked Endicott.

The minister frowned thoughtfully: "Well,Y Bar Colston has been a power in thiscountry, and if the wrong man were to stepinto his place there might be no end oftrouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Sheep and cattle. The Y Bar outfit hasbeen a sort of buffer between the twofactions. If a rabid cattleman stepped in itwould immediately mean war, and if a

weakling were to take Colston's place theresult would be the same, because thesheep-men would immediately proceed totake advantage of him and encroach on thecattle range, and then the cowboys wouldtake matters into their own hands and we'dhave a repetition of the Johnson CountyWar—sheep slaughtered by the thousandsupon the range, dead cattle everywhere,herders murdered and their bodies left inthe ashes of their burned camp wagons,and cowboys shot from ambush as theyrode the range. I tell you, Mr. Endicott, Idon't envy the man that succeeds Colstonas owner of the Y Bar."

Endicott smiled: "Thank you for the tip. Itmay, or may not interest you to know that,if the business can be satisfactorily

arranged, I myself, am about to assumethat unenviable position."

"And the best of luck to you," saidCameron, heartily, as he extended hishand. "What one man has done another cando, but your job will be no sinecure. But,come, we're not going to permit you toreturn to the hotel for supper, becausewith cowboys in town the place will in allprobability be uncomfortably noisyalthough I will say for the boys that Mrs.Endicott's presence would be a safeguardagainst any unseemly talk."

Endicott's objections were met by theCamerons who pointed out that the roadby which Colston must enter Timber Cityran right past the door and in plain viewof the porch where they were accustomed

to eat the evening meal.

Alice insisted upon helping Mrs.Cameron, and left to themselves Endicottskilfully led the minister to talk of thecountry, its needs and requirements, itsadvantages, its shortcomings, and itsproblems. Cameron was a minister inevery sense of the word, a man who lovedhis work and who was beloved of thecattle country, and when, a couple ofhours later, the ladies summoned them tothe table, Endicott took his place with therealization that proprietorship of an outfitlike the Y Bar, carried with itresponsibilities and obligations that hadnothing whatever to do with the marketingof beef on the hoof.

CHAPTER IV

Y BAR COLSTON TALKS

"There's Colston, now!" exclaimedCameron, rising and hailing a rider whoapproached leading two saddled horses.The rider drew up, Cameron descended tothe little white gate, and a moment laterwas helping the ranchman to tie his horsesto the picket fence. As they approachedthe porch, Endicott noted the leatherygauntness of face that bespoke years on theopen range, and as their hands met he alsonoted the hard, firm grip, and the keenglance of the grey eyes that seemed to be

taking his measure. The man greeted theladies with grave deference, and seatedhimself in the empty chair.

"Well, I got here, Endicott, but it was aconsiderable chore. Ain't as young as Iwas once. Time I was lettin' go, I guess.Seventy years old—an' young-hearted asany buck on the range—but along towardsnight, after a hard day's ride, I find myselfbeginin' to realize I be'n somewheres, an'the old bed-roll looks better to me than acarload of white-faces."

Instinctively, Endicott liked this man—thebluff heartiness of him, and the alertlitheness of motion that belied theevidence of the white moustache andsilvery white hair. "I hope I shall be halfthe man you are at your age," he laughed.

"You will be—if you buy the Y Bar outfit.Believe me young man, there's enough todo around that outfit to keep a man up an'jumpin' if he was a hundred an' seventy. Aman just naturally ain't got time to getold!"

"Win tells me the ranch is sixty miles fromhere," smiled Alice, "and that's a prettygood ride for anybody."

"Pretty good ride! Young woman, if thatwas all the ridin' I done today I'd b'en herebefore breakfast. I couldn't get away tillafternoon—up before daylight thismornin', rode two horses plumb off theirfeet huntin' the wagons—foreman quityesterday—best blamed foreman I everhad, too. Just up an' quit cold because hetook a notion. Tried every which way to

get him to stay—might's well talk to arock. Away he went, Lord knows where,leavin' me nothin' on my mind except bein'owner, manager, ranch boss, an' wagonboss, besides tryin' to sell the outfit.Confounded young whelp! Best doggonecow-hand on the range."

"Why did you have to hunt wagons, andwhat has a wagon boss got to do with acattle ranch?" asked the girl.

"The wagons are the round-up—the rodeo.We're right in the middle of the calfround-up. The grub wagon an' the bedwagon makes what you might call the fieldheadquarters for the round-up—moveevery day till they cover the whole range."

"How interesting!" exclaimed the girl, "I

know I'm going to love it!"

"Sure is interesting," remarked the oldman, drily, "with the wagons twenty orthirty miles out in the foothills, an' workin'over into the sheep country, an' eighteen ortwenty knot-headed cow-hands hatin'sheep, an' no foreman to hold 'em level,an' hayin' on full tilt at the home ranch, an'the ranch hands all huntin' the shade!Yes'm, interestin's one word for it—butthere's a shorter one that I'm afraid theparson, here, wouldn't recommend thatdescribes it a heap better."

"By the way," said Endicott, "Mr.Cameron tells me that the cattle and sheepsituation is a rather delicate onehereabouts. He says that you hold therespect of both factions—that you seem to

have a peculiar knack in keeping thesituation in hand——"

"Peculiar knack!" exclaimed theranchman, "peculiar knack's got nothin' todo with it! Common sense, young man!Just plain common sense, an' maybe theability to see that other folks has gotrights, same as I have. The Y Bar standsfor a square deal all the way around—when its own calves are branded, it quitsbrandin', an' it don't hold that open rangemeans cattle range an' not sheep range.Any fair-minded man can take the Y Baran' run it like I've run it, an' make money,an' let the other fellow make money, too.There's plenty of range for all of us if wekeep our head. If you're afraid of buyin'into a war—don't buy. I can sell any day

to parties I know are just layin' to get theY Bar, an' the minute they got it, troublewould start an' there'd be hell a-poppin'all along the Mizoo. Somewhere theremust be a man that'll buy that is fair-minded, an' not afraid to take holt an' runthe outfit like I've run it."

Endicott flushed slightly: "I am not afraidof it. I only wanted to know——"

"An' you've got a right to know. If wedeal, I'll stay with you long enough towise you up to the whole layout. Thatwould be no more than right. I'mconsiderable used to judgin' men, an' Ithink you can handle it. Let 'em know rightoff the reel that you ain't afraid of any of'em—an' get this before you start out: Aman ain't God A'mighty because he

happens to run cattle, an' he ain't the Devilbecause he runs sheep, neither. There'scattlemen on this range I wouldn't trust asfar as I could throw a bull by the tail, an'there's sheep-men can have anything I'vegot just on their say-so—mind you, thatain't the general run—pickin' 'em in thedark, I'd tie to a cow-man every time—butthere's exceptions, as the fellow says, toevery rule. If that confounded Tex hadn'tquit——"

"Tex!" cried Alice, and Endicott smiled atthe glad eagerness of the tone.

The old cattleman glanced at her insurprise: "Yes, my foreman. Best man onthe range—handled men the easiest youever saw. Never had any trouble with thesheep outfits—but just the same, there ain't

a sheep-man south of the river that wouldcare to try to put anything over on him—nor no one else, neither. There ain't anybluff an' bluster about him, he's thequietest hand you ever saw. But,somehow, lookin' into them eyes of his—aman just naturally stops to think—that'sall."

"Oh, what is he like? Tell me about him!What is his name?"

"Name's Tex. That's all I know, an' that'sall——"

"Tex Benton?" interrupted the girl.

The man regarded her curiously. "Maybe,or, Tex Smith, or Tex Jones, or Texsomethin else."

"I—we knew a Tex, once——"

Colston laughed: "There's lots of Texeshere in the cow-country. Tryin' to find onethat you didn't know no more about thanthat would be like me goin' East an' sayin'I knew a man by the name of John."

"How long has he worked for you?"

"He quit last evenin'. If he'd of stayed tillday after tomorrow, it would have beenjust a year." The old man's voice hadsoftened, and his gaze strayed to the farhills. "I made him foreman when he'd b'enwith me a month," he continued after ashort pause. "I can pick men." Anotherpause. "He—he called me 'Dad'."

"Did he know you were going to sell?"

asked Endicott.

The old man shook his head.

"Then, why did he quit?" Somehow, thequestion sounded harsh, but the manseemed not to notice. There was anawkward silence during which the oldman continued to stare out over the hills.

"He quit to get drunk," he said abruptly,and Endicott detected a slight huskiness inhis tone.

Across the table, Alice gasped—and thesound was almost a sob.

Colston cleared his throat roughly, andturned his eyes to the girl: "That's the wayI feel about it, young woman. I got to knowhim mighty well, an' I know what was in

him. From the time he went to work for metill he quit, he never took a drink—an',God knows it wasn't because he didn'twant one! He fought it just like he foughtbad horses, an' like he'd of fought men ifhe'd had to—square an' open. He'd giveaway an advantage rather than take one.He was like that.

"I saw him ride an outlaw, once—a big,vicious killer—a devil-horse. The RedKing, we called him, he's run with thewild bunch for years. Two men had triedhim. We buried one where he lit. Theother had folks. Tex run him a week an'trapped him at a water-hole—then, herode him!" The old man's eyes wereshining now, and his fist smote the tabletop. "Ah, that was a ride—with the whole

outfit lookin' on!" Colston paused andglanced about the faces at the table,allowing his eyes to rest upon Alice whowas listening eagerly, with parted lips."Did you ever notice how sometimeswithout any reason, things gets kind of—ofonnatural—kind of feel to 'em that'sdifferent? Well, this ride was like that.I've seen hundreds of bad horses rode, an'the boys all yellin' an' bettin', but this timethere wasn't no bettin', an' the only soundswas the sound made by the Red King. Itwasn't because they expected to see Texkilled—all of 'em had seen men killedridin' bad horses, an' all of 'em hadcheered the next man up. But, somethin'kep' 'em still, with their eyes froze onwhat they saw. It was uncanny—onehundred an' forty pounds of man tacklin'

eleven hundred pounds of red fury. Therewe stood, the white alkali dust raisin' in acloud, an' the devil-horse, crazy mad—screamin' shrill like a woman, snappin'like a wolf, frothin', strikin', kickin',buckin' twistin', sunfishin', swappin' ends,shootin' ten foot high an' crashin' down onhis back—fightin' every minute with thewhole box of tricks, an' a lot of new ones—an' Tex right up in the middle of himwith that twisty smile on his face, like hewasn't only half interested in what he wasdoin'. Didn't even put a bridle on. Rodehim with a hackamore—jerked that off an'give him his head—an' he rode straight up,an' raked him an' fanned him every jump.It wasn't human.

"For three days they fought, man an' horse,

before the Red King knew his master—an'when they got through, the Red Kingwould come when Tex whistled. For tendays he rode him, an'—there was a horse!A bay so bright an' sleek that he lookedlike red gold in the sunlight, mane an' tailblack as ink, an' his eyes chain lightnin'—an' the sound of the thunder was in hishoofs.

"It was moonlight the night I rode homefrom the NL. I had just topped a ridge thatjuts from the foothills into the open rangean' all at once I heard the thunder of hoofsahead. I slipped into a scatterin' of bullpines at the edge an' waited. I didn't waitlong. Along the ridge, runnin' strong an'smooth, like the rush of a storm wind,come a horse an' rider. Before I could

make 'em out, I knew by the sound of thehoofs, what horse an' what rider. Theypassed close—so close I could havereached out an' touched 'em with my quirt.Then I saw what made my heart jump an'my eyes fair pop out of my head. The RedKing flashed by—no saddle, no bridle, noteven an' Injun twitch, mane an' tail flarin'out in the wind of his own goin', an' thewhite foam flyin' in chunks from his openmouth; an' on his back sat Tex, emptyhanded an' slick heeled. I thought I caughta glimpse of the twisty smile on his face,as he swayed on the back of the devil-horse—that, I saw—an' ten rod further onthe ridge broke off in a goat-climb! I wentlimp, an' then—'Whoa!' The soundcracked like a pistol shot. The stallion'sfeet bunched under him an' three times his

length he slid with the loose rock flyin'like hailstones! He stopped with hisforefeet on the edge, an' his rump nearlytouchin' the ground, then he whipped intoshape like a steel spring an' stood there onthe rim of the ridge, neck an' tail arched,head tossin' out that long black mane, redflarin' nostrils suckin' in the night air, an' aforefoot pawin' the rock. If Remington orold Charlie Russell could have seen whatI saw there in the moonlight—man an'horse—the best man, an' the best horse inall the cow-country—the sky black an' softas velvet, an' the yellow range—no onewill paint it—because no one will eversee the like again. There they stood,lookin' out over the wild country. And,then Tex slipped down an' stepped slowto the Red King's head. He put up his arms

an' they closed over the arched neck an'his cheek laid against the satin skin of him.For what seemed like a long time theystood there, an' then Tex stepped back an'pointed to the yellow range: 'Go on, boy!'he said, 'Go!' An' he brought the flat of hishand down with a slap on the shiny flank.For just an instant the horse hesitated an'then he went over the edge. The looserocks clattered loud, an' then come thesound of hoofs on the sod as the Red Kingtore down the valley. Tex watched him an'all of a sudden his fingers flew to his lips,an' a shrill whistle cut the air. Down in thevalley the devil-horse stopped short—stopped an' whirled at the sound. Then ofa sudden he reared high his forefeetpawin' the air in a fume of fury an' up outof the night come the wickedest, wildest

scream man ever heard—it was a screamthat got to a man. It sent cold shivers upan' down my back. The Red King hadcome into his own again—he was defyin'his master. He turned, then, an' the last Isaw of him was a red blur in the distance.

"Then Tex turned an' started back alongthe ridge. I could see his face, now, an' thetwisty smile on his lips. I aimed to stayhid an' never let on I'd seen—it seemedsomehow best that way. But when he wasright opposite me he stopped an' rolled acigarette an' the flare of the match mademy horse jump, an' the next second he wasbeside me with a gun in his hand, an' hisface flamin' red as the coat of the devil-horse.

"'You saw it?' he says, kind of quiet.

"I shakes my head: 'Yes,' I says, 'but notintentional. I was ridin' home from the NL,an' I slipped in here to let you by.'

"Pretty soon he spoke again kind of slow:'If it had b'en anyone else but you, Dad,' hesays, 'I'd of—of—But, you understand,you savvy. He's wild—we're both wild—the Red King an' me. We'll fight like hell—for the fun of fightin'—an' then we'll goback to the wild again—an' we'll go backwhen we damn please—did you see himwhen I whistled?'

"'I saw,' I says. To tell the truth, I waskind of catchy in the throat, but I managedto blurt out, 'An' that's why you wouldn'tbrand him?'

"'Yes,' he says, 'that's why—' An' of a

sudden, his voice went hard. 'I licked himto show him I could. But, I didn't brandhim—an' if anyone ever lays an iron onhim, I'll kill him as sure as hell—onlessthe Red King beats me to it.'" The old manpaused and cleared his throat huskily, andas Alice dabbed at her eyes he noticedthat her lips quivered. "An' that's the wayhe fought the booze—open an' aboveboard—not takin' the advantage of stayin'away from it. He carried a half-pint flaskof it all the time. I've seen him take it outan' hold it up to the sunlight an' watch theglints come an' go—for all the world likethe glints on the coat of the Red King.He'd shake it, an' watch the beads rise, an'he'd pull the cork an' smell it—breathe itsflavour an' its bouquet deep into his lungs—an' all the while the little beads of cold

sweat would be standin' out on hisforehead, like dew on a tombstone, an' histongue would be wettin' his lips, an' hisfingers would be twitchin' to carry it to hismouth. Then his lips would twist into thatgrin, an' he'd put back the cork, an' put thebottle in his pocket, an' ride off—singin'.

"When I saw him tackle that horse that noman had ever rode, I knew, somehow, thathe'd ride him. An' when I'd see him pullthat bottle, just tormented crazy for adrink, I knew he wouldn't take a drink. An'the same way, when he come to meyesterday an' said he was goin' to quit, Iknew he was goin' to quit, an' there wasnothin' more to be said. I asked him why,an' open an' above board he says:'Because I'm goin' to get drunk.' I couldn't

believe my ears at first. It turned me kindof sick—an' then I knew I loved him. Allat once I saw red. You see, I knew whathe didn't know I knew—about his fightwith the booze. 'So, it got you at last, didit?' I says.

"He looked at me with those quiet eyes,an' the twisty smile come into his face.'No, Dad,' he says. 'It didn't get me—an'you know it didn't get me—an' it nevercould. I showed it I could lick it, an' that'sall there is to it. I'm goin' away now, an'get drunk as hell—deliberate—notbecause I have to get drunk, but because Iwant to.' An' as I watched the boy rideaway, I remembered how it had been withthe Red King—he licked him an' turnedhim back with the wild bunch—because

he wanted to."

CHAPTER V

ALICE TAKES A RIDE

The meal proceeded in silence and at itsconclusion Alice rose and stood with herhand on the back of her chair. "And OldBat?" she asked, "Isn't there an old half-breed named Bat?"

Colston nodded gloomily: "Yes, there'sOld Bat. He's been cookin' at the homeranch, but when he finds out Tex hasblown the outfit I expect he'll light outafter him."

"I think so too," agreed the girl, "I haven't

the least doubt in the world that when wereach the ranch it will be to find Old Batgone."

After helping Mrs. Cameron with thedishes, Alice returned to the porch wherethe men were deep in the discussion ofbusiness, and as she listened her eyesrested longingly upon the three saddledhorses.

Colston noticed the look: "Like to take alittle ride?" he smiled. "That buckskin'swoman broke—I brought him a purposewhen your husband wired that he wasbringing you along. You've got an hour yetbefore dark, an' the trails out of TimberCity are all main travelled ones—nodanger of gettin' lost around here."

Alice shot a questioning glance at Endicottwho nodded approval. "Go ahead if youwant to, dear—only be sure and be backbefore dark."

"Oh, I'll be back before dark!" she assuredhim as she stepped into the yard, "Iremember—" she laughed a triflenervously, "I'm just dying to get into asaddle. No, you don't have to help me!"she called as Endicott rose from his chair.And her husband watched with a smile asshe untied the horse, led him into the trail,and mounted.

At the first little rise, Alice reined in thebuckskin and gazed about her, breathingdeeply of the sage-laden air. In thegradually deepening twilight the Judithrange loomed dark and mysterious and far

to the northward, the Bear Paws were justvisible against the faintly glowing sky.Before her, the white trail wound amongthe foothills in its long climb to the divide,and beyond the little town it flattenedaway toward the Missouri. Over that trailjust one year ago she had ridden incompany with her two lovers. Her heartswelled with pride of the man who hadwon her. "But I love Tex, too," shemurmured, and blushed at the words, "Ido! Nobody could help loving him. He's—he's—well, he's just Tex!" Her glancestrayed to the distant reaches beyond thegreat river and she shuddered slightly asshe thought of the bad lands that laybetween her and the fast dimmingmountains, and of Long Bill Kearney andhis flat-boat ferry. A mile beyond the town

a dark patch of pines loomed distinctly. Itwas there she had said good-bye to theTexan, and—. Her lips moved: "Thecherry blossoms are in bloom over there—and the dear little blue and whiteprairie flowers—" Impulsively, shestarted her horse, and skirting the town,came out onto the trail beyond and urgedhim into a run.

She drew up at the little creek that cametumbling out of the woods, and peered,half fearfully, half expectantly, among thetree-trunks. "It isn't dark yet. And, it's onlya little way," she thought, anddismounting, tied the buckskin to a lowhanging limb, and plunged into the woods."Here are the cherry blossoms, the sameas a year ago, and yes, there is the big

rock!" She stepped around the boulder,and stood upon the edge of the tiny glade."A year ago," she breathed, with a catch ather throat, "and it seems like yesterday!He stood there with his cheek restingagainst his horse's neck, staring out overhis beloved range—and, then he told methat Win hadn't killed Purdy. Right here onthis spot at that moment I was the happiestwoman in the world—and I've been thehappiest woman in the world ever since,until—until—" The words faltered, andshe stamped her foot angrily: "Oh, whydoes he have to drink? And today, of alldays!" Her eyes rested upon the littleprairie flowers that carpeted the glade andstooping, she picked a huge bouquet as thedarkness gathered and when she stooderect with her hands full of blossoms the

big rock at the edge of the glade washardly distinguishable in the dusk. With alittle cry, half surprise, half fright, shehastened toward it. The woods weredarker than the glade and for a moment shestood peering into the thicket throughwhich she must pass to reach her horse,while foolish terrors of the dark crowdedher mind and caused little creepy chills totickle the roots of her hair. She glanced atthe flowers in her hand, "If I only hadn'tstopped to pick them," she faltered, "if Iwere only out on the trail—" And then shepulled herself together with a laugh—aforced, nervous laugh, but it fulfilled itspurpose. "You're a little fool, AliceEndicott, to be afraid of the dark! Andyou, a prospective rancher's wife! Whatwould people say if they knew that Mrs. Y

Bar Endicott was afraid to go a quarter ofa mile through a perfectly peaceful patchof woods just because it was aftersundown?" Resolutely curbing the desireto dart fearful glances to the right, and tothe left, and behind her, she kept her faceto the front, and plunged into the woodsfollowing the little creek. A few minuteslater she gained the trail, and untying thebuckskin, mounted and headed him towardthe scattering lights of Timber City.

At the edge of the town she drew upabruptly. A volley of shots rang out, andshe could see the thin streaks of flame thatleaped out from the crowd of men thatwere collected in front of the saloon. Herfirst thought was to skirt the town andarrive at the rectory as she had left it. But

once more she upbraided herself for herfoolish fear. "Mr. Cameron said when theycame in volleys they were harmless," shereassured herself, "and I may as well getused to it now as later." She urged herhorse forward and as she reached the edgeof the crowd a man raised his gun and senta shot crashing through the window of theRed Front. Other shots followed, andAlice saw that the building was indarkness. Something in the attitude of themen caused her to draw up and regardthem closely. Very few of them werecowboys, and they were not shooting intothe air. Also, there was nothing in theirdemeanour that savoured of any spirit ofjollification. They seemed in deadlyearnest. More shots—streaks of thin redflame, and a tinkling of glass. This time

the shots were answered from within thebuilding, the crowd surged to one side,and those who were unable to get out ofthe line of fire dropped swiftly to theground and wriggled away on theirbellies. A tall man with a huge droopingmoustache came toward her: "Better gitalong. This here ain't no place fer womenfolks."

"What's the matter?" asked Alice.

"You better pull there in front of the liverybarn. You might git hit. They's a ring-tailed desperado in the Red Front, an' he'smighty permiscuous about his shootin'."

"Why don't they arrest him?" asked thegirl. The man had walked beside her, andseating himself upon the edge of the horse

trough, began deliberately to reload hispistol.

"Arrest him," he drawled, "that's jest whatwe aim to do. But first we got to git him inshape to arrest. He's imbibed to the pointwhich he won't listen to no reasonwhatever—an' shoot! He's a two-handedgunman from hell—beggin' yer pardon,mom—I didn't aim to swear—but, themTexicans—when they gits lickered up. I'dsooner try to handle a oncontented grizzly——"

"Texan!" cried the girl. "Did you say he isa Texan? Who is he? What's his name?"

The man regarded her gravely: "Seems tome he did say—back there in the saloon,when he was holdin' kangaroo court. The

rookus hadn't started yet, an' he says——"

Alice had thrown herself from her horse,and stood before the man, the wildflowers clutched tightly in her hand. "Wasit Tex?" she interrupted, impatiently.

The man nodded: "Yeh, it was Tex——"

"Tex Benton?"

The man scratched at his head: "Seemslike that's what he said. Anyways, heclaimed he was here a year ago, an' heaimed to git drunk on account of somekind of an anniversary, or somethin'—an'he will, too, if he drinks up all them fines——"

Alice interrupted by clutching the man'sarm and shaking it vigorously. "Oh, tell

them to stop shooting!" she cried. "They'llkill him! Let me go in to him! I can reasonwith him."

The man regarded her with suddeninterest: "D'you know him?"

"Yes, yes! Hurry and tell them to stopshooting!"

"You wait here a minute, an' I'll git HodBlake, he's the marshal." The mandisappeared and a moment later cametoward her with another man, the twofollowed by a goodly part of the crowd.

The tall man stepped to the girl's side:"This here's Hod," he announced by wayof introduction and, "that's her."

Gun in hand, Hod Blake nodded curtly:

"D'you say you know this here party?" heasked.

"Yes, that is, I think I do."

"Ike, here, says how you figgered youcould go in an' make him surrender."

Alice nodded, somehow, that wordsurrender had an ominous sound. "Hehasn't—killed anyone, has he?"

"No, he ain't killed no one—yet. Henicked Pete Barras in the arm, an' hasotherwise feloniously disturbed the peaceof Timber City to a extent it'll cost him ahundred dollars' fine besides damages fershootin' up, an' causin' to git shot up, theRed Front saloon."

"And, you'd kill a man for that!" cried the

girl, indignantly.

"I'll tell a hand, we'll kill him! Anyonethat starts gun-play in Timber City's got togo on through with it."

"You're cowards!" exclaimed the girl."How many of you are there against oneman?"

"That don't make no difference. We got thelaw on our side, an' he ain't on his'n. Hecome in here a-huntin' trouble—an' he gotit. An' he'll pay his fine, an' settle up withPete Barras, or we'll plant him—one."

Alice thrust the flowers into the bosom ofher soft shirt and regarded the man coldly:"If all of you brave gun-fighters are afraidto go in there and get him, I'll go. I'm not

afraid."

Ike Stork warned her: "You better keepout of it, mom. He's lickered up an' liableto shoot sudden."

"I'm not afraid," repeated the girl.

Hod Blake shrugged: "Go ahead if youwant to. Tell him we'll git him, sure, if hedon't give himself up. An' s'pose you gitshot, fer yer trouble, you got any folks tonotify?"

Alice glanced at him coldly: "My husbandis up at Mr. Cameron's with Mr. Colston,you might mention it to him, if you think ofit," she answered scornfully. "Get me alight."

Match in one hand, candle in the other, the

girl advanced to the front of the saloon,while the crowd remained at a respectfuldistance. The door of the building stoodopen, but the interior was screened fromthe street by a heavy partition of roughplanking around which one must pass togain access to the bar. At the doorway thegirl paused and her figure leaped sharplyinto view in the bright flare of the match.The flame dimmed as she held it to thewick of the candle, then brightened as shestood with white face and tight-pressedlips, framed in the black recess of thedoorway. For a long time, as tenseseconds are measured, she stoodwondering at the sudden silence. Sheknew that the eyes of the crowd were uponher as it waited just beyond the circle ofher candlelight—and her shoulders

stiffened as she realized that not a manamong them would dare stand where shestood with a lighted candle in her hand.She felt no fear, now. It seemed the mostnatural, the most matter-of-fact thing in theworld that she should be standing thus inthe doorway of the Red Front saloon, witha crowd of armed men in the darknessbehind her, and in the darkness before her—what? What if the man behind that roughplank wall were not Tex—her Tex? Whatif—? It seemed suddenly as if icy fingersreached up and clutched her heart. She felther knees tremble, and the candle swayedin her hand until it threw moving shadowson the plank wall. Thoughts of Wincrowded her brain. What would Win thinkof her? What could he think, if the manbehind that screen were not Tex, and

would shoot the second she came intorange? What would everyone think? Shewas a fool.

"Douse yer light an' crawl back!" Sherecognized the rough half contemptuousvoice of Hod Blake. And the next instantshe thought of the roar of guns, the acridsmell of burned powder, and the thin redstreaks of flame that had pierced the nightlike swift arrows of blood. They wouldkill him. "He's the best man among themall," she sobbed, and closing her eyes,held the candle at arms length before her,and walked slowly toward the blackopening at the end of the plank screen.

There was a crashing report. Aliceopened her eyes—in darkness. "Tex!" shecried, frantically, "Tex, strike a light!"

CHAPTER VI

AT THE RED FRONT

When Ike Stork had disappeared throughthe door of the Red Front dragging theunconscious form of the bartender withhim, the Texan poured himself a drink, seta quart bottle before him upon the bar,rummaged in a drawer and produced abox of cartridges which he placedconveniently to hand, reloaded his guns,and took another drink.

A report sounded in the street and a bulletcrashed through the window and burieditself in a beer keg. The Texan laughed:

"Fog 'er up, ol' hand, an' here's yerchange!" Reaching over the top of a keg,he sent a bullet through the window. Theshot drew a volley from the street, and thebig mirror behind the bar became a jangleof crashing glass.

"Barras'll have to get him a new lookin'glass," he opined, as he shook the sliversfrom his hat brim. "The war's on—an'she's a beaut! If ol' Santa Anna was here,him an' I could lick the world! This redlicker sure is gettin' to my head—stayedoff of it too long—but I'm makin' up forlost time. Whoopee!"

"Oh, I'm a Texas cowboy,Far away from home,If I ever get back to TexasI never more will roam."

"Hey, in there!" The song ceased abruptly,and, gun in hand the Texan answered.

"There ain't no hay in here! What do youthink this is, a cow's hotel? The liverybarn's next door!"

"They ain't no outlaw goin' to run TimberCity while I'm marshal!"

"Put 'er here, pardner!" answered theTexan. "You run Timber City an' I'll runthe Red Front! Come on in an' buy a drink,so I can get my change!"

"You're arrested fer disturbin' the peace!"

"Come an' get me, then. But come a-shootin'!"

"You can't git away with it. I got twenty

men here, an' everyone packin' a gun!"

"You've got me, then," mocked the Texan."I've only got two guns. Run 'em in in abunch. I can only take care of a dozen, an'the rest can get me before I can reload."

"Yer kickin' up an awful stink fer a dollaran' four bits."

"'Tain't the money, it's the principle of thething. An' besides, I aimed to pull a hell-winder of a jamboree—an' I'm doin' it."

"You ain't helpin' yer case none by raisin'a rookus like this. Come out an' giveyerself up. All there is agin you is a finean' a little damages."

"How much?"

"We'll make it fifty dollars' fine, an' you'llhave to talk to Pete Barras about thedamages."

The Texan laughed derisively: "Guessagain, you short horn! I've got more moneythan that!"

"You comin' out, or I got to go in there an'git you?"

"I ain't comin' out, an' you ain't comin' inhere an' get me," defied the cowboy; "youain't got the guts to—you an' your twentygun-fighters to boot! Just you stick yourclassic profile around the corner of thatwall an' I'll shoot patterns in it!"

"You can't git away. We've got yer horse!"

"If I was a posse I'd surround you an'

string you up for a bunch of horse-thieves!"

"What you goin' to do about it?"

"I'm standin' pat—me. What you goin' todo?"

"Come on out, hands up, an' submit toarrest before you git in too deep."

"There ain't a marshal in Montana canarrest me!"

"What's yer name?"

"Hydrophobia B. Tarantula! I'm a curlywolf! I can't be handled 'cause I'm full ofquills! I've got seventeen rattles an' abutton, an' I'm right now coiled!"

"Yer drunk as hell," growled the marshal,"wait till you git sober an' you won't feelso damn hard."

"You're goin' to miss some sleep waitin','cause there's seventeen quarts in sight,without countin' the barrel goods an'beer."

For answer the exasperated marshal sent abullet crashing into the wall high abovethe Texan's head, and the shot wasimmediately followed by a volley fromthe crowd outside, the bullets slivering thewoodwork, or burying themselvesharmlessly in the barricade of beer-kegs.

"This saloon's gettin' all scratched up, theway you ruffians are carryin' on," calledthe Texan, when the noise had subsided,

"but if it's shootin' you want, divide thesehere up amongst you!" Reaching around akeg, he emptied a gun through the window,then reloaded, and poured himself anotherdrink.

"The main question is," he announcedjudicially to himself, as he contemplatedthe liquor in the glass, "I've drunk onequart already, now shall I get seventeentimes drunker'n I am, or shall I stay drunkseventeen times as long?" He drank theliquor and returned the glass to the bar,"guess I'll just let Nature take her course,"he opined, and glanced about himquizzically. "I mistrusted this wasn't goin'to be no prosaic jubilee, but what I'mwonderin' is, how's it goin' to come out?'Tain't likely anyone'll get hurt, 'cause they

can't hit me, an' I don't want to hit them.But, this is goin' to get monotonoussometime an' I'll want to leave here.They've got my horse, an' it's a cinch Iain't goin' away afoot. Guess I'll have toborrow one like Ol' Bat did down to LasVegas an' get plumb out of the country. An'there's another reason I can't linger to getvenerable amongst my present peacefulsurroundin's. When Ol' Bat finds I've quitthe outfit he'll trail me down, just as sureas I'm goin' to take another drink, an' whenhe does, he'll——"

Once more the voice of the marshalsounded from without: "Hey, young feller,I'm willin' to go half way with you——"

"Half of nothin's nothin'!" replied theTexan, "I ain't goin' nowhere!"

"You better listen to reason an' giveyerself up. If you do we let you off with ahundred dollar fine, an' damages—if youdon't, I'm goin' to charge you with shootin'to kill, an' send you up to Deer Lodge fer ayear. You got just one minute to think itover. It's gettin' dark an' I ain't had nosupper."

"Me neither. You go on ahead an' getyours first, an' then hurry back an' let mego."

"I ain't foolin'! What you goin' to do?"

"Shoot to kill—if that's what I'm chargedwith," and the marshal leaped back as abullet sung past his head.

As darkness gathered the crowd poured

volley after volley into the saloon and theTexan replied sparingly, and betweenshots he drank whisky. It was dark insidethe building and the cowboy could see theflash of the guns in the street. Suddenly thebombardment ceased.

"Wonder what they're up to now," hemuttered, peering between the kegs. Hewas finding it hard to concentrate histhoughts, and passed a hand across hisforehead as if to brush away the cobwebsthat were clogging his brain. "I've got toout-guess 'em!" He shook himself fiercely:"Le's see, if they rush me in the dark, someof 'em's due to fall down cellar where Ikeleft the trap open, an' some of 'em's goin'to get mixed up with bottles an' beer-kegs—if I don't shoot they won't know where I

am, an' while they're ontanglin' themselvesmaybe I can slip away in the dark."

A light flared suddenly beyond thewooden partition, flickered a moment, andburned steadily. The Texan's eyeswidened as his hands closed about thebutts of his guns: "Goin' to burn me out,eh?" he sneered, and then, with a smile,laid the two guns on the bar, and watchedthe glow that softened the blackness aboutthe edges of the screen. "They can't burnme without burnin' up their whole damnlittle wooden town," he speculated, "butwhat in the devil do they want with alight?" With the words on his lips, thelight moved, and once more he reached forhis guns. A candle appeared around theend of the partition that formed the

doorway. The Texan fired and the roomwas plunged into darkness. And then—through the inky blackness, thick with thepungent powder smoke, sounded a cry—ajerky, stabbing cry—a cry of mortal fear—a woman's cry—that woman's cry:"Tex—Tex! Strike a light!"

The Texan reeled as from a blow, the gundropped from his nerveless fingers andthudded upon the floor. He leaned weaklyagainst the back bar. He was consciousthat his eyes were staring—straining topierce the blackness in the direction of thesound—and yet, he knew there wasnothing there! His mouth went dry and hecould distinctly hear his own breathing.He pulled himself jerkily erect andclawed the edge of the bar. His groping

hand closed about an object hard andcylindrical. It was the quart bottle ofwhisky from which he had filled his glass.Suddenly, he shuddered. "It's the booze,"he thought, "it's got me—at last—I'm—I'mbugs!" The bottle slipped through hisfingers and rolled along the bar and the airbecame heavy with the fumes of the liquorthat splashed unheeded from its mouth. Hepassed his hand across his brow andwithdrew it slippery and wet with sweat.

"Christ!" Thickly the word struggled frombetween the dry lips. He stooped, his handgroping for the gun, his fingers closeduncertainly upon the butt, and as hestraightened up, the muzzle swung slowlyinto line with his own forehead. And inthat instant a light puff of cool air fanned

his dripping forehead. The gun stopped inits slow arc. The lids closed for an instantover the horribly staring eyes. Theshoulders stiffened, and the gun was laidgently upon the bar—for, upon that singlepuff of night air, delicate, subtile—yetunmistakably distinguishable from theheavy powder smoke and the reekingfumes of the whisky, was borne a breathof the wide open places. The man'snostrils quivered. Yes, it was there—thescent of the little blue and white prairieflowers—her flowers. Instantly his braincleared. A moment before he had beenhopelessly drunk: now, he was sober. Itwas as though the delicate scent hadentered his nostrils and cleansed his brain,clearing it of the befuddling fog, andleaving it, wholesome, alert, capable.

Poignantly, with the scent of thoseflowers, the scene of a year ago leapedinto memory, when he had stooped torestore them to her hands—there in thetiny glade beside the big boulder.

"Alice!" he cried, sharply.

"Tex!" The name was a sob, and then;"Oh, please—please strike a light! I'm—I'm—afraid!"

For just an instant the Texan hesitated, amatch between his fingers, and his voicesounded strangely hard: "A light, now,will mean they'll get me! But—if you'rereal, girl, I'll trust you—If you ain't—thequicker they shoot, the better!" There wasa scratching sound, a light flared out, andcandle outstretched, the girl came swiftly

to the bar, and as he held the match to thewick, the Texan's eyes gazed wonderinglyinto the eyes of blue.

CHAPTER VII

THE TEXAN "COMES A-SHOOTIN'"

Alice Endicott gazed searchingly into theTexan's flushed face and wondered at thesteadiness of his eyes. "They—they saidyou were drunk," she faltered.

The cynical smile that she remembered sowell twisted the man's lips: "They wereright—partly. I was headed that way, butI'm cold sober, now."

"Then leave your guns here and come withme. You must submit to arrest. They'll fine

you and make you pay for the damages andthat will be all there'll be to it."

The Texan shook his head: "No. I told thatmarshal he couldn't arrest me, an' hecan't."

Alice's heart sank. "Please—for my sake,"she pleaded. "If you haven't got the money——"

"Oh, I've got the money, all right—awhole year's wages right here in mypocket. It ain't the money, it's the principleof the thing. I made my brag, an' I've got tosee it through. They might get me, butthey'll never arrest me."

"Oh, please——"

Tex interrupted her sharply, and the girl

was startled at the gleam that leapedsuddenly from the grey eyes: "What areyou doing here? Has he—didn't you an'Win—hit it out?"

"Oh, yes! Yes! Win is here——"

"An' he let you come in alone—an' stayedoutside——"

"No—he doesn't know. He's up at theCamerons. I went for a ride, and comingback I saw the crowd, and when they toldme the man in here was a Texan,somehow, I just knew it was you."

The gleam faded from the man's eyes andhe regarded her curiously; "But, what areyou doin' in Timber City—you an' Win?"

"Why, it's our anniversary! We wanted to

spend it here where we were married.And besides we've got the grandestscheme. Win wants to see you. Come on,give yourself up, and pay their old fine."

"I won't be arrested," repeated the Texanstubbornly, "an' don't count me in on anyscheme with you an' Win." Once more hiseyes blazed, and his words came low andtense: "Can't you see—I haven't forgot. Idon't reckon I ever will forget! I loved youthen, an' I love you now——"

"Don't, don't, Tex! You haven't tried toforget. How many girls have you knownsince—a year ago?"

"None—an' I don't want to know any!There ain't any more like you——"

Alice interrupted him with a laugh: "Don'tbe a fool! I know loads of girls—andthey're all prettier than I am, and they'vegot lots more sense, too. Please don't spoilour anniversary this way. There aretwenty men out there, and they're allarmed, and they've sworn to kill you if youdon't give yourself up."

"They better start in killin', then."Throwing back his shoulders, he struck thebar with his fist. "I'll tell you what I'll do—an' that's all I'll do. You go back an' tell'em I'll pay my fine, an' a reasonableamount of damages if they'll leave myhorse outside and let me go away fromhere. It ain't because I'm afraid of 'em," hehastened to add, "not a man of 'em—norall of 'em. But, if you want it that way, I'll

do it."

"But, we don't want you to go away!"cried the girl. "Win wants to see you."

The cowboy shook his head: "I'm goin'away—an' far away," he answered, "Idon't know what his scheme is, an' I don'twant to know. We'd all be fools to tackleit. If that plan suits you, go ahead—noarrest—I'll just pay my fine an' go. An' ifit don't suit you, you better go back toWin. This is no place for you anyhow. Let'em go ahead with their killin', if they thinkthey can get away with it."

For a moment the girl hesitated, then,picking up her candle from the bar, shestarted slowly toward the door. "If I canonly get word to Win and Mr. Colston,"

she thought, "I can delay things until theyget here."

"Well, what'd he say?" growled HodBlake, stepping from among his retainers.

The tone angered the girl and she glancedcontemptuously into the eyes that staredboldly at her from beneath the wide hat-brim: "He said that you can't arrest him,"she answered defiantly, "and if you knewhim as well as I do, you'd know he toldthe truth."

"Oh-ho, so he's got a record, has he?"leered the marshal. "Mebbe they'll bemore to this here business than just pickin'up a plain drunk—little reward money,mebbe—eh?"

"No, no!" cried the girl, "not that! It's justhis—his pride. He will never submit toarrest."

"He won't, eh? Well, then he'll shove upthe posies!"

"He'll go away peaceably if you give himthe chance. He offered to pay his fine andthe damages to the saloon, if you'll allowhim to ride away unmolested."

"Oh, he will, will he?" sneered themarshal. "It wouldn't take no mind readerto tell that he's goin' to pay them fine an'damages—peaceable or onpeaceable, itdon't make no difference to me. But, aboutlettin' him ride off without arrestin' him—they ain't nothin' doin'. I said I'd arresthim, an' I will—an' besides, I aim to hold

him over a spell till I can find out if theyain't a reward out fer him. If they ain'tnothin' on him what's he anxious to pay upan' git out fer?"

"Oh, can't you listen to reason?"

"Sure, Hod," urged Barras, jumping at theTexan's offer, "listen to reason. He ain'tdone nothin' to speak of. Let him pay upan' git."

"You shet yer mouth!" snapped themarshal. "They's reason enough in what Isaid. If they ain't nothin' on him it ain'tgoin' to hurt him none to hold him over afew days. It'll do him good. Give him achanct to sober up."

"He's as sober as you are, now," flashed

the girl angrily, "an' if he was as drunk ashe could get, he'd have more sense thanyou'll ever have."

"Kind of peppery, ain't you? Well, you c'ngo back an' tell him what I said. He c'ntake it or leave it. An' while yer gone, I'lljest slip around an' put a couple of moreboys guardin' the back door."

The man turned on his heel anddisappeared into the darkness. Glancingabout in desperation, Alice saw the tallman who had first spoken to her, stillseated upon a corner of the horse trough, alittle apart from the crowd. She hastenedto his side: "Will you do something forme?" she asked, breathlessly.

With a dexterous contortion of his nether

lip, the man gathered an end of his hugemoustache into the corner of his mouth:"What would it be?" he askednoncommittally.

"Hurry to Mr. Cameron's and tell myhusband and Mr. Colston to come downhere quick!"

"Y Bar Colston?" he asked, withexasperating deliberation.

"Yes. Oh, please hurry!"

His left eyelid drooped meaningly, as heaudibly expelled the moustache frombetween his lips, and jerked his head inthe direction of the saloon, "Y'ain't helpin'his case none by draggin' Y Bar into it,"he opined. "Hod hates Y Bar on account

he trades over to Claggett. Hod, he runsthe main store here besides bein'marshal."

"Oh, what shall I do!"

Making sure they were out of earshot, theman spoke rapidly. "They ain't only oneway to work it. You hustle back an' tellhim to slip down cellar an' climb up theshoot where they slide the beer-kaigsdown. It opens onto the alley between thelivery barn an' the store. Hod ain't thoughtof that yet, an' my horse is tied in the alley.Tell him to take the horse an' beat it."

For an instant the girl peered into theman's eyes as if to fathom his sincerity."But why should you sacrifice yourhorse?"

The man cut her short: "I'll claim his'n, an'it's about an even trade. Besides, he doneme a good turn by not shootin' me in therewhen he had the chanct, after I tried tohelp Barras hold him. An' I'm one of thesehere parties that b'lieves one good turndeserves another."

"But," hesitated the girl, "you wereshooting into the saloon at him. I sawyou."

"Yup, I was shootin', all right," hegrinned, "but he'd of had to be'n ten foottall fer me to of hit him. It wouldn't oflooked right fer me not to of be'n a-shootin'."

"But, won't they shoot him when he tries toget away?"

The grin widened: "They won't. Tell himto come bustin' right out the front way onthe high lope, right into the middle of 'em.I know them hombres an' believe me, it'sgoin' to be fun to see 'em trompin' overone another a-gittin' out of the road. By thetime they git in shootin' shape, he'll be intothe dark."

"But, they'll follow him."

"Yes, mom. But they ain't goin' to ketchhim. That horse of mine kin run ringsaround anything they've got. Better hurrynow, 'fore Hod thinks about that beer-kaigshoot."

"Oh, how can I thank you?"

"Well, you might set up a brass statoo of

me acrost from the post office—when thesun hit it right it would show up cleanfrom the top of the divide."

Alice giggled, as the man extended hishand: "Here's a couple more matches. Youbetter run along, now. Jest tell that thereTexas cyclone that Ike Stork says this hereplay is the best bet, bein' as they'll starvehim out if a stray bullet don't find its waybetween them kaigs an' git him first."

She took the matches and once morepaused in the doorway and lighted hercandle. As she disappeared into theinterior, Ike Stork shifted his positionupon the edge of the horse trough andgrinned broadly as his eyes rested uponthe men huddled together in the darknessin front of the saloon.

The girl crossed to the bar, and readingthe question in the Texan's eyes, shook herhead: "He won't do it," she said, "he's justas mean, and stubborn, and self-importantand as rude as he can be. He says he'sgoing to arrest you, and he's going to holdyou for a few days in jail to see if thereisn't a reward offered for you somewhere.He thinks, or pretends to think, that you'resome terrible desperado."

The cynical smile twisted the Texan'slips: "He'll be sure of it before he getsthrough."

"No, no, Tex! Don't shoot anybody—please! Listen, I've got a plan that will getyou out of here. But first, you've got topromise that you will see Win. We've setour hearts on it, and you must."

"What's the good?"

"Please, for my sake, promise me."

The man's eyes devoured her. "I'd doanything in the world for your sake," hesaid, simply. "I'll promise. Tell Win todrift over to Claggett day after tomorrow,an' I'll meet him somewhere along thetrail."

"Surely? You won't disappoint us?"

The man regarded her reproachfully: "Youdon't think I'd lie to you?"

"No, forgive me, I—" she paused andlooked straight into his eyes, "and, willyou promise me one thing more?"

"Tell me straight out what it is, an' I'll tell

you straight out what I'll do."

"Promise me you won't drink any moreuntil—until after you've seen Win."

The Texan hesitated: "It's only a couple ofdays. Yes, I'll promise," he answered,"an', now, what's your plan?"

Alice glanced toward the door, and leanedcloser: "It really isn't my plan at all," shewhispered, "but there's a man out therewith a big, drooping faded-lookingmoustache, he said you did him a goodturn by not shooting him, or something——"

"Ike Stork," grinned the Texan.

Alice nodded: "Yes, that's his name, andhe said to tell you it was the best bet,

whatever that is."

"I get him. Go on."

"Well, he says there's some kind of a chutethat they slide the beer-kegs down into thecellar with, and for you to go down andclimb up the chute. It will let you out intothe alley between this building and thelivery stable. The marshal hasn't thoughtof posting any guards there, and Ike'shorse is tied in the alley, and you're totake him and make a dash out the frontway, right through the crowd. He saysthey'll all fall over each other and be soscared that they won't think to shoot tillyou've had a chance to get away."

As the girl talked she could see that theTexan's eyes twinkled and when she

finished, his shoulders were shaking withsilent mirth: "Good old Ike!" he chuckled."You tell him I say he's a bear!"

"He said it would be fun to see themtrample over each other getting out of theway."

"I'll sure see that he gets his money'sworth," grinned the Texan.

A troubled look crept into the girl's face:"You won't—hurt anyone?" she asked.

The man shook his head: "Not onlesssome of 'em don't get out of the road.Might knock down a few with the horse,but that won't hurt 'em to speak of. Itwouldn't pain me none to knock thatmarshal about half ways down the street—

not for anything he's done to me, butbecause I've got a hunch he talked prettyrough to you."

"Oh, I hope it's all right," whispered thegirl, "do you really think it will work?"

"Work! Of course it'll work! I've got it allpictured out right now. It's a peach! Justyou get off to one side far enough so's notto get caught in the rush, an' you'll seesome fun. Tell Ike not to forget to put upan awful howl about losin' his cayuse, justto make the play good."

"Do you think he's really sincere—that itisn't just a trick to get you out where theycan shoot you? How long have you knownthis Ike Stork?"

"Dead sure." The Texan's tone wasreassuring, "known him a good half-hour.You ought to seen those eyes of his whenhe thought I was goin' to shoot him—neverflinched a hair. He's a good man, told meto hurry up an' make a job of it."

The girl held out her hand: "Good-bye,Tex—till day after tomorrow."

The cowboy took the hand and pressed itfiercely: "You're goin' to be there, too?That'll make it harder—but—all right."

"Remember," smiled the girl, "what I saidabout there being loads of other girls."

"Too bad you hadn't been born in theWest, so Win would never known you—then—maybe——"

"What shall I tell our friend the marshal?"interrupted the girl.

The Texan grinned: "Just tell him not toorder any extra meals sent down to the jailon my account. An', here, tell him thedrinks are on the house," he handed thegirl a quart bottle of whisky. "That'll keep'em from gettin' restless before the showstarts."

Candle in one hand, bottle in the other, thegirl made her way to the door. As shestepped out into the night, she was hailedroughly by the marshal: "Well, what'd hesay, now?"

"He said," answered the girl, scornfully,"that you were not to order any extrameals sent down to the jail on his account.

And he sent you this and asked me to tellyou that the drinks were on the house."She extended the bottle which the marshaleagerly grasped despite the strenuousobjections of Pete Barras who clamouredfor the return of his property.

"Ain't I had hell enough fer one day?"demanded the bartender, "what with gittin'shot in the arm, an' gittin' tried to be heldup fer four dollars of Sam's debts, an'gittin' laid out cold with a spittoon, an'gittin' my glasses an' bottles all busted, an'gittin' my place all shot up, an' my merrowshot to hell, an' my kegs all shot holes in,without all you's hornin' in an' drinkin' upwhat little I got left? As the feller says,where do I git off at?"

"S'pose you dry up an' let me talk,"

retorted the marshal. "They ain't no onepayin' you nawthin' to maintain law an'order in this town."

"If they was I'll be damned if I wouldn'tmaintain it, 'stead of millin' arounddrinkin' up other folks' whisky——"

"Look a-here Pete Barras, this makestwict, now, you've ondertook to tell me mybusiness. You shet yer yap, 'er you don'tdraw no damages when we corral thatoutlaw in yonder. I ain't so sure you didn'tstart the rookus, nohow. Besides, the boysneeds a little drink, an' we'll charge thishere bottle up along with the rest of thedamages an' make him pay 'em."

"Y'ain't caught him yet. Where do I git offat if you don't ketch him?"

Ike Stork, grinning huge enjoyment overthe altercation, managed to motion Aliceto his side: "Better git over to yer cayuse,"he cautioned. "He's pretty near had time tomake it into the alley, an' when he comes,he'll come a-shootin'. Guess I'll jest keepthe squabble a-goin', they all seem rightinterested," he indicated the crowd thathad edged close about the two principals.And Alice smiled as she mounted herhorse to hear the renewed vigour withwhich retort met accusation after theredoubtable Mr. Stork had contributed hisobservations from the side lines. Thegirl's eyes were fixed upon the blackmouth of the alley, now, and with eachpassing minute she found it harder andharder to restrain her impatience. Wouldhe never come? What if the window had

been guarded unknown to Stork? What ifStork's horse had broken loose or beenmoved by someone passing through thealley? What if—a bloodcurdling yell splitthe darkness. And with a thunder of hoofs,an indistinguishable shape whirled out ofthe alley. A crash of shots drowned thethunder of hoofs as from the plungingshape darted thin red streaks of flame.Straight into the crowd it plunged. For afleeting instant the girl caught a glimpse ofbodies in confused motion, as the mensurged back from its impact. Above thesound of the guns shrill cries of fear andhoarse angry curses split the air.

As Ike Stork had predicted, the Texan had"come a-shootin'."

CHAPTER VIII

THE ESCAPE

Alice had pressed forward until her horsestood at the very edge of the seethingmêlée. Swiftly, objects took definite shapein the starlight. Men rushed past hercursing. The marshal lay upon the groundshrieking contradictory orders, while overhim stood the outraged Barras, revilinghim for permitting his man to escape.Other men were shooting, and between thesounds of the shots the voice of Ike Storkcould be heard loudly bewailing the lossof his horse. Hoof beats sounded behind

her, and glancing backward, Alice couldsee men mounting the half-dozen horsesthat stood saddled before the store and thelivery barn. As a man, already in thesaddle, urged the others to hurry he raisedhis gun and fired in the direction the Texanhad taken.

"They'll kill him!" thought the girl. "Nomatter how fast his horse is, those bulletsfly faster!" Another shot followed the first,and acting on the impulse of the moment,with the one thought to save the Texanfrom harm, she struck her horse down theflank and shot out into the trail behind thefleeing cowpuncher. "They won't dare toshoot, now," she sobbed as she urged herhorse to his best, while in her ears rang aconfusion of cries that she knew were

directed at her. Leaning far forward, sheshouted encouragement to her straininganimal. In vain her eyes sought to piercethe darkness for a glimpse of the Texan.Her horse took a shallow ford in afountain of spray. A patch of woodsslipped behind, and she knew she was onthe trail that led to the Missouri, and theflat-boat ferry of Long Bill Kearney. Shewondered whether Tex would hold to thetrail, or would he leave it and try to losehis pursuers among the maze of foothillsand coulees through which it wound?Maybe he had turned into the patch oftimber and was even now breathing hishorse in the little wild flower glade. If so,her course was plain—to keep on at topspeed and lead his pursuers as far aspossible along the trail. Dimly, she could

hear the thunder of hoofs in her wake. Shewondered how long it would be beforethey overtook her.

On and on she sped, her thoughts racingwildly as the flying feet of her horse."What would Win think? What would thehorsemen behind her say when at last theyovertook her? Maybe they would arresther!" The thought terrified her, and sheurged her horse to a still greater burst ofspeed. Presently she became aware thatthe hoof beats behind had almost diedaway. Fainter and fainter they sounded,and then—far ahead, on top of a knollsilhouetted against the star-dotted sky, shesaw the figure of a horseman. Instantly itdisappeared where the trail dipped into acoulee, and with a thrill of wild

exhilaration she realized that her horsehad run away from the pursuers, and notonly that, he was actually closing up onthe Texan despite the boast of Ike Storkthat his animal could run rings around anyothers.

She topped the rise, and half way across awide swale, caught another glimpse of thehorseman. The man pulled up, sharply.There were two horsemen! She had almostcome up to them when suddenly theycrashed together. She distinctly heard thesound of the impact. There was a short,sharp struggle, and as the horses sprangapart, one of the saddles was empty, and arider thudded heavily upon the ground.Then, faintly at first, but momentarilygrowing louder and more distinct, she

heard the rumble of pursuing hoofs. Sheglanced swiftly over her shoulder andwhen she returned her eyes to the front oneof the riders was disappearing over therim of the swale, and the other wasstruggling to his feet. For only an instantthe girl hesitated, then plunged straightdown the trail after the fleeing rider. Asshe passed the other a perfect torrent ofvile curses poured from his lips, and witha shudder, she recognized the voice ofLong Bill Kearney. The interruption of theheadlong flight had been short, but it hadserved to cut down their lead perceptibly.The sounds of pursuit were plainer eventhan at first and glancing over her shoulderas she reached the rim of the swale, shecould see horsemen stringing down intothe depression. Topping the ridge she was

surprised to find the Texan only a shortdistance ahead. He was plying his quirtmercilessly but the animal moved slowly,and she could see that he limped. Swiftlyshe closed up the distance, and as sherode, she became conscious of a lowhoarse rumbling, a peculiar sound, dull,all pervading, terrifying. Glancing ahead,beyond the figure of the rider, a cryescaped her. The whole world seemed tobe a sea of wildly tossing water. TheMissouri! But surely, not the Missouri asshe had remembered it—this wild roaringflood! The river they had crossed a yearago on Long Bill's flat-boat had been avery commonplace stream, flowingsmoothly between its banks. But, this——

As she caught up to the horseman, he

whirled, gun in hand. "Tex!" shescreamed.

The gun hand dropped, and the man staredat her in amazement. "What are you doinghere?"

"I came—they had horses and were goingto kill you—I rode in between so theywouldn't shoot——"

"Good God, girl——"

"Hurry!" she cried, frantically, "they'reclose behind."

"Horse went lame," he jerked out as heplied quirt and spurs. "Got to make theferry. Long Bill says the river's broke allrecords. He's runnin' away. Left his flat-boat tied to a tree. It's only a little ways.

You go back! I can make it. Had to knockBill down to keep him from blockin' mygame. Once on that boat, they can'tfollow."

"But, they're almost here—" Even at thewords, a horseman topped the ridge, andwith a yell to his followers, plungedtoward them.

The Texan scowled darkly: "Go back!They'll never say I hid behind a woman'sskirts!"

"I won't go back! Oh, hurry, there's theboat! Two more minutes, and we'll bethere! Turn around and shoot! It'll hold'em!"

"I won't shoot—not when they can't shoot

back!"

The foremost horseman was almost uponthem when they reached the flat-boat. Hewas far in advance of the rest, and as theTexan swung to the ground the report of asix-gun rang loud, and a bullet sang overtheir heads.

The bullet was followed by the sound of avoice: "Shoot, you fool! Keep a-shootin'till you pile onto the boat, an' I'll shootback. Them hounds back there ain'thankerin' fer no close quarters with you—I told 'em how good you was with yerguns." And Ike Stork followed his wordswith two shots in rapid succession.

"Good boy, old hand!" grinned the Texan,"how's that!" Six shots cut the air like the

reports of an automatic, and Ike, swervingsharply, galloped back in a well-feignedpanic of fear. It was the work of a momentto get the Texan's horse aboard, and Alicefollowed with her own.

The man stared. "Get back!" he cried, "I'mgoin' across! Go back to Win!"

"They'll shoot if I don't stay right here! Ikecan't hold 'em but a few minutes, at best.They'd have you at their mercy. This boatmoves slowly."

The Texan took her roughly by the arm."You go back!" he roared. "Can't you seeit won't do? You can't come! God, girl,can't you see it? The touch of you drivesme crazy!"

"Don't be a fool! And I won't see you shot—so there! Oh, Tex, it's you who can't see—I do love you—like a sister. I alwaysthink of you as my big brother—I neverhad a real one."

The Texan backed away. "I don't want nosister! What'll folks say? This big brotherstuff won't go—by a damn sight!" Hoofbeats sounded nearer, and a stream ofcurses floated to their ears.

"There comes that horrible Long Bill,"cried the girl, and before the Texan couldmake a move to stop her, she seized an axfrom the bottom of the boat and broughtit's keen edge down upon the mooring line.The flat-boat shuddered and moved,slowly at first, then faster as it workedinto the current. The Texan gazed

dumbfounded at the rapidly widening stripof water that separated them from theshore. But he found scant time to stare idlyat the water. All about them it's surfacewas clogged with floating debris. Theriver had risen to within a foot of theslender cable that held the boat on itscourse, and the unwieldy craft wastrembling and jerking as uprooted treesand masses of flotsam caught on the line,strained it almost to the point of snappingand then rolled under by the force of thecurrent, allowed the line to spring intoplace again. Slowly, the boat, swept bythe force of the flood, worked out into thestream, adding its own weight to the strainon the line. The craft shuddered as a tree-trunk struck her side, and seizing a pole,the man shoved her free. The rushing

water sucked and gurgled at the edge ofthe boat, and Alice stepped nearer to theTexan. "We're moving, anyway," she said,"we can't see the shore, now. And thevoices of the men have died away."

"We can't see, because it's cloudin' up, an'we can't hear 'em because the river'smakin' such a racket. With the pull there ison the boat, we ain't ever goin' to get herpast the middle—if I could, I'd work herback right now where we come from."

"They'd shoot you!"

"If they did it would only be me they'd get—the river won't be so particular."

"You mean—we're in danger?"

"Danger!" The naïve question angered the

cowboy. "Oh, no we ain't in any danger,not a bit in the world. We're just as safe asif we was sittin' on a keg of powder withthe fuse lit. There's nothin' in the worldcan hurt us except this little old Mizoo, an'it wouldn't think of such a thing——"

"Don't try to be sarcastic, Tex, you do itvery clumsily."

"Maybe I do, but I ain't clumsy at guessin'that of all the tight places I've ever be'n in,this is the tightest. How far can youswim?"

"Not a stroke."

"So can I."

"Anyway, it's better than being lost in adust storm—we won't shrivel up and die

of thirst."

"No, we won't die of thirst, all right. Butyou an' me have sure stumbled into a finemess. What'll Win think, an' what'lleveryone else think? If we go under,they'll never know any different, an' if wedo happen to get across, it'll be someseveral days before this river gets downto where we can get back, an' I can seefrom here what a lovely time we're goin'to have explainin' things to the satisfactionof all parties concerned."

"You seem to be a born pessimist. We'renot going under, and what's to prevent usfrom waiting out here until the men on thebank go away, and then going back wherewe started from?"

A flash of lightning illumined the horizonand the Texan's voice blended with a lowrumble of thunder. "With the force ofwater the way it is," he explained, "wecan't move this boat an inch. It'll carry tothe middle on the slack of the line, an' inthe middle we'll stay. It'll be uphill bothways from there an' we can't budge her aninch. Then, either the line'll bust, or theriver will keep on risin' till it justnaturally pulls us under."

"Maybe the river will start to fall,"ventured the girl.

"Maybe it won't. We've had enough rainthis spring for four summers already—an'more comin'."

"We'll get out someway." The Texan knew

that the words were forced. And his heartbounded with admiration for this girl whocould thus thrust danger to the winds andcalmly assert that there would be a wayout. A nearer flash of lightning wasfollowed by louder thunder. "Sure, we'llget out," he agreed, heartily. "I didn't meanwe wouldn't get out. I was just lookin' thefacts square in the face. There ain't anyjackpot that folks can get into that theycan't get out of—somehow."

"Oh, does something awful always happenout here?" the girl asked almostplaintively. "Why can't things be just—justnormal, like they ought to be?"

"It ain't the country, it's the folks. Get theright combination of folks together, an'somethin's bound to happen, no matter

where you're at."

Then the storm struck and the girl's replywas lost in the rush of wind and the crashof thunder, as flash after blinding flashlighted the surface of the flood. They hadreached midstream. The boat had lost itsforward motion and lay tugging at the tautline as the water rushed and gurgled aboutit. The rain fell in blinding torrentscausing the two horses to huddle againsteach other, trembling in mortal fear. Thedrift was thicker in the full sweep of thecurrent, and the Texan had his hands fullwarding it off the boat with his pole. Bythe lightning flashes Alice could see hisset, tense face as he worked to keep thedebris from massing against the craft. Aheavy object jarred against the cable, and

the next moment the two gazed wide eyedat a huge pine, branches and rootsthrashing in the air, that had lodged againstthe line directly upstream. For a fewmoments it held as the water curled over itin white masses of foam. Then the trunkrolled heavily, the roots and branchesthrashing wildly in the air, and the wholemass slipped slowly beneath the cable. Itstruck the boat with a heavy jar that cantedit at a dangerous angle and caused theterrified horses to struggle frantically tokeep their feet.

"Quick!" roared the Texan, "get to theupper side, before they smash you!" Invain he was pushing against the trunk ofthe tree, exerting every atom of power inhis body to dislodge its huge bulk that

threatened each moment to capsize theclumsy craft. But he might as well havetried to dislodge a mountain. Thefrightened animals were plunging wildly,adding the menace of their thrashing hoofsto the menace of the river. Vainly theTexan sought to quiet them but the soundof his voice was drowned in the roar ofthunder, the swishing splash of rain, andthe gurgle of water that purled among theroots and branches of the pine. Suddenlythe lame horse reared high, pawedfrantically for a moment and with analmost human scream of terror, plungedover the side. Alice reached swiftly forthe flying bridle reins of her own animaland as her hand closed upon them hequieted almost instantly. Relieved of theweight of the other horse, the boat shifted

its position for the worse, the bottomcanting to a still steeper angle. A flash oflightning revealed the precariousness ofthe situation. A few inches more, and thewater would rush over the side, and bothrealized that she would fill instantly.

It is a peculiar vagary of the human mindthat in moments of greatest stresstrivialities loom large. Thus it was thatwith almost certain destruction staring himin the face, the Texan's glance took in thedetail of the brand that stood out plainlyupon the wet flank of the girl's horse."What you doin' with a Y Bar cayuse?" hecried. "With Powder Face?" and then, theboat tilted still higher, he felt a splash ofwater against his foot, and as he reachedout to steady himself his hand came in

contact with the handle of the ax. Seizingthe tool, he sprang erect, poised for aninstant upon the edge of the boat whichwas already awash, and with the nextflash of lightning, brought its blade downupon the wire cable stretched taut as afiddle gut. The rebound of the ax nearlywrenched it from his grasp, the boatshifted as the cable seemed to stretch everso slightly, and the Texan noted withsatisfaction that the edge was no longerawash. Another flash of lightning and hecould see the frayed ends where thesevered strands were slowly untwisting.Another blow, and the cable parted. Witha jerk that nearly threw the occupants intothe river the boat righted herself, the flatbottom striking the water with a loudsplash. Before Alice realized what had

happened she saw the high flung tree-rootsthrash wildly as the released tree rolled inthe water. She screamed a warning but toolate. A root-stub, thick as a man's armstruck the Texan squarely on top of thehead, and without a sound he sank limpand lifeless to the bottom of the boat.

CHAPTER IX

ON THE RIVER

For a moment the girl sat paralysed withterror as her brain grasped the full gravityof her position. The wind had risen, andblowing up river, kicked up waves thatstruck the boat with sledgehammer forceand broke over the gunwales. Overheadthe thunder roared incessantly, whileabout her the thick, black dark burstmomentarily into vivid blazes of light thatrevealed the long slash of the driving rain,and the heaving bosom of the river, withits tossing burden of uprooted trees—

revealed, also her trembling horse, and theform of the unconscious Texan lying withface awash in the bottom of the boat. Hishat, floating from side to side as the craftrocked in the waves, brushed the horse'sheels, and he lashed out viciously, hisiron-shod hoofs striking the side of theboat with a force that threatened to tear theplanking loose.

The incident galvanized her into action. Ifthose hoofs had struck the Texan? And ifhe were not already dead, suppose heshould drown in the filthy water in thebottom of the boat? Carefully, she workedthe frightened animal to the farther end ofthe boat, and swiftly made her way to thelimp form of the cowboy. She realizedsuddenly that she was numb with cold.

Her hat, too, floated in the bottom of theboat, and her rain-soaked hair clung inwet straggling wisps to her neck and face.Stooping over the injured man she twistedher fingers into the collar of his shirt andsucceeded in raising his face clear of thewater. Blood oozed from a long cut on hisforehead at the roots of his hair, and ontop of his head she noticed a welt the sizeof a door knob. With much effort shefinally succeeded in raising him to asitting posture and propping him into acorner of the boat, where she held himwith her body close against his while shebathed his wound and wiped his eyes andlips with her rain-soaked handkerchief.Opening her shirt, the girl succeeded intearing a strip from her undergarmentswith which she proceeded to bandage the

wound. This proved to be no smallundertaking, and it was only after repeatedfailures that she finally succeeded inaffixing the bandage smoothly and firmlyin place. The storm continued withunabated fury and, shivering and drenchedto the skin, she huddled miserably in thebottom of the boat against the unconsciousform of the man.

Added to the physical discomfort cametorturing thoughts of their plight. Eachmoment carried her farther and fartherfrom Timber City—from Win. When thelightning flashed she caught glimpses ofthe shore, but always it appeared the samedistance away. The boat was holding tothe middle of the stream. She knew theymust have drifted miles. "What would Win

say?" over and over the same questionrepeated itself in her brain, and step bystep, she reviewed the events of the night."I did the right thing—I know I did!" shemuttered, "they would have killed him!"And immediately she burst into tears.

Inaction became unbearable, and shiftingthe body of the Texan so that his headwould remain clear of the ever deepeningwash in the bottom of the boat, she seizedthe pole and worked frantically. But aftera few moments she realized the futility ofher puny efforts to deviate the heavy crafta hair's breadth from its course. The tree-root that had knocked the Texanunconscious had descended upon the boat,and remained locked over the gunwale,holding the trunk with its high-flung tangle

of roots and branches close alongside, thewhole structure moving as one mass.

She discarded the pole and tried to arousethe unconscious man, shaking andpounding him vigorously. After a time hishead moved slightly and redoubling herefforts, she soon had the satisfaction ofseeing his eyes open slowly. His handraised to his bandaged head, and droppedlistlessly to his side. Placing her lipsclose to his ear to make herself heardabove the roar of the storm, she beggedand implored him to rouse himself. Heevidently understood, for he moved hisarms and legs and shifted his body into amore comfortable position. "I—don't—remember—" the words came in a low,faltering voice, "what—happened."

"When you cut the cable that root hit youon the head," she explained, pointing tothe root-stub that held the boat firmlyagainst the trunk of the tree.

He nodded his understanding, and in theillumination of the almost continuousflashes of lightning stared at the root, as iftrying to collect his scattered wits. Theboat jerked unsteadily, hesitated, jerkedagain and the branches and uplifted rootsof the tree swayed and thrashed wildly.He struggled to his knees, and holding tothe girl's arm raised himself unsteadily tohis feet where he stood swayinguncertainly, his eyes fixed on the thrashingbranches. His vitality returned with a rush.His eyes narrowed as he pointed out thedanger, and his voice rang strong above

the storm: "Where's the ax?"

Stooping, the girl recovered it from thewater at her feet. Instantly, it was seizedfrom her hand, and staggering to the root,the Texan chopped at it with blows thatincreased in vigour with each successiveswing. A few moments sufficed to severit, and springing to one side, the man drewthe girl to the bottom of the boat, whileabove them the branches thrashed and toreat the gunwales. A moment later the craftfloated free, and placing his lips to herear, the Texan explained: "They stickdown as far as they do up, an' when wepass over a shallow place they drag alongthe bottom. If we'd struck a snag thatwould have held the tree, it would havebeen 'good-night' for us. That root would

have ripped down through the bottom, andall there'd be'n left of us is two strings ofbubbles. We're lucky."

Alice shuddered. "An' now," continued thecowboy, "we've got to bail out this oldtub. What with the water that rolled inover the edge, and what's rained in, we'llhave a boatful before long."

"Why, there's barrels of it!" cried the girl."And we haven't anything to bail with!"

The Texan nodded: "There's barrels of itall right. I saw a fellow empty a barrelwith a thimble, once—on a bet. It took hima considerable spell, but he did it. Myboots hold considerable more'n a thimble,an' we can each take one an' go to it."

"But, wouldn't it be better to try and reachshore?"

"Reach shore?" With a sweep of his armthe man indicated the surface of the turgidflood. Following the gesture, Alicerealized the utter futility of any attempt toinfluence the course of the clumsy craft.The wind had risen to a gale, but the fullfury of the electrical storm had passed.Still continuous, the roar of the thunderhad diminished to a low rumbling roll,and the lightning flashed pale, like ghostlightning, its wan luminescenceforeshortening the range of vision toinclude only the nearer reaches of wildlashing water upon whose surface heavedand tossed the trunks and branches of treesover which the whitecapped waves broke

with sodden hiss. The shore line with itsfringe of timber had merged into the outerdark—an all-enveloping, heavy darknessthat seemed in itself a thing—a thing ofinfinite horror whose evil touch wasmomentarily dispelled by the palingflashes of light. "Oh, where are we?Where are we going?" moaned the girl.

"Down river, somewhere," answered theTexan, with an attempt at cheerfulness.The man was industriously bailing with aboot. He tossed its mate to the girl. "Bail,"he urged, "it gives you somethin' to thinkabout, an' it's good exercise. I was aboutfroze till I got to heavin' out this water.We ain't so bad, now. We're bound to getshoved ashore at some bend, or thewind'll blow us ashore. Looks to me as if

she was widenin' out. Must of overflowedsome flat." Mechanically she took the bootand, following the example of the Texan,began to bail out. "Rain's quit, an' thiswind'll dry us out when we get the boatemptied so we don't have to sit in thewater. My shirt's most dry already."

"The wind has changed!" cried the girl."It's blowing crosswise of the river, now."

"More likely we've rounded a bend,"opined the Texan. "I don't know the riverbelow Claggett."

"If we're blown ashore, now, it will be thewrong shore."

"Most any old shore'd look good to me. Iain't what you might call aquatic by nature

—I ain't even amphibious." Alice laughedand the sound was music to the Texan'sears. "That's right, laugh," he hastened tosay, and the girl noticed that thecheerfulness was not forced, "I've neverheard you laugh much owin' to the fact thatour acquaintance has been what you mightcall tribulations to an extent that has be'nplumb discouragin' to jocosity. But, whatwas so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Only one would hardlyexpect a cowboy, adrift in the middle of aswollen river to be drawing distinctionsbetween words."

"Bailin' water out of a boat with a bootdon't overtax the mental capacity of even acowboy to absolute paralysis."

"You're certainly the most astonishingcowboy I've ever known."

"You ain't known many——"

"If I'd known a thousand—" The sentencewas never finished. The boat came to asudden stop. Both occupants were thrownviolently to the bottom where theyfloundered helplessly in their efforts toregain their feet. "What happened?" askedthe girl, as she struggled to her knees,holding fast to the gunwale. "Oh, maybewe're ashore!" Both glanced about them asa distant flash of lightning threw its paleradiance over the surface of the flood. Onevery side was water—water, and thetossing branches of floating trees. TheTexan was quieting the terrified horse thatcrouched at the farther end of the boat,

threatening momentarily to become a veryreal menace by plunging and lashing outblindly in the darkness.

"Struck a rock, I reckon," said thecowboy. "This cayuse'll be all right in aminute, an' I'll try to shove her off. Mustbe we've headed along some new channel.There hadn't ought to be rocks in the mainriver."

The clumsy craft shifted position with anugly grating sound as the current suckedand gurgled about it, and the whitecappedwaves pounded its sides and broke inwhite foam over the gunwales. The Texantook soundings with the pole. "Deep wateron three sides," he announced, "an' about afoot down to solid rock on the other.Maybe I can climb out an' shove her off."

"No! No!" cried the girl, in a sudden panicof fear. "You can't swim, and supposesomething should happen and the boatmoved off before you could climb into it?You'd be washed off the rock in a minute,and I—I couldn't stand it alone!"

"The way she's millin' around on the rock,I'm afraid she'll rip her bottom out. She'sleakin' already. There's more water inhere now, than when we started to bail."

"Most of it splashed in over the side—see, when the waves break."

"Maybe," assented the Texan, carelessly,but in the darkness he stooped and withhis fingers located a crack where theplanking had been forced apart, throughwhich the river water gushed copiously.

Without a word he stepped to the girl'ssaddle and took down the rope. "We'vegot to get off here," he insisted, "where'dwe be if some big tree like the one thatknocked me cold would drift down onus?" As he talked he passed the loop ofthe rope over his head and made it fastabout his shoulders, and allowing ten ortwelve feet of slack, knotted it securely toa ring in the end of the boat. "There, now Ican get onto the rock an' by using the polefor a crow-bar, I can pry us off, then if Iget left I'll just trail along on this ropeuntil I can pull myself in."

The man's first effort resulted only inbreaking a couple of feet from the end ofhis lever, but finally, by waiting to heaveon his bar at the moment a wave pounded

the side, he had the satisfaction of seeingthe craft move slowly, inch by inchtoward the deeper water. A moment laterthe man thanked his stars that he hadthought of the rope, for without warningthe boat lifted on a huge wave and slippedfrom the rock where it was instantlyseized by the current and whirled downstream with a force that jerked him fromhis feet. Taking a deep breath, he clutchedthe line, and easily pulled himself to theboat, where the girl assisted him over theside.

They were entirely at the mercy of theriver, now, for in the suddenness of theirescape from the rock, the Texan had beenunable to save the pole. Groping in thewater for his boot he began to bail

earnestly, and as Alice attempted to locatethe other boot her hand came in contactwith the inrushing stream of water. "Oh, itis leaking!" she cried in dismay. "I canfeel it pouring through the bottom!"

"Yes, I found the leak back there on therock. If we both bail for all we're worthmaybe we can keep her afloat."

Alice found the other boot and for whatseemed interminable hours the two bailedin silence. But despite their efforts, thewater gained. Nearly half full, the boatfloated lower and more sluggishly. Wavesbroke over the side with greaterfrequency, adding their bit to the streamthat flowed in through the bottom. Atlength, the girl dropped her boot with asigh that was half a sob: "I can't lift

another bootful," she murmured; "myshoulders and arms ache so—and I feel—faint."

"Just you prop yourself up in the corneran' rest a while," advised the Texan, withforced cheerfulness, "I can handle it allright, now." Wearily, the girl obeyed. Atthe bow and stern of the square-endedboat, the bottom curved upward so that thewater was not more than six or eightinches deep where she sank heavilyagainst the rough planking, with an armthrown over the gunwale. Her eyesclosed, and despite the extremediscomfort of her position, utter wearinessclaimed her, and she sank into thatborderland of oblivion that is neitherrestful sleep, nor impressionable

wakefulness.

It may have been minutes later, or hours,that the voice of the Texan brought herjerkily erect. Vaguely she realized that shecould see him dimly, and that his armseemed to be pointing at something. Witha sense of great physical effort, shemanaged to follow the direction of thepointing arm, and then he was speakingagain: "It's breakin' daylight! An' we'reclose to shore!" Alice noddedindifferently. It seemed, somehow, atrivial thing. She was conscious of a senseof annoyance that he should have rudelyaroused her to tell her that it was breakingdaylight, and that they were close to shore.Her eyes closed slowly, and her head sankonto the arm that lay numb and

uncomfortable along the gunwale.

The Texan was on his feet, eagerlyscanning his surroundings that grewmomentarily more distinct in the rapidlyincreasing light. The farther shore showeddimly and the man emitted a low whistleof surprise. "Must be a good four or fivemiles wide," he muttered, as his eyes tookin the broad expanse of water that rolledbetween. He saw at a glance that he waswell out of the main channel, for all abouthim were tiny islands formed by thesummits of low buttes and ridges whilehere and there the green tops of willowsprotruded above the surface of the waterswaying crazily in the current.

"Some flood!" he muttered, and turned hisattention to the nearer bank. The boat

floated sluggishly not more than fifty orsixty feet from the steep slope that rose toa considerable height. "Driftin' plumbalong the edge of the bench," he opined,"if I only had the pole." He untied the ropeby which he had dragged himself aboardfrom the rock, and coiled it slowly,measuring the distance with his eye. "Tooshort by twenty feet," he concluded, "an'nothin' to tie to if I was near enough." Heglanced downward with concern. Theboat was settling lower and lower. Thegunwales were scarcely a foot above thewater. "She'll be divin' out from under usdirectly," he muttered. "I wonder howdeep it is?" Hanging the coiled rope on thehorn of the saddle he slipped over theedge, but although he let down to the fullreach of his arms his feet did not touch

bottom and he drew himself aboard again.The boat was moving very slowly, driftinglazily across a bit of slack water that hadbacked into the mouth of a wide coulee.Fifty yards away, at the head of the littlebay formed by the backwater, the Texansaw a bit of level, grass-covered beach.Glancing helplessly at his rope, he noticedthat the horse was gazing hungrily at thegrass, and in an instant, the man spranginto action. Catching up his boots hesecured them to the saddle by means of adangling pack string, and hastily uncoilingthe rope he slipped the noose over thehorn of the saddle. The other end heknotted and springing to the girl's sideshook her roughly. "Wake up! Wake up! Ina minute it'll be too late!" Half lifting herto her feet he hastily explained his plan, as

he talked he tore the brilliant scarf fromhis neck and tied it firmly about his ownwrist and hers. Making her take firm holdabout his neck he seized the knotted ropewith one hand, while with the other hereached for the ax and brought the handledown with a crash against the horse'sflank. The sudden blow caused thefrightened animal to leap clean over thelow gunwale. He went completely out ofsight, but a moment later his headappeared, and snorting, and thrashingabout, he struck out for shore. When theslack was out of the line the Texan threwhis arm about the girl's waist, and togetherthey leaped over the side in the wake ofthe swimming horse. Even with the smallamount of slack that remained, the jerkwhen the line pulled taut all but loosened

the Texan's hold. Each moment seemed aneternity, as the weight of both hung uponthe Texan's one-handed grip. "Hold for allyou're worth!" he gasped, and he felt herarms tighten about him, relinquished thehold on her waist and with a mighty effortgripped the rope with the hand thus freed.Even with two hands it was no mean taskto maintain his hold, for the current slightas it was, swung them down so the pullwas directly against it. The Texan felt thegirl's grasp on his neck weaken. Heshouted a word of encouragement, but itfell on deaf ears, her hands slipped overhis shoulders, and at the same instant theman felt the strain of her weight on his armas the scarf seemed to cut into the flesh.The Texan felt himself growing numb. Heseemed to be slipping—slipping—from

some great height—slipping slowly downa long, soft incline. In vain he struggled tocheck the slow easy descent. He wasslipping faster, now—fairly shootingtoward the bottom. Somehow he didn'tseem to care. There were rocks at thebottom—this he knew—but the knowledgedid not worry him. Time enough to worryabout that when he struck—but thissmooth, easy slide was pleasant. Crash!There was a blinding flash of light.Fountains of stars played before his eyeslike fireworks on the Fourth of July. Anagonizing pain shot through his body—andthen—oblivion.

A buckskin horse, with two water-soakedboots lashing his flanks and trailing alariat rope from the horn of his saddle,

dashed madly up a coulee. The pack stringbroke and the terrifying thing that lashedhim on, fell to the ground with a thud. Therun became a trot, and the trot a walk.When the coulee widened into a grassyplain, he warily circled the rope thatdragged from the saddle, and deciding itwas harmless, fell eagerly to eating thesoggy buffalo grass that carpeted theground.

While back at the mouth of the coulee laytwo unconscious forms, their bodies partlyawash in the lapping waves of the risingriver.

CHAPTER X

JANET MCWHORTER

The Texan stirred uneasily. Vaguely, hesensed that something was wrong. Hishead ached horribly but he didn't troubleto open his eyes. He was in the corrallying cramped against the fence where theRed King had thrown him, and with baredteeth, and forefeet pawing the air, the RedKing was coming toward him. Anothermoment and those terrible hoofs would bestriking, cutting, trampling him into thetrodden dirt of the corral. Why didn'tsomeone haze him off? Would they sit

there on the fence and see him killed?"Whoa, boy—Whoa!" In vain he struggledto raise an arm—it was held fast, and hislegs were pinned to the ground by aweight! He struggled violently, his eyesflew open and—there was no Red King,no corral—only a grassed slope strewnwith rocks against one of which his headrested. But why was he tied? With greateffort he rolled over. The weight that heldhis legs shifted, and he found that one ofhis arms was free. He sat up and stared,and instantly recollection of the events ofthe night, brutally vivid, crowded hisbrain. There was no slow, painful tracingstep by step, of the happenings of the pasttwelve hours. The whole catenation inproper sequence presented itself in oneall-embracing vision—a scene painted on

canvas, rather than the logical continuityof a screen picture.

The unconscious form of the girl layacross his legs. Her temple, and part ofher cheek that lay within range of hisvision were white with the pallor ofdeath, and the hand that stretched upwardtoward his own, showed blue and swollenfrom the effect of the tightly knotted scarf.Swiftly the man untied the knots, andstaggering to his feet, raised the limp formand half-carried, half-dragged it to a tinyplateau higher up the slope. Very gently helaid the girl on the grass, loosened hershirt at the throat, and removed her wetboots. Her hands and feet were ice cold,and he chafed them vigorously. Gradually,under the rubbing the sluggish blood

flowed. The blue look faded from herhand and a slight tinge of colour crept intoher cheeks. With a sigh of relief, theTexan grasped her by the shoulder andshook her roughly. After a few momentsher eyelids fluttered slightly, and her lipsmoved. The shaking continued, and hebent to catch the muttered words:

"Win——"

"Yeh, Win'll be 'long, directly. Come,wake up!"

"Win—dear—I'm—so—sleepy."

She was asleep again as the words left herlips and the man, squatting on his heels,nodded approval. "That's what I wanted toknow—that she ain't drowned. If there'd

been any water in her lungs she'd havecoughed."

He stood up and surveyed hissurroundings. At the water's edge, not ahundred feet below the spot where thehorse had dragged them against the rocks,the flat-boat lay heavily aground.Relieved of its burden, it had been caughtin the slowly revolving back current thatcircled the tiny bay, and had driftedashore. Removing the scarf from his wrist,he knotted it into place and descended tothe boat where he fished his hat from thehalf-filled hull. The handle of the axcaught his eye and searching his pockets,he examined his supply of matches, andcast the worthless sticks from him with anoath: "Heads plumb soaked off, or I could

build her a fire!"

As he ascended the bank the sun justtopped the rim of the bench. Its rays feltgrateful to the chilled man as he stoodlooking down at the sleeping girl. "It'll dryher, an' warm her up, while I'm huntin' thatdamn cayuse," he muttered. "The quickershe gets to some ranch house, the betterit'll be. I wish I knew where I'm at."

Once more he descended to the water'sedge, and searched the ground. It was butthe work of a moment to pick up the trailof the galloping horse, and he followed itup the coulee, making his way gingerly inhis stockinged feet among the loose stonesand patches of prickly pears. "Wish I'dleft my boots in the boat, but I figured oldPowder Face would stop when he got to

shore instead of smashin' us again' therocks an' lightin' out like the devil wasafter him—he's old enough to know better.An' I wonder how in hell she come to beridin' him? Powder Face is one of Dad'sown special horses."

The coulee wound interminably. Thecowboy glanced at his feet where a toeprotruded from a hole in his sock, andseating himself on a boulder he removedthe socks and crammed them into hispocket. "Wouldn't be nothin' left of 'em butlegs in a little bit," he grumbled, andinstinctively felt for his tobacco andpapers. He scowled at the soggy mass andreplaced them. "Ain't got a match even if Idid dry the tobacco. I sure feel like I'ddied an' went to hell!"

He continued along the coulee limpingpainfully across stretches of sharp stonesand avoiding the innumerable patches ofprickly pears with which the floor of thevalley was dotted. Rounding a sharp spurof rock that protruded into the ravine, hehalted abruptly and stared at his bootswhich lay directly in his path. He grinnedas he examined the broken thong. "I'vebe'n cussin' busted pack-strings all mylife," he muttered, "but this particularstring has wiped out the whole scoreagain' 'em." Removing his leather chaps,he seated himself, drew on his socks, andinserted a foot into a boot. In vain hepulled and tugged at the straps. The wetleather gripped the damp sock like a vise.He stood up and stamped and pulled butthe foot stuck fast at the ankle of the boot.

Withdrawing the foot, he fished in his hippocket and withdrew a thin piece of soapfrom the folds of a red cottonhandkerchief. Once again he sat down andproceeded to rub the soap thickly upon theheels and insteps of his socks and insideof his boots, whereupon, after muchpulling and stamping, he stood properlyshod and drew on his chaps.

A short distance farther on, a cattle trailzigzagged down the steep side of thecoulee. The Texan paused at the foot of it."Reckon I'll just climb up onto the bankan' take a look around. With that ropetrailin' along from the saddle horn, thatdamn cayuse might run his fool head off."

From the rim of the coulee, the man gazedabout him, searching for a familiar

landmark. A quarter of a mile away, aconical butte rose to a height of a hundredfeet above the level of the broken plain,and the Texan walked over andlaboriously climbed its steep side. Hesank down upon the topmost pinnacle andstudied the country minutely. "Just belowthe edge of the bad lands," he muttered."The Little Rockies loom up plain, an' theBear Paws an' Judiths look kind of dim.I'm way off my range down here. This partof the country don't look like it had nonetoo thick of a population." In vain his eyesswept the vast expanse of plain for thesight of a ranch house. He rose in disgust."I've got to find that damn cayuse an' gether out of this, somehow." As he wasabout to begin the descent his eye caught athin thread of smoke that rose, apparently

from a coulee some three or four miles tothe eastward. "Maybe some nester's place,or maybe only an' Injun camp, butwhatever it is, my best bet is to hit for it. Imight be all day trailin' Powder Face.Whoever it is, they'll have a horse or two,an' believe me, they'll part with 'em." Hescrambled quickly down to the bench andstarted in the direction of the smoke, andas he walked, he removed the six-gunfrom its holster and after wiping itcarefully, made sure that it was in workingcondition.

The Texan's course lay "crossways of thecountry," that is, in order to reach hisobjective he must needs cross all theinnumerable coulees and branches thatfound their way to the Missouri. And as he

had not travelled far back from the riverthese coulees were deep and their steepsides taxed his endurance to the utmost. Atthe bottom of each coulee he dranksparingly of the bitter alkali water, andwet the bandage about his throbbing head.After each climb he was forced to rest. Awalk of three or four miles in high-heeledriding boots assumes the proportions of areal journey, even under the mostfavourable circumstances, but with theprecipitous descents, the steep climbs, andthe alkali flats between the coulees, whichin dry weather are dazzling white, andhard and level as a floor, now merely greygreasy beds of slime into which he sank tothe ankles at each step, the trip proved anightmare of torture.

At the end of an hour he figured that hehad covered half the distance. He wasplodding doggedly, every muscle achingfrom the unaccustomed strain. His feet,which burned and itched where theirritating soap rubbed into his skin, hadswollen until the boots held them in avise-like grip of torture. At each step helifted pounds of glue-like mud whichclung to the legs of his leather chaps in athick grey smear. And each step was aseparate, conscious, painful effort, thatrequired a concentration of will toconsummate.

And so he plodded, this Texan, whowould have cursed the petty mishap of anill-thrown loop to the imminent damnationof his soul, enduring the physical torture in

stoic silence. Once or twice he smiledgrimly, the cynical smile that added yearsto the boyish face. "When I see her safe atsome ranch, I'll beat it," he mutteredthickly. "I'll go somewhere an' finish myjamboree an' then I'll hit fer some freshrange." To his surprise he suddenly foundthat the mere thought of whisky wasnauseating to him. His memory took himback to a college town in his native State."It used to be that way," he grinned, "whenI'd get soused, I couldn't look at a drinkfor a week. I reckon stayin' off of it for awhole year has about set me back where Istarted."

He half-climbed, half-fell down the steepside of a coulee and dipped his achinghead in the cool water at the bottom. With

a stick he scraped the thick smear of greymud from his chaps and boots, andwashed them in the creek. He rose to hisfeet and stood looking down into a clearlittle pool. "By God, I can't go—like that!"he said aloud. "I've got to stay an' faceWin! I've got to know that he don't thinkthere's anything—wrong—with her!"

Instead of climbing the opposite slope, hefollowed down the coulee, for he had seenfrom the edge that it led into a creekvalley of considerable width, above therim of which rose the thin grey plume ofsmoke. Near the mouth of the coulee hecrawled through a wire fence. "First timea nester's fence ever looked good to me,"he grinned, and at a shallow pool, pausedto remove the last trace of mud from his

chaps, wash his face and hands, box hishat into the proper peak, and jerk thebrilliant scarf into place.

"She can rest up here till I find Win," hesaid aloud, and stepped into the valley,trying not to limp as he picked his wayamong the scattered rocks. "Sheep outfit,"he muttered, as he noted the close-croppedgrass, and the stacked panels of a lambingpen. Then, rounding a thicket of scrubwillows, he came suddenly upon theoutfit, itself.

He halted abruptly, as his eyes took inevery detail of the scene. A little dirtroofed cabin of logs, a rambling strawthatched sheep shed, a small log barn, anda pole corral in which two horses dozeddreamily. The haystacks were behind the

barn, and even as he looked, a generousforkful of hay rolled over the top of thecorral fence, and the horses crossed overand thrust their muzzles into its fragrantdepths. A half-dozen weak old ewessnipped half-heartedly at the short buffalograss, and three or four young lambsfrisked awkwardly about the door-yard ontheir ungainly legs.

Another forkful of hay rolled over thecorral fence, and making his way aroundthe barn, the Texan came abruptly face toface with Miss Janet McWhorter. The girlstood, pitchfork in hand, upon a ledge ofthe half-depleted haystack and surveyedhim calmly, as a startled expressionswiftly faded from her large, blue-blackeyes. "Well you're the second one this

morning; what do you want?"

The Texan noticed that the voice was rich,with low throaty tones and also he noticedthat it held a repellent note. There wasveiled hostility—even contempt in thepeculiar emphasis of the "you." He sweptthe Stetson from his head: "I'm afoot," heanswered, simply, "I'd like to borrow ahorse."

The girl jabbed the fork into the hay,gathered her skirts about her, and slippedgracefully from the stack. She walkedover and stood directly before him. "Thisis McWhorter's outfit," she announced, asif the statement were a good and sufficientanswer to his plea.

The cowboy looking straight into the blue-

black eyes, detected a faint gleam ofsurprise in their depths, that her statementapparently meant nothing to him. Hesmiled: "Benton's my name—Tex Benton,range foreman of the Y Bar. And, is thisMrs. McWhorter?"

"The Y Bar!" exclaimed the girl, and Texnoticed that the gleam and surprisehardened into a glance of open skepticism."Who owns the Y Bar, now?"

"Same man that's owned it for the lasttwenty years—Mr. Colston."

"You must know him pretty well if you'rehis foreman?"

"Tolerable," answered the man, "I've beenwith him most every day for a year."

A swift smile curved the red lips—asmile that hinted of craft rather than levity."I wonder what's worrying him most,nowadays—Mr. Colston, I mean."

"Worryin' him?" The Texan's eyestwinkled. "Well, a man runnin' an outfitlike the Y Bar has got plenty on his mind,but the only thing that right down worrieshim is the hair on his head—an' justbetween you an' me, he ain't goin' to haveto worry long."

The air of reserve—of veiled hostilitydropped from the girl like a mask, and shelaughed—a spontaneous outburst of mirththat kindled new lights in the blue-blackeyes, and caused a fanlike array of littlewrinkles to radiate from their corners:"I'll answer your question now," she said.

"I'm Mrs. Nobody, thank you—I'm JanetMcWhorter. But what are you doing onthis side of the river? And how's Mr.Colston?"

"He's just the finest ever," replied thecowboy, and the girl was quick to note thedeep feeling behind the words. "An' I—two of us—were tryin' to cross on theLong Bill's ferry from Timber City, an' thedrift piled up again' us so we had to cutthe cable, an' we got throw'd into shoreagainst the bench three or four milesabove here."

"Where's your friend? Is he hurt?" Hereyes rested with a puzzled expressionupon the edge of the white bandage thatshowed beneath the brim of his hat.

The Texan shook his head: "No, not hurt Ireckon. Just plumb wore out, an' layin'asleep on the bank. I've got to go back."

"You'll need two horses."

The man shook his head: "No, only one.We had our horses with us. We lost one inthe river, an' the other pulled us ashore,an' then beat it up the coulee. I can catchhim up all right, if I can get holt of ahorse."

"Of course you can have a horse! But, youmust eat first——"

"I can't stop. There'll be time for that later.I'm goin' to bring—my friend back here."

"Of course you're going to bring him backhere! But you are about all in yourself.

Three or four miles through the mud andacross the coulees in high-heeled boots,and with your head hurt, and sopping wet,and no breakfast, and—I bet you haven'teven had a smoke! Come on, you can eat abite while I fix up something for yourfriend, and then you can tackle some ofDad's tobacco. I guess it's awful strong butit will make smoke—clouds of it!"

She turned and led the way to the houseand as the Texan followed his eyes restedwith a suddenly awakened interest uponthe girl. "Curious she'd think of me nothavin' a smoke," he thought, as his glancestrayed from the shapely ankles to thewell-rounded forearms from which thesleeves of her grey flannel shirt had beenrolled back, and then to the mass of jet

black hair that lay coiled in thick braidsupon her head. He was conscious that afeeling of contentment—a certain warmglow of well-being pervaded him, and hewondered vaguely why this should be.

"Come right on in," she called over hershoulder as she entered the door. "I'll havethings ready in a jiffy?" As she spoke, sheslid a lid from the top of the stove,jammed in a stick of firewood, set thecoffee-pot directly on to the fire, andplaced a frying pan beside it. From a nailshe took a slab of bacon and sliced itrapidly. In the doorway the Texan stoodwatching, in open admiration, the swift,sure precision of her every move. Sheglanced up, a slice of bacon held abovethe pan, and their eyes met. During a long

moment of silence the man's heart beatwildly. The girl's eyes dropped suddenly:"Crisp, or limber?" she asked, and to thecowboy's ears, the voice sounded evenricher and deeper of tone than before.

"Limber, please." His own words seemedto boom harshly, and he was consciousthat he was blushing to the ears.

The girl laid the strips side by side in thepan and crossed swiftly to a cupboard.The next moment she was pouringsomething from a bottle into a glass. Shereturned the bottle and, passing around thetable, extended the half-filled tumbler.The liquid in it was brown, and to theman's nostrils came the rich bouquet ofgood whisky. He extended his hand, thenlet it drop to his side.

"No, thanks," he said, "none for me."

She regarded him in frank surprise. "Youdon't drink?" she cried. "Why—oh, I'mglad! I hate the stuff! Father—sometimes—Oh, I hate it! But, a cowboy that don'tdrink! I thought they all drank!"

The Texan stepped to her side and,reaching for the glass, set it gently uponthe table. As his hand touched hers a thrillshot through his veins, and with it came asudden longing to take the hand in his own—to gather this girl into his arms and tohold her tight against his wildly throbbingheart. The next moment he was speaking inslow measured words. "They all do—mealong with the rest. But, I ain't drinkin'now."

CHAPTER XI

AT THE MOUTH OF THECOULEE

The girl's eyes flashed a swift glance intohis, and once more raised to the bandagethat encircled his head, then, veryabruptly, she turned her back toward him,and busied herself at the stove. A plate ofsizzling bacon and a steaming cup ofcoffee were whisked onto the table and, asthe cowboy seated himself, she made up aneat flat package of sandwiches.

As Tex washed down the bacon and bread

with swallows of scalding coffee, sheslipped into an adjoining room and closedthe door. Just as he finished shereappeared, booted and spurred, clad in ashort riding skirt of corduroy, her handsencased in gauntleted gloves, and aStetson set firmly upon the black coiledbraids. A silk scarf of a peculiar burntorange hue was knotted loosely about herneck.

Never in the world, thought the man as hiseyes rested for a moment upon the soft,full throat that rose from the open collar ofher shirt, had there been such absoluteperfection of womanhood; and his glancefollowed the lithe, swift movements withwhich she caught up the package of lunchand stepped to the door. "I'm going with

you," she announced. "Father's up at thelambing camp, and I've fed all the littlebeasties." A lamb tumbled awkwardlyabout her legs and she cuffed it playfully.

As the Texan followed her to the corral,his thoughts flashed to Alice Endicottlying as he had left her beside the river—flashed backward to the moment of theirfirst meeting, to the wild trip through thebad lands, to their parting a year ago whenshe had left him to become the bride of hisrival, to the moment she had appeared asan apparition back there in the saloon, andto the incidents of their wild adventure onthe flat-boat. Only last night, it was—andit seemed ages ago.

Thoughts of her made him strangelyuncomfortable, and he swore softly under

his breath, as his glance rested upon thegirl who had stooped to release a ropefrom a saddle that lay beside the corralgate. She coiled it deftly, and stepping intothe enclosure, flipped the noose over thehead of a roman-nosed roan. The Texanstared. There had been no whirling of therope, only a swift, sure throw, and theloop fastened itself about the horse'sthroat close under his chin. The cowboystepped to relieve her of the rope, but shemotioned him to the other animal, a gentlelooking bay mare. "I'll ride Blue, you takethe mare," she said.

He surveyed the roan dubiously: "Helooks snorty. You better let me handlehim."

She shook her head: "No, I've ridden him

before. Really, I'm quite a twister. Youcan help saddle him, though."

The saddling proved to be no easy task.The animal fought the bit, and shied andjumped out from under blanket a half-dozen times before they finally succeededin cinching him up. Then, Tex saddled themare, and led both horses through the gate.Outside the corral, the girl reached for theroan's reins but the man shook his head."I'll ride him, you take the bay."

The girl stared at him while the slow redmounted to her cheeks. There was a noteof defiance in her tone as she answered: "Itell you I am going to ride him. I've riddenhim, and I'll show him that I can ride himagain."

The Texan smiled: "Sure, I know you canride him—I knew that when I saw youcatch him up. But, what's the use? He's gota bad eye. What's the use of you takin' achance?"

The girl hesitated just a moment: "You'rein no condition to ride him, you're hurt,and all tired out——"

The cowboy interrupted her with a laugh:"I ain't hurt to speak of, an' since I got thatcoffee inside me, I'm good for all day an'then some."

"Whose horse is Blue? And what righthave you to tell me I can't ride him?"

"Whose horse he is, don't make anydifference. An' if I ain't got the right to tell

you not to ride him, I'll take the right."

"Well, of all the nerve! Anybody wouldthink you owned the earth!"

The Texan regarded her gravely: "Notmuch of it, I don't. But, I'm goin' to ownmore——"

"More than the earth!" she mocked.

"Yes—a whole heap more than the earth,"he answered, as his steady grey eyesstared straight into her own stormy, blue-black ones. Then, without a word, heextended the reins of the mare, andwithout a word, the girl took them andmounted.

As the cowboy swung into the saddle, theblue roan tried to sink his head, but the

man held him up short, and after two orthree half-hearted jumps the animalcontented himself with sidling restlessly,and tonguing the bit until white, latheryfoam dripped from his lips.

As the girl watched the animal theresentment died from her eyes: "That's thelittlest fuss I ever saw Blue kick up," sheannounced.

The Texan smiled: "He's on his goodbehaviour this mornin'."

"He saw it was no use," she replied,quickly. "Horses have got lots of commonsense."

The two headed up the little used trail thatled upward to the bench by way of a

shallow coulee. When they gained the topthe man pointed toward the west: "Thecoulee we're hittin' for is just beyond thatlittle butte that sets out there alone," heexplained. "We better circle away fromthe river a little. The coulees won't be sodeep back aways, an' I've got to catch upthat cayuse. He hit straight back, an' theway his tracks looked, he sure was foggin'it."

They rode side by side at a sharp trot, theTexan now and then casting a glance ofapproval at the girl who rode on a looserein "glued to the leather." A wide alkalibed lay before them, and the pace slowedto a walk. "Your partner," began the girl,breaking the silence that had fallen uponthem, "maybe he will wake up and start

out to find you."

The Texan glanced at her sharply: Was ithis own imagination, or had the girl laid asignificant emphasis upon the "He." Hereyes did not meet his squarely, but seemedfocussed upon the edge of the bandage. Heshook his head: "I reckon not," he repliedshortly.

"But, even if he did, we could easily pickup his trail," persisted the girl.

"Dead easy." The man was battling withan impulse to tell the girl that hiscompanion upon the river was a woman.The whole thing was so absurdly simple—but was it? Somehow, he could notbring himself to tell this girl—she mightnot understand—she might think—with an

effort he dismissed the matter from hismind. She'll find out soon enough whenwe get there. He knew without looking ather that the girl's eyes were upon him."Heavy goin'," he observed, abruptly.

"Yes."

Another long silence, this time broken bythe Texan: "I don't get you quite," he said,"you're different from—from mostwomen."

"How, different?"

"Why—altogether different. You don'tdress like—like a nester's girl—nor talklike one, neither."

The girl's lips smiled, but the man couldsee that the blue-black eyes remained

sombre: "I've been East at school. I'veonly been home a month."

"Learn how to rope a horse, back East?An' how to ride? It's a cinch you neverlearnt it in a month."

"Oh, I've always known that. I learned itwhen I was a little bit of a girl—mostlyfrom the boys at the Y Bar."

"The Y Bar?"

"Yes, we used to live over on Big BoxElder, below the Y Bar home ranch.Father ran sheep there, and Mr. Colstonbought him out. He could have squeezedhim out, just as well—but he bought himout and he paid him a good price—that'shis way."

The Texan nodded. "Yes, that would behis way."

"That was four years ago, and father sentme off to school. I didn't want to go a bit,but father promised mother when she died—I was just a little tike, then—and hepromised her that he would give me thebest education he could afford. Father's aScotchman," she continued after a momentof silence, "he's sometimes hard tounderstand, but he always keeps his word.I'm afraid he really spent more than he canafford, because—he moved over herewhile I was away and—it isn't near asnice as the old outfit. I hate it, here!"

The Texan glanced up in surprise at thevehemence of her last words: "Why doyou hate it?" he asked. "Looks to me like a

likely location—plenty range—plentywater——"

"We're—we're too close to the badlands."

The man swept the country with a glance:"Looks like there ought to be plenty room.Must be five or six miles of rangebetween you an' the bad lands. Looks tome like they lay just right for you. Keepsother outfits from crowdin'."

"Oh, it isn't the range! You talk just likefather does. Any place is good enough tolive in if there's plenty of range—rangeand water—water and range—those twothings are all that make life worth living!"

The man was surprised at the bitterness of

her voice. The blue-black eyes wereflashing dangerous lights.

"Well, he can build a bigger house," heblundered.

"It isn't the house, either. The little cabin'sjust as cozy as it can be, and I love it! It'sthe neighbours!"

"Neighbours?"

"Yes, neighbours! I don't mean the nesters—they're little outfits like ours. They're inthe same fix we are in. But the horse-thieves and the criminals that are hidingout in the bad lands. There's a sort ofunderstanding—they leave the moneyhere, and father brings out their suppliesand things from town. In return, they keep

their hands off our stock."

"Well, there's no harm in that. The poordevils have got to eat, an' they don't dareto show up in town."

"Oh, I suppose so," answered the girl,wearily, as though the subject were an oldone, covering the same old ground. "But,if I had my way, they'd all be in jail wherethey belong. I hate 'em!"

"An' you thought I was one of 'em?"grinned the man.

She nodded: "Of course I did—for aminute. I thought you're wanting to borrowa horse was just the flimsiest kind of anexcuse to steal one."

"You don't know, yet—for sure."

The girl laughed: "Oh, yes I do. I didn'tthink you were, when I told you that thiswas McWhorter's ranch. The name didn'tmean anything to you, and if you were ahorse-thief, it would have meant 'handsoff.' Then, to make sure, I asked you whatMr. Colston's chief worry was? You see ifyou were a horse-thief you might know YBar, but you'd hardly know him wellenough to know about how he fusses overthat little bald spot."

Tex laughed: "Little bald spot just aboutreaches his ears now. Top of his headlooks like a sheep range."

"There you go," flashed the girl, "youmighty cattlemen always poking fun at thesheep. We can't help it if the sheep eat thegrass short. They've got just as much right

to eat as the cattle have—and a good dealbetter right than your old horse-thievesthat you all stick up for!"

The Texan regarded her with twinklingeyes: "First thing we know, we'll bestartin' a brand new sheep an' cattle war,an' most likely we'd both getexterminated."

Janet laughed, and as the horses ploddedacross the sodden range with the manslightly in advance, she watched him outof the corner of her eye. "He's got a senseof humour," she thought, "and, he's,somehow, different from most cowboys—and, he's the best looking thing." Then hereyes strayed to the bandage about his headand her brows drew into a puzzled frown.

They had dipped down into a widecoulee, and the Texan jerked his horse to astand, swung to the ground, and leanedover to examine some tracks in the mud.

"Are they fresh?" asked the girl. "Is it yourhorse?"

A moment of silence followed, while theman studied the tracks. Then he looked up:"Yes," he answered, "it's his tracks, allright. An' there's another horse with him.They're headin' for the bad lands." Heswung into the saddle and started downthe coulee at a gallop, with the bay marepounding along in his wake.

The little plateau where he had left AliceEndicott was deserted! Throwing himselffrom the saddle, the Texan carefully

examined the ground. Here also, were thetracks of the two horses he had seenfarther up the coulee, and mingled with thehorse tracks were the tracks of high-heeled boots. The man faced the girl whostill sat her bay mare, and pointed to thetracks on the ground. "Someone's be'nhere," he said, in a low, tense voice.

"Maybe your partner woke up and caughthis horse, or maybe those are your owntracks——"

The man made a swift gesture of dissent:"Well, then," uttered the girl in a tone ofconviction, "that horrible Purdy has beenalong here——"

"Purdy!" The word exploded from theTexan's lips like the report of a gun. He

took a step toward her and she saw thathis eyes stared wide with horror.

"Yes," she answered, with a shudder, "Iloathe him. He was at the ranch thismorning before you came—wanted to seefather——"

A low groan from the lips of the Texaninterrupted her. With a hand pressedtightly to his brow, he was staggeringtoward his horse.

CHAPTER XII

IN TIMBER CITY

On the porch of the Cameron cottage,Endicott and Colston, absorbed inbusiness, talked until the ends of theircigars made glowing red spots in thedarkness. The deal by which Endicottbecame sole proprietor of the Y Bar outfitwas consummated, and Colston's promiseto have the papers drawn up in themorning was interrupted by a furiousvolley of shots from the direction of theRed Front. Colston smiled: "NL rodeoprobably camped near here an' the boys

run in to wake up the town!"

Endicott glanced swiftly about him: "But,my wife!" he exclaimed, "Where is she?She promised to return before dark, and—why, it must have been dark for an hour!"

Colston noting the look of genuine alarmon the man's face, sought to reassure him:"Oh, well, she probably got interested inthe scenery and rode a little farther thanshe intended. She'll be along directly——"

"Something may have happened—anaccident——"

"Not much chance of that. Powder Face iswoman broke, an' gentle as any cayuse canget. About that lower range I was tellin'

you—where the Wilson sheep are creepin'in—" With merely the barest pretence oflistening, Endicott rose, opened the screendoor, tossed his cigar into the yard, andbegan pacing up and down the porch. Ateach turn he paused and peered out intothe darkness.

The older man got up and stood besidehim: "There's nothin' to worry about, myboy. An' that's one of the first things you'lllearn—not to worry. A dozen things canhappen to delay anyone, an' they're hardlyever serious. If it'll ease your mind any,we'll ride down town, maybe she stoppedto take in the excitement, an' if she ain'tthere we'll ride out on the trail a piece."

The scattering shots that followed thevolley had ceased and as the two

proceeded down the sandy street insilence, a light appeared suddenly in theRed Front, from whose doors issued ababble of voices as of many men talking atonce. Dismounting, Colston and Endicottentered to see Barras standing upon thebar in the act of lighting the second of thetwo huge swinging lamps. "Looks likethere'd been a battle," grinned Colston,eyeing the barricade of kegs, thesplintered mirror, and the litter of brokenglass.

"I'll tell a hand it was a battle!"vouchsafed a bystander. "That thereTexian, onct he got a-goin', was someructious! He made his brag that he was awolf an' it was his night to howl. An',believe me! He was a curly wolf! An' he

howled, an' by God, he prowled! An' he'sprowlin' yet—him an' his woman, too."

"Texan!" cried Colston.

"Woman!" shouted Endicott. "Whatwoman?"

"What woman d'ye s'pose?" growledBarras, glaring wrathfully from the bar. "Idon't know what woman. His woman, Iguess—anyways they got plumb awayafter we had him all seerounded, an' allover but the shoutin'—an' all on account ofTimber City's got a marshal which hishead's solid bone plumb through, like arock; an' left the keg shoot wide open ferhim to beat it!"

"If you're so damn smart, why didn't you

think of the keg shoot?" retorted therepresentative of law and order. "Youknow'd it was there an' I didn't."

"You lie! Unless you've fergot a whole lotsence—" A crash of thunder drowned theirate bartender's voice.

"Hold on, Pete, don't git to runnin' off atthe head an' say somethin' yer sorry fer——"

"You'd be the one to be sorry, if folksknow'd——"

"Talkin' don't git you nothin'. You listenhere. We'll git this party yet. If the boysthat took after him don't bring him in, I'llpost a reward of a hundred dollars cashmoney out of my own pocket fer him——"

"Post it, then," snapped Barras, somewhatmollified, "git it on paper—" Another,louder clap of thunder followed a vividlightning flash and wild withapprehension, Endicott forced his way tothe bar and interrupted the quarrel: "Whatdid this woman look like? Where is she?"

A dozen men, all talking at once answeredhim: "Good looker—" "Wore bran' newridin' outfit—" "Rode a blaze-facebuckskin—" "Said she knowed him—""Went right in—" "Tried to dicker withHod an' git him off—" The marshalpushed through the crowd to Endicott'sside: "An' what's more, when he comebustin' out of the alley an' rode off downthe trail she follered right in behind so wedidn't dast to shoot; er we'd of got him. If

you want to know what I think, they're acouple of desperadoes that figgered onstickin' up the express box over to thehotel, bein' as the payroll fer the RockCreek mine come in today, only he gotdrunk first an' queered the game. An' whatI want to know," the man continued,thrusting his face close to Endicott's, "iswho the hell you be, an'——"

The hotel keeper interrupted importantly:"Him an' the woman come in on the stagean' wanted a couple rooms an' changedinto them ridin' outfits, an' slipped out an'didn't show up fer supper! I mistrustedthey was somethin' suspicious—theywanted a bath—an' the old woman usin'the tubs——"

"An' bein' as we couldn't git you all,"

broke in the marshal, drawing his gun, andat the same time pulling back his coat anddisplaying a huge badge, "we'll jest takewhat we kin git. Yer under arrest, an' ferfear you might be as handy with yer gunsas yer pardner, you kin stick up yer hands——"

"Hold on!" Colston's words boomedabove the voices of the men who hadsurged forward to hold Endicott.

"It's Y Bar Colston!" someone cried, andall eyes turned to the speaker. The marshaleyed him sullenly as the men made wayfor him.

The ranchman was smiling: "Don't gomakin' any mistakes, Hod," he said, "letme make you acquainted with Mr.

Endicott, of Cincinnati, Ohio, owner of theY Bar."

"The Y Bar!"

"Yes. I sold out to him this evenin'—lock,stock, an' barrel."

The marshal dropped his gun into itsholster and eyed Endicott shrewdly:"Sorry I got you wrong," he mumbled,extending his hand. "Blake's my name.Glad to meet you. I run the store here.Carry the biggest stock between Lewistonan' the Mizoo. Where do you figger ondoin' yer tradin'?"

Endicott made a gesture of impatience: "Ihaven't figured at all. But this woman—mywife? How long has she been gone?

Which way did she go? And why——?"

"Be'n gone pretty clost to an' hour. Wentdown the trail to the Mizoo. You kinsearch me fer why, onless it was to keepus from shootin' after that hell-roarin'Texian. She said she know'd him. Who ishe, an' what's she so anxious he don't gitshot fer?"

Before Endicott could reply, hoof-beatssounded on the trail, and in the doorway aman yelled "They're comin' back!"Disregarding the rain which fell intorrents the crowd surged into the streetand surrounded the horsemen who drewup before the door.

"They didn't git 'em!" "Where'd they go?"Eager questions were hurled in volleys.

As the men dismounted the light from thewindows glistened on wet slickers. IkeStork acted as spokesman, and with whiteface and tight-pressed lips, Endicott hungon every word. "Got to the river," heexplained, as he shook the water from hishat, "an' piled onto Long Bill's ferry, an'cut 'er loose. We didn't dast to shoot onaccount of the woman. We couldn't seenothin' then till the storm broke, an' by thelightnin' flashes we seen the boat in themiddle of the river—an' boys, she's someriver! I've be'n a residenter in these partsfer it's goin' on twenty year, an' I neverseen the like—bank-full an' trees an' breshso thick you can't hardly see no water.Anyways, there they was an' all to onctthere come a big flash, an' we seen a pinewith its roots an' branches ra'red up high

as a house right on top of 'em. Then, thecable went slack—an' when the next flashcome, they wasn't no boat—only timberan' bresh a-tearin' down stream, it lookedlike a mile a minute."

"And they were both on the boat?"Endicott's words came haltingly, and inthe lamplight his face looked grey anddrawn.

Ike Stork nodded: "Yes, both of 'em—an'the two horses."

"Isn't there a chance? Isn't it possible thatthey're—that the boat is still afloat?"

"We-ell," considered Ike, "I wouldn't sayit's plumb onpossible. But it would be likeketchin' a straight-flush in the middle in a

pot that had be'n boosted to the limit—with a full deck, an' nothin' wild."

Endicott turned away as the crowd brokeinto a babble of voices. Colston took himgently by the arm, but the younger manshook his head: "No, I—I want to think,"he whispered, and with a nod ofunderstanding the ranchman proceededslowly toward the hotel. As Endicottpassed from the glare of light thrown bythe windows of the Red Front, Ike Storkmanaged to pass close to him. "They're a-floatin'," he whispered, "I seen 'em a flashor two afterwards. But the others didn't,an' they ain't no use spittin' out all youknow. If anyone kin make 'er, them twowill—they're game plumb through."

"You mean—" cried Endicott—but Ike

Stork had mingled with the crowd.

At the door of the Red Front, Barras wasimportuning the marshal: "Gwan over tothe printin' office an' git out that reward.I'm a-goin' to git paid fer these heredamages."

"I hain't a-goin' to pay out no reward ferno drownded man!"

Endicott shuddered, and paused as thebartender's next words reached his ears:"If he's drownded the river'll take himfarther than what them hand bills will gitto. An' if he hain't, I want them damages."

Endicott hurried toward the two whostood slightly apart from the crowd: "Ifyou are offering a reward," he said, "I

will add a thousand for informationconcerning my wife."

"A thousand!" exclaimed the marshal,"dead or alive?"

Endicott nodded: "Yes," he answered,"dead or alive," and turning abruptly,walked slowly up the street entirelyunheeding the shadowy form that keptpace with him in the darkness.

The storm ceased as suddenly as it hadbroken, and at the outskirts of the town theman paused and sank onto a boulder withhis head in his arms. Minutes passed as hesat thus, too dazed to think. He wasconscious of a dull pain in his heart, andhis brain felt numb and pinched as thoughan iron band were being drawn tighter and

tighter about his skull. Gradually his mindbegan to function. The words of Ike Storkrecurred to him: "They're floatin'. Ifanyone kin make 'er through, them twowill." Very possibly his wife was alive—but, where? Why had she ridden after thisTexan, and why was she on the river withhim? Methodically, step by step, the manretraced the events of their year ofmarried life. They had been wondrouslyhappy together. They had often spoken ofthe Texan—had wondered what hadbecome of him. They had both written tohim, addressing their letters to WolfRiver, but all the letters had come backstamped "Return to writer." Heremembered that she had beendisappointed, but so had he. Was itpossible that all the letters had not been

returned? He remembered how eager shehad been to spend their anniversary inTimber City. She had talked of it formonths. And he remembered how she hadurged him to buy a ranch and live at leastpart of the time in the West. And when hehad got in touch with Colston through areal estate broker, he remembered howenthusiastic she had been over theprospect. How they had planned andplanned, until she had imparted to him agoodly share of her enthusiasm. Was herlove all for the West? Could it be that theTexan—? Surely, her previous experiencehad hardly been one that should haveengendered any great love for the cattlecountry. He thought with a shudder ofPurdy, of the flight in the night, and thesubsequent trip through the bad lands. The

one pleasant memory in the wholeadventure had been the Texan—Tex, thedevil-may-care, the irresponsible, thewhimsical. And yet, withal, the capable,the masterful. He recollected vividly thatthere had been days of indecision—dayswhen her love had wavered betweenhimself and this man of the broad openspaces. Long before this adventure of thewilds Endicott had known her,—hadloved her—and she had never taken himseriously.

With the suddenness of a blow, came thethought that when she did choose him—when finally she yielded to his pleadingand consented to become his wife, it wasbecause he had unexpectedly shown someof the attributes that were the inborn

heritage of the Texan. Could it be that hisgreat love for her had found no answeringchord in her heart? If she had loved theTexan, why had she married him? Could itbe that she did not even now take himseriously? Was her love so shallow athing that it must be fanned into a flame bythe winds of high adventure? He knew thatthe commonplaces of society bored her toextinction. Had the humdrum existence ofcivilization palled on her until her heart invery desperation had turned to her knightof the boundless plains. Had shedeliberately planned this journey in orderto be once more with the Texan? Had theirmeeting—their flight, even, beenprearranged? Endicott groaned aloud, andthe next moment a hand was placed on hisshoulder. He leaped to his feet and peered

into the face that stood vaguely outlined inthe darkness.

"Oui, A'm t'ink you don' 'member Ol' Bat."

"Bat! Bat!" cried the man, "remember you!I guess I do remember you!" He seized aleathery hand in his own. "I'd rather seeyou, now, than any man in the world. Whatdo you make of it, Bat? Tell me—whathas happened?"

"Oui, A'm t'ink dat 'bout tam' A'm com''long. A'm t'ink you feel pret' bad, non?A'm com' 'long w'en de men com' back forno kin ketch Tex."

"You heard what they said?"

"Oui, A'm hear dat."

"Do you think they're alive?"

"Oui, bien! A'm stan' clos' I kin git besidede hoss, an' A'm hear dat man say de boatfloatin' off, an' he ain' gon' spit 'bout dat.You com' 'long Ol' Bat—we fin' um."

Endicott thrust his face close and staredstraight into the half-breed's eyes: "Haveyou been with Tex all the time—this pastyear?"

"Oui, him wagon boss on Y Bar, an' me,A'm cook."

"Would you have known it if he had beenwriting letters? Has he ever talked about—about—my wife?"

"Non, he ain' git lettaire. He don' talk 'boutdat 'oman. He lov' her too mooch——"

"What!" Endicott grasped the half-breed'sarm and shook him roughly.

"Oui, he lov' dat 'oman so bad he ain' talk'bout dat."

"You mean, you think they've planned itall out to run away together?"

Bat regarded the other gravely: "W'at yout'ink?" he asked, abruptly.

Endicott found it strangely hard to answerthe direct question: "I—I don't know whatto think."

"W'at you t'ink?" insisted the half-breed.

"What can I think?" cried the man indesperation. "She planned to be heretoday—and she met him here—and they

are gone! What do you think?"

The half-breed answered slowly and verydirectly: "Me, A'm t'ink, you pret' mooch,w'at you call, de Godam fool. You lov' dat'oman. You be'n marry wan year—an' youain' know dat 'oman. You de gran' pilgrim.Me, A'm know dat 'oman. Ol' Bat, she tellTex way back on Antelope Butte, dat tam,dat ain' hees 'oman—dat de pilgrim 'oman.Dat 'oman, he lov' you—Ol' Bat, knowdat. Tex, she ain' belief dat," he pausedand shrugged, expressively. "W'at de hell!She mar' de pilgrim, lak A'm say. An' Texshe feel ver' bad. She ain' drink no boozefor wan' year—becos' she t'ink, w'en shefeel lak dat, de booze she git heem—an'she would. A'm know 'bout dat, too. A'mknow Tex. A'm know he gon' git drunk

today, sure as hell. So A'm com' longtonight an' git heem hom'. He lov' datoman too mooch. Dat hurt heem lak helleen here." The old half-breed paused totap his breast, and proceeded. "He ain'wan' see dat 'oman no more. She com''long, w'at you call, de haccident. Me, A'main' know how dat com' dey gon'—but nomattaire. Dat all right. Dat good 'oman an'Tex, he good man, too. He ain' harm dat'oman—he got de good heart. A'm ain' saydat Tex she ain' got not'in' to do wit''omans. But she know de good 'oman—an'she lov' dat good 'oman—an' dat 'omanshe safe wit' Tex lak she wit' de ownmodder. You come 'long now wit' Ol' Bat,an' git de hoss, we gon' fin'. Mebbe-sotomor', mebbe-so nex' week—dat mak' nodiffer'. You fin' out dat all right." Old Bat

ceased abruptly and started off and asEndicott followed him blindly through thedark, his eyes burned hot, and scaldingtears coursed down his cheeks anddropped unheeded to the ground.

CHAPTER XIII

A MAN ALL BAD

Jack Purdy had turned horse-thief. Andbecause chance had thrown him in withone of the strongest gangs of horse-thievesthat ever operated the range, he hadprospered.

A year and a week had elapsed since thecountryside turned out to help Wolf Rivercelebrate the opening of her bank. At thatcelebration the Texan had openly insultedhim before the eyes of all cow-land. And,before the eyes of all cow-land he, areputed gunman, hesitated with his hand

on his gun, and every man and womanwho waited in breathless expectancy forhim to shoot, knew that he was afraid toshoot—knew that he was a coward. Onlythe pilgrim's girl did not know. Shethought he had done a brave thing toignore the insult, and that night she rodewith him, and upon the rim of the bench,as they paused to look down upon thetwinkling lights of the little town Purdycommitted the unpardonable sin of thecattle country. He attacked her—draggedher from her horse. And then the pilgrimcame. Purdy heard the sound of the furioushoof-beats, and grinned evilly as hewatched the man dismount clumsily whenhe came upon the two horses grazing withempty saddles. When the pilgrim wasalmost upon him he flung the girl to the

ground and drew his gun. There was ablinding flash—and Purdy knew no moreuntil, hours afterward Sheriff Sam Mooreand two of three sworn deputies wereloading his "corpse" into a spring wagon.Then he sat up suddenly and Sam Mooreand his deputies fled gibbering into thedark, while Purdy drove the team back toWolf River. Swaggering into the dancehall, he found that the news of his demiseat the hand of the pilgrim had precededhim—found, also, a marked lack ofenthusiasm over his escape from death.Some countenances registered opendisappointment, and the men whom heinvited to drink, evinced a sudden absenceof thirst. He sought to dance, but thewomen who occupied the chairs along thewalls invented excuses, reasonable or

preposterous according to the fertility oftheir imagination. So Purdy, a sullen ragein his heart, returned to the bar and drankalone. As he called for the third drink, thebartender eyed him truculently: "Justspread a little change, Purdy. Yer owin'fer two, now."

The sullen rage flared into swift anger andthe cowpuncher's hand dropped to his gun:"What the hell's loose with you? What'sthe matter with everyone here? Ain't Igood fer the drinks?"

The bartender stared straight into theblazing eyes: "You ain't good fer nothin' inWolf River. After Tex showin' you up thisafternoon but 'special what happenedlater. Folks knows what you tried to pulloff up there on the bench. Reports was that

the pilgrim had bumped you off but youdon't notice no crêpe hangin' aroundnowheres, do you? An' when you turn upalive an' kickin' you don't notice 'em gittin'out no brass band about it, do you? An' I'mgivin' you a tip—if I was you I'd right nowbe kickin' up a cloud of white dust a hellof a ways from Wolf River. Jest cast yereyes around an' you'll see that there's abunch of live ones missin'. Well, they'regoin' to come driftin' back in a little, an'it's dollars to buffalo chips that when theydo they'll start in an finish up the job thepilgrim botched."

Purdy's face went suddenly pale in thelamplight. The hand dropped limp fromthe gun-butt, and as he glanced swiftlyabout the room he moistened his lips with

his tongue. There was a distinct whine inhis voice as he forced his eyes to meet theother's steady gaze: "I didn't do nothin'.They—they can't do it."

"Can't do it—hell! A tree's a tree, ain't it?An' a rope's a rope?"

Purdy swayed heavily against the bar:"Give me a drink?" he begged, "jest one—I'm broke."

Without a word the other poured a fullglass of liquor and pushed it toward him.Purdy reached for it, and part of thecontents slopped upon his tremblingfingers before the glass left the bar.Seizing it with both hands, he drained it ata gulp, and hurriedly made his way thelength of the hall. In the doorway he

paused and swept the room with a glanceof malignant hate: "To hell with you!" hecried, shrilly, "to hell with you all!" Andstaggering down the steps, mounted thefirst horse he came to and fled wildly intothe dark. All night he rode, with rage inhis heart toward all men, a rage that foundvent in wild raving and cursing andgradually fixed itself into a sullen hate—asmouldering savage hatred that includedall mankind and womankind, but centredwith abysmal brutishness upon the Texan,the pilgrim, the pilgrim's girl, andstrangely enough, upon the bartender whohad warned him to flee.

At daylight he entered the cabin of a nesterwho had not yet returned from thecelebration, and according to the custom

of the country cooked himself a meal andate it. Then, in defiance of the custom ofthe country, he proceeded to make up apack of provisions, helping himselfliberally from the limited store. And notonly provisions he took, but cookingutensils as well, and a pair of heavyblankets from the bed. He found savagesatisfaction in scattering things about theroom, in wantonly destroying provisionshe could not use, and leaving the place inthe wildest confusion. The owner, herecollected, was one of those who hadrefused to drink with him in the dancehall. The insane rage flared out anew. Heeven thought of burning the shack, butfeared that the smoke would betray himbefore he could get away. "Won't drinkwith me, eh?" he muttered, and ground his

heel into the face of a cheap photograph ofa smiling baby girl. He had stoppedovernight in this cabin once and heard thestory of how the little two-year-old hadtoddled out and been bitten by arattlesnake, and of the little grave beneaththe tree in front of the house. He laughed,harshly: "Too good to drink with me!" anddeliberately spat tobacco upon the fadedlittle red shoe that had stood beside thepicture. Then he secured his pack behindthe cantle of his saddle, mounted, and rodeaway, leaving the dishes unwashed andthe door wide open.

It was broad daylight when Purdy left thecabin, and he suddenly realized that hewas riding a stolen horse. He had riddenthe horse hard and it was becoming tired.

Also he realized that he was packing theloot from the cabin. He cursed himself fora fool, for well he knew what wouldhappen if he were caught—now. Heshould have been careful to leave no trail,and should at this moment be "holed up" insome coulee or patch of timber to wait fordarkness. But he dared not camp withinmiles of the violated cabin. He wasapproaching the Bear Paws, and swingingsharply to the west, decided to skirt themountains and strike into the foothillswhere there are no nesters and no trails.He must push on. The bad lands were onlythirty miles away and if his horse held outhe should reach them in the earlyafternoon. He breathed easier. The nesterwould not reach his cabin till evening.

There was a telephone at the TU and theTU lay between him and the bad lands. Hemust either swing in close to themountains, or take a chance on the openbench. He chose the mountains, andtoward noon passed a solitarysheepherder seated on the crest of aconical butte with his band of freshlysheared sheep spread out below him likean irregular patch of snow. The manmotioned him in, but Purdy slipped swiftlyinto a coulee and came out a mile below.Later, a lone rider cut his trail, and fromthe shelter of a cottonwood thicket, Purdywatched him pass. He wanted to talk withhim. Maybe he had a bottle and Purdyneeded a drink. The man was idly twirlingthe end of his rope and singing a song ashe rode. He seemed care-free, even gay.

The song that he sang was a popular oneon the cattle range, grossly obscene,having to do with the love intrigues of one"Big Foot Sal."

Purdy felt suddenly very much alone. Herewas one of his kind with whom he wouldlike to pass the time of day—smoke withhim and if circumstances permitted, drinkwith him, and swap the gossip of therange. Instead, he must skulk in the thicketlike a coyote until the man passed. A greatwave of self-pity swept over him. He,Jack Purdy, was an outcast. Men wouldnot drink with him nor would womendance with him. Even at this moment menwere riding the range in search of him,and if they caught him—he shuddered,cold beads of sweat collected upon his

forehead, involuntarily his fingerscaressed his throat, and he loosened thecollar of his shirt. Every man's hand wasagainst him. His anger blazed forth in avolley of horrible curses, and he shook hisgloved fist at the back of the disappearingrider. He rode on. "Damn 'em all!" hemuttered, the sullen hatred settling itselfonce more upon him. "Wait till I get to thebad lands, an' then—" Purdy had nodefinite plan further than reaching the badlands. His outfit had worked the range tothe northward of Milk River, and he knewlittle of the bad lands except that theyfurnished a haven of refuge to men whowere "on the run." He was "on the run,"therefore he must reach the bad lands.

It was late in the afternoon when he rode

unhesitatingly into the treeless, grasslesswaste of dry mud and mica studded lavarock, giving no heed to the fact that waterholes were few and far between andknown only to the initiated. Darknessfound him following down a dry couleeinto which high-walled, narrow mudcracks led in a labyrinth of blackpassages. His horse's head was droopingand the animal could not be forced off aslow walk. No spear of grass was visibleand the rock floor of the coulee was bakedand dry. Purdy's lips were parched, andhis tongue made an audible rasping soundwhen he drew it across the roof of hismouth. The dark-walled coulee wasalmost pitch black, and he shivered in thenight chill. His horse's shod feet, ringingloudly upon the rock floor, shattered a

tomb-like silence. It seemed to Purdy thatthe sound could be heard for miles and heshuddered, glanced furtively about him,and pulled up to listen for sounds ofpursuit. He spurred his horse viciouslyand the animal walked slowly on. Heglanced upward. The walls of the couleewere steep and high, and far above him,little stars twinkled. Suddenly his heartceased to beat. He felt weak and flabbyand there was a strange chill at the pit ofhis stomach. He could have sworn that aface looked down at him from the clean-cut rim of the coulee. The next moment itwas gone. He proceeded a quarter of amile, again looked upward, and again hesaw the face. His nerveless fingers closedabout the butt of his gun and drew it fromits holster, but his hand shook so that he

thrust back the gun in disgust. They wereafter him. It was the posse, or perhaps thenester whose cabin he had plundered—and he hoped it was the posse. But, whydidn't they shoot? Why didn't they comedown and get him, instead of hangingalong the edge of the coulee like buzzards,waiting for him to die of thirst. Twicemore within the next half-hour he saw theface, and each time it disappeared.

Something seemed to snap inside his headand he spurred his horse in a perfectfrenzy of rage. "Damn you!" he shrilled,and his voice rang hollow and thin, "damnyou, come and get me! Shoot me! Stringme up! But, for Christ's sake, give me adrink! I stole the horse to make a getaway.I gutted the nester's cabin! An' if it hadn't

be'n for the pilgrim, I'd—" A man stooddirectly in front of him—two men. Theywere very close and one of them held agun. Purdy could see the starlight gleamfaintly upon the barrel.

"Put 'em up!" The words were not loudlyspoken, but somehow they seemed deadlyin earnest. Purdy's hands raised shakily:

"Damn you!" he screamed, "damn you all!Damn the world!"

"Coverin' quite a bit of territory, youngfeller. Better save up yer cussin' till youknow yer hurt. Take his bridle reins, Bill,an' we'll be gittin' to camp." The othercaught up the reins and once more thecoulee rang to the measured tread ofhoofs.

"Give me a drink," mumbled Purdy,thickly. "Water—whisky——"

"We've got 'em both. Jest hold on aboutfive minutes an' we'll fix you out."

"An' then string me up," the words camewith difficulty and the man in frontlaughed shortly.

"Well, mebbe not. I'm guessin' youngfeller, mebbe you've lit luckier'n what youthink."

They turned abruptly into a side coulee,and a few moments later the spokesmanordered Purdy to dismount. He staggeredweakly, and the man supported him whilethe other took the horse and disappeared.After a few steps Purdy braced up, and

relieving him of his gun the man bade himfollow. They seemed to be in a cave.Purdy glanced upward and could see nostars. The darkness was intense, and heplaced his hand on the man's shoulder.They turned a sharp corner and anotherand found themselves in a blaze of light.Three men lounged about an open fire, andthe light from two coal-oil lamps lightedthe interior of what seemed to be a largeroom. Cooking utensils were rangedneatly along the wall near the fire, andbeyond, Purdy could see rolls of bedding.The man who conducted him in tenderedhim a tin cup of water and Purdy gulped itgreedily to the last drop and extended thecup for more. "Better wait a bit an' let thatsoak in," advised the man, "they's plentyan' you kin have all you want." The other

three men looked on in silence, and whenPurdy had drained two more cupfuls ofwater, one of them motioned him to beseated. Another handed him tobacco andpapers, and as he rolled a cigarette, Purdyglanced about with a distinct air of relief.This was no posse. There was an air ofpermanency about the camp, and as heglanced into the faces of the men herecognized none of them.

When he had returned the tobacco andlighted his cigarette, one of the menaddressed him directly. Purdy noticed thathe was a squat man, and that the legs ofhis leather chaps bowed prodigiously. Hewas thick and wide of chest, a tuft of hairprotruded grotesquely from a hole in thecrown of his soft-brimmed hat, and a

stubby beard masked his features exceptfor a pair of beady, deep-set eyes thatstared at Purdy across the glowing brandsof the dying fire. He tossed his cigaretteinto the coals and spoke abruptly:

"What you doin' down here? Where youheadin'?"

Purdy glanced into the eyes that seemed toflash menacingly as a brand flared feebly.Then he lied: "Headin' fer south of theMizoo. Got a job down there."

"Who with?"

"Don't know the name. It's out ofLewiston. Feller come through couple ofdays ago an' said they was short-handed."

"Cow outfit?"

"Yup."

"That why yer ridin' a Circle J horse? An'why you snuck into the brush back yonderan' laid low while Pete, here, rode past a-singin' 'Big Foot Sal'?" The man's eyeswere still upon him, and Purdy knew thathe had been caught in his lie. He glancedtoward the man called Pete, andrecognized the leisurely rider of theafternoon. The man who had conductedhim in laughed, and Purdy was surprisedthat the sound held a note of genuineamusement:

"An' is that why you cussed me an' Billwhen we was keepin' cases on you comin'down the coulee, an' wound up by cussin'the whole world, an' invitin' us to stringyou up?"

Purdy was at loss for words. He felt theblood mounting to his face, and he clearedhis throat uncertainly.

"D'you know who I am?" The squat manquestioned.

Purdy shook his head.

"Grimshaw's my name—Cass Grimshaw."

"Cass Grimshaw! The—" Purdy stoppedabruptly in confusion.

The other laughed shortly: "Go ahead an'say it. It won't hurt my feelin's none. I'mthe party—Cass Grimshaw, the horse-thief."

Purdy stared open-mouthed, for the manhad uttered a name that in the cattle

country was a name to conjure with. CassGrimshaw, and the Grimshaw gang werenotorious for their depredationsthroughout Montana and half of Wyoming.For two years they had defied the law andresisted all efforts to break them up. Oneor two of their number had been killed infights with posses, but the gang remainedintact, a thorn in the side of the StockAssociation, and the sheriffs of manycounties. Purdy continued to stare andagain Grimshaw broke the silence: "Totalrewards on all of us is thirty-two hundred.On me, personal, takin' Association, State,an' County, it's two thousan' even money.Figurin' on collectin'?"

Purdy gasped. What kind of a man wasthis? As a matter of fact, he had been

thinking of those rewards. He hadforgotten his own crimes and waspicturing himself riding into Wolf Riverwith a squat, bow-legged body danglingacross the front of his saddle.

"Hell—no!" he managed to blurt out, "I'm—I'm a horse-thief, myself!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE INSURGENT

And so Purdy had joined the Grimshawgang, and had prospered. Raids wereplanned and, under the leadership of thecrafty Cass Grimshaw whole bands ofhorses were run across the line anddisposed of, and always the gang returnedto the bad lands unbroken. For nearly ayear things went well, and then came achange. Where absolute unity of purpose,and unswerving loyalty to their leaderwere essential, dissension crept in—andPurdy was at the bottom of it.

The first intimation of discord came toCass Grimshaw one night in the hang-outwhere the six sat smoking. Purdy casuallymentioned that it was getting alongtowards shearing time and that the WolfRiver bank ought to be heavily stockedwith cash. The leader blew a doubleplume of smoke from his nostrils andabruptly asked:

"Well, what if it is?"

"Oh, nothin'," Purdy answered with ashow of indifference, "only—I was justthinkin'."

"Thinkin', mebbe, to slip over an' pull ahold-up?"

"Well, they's more dinero in one haul

there than they is in a half a dozen horseraids. Pete, here, he says he knows abouthandlin' soup."

"Be'n talkin' it over, eh?" there was asneer in Grimshaw's voice. "Figurebecause you've helped pull off a few goodhorse deals, you're a regular outlaw?Want to tackle banks, an' express boxes?The horse game's got too slow, eh? Tiredof follerin' my lead?"

Purdy interrupted with a gesture ofimpatience: "Hell—no! We thought,maybe, you'd——"

"Thought I'd turn bank robber, eh? ThoughtI'd quit a game where I hold all the aces,an' horn in on one where I don't hold evena deuce to draw to? Bitin' off more'n he

c'n chaw has choked more'n one feller.Right here in Choteau County they's someseveral of 'em choked out on the end of atight one, because they overplayed theirhand. I'm a horse-thief—an' a damn goodone. You fellers is good horse-thieves, too—long as you've got me to do yer thinkin'.My business is runnin' off horses an'sellin' 'em—an' I ain't holdin' up no banksfer a side line. If I ain't able to pull a bankjob, how in hell be you forty-dollar-a-month cow hands goin' to do it? So don'tgo lettin' me hear any more of that talk."He paused and looked his hearers overwith narrowed eyes: "An' if any of youfeel like trying it on yer own hook—if youdon't git away with it, the sheriff'll git you—an' if you do, I'll git you—so, take yerpick."

There was no more talk of bank robbery.Grimshaw planned a horse raid that wassuccessful, but the heart of the leader wastroubled and always he kept close watchon Purdy. And Purdy gave him no groundsfor suspicion, nevertheless he was busywith his own thoughts, and way back inhis brain was an ever present vision—thevision of a squat, bow-legged man,dangling limp across the front of hissaddle.

The next friction between them came oneevening when Grimshaw announced thatthere was a new nester over on Red SandCreek.

"Is he—right?" asked Bill.

The leader nodded: "Yeh, it's Cinnabar

Joe, that used to tend bar in theHeadquarters saloon in Wolf River. Himan' that there Jennie Dodds that used towork in the hotel's got married an' filedalong the crick, 'bout four mile aboveMcWhorter's."

Purdy laughed harshly: "Cinnabar, eh?Well, when the time comes, I'll justnaturally tap him fer his pile. I've gotsomethin' on that bird. He's mine."

Cass Grimshaw eyed Purdy coldly: "I saidhe's right. D'you git that? Meanin' thathim, an' his stock, an' his wife, an'everything he's got is safe an' sound fer asthis gang's concerned. He ain't in onnothin'—same as McWhorter. Only—hedon't know nothin'—see? An' if any of uswants anythin' an' he's goin' to town—all

right."

"But, I've be'n aimin' to make him comeacrost for over a year, an'——"

"An', now you c'n fergit it! Friends isworth more'n enimies, anyways you lookat it—'special,' in our business. Thatmakes jest eighty-three ranches, big anlittle, that the Grimshaw gang countsfriends. That's why we git away with it.They's be'n times when most any of 'emcould of said the word that would of gotposses on to us—an' I've made it rightwith all of 'em. We don't owe none of 'emnothin'. Why they's plenty of sheriffs, muchas they want to git me, wouldn'tbushwhack me—not fer all the rewardmoney they is, 'cause they know they's be'ntimes when I could of got 'em easy, an'

didn't. I don't hold it agin' 'em. My rule isnever kill a posse man or a sheriff onlessit gits right down to you an' him fer it.They're doin' their duty accordin' to law—an' the laws has got to be uphelt—er thiswould be a hell of a country to live in—fer most folks." The man ceased speakingand Purdy maintained silence. The subjectof Cinnabar Joe was never mentionedagain.

It was not long, however, before Purdyonce more fell in the way of Grimshaw'sdispleasure. He came into the hang-outlate one evening. The five were playingpoker upon a blanket spread upon thefloor between the swinging lamps, butinstead of joining them, Purdy seatedhimself with his back to the wall, rolled a

cigarette, and smoked in silence. A fewdeals went around, bets were made, andpots raked in. Grimshaw shuffled the deckslowly with a sidewise glance towardPurdy: "They say McWhorter's gal's tohome," he announced, casually. Purdy saidnothing. Grimshaw dealt, picked up hishand, examined it minutely, and tossed thecards onto the blanket. "How about it,Purdy?"

"You seem to know," answered the other,surlily.

"Yes," answered the leader, without evenglancing in his direction, "I generallyknow what's goin' on in the bad lands, an'out of 'em fer a ways. Mighty goodlookin', they say." No answer from Purdy,and a deal or two went by. Again

Grimshaw tossed away his cards: "Ain'tshe good lookin', Purdy?"

Purdy scowled: "Well, what if she is?What you drivin' at? If you got somethin'to say, why the hell don't you say it?"

Grimshaw cleared his throat: "They ain'tnever no good comes from mixin' up withwomen—in our business. If they're goodwomen they ain't goin' to have no truckwith such as us, nohow—an' if they ain't,they'll double-cross you sure as hellsometime or other. I've read where mostof the crooks an' outlaws that's caught, iscaught 'cause they was stuck on somewoman—either the woman double-crossed 'em, or the sheriffs or officerswatches the woman, an' nabs the manwhen he goes to see her. 'Twas a woman

got Billy the Kid caught—an' I could namesome more right here in Montana."

"Guess ridin' over to git McWhorter tofetch me out some tobacco from town ain'tgoin' to hurt none."

"No. Only McWhorter won't be goin' totown till after lambin', an' it looks like hecould remember tobacco with one tellin',instead of six in ten days."

Purdy's anger flared up: "Keep prettyclose cases, don't you? Whose business isit if I was over there sixteen times? I ain'tin jail, am I?"

"No—not yet, you ain't." Grimshaw'svoice was low and hard. The game hadceased, and the four others were watching

the two. "An', by the way things is framin',I don't expect you'll ever git there." Therewas something ominous in the man'swords, and Purdy shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't s'pose it mattered what a mandone—between jobs," he muttered.

"It don't—so long as he leaves womenalone, an' don't do nothin' that puts thisgang in bad."

"I never told her nothin' about the gang. Iain't goin' to marry her."

"I know damned well you ain't. Shedespises you because yer a horse-thief."Grimshaw's voice suddenly droppedlower, "an', if she know'd what I know—an' what all Wolf River knows she'd know

that yer horse-thievin' is the best thingabout you."

Purdy laughed nastily: "Cinnabar Joespilled a mouthful, did he? I fell down onthat job—maybe I'll have better luck, nexttime."

Grimshaw nodded: "Mebbe you will. But,McWhorter's like Cinnabar Joe, an' all therest that's friends of mine—he's safe, an'his stock's safe, an' By God, his girl'ssafe!" The leader paused and allowed hiseyes to travel slowly over the faces of hisfive companions, "That goes—an'whatever else I say goes." And Purdy,watching narrowly from the corner of hiseye, saw that, of the other four only Bill'seyes stood Grimshaw's gaze unflinching,and in the dim shadow his lips twisted

into a sardonic grin. What Purdy did notsee was that Grimshaw had seen exactlywhat he saw, and not only that, he hadseen Purdy's smile, but with a perfectlyimpassive face, the leader spread hisblanket and stretched himself upon thefloor.

CHAPTER XV

PURDY MAKES A RIDE

Purdy's altercation with Grimshawoccurred on the night Alice Endicott andthe Texan spent on the river. A raid on abunch of Flying A mares had been plannedfor the following night, and early in themorning Grimshaw and the man calledBill, pulled out to the northward to locatethe mares, while the other outlawsseparated to skirmish the surroundingcountry and make sure that the coast wasclear. Purdy's patrol took him into thevicinity of Red Sand Creek, and as he

rode the outlaw smiled grimly:"Grimshaw's busted," he muttered, "thisone job an' he's through. It'll be the Purdygang, then—an', believe me, we ain't goin'to stop at runnin' off a few head of horses.This country's lousy with money, justlayin' around for someone to reach out an'take it—an' I'm the bird c'n do it! They'llbe four of us, an' that's a-plenty. We'llclean up the Wolf River bank, an' theZortman gold stage, an' the Lewiston bank,an' a train or two—then it's me for SouthAmerica—an' to hell with 'em all!" Hepulled up abruptly and sat gazing downupon the buildings of McWhorter's ranch.The cabin door opened, a woman steppedout, emptied a pan of dishwater, andentered the cabin again. "So, my pretty,"sneered the man, "you carry yer nose high.

Yer too good for a horse-thief, eh? If youhad your way McWhorter would have aposse camped on the ranch till they'dwiped us out. Guess I'll just slip down an'give you one more chanct. When Purdy'sboss of the gang you won't be so damnsafe! I ain't afraid of losin' no friends.Friends never got me nothin'. Damn thenesters! There won't be no deals when I'mrunnin' the gang. It'll be every man forhimself an' the devil take the hindmost. If anester's got anything I want I'll reach outan' take it—nesters, or banks, or railroads—they all look alike to me. An' ifMcWhorter's huzzy don't throw in with mewillin', she'll come along unwillin'. I'llbreak her. I'll take the snap out of themeyes, an' the sneer offen them red lips—she's the purtiest thing I've laid eyes on

sence—sence Wolf River—an' I'm goin'to have her!" He swung down into thecreek bed, spurred his horse into a run,and pulled up before the door with aflourish, heedless of the fact that one ofhis horse's hoofs ground a tiny lamb intothe dirt. The door flew open and JanetMcWhorter appeared. Her eyes rested fora moment on the little dead lamb, deep redmounted to her cheeks, and when she metPurdy's glance, her eyes blazed. The manlaughed, and reaching into his pocket,tossing her a gold piece: "What's lambsworth?" he asked, "that had ought to payfor two or three of 'em. Why didn't thefool thing git out of the way?"

"You brute!" The girl's voice trembledwith passion, and snatching the coin from

the ground she hurled it into his face.

Purdy caught it in a gloved hand, andagain he laughed: "Plenty more of theseyeller boys where this come from," heannounced flipping the shining disk intothe air and catching it, "I'm goin' away fera few days, jest you say the word, an'when I come back I'll bring you a—adiamon' ring—diamon' as big as yer thumbnail—I'll treat you swell if you'll let me."

The girl cuddled the dead lamb in herarms: "I despise you! I utterly loathe you!"

"Purtier'n ever when yer mad," he opined."I'll make you mad sometimes jest for fun——"

"Some day I think I'll kill you," she spoke

in a low, level tone and her eyes stareddirectly into his.

Purdy laughed loudly: "That's a good one.Here, do it now." He drew a gun from itsholster and grasping it by the barrel,extended the butt toward the girl. Sheshrank into the doorway still clutching thelamb. The man returned the gun to itsplace and leaned forward in the saddle,"If you'll be reasonable—listen: Youthrow in with me, an' I'll quit the horsegame. I've got a-plenty, an' we'll gosomewhere's an' buy us an outfit—biggeroutfit than this, too—an' we'll settle down.I never liked the business, nohow. I wasforced into it when I was young, an' I'vealways wanted to get out—with a goodwoman to—to kind of help a feller along

——"

The girl laughed harshly. "Don't try that onme—you can't get away with it. I'll tellyou once and for all, I despise you. Iwouldn't trust you as far as I would arattlesnake. You are the most loathesomecreature in the world. You're nothing but alow-down horse-thief, and you never willbe anything but a horse-thief, tillsomebody shoots you—then you'll be acarrion." Her eyes were blazing again,and Purdy actually winced at her words."If you were dying of thirst I'd pour alkalidust down your throat. Do I make myselfplain? Do you understand now thoroughlyjust what I think of you? Because if youdon't I'll go on and explain——"

"Oh, I guess I git you, all right," sneered

Purdy, "from what you mentioned I gatheryou ain't seriously considerin' me for ahusban'. Well, you've had yer say—nexttime it'll be my turn. Them was hardwords, but some day you'll eat 'em—an'when you've got 'em et, you'll sing adifferent tune. Where's McWhorter?"

"Lambing camp," she answered shortly,and disappeared into the cabin slammingthe door behind her.

Purdy sat for a moment staring at the door,then whirled his horse, and rode away.The girl's words had thrown him into aterrible rage: "This time a week fromnow, you'll wish to God you hadn't spoke'em," he muttered, and, avoiding thelambing camp, swung toward the river."Kill me some day, will she? She meant it,

too. She's a hell-cat!"

He headed up stream, following the shoreof the swollen river, muttering, cursing,plotting as he rode. And so he came to thehigh bluff that overlooked the mouth of abroad coulee. He paused on the rim of thebluff and stared out over the raging flood.Something directly below him caught hiseye, and he glanced downward. A water-logged craft, which he recognized as LongBill Kearney's ferry boat, lay groundedagainst the narrow strip of sloping beachthat lay between the foot of the bluff andthe river. At the same instant an objectlying part way up the slope caught his eyeand instinctively he jerked his horse back,swung to the ground and, crawling to therim of the bluff looked cautiously over the

edge. For a long time he stared downwardat the motionless form of a woman. Herface was not visible but he could see thatshe wore a riding costume, and a hat ofapproved cowboy pattern. In vain his eyessearched the beach, and the bluff, andeven the river. "Crossin' on Long Bill'sferry an' the cable busted," he muttered,"but, it's a cinch she wasn't crossin' alone—an' it's a cinch they ain't no one elsearound—onless they're up the coulee.Maybe whoever was along got drownded—anyhow, I'm goin' to find out—an' ifshe's all alone—" the man grinned—"maybe she won't be so damned uppityas McWhorter's gal." He sprang into thesaddle, and, after a careful survey of thebluff and the surrounding bench, headedaway from the river and came to the

coulee a half-mile back from its mouth at apoint where the sides allowed easydescent.

Once in the coulee Purdy again headed forthe river, riding slowly, with a hand on thebutt of his gun. Rounding an abrupt bend,he drew up sharply. Not fifty yards fromhim, a blaze-faced buckskin, saddled andbridled, with a lariat rope trailing fromthe saddle horn, was cropping grass. Hiseyes surveyed every nook and cranny ofthe coulee for signs of the rider, but seeingnone he approached the horse whichraised its head and nickered friendlygreeting. He loosened his rope, but thehorse made no effort to escape, and ridingclose the man reached down and securedthe reins which he made fast to the horn of

his own saddle and dismounted. "Yer aplumb gentle brute," he muttered as hecoiled the trailing rope and secured it inplace, "Y Bar brand—that's oversomewhere acrost the river." Again hegrinned, evilly: "Looks like they comefrom the other side, in which case,providin' they don't no men-folks show upin the next few minutes er so, things lookspurty favourable for yours truly. With theriver like it is, an' the ferry gone, theycan't no one bother from the other side, an'by the time they find out she's missin',they'll think she got drownded along withthe rest. Things is sure framin' my way,now," he grinned, as he swung into thesaddle and, leading the buckskin, headeddown the coulee with his thoughts centredon the woman who lay on the little grassed

slope at its mouth. "Be hell if she wasdead," he growled, "be just my luck—butif she is, I'll cache her in a mud cracksomewheres an' maybe her friends fromacrost will stick up a reward, an' I'll makeCinnabar Joe or Long Bill go an' collect itan' fork it over."

Proceeding cautiously, Purdy rode downthe coulee, and at its mouth, dismountedand proceeded directly to the motionlessform. Swiftly he stooped and lifted thehat-brim that had pushed forward over herface, then with an oath he leaped erect andjerking his gun from its holster, glaredwildly about him. But save for the twohorses, and a buzzard that wheeled high inthe blue above, there was no living,moving thing within his range of vision,

and the only sounds were the soft rattle ofbit-chains as the horses thrashed lazily atpestering flies, and the sullen gurgle of theswollen river. Again he swore. His lipsdrew into a snarl of hate as his glanceonce more sought the face of the woman.In his eyes the gleam of hot desirecommingled with a glitter of revenge ashis thoughts flew swiftly to Wolf River—the Texan's open insult and the pilgrim'sswift shot in the dark. Here, helpless,completely in his power to do with as hepleased, lay the woman who had been theunwitting cause of his undoing! Vengeancewas his at last, and he licked his lips inwolfish anticipation of the wrecking ofthat vengeance. The thought of revengewas more sweet in that he neveranticipated it. The Texan had disappeared

altogether, and he had heard from LongBill that the girl had married the pilgrim inTimber City, and that they had gone backEast. But if so, what was she doing here—alone?

Swiftly the man scanned the ground fortracks, but found none. The bootless feetof the Texan had left no mark on thebuffalo grass. Only one horse had gone upthe coulee—and he had that horse.Whoever had been with her when the ferrycable broke, had certainly not landed withher at the mouth of the coulee. "Pilgrim'sprob'ly fell out an' drownded—an' adamned good job—him an' his horse, too—prob'ly the horse got to raisin' hell an'jerked him into the river—Long Bill, too,most likely—I'll swing around by his

shack an' see if they's anything there Iwant. But, first off, I got to take care ofthis here lady—silk stockin's an' all an' thequicker I git to the bad lands with her thebetter—it ain't no cinch that the pilgrim, orLong Bill didn't make shore somewhereselse, an' if they did they'll be huntin' her."After a vain attempt to rouse the girl Purdyled the buckskin close and throwing herover the saddle bound her firmly in placewith the rope. Then, leading the buckskin,he rode rapidly up the coulee and comingout on the bench headed up the river forthe bad lands only a few short miles away.

CHAPTER XVI

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Purdy did not hit for the subterraneanhang-out of the gang. Instead, afterentering the bad lands, he continued on upthe river for a distance of several miles,being careful to select footing for thehorses among the rock ridges and couleesthat would leave no trail—no trail, atleast, that any white man could pick upand follow. Two hours later with five orsix miles of trailless bad lands behind himhe dismounted and, climbing a rockyeminence, carefully surveyed his

surroundings. An object upon the rivercaught his attention, and after a moment'sscrutiny he made out a man in a skiff. Theboat was close in shore and the man wasevidently scanning the bank. He was still ahalf-mile above, and clambering hastilydown, Purdy led the horses into a patch ofscrub a few hundred yards from the river.Loosening the rope, he allowed the bodyof the unconscious girl to slip to theground. He secured her feet and handswith a few quick turns of the rope,hobbled the horses, and hastening to thebank concealed himself in a bunch ofwillows. "If it's the pilgrim," he muttered,"—well, it's my turn now." He drew thegun from its holster and twirled thecylinder with his thumb. The boatapproached slowly, the man resting on his

oars except at such times as it wasnecessary to force the light craft out of theclutch of backwaters and eddies. Not untilhe was nearly opposite did Purdy see hisface: "Long Bill," he growled, andreturning the gun, wriggled from thewillows and hailed him. Long Bill shothis boat into a pool of still water andsurveyed the man on the bank.

"That you, Purdy?" he drawled.

"Yeh, it's me. What's yer hurry?"

Long Bill pondered. He had no wish torun ashore. In the skiff were upwards of ahundred of the dodgers hastily struck off atthe Timber City printing office, whichproclaimed the reward for the Texan andthe thousand-dollar reward for

information concerning the whereabouts ofAlice Endicott. Long Bill was canny. Heknew the river and he had figured prettyaccurately the probable drift of the ferryboat. He expected to come upon it anytime. And he wanted that reward forhimself. The hundred dollars offered forthe Texan did not interest him at all, but ifhe could find out what had become of thegirl, he could, with no risk to himself,claim the larger reward. Why acquaintPurdy with the fact of the reward? Purdyhad a horse and he would ride on aheadand scour the bank. Of course, later, if heshould fail to find the boat, or if itsoccupants had escaped, he woulddistribute the bills. He wanted to see theTexan caught—he owed him a grudgeanyway.

"I got to be goin' on down—got somebusiness below," he answered.

"Huntin' yer ferry?"

Long Bill glared at the questioner. Purdymust have found the flat-boat or he wouldnot have known it was missing. And if hehad found the boat, he must knowsomething of its occupants. He could notknow of the reward, however, and actingon the theory that half a loaf is better thannone, Long Bill reached for his oars andpulled ashore.

"That's what I'm a-huntin'," he answered,"saw any thin' of her?"

Purdy nodded: "She's layin' up agin' themouth of a coulee, 'bout two mile or so

this side of Red Sand."

Long Bill removed his hat, scratched hishead, and stared out over the river. Finallyhe spoke: "See her clost up?"

"Yup. Went right down to her."

Another pause, and with a vast show ofindifference Long Bill asked: "Anyone inher?"

"No."

"Any tracks around—like anyone had be'nthere?"

"Not none except what I made myself.Look a-here, Bill; what you so damnedanxious to find that ferry fer? It would costyou more to haul it back upstream than

what it would to build you a new one."

"Sure they wasn't no one there? No onecould of got off her an' struck back in?"

"Not onless they could of flew," opinedPurdy, "how'd she come to bust loose?"

Long Bill burst into a tirade of profanitythat left him breathless. "I'll tell you howcome she bust loose," he roared, when hehad sufficiently recovered to proceed,"that damned son of a—of a Texian stoledher—him an' the pilgrim's woman!"

"Texan!" cried Purdy, "d'ye mean Tex—Tex Benton?"

"Who the hell d'ye s'pose I mean? Whoelse 'ud have the guts to steal the RedFront saloon, an' another man's woman,

an' my ferry all the same day—an' gitaway with it? Who would?" Theinfuriated man fairly screamed the words,"Me—or you—not by a damn sight! Youclaim to be a horse-thief—my Gawd, ifthat bird ever turned horse-thief, in ayear's time horses would be extincter thanwhat buffaloes is! They wouldn't be noneleft fer nobudy—nowheres!"

It was some moments before Purdysucceeded in calming the man down towhere he could give a fairly lucid accountof the happenings in Timber City. Helistened intently to Long Bill's narrative,and at the conclusion the ferrymanproduced his dodgers: "An' here's therewards—a hundred fer Tex, an' athousan' fer information about the

woman."

Purdy read the hand-bill through twice.Then for several minutes he was silent.Finally, he turned to Long Bill. "Lookslike me an' you had a purty good thing—ifit's worked right," he said with a wink.

"Wha' d'ye mean?" asked the other withsudden interest.

"I mean," answered Purdy, "that I've gotthe woman."

"Got the woman!" he repeated, "where'sTex?"

Purdy frowned: "That's what I don't know.I hope he's drownded. He never landedwhere she did. They wasn't no tracks.That's the only thing that's botherin' me. I

don't mind sayin' it right out, I ain't got nohonin' to run up agin' him—I don't wantnone of his meat."

"Course he's drownded, if he neverlanded," cried Long Bill, and takingtremendous heart from the thought, hecontinued: "I hain't afraid of him, nohow—never was. I hain't so damn glad hedrownded neither. If I'd of run onto him,I'd of be'n a hundred dollars richer. I'd ofbrung him in—me!"

"You'd of played hell!" sneered Purdy,"don't try to put yer brag over on me. Iknow what you'd do if you so much asseen the colour of his hide—an' so do you.Le's talk sense. If that there pilgrimoffered a thousan' first off—he'll pay twothousan' to git his woman back—or five

thousan'."

Long Bill's eyes glittered with greed:"Sure he will! Five thousan'—twothousan' five hundred apiece——"

Purdy fixed him with a chilling stare:"They wasn't nothin' mentioned about noeven split," he reminded, "who's got thewoman, you or me?"

Long Bill glared angrily: "You didn'tknow nothin' about the reward till I comealong. An' who's got to do the dickerin'?You don't dast to show up nowheres.You'd git nabbed. They's a reward out feryou."

Purdy shrugged: "When we git the fivethousan', you git five hundred. Take it or

leave it. They's others can do thedickerin'."

Long Bill growled and whined, but in theend he agreed, and Purdy continued: "Youlisten to me. We don't want no mistakesabout this here. I'll write a note to thepilgrim an' sign Tex's name to it,demandin' five thousan' fer the return ofthe woman. You take the note to him, an'tell him Tex is hidin' out in the bad lands,an' they ain't a show in the world to git thewoman without he pays, because Tex willkill her sure as hell if he goes to gittin' anyposses out. Then you fetch him over here—this place is good as any—today aweek, an' we'll give him his woman."

"What if he won't come? What if he thinkswe're double-crossin' him?"

Purdy shrugged: "If he wants his womanbad enough, he'll come. It's his onlychanct. An' here's another thing: Beforeyou hit back acrost the river, you spreadthem bills around all the ranches an' on allthe trails around here. They ain't no oneelse can horn in on the big reward 'causeI've got the woman, an' if the Texan shouldof got to shore, it's just as well to haveeveryone huntin' him."

"I ain't got no horse," objected theferryman.

"Drift down the river till you come to acoulee with two rock pinnacles on the lefthand side. Go up it till you come to abrush corral, there's two horses in there,an' a saddle an' bridle is cached in a mudcrack on the west side. Saddle up one of

'em, an' be sure you put him back or CassGrimshaw'll make coyote bait out of you."

As Purdy watched Long Bill disappeardown the river, he rolled a cigarette: "If Ic'n double-cross the pilgrim, I will," hemuttered, "if I can't, back she goes to him.Five thousan' is a higher price than I'll payfer luxeries like women. Anyhow there'sMcWhorter's gal left fer that. An' seein'there ain't no one else in on this but me,I'll just duck the hang-out, an' take herover to Cinnabar Joe's. Him an' hiswoman'll keep her safe—or he'll do time.Them's the only kind of friends that'sworth a damn—the ones you've gotsomethin' on." And having thusunburdened himself he proceededleisurely toward the scrub.

Alice Endicott returned slowly toconsciousness. Her first sensation wasone of drowsy well-being. For someminutes she lay while her brain groped ina vague, listless way to find itself. Sheand Win were going West—there was aranch for sale—and ... she suddenlyrealized that she was uncomfortable. Hershoulders and hips ached. Where wasshe? She felt cold. She tried to move andthe effort caused her pain. She heard asound nearby and opened her eyes. Sheclosed them and opened them again. Shewas lying upon the ground among treesand two horses stood a short distanceaway. The horses were saddled. She triedto raise a hand to her eyes and failed.Something was wrong. The recollectionsof the night burst upon her with the

suddenness of a blow. The river—thelightning and drenching rain, the franticbailing of the boat, the leap into the waterwith the Texan! Where was he now? Shetried to sit up—and realized that her handsand feet were tied! Frantically shestruggled to free her hands. Who had tiedher? And why? The buckskin horse sherecognized as the one she had ridden thenight before. The Y Bar brand showedplainly upon his flank. But, where wasshe? And why was she tied? Over andover the two questions repeatedthemselves in her brain. She struggled intoa sitting posture and began to work at theknots. The tying had been hurriedlyaccomplished, and with the aid of aprojecting limb stub the knot that securedher wrists was loosened and she freed her

hands. It was but the work of a moment toloosen the hitch about her ankles and sheassayed to rise. She sank back with amoan of pain. Every muscle in her bodyached and she lay still while the bloodwith an exquisite torture of prickling andtingling, began to circulate her numbedveins. Again she struggled to her feet and,supporting herself against a tree, staredwildly about her. Nobody was in sight.Through the trees she caught the sparkle ofwater.

"The river!" she breathed. A wild ideaflashed into her brain. If she could find aboat she could elude the horseman whohad made her a prisoner. The numbnesswas gone from her limbs. She took a stepand another, steadying herself by means of

the tree-trunks. Finding that she couldwalk unaided she crossed an open space,paused and glanced out over the floodwith its rushing burden of drift. Thethought terrified her—of being out therealone in a boat. Then came the thought ofher unknown captor. Who was he? Whenwould he return? And with the thought theterror of the water sank into insignificancebeside the terror of the land. Reaching theedge of the bank she peered cautiouslyover. There, just at the end of a clump ofwillows, a boat floated lazily at the end ofits painter. She could see the oars in theirlocks, and a man's coat upon the back seat.She was about to descend the bank whenthe sound of voices sent her crouchingbehind a bush. Through the willows shecould make out the forms of two men.

Even as she looked one of the men roseand made his way toward the boat. At theedge of the willows he turned to speak tothe other and the terrified girl gazed intothe face of Long Bill Kearney! The othershe could not see, but that he was hercaptor she had no doubt. She felt suddenlyweak and sick with horror. Whoever theother was he was a confederate of LongBill's and she knew how Long Bill musthate her on account of the treatment he hadreceived a year ago at the hands of Winand the Texan. In all probability they hadeven now murdered the Texan—comeupon him weak and exhausted from hisstruggle with the river and murdered himin cold blood and taken her prisoner.

Stifling a sob, she turned to fly. Her

trembling knees would scarce support herweight as she crossed the open space.Once in the timber she staggered towardthe horses. Grasping the reins of thebuckskin, she tried to lead him into theopen, but he followed slowly with acurious shuffle. Her eyes flew to thehobbles, and kneeling swiftly she pulled atthe thick straps that encircled his ankles.Her trembling fingers fumbled at the heavybuckles. Jerking frantically at the strap,she pushed and pulled in an endeavour torelease the tongue from the hole. Minutesseemed like hours as she worked. Atlength she succeeded in loosening a strapand set to work on the other. Fortunatelythe horse was thoroughly gentle, "womanbroke," as Colston had said, and he stoodmotionless while she tugged and jerked at

his ankles. After an interminable time theother strap yielded and, throwing thehobbles aside, Alice sprang erect, graspedthe reins and started for the open, herthrobbing brain obsessed by one idea, toride, ride, ride! Stumbling, tripping in herfrantic haste she made her way through thescrub, the buckskin following close uponher heels. Only a few yards more and theopen country stretched before her, ridgeafter rocky ridge as far as the eye couldsee. Redoubling her effort, she pushed on,tripped upon a fallen tree limb andcrashed heavily to her knees. Shestruggled to her feet and as her eyes soughtthe open, stood rooted to the spot whilethe blood froze in her veins. Directlybefore her, legs wide apart, hands on hips,an evil grin on his lips, eyes leering into

her own, stood Jack Purdy!

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE SCRUB

It seemed hours she stood thus, staring intothose black, leering eyes. Her dampgarments struck a deadly chill to her verybones. Her knees trembled so that sheshook visibly, as her thoughts flashed backto that night on the rim of the bench whenthis man had reached suddenly out anddragged her from her horse. Her plightwould have been bad enough had shefallen into the hands of Long Bill Kearney—but Purdy!

At length the man spoke: "What's yer

hurry? You sure wouldn't pull out an'leave, after me savin' you from the river,would you?"

"The river," she repeated, dully, and herown voice sounded strange—like a voiceshe had never heard. "Where—where'sTex?" The question was not addressed toPurdy, it was merely the groping effort ofa numbed brain trying to piece together itssequence of events. She did not know shehad asked it. His answer brought herkeenly alive to the present. He laughed,harshly:

"He's drownded—fell out of the ferry,back there in the river—him an' his horseboth."

Alice did not know that the man was

eyeing her keenly to detect refutation byword or look. She did not know that hewas lying. The events of the night, to themoment of her plunge with the Texan intothe river at the end of the lariat line, stoodout in her brain with vivid distinctness.Purdy believed Tex to have drowned. Shedid not believe it, for she knew that if hehad not reached shore, she could notpossibly have reached shore. Her brainfunctioned rapidly. If Tex had survived hewould surely come to her rescue. And, ifPurdy believed him dead so much thebetter. She raised her hand and passed itacross her eyes:

"I remember," she said, slowly.

Again the man laughed: "Oh, you do, eh? Iwas only guessin'! I know'd if I asked you

you'd lie about it—but I know now! An' itmakes things a damn sight easier fer me."

"Stand aside and let me pass!" cried thegirl, "I didn't say he drowned. He'll bealong here any minute—and my husbandwill be here, too!"

"Oh-ho, my thousan' dollar beauty!"sneered the man, "yer bluff comes in toolate! If you'd of got it in first off, as soonas I said he was drownded, I might ofb'lieved you—but there's nothin' doin'now. You can't scare me with a ghost—an'as fer yer husband—he'd ought to got mewhen he had the chanct." He advancedtoward her, and the girl shrank backagainst her horse's shoulder. "Surely, youain't afraid of me," he taunted, "why, itain't only a year back sence you went

ridin' with me. Remember—Wolf River,in the moonlight on the rim of the bench,an' the little lights a-twinklin' down in thevalley? An' you remember how we wasinterrupted then—the sound of hoofsthumpin' the trail—the pilgrim come out ofthe dark an' shot 'fore I even know'd hehad a gun. But it's different this time. Herein the bad lands there ain't no one to buttin. I've got you all to myself here. I loveyou now, same as I did then—only awhole heap more. Women are scarcedown here. You figgered you wanted achange of men, or you wouldn't of be'nrunnin' off with Tex. Well, you've got it—only you've got me instead of him. Wewon't hit it off so bad when you git used tomy ways."

Every particle of blood receded from thegirl's face and as she cowered against herhorse, her eyes widened with horror. Herlips moved stiffly: "You—you dog!" shemuttered hoarsely.

Purdy grinned: "Dog, eh? You ain't helpin'yer case none by callin' me names. Ain'tyou got no thankfulness in you? Here Ipulled you out of the drink where you'dwashed ashore—an' take you along safean' sound—an' yer callin' me a dog!"

"I would rather be dead, a thousand times,than to be here this minute—with you!"

"Well, you ain't dead—an' you be here.An' if you don't go the limit with me, yergoin' to wish a thousan' times more thatyou was a damn sight deader than you

ever will be! You know what I mean! An'you ain't a damn bit better than what I be,either! If you was you wouldn't of left yerman an' pulled out with Tex. I've got yernumber, so you might's well throw in withme an' save yerself a whole lot of hell.I've got more'n what Tex has, anyhow—an' there's plenty more where I git mine.You might's well know it now, as later—I'm an outlaw! I was outlawed on accountof you—an' it ain't no more'n right youshould share it with me. I've worked onhorses up to now, but I'm a-goin' to branchout! Banks an' railroad trains looks betterto me! The name of Purdy's goin' to be abig name in these parts—an' then all toonct it won't be heard no more—an' youan' me'll be down in South America rollin''em high!" The man's voice had raised

with his boasting, and as he finished, hepounded his chest with his fist.

During his speech the girl's heartshrivelled within her until it touched thelowest depths of terror and despair. Shecowered against the horse, pressing herknuckles into her lips till the blood came—and, suddenly, as he finished, she felt aninsane desire to laugh. And she did laugh,loudly and unnaturally—laughed andpointed a shaking forefinger into the man'sface: "You fool!" she screamed,hysterically, "you fool! I'm not afraid ofyou! You're not real! You can't be real!You remind me of comic opera!"

For a moment the man stared in surprise,and then, with an oath he grasped herroughly by the arm: "What are you laughin'

at? I'm a fool, be I? I ain't real? When I gitthrough with you, you'll think I'm realenough! An' I won't put you in mind of nocomical opry neither! But, first, I'm goin'to collect that reward."

"Reward?"

"Yes—reward," snarled the man,releasing her arm with a violent push thatwhirled her half way around. Fumbling inhis pocket he produced one of the hand-bills that Long Bill had given him. "Thereit is—the reward yer man stuck up for you—though what in hell he wants of you nowis more'n I know. It only says a thousan'there—but I raised it to five. I'll jest holdyou safe till I git my mitts on that fivethousan', an' then——"

"You'll hold me safe till you get themoney?" asked the girl, a gleam of hopelighting her eyes, "and then you'll turn meover to my husband? Is that all you want—the money—five thousand dollars?"

The man laughed and again his eyes leeredevilly into hers: "You know what I want,"he sneered, "an' what I want, I'll git—an'I'll git the money, too! Things has brokemy way at last! Tex is dead. When LongBill comes along to collect his share ofthe dinero he'll foller Tex. An' when thepilgrim rides into the bad lands with themoney—well, it'll be my turn, then. You'llbe a widder, an' won't have only one manafter all—an' that man'll be me! An' theywon't be no one a-huntin' you, neither.They'll all think you drownded along with

Tex."

"You devil! You fiend!" cried the girl,"surely if there's a God in heaven, He willnot let you live to do these things!"

"If there is, or if there ain't, it'll be thesame," defied the man, "I ain't afraid ofHim! He won't lay no hand on me!" Moreterrible even than his threats against her—more terrible than the open boast that hewould murder her husband, sounded theblasphemy of the man's words. She feltsuddenly weak and sick. Her kneesswayed under her, and she sankunconscious at the feet of her horse.

Staring down at her, Purdy laughed aloud,and securing his own horse and the rope,lifted her into her saddle and bound her as

before. Leading the two animals, he madehis way into the open where he mountedand striking out at a right angle to hisformer course, headed for Cinnabar Joe's.

As he disappeared around a bend in acoulee, a man who had been intentlywatching all that transpired, rose to hisfeet. He was a squat man, with ludicrouslybowed legs. A tuft of hair protruded froma hole in the crown of his hat. "I've seenconsiderable fools in my life, but when aman gits to where he thinks he kin put overa whizzer on God A'mighty an' git awaywith it—it's pretty close to cashin' in timefer him." He stared for a moment at hissix-gun before he returned it to its holster."There's them that's got a better right tohim than me," he muttered, "but at that, my

finger was jest a-twitcherin' on thetrigger."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TEXAN TAKES THETRAIL

At the mouth of the coulee, JanetMcWhorter stared in astonishment as theTexan swung into the saddle and headedthe big blue roan up the ravine at a run. Amoment later the bay mare was following,the girl plying quirt and spur in anendeavour to keep the flying horseman insight. The roan's pace slackened, and thebay mare closed up the distance. The girlcould see that the man was leaning farover studying the ground as he rode.

Suddenly, without a moment's hesitationhe turned into a side coulee, gained thebench, and headed straight for the badlands. The pace was slower, now. TheTexan rode with his eyes glued to theground. She drew up beside him and, asshe expected, found that he was followingthe trail of two horses. The trail waseasily followed in the mud of the recentrains, and they made good time, dippinginto coulees, scrambling out, crossingridges. Purdy had evidently wasted notime in picking his trail, but had taken thecountry as it came, his one idea evidentlyhad been to gain the bad lands that loomedin the near distance.

"What will he do when he gets there?"wondered the girl, as she glanced into the

set face of the man who rode with his eyeson the tracks in the mud, "he can't followhim in. There won't be any trail."

True to her prediction, the Texan drew upat the edge of a black ridge that cutdiagonally into the treeless, soillesswaste. Since he had uttered Purdy's nameat the mouth of the coulee, he had spokenno word, and now, as he faced her, thegirl saw that his face looked tense anddrawn. "You've got to go back," he saidlooking straight into her eyes, "it's a blindtrail from here, an' God knows where itwill lead to."

"But—you—where are you going?"

"To find Purdy." There was a steely glintin the man's eyes, and his voice grated

harshly.

"But you can't find him!" she cried. "Heknows the bad lands. Purdy's a horse-thief, and if you did find him there wouldbe others. He's one of a gang, and—they'llkill you!"

The Texan nodded: "Maybe—an' then,again, maybe they won't. There's twosides to this killin' game."

"But you wouldn't have a chance."

"As long as I've got a gun, I've got achance—an' a good one."

The spirit of perversity that had promptedher to insist upon riding the blue roan,asserted itself, "I'm going with you," sheannounced. "I've got a gun, and I can

shoot."

"You're goin' home." The Texan spokequietly, yet with an air of finality thatbrooked no argument. The hot bloodmounted to the girl's face, and her eyesflashed. Her lips opened to frame an angryretort but the words were never spoken,for the Texan leaned suddenly toward herand his gauntleted hand rested lightly onher arm, "For God's sake, don't hinder—help!" There was no trace of harshnessin the voice—only intense appeal. Sheglanced into his eyes, and in their depthsread misery, pain, worry—the very soulof him was wrung with torture. He wasnot commanding now. This strong,masterful man was imploring help. A lumprose in her throat. Her eyes dropped

before his. She swallowed hard, andnodded: "All right—only—promise me—if you don't find him, you'll return to theranch tonight. You've got to eat, and Bluehas got to eat. I'll have a pack ready foryou to start again early in the morning."

"I promise," he said, simply. His glovedhand slipped from her sleeve and closedabout her own. Once more their eyes met,once more the girl felt the hot blood mountto her cheeks, and once more her glancefell before his. And then—he was goneand she was alone upon the edge of thebad lands, listening to catch thediminishing sound of his horse's hoofs onthe floor of the black coulee.

The sound died away. Minutes passed asshe sat staring out over the bad lands.

There was a strange ache at her throat, butin her heart welled a great gladness. Whatwas it she had read in his eyes—duringthe moment of that last glance? The pain,and the worry, and the misery were stillthere but something else was there also—something that leaped from his heartstraight to hers; something held in restraintthat burst through the restraint, overrodethe pain and the worry and the misery, andfor a brief instant blazed with an intensitythat seemed to devour her very soul.Slowly she raised the hand that hadreturned the firm, gentle pressure of hisclasp and drew the back of it across hercheek, then with a laugh that began happilyand ended in a choking sob, she turned themare toward home.

She rode slowly, her thoughts centredupon the Texan. She had liked him fromthe moment of their first meeting. Hiseagerness to return to the aid of his friend,his complete mastery of Blue, hisunhesitating plunge into the bad lands tofight against odds, all pointed to him as aman among men. "And, aside from allthat," she murmured, as she reached tosmooth the bay mare's mane, "There'ssomething about him—so wholesome—soclean—" Her words trailed into silence,and as her thoughts followed him into thetrailless maze of the bad lands, her fistsclenched tight, "Oh, I hope he won't findPurdy. They'll kill him."

She turned the mare into the corral, andentering the cabin, prepared her solitary

luncheon, and as she ate it her thoughtsretraced the events of the morning. Sheremembered how he had looked when shehad mentioned Purdy's name—thehorrified tone with which he had repeatedthe name—and how he had recoiled fromit as though from a blow. "What does heknow of Purdy?" she asked herself, "andwhy should the fact that Purdy had riddenaway with his friend have affected himso? Purdy wouldn't kill his friend—therehad been no sign of a struggle there on theriver bank. If the man went with Purdy, hewent of his own free will—even a horse-thief couldn't steal a full growncowpuncher without a struggle." She gaveit up, and busied herself with thepreparation of a pack of food for themorrow. "It seems as though I had known

him for years," she murmured, "and Inever laid eyes on him till this morning.But—Mr. Colston would never have madehim foreman, if he wasn't all right.Anyway, anybody with half sense can seethat by just looking into his eyes, and he'sreally handsome, too—I'll never forgethow he looked when I first saw him—standing there beside the haystack with hishat in his hand and his bandaged head—"she paused and frowned at the thought ofthat bandage, "I'll dress his woundtonight," she murmured "but—I wonder."

From time to time during the afternoon,she stepped to the door and glancedanxiously up and down the creek. At last,just at sundown, she saw a rider pausebefore the gate of the corral. She flew to

the door, and drew back hurriedly: "It'sthat horrid Long Bill Kearney," shemuttered, in disappointment, "disreputableold coot! He ought to be in jail along withother denizens of the bad lands. Dad surepicked a fine bunch of neighbours—allexcept the Cinnabar Joes—and they say heused to be a bartender—but he's a niceman—I like him."

Long Bill rode on, and glancing out thewindow Janet saw a fragment of paperflapping in the wind. She hurried to thecorral and removing the paper that hadbeen secured to a post by means of asliver of wood, read it hurriedly. Theblood receded slowly from her face, and agreat weight seemed pressing upon herheart. She reread the paper carefully word

for word. This Texan, then, was a manwith a price on his head. He was no betterthan Purdy, and Long Bill, and all theothers. And now she knew why there wastatting on the bandage! She turnedindifferently at a sound from the directionof the barn, and hurriedly thrust the paperinto the bosom of her grey flannel shirt asMcWhorter appeared around the corner ofthe haystack.

Once into the bad lands the Texan slowedthe blue roan to a walk, and riding in longsweeping semicircles, methodicallysearched for Purdy's trail. With set faceand narrowed eyes the man studied every

foot of the ground, at times throwinghimself from the saddle for closer scrutinyof some obscure mark or misplaced stone.So great was his anxiety to overtake thepair that his slow pace became a veritabletorture. And at times his struggle to keepfrom putting spurs to his horse and dashingwildly on, amounted almost to physicalviolence.

Bitterly he blamed himself for AliceEndicott's plight. He raved and cursed likea madman, and for long periods wassilent, his eyes hot and burning with theintensity of his hate for Purdy. Graduallythe hopelessness of picking up the trailamong the rocks and disintegrated lava,forced itself upon him. More than once inutter despair and misery of soul, he drew

the six-gun from its holster and gazed longand hungrily at its blue-black barrel. Oneshot, and—oblivion. His was the blame.He sought no excuse—no palliation ofresponsibility. This woman had trustedhim—had risked life and happiness toprotect him from the bullets of the mob—and he had failed her—had abandoned herto a fate worse—a thousand times worsethan death. Sweat stood upon his foreheadin cold beads as he thought of hercompletely in the power of Purdy. Hecould never face Win—worst of all hecould never face himself. Night and day aslong as he should live the torture would beupon him. There could be but one end—madness—unless, he glanced again at thelong blue barrel of his Colt. With an oathhe jammed it into its holster. The coward's

way out! The girl still lived. Purdy stilllives—and while Purdy lives his work iscut out for him. Later—perhaps—but, firsthe must find Purdy. On and on he rodepausing now and then to scan the horizonand the ridges and coulees between, forsight of some living, moving thing. Butalways it was the same—silence—the hotdead silence of the bad lands. With thepassing of the hours the torture becameless acute. The bitter self-recriminationceased, and the chaos of emotion withinhis brain shaped and crystallized into asingle overmastering purpose. He wouldfind Purdy. He would kill him. Nothingelse mattered. A day—a year—ten years—it did not matter. He would find Purdyand kill him. He would not kill himquickly. Purdy must have time to think—

plenty of time to think. The man evensmiled grimly as he devised anddiscarded various plans. "They're all tooeasy—too gentle. I'll leave it to Old Bat—he's Injun—he'll know. An' if Bat washere he'd pick up the trail." A wild idea ofcrossing the river and fetching Bat flashedinto his mind, but he banished it. "Bat'llcome," he muttered, with conviction."He's found out before this that I've gonean' he'll come."

As the sun sank below the horizon, theTexan turned his horse towardMcWhorter's. He paused on a rocky spurfor one last look over the bad lands, andraising his gauntleted fist, he shook it inthe face of the solitude: "I'll get you!Damn you! Damn you!"

As he whirled his horse and headed himout into the open bench, a squat, bow-legged man peered out from behind a rock,not fifty feet from where the Texan had sathis horse. A tuft of hair protruded from ahole in the crown of his battered hat as hefingered his stubby beard: "Pretty damnlively for a corpse," grinned the squatman, "an' he will git him, too. An' if thatthere gal wasn't safe at Cinnabar Joe's, I'dsee that he got him tonight. It looks fromhere as if God A'mighty's gittin' ready tocall Purdy's bluff."

CHAPTER XIX

AT McWHORTER'S RANCH

Colin McWhorter was a man of longsilences. A big framed, black-beardedgiant of a man, he commanded the respectof all who knew him, and the friendship offew. His ranch, his sheep, his daughterwere things that concerned him—the restof the world was for others. Twice eachyear, on the twentieth of June and the thirdof December, he locked himself in hisroom and drank himself very drunk. At allother times he was very sober. No one,not even Janet, knew the significance of

those dates. All the girl knew was thatwith deadly certainty when the dayarrived her father would be locked in hisroom, and that on the third day thereafterhe would unlock the door and come out ofthe room, shaken in nerve and body,dispose of an armful of empty bottles,resume his daily routine, and never byword or look would he refer to the matter.

These semi-annual sprees had been amongthe girl's earliest recollections. They hadcome as regularly and as certainly as thepassing of the seasons, and she had cometo accept them as a matter of course. JanetMcWhorter stood in no fear of her father,yet never had she brought herself toventure one word of remonstrance, noroffer one word of sympathy. His

neighbours accepted the fact as theyaccepted McWhorter—with respect. Ifthey wondered, they continued to wonder,for so far as anyone knew nobody hadever had the temerity to seek knowledge atits fountain head.

McWhorter's habit of silence was notengendered by any feeling of aloofness—cowpunchers, sheep-men, horse-thieves,or nesters—all were welcome at hiscabin, and while they talked, McWhorterlistened—listened and smoked his blackpipe. With Janet he was as sparing ofwords as with others. Father and daughterunderstood each other perfectly—lovedeach other with a strange undemonstrativelove that was as unfaltering as theenduring hills.

The moment McWhorter came upon thegirl at the gate of the corral he sensed thatsomething was wrong. She had greetedhim as usual but as he watched her walk tothe cabin, he noted an unwonted wearinessin her steps, and a slight drooping of hersquare shoulders. Unsaddling his horse, heturned him into the corral with the baymare. He noted the absence of the bigroan. "Been tryin' to ride Blue, an' he gotaway from her," he thought; "weel, she'lltell me aboot it, if so."

While Janet placed supper on the table herfather washed noisily at the bench besidethe door, then entered, and took his placeat the table. The meal progressed insilence, and in silence McWhorter, as washis custom, helped the girl wash and dry

the dishes and put them away on theirshelves. This done, he filled his blackpipe and seated himself in the chair. Inanother chair drawn close beside the biglamp, Janet pretended to read a magazine,while at every muffled night sound, hereyes flew to the window.

"Wheer's Blue," asked McWhorter, as heknocked the ashes from his pipe andrefilled it.

"I loaned him to a man who came here onfoot."

"From the bad lands?"

"No. From the river. He's Mr. Colston'srange foreman and he and—and somebodyelse were crossing the river on Long Bill's

ferry and the cable broke, and the boatcame ashore above here."

"An' the ither—did the ither come?"

"No. That's why he borrowed Blue—tohunt for the other."

"An' ye rode wi' 'um? I see the mare's be'nrode."

Janet nodded: "Yes, I rode with him as faras the bad lands, and then—he sent meback."

McWhorter puffed for some minutes insilence: "Think you he will come here thenight?"

"Yes—unless something happens."

"An' that's what's worrin' ye—thatsomething might happen him—oot theer?What wad ye think could happen?"

"Why—why—lots of things couldhappen," she glanced at her father,wondering at his unwonted loquacity.

The man caught the look: "Ye'll be thinkin'I'll be talkin' o'er much," he said, "butye've found out befoor this, when theer'swords to be said I can say 'em." The man'svoice suddenly softened: "Come, lass, 'tisye're own happiness I'm thinkin' of—ye'vena one else. Is he some braw young bladethat rode that de'el of a Blue wi'oot halftryin'? An' did he speak ye fair? An' is hegude to look on—a man to tak' the ee o'the weemin'? Is ut so?" The girl stood atthe window peering out into the darkness,

and receiving no answer, McWhortercontinued: "If that's the way of ut, tak' yeheed. I know the breed o' commoncowpunchers—they're a braw lot, an'they've takin' ways—but in theer heartsthey're triflin' gude-for-naughts, wi' naregard for God, mon, nor the de'el."

"He's not a common cowpuncher!"defended the girl hotly, she had turnedfrom the window and stood facing thestern faced Scotchman with flushedcheeks. Then the words of the hand-billseemed to burn into her brain. "He's—he's—if he were a common cowpuncher Mr.Colston would never have made himforeman," she concluded lamely.

McWhorter nodded gravely: "Aye, lass—but, when all is said an' done, what

Colston wants—what he hires an' paysfor, is cowpunchin'—the work o' the headan' hands. Gin an mon does his work,Colston wadna gi' a fiddle bow for what'si' the heart o' him. But, wi' a lass an' a mon—'tis different. 'Tis then if the heart isclean, it little matters that he whirls hisloop fair, or sits his leather like a plough-boy."

"What's this nonsense," cried the girl,angrily, "—this talk about choosing aman? I never saw him till today! I hatemen!"

McWhorter finished his pipe, returned itto his pocket and stepping into his ownroom reappeared a moment later with apair of heavy blankets which he laid onthe table. "I'm goin' to bed, for I must be

early to the lambin' camp. I'm thinkin' theyoung mon will not return the night—but ifhe does, here's blankets." He stood for amoment looking down at the girl with asnear an expression of tenderness as thestern eyes allowed: "My little lass," hemurmured, as though speaking to himself,"I ha' made ye angry wi' my chatter—an' Iam glad. The anger will pass—an' 'twillset ye thinkin'—that, an' what's here on thepaper." Reaching into his pocket he drewout a hand-bill and tossed it upon theblankets. "'Tis na news to ye, bein' Imistrust, the same as the one ye concealedin ye're bosom by the corral gate—'twasseein' that loosed my tongue. For, I loveye, lass—an' 'twad be sair hard to see yespend ye're life repentin' the mistake of amoment. A mon 'twad steal anither's wife,

wad scarce hold high his ain. Gude night."McWhorter turned abruptly, and passinginto his own room, shut the door.

Standing beside the table, Janet watchedthe door close behind her father. Theanger was gone from her heart, asMcWhorter had said it would go, and inits place was a wild desire to throwherself into his arms as she used to dolong, long ago—to sob her heart outagainst his big breast, and to feel his bighand awkwardly stroking her hair, as hemuttered over and over again: "Theer,theer wee lassie, theer, theer"—soothingwords—those, that had eased her babyhurts and her childish heartaches—sheremembered how she used to press herlittle ear close against his coarse shirt to

hear the words rumble deep down in thegreat chest. He had been a good father tohis motherless little girl—had ColinMcWhorter.

The girl turned impulsively toward theclosed door, hot tears brimming her eyes.One step, and she stopped tense andlistening. Yes, there it was again—thesound of horse's hoofs. Dashing the tearsfrom her eyes she flung open the outerdoor and stood framed in the oblong ofyellow lamplight. Whoever it was had notstopped at the corral, but was riding ontoward the cabin. A figure loomedsuddenly out of the dark and the Texandrew up before the door.

"You here alone?" he inquired, stoopingslightly to peer past her into the cabin,

"'cause if you are, I'll go on to the lambin'camp."

"No, Dad's here," she answered, "he'sgone to bed."

The man dismounted. "Got any oats?" heasked, as he turned toward the corral."Blue's a good horse, an' I'd like him tohave more'n just hay. I may ride him hard,tomorrow."

"Yes—wait." The girl turned back into thecabin and came out with a lighted lantern."I'll go with you. They're in the stable."

Side by side they walked to the corral,where she held the lantern while theTexan stripped off the saddle. "Got ahalter? I ain't goin' to turn him in with the

others. They'd nose him out of his oats, orelse worry him so he couldn't eatcomfortable."

"Blue's never been in the stable—and he'snever eaten oats. He don't know what theyare."

"It's time he learnt, then," he smiled, "but,I don't reckon he'll kick up any fuss. Ahorse will do anything you want him to,once you get him mastered."

"Like women, aren't they?" the girl askedmaliciously, as she handed him the halter.

The Texan adjusted the halter, deftlyslipped the bridle from beneath it, andglanced quizzically into her face: "Thinkso?" he countered, "reckon I never run

across any that was mastered." At the doorof the stable the horse paused, sniffedsuspiciously, and pulled back on the halterrope. "Just step away with the lantern sohe can't see what's ahead of him, an' he'llcome—won't you, Blue?"

"They wouldn't any of them come if theycould see what's ahead, would they?"

The Texan peered into the girl's face but itwas deep in the shadows, "Maybe not," heagreed, "I expect it's a good thing for allof us that we can't see—what's ahead."The man abruptly transferred his attentionto the horse; gently slapping his neck andpulling playfully at his twitching ears. Hisvoice dropped into a soothing monotone:"Come on, you old Blue, you. You oldfraud, tryin' to make out like you're afraid.

Come on—take a chance. There's oats, an'hay, an' beddin' a foot thick in there. An' agood stall to stand in instead of millin'around a corral all night." The ropeslackened, and securing a firm grip on thehalter, the Texan edged slowly toward thedoor, the horse following with nervous,mincing steps, and nostrils aquiver. Fromher place beside the corral, the girlwatched in astonishment as man and horsepassed from sight. From the black interiorof the stable the voice of the Texansounded its monotonous drone, andpresently the man himself appeared andtaking the lantern returned to attend to thehorse. Alone in the darkness, Janetwondered. She knew the big blue roan,and she had expected a fight. A fewminutes later the man reappeared,

chuckling: "He's learnt what oats are," hesaid, "ate 'em out of my hand, first. Nowhe's goin' after 'em like he'd tear thebottom out of the feed box. I wonder ifyour Dad would sell Blue? I'll buy him,an' gentle him, an' then——"

"And then—what?" asked the girl after amoment of silence. She received noanswer, and with a trace of impatience sherepeated the question. "What would youdo then?"

"Why—then," answered the man,abstractedly, "I don't know. I was justthinkin' maybe it ain't such a good thingafter all we can't see farther ahead."

"Did you find your friend?" Janet askedabruptly, as they walked toward the house.

"No." In spite of herself, the deadtonelessness of the man's voice arousedher to sudden pity. She remembered thepain and the misery in his eyes. Perhapsafter all, he loved this woman—loved herhonestly—yet, how could he love honestlyanother man's wife? Her lips tightened, asshe led the way into the house, andwithout a word, busied herself at thestove.

Hat in hand, the Texan stood beside thetable, and as his glance strayed from thegirl, it fell upon a small square of paperupon a fold of a blanket. Mechanically heglanced at the printed lines, and at the firstword, snatched the paper from the tableand held it to the light.

The girl turned at the sound: "Oh!" she

cried, and stepped swiftly forward as if toseize it from his hand. Her face wasflaming red: "Dad left it there—and then—you came—and I—I—forgot it."

The man read the last word and carefullyreturned the paper to the table. "I didn'taim to read your papers," he apologized,"but I couldn't help seein' my own name—an' hers—an' I thought I had the right—didn't I have the right?"

"Yes," answered the girl, "of course youhad the right. Only I—we—didn't leave itthere on purpose. It——"

"It don't make any difference how it cometo be there," he said dully, and as hepassed his hand heavily across his brow,she saw that his fingers fumbled for a

moment on the bandage. "The news gotaround right quick. It was only last night."

"Long Bill Kearney stuck one on thecorral post, and he left some at thelambing camp."

"Long Bill, eh?" The man repeated thename mechanically, with his eyes on thesquare of paper, while the girl pushed theblankets back and placed dishes upon thetable.

"You must eat, now," she reminded him,as she filled his plate and poured a cup ofsteaming coffee.

The Texan drew up a chair and ate insilence. When he had finished he rolled acigarette: "One hundred dollars," he said,

as though speaking to himself, "that's aright pickyune reward to offer for a full-grown man. Why, there's over a thousandfor Cass Grimshaw."

"Cass Grimshaw is a horse-thief.Apparently, horses are held in higherregard than mere wives."

Tex disregarded the withering sarcasm.He answered, evenly, "Looks that way. Isuppose they figure a man could stealmore of 'em."

"And now that Purdy has stolen her fromyou, will you continue the search, or lookaround for another. Surely, wives arecheap—another hundred dollars oughtn'tto make any difference."

"No. Another hundred won't make anydifference. Win Endicott was a fool topost that reward. It makes things look bad——"

"Look bad!" cried the girl, angrily. "Couldit look any worse than it is?"

"No," agreed the Texan, "not with Purdyinto it, it couldn't."

"Because, now—he'll probably claim thereward he and Long Bill—and you willhave had your trouble for your pains."

"Claim the reward!" exclaimed the Texan.To the girl's surprise he seemed to graspat the thought as a drowning man wouldgrasp at a straw. There was a new light inhis eyes and the words seemed to hold a

ray of hope. "Do you suppose he would?Would he hold her safe for a thousanddollars? Prob'ly he'll try to get more!" Theman talked rapidly in short jerkysentences. "How'd Long Bill cross theriver? Have those two got together? DoesPurdy know about the reward?"

"Long Bill was riding——"

"Purdy's horse?"

"Not the one Purdy rode today—but, Ithink I've seen Purdy ride that horse."

"But, why did they go on spreadin' thesebills? Why didn't they keep it tothemselves?" The girl shook her head, andafter a few moments of silence, duringwhich his fists opened and closed as if

striving to grasp at the truth, the Texanspoke: "Maybe if they had the girl hidaway safe, they wanted folks to be on thelookout for me." He pushed back his chairabruptly and as he stood up the girlindicated the blankets, and the package offood.

"Here are blankets," she said, "and thereis grub for tomorrow. There is a bunk inthe loft——"

The Texan gathered the things into hisarms: "Never mind the bunk," he said, "I'llsleep in the hay. I'll be wanting an earlystart. You've helped, girl," he said lookingstraight into her eyes, "you've guessedwrong—but you've helped—maybe morethan you know. I reckon Win wasn't such afool with his reward after all," and before

she could frame a reply, the man hadopened the door and disappeared into thenight.

CHAPTER XX

AT CINNABAR JOE'S

Along toward the middle of the afternoonCinnabar Joe laid down his hammer andsmilingly accepted the sandwich his wifeheld out to him. "You sure don't figure onstarvin' me none, Jennie," he grinned as hebit generously into the thick morsel.

"Ranchin's some different frombartendin'—an' you're workin' awful hard,Joe." She surveyed the half-completedstable with critical eye: "Couple moreweeks an' it'll be done!" she exclaimed inadmiration, "I didn't know you was so

handy. Look over to the house."

Cinnabar looked: "Gee! Curtains in thewindow! Looks like a regular outfit,now."

"Do you like 'em—honest? I didn't thinkyou'd even notice they was hung." With thepride of new proprietorship, her eyestravelled over the tiny log cabin, the horsecorral with its new peeled posts, and thestable which still lacked the roof: "Weain't be'n here quite two months, an' thebest part is, we done it all ourselves.Why, Joe, I can't hardly believe we'vereally got an outfit of our own—withhorses an' two hundred an' fifty head ofcattle! It don't seem real. Seems like I'mbound to wake up an hear Hank roarin' togit up an' git breakfast. That's the way it

ended so many times—my dream. I'm sosick of hotels I hope I'll never see anotherone all my life!"

"You an' me both! It's the same withbartendin'. But you ain't a-goin' to wakeup. This here's real!"

"Oh, I hope we can make a go of it!" criedthe girl, a momentary shadow upon herface, "I hope nothin' happens——"

Her husband laid his hand affectionatelyupon her shoulder: "They ain't nothin'goin' to happen," he reassured her, "we'vegot to make a go of it! What with all bothof us has be'n able to save, an' with thebank stakin' us fer agin as much—theyain't no two ways about it—we've got tomake good."

"Who's that?" asked the girl, shading hereyes with her hand, and peering towardthe mouth of a coulee that gave into RedSand Creek from the direction of the badlands. Cinnabar followed her gaze andboth watched a horseman who, from theshelter of a cutbank seemed to besubmitting the larger valley to a mostcareful scrutiny.

"One of them horse-thieves, I guess,"ventured, the girl, in a tone of disgust, "Iwisht, Joe, you wouldn't have no truckwith 'em."

"I don't have no dealin's with 'em, exceptto keep my mouth shut an' haul their stuffout from town—same as all the otherranchers down in here does. A manwouldn't last long down here that didn't—

they'd put him out of business. You don'tneed to fear I'll throw in with 'em. I guessif a man can tend bar for six years an' staystraight—straight enough so the bank ain'tafraid to match his pile an' shove themoney out through the window to him—there ain't much chance he won't staystraight ranchin'."

"It ain't that, Joe!" the girl hastened toassure him, "I never would married you ifI hadn't know'd you was square. I don'twant nothin' to do with them crooks—I'vegot a feelin' that, somehow, they'll throw itinto you."

"About the only ones there is around hereis Cass Grimshaw's gang an' outside ofrunnin' off horses, Cass Grimshaw's on thelevel—everyone knows that."

"Well," replied the girl, doubtfully,"maybe they might be one horse-thief likethat—but a whole gang—if they was thatsquare they wouldn't be horse-thieves."

"What Cass says goes——"

"Look at comin', yonder!" interruptedJennie, pointing to the lone rider, "if itain't that low-down Jack Purdy, I'll jumpin the crick!" At the mention of the nameof Purdy, Cinnabar Joe startedperceptibly. His wife noticed themovement, slight as it was—noted also, inone swift sidewise glance, that his facepaled slightly under its new-found tan, andthat a furtive—almost a hunted look hadcrept into his eyes. Did her husband fearthis man, and if so—why? A suddennameless fear gripped her heart. She

stepped close to Cinnabar Joe's side asthough in some unaccountable way heneeded her protection, and together theywaited for the approaching rider. Theman's horse splashed noisily into thecreek, lowered his head to drink, but therider jerked viciously on the reins so thatthe cruel spade bit pinked the foam at theanimal's lips. Spurring the horse up thebank, he stopped before them, grinning."'Lo Cinnabar! 'Lo, Jennie! Heard you'dlocated on Red Sand, an' thought I'd runover an' look you up—bein' as we'reneighbours."

"Neighbours!" cried the girl, inundisguised disgust, "Lord! I know'd thebad lands was bad enough—but I didn'tthink they was that bad. I thought you was

plumb out of the country or dead, longbefore this!"

The man leered insolently: "Oh, you did,eh? Well, I ain't out of the country—an' Iain't dead—by a hell of a ways! I guessCinnabar wouldn't sob none if I was dead.You don't seem tickled to death to see an'old pal."

"Sure, you're welcome here, Jack. Anyoneis. Anything I can do for you?"

The man seemed to pay no attention to thewords, and swinging from the saddle,threw an arm over the horn, and surveyedthe outfit with a sneering grin: "Saved upenough to start you an outfit of yer own,eh? You ought to done pretty good tendin'bar for six years, with what you got paid,

an' what you could knock down. Go to it!I'm for you. The better you do, the betterI'll like it."

"What I've saved, I've earnt," repliedCinnabar evenly.

"Oh, sure—a man earns all he gits—nomatter how he gits it. Even if it's shootin'up his old pals an' grabbin' off thereward."

Cinnabar's face went a shade paler, but hemade no reply and the other turned toJennie. "You go to the house—me an'Cinnabar wants to make medicine."

"You go to the devil!" flashed the girl."Who do you think you are anyhow? Tryin'to order me around on my own ranch! If

you've got anything to say, just you goahead an' spit it out—don't mind me."

"Kind of sassy, ain't you? If you was mine,I'd of took that out of you before this—orI'd of broke you in two."

"If I was yourn!" cried the girlcontemptuously, "if you was the last manin the world, I'd of et wolf poison beforeI'd be'n seen on the street with you. I'vegot your number. I didn't work in the hotelat Wolf River as long as I did, not to beonto your curves. You're a nasty dirtylow-down skunk—an' that's the best canbe said about you! Now, I guess you knowhow you stand around here. Shoot off whatyou got to say, an' then take your dirty hideoff this ranch an' don't come back!"

"I guess Cinnabar won't say that," sneeredthe man, white with rage, "you don't hearhim orderin' me off the place, do you—an'you won't neither. What I've got on him'llhold you for a while. You're holdin' yernose high—now. But, you wait—you'llpay fer them words you said when thetime comes—an' you'll pay my way!"

Jennie's face went suddenly white andCinnabar Joe stepped forward, his eyesnarrowed to slits: "Shut up!" he said,evenly, "or I'll kill you."

Purdy glanced into the narrowed eyes ofthe ex-bartender, and his own glance fell.Cinnabar Joe was a man to be reckonedwith. Purdy had seen that peculiar squintleap into the man's eyes once or twicebefore—and each time a man had died—

swiftly, and neatly. The horse-thieflaughed, uneasily: "I was only jokin'.What do I care what the women say?Come on over here a piece, an' I'll tell youwhat I want. You asked me if there wasanything you could do."

"Say it here," answered Cinnabar withouttaking his eyes from the man's face.

Purdy shrugged: "All right. But first let metell you somethin' fer yer own good. Don'tkill me! I've got three pals not so far fromhere that's in on—well, you know what. Itold 'em the whole story—an' if anythinghappens to me—up you go—see? An' ifyou try to double-cross me—up you go,too. You git that, do you? Well, here'swhat you got to do. It ain't much. I've got aboarder fer you. It's a woman. Keep her

here fer a week, an' don't let anyone knowshe's here. Then I'll come an' git her.That's all!"

"Who is she, an' what you goin' to do withher?"

"That ain't none of yer damn business!"snapped Purdy, "an' mind you don't try tobushwhack me, an' don't let no one knowshe's here, or you'll spend the rest of yourlife in Deer Lodge—an' me an' Jennie'llrun the outfit——"

With a cry Jennie threw herself upon herhusband who, unarmed, had launchedhimself at Purdy. "Joe! Joe! He'll kill you!He's got his guns!" she shrieked, and heldon the tighter as Cinnabar struggledblindly to free himself. Purdy vaulted into

his saddle and dashed across the creek.Upon the opposite side he jerked his horseto a stand, and with a wave of his hand,indicated the coulee down which he hadcome: "She's up there a piece on a cayusetied to a tree. Go get her—she's had a hardride."

Cinnabar succeeded in freeing himselffrom his wife's grasp, and dashed for thehouse. Purdy stopped speaking abruptlyand spurring his horse madly, whirled anddashed for the shelter of a cottonwoodgrove. As he plunged into the thicket a guncracked behind him, and a piece of barkflew from the side of a tree not a foot fromhis head. "The damn fool! I wonder if heknew I was lyin' about tellin' the others.He sure as hell was shootin' to kill—an'

he damn near called my bluff!"

Working out of the thicket into the mouthof a deep coulee, Purdy rode rapidly intothe bad lands.

Three or four miles from the hang-out ofthe Grimshaw gang, was a rocky gorgethat had become the clandestine meetingplace of the four who sought to break theyoke of Grimshaw's domination. Unlikethe cave, the place was not suited towithstand a siege, but a water-holesupplied moisture for a considerable areaof grass, and made a convenient place toturn the horses loose while theconspirators lay among the rocks andplotted the downfall of their chief. Purdymade straight for this gorge, and found theother three waiting.

"Where in hell you be'n?" asked one, "webe'n here sence noon." Purdy eyed thespeaker with contempt: "Who wants toknow?" he asked and receiving no answer,continued, "where I be'n is my business.Why don't you ask Cass where he's be'n,sometime? If you fellers are goin' tofollow my lead, I'll be boss—an' whereI've be'n is my own business."

"That's right," assented one of the others,in a conciliating tone. "Don't git toscrappin' amongst ourselves. What wewanted to tell you: the Flyin' A's raid isoff."

"Off!" cried Purdy, "what do you mean,off?"

"Cass told me this noon. The IX rodeo has

worked down this side of the mountains,an' it'll be a week before the slope's clearof riders."

Purdy broke into a torrent of curses. TheFlying A horse raid, planned for that verynight, was to have been the end of CassGrimshaw. He was to have been potted byhis own men—both Cass and his loyalhenchman, Bill.

After a few moments Purdy quieted down.He rolled a cigarette and as he smoked hisbrows knitted into a frown. Finally heslapped his leg. "All right, then—he'lltake it where he gits it!" The otherswaited. "It's this way," he explained, "weain't got time to dope it all today—but behere tomorrow noon. Tonight everythinggoes as usual—tomorrow night, Cass

Grimshaw goes to hell—an' it'll be thePurdy gang then, an' we won't stop athorse-runnin' neither." The men lookedfrom one to the other, uneasily. "It's betterthis way anyhow," announced Purdy,"we'll bump him off, an' collect thereward. I know a feller that'll collect it—I've got somethin' on him—he's got to."

"We're all in the gang," muttered the manwho had asked Purdy where he had been,"looks like if you had somethin' onsomeone you'd let us all in."

"Not by a damn sight! If I did, what wouldkeep you from double-crossin' me, an'goin' after him yerselves. All you got to dois be here tomorrow noon—then we'll cutthe cards to see who does the trick."

Grumbling dubiously, the men caught uptheir horses, and scattering approached thehang-out from different directions. AsPurdy rode he scowled blackly, cursingvenomously the heavens overhead, theearth beneath, and all the inhabitantsthereof. "I overplayed my hand when Imade Cinnabar sore," he muttered. "Buthe'll come around in a week. Trouble is,I've took too much on. Cass an' Bill'll gittheirn tomorrow night, that'll give me timeto git organized, an' horn the pilgrim out ofhis five thousan', an' git it over with by thetwentieth when old McWhorter's due ferhis lonesome jag, an' then fer three daysI'll have my own way with the girl—an'when I've had her fer three days—she'llnever go back!" A sudden thought struckhim, and he pulled up and gazed toward

Red Sand while a devilish gleam playedin his narrowed eyes. "Gawd," hemuttered, "drunk as he gits, the shackcould burn to the ground—it's every manfer hisself—might's well play safe. An'after that comes Cinnabar's turn—an'another woman's goin' to pay fer bein' freewith her tongue. Then the Wolf Riverbank. Damn 'em!" he cried, suddenly, "I'llclean 'em all! I'm smarter'n the wholemess of 'em. I'm a killer! I'm the last of theloboes! Cass depended on friends, but me—the name of Purdy'll chill their guts!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE PASSING OF LONGBILL KEARNEY

It was yet dark when the Texan rolledfrom the blankets at the edge ofMcWhorter's haystack, and dumped aliberal measure of oats into the blue roan'sfeed box. While the animal ate, the mancarefully examined his outfit by the lightof the waning moon. Gun, cinch, bridle,saddle, rope, each came in for its bit ofcareful scrutiny, and when he had finishedhe saddled and bridled the horse in thestall and led him out just as the first faint

hint of dawn greyed the east. As he swunginto the saddle, the horse tried to sink hishead, but the Texan held him up, "Not thismornin', old hand," he said, soothingly, "itwastes strength, an' I've got a hunch thatmaybe I'm goin' to need every poundyou've got in you." As if recognizing thevoice of a master, the horse gave one ortwo half-hearted jumps, and stretched intoan easy lope. As the coulee began to slantto the bench the man pulled him down to awalk which became a steady trot when thehigher level was gained.

The Texan rode with a much lighter heartthan he had carried on the previous day.The words of Janet McWhorter hadkindled a ray of hope—a hope that hadgrown brighter with the dawning of the

day. He even smiled as he thought of thegirl back there in the cabin. "I didn't thinkthere was her like in the world. She's—she's the kind of woman a man dreamsabout, an' knows all the time they ain't real—they couldn't be. Hair as black an' shinyas the wing of a crow. An' eyes!Sometimes you can see way down into 'em—like deep, clear water an' when theylaugh, the surface seems to ripple an'throw back flashes of sunshine. An' there'sother times, too. They can look at you hardan' grey—like a man's eyes. An' they canget black an' stormy—with lightnin'flashes instead of sunshine. There's awoman for some man—an' believe me, hebetter be some man! He'd have to be to gether." The man dreamed a jumbled, rosydream for a mile or more. "An' she can

ride, an' shoot, leastwise she packs a gun—an' I bet she can use it. I've seen theseridin', shootin' kind—lots of 'em—an'mostly, they don't sort of stack up to whata man would want to marry—makes youkind of wonder if they wouldn't expect theman to rock the cradle—but not her—she'sdifferent—she's all girl. After Win's wife—I never expected to see another one—but, shucks—she said there was more—an' she was right—partly—there's onemore. I'm goin' to hunt a job over on thisside—" his train of thought haltedabruptly, and involuntarily, his gazefastened upon the blue-black peaks of theJudith range to the southward across theriver. His gloved hand smote his leatherchaps with a crack that made the blue roanjump sidewise: "I'll be damned if I do!" he

exclaimed aloud, "I'll go straight back toDad Colston! I'll tell him the whole thing—he'll know—he'll understand an' if he'llgive me my job back I'll—I'll buy me amile of cable an' rig up Long Bill's ferryright plumb across to the mouth of RedSand! I don't want her till I've earnt her—but there ain't no one else goin' to comesnoopin' around—not onless he's a betterman than I am—an' if he is, he ought towin."

At the edge of the bad lands the Texanpulled up in the shelter of a twisted bullpine that grew from the top of a narrowridge, and banishing all thought of the girlfrom his mind, concentrated upon the workat hand. He knew Purdy for just what hewas. Knew his base brutishness of soul—

knew his insatiable greed—and it wasupon this latter trait that he based hishope. Carefully he weighed the chances.He knew how Purdy must hate the pilgrimfor the shooting back at Wolf River. Heknew that the man's unreasoning hatewould extend to the girl herself. He knewthat Purdy hated him, and that if he foundout through Long Bill that he had beenwith her, the man's hate would beredoubled. And he knew that even in theabsence of any hatred on the part of Purdy,no woman would be safe in his hands. Tooffset unreasoning hate and bestial desirewas only the man's greed. And greedwould be a factor only if Purdy knew ofthe reward. The fact that Long Bill hadridden one of Purdy's horses addedstrength to the assumption that they had

been in touch. "A thousan' dollars is toomuch money for Purdy to pass up,"muttered the Texan as his eyes swept thedead plain. "He knows he'd have todeliver her safe an' unharmed, an' thechances are he'd figure he could make Winshell out a good bit more'n the thousan'.Anyhow, if Long Bill ain't got back acrossthe river yet, I've got two chances oflocatin' her instead of one."

The Texan's attention riveted upon a spotless than a quarter of a mile away. Abovethe edge of a low cutbank, that formed thewall of a shallow coulee a thin curl ofsmoke rose and was immediatelydispersed. So fleeting was the glimpsethat he was not sure his eyes had notplayed him false. Long and intently he

stared at the spot—yes, there it was again,—a gossamer wraith, so illusive as to bescarcely distinguishable from the bluehaze of early dawn. Easing his horse fromthe ridge, he worked him toward the spot,being careful to keep within the shelter ofa coulee that slanted diagonally into theone from which the smoke rose. Ahundred yards from his objective hedismounted, removed his spurs, andcrawled stealthily toward the rim of thecutbank. When within arm's reach of theedge he drew his gun, and removing hishat, wriggled forward until he could thrusthis face into a tuft of bunch grass thatprojected over the edge.

Not ten feet below him Long Bill Kearneysquatted beside a tiny fire and toasted a

strip of bacon upon the point of a longknife. Long Bill was alone. A shortdistance away a cayuse stood saddled andbridled. Noiselessly the Texan got to hisfeet and stood looking down at the man bythe fire. The man did not move. Greasedripped from the bacon and little tonguesof red flame curled upward, licking at thestrip on the knife. The strip curled andshrivelled, and slipping from the point,dropped into the fire. Cursing andgrumbling, the man fished it out with theknife, and removing the clinging ashesupon his sleeve, conveyed it to his mouthwith his fingers. From a greasy paperbeside him he drew another strip andaffixed it on the point of the knife. As hethrust it toward the fire he paused, andglanced uneasily toward the cayuse which

dozed with drooping head and one rearfoot resting upon the toe. Apparentlysatisfied, he resumed his toasting, but amoment later restlessly raised his head,and scrutinized the lower reach of thecoulee. Looking over his shoulder hesubmitted the upper reach to like scrutiny.Then he scanned the opposite rim whilethe bacon shrivelled and the little redflames licked at the knife blade. Finally asif drawn by some unseen force hedeliberately raised his face upward—andfound himself staring straight into the eyesof the Texan who had thrust the gun backinto its holster. Seconds passed—longtense seconds during which the man'shands went limp, and the knife droppedunheeded into the fire, and the baconburned to a charcoal in the little red flame.

His lower jaw had sagged, exposing longyellow fangs, but his eyes held withterrible fascination upon the cold stare ofthe Texan.

"My Gawd!" he muttered, thickly when hecould endure the silence no longer, "I—we—thought you was drownded."

"Oh, we did, did we? But we was afraid Iwasn't so we went ahead an' spread thosebills. Well, I'm here—do you want thatreward?"

The question seemed to inspire Long Billwith a gleam of hope. He struggled to hisfeet: "Lord, no! Not me, Tex. I just tuckthem papers 'long 'cause——"

"Where's the girl?"

"What girl—you mean the pilgrim'swoman? I donno—s'elp me—I donnonawthin' 'bout it."

"Where's Purdy?"

"Who? Purdy? Him? I donno. I ain't seenhim. I ain't seen him fer—it's goin' on ahell of a while. Last time I seen him——"

The sentence was never finished. Lightlyas a cat the body of the Texan shotdownward and hardly had his feet touchedthe ground than a gloved fist drove straightinto Long Bill's face. The man crashedheavily backward and lay moaning andwhimpering like a hurt puppy. Stepping tohis side the Texan kicked him in the ribs:"Get up!" he commanded.

With a grunt of pain, the man struggled toa sitting posture. A thin trickle of bloodoozed from the corner of his mouth. Heraised a shaky hand to his face andinserting a long black nailed forefingerbetween his puffed lips, ran it along theinner edge of his gums and drew forth ayellow tooth. Leaning forward he spat outa mouthful of blood, and another toothclicked audibly upon the rocks. With theother hand he felt gingerly of his side:"You've knocked out my teeth," hesnivelled, "an' broke my rib."

"An' I ain't only just started. I'm goin' toknock out the rest of 'em, an' break the restof your ribs—one at a time. You've gotyour guns on, why don't you shoot?"

"You'd kill me 'fore I c'd draw," whined

the man.

"You've got me—exact. Stand on your feet—it's too far to reach when I want to hityou again." The man got to his feet andstood cowering before the Texan.

"Now you answer me—an' answer mestraight. Every time you lie I'm goin' toknock you down—an' every time youdrop, I'm goin' to kick you up again.Where's that girl?"

"Purdy's got her."

"Where?"

"Over—over to the hang-out."

"What hang-out?"

"Cass Grimshaw's—" Again the Texan'sfist shot out, again Long Bill crumpledupon the floor of the coulee, and again theTexan kicked him to his feet, where hestood shrinking against the cutbank withhis hands pressed to his face. He wasblubbering openly, the sound issuing frombetween the crushed lips in a low-pitched,moaning tremolo—a disgusting sound,coming from a full-grown man—like thepule of a brainless thing.

The Texan shook him, roughly: "Shut up!Where's Purdy? I know Cass Grimshaw.Don't try to tell me he's into any such dirtywork as this."

"Purdy's in Grimshaw's gang," yammeredthe man, "Grimshaw ain't in on it—onlyPurdy. If she ain't in the hang-out, I don't

know where she's at. Purdy wouldn't tellme. He'd be afraid I'd double-cross him."

"What's he goin' to do with her?"

"Git the reward."

"An', you're in on it? You're the go-between?"

The man shrank still farther back againstthe wall: "Yes."

"When are you goin' to collect it?"

"Yeste'day a week——"

Once more the Texan's fist drew back, butthe man grovelled against the dirt wall,holding his hands weakly before hisbattered face: "Not agin! Not agin! Fer

Gawd's sakes! I kin prove it! Here's thepaper! Kill me when you read it—but ferGawd's sakes don't hit me no more!"Fumbling in his shirt pocket, he drew outthe note Purdy had written and signed withthe Texan's name. Carefully Tex read itand thrust it into his pocket.

"Where's Grimshaw's hang-out?" heasked, in a voice of deadly quiet.

"It's in a coulee—ten miles from here. Acoulee with rock sides, an' a rock floor. Adeep coulee. Ride straight fer PinnacleButte an' you'll come to it. It's up thecoulee, in a cave."

The Texan nodded: "All right. You can gonow. But, remember, if you've lied to me,I'll hunt you down. I ought to kill you

anyway—for this." He tapped the pocketwhere he had placed the note.

"Purdy writ it—I can't write. I ain't lyin'.It's there—the cave—west side—crack inthe rock wall." The man was so evidentlysincere that the Texan grinned at him:

"An' you think when I go bustin' in on 'em,they'll just naturally fill me so full of holesmy hide won't hold rainwater—is that it?You wait till I tell Cass Grimshaw you'resneakin' around tippin' folks off to hishang-out. Looks to me like Long BillKearney's got to kiss the bad lands good-bye, no matter which way the cat jumps."

A look of horror crept into the man's faceat the words. He advanced a step,trembling visibly: "Fer Gawd's sakes,

Tex, you wouldn't do that! I'm a friend ofyourn. You wouldn't double-cross afriend. Cass, he'd kill me just as sure ashe'd kill a rattlesnake if it bit him!"

"An' that's jest about what's happened."Both men started at the sound of the voiceand glancing upward, saw a man standingat almost the exact spot where the Texanhad stood upon the edge of the cutbank. Hewas a squat, bow-legged man, and a tuft ofhair stuck grotesquely from a hole in thecrown of his hat. With a shrill yaup ofterror Long Bill jerked a gun from itsholster and fired upward. The report wasfollowed instantly by another and the tallform in the coulee whirled half around,sagged slowly at the knees, and crashedheavily forward upon its face.

"Glad he draw'd first," remarked CassGrimshaw, as he shoved a fresh cartridgeinto his gun. "It give him a chanct to dielike a man, even if he ain't never lived likeone."

CHAPTER XXII

CASS GRIMSHAW—HORSE-THIEF

Lowering himself over the edge, CassGrimshaw dropped to the floor of thecoulee, where he squatted with his back tothe cutbank, and rolled a cigarette. "Seenthe smoke, an' come over to see who wascampin' here," he imparted, "then I runonto McWhorter's roan, an' I knowed itwas you—seen you ridin' him yesterday.So I slipped over an' tuk a front row seat—you sure worked him over thorough,Tex—an' if anyone needed it, he did. Set

down an' tell me what's on yer mind. Iheard you'd pulled yer freight after thatthere fake lynchin' last year."

The Texan squatted beside the horse-thief."Be'n over on the other side—Y Bar," heimparted briefly. "Cass, I need your help."

The other nodded: "I mistrusted youwould. Name it."

"In the first place, is Purdy one of yourgang? Long Bill said so—but I didn'tbelieve him."

"Why?"

"Well—he ain't the stripe I thought you'dpick."

The outlaw grinned: "Make a mistake

sometimes, same as other folks—yup Ipicked him."

The Texan frowned: "I'm sorry, Cass. Youan' I've be'n friends for a long while. But—Cass, I'm goin' to get Purdy. If I've gotto go to your hang-out an' fight your wholegang—I'm goin' to get him!"

"Help yerself," Grimshaw grinned, "an'just to show you there's no hard feelin's,I'll let the tail go with the hide—there'sthree others you c'n have along with him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you don't get him before supper,I'll have to. The four of 'em's got tired ofthe horse game. Banks an' railroad trainslooks better to them. I'm too slow fer 'em.

They're tired of me, an' tonight they aim tokill me an' Bill Harlow—which they'rewelcome to if they can git away with it."

An answering grin twisted the lips of theTexan: "Keep pretty well posted—don'tyou, Cass?"

"Where'd I be now, if I didn't? But aboutthis woman business—I told Purdy to letthe women alone—but you can't tell thatbird nothin'. He knows it all—an' thensome. Is she your woman, an' how comePurdy to have her?"

"No, she ain't mine—she's the wife of thepilgrim—the one we didn't lynch, thatnight——"

Grimshaw shook his head: "Bad business,

Tex—mixin' up with other men's wives.Leads to trouble every time—there'senough single ones—an' even then——"

Tex interrupted him: "It ain't that kind of amixup. This is on the level. She an' I wason Long Bill's ferry, an' the drift piled upagainst us so bad I had to cut the cable.We drifted ashore this side of Red Sand,an' while I was gone to get some horses,Purdy come along an' made off with her. Ifollowed an' lost Purdy's trail here in thebad lands—I was half crazy yesterday,thinkin' of her bein' in Purdy's clutches—but, today, it ain't so bad. If I find herquick there's a chance she's safe." Hepaused and drew from his pocket thefolded hand-bill. "The pilgrim offered areward, an' Purdy aims to get it."

The other glanced at the bill: "I seen one,"he said, gruffly. For a moment he puffedrapidly upon his cigarette, threw away thebutt, and looked the Texan squarely in theeye: "There's a couple of things about thatbill I've wanted to know. You've told meabout the woman part. But the rest of it?What in hell you be'n doin' to have areward up fer you? You spoke a mouthfulwhen you said we'd be'n friends—we'refriends yet. It's a friend that's talkin' to younow—an' one that knows what he's talkin'about. You're a damn fool! A young bucklike you, which if you'd stay straight couldbe foreman of any outfit on the range—an'mebbe git one of his own started afterwhile—goin' an' gittin' hisself outlawed!Fer God's sake, man—you don't knowwhat you've gone up against—but—me—I

know! How bad be you in?" The Texanstarted to speak, but the other interrupted."If it ain't bad—if a matter of a thousan' orso will square it—you go an' fix it up. I'vegot the money—an' it ain't doin' me nogood—nor no one else, cached out in anold iron kettle. You take it an' git straight—an' then you stay straight!"

The Texan laughed: "There ain't nothin'against me—that is nothin' that amounts toanything. I got a few drinks in me, an'cleaned out the Red Front saloon over inTimber City an' because I wouldn't letHod Blake arrest me an' shove me in hisdamned little jail, he stuck up the reward.I'll just ride over when I get time, an'claim the reward myself—an' use themoney to pay my fine with—that part's a

joke."

As Grimshaw joined in the laugh, theTexan leaned over and laid his hand onthe man's shoulder: "But, I won't forget—Cass."

The man brushed away the hand: "Aw,hell! That's all right. You'd of made a hell-winder of an outlaw, but the best of 'eman' the worst of 'em—there's nothin' aheadof us—but that." He jerked his thumb inthe direction of the body of Long Bill thatlay sprawled where it had fallen andchanged the subject abruptly. "Thewoman's safe, all right—she's over toCinnabar Joe's."

"Cinnabar Joe's!"

"Yes, Cinnabar an' that there Jennie thatused to work in the Wolf River Hotel, theymarried up an' started 'em a little outfitover on Red Sand—couple hundred headof dogies. Purdy's got somethin' onCinnabar, an'——"

"Somethin' on him!" exclaimed Tex,"Cinnabar's white clean through! Whatcould Purdy have on him?"

Grimshaw rolled another cigarette:"Cinnabar's be'n in this country around sixyears. Him bein' more'n six year old, itstands to reason he done quite a bit oflivin' 'fore he come here. Where'd hecome from? Where'd you come from?Where'd I come from? Where'd anyoneyou know come from? You might of be'nornery as hell in Texas, or New Mexico,

or Colorado—an' I might of be'n apreacher in California, or Nevada. All weknow is that 'long as we've know'd himCinnabar's be'n on the level—an' that's allwe're entitled to know—an' all we want toknow. Whatever Cinnabar wassomewhere's else, ain't nobody's business.Nobody's, that is, but Purdy's. He madehis brag in the hang-out one night thatwhen the time come, he'd tap Cinnabar ferhis pile——"

"The damned dirty hound!"

"That's sayin' it ladylike," grinned theoutlaw, "I told him Cinnabar was a friendof mine an' he was to keep off him, butPurdy, he's plumb disregardful of advice.Anyways, the woman's safe. Purdy'sfigurin' on leavin' her there while he

dickers fer the reward."

The Texan rose to his feet: "Where didyou say I'd find Purdy?" he asked. Theother consulted his watch. "It's nine-thirty.At noon he'll be at the water hole, fourmile north of the hang-out. Up till then theyain't no hurry. We'll plant him first, an'then I'll go along—me an' Bill Harlow——"

The Texan shook his head: "No Cass, thisis my job. It's a long score I've got tosettle with Purdy—startin' back a year. Itleads off with a cut cinch. Then, there wasthe booze that Cinnabar Joe doped——"

"Cinnabar?"

"Yeh, when he was tendin' bar. I can see

through it, now—since you told aboutPurdy havin' somethin' on him. Purdy gothim to do it——"

"I don't believe Cinnabar'd of done that nomatter what Purdy had on him."

"But he did, though. Then he switched theglasses, an' drunk it himself——"

"Some man!"

"I'll tell a hand! An' that same night Purdytook the pilgrim's girl out on the bench, an'dragged her off her horse——"

"I heard about it."

"An' then, yesterday, he found herunconscious there by the river." TheTexan paused and when he continued his

voice was low. "An' you know, an' I knowwhat would have happened, if Long Billhadn't showed up with those bills—an'then signin' my name to that letter to thepilgrim demandin' five thousan' dollars—an' last of all I owe him one for ridin'Cinnabar the way he's doin—I ain't forgotthose switched drinks."

Cass Grimshaw nodded: "Quite a score tosettle, take it first an' last," he paused, andthe Texan noticed a peculiar twinkle in hiseye.

"What's the joke?" he asked.

"There ain't no joke about it—only I wasthinkin', mebbe you'd left out somethin'."

"Left out somethin'?"

"Yeh. What you think would of happened,an' what would of happened out here inthe bad lands, if Long Bill hadn't comealong is two different things. I was trailin'Purdy from the time he hit the bad landswith the girl. I wanted to find out what hisgame was an' when he run onto Long Bill Isnuck up an' listened to their powwow.When I found out he aimed to take her toCinnabar's, I figured, like you did, thatshe'd be safe, so I kind of loafed around tosee if you wouldn't be along."

"You keep awful close cases on Purdy."

"Yeh—couple of pretty good reasons. Iknew he was plottin' to bump me off, an' Ikind of had some curiosity to find outwhen they figured on pullin' the job. But,mostly, it was on account of McWhorter's

gal——"

"McWhorter's girl!" cried Tex, "what'sMcWhorter's girl got to do with it?"

"Nothin'—except that Purdy's be'n buzzin'around tryin' to get her—an' I don't meanmarry her, neither—an' when he found outthey wasn't nothin' doin'—that he didn'tstand snake-high with her, he figured ongittin' her, anyway——"

"God!" The single spoken word groundbetween the Texan's tight-drawn lips, andas Grimshaw looked he noted that thegloved fists were clenched hard.

The outlaw nodded: "That's what I meantabout leavin' out an' item—main item, too—I hope. You see, I seen you two ridin'

together yesterday—when you sent herback home at the edge of the bad lands.An' that's what made me so damn madwhen I thought you'd gone an' gotoutlawed, an' was mixin' it up with thishere other woman. The man that gitsMcWhorter's gal don't want his trailtangled up with other men's wives. Marryher, Tex—an' take her out of this damnneck of the woods! Take her across to theother side."

The Texan met the man's eyes squarely:"I'm goin' to," he answered,—"if she'llhave me."

"Have you, man! Make her have you!"

"I aim to," smiled the Texan, andGrimshaw noted that behind the smile was

a ring of determination. "So you've be'nkind of—of lookin' out fer her, Cass?"

"Who the hell was they to do it, but me?"answered the man, roughly, "McWhorter'sbusy up to the lambin'-camp, miles away—an' she's there alone." The man paused,his face working strangely, "By God! IfPurdy'd laid a finger on her I'd of—of torehim to pieces!" The Texan stared—surprised at the terrible savagery of thetone. The man continued, his voicedropped low: "It was that that outlawedme, years ago—killin' the damn reptilethat ruined my little girl. I stood by thelaw, them days. He was arrested an' hadhis trial—an' they give him a year! Oneyear for that! She died before he was out—her, an' the baby both. An' he died the

day he got out—an' I was outlawed—an'I'm damn proud of it!"

The Texan reached out and gripped theman's hand: "I'm goin' after Purdy now,"he said quietly. "But first, I'll help youwith him."

It was but the work of a few moments toraise the body of Long Bill to the bench bymeans of a rope, carry it to a nearby mudcrack, drop it in and cave a ton of mudonto it. As they raised him from the couleeGrimshaw had removed his guns: "Bettertake one of these along," he cautioned,"Purdy packs two—one inside his shirt—an' the dirty hound carries a squeezer inhis pocket—don't play him fer dead tillhe's damn good an' dead, or he'll git you.Better let me an' Bill go along—there's

four of 'em—we'll leave Purdy fer you—he's the only one that kin shoot right good—but the others might edge in on you, atthat." The Texan shook his head as heexamined the guns, carefully testing themas to action and balance. He selected one,and handed the other to Grimshaw.

"No, Cass, this is my job an' I'm goin'through with it."

The outlaw gave minute directionsconcerning the lay of the land, and a fewwords of excellent advice. "I've got alittle scoutin' around to do first," heconcluded, "but sometime along in theafternoon me an' Bill will drift around thatway to see how you're gittin' along. If theyshould happen to git you don't worry—mean' Bill, we'll take care of what's left of

'em."

The Texan swung into the saddle: "Solong, Cass."

"So long, boy. Good luck to you—an'remember to watch Purdy's other hand."

CHAPTER XXIII

CINNABAR JOE TELLS ASTORY

Before Cinnabar Joe could fire again atthe fleeing Purdy, his wife reached thedoor of the cabin and knocked his gun-barrel up so that the bullet spedharmlessly into the air. "Don't! Don't Joe!"she screamed, "he said—there was others,an' they'd——"

"I don't care a damn what he said! If theothers don't spill it, he will. It ain't no use,an' I'd ruther git it over with."

Jennie noticed the dull hopelessness of thetone and her very soul seemed to diewithin her. "Oh, what is it, Joe?" shefaltered, "what's Purdy got on you? Whatyou gone an' done? Tell me, Joe!" Theman laid the six-gun on the table and facedher with set lips. "Wait!" she cried beforehe could speak, "he said they was awoman—in the coulee. They'll be plentyof time to tell me, after you've got herhere. Hurry! He said she'd rode a longways. Chances is she ain't had nothin' toeat all day. An' while you're gone I'll gitthings fixed for her." Even as she talked,Jennie was busy at the stove, and withouta word Cinnabar left the room, crossedthe creek, and walked rapidly toward themouth of the coulee.

"It ain't no use," he repeated bitterly, "but,I'll git Purdy first—or he'll git me!"

Back in the cabin Jennie completed herarrangements, and stepping to the door,stood with an arm against the jamb andallowed her eyes to travel slowly over thenew horse corral and the unfinishedstable. Joe's tools lay as he had left themwhen she had interrupted his work to givehim the sandwich. Her fists clenched andshe bit her lip to keep back the tears. Thewind rustled the curtain in the windowand she caught her breath in a great drysob. "It is all a dream. It was too good tobe true—oh—well." A horse splashedthrough the creek and she saw Cinnabarcoming toward her leading a blaze-facedbuckskin. A woman was lashed in the

saddle, her feet secured by means of arope that passed beneath the horse's belly,her hands lashed to the horn, and her bodyheld in place by means of other strands ofrope that passed from horn to cantle. Herhat was gone and she sagged limplyforward, her disarranged hair falling overher face to mingle with the mane of thehorse. She looked like a dead woman.Hastening to meet them, Jennie pushedaside the hair and peered up into the whiteface: "My Lord!" she cried, "it's—it'sher!"

Cinnabar stared: "Do you know her?" heasked in surprise.

"Know her! Of course I know her! It's thepilgrim's girl—that he shot Purdy over.An' a pity he didn't kill him! That Tex

Benton, he got 'em acrost the bad lands—an' I heard they got married over inTimber City."

"Who Tex?"

"No, the pilgrim, of course! Get to worknow an' cut them ropes an' don't stand'round askin' fool questions. Carry her inan' lay her on the bed, an' get the whisky,an' see if that water's boilin' an' pull offher boots, an' stick some more wood in thestove, an' then you clear out till I get herondressed an' in bed!" And be it to theeverlasting credit of Cinnabar Joe that hecarried out these commands, each andseveral, in the order of their naming, andthen he walked slowly toward the stableand sat down upon the newly hewn silland rolled a cigarette. His tools lay ready

to his hand but he stared at them withoutenthusiasm. When the cigarette wasfinished he rolled another.

In the cabin Alice Endicott slowly openedher eyes. They swept the room wildly andfixed upon Jennie's face with a look ofhorror. "There, deary, you're all rightnow," Jennie patted her cheekreassuringly: "You're all right," sherepeated. "Don't you remember me—Jennie Dodds, that was? At the WolfRiver Hotel?"

Alice's lips moved feebly: "It must havebeen a horrible dream—I thought I wastied up—and I broke loose and saw LongBill and when I tried to get away therestood that horrible Purdy—and he said—"she closed her eyes and shuddered.

"I guess it wasn't no dream, at that. Purdybrung you here. But you're safe an' soundnow, deary. Jest you wait till I feed yousome of this soup. I'll guarantee you ain'tet this noon—an' prob'ly all day." Jenniemoved to the stove and returned a momentlater with a cup of steaming soup.Supporting her in a sitting posture, shedoled out the hot liquid by spoonfuls.Several times during the process Aliceendeavoured to speak but each time Jenniesoothed her to silence, and when the cupwas finally emptied her eyes closedwearily and she sank back onto thepillow.

Presently her eyes opened: "Where—where is Tex?" she asked, in a scarcelyaudible tone. "Was he here, too?"

"Tex! You mean Tex Benton? Law! I don'tknow! He ain't be'n seen sence that nightback in Wolf River."

"He didn't drown—and he's—somewhere—after Purdy—" the voice trailed off intosilence and at the bedside Jennie waiteduntil the regular breathing told her that thegirl had sunk into the deep sleep of utterexhaustion. Then, with a heavy heart, sheturned and stepped from the cabin, closingthe door softly behind her.

Out of the tail of his eye Cinnabar Joe sawhis wife step from the doorway. Rising,hastily from the sill he seized his hammerand began to pound industriously upon anail that had been driven home two daysbefore. And as he pounded, he whistled.He turned at the sound of his wife's voice.

She stood close beside him.

"Now, Joe Banks, don't you stand there an'whistle like a fool! They ain't no more awhistle in your heart than they is in mine!"There was a catch in her voice, and shesank down upon the sill. The whistlingceased, and with rough tendernessCinnabar laid a hand on her shoulder:

"It's tough on you, girl—after gittin' such agood start. When I told you awhile backthat there couldn't nothin' happen, Ioverlooked one bet—Purdy."

"Oh, what is it, Joe? What's he got on you?Come, Joe, tell me all about it. I marriedyou fer better or fer worse—I've took thebetter, an' I'd be a poor sport if I couldn'ttake the worse. Even if I didn't love you,

Joe, I'd stick. But I do love you—nomatter what you've got into. Tell me allabout it, an' we'll work it out—you an' me.You ain't be'n rustlin' horses, have you?An' the bank stakin' us 'cause they trustedus to make good! Oh, Joe—you ain't!Have you Joe?"

The fingers tightened reassuringly uponthe woman's shoulder and reassuring werethe words with which he answered theappeal of the eyes that looked imploringlyinto his own:

"No, no, girl—not that. Not nothin' I'vedone sence—sence I growed up. I'veplayed the game square sence then." Theman seated himself beside her upon thesill: "It's a long story an' starts back, let'ssee, I was seventeen then, an' now I'm

twenty-six—nine years ago, it was, I wasworkin' over near Goldfield in a mine.Everything was wide open them days an' Iwas jest a fool kid, spendin' my wagesfast as I got 'em, same as all the rest of theminers.

"Out of the riff-raff that worked there inthe mines was four men I throw'd in with.They'd drifted in from God knows where,an' they'd all be'n cowpunchers, an' theirtalk run mostly to the open range. Theywas counted hard in a camp that was madeup of hard men, an' they kep' pretty muchto theirselves. Somehow or other theykind of took a shine to me, an' it wasn'tlong till the five of us was thick asthieves. When we'd be lickered up, makin'the rounds of the saloons, men would edge

along an' give us room at the bar. Theydidn't want none of our meat; although wenever made no gun-play, they alwaysfiggered we would.

"Bein' a kid, that way, it made me feelmighty big an' important to be jammin'around with 'em. Lookin' back at it now,from my experience on the other side ofthe bar, I know that if that bunch haddrifted into a place I was runnin' I'd spothow my guns laid under the bar so's Icould reach 'em without lookin', you bet!

"There was Old Pete Bradley, one-eyed,he was, an' he didn't have no teeth butfalse ones that clicked when he talked an'rattled when he et. An' Mike Hinch, with aforetop of thick black hair that hung downover his eyes so it looked like he had to

squinch down to see in under it. An' ScarLamento, which he was a Dago orSpanish, an' had met up with an accidentthat tore his mouth down one corner so'she always looked like he was grinnin'. An'Wild Hoss Duffy. An' me. They wasn'tnone of 'em miners, an' they was alwayscussin' the mines an' wishin' they wasback in the cow-country, so, come spring,we decided to beat it.

"Duffy, he know'd where there was a wildhorse range up towards Idaho an' hewanted we should go up there an' huntwild horses. Scar Lamento, he claimedthere was more in it to go to Mexico an'start a revolution, an' Old Pete, an' MikeHinch, they had each of 'em some otheridee. But Duffy's horse range bein'

nearest, we decided to tackle it first. Westarted out with a pack outfit—too littlegrub, an' too much whisky—an' hit up intothe damnedest country of blazin' whiteflats an' dead mountains you ever heardtell of.

"To cut it short, we didn't get no wildhorses. We was lucky to git out of therealive. We et the pack horses one by one,an' almost two months later we come outover in Idaho. We killed a beef an' spent aweek eatin' an' restin' up an' drinkin' realwater, an' then we hit north. We wasbusted an' one evenin' we come to therailroad. A passenger train went by all litup an' folks settin' inside takin' it easy. Wepulled into a patch of timber an' the four of'em framed it up to hold up the next train. I

was scairt out of a year's growth but Istuck, an' they left me in the timber to holdthe horses. After a while a train comealong an' they flagged her down an' therewas a lot of shootin'—nobody hurt, theboys was just shootin' to scare the folks. Ididn't know that, though, an' believe me, Iwas scairt. I was jest gettin' ready to beatit, figgerin' that they'd all be'n killed, whenhere they come, an' they'd made a goodhaul, too. We rode all night an' skirtedthrough the mountains. Next mornin' weholed up. Old Pete, he said we'd dividethe stuff up after we'd slep so we allturned in but Scar which we posted himfer a lookout.

"It was plumb dark when I woke up—darkan' still. I laid there a while thinkin' the

others hadn't woke up yet. By an' by I gotup an' hunted around. They'd gone—pulledout on me! They hadn't even left me ahorse. There I was, afoot, an' no tellin'how far from anywheres or what directionit laid. I learned, then, what it was to hatemen. Fer a week I tromped through themmountains follerin' cricks an' crossin'divides. I et berries an' what little stuff Icould kill with rocks an' clubs. I killed adeer with my six-shooter an' laid aroundthree days eatin' on it. At last I come to aranch an' worked there a month an' thenworked around different places an' woundup in Cinnabar.

"I got a job drivin' dude wagons out ofthere an' Gardner, an' one evenin' I wascomin' down the trail with my dudes, nine

of 'em—an' out steps two men an' shovessix-guns in under my nose. I pulled up an'then I got a good look at 'em. It was OldPete Bradley, an' Wild Hoss Duffy! OldPete had me covered an' Wild Hoss wasgoin' through my dudes. Old Pete herecognized me about the same time I didhim—an' he grinned. He never grinnedagain! It was a fool thing to do, but I wasjest a kid—an' the dirt they'd done me wasstill fresh. I jerked out my gun an' begunshootin'. An' when I put it up Old Pete an'Wild Hoss was deader'n nits—an' I wasso crazy mad that I'd jumped offen the seatan' was trompin' 'em into the trail. Thedudes pulled me off, an' tuck up acollection an' give it to me, an' thecompany give me a reward, too. Therailroad an' the express company had

rewards out but I didn't dast try an' collect'em, 'cause how was I supposed to knowthey was the ones pulled the hold-up?

"Well, I got kind of notorious fer savin'the dudes an' I had a good thing there untilone day I seen a man hangin' around thedepot. It was Mike Hinch—an' that night Iblew. I worked around after that—cowpunchin', bartendin', minin' an' lots ofother jobs, but I never would stay long ina place—till I hit Wolf River an' seen you.I figgered if I had to make a stand itmight's well be there as anywheres so Istayed. I know'd Mike Hinch was on mytrail. It wasn't that I was afraid of him—afraid he'd shoot me—'cause I'd took careto get so good with a six-gun, eitherhanded, that he wouldn't stand no show.

But, I'd learnt my lesson—that crookedwork don't pay. I wanted to be on thelevel, an' I was afraid that Mike wouldsomehow tip me off fer that hold-up, to giteven for me killin' Old Pete an' WildHoss." Cinnabar paused and, his wife,who had been drinking in every wordleaned toward him eagerly:

"But, Purdy? How did Purdy git in on it?"

"I was comin' to that. A year ago, Purdyhad a little job of dirty work he wanteddone an' he come to me to do it. I told himwhere to head in at an' then he sprung—what I've jest told you. I pulled my gun an'covered him, but—somehow I couldn'tshoot him down in cold blood—not evenfer that. He'd left his guns off a purpose.Then he lit in an' told how he was ridin'

along Big Dry an' found a man layin' therewith his back broke, which his horse hadthrow'd him off. Purdy seen he was all inan' while he stood lookin' at him thefellow got to mutterin' about a hold-up.Purdy fetched him some water an' the man—he was Mike Hinch—begged him togive him his gun which had fell out of hisreach, so he could put hisself out ofmisery. Purdy thought if he was a hold-up,he'd have a cache somewheres, so hedickered with him, agreein' to pass himthe gun if he'd tell where his cache was.Mike said he didn't have no cache. Hewas headin' to Wolf River to horn somemoney out of me to keep him from tippin'off the sheriff that I was in on that hold-up.So Purdy give him his gun—an' he shothisself, but before he died he told Purdy

that he was the only one left of the gang—I'd bumped off two, an' Scar Lamento hadgot killed down in Mexico." Cinnabarremoved his hat and breathed deeply, "Sonow you've got it—straight. I'd ought totold you before—but, somehow—I kep'puttin' it off." He rose to his feet. "I'mgoin' out an' git Purdy, now—I'd ought todone it long ago."

Jennie rose and laid a hand on his arm:"Jest one thing more, Joe? That little jobof dirty work that Purdy wanted you to do—did you do it?"

Cinnabar grinned, "I did—an' I didn't. AskTex Benton—he knows."

"Tex Benton! That reminds me!" Jenniepaused and pointed toward the cabin. "In

there, she told me that Tex is huntin'Purdy. How it comes she's keepin' caseson Tex—an' her married—is more'n Iknow. But that's what she said."

Cinnabar stared at her: "Tex huntin'Purdy!" he cried, "well, if he is, it's good-night Purdy! An' I'm right now on my wayto help him. It means I'll do time, but I'llback up Tex's play, an' between the two ofus we'll git him."

Jennie shook her head: "No, Joe—not thatway."

"What do you mean 'not that way'?"

"It's like—murder——"

"Murder!" exclaimed Cinnabar, "it ain't nomurder to kill a skunk like him! He's got

us right where he wants us. This is onlythe beginnin' of what he'll do to us. If Idon't come acrost with whatever he says—up I go. An' if I do come acrost, up I goanyhow—he'll double-cross me jest to gitme out of the way—an' where'll you be?"

"Listen, Joe," the woman had risen andstood facing him, "it ain't right to gohuntin' him that way. I don't know if I c'nmake you see it—like I do. You ain't acoward, Joe—you've always comethrough like a man. Everyone knows that.But if you go huntin' Purdy it would bebecause you was afraid of him——"

"Afraid of him! I'll show you how muchI'm——"

"I don't mean that way, Joe! I know you

ain't afraid to shoot it out with him. What Imean is, you're afraid to have him runnin'around loose—afraid that if he squeals,you'll do time. Now, it would be prettyclost to murder if you killed a man, nomatter how ornery he is, jest to save yourown hide——"

"But it ain't my own hide—it's you!"

"Now you're gittin' down to it. An' it ain'tso much me right now, as it is that poorgirl in there. There's two of us here thatit's up to you to protect, an' the way to doit is to stay right here on the ranch till hecomes for her——"

"But that'll be a week! In the meantimePurdy might tip me off."

"No chanct fer that. With Tex on his trailhe ain't goin' to have no time for no tippin'off, an' he wouldn't anyway—not till he'dsqueezed you dry. It's like you said, this isonly the beginin'! When he's got everythinghe thinks he can git out of you, then he'lltip you off—an' not before. An' he's liableto show up here any minute—after her.When Tex begins to crowd him, he's goin'to try to make a git-away, with her. An'when he comes you make him wadethrough lead to git to the house! There'stwo guns in there, an' we'll keep oneloaded while you're keepin' the other onehot!"

"What if he gits away? If Tex don't git him—an' he don't come back here?"

"He won't git away, but if he does, you're

goin' to throw the saddle on your cayusean' ride to Wolf River, an' you're goin' tothe bank an' git your friends together an'tell 'em jest what you told me. Every manthere is your friend an' they'll see youthrough. They've know'd you fer six years—an' they'll know the same as I know thatthere ain't no sense in throwin' you in jailfer what happened there on the edge of thedesert. You done your time fer that whenyou was wanderin' through themmountains. You learnt your lesson then.An' it changed you from a fool kid thatwas headed straight to the devil into asquare man. That's what the prisons arefor—if they're any good—an' if themountains done the job first, why thereain't nothin' left fer the prison to do, isthere?"

"Tex Benton's a friend of mine, I'd oughtto be out there backin' up his play."

"You're backin' up his play better bystayin' here an protectin' that woman. He'strailin' Purdy to save her."

"But, even if we do git Purdy, there's theothers—his pals."

Jennie sniffed contemptuously: "I thoughtso, too, at first. But come to think it overyou can't tell me he ever let anyone else inon this! That was a raw bluff to save hisown hide. Why, his kind wouldn't trust oneanother nowheres with nothin'!"

Cinnabar removed his hat and ran hisfingers through his hair. "Women ain't gotno more education than what men has," he

said, thoughtfully, "but sure as hell theycan out-think 'em. I hope you're right alldown the line—an' I guess you are.Anyhow, you better be, 'cause I'm goin' todo it like you say." His eyes rested for amoment on the new cabin. "But if you'rewrong, an' back there in Wolf River theythink the slate ain't wiped clean, an' sendme up, an' the little outfit goes to the devil——"

His wife interrupted him: "Why, I'll getmy old job back, an' wait for you to gitout, an' we'll start all over again."

Cinnabar reached out and gathered the girlinto his arms: "Yes," he answered, withhis lips close to her ear, "an' either way,we'll know we done the best we know'dhow—an' that's all anyone can do."

CHAPTER XXIV

"ALL FRIENDSTOGETHER"

Old Bat, with Endicott following closely,led the way through the darkness backalong Timber City's main street. At thecorner of the livery stable he paused:"W'ere you hoss?"

"Why, I—wait, I'll step across to the hoteland borrow one of Colston's." The half-breed nodded, and hurrying across thestreet Endicott entered the office of thehostelry. His appearance was the signal

for a sudden awkward silence among thehalf-dozen men that sprawled in the chairsor leaned against the cigar case. Endicott'sglance swept the faces of the men:"Where's Mr. Colston?" he asked.

The man with the long moustache, the onewho had informed him that the ferry-boatstill floated, opened a door that gave intothe rambling interior: "Hey!" he called,loudly, "'s Y Bar went up?"

From the region beyond came an answerand the moustached one turned toEndicott: "Yup, he's went up. Don't knowwhat room's his'n, but jest holler when yougit to the top of the stairs, he ain't got tosleep yet."

At the head of the stairs Endicott paused, a

light showed through the crack at thebottom of a door, and he knocked. Thedoor opened and Colston, in undershirtand trousers, bade him enter.

Endicott shook his head, "No I want toborrow a horse."

"Goin' after 'em?" asked Colston. "Well,help yourself. The Y Bar horses are yours,now. But if I was you I'd wait right here inTimber City. A man that ain't used to therange will get lost at night before he'sgone three miles. The chances are you'llnever reach the river—and what are yougoing to do when you get there?"

"I'm going to cross—somehow. I'm goingto find my wife. As for getting lost, OldBat is going with me—or rather I'm going

with him."

"Bat! What's he doing here?"

"Found out that the Texan had pulled outand came to get him. He knows Tex betterthan anyone knows him. He had guessedpretty accurately what was coming offhere today, and he rode over to take theTexan back home."

Colston nodded: "Go ahead. If Old Batstarts on the trail you'll find your wife."He laid a hand on Endicott's shoulder,"and just bear in mind that when you dofind her, you'll find her all right! I, too,know the Texan. He's been more like—like a son to me than an employee. Theboy's got his faults—but he's a man!Barring the possibility of an accident on

the river, you'll find 'em safe an' sound—an', when you do find 'em, mind you bring'em both back. You're goin' to need Tex."

Endicott nodded: "I'll remember," he said,"and when we return, you have the papersready, and we'll close the deal."

While the barn dogs saddled Endicott'shorse, Old Bat led the way to the alleybetween the livery barn and the saloon,and throwing himself upon his belly,lighted matches and studied certain markson the ground. Satisfied at length heregained his feet.

"What are you hunting for?" Endicottasked.

"Hoss tracks. Tex, she ain' got hee's own

hoss. Me, A'm wan' know w'at kin' trackA'm foller w'en we git 'cross de riv'."

"How are we going to cross?" askedEndicott as they swung along the trail at abrisk trot.

"We ain' 'cross yet. Firs', we swing downde riv'. We comin' to de ranch. Plent'ranch on dis side along de riv'. We git deboat."

"But, the horses? We can't take the horsesin the boat."

"We com' w'ere we need de hoss we hontde ranch an' git mor' hoss."

At the river they halted for a few momentsbefore heading down stream, and Endicottshuddered as he gazed out over the drift-

choked surface of the flood. Old Batdevined what was passing in his mind.

"De riv', she look lak hell w'en you stan'an' see her go pas'. But she ain' so bad shelook. W'en de boat git een de wattaire sheron so fas' lak de res', an' she 'bout desam' lak she stan' still."

"Yes—but the boat—the heavy ferry—they couldn't handle her in the water."

"Dey ain' got for han'l. De riv' she han'l.W'en de boat com' on de plac', w'at youcall, de ben'—w'ere de riv' she mak' deturn, de boat she gon git shov' on de bank.Mebbe-so dey don' gon on de bank, w'ende daylight com' some wan see um an'com' in de boat an' tak' um off."

Bat struck off down the river withEndicott following. After an hour's ridethrough the darkness they came to a ranch.Bat opened and closed the wire gate andled the way along the winding wagon roadto the house, a log affair, nestled in a deepcoulee. A dog rushed from the darknessand set up a furious barking, dodging inand out among the legs of the horses in afrenzy of excitement. A light appeared inthe window and as the two riders drew upbefore the door it opened, a man thrust hishead out and swore at the dog. When theanimal subsided he peered at thehorsemen: "Whut's up?" he growledsurlily.

"Have you a boat?" Endicott asked.

"A boat! What the hell am I runnin', a cow

outfit or a summer resort? A boat! Ermebbe you think I fish fer a livin'? MebbeI'm runnin' a ferry? Mebbe I want the hulldamn country raisin' hell around here allnight! No, I hain't got no boat! An' I neverhad none, an' don't want none!" The man'ssenseless anger seemed to increase asthough the imputation that he might haveowned a boat were in some way an insult."What the hell would I want of a boat?"his voice rose almost to a scream, and heshook his fist almost in Bat's face.

The old half-breed leaned slightlyforward in the saddle: "W'at de hell! W'atde hell! W'at de hell you wan' wit deponch on de nose—but you git wan jes' desam'!" As he spoke, his fist shot out andlanded squarely in the man's face, and as

he staggered back into the cabin, the half-breed put spurs to his horse and the tworode swiftly into the dark. "Dat do umgood—mebbe-so nex' tam som' wan com''long he ain' stan' an' holler 'W'at de hell!W'at de hell!' so mooch."

A boat was procured at the fourth ranch,and turning the horses into the corral, thetwo pushed out into the river. Daylightwas beginning to break and, keeping closein, they scanned the shore eagerly for signof Long Bill's ferry. Hour after hour theydrifted, Endicott overruling Bat'ssuggestion that they stop for food. It wassometime after noon that the half-breedstood up and pointed toward the otherside. "A'm t'ink mebbe-so de boat on deodder side. 'Long tam A'm watch de drift.

De heavy stuff—de tree an' de beeg log,dey mos' all on odder side. A'm t'ink datbetter we cross. A'm t'ink dat boat lan'befor' dis—we com' pas' it."

"But how are we ever going to buck thiscurrent? If we've past it we'll have to goup stream to find it."

"We hont de ranch an' git de hoss an' ride'long de edge."

"But, suppose they haven't landed?Suppose they've drifted on down?"

The half-breed shrugged: "S'pose dey gon'on down—we can't ketch um. Dey got debeeg start. De riv' she car' de ferry joostso fas' lak she car' de leetle boat. S'posedey gon' too far for ride back, dey com'

back on train. But, me—A'm t'ink dey lan'befor' dis. We com' bout feefty mile. Youfol' Ol' Bat—we fin' um."

The half-breed, who more than once thatday had proven himself more willing thanproficient with the oars, surrendered themto Endicott and for more than an hour theEasterner battled with the yellow, turgidflood before he finally succeeded indriving the boat ashore in the mouth of acoulee. Abandoning the boat, they struckout on foot up river where, a mile or moreabove they had passed fences. When theyfinally located the ranch house Endicottwas near to exhaustion.

It was mid-afternoon and he had eatennothing since the night before, everymuscle in his body ached from his labor at

the oars, and the skin of his feet wasrubbed raw by the grind of the high-heeledboots. The people at the ranch knewnothing of the wrecked ferry, the menholding with Bat, that the chances were ithad grounded far above. Declining theirinvitation to remain over till morning,Endicott procured horses and an amplesupply of food and, with the heartyapproval of Old Bat, the two struck out upthe river.

"He said it was nearly seventy miles toLong Bill Kearney's ferry crossing andonly three ranches between," said Endicottas the horses laboured out of a deepcoulee, "and if anything's happened totheir horses and they haven't struck one ofthose ranches, they're going to be in a bad

way."

"Dem all right. Dat Tex, she got de gun,she shoot de jack-rabbit, de leetle owl,mebbe-so de deer—dey ain' gon' hungryw'ile he got de gun."

It was slow work exploring the margin ofthe flood. The late darkness overtook themwith scarcely twenty miles of the distancecovered, and they camped on the top of ahigh bluff where they built up a huge firevisible for many miles up and down theriver. Daylight found them once more inthe saddle, exploring the mouths ofcoulees and scouring every foot of thescrub-bordered bank. It was nearly noonwhen, from the edge of a high cliff thatoverlooked the river, they caught sight ofthe abandoned ferry-boat. The crest of the

rise of water had passed in the night andthe boat lay with one corner fast aground.Putting spurs to the horses they raced backfrom the river until they reached a pointthat gave access to the coulee. The keeneyes of the half-breed picked up the tracksat the bottom of the ravine even before thehorses had completed the decent, and itwas with difficulty that he restrained theimpatient Endicott from plunging down theravine at the imminent risk of destroyingthe sign. Picketing the horses beside thetrail the two proceeded on foot, Old Bat inthe lead, bent slightly forward with hiseyes darting this way and that, studyingeach minutest detail of the disturbedground. Following closely, Endicott hungon each word and grunt and fragmentaryobservation of the old Indian. In vain he

plied Bat with eager questions but hemight as well have sought informationfrom the sphinx. The old man paid him notthe slightest attention but proceeded ondown the coulee pausing and staring at thesign for a full minute at a time, againalmost running with his eyes fixed on theground until brought up again, frowningand muttering by some new bafflingcombination of tracks. After what seemedan interminable length of time theyreached the mouth of the coulee whereEndicott sank wearily onto the end of thewater-logged boat and watched the half-breed work back and forth, back and forth,over the little strip of beach. Endicott hadlong ceased to ask questions and when atlast, Bat straightened up, removed his hat,and wiped the sweat from his forehead

upon the sleeve of his faded shirt, theinformation he conveyed was voluntary: "Iain' quite mak' it out. Firs' t'ing dey lan'here Tex, she ain' got on de boots. De'oman she sleep—mebbe-so w'at you call,knock out. Tex car' her an' lay her on degrass w'ere she leetle bit flat," he pausedand pointed to a spot that looked no whitdifferent from any other spot of grass toEndicott's untrained eyes. "Only wan hosslan'—dat Powder Face, an' ron lak hell upde coulee. Tex, she gon' up de coulee an'by'm'by he put on de boots an' climb oopon de bench. After w'ile com's a man on ahoss off de bench. He ketch oop PowderFace an' com' down here an' git de 'omanan' ride off—he lif her oop an' tie her onde saddle an' ride off leadin' PowderFace. By'm'by Tex com' long on beeg hoss

an' nodder man on leetle hoss. Tex git offan' look roun' an' fin' de 'oman gon'—hejoomp on de hoss an ride lak hell after deman an' de 'oman."

Endicott was staring, white-lipped into thehalf-breed's face. He leaped up and seizedthe man's arm roughly. "Did he catchthem?" he cried.

Bat shook his head: "Non—not yet. Wefol' 'long on de trail—we fin' dat out.Com' we git de hoss."

"But, maybe it was Tex who got here firstand rode away with her," cried Endicottas they hastened toward the picketedhorses. "Surely you can't tell from thosetracks——"

The other interrupted him: "Oui! De trackdon't lie. Ol' Bat, she know 'bout dat. Me—A'm know Tex track an' when she tromp'roun' she shov' de mud on de odder mantrack—eef de odder track ain' dere firs'how in hell Tex kin shov' de mud on it?"

"And this happened yesterday! Oh, Alice!Alice!" The man's voice broke on thename, and glancing into his face, Bat sawthat it glistened wet with the sweat oftorture.

As they mounted he offered a word ofadvice and encouragement: "Dat betteryou ain' los' de, w'at you call, de guts.Mebbe-so you 'oman all right. We fin' umsafe on som' ranch house."

The trail of the four horses was so plain

that even Endicott found no difficulty infollowing it across the bench. Bat struckinto a steady trot which was maintainedtill he pulled up sharply at a point wherethe trail dimmed to nothing upon the hardlava rock of the bad lands. The half-breedstudied the ground: "De leetle hoss turnback," he announced, "Tex, she gon' on in.He los' de trail, now—he ain' kin pick itoop in here—he ain' Injun. He', w'at youcall, goin' it blin'."

Unhesitatingly the old half-breed followedalong a ridge and dropped off into acoulee. He rode slowly, now, with hiseyes on the hard rocky ground. Severaltimes he dismounted and Endicott's heartsank as he watched him search, sometimesupon hands and knees. But always the old

man straightened up with a grunt ofsatisfaction and mounting proceededconfidently upon his course, although tryas he would, Endicott could discern noslightest mark or scratch that wouldindicate that anyone had passed that way."Are you really following a trail?" heasked, at length, as the Indian headed up acoulee whose wind-swept floor wasalmost solid rock.

The old man smiled: "Oui, A'm fol' detrail, all right. Two hoss, shod, mak' goodtrail for Injun. Eef dey swim een dewattaire lak de feesh, eef dey fly een deair lak de bird, Ol' Bat he no kin pick oopde trail—but, by Goss! Eef dey walk, orron, or stan' still dey got to mak' de signon de groun' an' me—A'm fin' dat out—"

The words died in his throat as he jerkedhis horse to a stand. From behind aprojecting shoulder of rock a man steppeddirectly into their path.

"Stick 'em up!" The command rang with ametallic hardness in the rock-walledcoulee, and Bat's hands flew upward.From the rear Endicott saw that the manwho barred the way was squat, bow-legged, and bearded, and that he held agun in either hand. For one sickeninginstant he thought of Alice in the power ofthis man, and reckless of consequences, heforced his horse to the fore. "Damn you!"he cried leaning forward in the saddle,"where's my wife?"

Old Bat cried out a warning, and thenstared in surprise at the man on the ground

who was returning his guns to theirholsters, and grinning as he did it.

"Damn me, where's your wife?" repeatedthe man, "ain't that a kind of a rough way,pardner, to ask a question of a stranger?Or mebbe you're jest na'chelly rough, an'can't help it." The metallic hardness wasgone from the voice. Endicott noticed thata tuft of hair stuck through a hole in thecrown of the man's hat, and that uponclose inspection the bearded face had lostits look of villainy.

"But—my wife!" he persisted, "youbrought her here! She——"

"Not me," interrupted the man, "I didn'tbring her nowheres. An' besides she ain'there."

"Where is she? And who did bring her!Speak up, man!"

"She's safe enough. You don't need toworry about her. She's over to CinnabarJoe's ranch on Red Sand. Purdy took herthere yesterday."

"Purdy!" shouted Endicott, "do you meanthe Purdy that——"

"Yup," interrupted the other, "the Purdythat you took a shot at a year ago an'creased. Why in hell couldn't you of shot ahalf an inch lower that night?"

"How do you know she's safe?" criedEndicott. "How do you know he ever tookher there? I wouldn't trust Purdy out of mysight!"

"You an' me both," grinned the man, "an', Ididn't. I trailed along from the time they hitthe bad lands till he delivered her at theranch. He's after the reward an' he had tokeep her safe."

"But the people at the ranch—thisCinnabar Joe?"

"Ace high all around—the breed, there, heknows 'em."

"How did Purdy know about the reward?"

"Long Bill Kearney, he brung the billsalong."

"Long Bill! He's another fine specimen!She's not safe as long as those twoscoundrels are at large. Where are theynow? And where's Tex?"

"Well, Long Bill, he's quite a piece awayfrom the bad lands by now. I 'spect hewishes he was back—but he won't comeback. An' Purdy, he's prob'ly wishin', bynow, that he'd listened to me. God knows,I tried to make a horse-thief out of him, butit wasn't no use—he's crooked. An' Tex,he's busy an' don't want to be disturbed."

"Busy?"

"Yup. Busy killin' some folks—Purdy an'some others. I wanted he should let me an'Bill Harlow go 'long an' help—but hewouldn't. Said he wanted to settle withPurdy hisself."

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Cass Grimshaw."

"Ha!" cried Bat, climbing from the saddle,"A'm lak A'm shake you han'. A'm know'bout you. You de bes' hoss-t'ief inMontana, sacre! Me—A'm Batiste XavierJean Jacques de Beaumont Lajune——"

"Is that one word—or several?" grinnedGrimshaw. "An' as long as we started inpassin' poseys back an' forth, I've heardtell of both of you birds. You're Tex's sidekick an' your regular name's Bat, ain't it?An' this here's the pilgrim that nickedPurdy over in Wolf River an' then cussedout the lynchin' party to their face, therebydisplayin' a set of red guts that wasentirely onlooked for in a pilgrim. So,bein' as we're all friends together, let's hitit out an' see how Tex is makin' it." Heturned to Endicott, "Onless you'd ruther hit

fer Cinnabar Joe's?"

Endicott shook his head: "No! If my wifeis safe, my place is right here beside Tex.This is my fight as much as it is his—moreso, for it's on her account he's afterPurdy."

"That's what I call a man!" exclaimedGrimshaw extending a hand whichEndicott shook heartily. "Here's a gun—but let me slip you the word to lay offPurdy. Nick away at the others, there'sthree more of 'em—or was—but Tex hewants Purdy. Of course if anything shouldhappen to Tex—that lets us in. We'll pickup Bill Harlow on the way. Come on, let'sride!"

And as they rode, Endicott smiled grimly

to himself. A horse-thief, a half-breed, andhe, Winthrop Adams Endicott, "all friendstogether." And in this friendship hesuddenly realized he felt nothing but pride.The feel of his galloping horse was good.He raised his eyes to the purpled peaks ofthe distant Bear Paws, and as he filled hislungs to their depths with the keen, cleanair his knees tightened upon his saddle, hisfingers involuntarily closed about the buttof the gun that protruded from thewaistband of his corduroy trousers. "Allfriends together," he muttered, and againhe smiled—grimly.

CHAPTER XXV

JANET PAYS A CALL

Janet McWhorter rose early upon themorning following her talk with the Texan.Dressing hurriedly, she blew out hercandle and hastened to the door. Towardthe east the coulee rim showed dimlyagainst the first faint blush of dawn. Shewondered if the Texan still slept andwhether she ought not to waken him andask him to breakfast. As she stood in thedoorway, man and horse emerged from thestable. She withdrew into the blackness ofthe room and in the dim light of the unborn

day watched him mount. She saw the bigroan try to sink his head. Noted the easewith which the man foiled the attempt.Heard the sound of his voice as he spoketo the unruly horse as one would speak toa mischievous child. Then, horse and riderdisappeared in the darkness of the valley.The girl stood there in the darkness untilthe sound of hoof-beats died away. Therewas a certain rugged grimness in thescene. It was like the moving finger of fate—this silent horseman riding away intothe dawn. Her lips moved: "I wish you—luck!" she breathed, "even if—even if—"She stepped from the cabin and glanced upat the paling stars. "Oh, I know!" sheexclaimed, bitterly, "I saw it in his eyewhen I mentioned the reward. It isn't thereward he wants—it's her!" Hastening to

the woodpile, she gathered kindlings andreturned to the house and prepared herfather's breakfast.

Neither by word or look did McWhorterrefer to the conversation of the eveningbefore. The meal concluded he betookhimself to the lambing-camp. Left alone,Janet washed and put away the dishes,tidied up the cabin, fed her orphan lambs,and looked after the little "hospital band"of sheep. Then she pitched a forkful of hayinto the corral for the bay mare andreturned to the cabin. Picking up amagazine, she threw herself into a chairand vainly endeavoured to interest herselfin its contents. Ten minutes later she flungthe magazine onto the table and, hasteninginto her own room, dressed for a ride.

Stepping to the wall she removed a six-gun and a belt of cartridges from a peg andbuckled the belt about her waist. Drawingthe gun from its holster, she examined itcritically. Her thoughts were of Purdy,now, and she shuddered: "I must never bewithout this—after yesterday." Shestepped to the door of the cabin andglanced about her. "He said the next timeit will be his turn—well, we'll see." Anempty tomato can lay on its side, its redlabel flapping in the breeze. Levelling thegun the girl fired and the tomato can wentspinning over the short-cropped buffalograss. And without stopping it kept onspinning as she continued to shoot, untilwith the last shot it came to rest, a rippedand battered thing a hundred feet away."Maybe it will be his turn—and maybe

not," she muttered grimly. "He's the oneperson in the world I could kill." Shecleaned the gun, reloaded it, and walkingto the corral, saddled the bay mare.

Cinnabar Joe sat in the doorway of hisunfinished stable and squinted down thebarrel of a high-power rifle. A six-shooterlay beside him on the sill, cleaned andoiled and loaded. "Shines like a lookin'glass," he observed, and throwing the gunto his shoulder, sighted at a rounded rockthat protruded from a cutbank a quarter ofa mile away. "If that had of be'n Purdy'shead, an' I'd of pulled the trigger—therewouldn't of be'n no more Purdy," hegrinned. "He better not stick his nose inthis here valley," he muttered, "but, at that,I'd ruther be out there huntin' him."

From beyond the stable came the sound ofgalloping hoofs. Dropping the rifle,Cinnabar reached for his six-gun andwhirled to meet the laughing gaze of JanetMcWhorter. "Why, what's the matter? Youlook as though you wanted to kill me!"

The man summoned a grin: "Nerves, Iguess. Don't mind me. Be'n smokin' toomuch, maybe."

"What's all the artillery for? You look asthough you were going to start a war."

"Maybe I am. But speakin' of artillery,you're pretty well heeled yourself.Coyotes be'n killin' lambs?"

"Yes, the worst coyote on the range killedone of them yesterday and then offered to

pay for it. I mean your friend Purdy."

"My friend Purdy!"

"Yes—your friend, and Dad's friend, too.If you men wouldn't tolerate suchcharacters around—if you'd try to cleanthem out of the country instead of doingeverything in your power to make it easyfor them, they would soon be wiped out."

"But, we'd git wiped out first—an' besidesthey ain't all like Purdy."

"They're all criminals. They all ought tobe in prison."

Cinnabar shook his head: "No, there'splenty of criminals that hadn't ought to bein prison: an' there's plenty of folks thatain't criminals that had ought to be in

prison. Trouble is—the gauge ain't rightthat they measure 'em with."

"All men talk alike," sniffed Janet,"where's Jennie?"

"In the house, feedin' a woman the firstsquare meal she's et in the Lord knowswhen."

"Woman! What woman?"

"I never seen her before. Jennie says she'sthe pilgrim's wife—fellow name ofHenderson, or Kottmeyer, or some such aname. About a year back, in Wolf Riverhe took a shot at Purdy, an' come neargittin' him, 'cause Purdy had toled her outfer a ride an' then drug her off her horse—they wasn't married then."

"Is she—all right?"

"All right? Yes, I guess she's all right,now. She slep' most of yesterdayafternoon, an' all night."

"What are you going to do with her?"

Cinnabar's lips tightened: "When she'sable to travel, we're goin' to git her backto her folks."

"And claim the reward?"

"Reward?"

"Yes, didn't you know that there is areward of a thousand dollars forinformation concerning her?"

Cinnabar shook his head: "No. I didn't

know that. No. We won't be claimin' noreward. So, that's his game, is it?"

Janet swung from the saddle: "That isn'this game," she said, "I thought it was, atfirst. But, do you know, I believe he reallyloves her."

Cinnabar stared open mouthed: "Lovesher!" he roared, when he could find hisvoice. "That damn snake couldn't love noone!"

The girl's face went a shade paler: "Youknow him?" she asked.

"Know him! You bet I know him! I knowhe's the orneriest livin' white man! Theyain't nothin' he wouldn't do—onless it wassomethin' decent!"

"And yet—I can hardly believe it. There'ssomething about him so—wholesome—soclean—and he has really fine eyes."

Cinnabar Joe placed his hands on his hipsand stared at the girl in astonishment."You ain't be'n into old Mac's bottle, haveyou?" he asked, at length. "Wholesome!Clean! Fine eyes! Why, he's the slimiest,dirtiest, evil-eyedest lookin' scoundrelthat ever draw'd breath!"

Janet winced at the words: "When did hebring her here?" she asked after a momentof silence.

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Yesterday afternoon! Why, he—told melast night that he hadn't found her!"

"You ain't none surprised that he'd lie, beyou?"

Janet nodded thoughtfully: "Yes, I am,"she answered. "He didn't look like he waslying. Oh, there must be some mistake!Did you know him before he worked onthe Y Bar?"

"Y Bar!" Cinnabar laughed, "that birdnever seen the Y Bar onless he's be'ntryin' to run off some Y Bar horses."

"Run off horses! Is he a horse-thief, too?"

Cinnabar waved his arms in despair: "Oh,no," he asserted, emphasizing theponderous sarcasm of his words with adolorous shaking of the head, "he ain't nohorse-thief. He's—judge of the supreme

court. An' the reason he lives in the badlands is because all the judges of thesupreme court lives in the bad lands."

The girl interrupted him: "Don't try to befacetious. You do it badly. But the fact is,he don't live in the bad lands, he don'tlook like a horse-thief, he don't act like ahorse-thief—and I don't believe he is ahorse-thief—so there! When he struck outthis morning on Purdy's trail——"

"On Purdy's trail!" Cinnabar fairly shoutedthe words. "Who's on who's trail? What'sall this mixup about? Purdy ain't no horse-thief! He's a wet nurse in a orphan asylum!He's clean lookin' an' wholesome. Hewouldn't lie!"

"Purdy!" exclaimed Janet, "have you been

talking about Purdy all this time?"

A sudden gleam of comprehension shotfrom Cinnabar's eyes: "Who did you thinkI was talkin' about," he grinned, "theGazookus of Timbucktoo?"

The girl broke into a peal of silverylaughter. A weight seemed suddenly tohave been lifted from her heart—a weightthat had borne heavier and heavier withthe words of Cinnabar Joe. There was achance that her Texan would prove to bethe man she wanted him to be—the manshe had pictured him during the long hoursof the previous afternoon when alone inthe cabin her thoughts had reverted againand again to the parting at the edge of thebad lands—the touch of his hand on herarm, the strong, firm grip of his fingers,

and the strange rapturous something thathad leaped from his eyes straight into herheart. But, all that was before she hadknown of—the other woman. The laughterdied from her lips, and her eyes narrowedslightly. Cinnabar Joe was speaking:

"An' I suppose you've be'n talkin' aboutTex Benton. She told Jennie he was onPurdy's trail."

"How did she know?"

"Search me. Jest naturally know'd that ifhe wasn't dead, that's what he'd be doin', Iguess. How'd Purdy git holt of her,anyway?"

"This woman and Tex were washedashore when the ferry broke its cable, and

while Tex was trying to get some horses,Purdy came along and found her."

"Where's the pilgrim?"

Janet shrugged: "Oh, he don't count. He'smerely the wronged husband."

Cinnabar looked straight into her eyes:"Know Tex?" he asked, drily.

"I've seen him. He borrowed Blue, and hespent last night at the ranch."

"Well, then, believe me, you've seen someman! An' don't you go makin' no moremistakes like you jest made. If them twowas together they had a right to be. An'they'll come clean with a good reason.They's some things a man won't do—an'runnin' off with another man's wife is one

of 'em."

"Do you know him?" There was more thana trace of eagerness in the girl's voice.

"I'll say I know him! An' I'm tellin' it toyou, sister, if he's on Purdy's trail, I'drather be in hell with my back broke thanbe in Purdy's shoes right now."

The girl turned abruptly and walkedtoward the house, and as Cinnabarfollowed her with his eyes, he smiled: "Ifthem two could only hit it out—she'd makea fine woman fer him. By Gosh! With awoman like that to kind of steady himdown, Tex could be a big man in theseparts—he's got the guts, an' he's got theaggucation, an' so's she. I misdoubt he'dmarry into no sheep outfit though, at that."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OTHER WOMAN

At the door of the cabin Jennie greeted hercaller effusively. Alice Endicott, who hadinsisted upon dressing, had finished herbreakfast and was sitting propped upamong the pillows on the bed.

"This is Janet McWhorter, our neighbour,"introduced Jennie, taking the girl by thehand and leading her to the side of thebed, "an' this is Mrs.—Mrs.—why, do youknow I can't call your married name tosave me. I never seen yer husban'—an'he's always spoke of in these parts as 'the

pilgrim.'"

"Endicott," smiled Alice, as her glancenoted with swift approval the girl's ridingboots, her corduroy skirt, her grey flannelshirt, the scarf of burnt orange, and theroll-brim Stetson—noted, too, the six-gunand the belt of yellow cartridges. Eachwell-appointed detail bespoke the girl ofthe open range. But the Eastern womanperceived instantly that the gliding graceof her walk was never acquired in thesaddle, nor were the well modulated tonesof the full, throaty voice with which sheacknowledged the introduction, a productof the cattle range.

"I am very glad to meet you—Mrs.Endicott." Their hands met, and as Alicelooked into the girl's eyes, she wondered

at the peculiar glance that flashed fromtheir blue-black depths. It was not exactlya glance of hate, but rather of veiledantagonism, of distrust—almost ofcontempt. Alice's own eyes had beenfrankly friendly, but as they encounteredthe look, they fell before the blue-blackeyes, and she turned appealingly towardJennie. But the woman did not notice. Shechattered on:

"Ontil yesterday, I ain't seen Mrs. Endicottsence that night, it's a year back, when TexBenton brung you to the hotel in WolfRiver an' wanted the room—" JanetMcWhorter sat down abruptly in a chairbeside the table and became suddenlyinterested in fingering the rims of thecartridges in her belt. Jennie continued:

"An' I jest give him a good blessin', 'causeI don't trust no cowpuncher—or didn't then—ontil he explained how it was. An' thenhe went away, an' Old Bat come an' tuckyou off, an' we heard afterwards how youan' Bat, an' the pilgrim an' Tex hit downthrough the bad lands an' crossed theriver, an' you an' the pilgrim was marriedin Timber City——"

Alice gave a little cry: "Oh, and he's therenow! Worrying his heart out! He don'tknow where I am nor what's become ofme! Oh, I've got to go to him! I've got toget word to him, somehow!"

Janet McWhorter looked up quickly, theblue-black eyes resting in frank surpriseon the woman's face. Her husband! Whyshould she be so concerned about her

husband? Must get back to him! Was shetired of the Texan already? Had herexperience with Purdy taken the romanceout of the adventure? Or, was the concernassumed for the benefit of her hearers?No. The girl decided the concern was notassumed—it was a very real concern—and there were real tears in the woman'seyes.

Jennie sought to soothe her: "There you goagain, deary. We'll git you back to him assoon as ever we can. But there ain't noway with the river where it's at. But, tellus how come Purdy to have you tied up,an' what's Tex Benton got to do with it—an' your man in Timber City? I be'n mostbustin' to hear about it."

"Oh, it all happened so suddenly—I

hardly know myself. It seems like somehorrid dream—some fantastic nightmare.We came to Timber City, Win and I, to bethere on our anniversary. Win is going tobuy a ranch, and while he was talkingbusiness I rode out on the trail a littleway, and when I returned it was dark, andthere was a crowd of men in front of thesaloon and they were shooting. And one ofthem told me there was a man inside—aTexan. Somehow, I just knew it was Tex—our Tex—the one we came to know sowell and to love a year ago. So I told themto stop shooting and I would go in and tryto straighten things out. Tex had beendrinking a little and he was obstinate. Hehad defied the marshal to arrest him andhe absolutely refused to submit to arrest. Idon't blame him much. The marshal is a

fool and he thought, or pretended to think,that Tex was some terrible desperado, andhe intended to hold him in jail indefinitelyuntil he could look up his record.

"Tex managed to get out of the buildingand he jumped onto a horse and dashedright through the crowd, sending themsprawling in all directions. As he starteddown the trail they began to shoot at him,and men began to mount horses to rideafter him. I knew they would kill him—and what had he done? Nothing! Exceptshoot a few bottles and things and breaksome windows—and they would havekilled him for that!

"I knew they wouldn't dare shoot me, sobefore they could get onto their horses, Iswung into the trail behind him so they

would have to stop shooting. On and on Idashed through the darkness. At first Icould hear the sounds of pursuit, yells andcurses and shots, but my horse was fasterthan theirs and the sounds died away. Hehad almost reached the river when Iovertook him. His horse had gone lameand we barely made the ferry-boat aheadof the mob. He tried to send me back as heled his horse onto the ferry—but I knewthat the moment he shoved off from shorethose fiends would kill him—he wouldn'thave had a chance. So before he couldprevent me, I followed him onto the boatand cut the rope that held it and we driftedout into the river—but the men on the bankdidn't dare to shoot. He would have putback then if he could, but the current wastoo strong and it carried us farther and

farther from shore.

"Then a great tree drifted down against us,and to save the boat from being swamped,Tex seized the ax and hacked the cable intwo. The tree hit his head and knockedhim senseless for a time. I bandaged it thebest I could by the light of the lightningflashes, and we drifted on, fighting theflood and the trees. The boat sprang a leakand we bailed and bailed, and the nextthing I knew he was shaking me, and daywas just breaking, and we were close toshore. And he tied the rope to the saddleof my horse and made him jumpoverboard and we followed. That's thelast I remember—jumping into the water—until I awoke, it must have been hourslater, to find myself tied—and I got loose,

and saw Long Bill Kearney beside theriver, and I flew back to the horses, andjust as I was about to escape, there stoodthat unspeakable Purdy, grinning at me."Alice paused and pressed her hands to hereyes as if to keep out the sight, "And, oh,the things he told me—the awful things—the threats—the promises—that wereworse than the threats. I must have lostconsciousness again—for the next thing Iremember—I was here in this room, andyou were bending over me."

The two listeners had sat spellbound bythe narrative and at its conclusion, JanetMcWhorter leaned forward and took oneof Alice's hands in both of hers. And whenAlice looked again into the girl's eyeslifted to her own, she read something akin

to adoration in their depths.

The girl's lips moved: "And you did that—risked your life—everything—to savehis life—to keep him from being shot!"

"It wasn't anything," protested Alice. "Itwas the least I could do. He risked his lifefor ours—Win's and mine—last year—and—why, I love that boy—like a sister. Inever had a brother and—I need one."

"And maybe he needs—a sister,"murmured Janet softly. And at the wordsAlice Endicott glanced swiftly into thegirl's face, and her eyes glowed suddenlywith the light of great understanding. Herown troubles were forgotten, and into herheart welled a mighty gladness. Shepressed the hands that held her own.

"Do you know him?" she whispered.

The girl nodded: "Yes—a little. Heborrowed one of our horses—and I rodewith him when he went back to get youand bring you to the ranch. And I rode tothe edge of the bad lands with him whenhe took Purdy's trail. And then he sent meback."

"Then, he is safe! Oh, I'm glad—glad!Purdy told me he had drowned, but I didn'tbelieve him. I knew he would come to myrescue." She paused and her face clouded,"but, now, I am safe and he is in danger.Purdy may kill him——"

"Don't you go frettin' about that, deary,"broke in Jennie. "If they's any killin' to bedone between them two, Tex'll do it.

Purdy's a gunman all right, but he'll nevergit Tex. Tex is the best man—an' Purdyknows it—an' his kind ain't never no goodwhen they're buffaloed."

"But, he might shoot him from ambush!"

"He better do it all to one shot, then.'Cause, believe me, Tex, he'll hit theground a-shootin'! An' now you two makeyerselves to home while I run out an' tellJoe—I'm just a-bustin' to tell him an' he'llwant to know."

As the woman hurried toward the stable,Alice patted the girl's hands. "He'ssplendid," she whispered, "splendid!"Janet's eyes did not meet hers, and shecontinued, softly: "He's just a boy—impulsive, lovable. And yet, at times he's

so very much a man. And there doesn'tseem to be anything he can't do. Always,no matter what the emergency, he does theright thing at the right time. And he hasanother side—once when I ventured to saythat Corot would have loved to paint acertain sunset we were watching, hequietly informed me that Corot could nothave painted it—could not have got intothe feel of it—and I knew that he wasright."

"He gets drunk," said the girl, withoutraising her eyes, "I could hate a man thatgets drunk."

"I didn't say he is a saint. But I happen toknow that when he makes up his mind notto drink, no power on earth can make himtake even a single drink."

"He wouldn't drink at the ranch—I offeredhim a drink because I thought he neededone—and he did—but he refused it."

"Do you know why?"

The girl shook her head.

"Because he promised me he wouldn'ttake a drink until after he had talked withmy husband. Win wants to see him onbusiness. Wants to persuade him to keepthe place he's held for a year, as foremanof the Y Bar. Win is going to buy the YBar."

"The Y Bar!"

"Yes, do you know the Y Bar?"

The girl nodded slowly: "I was born

there, and lived there the most of my life.Dad moved over here onto Red Sandwhile I was away at school. The Y Bar is—is like home to me."

"Mr. Colston says he's the best foreman heever had. You should hear him speak ofhim—of his taming a great wild stallionthey call the Red King——"

"The Red King!" cried Janet, her eyeswide with excitement, "I know the RedKing—I've seen him often on the range.He's the most wonderful horse in theworld. They said nobody could ride him.Once or twice men tried it—and the RedKing killed them. And, did Tex ride him?"

Alice nodded: "Yes, he rode him—tamedhim so the great wild horse would come

when he whistled. But he wouldn't brandhim. And then, one night, he leaped ontohis back without saddle or bridle and rodehim straight out onto the open range—andturned him loose!"

The girl's eyes were shining: "Oh, I'm glad—glad! Wait till you see the Red King,and you will be glad, too. He's theembodiment of everything that's wild, andfree, and strong. I should hate to think ofhim—branded—labouring under thesaddle like a common cow-horse."

"That's just what the Texan thought—so heturned him out onto the range again. It wasa great big thing to do—and it was done ina great big way—by a man with a greatbig poetic soul." There was a long silenceduring which the little clock ticked

incessantly, Alice spoke again, more toherself than to the girl: "What Tex needs issome strong incentive, something worthwhile, something to work for, to direct hismarvellous energy toward—he needssomeone to love, and who will love him.What he needs is not a sister—it's a wife."

"Why didn't you marry him, then?" flashedthe girl.

Alice smiled: "He never asked me," sheanswered, "and I couldn't have marriedhim, if he had. Because, really, I'vealways loved Win—for years and years."

"Maybe he won't ask—anyone else, either.If he asks me, I won't marry him. I won'tmarry anybody!" She concluded with adefiant toss of the head.

"I certainly shouldn't either, if I felt thatway. And if he should ask you, you stickto it, or you will spoil my plans——"

"Your—plans?" questioned the girl.

"Yes, I've got the grandest scheme. Ihaven't told a soul. When we get settled onthe Y Bar I'm going to send for a friend ofmine—she's a perfectly beautiful girl, andshe's just as adorable as she is beautiful.And I'm going to make her come and payus a long visit. I'm a great believer inpropinquity, and especially out here——"

Janet sniffed audibly: "She'd probably getlost the first thing——"

"That's it, exactly!" cried Aliceenthusiastically. "That's just what I'm

counting on—and who would find her?Why Tex, of course! There you have it—all the ingredients of a first-classromance. Beautiful maiden lost on therange—forlorn, homesick, wretched,scared. Enter hero—rescues maiden—if Icould only work in a villain of some kind—but maybe one will turn up. Anyway,even without a villain it's almost sure towork—don't you think?"

Alice repressed a desire to smile as shenoted the girl's flushed face, "I—I thinkit's perfectly horrid! It's a—what do theycall it? A regular frame-up! Suppose hedon't love the girl? Suppose he don't wantto marry her?"

Alice laughed: "Well, then you may restassured he won't marry her! He won't

marry anyone he don't want to, and as theIrish say, 'by the same token,' when hefinds the girl he wants to marry, he'llmarry her. If I were a girl and he wantedto marry me, and I didn't want to marryhim, I'd jump onto a horse and I'd ride andride and ride till I got clear out of thecattle country."

Janet stood up and drew on her gloves."Well, I must be going. It's nearly noon.Good-bye. Glad to have met you, I'msure."

"Good-bye," called Alice, as the girlstepped from the door, "and when we getsettled at the Y Bar, do come over and seeus—make us a nice long visit. Please!"

"Thank you, so much! I certainly shall—

come to see you at the Y Bar."

Alice Endicott smiled as she watched thegirl stamp away toward the corral.

Declining the pressing invitation of bothJennie and Cinnabar Joe to stay for dinner,Janet mounted and rode across the creek.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Jennie, as shewatched her out of sight, "she acted likeshe's mad! An' here I thought them twowould hit it off fine. Ain't that jest likewomen? I'm one myself, but—Gee, they'refunny!"

Out on the bench Janet spurred the baymare into a run and headed straight for thebad lands. A jack-rabbit jumped from hisbed almost under her horse's hoofs, and a

half-dozen antelope raised their heads andgazed at her for a moment beforescampering off, their white tails lookingfor all the world like great bunches ofdown bobbing over the prairie—but Janetsaw none of these. In her mind's eye wasthe picture of a slenderly built cowboywho sat his horse close beside hers,whose gloved hand slipped from hersleeve and gripped her fingers in a strongfirm clasp. His hat rested upon the edge ofa bandage that was bound tightly about hishead—a bandage bordered with tatting.His lips moved and he was speaking toher, "For God's sake, don't hinder—help!"His fine eyes, drawn with worry and pain,looked straight into hers—and in theirdepths she read—"Oh, I'm coming—Tex!"she cried aloud, "I must find him—I must!

If he knows she's safe—maybe he will—will stop hunting for Purdy! Oh, ifanything should—happen to him—now!"

"Little fool of an Eastern girl!" sheexploded, a few miles farther on. "If shedid come out here and get lost and if hedid find her, and if—she'd never make himhappy, even if he did marry her! But thatMrs. Endicott—I like her." She pulled upabruptly upon the very edge of the badlands and gazed out over the pink andblack and purple waste. Her brow drewinto a puzzled frown. "I wonder," shewhispered, "I wonder if she did know Iwas just crazy about her Texan?" And,with the question unanswered, she touchedthe bay mare with her spurs and headedher down a long black ridge that extended

far into the bad lands.

CHAPTER XXVII

SOME SHOOTING

When the Texan left Cass Grimshaw heheaded due north. He rode leisurely—light-heartedly. The knowledge that Alicewas safe at Cinnabar Joe's left his mindfree to follow its own bent, and its bentcarried it back to the little cabin on RedSand, and the girl with the blue-blackeyes. Most men would have concentratedupon the grim work in hand—but not sothe Texan. He was going to kill Purdybecause Purdy needed killing. By hisrepeated acts Purdy had forfeited his right

to live among men. He was a menace—apower for harm whose liberty endangeredthe lives and happiness of others. Hiscourse in hunting down and killing thisenemy of society needed no elaborationnor justification. It was a thing to be donein the course of the day's work. The factthat Purdy knew the ground, and he didnot, and that the numerical odds were fourto one against him, bothered him not at all.If others of the same ilk had seen fit tothrow in with Purdy they must abide theconsequences.

So his thoughts were of the girl, and hislips broke into a smile—not the twistedsmile that had become almost habitualwith him, but a boyish smile that caused afanlike arrangement of little wrinkles to

radiate from the corners of his eyes, andthe eyes themselves to twinkle with mirth.As men of the open are prone to do, hevoiced his thoughts as they came: "Shesure give me to onderstand last night thatrunnin' off with other men's wives is anamusement that wouldn't never meet herpopular approval. It's, what do the Frenchcall it—a faux pas that's not only frownedon, but actually scowled at, an' made theexcuse for numerous an' sundry barbedshafts of sarcasm an' caustic observationsof a more or less personal application, allof which is supposed to make a man feellike he'd not only et the canary, but awhole damn buzzard—an' wish he hadn'tlived to survive doin' it." The man glancedup at the sun. "Time I was gettin' outsideof this lunch she packed up for me—

chances are I won't want to stop an' eat itafter awhile." Dismounting, he seatedhimself with his back against a rock andunrolled the sandwiches. "She made 'em,"he observed to Blue, "regular light bread,an' good thick ham between." Hedevoured the sandwich slowly, andreached for another. "Cass said to makeher have me," he smiled; "hell of a lot heknows about women, but—the dope'sright, at that. Boy, those eyes! An' thathair, an'—an', oh, the whole woman ofher! If a man had a girl like that to gohome to—an' she loved him—an' he knewshe was thinkin' about him—an' pullin' forhim to—to make good! There wouldn't benothin' to it—he'd just naturally have tomake good. Janet McWhorter—JanetBenton—Mrs. Tex Benton—Mrs. Horatio

Benton—hell! I hope she don't go in forthe Horatio part. It's almost as bad asWinthrop Adams Endicott! Tex is better—if she ever thinks to inquire about my othername I'll tell her it's Mike, or else I'll goplumb to the other extreme an' call itPercy or Reginald. I ain't got her yet—butbelieve me! She's goin' to have a war onher hands till I do get her!

"I'll just admit that she'll marry me—whatthen? It's time I was kind of takin'inventory. Here's what she gets: One cow-hand an' outfit—includin' one extra saddlehorse, a bed-roll, an' a war-bag full ofodds an' ends of raiment; some dirty, an'some clean; some tore, an' some in a fairstate of preservation. Eight hundred an'forty dollars in cash—minus what it'll take

to square me in Timber City. An'—an'—that's all! She ain't goin' to derive no hellof a material advantage from the union,that's sure. But, if I've still got my job itain't so bad to start off with. Other assets,what we used to call incorporealhereditaments back in law school—fairworkin' knowledge of the cattle an' horsebusiness. Health—good. Disposition—um-m-m, kind, to murderous. Habits—bad, to worse. Let's see: smokin'—that'sall right: chewin'—prob'ly be allowable ifindulged in out doors only. Swearin'—prob'ly won't be an issue till the kids getold enough to listen. Gamblin'—prob'ly belimited to poker—friendly games an'pifflin' limit. Drinkin'—let's see, the onlyyear since I can remember I don't drinknothin' I quit better than eight hundred

dollars to the good—first time I ever hadeight hundred dollars all at once in mylife. What happens? Get to drinkin' for ahalf a day, an' Bing! Off comes a hundred,maybe two hundred to pay up for the hell Iraised! Does it pay? Not for a marriedman! Not for me! An' besides, what was itshe said when I turned down the drink sheoffered me? She said, 'I'm glad—I hate thestuff.'" He paused, smiling reminiscently,"drinkin's lots of fun—but, a man's got topay for his fun—more ways than one, he'sgot to pay. If it'll make her happy to notdrink, an' onhappy to drink—the way Ilook at it, it's a damned mean man thatwould pay for his own belly-wash withhis wife's happiness! That aboutconcludes the takin' stock, then:Drinkin'—once! Drinkin'—twice!

Drinkin'—three times—an' out! I'm a non-drinker, a teetotaller, a pop-lapper, an' agrape-juice swizzler! At that, if I'd knownthat last drink I had back there in TimberCity was goin' to be the very last doggonedrink I was ever goin' to get, I'd kind ofstrung it along a little—sort of sipped itslow an' solemn as become an obsequy.Instead of which, I tossed it off light-hearted, casual, even what you might callflippant—an' it's the last drink I was evergoin' to have!"

He rose, brushed a stray crumb or twofrom his shirt, and mounted: "Come on,Blue, let's get this stuff over with, an'wash our hands, an' hit for Red Sand. Casssays Cinnabar Joe's place ain't only aboutfour miles above McWhorter's."

Thirty minutes later the Texan slowed hishorse to a walk. Rock-fragmentsappeared, dotting the surface of ridges andcoulees. Small at first, these fragmentsincreased in size and number as the manpushed northward. He knew from CassGrimshaw's description that he wasapproaching the rendezvous of Purdy andhis gang. Far ahead he could see theupstanding walls of rock that marked theentrance to the gorge or crater whichmarked the spot where some titanicexplosion of nature had shattered amountain—shattered it, and scattered itsfragments over the surrounding plain. Butthe Texan was not thinking of the shatteredmountain, nor of the girl on Red Sand. Hehitched his belt, glanced at the revolver inits holster, and slipping his hand beneath

his shirt, made sure that Long Bill's six-gun lay ready to his hand. He proceededslowly, pausing at frequent intervals toscan the rock-dotted plain. The mouth ofthe gorge showed distinctly, now. Hepulled up his horse and studied theground. He decided to dismount andproceed on foot—to work his way fromrock-fragment to rock-fragment. A slightsound caused him to glance swiftly to theleft. Not fifty feet away the malevolentface of Purdy stared at him above thebarrels of two six-guns. Directly beforehim he saw another man, and to the righttwo more. And every man had himcovered. His eyes returned to Purdy, andhis lips twisted into their cynical grin."Well—why in hell don't you shoot?"

"Want to git it over with in a hurry, doyou?" sneered the outlaw. "Well I don't!I'm goin' to git you all right, but I'm goin'to take my time to it. When you skippedout a year back fer fear of what I'd do toyou, you'd ought to stayed away."

The Texan laughed: "Just as big a damnedfool as ever, Purdy. Just as big a four-flusher, too. You better shoot while you'vegot the chance. 'Cause if you don't I'll killyou, sure as hell."

Purdy sneered: "Gittin' in yer bluff rightup to the last, eh? Thought you could sneakup an' git me when I wasn't lookin', eh?Thought—" The sentence was neverfinished. The Texan's expression suddenlychanged. His eyes fixed wildly upon apoint directly behind Purdy and he cried

out in sudden alarm:

"Don't kill him, Cass! He's mine!"

Like a flash, Purdy whirled, and like aflash the Texan was out of his saddle andbehind a rock. And as Jennie hadpredicted, he hit the ground a-shootin'. Hisown horse had shielded him from theothers whose attention had beenmomentarily diverted to their leader.Instantly Purdy discovered the ruse—buttoo late. As he whirled again to face theTexan, the latter's gun roared, and one ofPurdy's guns crashed against a rock-fragment, as its owner, his wrist shattered,dived behind his rock with a scream ofmingled rage and pain. Three times morethe Texan shot, beneath the belly of hishorse, and the two outlaws to the right

pitched forward in crumpled heaps andlay motionless. Frenzied by the noise, thebig blue roan plunged blindly forward.The man in front made a frantic effort toget out of his way, failed, and the nextmoment, crashed backward against a rock-fragment from which he ricocheted fromsight while the great blue roan gallopedon, reins flying, and stirrups wildlylashing his sides.

"That leaves just the two of us, Purdy,"drawled the Texan from the shelter of hisrock, as he reloaded his gun.

A vicious snarl from the hiding place ofthe outlaw was the only answer.

"I told you you was a fool not to shootwhile you had the chance. I'm goin' to get

you, now. But, seein' that you wasn't in nohurry about it, I won't be neither. There'squite a few things I want you to hear—things you ought to know for the good ofyour soul."

"You don't dast to git me!" cameexultingly, from behind Purdy's rock, "ifyou do, what'll become of her—thepilgrim's woman? She's right now layin'tied an' gagged in a mud crack where younor no one else won't never find her.What'll become of her, if you git me?"

The Texan grinned to himself, and after amoment of silence, called hesitatingly:"Say, Purdy, you wouldn't do that!Wouldn't let a woman die like that withouttellin' where she is."

"The hell I won't!"

"Come on, Purdy, tell me where she is?You might as well. If I get you, what's theuse of leavin' her there to die? An', if youget me, why you'll have her anyway."

A sneering laugh answered him: "Youdon't dast to git me—an' leave her whereshe's at!"

The Texan's voice hardened: "Oh, yes Ido, Purdy. 'Cause I know, an' you know,that she's safe an' sound at Cinnabar Joe's—an' she'll stay there till Cinnabar can getword to her husband."

A volley of oaths greeted the statement:"Cinnabar don't dast to open his yap! He'llgo up fer the rest of his life if he does. I'll

fix him!"

"You won't fix no one, Purdy. You're goin'to hell from here. An' whatever you've goton Cinnabar you'll take with you. When Itold you to tell me where the girl was Iwas just givin' you a chance to do onedecent thing before you cashed in—butyou couldn't do it, Purdy. There ain't adecent thing in you to do. Why, even LongBill Kearney was a man fer about asecond before he died."

"What do you mean—Long Bill—died?"

"Ask him," answered the Texan grimly,"you an' him will be close neighbours—wherever you're goin'." Inadvertently theTexan leaned a little to one side, as heshifted his position. There was a quick

report, and a bullet tore through a loosefold of his shirt sleeve. "Pretty fairshootin', Purdy," he drawled, "little bitwide—you'd have nicked me if you'd heldin against the rock."

So intently did each man watch the otherthat neither noted the four men whoapproached stealthily from rock to rockand finally crouched behind an irregularbuttress of rock only a short pistol shotaway. Their vantage point did not permitany view of the man who had beenknocked down by the galloping horse norof the contestants themselves, but theexchange of shots could be followed withease and accuracy.

Cass Grimshaw nudged Endicott andpointed to the bodies of the outlaws: "He

got two," he whispered, with grimapproval. "An' he got 'em right out in theopen. They must have seen him comin' an'laid for him before he got to their hang-out."

"Hey, Tex," called Purdy after a longinterval, "we ain't goin' to git one anotherpeckin' away like this behind these rocks."

"No—we ain't goin' to git one another—but I'm goin' to get you—like that!" Hefired as he spoke and his bullet chippedthe rock and tore through Purdy's hat brim."Missed, By Grab! But, that pays up forputtin' a hole in my shirt. You was a foolfor fallin' for that old gag I put over onyou!"

"An' I wouldn't of fell fer it neither, if it

hadn't of be'n fer luck—you outlucked me—if you'd of said anyone else exceptCass, I wouldn't of fell fer it."

"That wasn't luck, Purdy—that was brains.If I figured on murderin' a man tonight—an' he knew it—do you suppose I wouldn'tjump quick if I thought he was sneakin' upbehind me with a gun? You bet I would!"

"Murderin'!" Purdy's voice sounded shrillwith a quavering note of fear. "What—what do you mean—murderin'?"

"Why, I run across Cass awhile back. Itold him I was huntin' you an' he said I'dfind you an' three more over here. Saidyou an' them had planned to bump him an'Bill Harlow off tonight, an' you was busyarrangin' the details. He wanted to come

along—him an' Bill—but I told him theywasn't no use—if they was only you an'three more like you, I could handle youmyself. Him an' Bill are goin' to ride overafter awhile an' see if I need any help—but I don't do I, Purdy?"

The Texan's words were drowned in aperfect tirade of curses. Purdy's voice wasshrill with fear. "I've be'n double-crossed!It's a lie! Everyone's agin me! I ain't neverhad no show!" The voice trailed off in awhine. A few moments of silencefollowed, and then above the edge ofPurdy's rock appeared a whitehandkerchief tied to the end of a gun-barrel. Taking careful aim, the Texanfired. The white flag disappeared and thegun struck the rocks with a ring of steel.

"You shot at a white flag!" screamedPurdy.

"You're damn right I did! An' I'll shoot atthe low-lived pup that tried to hide behindit too. My God, Purdy! No head—no guts!The only things about you that's a man isyour pants, an' shirt, an' hat—an' I spoiltthe hat!"

"Listen, Tex, listen!" the man's voice wasfrantic with appeal. "Let's make medicine.You c'n have the pilgrim's woman—I don'twant her—I only wanted the reward. Iwas only kiddin' about bumpin' you off!Honest I was! Listen! Let me go, Tex! Letme git away! Cass has got me framed-up! Iaimed to quit him an' turn straight! Listen—they's a girl, Tex. Over on Red Sand—Igive her my word I'd quit the horse game

an' start an outfit. Listen—I——"

"Who is she?" the voice of the Texan cutin like chilled steel.

"McWhorter's girl——"

"You're a damned liar!"

"D'you know her?" the words camehaltingly.

"Some," answered the Texan, drily, "shean' I are goin' to be married tomorrow."The words had been uttered with thedeliberate intent of taunting Purdy, buteven the Texan was not prepared for themanifestation of insane rage that followed.

"You lie! Damn you! Damn you! You'vealways beat me! Yer beatin' me now! You

son of a—, take that!" With the words heleaped from behind his rock and emptiedhis gun, the bullets thudding harmlesslyagainst the Texan's barrier, and instantlyhe was behind his rock again.

Cass Grimshaw grinned at the others."He's baitin' him—prob'ly be'n baitin' himfer an hour till Purdy's gone plumb mad."

"De Injun she would stake um out an' buildde leetle fire on hees belly. But A'm t'inkdat hurt worse lak Tex do it."

Endicott gazed in white-lipped fascinationupon the scene. "Let's make him surrenderand turn him over to the authorities," hewhispered.

Grimshaw shook his head: "No—not him.

If you knew him like I do, you wouldn'tsay that. By God, I turned one man over tothe authorities—an' they give him a year!An' when he got out I give him what hehad comin'. Think, man what he'd of doneto your wife——"

The sentence was cut short by the sound ofgalloping hoofs. All four craned theirnecks for sight of the rider. Grimshaw andBill Harlow drew their guns, expecting tosee the fourth man of Purdy's gang comerushing to the aid of his leader. But notuntil the rider was within a hundred feet ofthe two combatants did they catch sight ofher. At the same instant they saw theTexan, hat in hand, frantically wave herback. Janet McWhorter saw him, too, andpulled the bay mare to her haunches at the

same instant a shot rang out and Purdy'sbullet ripped the Texan's hat from hishand. Almost before her horse came to astop, the girl's gun was in her hand and shesat—tense—expectant.

With glittering eyes fixed upon the girl,Purdy laughed a wild shrill laugh, thatechoed among the rocks like a sound fromhell. The words of the Texan burned likewords of living fire. "Goin' to be marriedtomorrow!" Deliberately he raised his gunand fired—just at the instant the bay marethrew up her head with a nervous jerk torid her mouth of the feel of the cruel spadebit. The next second she reared high andcrashed to the ground carrying her riderwith her. With a loud cry the Texan sprangto his feet and started for the girl, and at

the same moment the horse-thief that thebig blue roan had knocked senselessamong the rocks rose to his feet andlevelling his gun at the running man, fired.At the sound of the report the Texanstaggered, turned half-way round and fellsprawling among the rocks. Purdy leapedto his feet and, gun in hand, started for theprostrate Texan. The rock-ribbed valleybecame a roar of noise. Janet, one legpinned in the stirrup, fired across the bodyof her horse. Fired swiftly and accurately.The running Purdy staggered this way andthat, drew himself stiffly erect, threw hishands high above his head and spunaround like a top, and as the sound of thegirl's last shot died, pitched forward andlay very still.

From the rock buttress to the left, Janetsaw men running toward her. She couldnot tell whether they were friends or foes—it mattered not—her gun was empty. Atthought of her gun, she gave vent to apitiful little cry and covered her face withher hands. Then the men were at her sidepulling at the body of her horse. Her legwas freed and someone stood her upon herfeet. She lowered her hands and staredinto the bearded face of Cass Grimshaw!

"Good shootin', sis!" he patted hershoulder gently, "why, what's the matter?D'ye think you missed him—look!" hepointed to the body of Purdy.

"Oh—oh!" moaned the girl and coveredher eyes again. "I've—I've killed a man!"

Grimshaw looked puzzled: "No, sis—youain't killed no man! Not by no stretch ofimagination he ain't no man!"

"But—he's a human being—and—I killedhim!"

As the horse-thief stood looking downupon her heaving shoulders the puzzledlook in his eyes gave place to a decidedtwinkle, which an instant later changed toa look of mild reproach: "Say, sis, who doyou think you be? Claimin' you killedPurdy! Why, there ain't no more chanceyou killed him, than there is that I didn't."He extended his hand in which anautomatic pistol of large calibre lay flat inthe palm. "This here gun shoots jest twictas swift as yours. Agin your eight hundredfeet of muzzle v'losity, I've got almost two

thousan'—an' I'd got in two shots beforeyou begun! Then, too, if you'll take a lookaround, you'll see that some other folkshas got pretty fair claim on him. Take Billhere, his 30-40 rifle shoots half-agin asswift as my automatic—an' he begunshootin' when I did. An' look at the breed,yonder, stickin' fresh shells in his gun. Ibet that bird never missed—an' he shotjest a hair before I did. An' the pilgrim heshot, too—but I wouldn't bet on him—hemight of missed—but the rest of us didn't.An' I ain't sayin' you missed, mind you.'Cause I think you got him every crack outof the box. But he was dead 'fore youstarted shootin'. Yup—what you done wasto pump about a quart of lead into a deadman, 'fore he could hit the ground—an',believe me—that's shootin'! But the killin'

part—that goes to the fastest guns."

The girl's eyes lighted: "Oh, I—I'm glad Ihaven't got that on my conscience. I'd hateto think that I had killed—even him." Thenext instant she was gone, and theywatched her as she bent low over theTexan, who had struggled to his elbow.

"Janet—darling," he whispered, "do youknow—about—her?"

The girl blushed furiously at the words,and the blue-black eyes shone like twinstars. "Yes," she breathed, "I know. She'sat Cinnabar Joe's—and she told me allabout it. And, Tex, I think she's fine!"

The Texan nodded: "She is, an'," heindicated Endicott with a nod of his head,

"there's her husband over there shakinghands with Cass, an' he's just as fine asshe is—they're real folks, girl—but, nevermind them. What I want to know is—willyou marry me tomorrow, dear?"

"Tomorrow!"

"Might's well be tomorrow as next week—or next month! Come on—please! Youcan't get away from me, so you might aswell. An' besides here I am, shot in the legan' if you don't give me my own way I'mlikely to run a fever, an' have to get it cutoff—so it's up to you, sweetheart—a one-legged man a month from now, or a two-legged one tomorrow. Which?"

The girl bent very close: "I—I think I'drather have a two-legged one—darling."

And the next instant the man's arms wereabout her and her lips were crushed to his.

"Say, Cass," whispered Bill Harlow, withan eye on the girl who was bending overthe wounded man. "I never shot at Purdy—I got that damned skunk down there inthe rocks that shot Tex."

"Me, too," chimed in Old Bat.

"I shot at him, too," said Endicott.

"Hell!" answered Grimshaw, with a wink,"so did I—but, don't never let her know."

There was a moment of silence which wasbroken by Endicott, who stepped forwardand grasped the speaker's hand. "I amproud to be admitted to the friendship ofCass Grimshaw, horse-thief, and—

gentleman," he said, and turned away tosee the Texan looking at him with atwinkle in his eye.

CHAPTER XXVIII

BACK ON RED SAND

While Cass Grimshaw and Bill Harlowrounded up the horses, and transferred thegirl's saddle from the dead mare to one ofthe animals belonging to the outlaws,Endicott and Bat assisted Janet to bind upthe Texan's wound.

When at last they were ready for the trail,Grimshaw called Endicott aside: "You an'the breed come along with me," hewhispered, "you must be middlin' anxiousto see yer wife, an' I'll take you toCinnabar Joe's. The girl, there, she knows

the way, an' they can follow alongslower," he paused and winked, "he won'tbe wantin' to ride no ways fast—onaccount of that leg."

Endicott's eyes lighted with suddenunderstanding as he glanced at the twofigures who stood side by side near thehorses: "By George!" he exclaimed, "Iwonder——"

"Wonder—hell! Give 'em a chance! Comeon, we'll pull out. Bill, he'll h'ist him ontohis horse, an' then he'll stay an' drop themcorpses down some mud crack."

As Endicott leaped from his horse in frontof Cinnabar Joe's cabin, his wife rushedfrom the door and threw herself into hisarms.

"Oh, Win—Win—dear!" she sobbed, "oh—can you ever forgive me? But—it wasthe only way—they'd have killed him!"

Endicott soothed her: "Forgive you! I havenothing to forgive, dearest. I know it's allright! At first I was a little—worried, butOld Bat came along—and after that, Iknew it was all right—but come on, let'sgo inside and you can tell me all about it!"

Cinnabar Joe greeted Grimshaw and Batat the horse corral: "Seen Tex?" he askedanxiously. Grimshaw nodded: "Yeh—weseen him."

"Did he—git Purdy?"

Grimshaw shook his head: "No—he didn'tgit him. He almost, but he didn't quite."

Without a word, Cinnabar turned, enteredthe corral, and stepped out a few momentslater leading a saddled horse.

"Where you goin'?" asked Grimshaw.

"To Wolf River."

"Wolf River! What's goin' on in WolfRiver that you're so hell bent to take in?"

Cinnabar hesitated just an instant, then hespoke: "You might as well know it as therest of 'em. I'm goin' to give myself up, an'I want to beat Purdy to it. He's gotsomethin' on me—a hold-up that I waspartly mixed up in, way back when I wasa kid. I never got none of the money, an'I've be'n on the level since. I figgered I'dpayed fer that long ago. But, if Purdy got

away, he'll tip me off. It's goin' to be hardas hell on her." He nodded toward hiswife, who stood at some distance talkingearnestly with Old Bat.

Grimshaw leaned over and laid a hand onthe man's shoulder: "Put up yer horse,boy," he said; "you've got a nice littleoutfit started here—you an' her. Stay rightwith it—an' stay on the level. Forgitanything that might of happened a longtime ago. It's the things you do now, an'what yer goin' to do that counts. Tex didn'tgit Purdy—but they was five more of usthere to back up his play. We was all of usmore or less handy with our guns. An'between the whole of us—we managed togit him. Purdy's dead, Cinnabar—dead asJulius Cæsar, an' all his pals is dead—an'

whatever he had on you died with him."

"There comes Tex, now!" cried Cinnabar,pointing to two riders who appearedoutlined for a moment against the oppositevalley rim, before beginning the descent ofthe slope. "He's ridin' McWhorter's blueroan. But who's that with him? Why—it'sMcWhorter's girl! But, what horse has shegot? She busted out of here two or threehours ago ridin' her bay mare!"

As the two riders approached across thenarrow valley, Grimshaw fingered hisstubby beard: "There's a pair to draw to,"he muttered.

"Do you mean——?"

"Yes—that's just what I mean! But, they

rode a damn sight faster than what Iwould, at that."

"Hey, Bat! You old reprobate!" called theTexan, as his horse ascended the bankfrom the creek, "take Cinnabar's cayusean' beat it for Wolf River! An' you makehim scratch gravel! Now's the chance todo me a good turn on account of themfour-bits I give you—way back in LasVegas—remember?"

The old half-breed grinned broadly: "Oui,A'm 'member dat fo'-bit." Reaching intohis shirt he withdrew a half-dollarsuspended from his neck by a greasy thongof rawhide. "See, A'm ain' fergit. Dat fo'-bit she giv' me chanc' to pay heem back'bout seex-seven hondre tam'. W'at youwan' in Wo'f Reevaire? Nodder pilgrim to

hang, eh, bien?"

Joining in the laugh that followed the oldhalf-breed's sally, the Texan rode to hisside and handed him some yellow bills."You hit the trail now—an' hit it hard. An'you show up here tomorrow morning witha preacher an' a round yellow ring—savvy?"

"Oui! De pries' an' de ring! Voila!" Theold man looked straight into the eyes ofthe girl who sat her horse close beside theTexan. "You gon' mar' heem tomor'?"

Janet, blushing furiously, laughed anaffirmative.

Bat nodded: "Dat good. You git de bes'dam' man on de worl'! Dat Tex mebbe-so

she git to be de gov'—de w'at you call, depresident! But, som'tam' he lak de bad boyan' you got to knock hell out of heem tomak' heem good. Ol' Bat—he know. Forer long tam' A'm know heem. You lov'heem lak hell. Een de eye A'm see it—an'een de eye A'm see you gon' to mak heemstay good——"

"Hey, you old leather image!" laughed theTexan, "what are you tryin' to do—scareme out?"

"Ba Goss! A'm lak A'm see you scare wantam'! You bet A'm ride wan hondre mile tolaff on you. You git de dam' fine 'oman.Now you got to mak' her, w'at you call, dehappiness. Bye-m-bye, Ol' Bat, she git tool' to ride de range—to cook. Den A'mjoos' stay 'roun' an' look aftaire les

enfants. A'm show um how to ride, an'shoot, an' t'row de rope—joos' so goodlak de pere kin do, ah voila!"

Janet fled precipitously for the cabin, andas Bat mounted Cinnabar's horse andheaded out onto the trail, the Texan turnedto Grimshaw: "Slip over to McWhorter'stomorrow, Cass," he invited—"I'd like tohave you there."

Grimshaw hesitated just a moment:"You're sure you want me? You ain'taskin' me just so I won't feel—left out?An' how about the others? How about yer—wife? She never has had no time for ushorse-thieves."

The Texan smiled: "She's learnt a lot inthe last couple of hours, Cass. If you ain't

at the weddin' she'll be the mostdisappointed one of all."

"All right, boy—I'll come. I got to be goin'now." He ran his fingers over his stubbybeard, "Sure is goin' to be hell to shave."

As the Texan swung from his horse, afeminine shriek of joy directed hisattention toward the cabin, where in thedoorway Alice and Janet stood locked ineach other's embrace—laughing, crying,talking all at once, while Endicottsmilingly beckoned to Tex.

"Oh, you darling!" Alice was saying, "I'mso glad! I picked you for him the moment Ilaid eyes on you—and then I nearlyspoiled it all by my eulogy."

"But—" stammered Janet, "what about theother girl—the one from the East—thatyou were going to invite out? You said shewas beautiful—and—and adorable and—you were just going to make her marryhim!"

"From the East!" Alice exclaimed, "I'msure I didn't say anything about the East. Isaid there was a girl friend of mine—and Idid say she was beautiful and adorable—and she is—and I said I was going toinvite her to come and make me a longvisit—and I did invite her—before sheleft the room in a huff—and went tearingoff into the bad lands to find her lover——"

Janet smothered the rest of the sentence inkisses: "Well, anyway—you didn't make

her marry him," she said, "because sheintended to marry him anyway—if shecould get him to ask her!"

A couple of hours later while the threewomen were in the cabin preparingsupper, Tex, and Endicott, and Cinnabarsat outside and talked and listened to thesounds of laughter that floated through thedoor.

"Look at old Whiskers comin'," said Tex,indicating a horseman who appearedaround the corner of the barn.

Cinnabar chuckled: "Whiskers! Why man,that's yer new dad! That's old ColinMcWhorter—an' if you don't make a hitwith him, believe me—he'll cut your headoff!"

The huge Scotchman dismounted, noddedand addressed Cinnabar Joe: "Ha' ye seenmy daughter?" Before Cinnabar couldanswer the girl herself rushed from thedoor and threw herself into the big man'sarms: "Theer, theer, wee lass, ha' they hurtye? Ye're face is red like the fire-weed!I'll——"

"No! No! Dad! I'm—so happy! I'm—I'mgoing to be married tomorrow! I want youto meet my—Mr. Benton—Tex! And, ohDad—you'll just love him! I knew it wasall a mistake—about that horrid hand-bill—here are Mr. and Mrs. Endicott—theyknow him well—and Cinnabar and hiswife have known him for years."

McWhorter stood glaring at Tex whoreturned him look for look. "Was it for

thot I looked after her a' her life—educated her—thot she sh'ud marry acommon cowpuncher!"

The Texan stepped directly before himand reaching up a finger tapped the irateman's breast: "Look here, old timer. I'm acommon cowpuncher, just as you say—but, at that, I don't take off my hat to anysheep-man! You an' I are goin' to be bigfriends, once we get strung out. I like youalready. I've got you sized up for one ofthe biggest hearted old specimens on therange. But, at that, you like to get yourgrowl in—an' get it in first. Well—you'vegrowled—an' you haven't fooled no one—nor scairt no one. If you want a littlefurther dope on me here goes. I'm fromTexas—come from good enough folks

down there so they haven't been able tobeat the Old Man for Congress in twentyyears. I've be'n somethin' of a black sheep—but the black's wearin' off in spots. I'vegot as good an education, I reckon, asanyone here—an' a damn sight better onethan I need in my business. I walk on myhind legs an' eat with a fork. I've got a job—eighty bucks a month, an' found—foreman of the Y Bar outfit, over acrossthe river. Some day I expect to own anoutfit of my own!" He ceased suddenly,and reaching out, drew the girl from herfather's arms and held her to his side, "An'last of all—an' as far as I can see, the onlything that really matters—I love this littlegirl——"

"Losh! Lad!" cried the old Scot, his eyes

a-twinkle. "Ye fair talk me off my feet!'Tis na wonder she took ye—ye ne'er gi'her a chance to say no!"

"Supper's ready!" called Jennie, from theinterior of the cabin, and it was a merrycompany indeed, that filed in and tooktheir places at the table—extended for theoccasion by means of planks carried infrom Cinnabar's unfinished stable.

"I've just bought an outfit, over on theother side," said Endicott, when the lastvestige of Jennie's pies had disappearedfrom the plates, and the thick cups hadbeen filled with black coffee. "AndCinnabar, do you know where I could finda foreman?"

"On the other side!" exclaimed the Texan.

"You! Didn't know there was an outfit forsale over there! What is it, Win—sheep,or cattle?"

"Cattle."

Cinnabar shook his head.

Endicott continued, "He must be capable,sober, understand the cattle business, and—married."

"Don't know no one that would quite fillthe bill," grinned Cinnabar Joe.

"Hey, Win," cut in Tex, "how would I do?I'm capable of some things—sometimes.I've got Cinnabar, here, for a witness thatupon certain occasions I've be'n sober. Iunderstand the cow business or old DadColston wouldn't of made me foreman—

an' tomorrow, everyone here's goin' to bewitnesses that I'm married! How about it—don't that fill the bill?"

Endicott laughed: "I guess that fills thebill, Tex," he said. "You're hired!"

"But—what outfit did you buy, Win?"

"The Y Bar," answered Endicott, "andColston told me that if I couldn't find youfor foreman, I'd sure be out of luck."

"The Y Bar!" Tex reached over andgrasped Endicott's hand. "Boss—you'vegot the best outfit in Montana!"

"Not—boss—Tex. What you meant was'Partner.' You see I forgot to mention thatthe man who accepted the position wouldhave to accept a half-interest in the outfit

—his time and his experience—againstmy money." A dead silence followed thewords—a silence broken a moment laterby the sound of Janet, sobbing softlyagainst her father's shoulder—and by thebig Scotchman's rumbling words: "Theer,theer, wee lassie—theer, theer."

AN EPILOGUEThe ceremony that took place thefollowing afternoon in the McWhortercabin was impressive in its extremesimplicity.

At the conclusion of the wedding feast,McWhorter arose, passed into his ownroom, and returned a moment later with abottle of wine, which he held to thesunlight: "'Tis auld," he said, reverently,"an' of famous vintage. Its mate was drunkyears ago at my ain' weddin' in Sco'lan'. Iha' saved this—for hers." Very carefullyhe broke the seal, and withdrew the cork,and poured a little of the precious liquid

into each thick glass: "We will drink," hesaid, solemnly, "to the health an'prosperity of—my children!" They drank,and the old Scotchman divided theremaining wine as before. "An' now,Meester Endicott can ye not propose us atoast?"

Endicott rose and allowed his eyes totravel slowly over the upturned facesabout him. He began to speak: "Here weare—we and our women—a cattleman,and a sheep-man; a minister of the gospel,and a horse-thief; an ex-bartender, a half-breed, and a Harvard man who until ayear ago was of the strictest and mosthide-hound sect of the New Englanders—and as Cass Grimshaw so aptly phrased ityesterday—'We are all friends together.'

Let us drink—to the wonderful free-masonry of the cow-country!"

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