the fear o' death into these cowardly dawgs.' He glanced sideways at the tall, lithe figure for each of whose long strides he had to take two. `I'm thinkin' he was lucky.' '
'How many on the pay-roll?' Sudden asked.
'Eight of us in the bunkhouse,' Burke replied. 'I'm the daddy o' the outfit--bin here goin' on twenty year.'
'I'm takin' it yo're foreman.'
'We never had one--the 01' Man ran his own ranch; you might call me sorta straw-boss.'
'Yeah, but now--'
'See here, Mister--
'Make it `Jim'.'
'I'm obliged. Well, Jim, it's thisaway: I'm a good cowman an' so is the boy; I'll fight to a fare-you-well an' he'll do the same, but that ain't enough in a war, which is what yo're hornin' in on. The Circle Dot needs a fella with experience; Dan ain't had none, an' I've had too much--old men git sorta fixed in their notions.' A faint smile passed over the wrinkled, sunburned features. 'Once I had dreams o' ownin' a ranch, but now I ain't got no ambition a-tall, but I'd like to go on bein' straw-boss.'
Sudden nodded, realizing the tragedy behind the simple statement; the mounting years of hard, dangerous work for a bare living, the gradual extinction of hope, and the prospect of poverty when the heavy hand of Time prevented him from following the only occupation he knew.
The living-room of the Circle Dot ranch-house was spacious, with a great stone fire-place, in front of which lay a fine grizzly pelt. The furniture comprised a table, desk, and chairs, solid but suggestive of ease. Saddles, guns, and other ranch gear made it comfortably untidy for a man. Burke read the stranger's thought.
'Dave wouldn't have a woman in the place after he lost his wife,' he explained. 'I reckon Paddy--he's the cook--ain't got the instincts of a home-maker.'
At that moment Dan came in, haggard, but grim-faced. 'You'll feed with us to-night, Bill,' he said. 'We gotta talk things over.'
The meal was brought in by the cook, a short and incredibly fat man, whose chubby countenance wore an expression of gloom utterly out of keeping with his deep-set twinkling eyes. While they were despatching it, Dan related the happenings of the day, and by the time the tale ended, Burke was regarding the newcomer with increased respect.
'How did Dad come to be on that trail?' Dan asked finally.
'Came to meet you,' was the reply. 'He had a message askin' him to, left by a stranger who claimed to have run into you; must 'a' bin soon after you started.'
'I never sent it, an' didn't see a soul till I was half-way to the Bend; it was just a trap.' Another thought brought his brows together. 'Nobody outside o' here knowed I was goin' --I on'y decided this mornin'.'
'Either they're watchin' yu, or someone passed the word,' Sudden remarked. 'Shore o' yore hands?'
'They've all been with us some time 'cept one, who came a few months back. Dunno much about him--Dad warn't the suspectful sort, unfortunately.'
Sudden smothered a smile; Dave Dover had passed on his trustfulness to his son apparently, as witness his own case.
'Flint is wise to his work, an' does it,' Burke put in.
'If he's here for a purpose, he'd naturally wanta stay,' Sudden pointed out. 'Who's the boy?'
'Dad picked him up at the Bend 'bout twelve months ago. Just a hobo kid stealin' a ride on a freight car what come further west than he figured on. He was precious near starved, an' his lungs is all shot to pieces. Wouldn't give any name, but he talked a lot o' New York, so the boys christened him `yorky.' He's s'posed to help the cook, but spends most of his time smokin' cigarettes an' damnin' everythin' an' everybody.
'A queer li'l runt--'pears to have a spite agin hisself--but he's got guts. Soon after he arrived, he goes with one o' the men in the buckboard to Rainbow. Said the ranch was deadly dull, an' he wanted some excitement. He got it. The storekeeper's son, a big lummox of a lad an' the town bully, started on him. They fought, an' Yorky was fetched home with a bruise on every inch of his body. But not a chirp could we git out'n him.--*
'Dad was hoppin' mad. He rides into Rainbow next mornin', learns the truth, an' tackles the storekeeper. 'I want a word with your boy, Evans,' he sez. `You needn't to trouble, Dover, he's had his lesson,' the storekeeper replies. `Right now he's in bed, both eyes bunged up, two teeth missin', an' a neck what looks like he'd had a turn- up with a cougar.'
' `Yorky was half-dead to begin with, an' yore boy twice his weight,' Dad points out.
' `Mebbe, but the half what ain't dead is lively enough,' Evans retorts. `He fought like a wild thing--fists, feet, teeth, an' nails, anythin' went, an' when I drags 'em apart, he stands there spittin' out blood an' curses. 'No blasted hayseed can call me names an' git away with it,' he sez, an' keels over.' '
Dan was silent for a moment, his eyes sombre. 'That was Dad,' he said. 'Hard as granite at need, but with ever a soft spot for sufferin' in man or beast; I've knowed him mighty near kill a man for maltreatin' a hoss.' He roused himself, striving to thrust aside the burden of grief which oppressed Hun. -Well, this ain't gettin us no place. Burke, l'm minded to ask Green to be foreman.'
'What you say, goes, Dan,' the little man replied steadily: Sudden shook his head. 'That won't do nohow; I've a better plan,' he said. 'Burke here, knowin' the range an' the outfit, oughta be foreman; that's on'y right an' fair. I can be more use to yu if I ain't tied. Call me stray-man, say; that'll give me a chance to snoop around, learn the country; an' keep my eyes an' ears open.'
Burke's despondent face brightened amazingly at this proposition, but Dover still seemed doubtful. 'I'd like a lot for Bill to have the job--it's due him,' he admitted. 'But it don't seem much to offer you.'
'Shucks!' was the smiling reply. 'It ain't what a man's called but what he does that matters.'
'If Jim slept here 'stead of in the bunkhouse he'd be less liable to have his comin's an' goin's noticed,' Burke suggested.
'Which is one damn good notion,' Dover said eagerly. 'I'll be glad to have you, Jim; it's goin' to be lonesome ...' He broke off and swept a hand across his eyes as though to disperse the mist of misery which enveloped him every time he thought of his loss. 'Hell burn them,' he burst out. 'They shall pay, the curs.' The moment of fury passed, and he looked up wearily. 'Didn't mean to let go thataway. Burke, the boys will have the bad news by this; go an' tell 'em the good--'bout yoreself; I reckon they'll be as pleased as I am.'
'I'm obliged, Dan,' the foreman replied. 'I'll do my best.' He turned to Sudden. 'I'm thankin' you too, Jim; mebbe I was lyin' about that ambition.'
'Yu didn't deceive me, ol'-timer,' the puncher grinned.
When they were alone, he looked at the boy into whose life he had so strangely stepped. 'Yu got a good man there,' he remarked. 'Yu've done the square thing by him, an' yu won't regret it.'
'No, Bill Burke's white, an' he was fond o' Dad,' Dover replied. 'Jim, the situation is more desperate than when I spoke to you at the Bend; it ain't too late to slide out--if you want.'
'Forget it,' Sudden said. 'When I start anythin' I aim to go through. All I want now is a bed, an' it wouldn't do yu no real harm to try one. An' remember--there's allus light behind even the blackest cloud.' .
Breakfast was no more than over when Yorky came in to say that 'a guy from town' was asking for Dan. The young man went out, and Sudden followed. The visitor proved to be Hicks.
'Mornin', gents,' he said, pleasantly enough. 'The sheriff s holdin' an enquiry into yestiddy's bad business, an' he'd like you both to be there. It'll be at Sody's, an' Foxy sez mebbe you could fetch along ...' He broke off.
'You can tell him--' Dan began fiercely.
'That we'll be on hand,' Sudden finished, and when the messenger had departed, added, 'No sense in r'arin' up an' settin' folks against us.'
'It'll be a mere farce,' was the bitter comment.
'Shore, but we gotta play the game their way--for a spell,' Sudden replied, and then, thoughtfully, 'Some o' yore outfit might care to be present at the buryin'--Burke, say, an' three-four others.'
'Yu think they'll try anythin'?'
'Oh, I guess not, but as a mark o' respect for the deceased, yu know.'
So it came about that when the buckboard, driven by Burke, arrived in town, it was accompanied by five armed horsemen, a fact that caused a stir of excitement.
'Who's the black-haired hombre?' asked Seller, who, as carpenter and coffin-maker, had an interest in the
