dasn't sleep for fear she'd wake up in the middle of the night and put a blade into me.

And she had one. She had it strapped to her leg under her dress, a neat little knife, scarcely wider than her little finger but two-edged as well as pointed.

I'd come onto it whilst I was checking that bad leg, but I left it right where it was.

After a bit I walked off into the dark and went back up on the level. There was no sign of that place from above, and the little fire I had was well hidden. I listened for a spell, then strolled back. Fanny Baston had not moved. At least not so's I could see.

Taking my blankets I moved back among those trees. Three spruces grew together, their trunks starting almost from the same spot. I settled down amongst them with my pistol hitched around between my legs and my Winchester handy. Wrapped in a blanket, I settled down for the night.

The trees formed a V and I put a couple of small branches across the wide part of it. To reach me they'd have to step one foot there, and I had a notion I'd hear them first. And there was always the horses to warn me of folks a-coming.

There for a time I slept, dozed, slept again, and dozed. Then I was awake for a spell. Easing out of my place I added a few small sticks to the fire, checked Fanny, covering her better with the blanket, then went back to my corner.

It was not yet daybreak when I finally awakened, and I sat there for a bit, thinking about pa and about this place and wondering what had become of him.

Wherever he'd come to the end could not be far from here unless he taken that ghost trail clean out of the country. Knowing pa, he might have done just that.

I was wishing I had ol' Powder-Face with me. That was a canny Injun, and he'd be a help to a man in sorting out a twenty-year-old trail.

When the sky was gray I eased out of my corner and stretched to get the stiffness out of me. I was still tired, but I knew that this day I had it to do.

First off I strolled over to the rim. There was a drop of around a thousand feet, and, at the point where I'd almost stepped off, a sheer drop. Far oft I could see a red cliff showing above the green, and still further the endless mountains rolling away like the waves of the sea to the horizon.

There was no easy way into that vast hollow, but on a point some distance off there was the thin line of a game trail, probably made by elk. It might lead into the basin.

I started back to camp.

Nobody needed to tell me the showdown was here. It was now; it was today.

Andre Baston had followed me from New Orleans, and with him Hippo Swan. They knew what happened here twenty years ago. That Fanny Baston had come with them was a measure of their desperation.

They'd lived mighty easy most of their days. They'd built themselves a style of life they preferred, and then they discovered that money did not last forever.

Ahead of them was loss of face and poverty, and all that would go with it, and they had no courage to face what many face with dignity their life long.

They had staked everything on what would happen today. Not only to prevent the discovery of what had gone before, but if possible to find the treasure--or a part of it--for themselves.

When daylight came I could see that I was on a sort of ledge that sat like a step below the rim. It was covered with grass and scattered with trees and it seemed to curve on around until it lined out along a great barebacked ridge.

The ledge varied in width, maybe a hundred feet at its widest point, narrowing down here and there to no more than a third of that. It was a place that no one would suspect until they were right on it, and I couldn't have found anything better.

From anywhere on that ledge a body could see most of it, and I could see no movement yonder where Fanny Baston was lying. I went to my horses and moved them further along. This was good grass and they were having a time of it; and they deserved it.

Nevertheless, being a man who placed no trust in any future I had not shaped myself, I packed my saddle yonder and slapped it on the appaloosa. Then I put together most of my gear and took it down behind a shoulder of rock near the buckskin.

Right above the ledge was a high, rocky knoll that overlooked everything around.

From the ledge I could crawl out and climb that knoll and have a good view of the whole basin.

First I walked back to camp. Fanny Baston was sitting up, her arms around her knees. She looked up at me, her eyes blank.

'Where is this place?' she asked.

'On top of a mountain,' I said. I did not know what to think of her, and I was careful. My right hand held my rifle by the action, thumb on the hammer in case of unexpected company. 'You had a fall. Your horse jumped off the trail.'

She looked at me. 'Are you taking care of me? I mean ... why are we here?'

She seemed genuinely puzzled, but I was of no mind to play games. I knew the showdown was close to hand. 'You followed me to kill me,' I said. 'You and your uncle and them.'

'Why should we want to kill you?' She looked mystified. 'I can't imagine wanting to kill you, or hurt you-- you're-you're nice.'

She said it in a little girl's voice. 'And you're so tall, so strong looking.'

She got up. 'Are you strong? Could you hold me?'

She took a step toward me. Her dress was torn and her shoulder was bare above that scraped-up arm.

'Your brother and your uncle are right over yonder,' I said, 'and if you start walking that way, they'll find you.'

'But-but I don't want to go! I want to stay with you.'

'You must have taken more of a rap on the skull than I figured,' I told her.

'You're a right fine lookin' figure of a woman, but I wouldn't touch you with a hayfork, ma'am. I don't think you've got an honest bone in you.'

She smiled. 'I do like you!'

She came toward me, moving in close. 'Tell, please! Let's forget all this! Let's take the horses and go back down the way we came! We could keep right on to California! Anywhere!'

'Yes, ma'am. We could, but--'

Suddenly, she jumped at me, grabbing at my rifle with both hands. She latched on to it and then she grabbed my wrist. 'Now, Paul! Now!'

Scared, I threw her off me, sending her tumbling on the grass. She cried out as she hit, and I lost balance and went to one knee.

Paul was standing there, a rifle in his hands, and, even as I looked, its muzzle stabbed flame.

Chapter XXIII

Paul was no such killer as his uncle. He shot too quickly and at a moving target, and his bullet missed. Mine did not.

Yet it was an almost miss. The bullet I had intended for his body was high. It struck the action of the rifle, ripping into his hand, cutting a furrow along his cheek, and taking the lobe from his ear.

He screamed, dropped the rifle, and ran.

Fanny, crying hoarsely with anger, scrambled to her feet and ran for the rifle.

I struck her aside, knocking her into the grass once more. I picked up the rifle and threw it.

It cleared the edge and fell, disappearing from sight.

Someone shouted, 'They've found him! Come on!'

I turned and ran swiftly back toward my horses, keeping trees between me and them. I heard a shot, and a bullet scattered twigs and bark over my head, so I swung behind a tree, gasping for breath, but ready to shoot.

There was no target.

Then I heard Fanny shouting, her voice hoarse and angry. 'Paul had him! He shot right at him and missed! And then he ran like a rabbit!'

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