shooting holes through the stained-glass transom that was the pride of Leo’s mother. Then, one by one, they rode right up to the house and tossed their burning torches, some of them through the windows, others onto the roof. Not until the house was heavily involved in flames did they turn and, with laughter as from hell, rode away at the gallop.
“Ma! Pa!” Leo shouted. He was concerned about Slim and Curly, but more concerned about his parents, who he knew to be still in the house. He started toward the house, but before he got there, he saw his mother and father come running out the front door. They hurried down the porch steps, then ran over to Leo, who embraced his mother.
“Who did this? Who did this terrible thing?” Cora McCann asked.
“I seen ’em,” Leo said. “I seen all of ’em.” Leo looked at his father, whose skin now glowed orange in the reflected light of the fire. “It was Denbigh’s men, Pa,” he said. “I recognized a bunch of them.”
“Curly? Slim?” Ian said.
“They was both shot. They’re layin’ there on the porch of the bunkhouse.”
Ian hurried over to his two men, then knelt beside them. It took but a cursory examination to see that both were dead.
“What are we goin’ to do, Pa?” Leo asked.
Ian stood up and looked back at the house, which was now totally enveloped in flame.
“It’s too late for the house,” Ian said. “But we might be able to save the other buildings if I can get help here quickly enough.”
“You stay with Ma,” Leo said. “I’ll go get help.”
E.B. Fowler had guests for dinner, and Sue had gone all out for the occasion. She baked a ham, made two pies, and had decorated the house with wildflowers.
Their guests were their nearest neighbors, Ralph and Amanda Putnam and their daughter Helen. The Putnams were farmers rather than ranchers, but Ralph had been one of the men who had gone with E. B. Fowler, Ian McCann, and the others in the unsuccessful attempt to force their way through Denbigh’s tollgate.
They had just finished their dinner and were in the parlor talking.
“Do you know anything about this fella Matt Jensen?” Ralph asked.
“Why?” Sue asked quickly. “I know he was hurt the other night at the dance. He hasn’t died, has he?”
Ralph shook his head. “No, I was in town this morning, and I saw Doc Purvis. He said Jensen is coming along.”
“Oh,” Sue said. “That’s good. For a moment, you frightened me. I thought he might have died.”
“Why are you so concerned about him? Do you know him?”
“We sort of know him,” E.B. said. “He stopped by here on his way into town the first day.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“He’s very nice, pleasant, well spoken,” E.B. said.
“He had lunch with us,” Sue added.
“He may be pleasant and well spoken, but he has been here less than two weeks and he’s already killed two men,” Ralph said.
“Ralph, that isn’t fair,” E.B. said. “Both cases were self-defense.”
“Yes, so they say.”
“Do you have any reason to doubt it?”
“You don’t think he killed Butrum because—” Ralph paused in mid-sentence.
“Because what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to take Butrum’s place? It would be a good way of getting it.”
“You mean work for Denbigh?” E.B. asked.
“Yes.”
“No, he would never do that. He has taken a job with John Bryce, and you know how Bryce feels about Denbigh. Anyone who has ever read the
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Sue, this cake is wonderful,” Amanda Putnam said, changing the subject.
“Thank you, it’s a recipe I got from Cora McCann.”
Green and Helen were over in the corner, playing a game of checkers.
“Look how well they get along together,” Amanda Putnam said. “Like brother and sister.”
“Ha! Better than that,” Sue said. “I had a brother, and we fought like cats and dogs.”
“Who knows, maybe they will get married someday and can join our properties together,” E.B. said.
“And which would it become, E.B.? A bigger ranch or a bigger farm?” Ralph asked.
