again he recalled his belief that behind Sonntag was another, unknown person.
He was almost to the edge of the Highbinders when he heard a faint yell. He reined in his horse and shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun. Someone was waving a hat. He jacked a shell into the chamber of his Winchester and rode ahead, his eyes studying the ground. When he got a little closer, a man got up out of the grass. It was Rifenbark.
'What happened?' Rif's head was bloody and he was limping.
'Three of them Rawhide hands. I seen 'em drivin' some cattle ahead, so I started down range. I was a ways off. Bovetas, he seen 'em before I did, an' he rode down on 'em.'
Rifenbark's eyes were bleak. 'They never give him a chance. I seen it, an' I also seen I wasn't goin' to do much good agin' three of 'em on a hoss. I hit dirt, an' when they got close enough, I opened up with my rifle.
'Never did no good, though. Never even winged one. They just waved at me an' rode on, then two of 'em circled back, an' one got in this here shot that cut my scalp. I shot again, but didn't get neither one, although I burned 'em up some.'
'Where's your horse?'
'Yonder in them trees. I seen him movin' there a minute ago.'
Dowd wheeled his horse and started for the trees. He would get Rif mounted, and then they would cut along toward Brewster's. They might come up with the herd again.
Far away to the east, two separate riders were headed toward Brewster's as toward the apex of a triangle. One of these was Remy Kastelle; the other was Pierce Logan.
Pierce Logan rode rapidly. He was heading for Rawhide, and he had a few plans he wanted to put into execution, and he was looking for a man to replace Mex Roberts. Despite himself, he was worried. He could think of no particular reason why he should be, although he had planned to have Dowd out of the way before things came to a head.
He had chosen Roberts to kill Sonntag when the time came, and now that chance was gone. If Sonntag were to be killed, he must find someone else ... or do it himself. It might come to that.
A vast impatience lay upon him. Cool planning had been his best hand, but now movement had taken the place of thinking. He knew and approved of what the Rawhide crowd were doing today. Before nightfall, fear would be alive on the range. As long as he had the chance to place the blame on Mahone or his 'gang' it would be all right ... but that was touch and go so far, because they had not had a chance to mix any altered brands into the cattle he was selling.
Pierce Logan had ridden out of town after his meeting with Dowd, and he had stayed the night in a line shack on Brewster's range. He would stay out of sight as much as possible. At all costs, he wished to avoid being forced to show his colors.
He reached the Brewster ranch to find the house in flames and the stock driven off. There was no sign of anyone around the place. Yet he had scarcely ridden into the yard when he heard a low moan. He swung his horse, and his pistol flashed into his hand.
The groan sounded again, and he swung down and walked toward the barn. It had been left standing due to the amount of feed stored there, and some valuable saddles. Logan had been cold-blooded about that. 'Might as well keep it, Byrn,' he said dryly. 'We can use that stuff, and the feed will be good for our horses.'
'Logan?' Pierce turned his head to the voice and saw a hand wave feebly from under a pile of sacking. 'Help!' The voice was weak.
In two strides he was beside the sacking and jerked it back. Van Brewster, his shirt covered with blood, lay on the barn floor. His lids fluttered and he tried to speak again. Coolly, Logan lifted his pistol. They'd botched the job, but he might as well finish it.
Then he heard a horse's hooves. Wheeling, he saw Remy Kastelle ride into the ranch yard on her white mare. Thrusting his gun into the holster, he called to her. 'Come here! Brewster's hurt!'
Remy dismounted and ran to him. He took her elbow and showed her the wounded man. Then, cursing under his breath, he picked up a bucket and went for water while she unfastened the man's rough shirt. Van Brewster was badly wounded, she could see that at a glance. If he lived it would be more luck than anything they could do. If only they had Doc Finerty!
'Logan ... started ...' Brewster's mutter faded, then his eyes opened again, '... shoot me,' he ended.
The words made no sense. Obviously he was delirious, and she thought no more of what he had said. An hour later, with the wounds bathed and bandaged from some supplies she carried in her saddlebags, she stood facing Logan.
'He can't be moved, Pierce.' Her voice was worried. 'I'm going to stay here with him. Why don't you ride for Doc? That horse of yours will get to him faster than anyone else.'
'Leave mA with him,' Logan suggested. Your mare is fast and yotf'd be safer in town than here.'
She hesitated. 'No, I'll stay. Ever since this started I've been carrying a *ew things with me. If he should need help, I could give it to him. I'll be all right.'
'Well . ' He hesitated. She was here, alone. Why not now? In a few days ... ? Then he told himself not to be a fool. He wanted the Lazy K. He could get a clearer title by marriage and besides, she would be an asset. There was plenty of time. He told himself that coolly, while he avoided her glance. She was the loveliest girl he had ever seen- Only one had been nearly so beautiful.
'All right I'll go. Be careful,' he advised, 'and stay out of sight.' This would prevent him from going on to Rawhide but that could wait. He would appear to be doing more g d this way. Finerty would remember it, and Brewster, if he lived. Had Brewster seen him lift that pistol? He doubted it. Mounting, he waved good-bye and started the horse at a fast canter.
Remy looked after him, wondering about him again as she often had in these last few days. He sat his horse splendidly. He was a man a woman could be proud of.
But ...
She walked back to the barn and gathered more sacks to make Brewster more comfortable. Time and again she walked to the door, but it would be hours before Logan could return, Pierce Logan was in no hurry. He was going for Finerty but he was hoping that Brewster would die before the doctor could reach him to help. Hurrying would only increase the chances for Brewster to live. Still, if he did live he would be ill for a long time, and by that time the whole trouble would be settled, one way or another.
Now that he was away from her, he was glad he had not molested Remy Kastelle. There was something about being alone with a woman like that that always fired him with some strange, burning desire. Yet, he could wait. All this, and her, would soon be his. Only three obstacles remained. Texas Dowd, the plan against Finn Mahone, and Byrn Sonntag.
The Rawhide gunman was his man, but he was too powerful a force for Logan to leave in the field. Sonntag had started changing Logan's policy when the Rawhide boys began their outright theft. Sonntag controlled the men doing the rustling. So Logan had no choice but to go along with it or be sidelined. As soon as the events in the Laird Valley came to a head, Logan and Sonntag were going to have to find out who was boss. Yet it was a simple choice ... only one would be alive.
North of him the clans were gathering in Rawhide. Byrn Sonntag had been sitting at a table waiting for them. Montana Kerr came in, dusty from his long ride Briefly, he reported. Sonntag fingered his glass. Dan Taggart was dead. That was good, for the man had fight in him. Bovetas was dead. That was unimportant, but it was another gun eliminated. Brewster was dead, or so the report came in. The Brewster and Mclnnis operations were out of the fight, and the bulk of their cattle were on the move. There remained only the Lazy K.
Logan was soft on hitting the Kastelle ranch. He had some plan of his own, for he had always told Sonntag to go easy. The reason he gave was the watchfulness of Texas Dowd, but Sonntag suspected it had more to do with the girl. The thought of Dowd irritated Sonntag. The man was good with a gun. But how good?
He knew Dowd slightly. Finn Mahone was still only a name to him, once or twice their trails had crossed, but always at a distance.
Ike Hibby, Ringer Cobb, Banty Hull, and the rest of them had ridden in from the range. The war was on, and the Rawhide riders had struck fast and hard.
He was not worried about Laird. Its citizens would have little effect outside the town. There would be resistance, but a resistance of spirit rather than physical power. Byrn Sonntag had nothing but contempt for resistance of the spirit. Such resistance is of avail only so long as one's enemy is aware of things of the spirit, and
