aware of public opinion. Sonntag knew that Logan wanted to keep the war bottled up in Laird Valley. Sonntag could see the advantage in that. Yet Pierce Logan disturbed him. Why, he couldn't say.
Logan, he was well aware, was in the clear. At no point was Logan obviously involved. His skirts were clean, and there was nothing for him to worry about if the plan failed. Sometimes Sonntag wondered if he needed Logan. Yet, he had to admit, he was better heeled now than any time in his life, fear of reprisals was almost nonexistent, and it looked like his men were riding to complete dominance of the valley.
Texas Dowd, sided by Rifenbark, made a wide sweep of the Lazy K range. Mile by mile, bitterness welled up within him. The range had been swept of cattle. Back in the brakes there would be some, of course, but all those in sight had been driven off. Open war had been declared, and the attack was all to the advantage of the enemy.
Distant smoke warned him of fire at Brewster's, so the two rode on. When still some distance away, he recognized Remy's mare and put his horse to a gallop.
Remy ran from the barn to greet him. 'It was the Rawhide bunch! If Logan and I hadn't got here !'
Dowd's interruption was quick. 'Logan here? Who got here first, you or him?'
'Why, he did ... why?'
Dowd's face was expressionless. 'Just wondering. This is a long ways from P Slash L range, and a long way from Laird.'
'Surely you don't suspect Pierce?' Remy was incredulous.
'I suspect everybody!' Dowd replied shortly. 'Hell's broke loose! Taggart's been murdered, an' so's Bovetas!'
Remy's face went white. Dan Taggart she knew well, and Bovie ... why, he was one of their own boys! Tex went on to tell her about the missing cattle.
While Rif kept watch, Dowd swung down and went inside. Van Brewster was lying on the sacks, breathing hoarsely. His face was wet with sweat and he looked bad. Texas Dowd was familiar with the look of wounded men, and he wouldn't have given a plugged peso for the cattleman's chances.
Without saying anything further to Remy he walked-* outside. A study of the earth, where it wasn't packed too hard by sun and rain, showed him it was the same lot from Rawhide. The fact that Rawhide was not many miles away made him no happier. They were in no position to defend themselves if attacked. The barn was a flimsy structure, and outnumbered as they might be, there would be almost no chance for them.
That the Kastelle ranch was in the hands of few men was bad. Dowd was a practical fighting man, and he knew such a division of forces was often fatal. Now, when they lacked so much in strength and were encumbered by a dying man, it was infinitely worse. He made his decision quickly.
'Remy,' he said, 'get on your horse, and you and Rif head for the ranch. I'll stay with Brewster. There's nothing more you or anybody can do until the doctor comes.'
Remy shook her head. 'No, we'll stay. What if they come back?'
Dowd's face was like ice. 'You'll do as I say, Remy. Never since you was a little girl have I given you an order. I'm givin' you one now! Your father's probably worried to death by now. He's alone with just the hands at the ranch, and that's the next place they'll hit. They've wrecked Mclnnis and Brewster. Believe me, if they tackle the ranch he'll need all the help he can get. You two start back, and don't loaf on the way.'
An instant longer she hesitated, but there was a cold logic in what Dowd said. The ranch must not be lost, and their fighting power must be kept intact. 'All right, I'll go-'
She walked out and swung into the saddle. Rifenbark hesitated, rubbing his grizzled jaw. 'Gosh, Tex, I ' 'Get along,' Dowd said. 'I'll be all right.' When they had ridden away he stood there in front of the barn. Brewster's house was a heap of charred ruins, still smoking. The barn was a crude building of logs, but most of them were mere poles. It was nothing for defense. Nor was there a good spot around. If he was tackled here ... well, he would have a damned slim chance. And Brewster could not be moved.
He hunted around until he found Brewster's rifle; luckily, it was in the scabbard on his saddle. With it was an ammunition belt. He brought it back into the barn, and then got some sacks and filled them with sand.
These he piled against the wall. There were some grain-filled sacks, and he added them.
Twilight came, and then night. He sat back against the sacks and listened to the hoarse breathing of the wounded man. Outside, little stars of red twinkled and sparked among the black of the dying fire.
Pierce Logan had been here. Why? The thought got into his mind and stuck there. This part of the range held nothing for Logan. He had made no practice of visiting surrounding ranches. There was no reason for his being here, and the thought nettled Dowd. He liked to have a reason for things. He stared into the night, and then let his eyes shift to the ruins of the house.
At that moment he heard the sound of horses' hooves. He sat still, listening.
They were drawing nearer, coming from the direction of Rawhide, and there were a good-sized bunch of them. Texas Dowd got to his feet and walked to the dpor of thje barn. He loosened his six-guns in their holsters and picked up a rifle. His gray eyes worked at the night, striving to see them when they first appeared.
They were talking. He distinguished a voice as the hard, nasal twang of Frank Salter. 'You git that Brewster? Was he dead, Al?'
'You was here. Why didn't you look?' Alcorn demanded querulously. 'Of course I killed him!'
Texas Dowd had no illusions, nor any compunctions when it came to fighting outlaws and killers. He lifted his rifle, leveled at the voice of Alcorn, and fired.
As though a bolt of lightning had struck among them, riders scattered in every direction, and several of them fired. Dowd saw the flame stab the night, but he was watching his target. Alcorn slid from his horse and fell loosely, heavily into the dust and lay still.
Tex dropped to the ground and lay quiet, listening to the shouting and swearing among the Rawhiders. Then several shots rang out and Dowd heard a bullet strike the log wall. He lay quiet, ignoring it. He had no intention of wasting ammunition on the night air.
He could hear their argument, for their voices carried in the clear, still air. 'Like hell Brewster's dead! He got Al!'
'That wasn't him,' Montana said. 'Brewster might not of been dead, but he was far gone when I last seen him! Somebody else has moved in!'
The voices seemed to be centering around one group of trees, so Dowd lifted his rifle and fired four times, rapid fire. Curses rang out, then silence. He chuckled to himself. 'That will make them more careful!' he said.
Texas Dowd settled down behind the sandbags. It was lighter out there, and he could see any movement if an attempt was made to cross the ranch yard. Beside him Brewster stirred, and when Dowd looked down he saw the man's face was gray and his breathing more labored. Van Brewster was going to die.
Dowd whispered to him, 'Who shot you, Van?'
He was repeating the question a third time when Brewster's lips stirred. After a moment, the words came. 'Bant ... y Hull, Alcorn ... an' them.'
'I got Alcorn,' Dowd told him. 'I'll get Hull for you, too.'
Brewster's eyes fought their way open and he caught at Dowd's shirtfront. 'Watch ... Logan. He started to shoot me.'
Pierce Logan? Dowd's mind accepted the thought and turned it over. Logan, the innocent bystander, the man on the sidelines. Why not him?
Over in the dark brush, Montana Kerr was growing irritable. 'Let's rush the place! Let's dig him out of there, whoever he is!'
'Wait!' Hull suggested. 'I have a better plan. We'll try fire!'
Chapter 7
It was Pierce Logan himself, coming for Doc Finerty, who brought the first word of the range war to Laird. As Doc threw a few necessary articles into his saddlebags, Logan gave a brief account of what he wanted them to know. Brewster was badly wounded, perhaps dead, and his ranch house had been burned.
The second bit of news came from Nick James. He was almost at the opposite side of the Lazy K range, heading for the Notch, when he heard the shots fired by the rustlers at Bovetas and Rifenbark. Leaving his packhorse, he turned back, riding warily. So it was that he arrived at the Lazy K just in time to meet Remy as she returned from Brewster's.
Nick James headed for Laird on a fresh horse. His news, added to that brought by Logan, had the town on its
