'Yu see,' he explained to Larry that evening, when the latter came to hand over the money, 'Geevor's anxiety that we should go through Skull Canyon made me suspect him. When his gun went off twice by accident, I felt pretty shore it was a signal, an' when his hoss goes lame so's he can have an excuse to fall behind, I knew. I figured he'd slip away early an' tell his friends I was goin' back alone, an' havin' missed the herd, they'd lay for me to get the dollars. They'd never suspicion I'd trust one o' the men with the roll, so they'd let the outfit go by. It worked just like I played it would.'
The foreman told no one else of his adventure, but somebody must have talked, for the outfit got to know of it, and the foreman's reputation did not suffer in consequence. On the following morning, Severn found Geevor talking with Miss Masters.
'What became o' yu last night, Geevor?' he asked.
'I started afore the rest, thinkin' my hoss might go lame agin, an' it did, so I couldn't make the ranch,' the man said.
'Come down to my place an' get yore time,' Severn said, in a tone which conveyed his disbelief.
'Why are you dismissing Geevor?' the girl asked sharply. 'He couldn't help his horse failing.'
'He's goin' because there's times when he's ashamed to show his face, ain't that so, Geevor?' the foreman returned.
The man flushed and scowled. 'I'm not stayin' where I ain't wanted,' he said truculently.
'That's whatever,' the foreman agreed. 'An' keep clear o' the Lazy M or yu'll likely be stayin'-- permanent.'
The girl, with one withering glance at Severn, stalked into the house. She did not see the look which followed her, and in-hetstate of anger would not have read it aright if she had. She sought comfort where she had always found it as a child--on the broad bosom of Dinah.
'Don' yu worry, honeybird,' the old negress soothed. 'Sump'n tell me Massah Philip he come back, an' dat no-'count husban' o' mine say Mistah Severn good fella--he know his job.'
This was the last straw. Phil flew to her room feeling that she hadn't a friend in the world.
Chapter VII
THE boss of the Bar B dropped into a chair, lit up a cigar, and surveyed his surroundings with savage disgust. Tt was essentially a man's room, and the bare floor, clumsy furniture and litter of saddles, guns, ropes and other paraphernalia of the range contrasted unfavourably with the corresponding apartment at the Lazy M. Old Robbie, a cowpuncher who had got too terribly stove up in a stampede to ride again, could keep house after a fashion, but he had not the instincts of a home-maker. Hitherto the matter had not troubled Bart; when he married, they would live at the Lazy M, but to-day that event appeared somewhat remote. And it had all seemed so easy; everything was coming his way until the advent of the new foreman and the disappearance of the owner had put a new complexion on matters. He knew well enough why that marriage clause was in the will.
His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Penton, the one man of his outfit who was admitted to a measure of familiarity. A thin-faced, sour-looking fellow, with clamped lips and small, ruthless eyes which read the bigger man's expression at a glance. Flinging his hat on the table, he sat down.
'What's eatin' yu, Bart?' he inquired, and then, 'I saw the Masters girl in Desert Edge.'
'She went to see Embley, actin' on instructions she found in her father's papers,' Bartholomew explained. 'The old fool's made the Judge her guardian, an' she can't do a thing without his consent.'
Penton whistled. 'That postpones yore nuptials quite a piece, don't it?' he queried. 'What happens if she takes a chance?'
'She loses the ranch,' Bart growled.
'The hell she does, the cunnin' old coyote,' commented the other. 'She's a mighty nice gal, but the prettiest of 'em looks better framed, an' the Lazy M is shore a handsome frame.'
Bartholomew scowled his agreement with the sentiment. 'Yu find out anythin'?' he asked.
'Precious little, 'cept that Embley don't love yu,' Penton replied.
'That's news,' sneered his employer. 'Yu didn't say yu come from me, did yu?'
'No need--he knew, an' as soon as I mentioned Severn he tells me I can get all the information nearer home--from Severn himself, an' bows me out, grinnin' like a cat.'
Bartholomew nodded comprehendingly; he had met the Judge more than once, and he knew that grin.
'Severn ain't well known in Desert Edge--came there a few times to see Embley, but nobody knows where from,' Penton went on. 'Yu remember Fallan bein' wiped out there by a stranger? Well, it was Mister Severn. Oh, there ain't no fuss; it was more than an even break, an' the deceased warn't popular. The on'y mourners were the folks he owed money to. He was the first to go.'
'What're yu drivin' at?' Bartholomew asked, but Penton preferred to tell the story his own way.
'Comin' back I took the trail past the old Forby placedunno why,' he resumed.
'The big cottonwood is bearin' fruit agin--there was a body hangin' from the same old branch, an' when I got it down I found it was Ignacio; he'd been shot in the throat an' then strung up. Odd, ain't it?'
Black Bart ground out an oath of surprise.
'Yeah, an' on the trunk o' the tree there's two notches, new cut, over the Forby brand,' added Penton. 'Now Fallan an' the Greaser were in that business, an' there's five of us left, yu, me, Darby, Devint an' Geevor. I'm wonderin' which of us the next notch'll be cut for.'
The rancher laughed harshly.
'Bah, yo're losin' yore nerve an' seein' things, Pent,' he said. 'Ten years ago : why, somebody's bound to get bumped off in that time. As for the Greaser, he warn't no-ways popular, though I'll admit it's curious the chap who downed him should have picked on that particular tree as a gallows. Now, see here, that can wait; we got somethin' bigger to think of. I hear that Severn took his herd through to Ridge an' got back with the cash, so there he is firm in the saddle at the Lazy M, withauthority an' money to carry on. What we goin' to do about it?'
Penton was silent for a while, his cold eyes, half-lidded like reptile's, staring vacantly at the wall. Presently he spoke, an from his tone no one would have supposed that he was suggesting the murder of a fellow-creature.
'Put Shady on to him--he's fast with a gun an' he ain't known in Hope, so we needn't to show in it,' he advised.
'He's fast all right, but I doubt if he could beat Severn to it on an even break, an' we don't wanta lose Shady,' Bartholomew objected.
'Who said anythin' about an even break?' queried the other coolly. 'Shady can frame him; we're strong enough in town to see that he makes his getaway.'
The Bar B owner pondered on the proposition, his face set in a savage sneer. His decision was soon made.
'Reckon yo're right,' he said. 'I'll fix it, an' in the meantime it won't do no harm to sorta hint that Severn knows somethin' o' Masters' disappearance. Savvy?'
'Bump hirn off an' get shut of hirn, that's my hunch,' Penton said. 'Who's goin' to care, seein' he's a stranger here? I'm tellin' yu, he's bad medicine for yu an' me, an' I'll feel a heap easier when he's buzzard-meat.'
'Dropped 'em in a cleft, way off the trail, where they won't be found. We don't want no inquiries,' was the callous reply. Black Bart nodded his agreement, and Penton left him.
It was late in the afternoon when Severn and Larry rode into Hope and pulled up in front of the bank. The foreman was carrying a sum of about two thousand dollars, and wished to rid himself of the responsibility. The bank staff consisted of a manager and an assistant, and the latter being out on an errand, the former attended to the visitors himself. Mr. Rapson was an Easterner, and had never been able to acclimatise himself. A short, fat man, his wrinkled, black frock-coat, shiny bald head and spectacles gave him rather the appearance of a parson down on his luck. When the transaction was concluded, Severn began to chat about the town, and the banker immediately declared himself.
'As a business man, Mister Severn, I make it a rule never to take part in any local controversy,' he stated. 'I cannot afford to. The facilities of this establishment are at the disposal of any reputable person.'
He puffed out his chest as he pompously gave vent to these sentiments, and Larry smothered a yelp of delight. It tickled him to death to hear someone hurling what he termed 'dictionary stuff' at his friend, and he eagerly awaited the volley of high-flown language he expected would be the reply. But Severn sold him.
'I reckon yo're right, seh,' was all he said.
