think she's dancin' wi' a flag-pole.'
Before Slim, who really did justify his name, could hit upon an adequate reply, Blister cut in. 'They say the Trenton dame is awful pretty; wonder if she'll take a turn with any of us?'
'Zeb'll 'tend to that,' Tiny said. 'I'm told the banker's girl ain't exactly a grief to look at. I've most near forgot how to waltz; let's try her out, Blister.'
It was an unfortunate rehearsal--for someone else. The two wash-basins were in great demand, and Slocombe, despairing of getting one, had brought in a bucket of water, and, stripped to the waist, was bending over it, sluicing his face, when the disciples of Terpsichore collided heavily with his rear. Head jammed in the bucket, the outraged victim rose to his feet, the soapy contents cascading down his person, and literally drowning the muffled maledictions which came from the interior of the utensil. Tiny, eager to make amends, tore the strange headgear from the wearer's head. The effort was well-meant, but Tiny was a tall man, his snatch was upward, and he forgot the dangling handle. With an agonized yell, Slocombe grabbed the offending pail, hurled it with a crash of glass through a window, and clutching his almost fractured jaw with both hands, capered around the room spitting out lather and profanity with every leap. The paralysed outfit fought its mirth--one laugh might have turned the comedy into a tragedy. Tiny broke the silence:
'Which I'm damn sorry, Slow,' he said, and his voice contained no hint of the laughter bubbling within him. 'We didn't go for to do it; we never saw you.'
'Sorry?' Slocombe cried. 'You lumberin', club-footed elephant--they oughta hang a bell on you to tell folks when yo're movin' around; yo're a danger to the c'munity, an' why in hell did you try to slice the face off'n me with that sanguinary handle?'
'I acted for the best, Slow, honest I did,' the big man replied, but his contrite expression was too much for the audience and a storm of merriment broke out.
Slow looked murder for a moment, and then--being a good sport--joined in. The appearance of Sudden stilled the tumult, and he had to be told the story.
'Yo're dead right, Slow,' was his decision. 'Tiny oughta have a corral all to hisself.'
'You'll be late, Jim, won't you?' Blister asked, noting that the puncher had made no preparations.
'I ain't goin',' was the reply. 'Someone has to stay an' keep house, if on'y to see that nobody steals our cook.'
'Huh, they'd have to fetch a wagon to take him away,' Slim chimed in.
'We'll cut the cards to see who stays home 'stead o' you,' Tiny said, and the rest voiced approval.
'Mighty good o' yu, but it's all settled,' Sudden repliedt 'An' I don't care for dancin', anyways.'
Later, as Dan mounted to follow his men, he said, 'Why not come along, Jim. Paddy can hold down the ranch.'
'I'm playin' a hunch; mebbe there's nothin' in it.'
When the hilarious whoops died away in the distance, he had an idea. Returning to the living-room, he opened the desk. Knowing where to look, it did not take him long to find the hidden drawer. Then, the paper in hand, he pondered. On a shelf, amid a dusty litter of odds and ends, was a spike file of paid bills. Sudden removed half, thrust on Rufe Dover's letter, and replaced them. Then he saddled his horse, leaving it picketed just outside the corral. These preparations made, he returned to his lonely vigil. Paddy was singing in the kitchen, and away over the plain the weird call of a prowling coyote came to him.
'The boys would say there ain't no difference, an' they'd be damn near right,' he chuckled, as he lit a cigarette and settled down in his chair by the fire.
The hours crept by and the watcher was beginning to think he had foregone an evening's amusement vainly when a rifle-shot brought him to his feet; something was happening on the range. He stepped swiftly to the kitchen and awoke the drowsing cook.
'Get a gun an' keep yore eyes peeled,' he said. 'Somethin' odd goin' on.'
He hurried to the hut by the wood-pile; its occupant was squatting by the fire.
'Hunch, I want yu to fork a hoss an' fetch Dan an' the boys; they're at the schoolhouse in Rainbow. Say there's trouble, an' hurry. Understand?'
The old man nodded, and the puncher wasted no more time. He reached his horse, coiled the picket-rope as he ran, mounted, and spurred into the open. He had not gone far when he saw a flash, followed by a crack--this time, of a revolver--and the bellow of a frightened steer. Rustlers! Sudden clamped his teeth on an oath and slowed down--he had no desire to run into a trap. Soon he could hear the beat of galloping hooves, and discern shadowy forms scurrying to and fro in the gloom. They were rounding up cattle in readiness to drive.
Sudden dragged out his Winchester, waited until he could see one of the vague figures, and squeezed the trigger. The crash of the gun was succeeded by a muttered curse which brought balm to the marksman; the bullet had not been entirely wasted. Three fingers of flame stabbed the darkness, but the Circle Dot man had moved immediately he had fired, and the lead hummed harmlessly past him. He replied, aiming at the flashes, three quick shots from different positions, to convey the impression that he was not alone. Apparently he succeeded, for a hoarse voice said:
'Better be movin'--we've given 'em time enough. C'mon.' The puncher sent a couple of slugs to hasten their departure and then rode forward. A dark blot on the ground proved to be a dead horse from which the saddle had been removed. Nearby about a score of steers were milling. Sudden broke and scattered them; if the rustlers returned, they would have to start all over again. But he did not think they would; the remark, 'given 'em time enough' was sticking in his mind, and realizing the impossibility of running down the raiders in the dark, he headed for the ranch-house.
Approaching quietly, he dismounted and slipped in by the back door. On the floor of the kitchen the cook was lying senseless. Sudden dashed into the living-room in search of whisky. The place might have been struck by a cyclone. Chairs and table overturned, the desk and secret drawer open, rug thrown aside, papers and other articles scattered broadcast. Sudden grinned as he saw that the shelf and its dusty burden had not been touched. There was no whisky, and a smashed bottle on the hearth supplied the reason. He was looking at this when a voice came from the doorway:
'Don't stir if you wanta go on breathin'.'
There was no need to turn; a small mirror over the fireplace told him that a masked man, with a levelled gun, had followed him in from the darkened passage without. Sudden obeyed a further order, but did not raise his hands very high.
'Where's the letter from Rufe Dover?' the unknown barked.
'On the shelf behind me--there's a file,' the puncher said.
In the glass he watched the fellow move, noted that as he
reached for the shelf, his eyes instinctively followed his hand.
This was the moment Sudden was waiting for. His own right dropped, whisked out a gun, reversed it, and fired over his shoulder, the whole action taking seconds only. He saw the intruder stagger under the impact of the bullet, drop his weapon, and lunge from the room. At the same moment a voice outside the window said:
'What's doin', Rat? Want any help?'
'No,' Sudden gritted, and sent a slug crashing through the glass.
He heard the front door slam, and the same voice asked: 'You got it?'
'Yeah, in the shoulder--that cursed gun-wizard showed up. C'mon, beat it.'
A scuffle of hurrying hooves told the rest.
The puncher returned to the kitchen to find that the injured man had recovered his wits and was sitting up tenderly feeling a large bump on the back of his head.
'Glory be, an' phwat's happenin' this noight,' he wanted to know.
'S'pose yu tell me,' Sudden suggested.
'An' that won't take long,' Paddy replied. 'I'm settin' in me chair, an' hears someone come in by the front dure. I thinks it's yerself an' stan's up to welcome ye. An' thin, the roof falls on me.'
The festivities at Rainbow were in full swing by the time the Circle Dot contingent arrived and had deposited hats, spurs, and guns. Desks had been removed from the floor, forms arranged against the walls, thus leaving space for the dancers. At one end of the room, a pianist and a fiddler--loaned from Sody's saloon--struggled for the lead in a polka, and bets were laid as to which would win. Trenton, his harsh countenance contorted in what he would have called a smile, had presented his niece to the more important of the townsfolk, and she was now
