to the former.
'Guess that's mine, seein' the care I took,' he said.
The other smiled, reached out his 'makings' and began to fashion a cigarette. There was a smear of blood on his left hand; the Circle Dot man's eyes widened.'I'm guessin' again,' he said. 'I'm right sorry.'
'Shucks, it's on'y a graze. Mebbe I moved a mite,' was the careless reply. The tell-tale stain was wiped away. 'Well, s'pose we get acquainted. I'm James Green, of No place, Nowhere, an' powerful fond o' new scenery.'
'Pleased to meet you,' the other replied. 'I'm Dan Dover. My dad owns the Circle Dot range at Rainbow, 'bout fifty mile on from here. Mebbe you know it?'
Green shook his head. 'This is my furthest west.' His steady gaze rested on his companion. 'What's yore trouble?'
'Did I mention any?' came the counter.
'No, but a fella doesn't come such a caper as this for fun. At first I thought it was a bluff, but when I called it an' yu went through, I knowed different.'
'Well, yo're right, there's trouble to spare, an' more ahead unless I'm wide o' the trail. I want a man--a real one, to help me deal with it.'
'My guns ain't for sale,' the stranger said curtly.
'I don't want 'em, but the fella who comes to us has gotta be able to protect hisself; we've had a hand killed an' two more crippled pretty recent.'
'How come?'
'Shot from cover--every time,' Dover informed bitterly. 'Sounds bad. Got any suspicions?'
'Plenty, an' nothin' else. See, here's the layout: the Circle Dot ain't a big ranch--'bout a thousand head just now--times is poor, but it owns good grazin' an' water--a stream from the Cloudy Hills runs right through our land.'
'Plenty water is shore an asset.'
'Yo're shoutin', but it can be a liability. The Wagon-wheel, located east of us ain't so well fixed. They tried to buy us out--at their figure--but we wasn't interested, an' that started the feud.'
'Feud, huh?'
`Yeah. I warn't but a little shaver in them days--mebbe it's ten year ago, an' Dad don't talk much. Gran'dad owned the ranch then. He was a hard case; straight as a string, but mighty set in his ideas--it's a family failin', I guess. He was the first to go; they found him laid out in a gully one mornin', with two slugs in his back. There was no evidence, an' not much doubt either--the Wagon-wheel had been pretty free with their threats. Tom Trenton, father o' the present owner, just grinned when my uncle Rufe--Dad's elder brother--taxed him with the crime. Rufe was a red-head--all the Dovers are--an' he pulled his gun, but bystanders grabbed his arms, an' Tom went away with a gibe. Oh, he'd 'a' shot it out willin' enough; there ain't no cowards in the Trenton family.'
'Yore gran'dad was downed from behind,' came the reminder.
'Yeah, that's one o' the things I can't understand; from all I've heard, finishin' a fella thataway wouldn't 'a' give Tom Trenton much satisfaction. Sounds odd, I guess, but I..'
'He'd have wanted the other to know; I've met that sort.'
'Well, however it may have been, he didn't have long to crow, for a coupla months later he was picked up half a mile from the Wagon-wheel with a bullet between the eyes; his gun was lyin' near, but it hadn't been fired. There was a lot o' talk, near everybody reckoned Rufe had done it, an' as the Trentons owned the sheriff--an' do now--he had to pull his freight. Allasame, that didn't end or mend matters; the quarrel dragged on, an' like a slow fire, flared up at intervals. Dad is carryin' round some slugs, but he don't weigh much anyways, an' Zeb Trenton has a limp he warn't born with. For some years now there's on'y been bad feelin' till a few months back when the trouble started again. That's why I'm here.'
'Meanin' yu an' yore father can't handle it?' Green said.
'Just that,' was the frank reply. 'Dad ain't the man he was afore we lost mother--it seemed to take the heart out'n him--an' me, I s'pose I'm kind o' young. Our boys is a good bunch, but they need a leader, someone with more savvy than a kid they've watched grow up.'
Green was silent for a while, considering the curious tale to which he had listened. He was not enamoured of the proposal, but liked the maker of it. The boy was straight, modest, and possessed the pluck to take his own medicine, as the shooting incident proved. His mind went back to a little ranch in Texas; he had been just such another youth. But the world had used him roughly since then, moulding him into a man, experienced, dangerous, and when occasion demanded, ruthless. It had also given him another name. For this was 'Sudden,' whose daring exploits and uncanny skill with weapons had earned an unenviable reputation in the southwest.' Presently he made his decision. 'I'll see yore Ol' Man.'
Dover's relief was obvious. 'I'm right glad,' he said, and then, awkwardly, 'Anythin' holdin' you in this dump?'
The other smiled. 'I can start straight away if yo're ready.'
'I've got a call to make at a ranch 'bout five mile north. Mebbe you wouldn't mind goin' ahead. You see, I didn't like leavin'--Dad's venturesome--just refuses to realize how real the danger iS.'
'Then he won't be expectin' me?'
'No, but any traveller is welcome at the Circle Dot, an' once yo're there, I guess I can get him to see the light. I oughta told you this before, but--' He bogged down, and then added, 'If he'd knowed why, he wouldn't 'a' let me come.'
Green nodded; he had a mental picture of the rancher, proud, independent, a man who had fended for himself all his life, and little likely to admit that misfortune and growing years had lessened his ability still to do so. He knew the type, rugged, sturdy fellows, who would fight to their last gasp of breath against any aggression. The boy before him would follow the same pattern, if Fate so willed it. He grinned back at the smiling but anxious eyes.
'I'll take a chance,' he said, and rose.
'Dessay I'll overtake you if I can persuade the owner o' that black in the corral to sell.'
'He won't part.'
'You seem mighty shore. Is he a friend o' yores?'
'That's somethin' I've never been able to decide,' the gunman said with a sardonic twinkle. 'Yu see, the black is mine.'
Dover's expression was rueful. 'Cuss the luck. Saw him this mornin' when I turned my bronc in; I never come so near to bein' a hoss-thief. Made up my mind to buy him if it busted me. He's a peach.'
'He's a pal,' was the grave reply, and the young man--to whom also a horse was more than a beast of burden--understood.
'Well, life's full o' disappointments, ain't it?' he rejoined cheerfully. 'I guess I won't be overhaulin' you; Thimble is a /Related in Sudden--Outlawed. George Newnes Ltd.
good li'l cowpony, but in a race that black would make him look like he was standin' still. See you at the Circle Dot, an' o' course, we're strangers. If Dad thought I was puttin' one over on him, he'd dig his heels in an' a team o' mules wouldn't make him budge. But don't get a wrong impression; he's the finest fella I ever knowed, but he's got his own ideas.'
Green laughed. 'I'm a mite thataway my own self,' he confessed. 'A saplin' what sways with every wind ain't the tree to trust yore weight to.'
Chapter II
'Shore is an up-an'-down country, an' any fella what likes his scenery mixed couldn't rightly complain.'
It was late in the afternoon, and the black-haired man from Sandy Bend, in default of other companionship, was communing with his horse. The deeply-rutted trail he had been following, after a steady climb, brought him to a small plateau which afforded a view of what lay before. It was a daunting spectacle for the unaccustomed eye--a vast rampart of grey-spired, arid-topped mountains, their lower slopes shrouded by dense growths of yellow and nut-pine, stretched along the horizon beneath the slowly sinking sun. They did not seem remote, but the traveller knew they must be about forty miles distant. Between them and where he sat lay a jumble of lesser hills, interspersed by valleys, sandy stretches of sage, grease-wood, and cactus, with innumerable tracts of timber.
'Reckon we can't be far from that Rainbow town,' Sudden continued. 'I guess we won't trouble it. If that young fella was correct, headin' south a bit should fetch us to the Circle Dot, havin' o' course, lost our way. Might
