to say ; the West held that 'a man must skin his own meat,' and advice, unless plainly asked for, was seldom offered. So, with a nod of farewell, he rode away.
Jim watched the visitor dwindle to a mere speck and vanish where the trail dipped into a hollow, but he was not thinking of Pyke ; his mind was milling over the last few days. For the first time he had had the bitter experience of standing helplessly by while a dear one passed over the Big Divide, and now--as at the time--the thought of his impotence filled him with a blind, unreasoning rage, the rebellion of youth and strength against the immutable law of Nature. There was nothing he could have done then, but there was something he could do--now.
'Peterson and Webe.'
He murmured the names, his face a grim threat ; his hands flashed to his hips, the black-handled guns leapt out, a staccato stream of crashes shattered the stillness, and a tall weed, twenty paces distant on the edge of the trail, dissolved into fragments before a hail of {ead. From inside the ranch-house came a scurry of clumsy footsteps and Limpy appeared in the doorway carrying a rifle.
'What th' blazes, Jim?' he began. His darting eyes took in the lounging figure on the bench, the smoking guns, and the stricken target. 'Thought it was Injuns, or some o' them Mex raiders.'
'Just me, lettin' off steam,' the other explained. 'Wanted to see if I'd got rusty, but I reckon if that'd been a man ...' He nodded at the weed.
'He'd shore be hittin' the high spots for hell,' the cook said, and then, curiously, 'Did yu have a particular fella in mind, Jim?'
The answer took the form of a question. 'Any idea where that chap Webb went?'
The lame man's eyes narrowed. 'Wish I had, the buzzard,' he growled. 'But for him, Bill wouldn't have ...' He paused as the significance of the query dawned upon him. 'yu ain't stayin' then?'
'I hit the trail in the mornin',' was the reply.
'Good huntin',' was all Limpy said, and went in to prepare the evening meal.
Jim reloaded his empty weapons and thrust them back into the holsters. His spate of anger was past, leaving only a cold determination. He had to find two men, only one of whom he had seen, and such is the optimism of youth, the magnitude of the task did not daunt him. Even had he known of the years which were to elapse ere he would fulfil his promise to the dead man,* it would have made no difference ; his early life had endowed him with much of the redskin's patience and relentlessness. This strange quest, which set him drifting in a wild, lawless land, flung him headlong into many perilous adventures, with one of which this story deals.
Chapter II
The rider was talking to his horse.
'We gotta have a label, Nig--Evesham won't do nohow.'
He looked meditatively at the broad rolling prairie which stretched away on each side of the rough trail he was following, a monstrous expanse of sun-baked, brown grass.
'Green is a good name, kind o' refreshin', nothin' fancy nor outstandin'. Jim Green o' Texas shore listens well, huh?'
The big black, pacing demurely along, tossed its head as though in agreement and his master patted the sleek neck.
'Good,' he said. 'Settles me, but yu ain't got no brand a-tall, an' that'll mean trouble with a large T.'
He got down, trailed the reins, and stroked the satiny muzzle thrust inquiringly towards a pocket. He produced a biscuit, which the horse daintily accepted.
'Now be a good fella,' the rider admonished. 'This ain't goin' to hurt like an iron.'
With a knife-blade held against his thumb he plucked the hair from the skin on the animal's rump, and, in time, produced a creditable J G brand. Surveying his work, he decided that it would serve, though an expert would not be deceived. He resumed his journey.
'Looks like we might he gettin' some place,' he remarked presently.
The trail was broadening out, and as they topped a billow in the surface of the plain a huddle of black blotches, from a few of which spirals of smoke twisted into the clear sky, came into view.
'Must be what that joker we met called the 'pop'lar an' progressive township o' Fourways,' ' the traveller soliloquized. 'She don't appear to have progressed very far.'
The criticism was justified. Two irregular rows of habitations formed some sort of a street, the surface of which was a hoof-scored, wheel-rutted desert of dust. The better of thebuildings, the stores and saloons, were constructed of timber or 'dobe ; the dwelling-places, for the most part, were mere shacks with earth-covered roofs. Save for a few citizens lolling beneath the board awning of the largest saloon, the place appeared to be deserted. The new-comer deciphered the weather-scarred sign, and surveyed the lounging group with a fleeting smile.
'The Early Bird,' he murmured. 'An' some o' the worms waitin' to be catched.'
Dropping from his saddle he stepped into the saloon. After the fierce glare without, it was comparatively cool and dark inside. As he advanced, a short figure rose from behind the bar, stretched lazily, and rubbed half-open eyes.
''Lo, Jud. Back again?' Then, as the stranger neared him, he added, 'Sorry. Took yu for another fella.' *
'I shorely hope he's good-lookin',' the customer grinned, and spun a coin on the counter.
'Well, that's as maybe, but no woman ain't grabbed him yet,' the saloon-keeper laughed.
He pushed forward a bottle and glass, accepted an invitation to help himself, and deftly tossed a three-finger dose of spirit down his capacious throat.
'Town seems quiet,' the visitor offered.
'Too blamed hot,' the other explained. 'Come back in a coupla hours, if yo're aimin' to stay, an' yu'll see some action.'
The remark was as much of a question as politeness permitted ; the stranger answered it in part only.
'I'm huntin' a meal an' a bed,' he said.
'yu'll find both at the ho-tel a piece along,' he was told.
The customer nodded his thanks. 'Reckon I'll go chase that chuck right now,' he smiled. 'My belly an' my backbone is shore gettin' acquainted. See yu later--I expect.'
The saloon-keeper's gaze followed him speculatively, noting the long, easy stride and the swing of the wide shoulders.
'Two guns an' wears 'em low,' he commented. 'I'd say they ain't just ornaments neither.'
Jim found the 'ho-tel'--a shrivelled log and shake edifice which had the distinction of possessing the only second storey in the town. Having put his mount in the corral, he carried his saddle into the building. A slatternly woman showed him to one of the bedrooms and went to prepare food.
Two hours later, having fed and 'slicked himself up,' he was again in the Early Bird. As its proprietor had predicted, the scene was very different. The harsh light of large kerosene lamps shone down upon about a score of men, some lined up at the bar, others gambling at the tables which occupied part of the space in front of it. Every few moments the door swung back to admit additions to the company. The rattle of poker chips and dice, strange oaths, and occasional raucous laughter punctuated the incessant hum of voices.
Squinting through the blue haze of tobacco smoke the man from Crawling Creek studied the company. Apart from casual glances, no one took any notice of him--strangers were hardly a novelty in Fourways, and curiosity a dangerous commodity, liable to be resented. One man only looked him over keenly and turned away, apparently satisfied. This was a dumpy, bulbous-faced fellow with a big paunch and a strut suggestive of an over-fed turkey. From the somewhat ironic deference accorded him and the fact that he paid for no liquor, Jim deduced that he held a post of importance, and this was soon confirmed.
'Where's Jud?' the fat man asked.
'Ain't a notion, sheriff,' the saloon-keeper replied. 'Should 'a' bin back hours ago. He warn't'
He stopped, mouth and eyes opening as the swing-door jerked wide and a man staggered in, flung his arms out, and pitched forward on the sanded floor. Mallick, the sheriff, hurried to the prone figure.
'By God, it's Jud hisself ! ' he cried. 'What the hell ... ?'
Others sprang to help and the senseless man was lifted to a chair. One of them looked at his hand in surprise ; it was smeared with blood. He snatched aside the open vest, disclosing an ominous patch of red on the coarse woollen shirt front.
'He's bin drilled!' he cried.
Astonishment, expressed in lurid language, greeted the statement, and the excited onlookers, eager to get a
