a cold calculating brain, functioning as usual.
The ranch-house resembled the man, roughly but strongly fashioned. It was not large, but roomy inside, and the plain furniture was comfortable, but only that. It was said that Cullin, asked why he did not indulge in a more luxurious home, replied : `This ain't a home, on'y the workshop in which to make my pile.'
On the evening of the day after Sudden's visit to Rideout, a meeting took place at the Big C. Gilman, Bardoe, and the sheriff had arrived, and they awaited one other. Despite the blazing fire, whisky and cigars on the table, the guests did not seem to be at ease, and Cullin's face had an expression little like that of a genial host.
`Where in hell's Vic?' he asked petulantly.
This being the third time he had put the question, no one had any answer to offer. A moment later came the tramp of a horse outside, a heavy step in the passage, and the owner of the Double V entered, flung his hat and quirt into one chair, and seated himself in another.
`Howdy, fellas,' he greeted, poured himself a drink, and reached for a smoke.
`What's been keepin' you?' Cullin demanded.
`Business--my business,' Vasco replied curtly. `Why are we meetin'?'
`Somethin' has to be done about that fella Drait.'
`Is he doin' any harm?'
`He's a nester, an' therefore a cattle-thief,' Bardoe put in.
`You say so,' Vasco retorted. `But all cattle-thieves ain't nesters.'
Bardoe scowled but was silent, and Cullin's impatient voice dismissed the argument : `What he is or does don't matter, he's been told to go, an' has gotta go. Any suggestions Vic?'
`Yeah, leave him alone. He's bought the land an' is entitled to live on it, so long as he don't interfere. How much o' yore range do you own, Greg?'
The Big C man flushed at this home-thrust, for, as Vasco well knew, he had no title even to the ground his buildings occupied. `What's that gotta do with it, an' is it any o' yore affair what I own?' he snarled. `God damn yore impudence, I've a mind--'
Vasco's eyes narrowed. `Then use it, an' keep yore temper,' he said. `These fits o' yores may impress the scum on yore pay-roll, but I ain't ridin' for you an' you can't ride me. As for drivin' Drait out, hangin' a crippled cowboy ain't the way.'
`That was a mistake,' Cullin said, aware that he had gone too far. `The men exceeded their instructions.'
Vasco's laugh was contemptuous. `Don't try to tell me you weren't there, because I know different. You an' the same brave fellas who shot down the Rawlin kid. You ain't listenin', o' course, Camort.'
`I ain't believin' it,' the sheriff said doggedly.
`I take it you ain't helpin' us in this,' Bardoe remarked.
`You take it correct,' was the quiet reply. `Prove to me that Drait is stealing my cows an' mebbe I'll take another view.'
`He has a hundred head, calves an' yearlin's, in the Valley. Any o' you know where he got 'em?' Cullin asked, and getting no reply, went on, `There's a gal, too; know anythin' about that?' Bardoe looked black and Gilman laughed meaningly, but no one answered. `Hell,' Cullin continued, `Do I have to gather news as well as think for you all?'
`Don't trouble on my account,' Vasco said bluntly. `For the rest, I'm with you in any move which doesn't break the Law.'
`We got the Law--such as it is--on our side,' Gilman pointed out, with a jeering grin at the sheriff.
`Which is one damned good thing for some o' you,' that worthy summoned up courage to say.
The Big C man's brows came together. `Camort,' he said, and there was the rasp of a file in his tone. `who do you think would be the best man to fill yore place?'
Camort collapsed like a punctured bladder. `Why, Mister Cullin, I ain't done nothin'.' he stammered.
`You said it,' the rancher snapped. `An' a man who does nothin' is no use to us; we want results.'
`I had it all fixed,' the sheriff protested, with a malevolent glare at Bardoe.
`You made a sad error,' Vasco laughed. `When you wanta hang a man for murder it's usual to have a corpse; you should 'a' killed Bull first, an' made yore case good.'
Cullin, satisfied with the crushing of Camorn, applied himselfto the more important rebel. `Quit foolin', Vic,' he said testily. `This ain't a laughin' matter.'
`I think it is, an' Midway agrees,' Vasco retorted, as he got up. `Take my advice--go slow with Drait; he's an awkward mouthful an' has useful help. So long.'
Now what's he mean by that?' Bardoe questioned, when the Double V rancher had gone.
`I dunno, but Vic droppin' out thisaway makes a difference,' Cullin admitted. `He's right in one thing--we'll have to take our time an' plan careful.'
`It shouldn't be difficult to plant some Double V cows in Shadow Valley,' Bardoe suggested.
`Too obvious,' Cullin decided bluntly.
It was his way, and Bardoe did not take offence. He despised them all, but a seeming comradeship made it less likely they would suspect him when stock was missing, and he would have made friends with the Devil himself if it would put anything in his pocket.
So, for the time being, Shadow Valley suffered no molestation from without. Sudden and Yorky had journeyed forth again, ostensibly to see some more of the country, but actually to follow up the clue obtained in Rideout. The rest of the outfit, having little to do save guard the gate, smoked, lazed, and played one-cent poker.
The nester and his wife took daily rides together, and the girl used them for her purpose, only to realise that she was making no impression on her companion; considerate, mildly-humorous, his attitude was that of a good- natured brother, and it made her furious. She would have preferred his former harsh, dominating manner. Once or twice she deliberately endeavoured to anger him, out she might have been trying to inflame an iceberg.
In desperation, she resolved on a final test--to make him jealous; if this failed, she had lost, for it would mean that his indifference was real. She began to look a little more kindly upon Lamond when they chanced to meet, and it was not long before the cowboy made an excuse to call at the house--when she was on the veranda-- and asked for Drait.
`I am waiting for him now,' she replied.
His grin was impudent. `That's all wrong,' he said. `The fella oughta do the waitin'.'
`Perhaps that doesn't apply in this wild land,' she smiled. `Why not--we ain't savages, but I hope he don't hurry. Ain't seen much o' you lately.'
Before she could reply, Nick appeared. `Lookin' for me, Beau?' he asked.
`Like to visit town, if I ain't needed here,' Lamond explained. `Quilt is foreman,' the nester reminded. `If he doesn't want you, it's all right winh me.'
The cowboy nodded and rode away. `Wasn't that a little severe?' Mary questioned.
`He knew damn well he was wrong,' Nick returned. `When I make a fella foreman I mean him to be just that.' She understood; he was only annoyed because the man was offering a slight to his immediate boss.
`I don't suppose he meant any disrespect to Quilt.'
`I know the breed; puttin' one over on the foreman is just pie to them, but none o' the others would 'a' tried it.'
`You don't like him, do you?'
`No,' he replied, with disconcerting candour, and went out.
He left early on the following morning, and she rode alone up the valley. Ere she had gone far, however, Lamond caught her up, and swept off his hat in a theatrical bow. She ignored his greeting.
`Seein' the Guardian Angel ain't ridin' herd on you today, I guessed I might be welcome,' he explained, with an engaging smile.
`Haven't you any work to do?' she asked.
`Shore, Quilt sent me to look over our han'ful o' beasts, so we're goin' the same way. You can help me round 'em up.'
She gave in, and as he could be quite entertaining when he chose, she was soon glad of his company. The excitement of routing the cattle out of the brush brought a sparkle to her eyes, colour to her cheeks, and the cowboy forgot his caution.
