first; his smile vanished as though wiped off with a sponge, dismay taking its place. He knew them: Scar Roden and his two remaining rogues, three other Imps, and the sinister form in front, the mask beneath the slouched hat concealing all but the eyes and lips. Like men turned to stone the citizens stared at the red-badged rascals, conscious that a single hostile movement would start a slaughter. The negro made an effort to avert a catastrophe. Twitching the rancher's sleeve, he stammered :
'Yo done promised to speak to Mandy, sah. If yo step roun'--'
The look he received struck the rest of the sentence from his lips. The Colonel drew himself up, and in a steady voice, said, 'My friends, I thank you. It is our custom on these happy occasions to toast the prosperity of Dugout. We shall still be doing that if we drink to the utter destruction of that robbers' roost, Hell City.'
He raised his glass, but before he could sample the contents, a bullet shattered it; with one movement the masked man had drawn and fired, and now stood, his teeth uncovered in an ugly snarl, the smoking gun in his hand. The Colonel dropped the remaining fragment, drew out a kerchief to wipe his fingers, and said calmly: 'The same again, Sam.'
The hoarse tones of Roden issued a warning. 'Stay put, you fellas; I ain't breakin' glasses.'
With a terror-drawn face the negro mixed the drink, his hands trembling so violently that he spilled the liquor. When at length it was completed, the rancher slowly raised the glass, drank, and set it back on the bar. The man in the mask laughed mockingly.
'Shakespeare said, `All the world's a stage,' and you never forget it,' he taunted. 'A real man would have shot me down.'
'I had the misfortune to bring you into the world, and I prefer that the hangman should help you out of it,' was the barbed retort.
'You'll never live to see it.'
'So you have come to murder me? Well, it should round off your record nicely--a parricide.'
The unruffled demeanour and biting sarcasm seemed to flog the younger man into a fury. 'By Christmas !' he cried. 'And who is responsible for that record? The stiff-necked slave-driver who treated his son as he did the black-skinned brutes whose bodies and souls he used to traffic in, and when the boy rebelled, disowned and drove him to desperation. Damn you, I'm no son of yours, and if ever it appeared so, your wife must have had a lover.'
At this infamous aspersion on the dead woman he had worshipped the Colonel's face became livid. He bent forward, as though about to spring upon the traducer, his gaze seeking to penetrate the blood-red mask.
'You lying, foul-minded hound,' he almost whispered. 'Son or no son--' He stopped and shook his head. 'Pull your gun, you--' the other raged.
The venomous insult failed. With a look of utter disdain, the rancher stood back and folded his arms. Instantly Satan fired, and the spectators saw the old man stagger under the impact of the heavy slug, clutch blindly at the bar, and fall prone on the floor. So swiftly had the tragedy happened that for a moment no one stirred. Then the black man, with a howl of grief, flung himself beside the body.
'Stand back everybody,' Satan barked. 'You can't help him, you scum. He got what he asked for; if he hadn't gone for that shoulder-gun--'
The negro looked up; sorrow had made him reckless. 'He ain't wearin' none--neber knowed him to,' he cried brokenly.
The slayer ignored the remark, gazing with horrible satisfaction at the still form of his victim. He turned to Jansen.
'I suppose I can trust you to see to the burying,' he said. 'If not, I'll--'
'We'll fix it,' the store-keeper replied, adding with bitter emphasis, 'You've done yore part.'
'Don't be insolent,' Satan snapped. 'I'm the rightful owner of the Double K now, and--'
'You can take yore damned custom somewhere else,' Jansen retorted bluntly. 'I reckon that goes for all of us ;Dugout can get along without stolen money.'
'You bet it can,' Naylor chimed in, and the others nodded assent.
The bandit's fists clenched, and his men waited for the word which would set guns roaring and turn the place into a shambles. But it did not come.
'Dugout had better mind its step, or one morning it will wake up and find it isn't,' Satan threatened, and followed his band out of the saloon.
As soon as they had gone, Sam, who was still crouched by his old master, beckoned the others.
'He ain't daid, but he's hurt pow'ful bad,' he whispered. 'Dasn't say nuffin' 'case dat debbil mak' sho'.'
The bullet had gone right through the body, just missing the heart. Jansen, who supplied the town with the simple medicines it required, and had some experience of injuries, shook his head as he busied himself with the bandages.
'His lungs is damaged an' he'll be bleedin' inside,' he pronounced. 'He's got the chance of a snowball in hell. There, I can't do no more; mebbe a jolt o' liquor will offset the shock.'
The strong spirit brought the stricken man to consciousness, his eyes opened, staring at them in wonderment. Then recollection came.
'It--was--an--accident,' he murmured laboriously, and his voice growing somewhat, 'Remember--all of you: I was handling my gun--it went off.'
'Shore, Colonel, we won't forget,' Jansen replied.. 'Good,' the sick man whispered. 'Now--take me-- home.'
His eyes closed again. The men looked at one another in consternation; the bumping of a vehicle over the rough trail would certainly complete the work of the bullet. Black Sam rolled his eyes in despair.
'We jus' gotta do it, gents,' he said. 'If de Kunnel come roun' an' fin' he ain't at de ranch, he'll sho'ly raise Cain an' pass right out. 'Ordehs is ordehs,' he allus sez, an' he's de obstinatest man I eber did see.'
It was the blacksmith who found a solution. 'We'll make a sling outa blankets an' a couple o' poles, an' four of us can carry him, with two others along to take turn. Polter, you ride to Red Rock for the doctor, an' take yore gun in case he don't fancy the journey.'
So it was arranged. Naylor, as he turned away to help in the preparations, had a last word.
'Accident!' he said scornfully. 'If ever I git my paws on that young devil's windpipe suthin' will happen but it won't be an accident. No, sir.'
* * * Along the road through the foothills Satan paced behind his retainers; he trusted no man or woman. Matters had gone according to plan and a fierce elation possessed him.
'I deceived them, every one, even my father,' he exulted. 'And those idiots away East said I couldn't act. This will make a stir in the country and drive Jeff back to me. And then, Satan must die and Lander vanish, to reappear later as a wealthy stranger in search of a ranch. He will fall in love with the Double K, also its fair owner, and those boors in Dugout will lick the dust off the boots of the man they would hang to-day if they dared. But I must get rid of that cursed cowboy--he knows--or suspects--too much.'
His low laugh reached the ears of the riders in front and moved Squint to speech: 'I ain't what you'd call mealymouthed, but if I'd just bumped off my of man I dunno as I'd be all that amused.'
The man beside him, a half-breed, furtively crossed himself. 'He make bargain wit' de Evil One,' he muttered, with a fearful glance over his shoulder.
Scar grinned hardily. 'I ain't carin' if he's the Evil One hisself so long as he pays well,' he said. 'But we ain't had no luck since that blasted cowpunch showed up.'
Satan's satisfaction was to be short-lived; some hours later Belle Dalroy burst in on him, still in her riding-kit and obviously excited. He received her with a studied indifference.
'What's the news from Dugout?' he asked.
Her eyes widened. 'Who told you--oh, well, perhaps you also know what happened there?' she said petulantly.'Tell me.'
'Colonel Keith was in Black Sam's this morning and was doing something to his gun when it exploded, and-- he's dead.'
The news shook him so severely that he forgot his pretence of omniscience; in a flash he saw that such an explanation would defeat the purpose for which he had committed the crime.
