'Yu heard correct; we'll go find him,' Dave remarked cheerfully. 'All yu've gotta do is pay for what yu've had.' He looked at the used crockery. 'Steak an' fixin's, pie, cawfee--that'll set yu back one dollar. Ante up, an' we'll be goin'.' Jake's expression was one of irate doubt; he did not know how to deal with this apparently good- tempered young man, who had, however, handled Sark--a big fellow--capably.
Outside, the deputy looked at his companion with twinkling eyes. 'We'll need a spade,' he said.
The visitor's start of surprise was well done. 'You tellin' me Dutch is dead?'
'Adam ain't no deader. Didn't yu know?'
'Ain't seen him since the day I left Welccme--we fell out,' Mullins lied. 'How did it happen?'
'He was ridin' in the dark, got throwed, an' hurt his back,' was the somewhat incomplete explanation.
'Talked some, before he passed out--wild stuff 'bout a bank hold-up, an' mentioned yore name.' Apprehension came and went like a flash, but Dave saw it. 'Must 'a' bin out'n his head,' Jake replied, the mask of indifference back again. 'I don't take no stock in the ravin's of a dyin' man. Now, if you've finished shootin' oft yore mouth, I'll be on my way.'
'Just one more thing,' Masters returned. 'I heard yu raise yore voice to Mrs. Gray. That ain't allowed, an' I'm servin' notice on yu to get out an' stay out o' this burg, or by the livin' God I'll send yu to join Dutch. yu sabe?' The careless, bantering youth had gone, and in his stead was a hard-faced man, with a jutting jaw and hostile eyes, who clearly meant what he said. So swift had been the change that for one bewildered moment, Jake stared at him in silence. Then he remembered that he had been given an order.
'This ain't finishin' here,' he warned.
'I'd noticed that,' came the gibe. 'Split the wind, yu misfit.' With studied deliberation, the ruffian rode down the street, and the young man's eyes gleamed mischievously. Pulling his gun, he sent a couple of bullets under the pony's pacing feet, flinging the frightened beast into a mad gallop, and nearly unseating the surprised rider. Then, with a contented grin, he went into the restaurant, just as its owner, white-faced, appeared.
'I heard shots,' she said.
'His hoss was lazy--I just livened it up some,' he explained. 'What was he after?' The colour came back into her cheeks. 'He was after--me,' she replied demurely.
'The devil he was?'
'Your astonishment is hardly a compliment,' she smiled. 'Yu know I didn't mean it thataway.'
'You only make it worse; I'm afraid you'll never be a success with the ladies.'
'I don't aim to be, 'cept with one,' he said warmly.
She changed the subject. 'I haven't seen the marshal to- ay.
'Gone to the Bar O; told me to stay an' keep shop,' Dave informed. 'Said there might be another unruly customer to chuck out. Now how in blazes could he know that?' She shook her head. 'He is a clever man; if I had any secrets I should be afraid of him. Did he say anything else?' Dave grinned gleefully. 'Shore, he reminded me to make the fella pay first, an' I did--this time.' The subject of their conversation was certainly on his way to the Bar O, but the route he had selected was by no means the nearest. In fact, he had gone straight to the Silver Mane. The place had a fascination, and he was convinced that it held a secret. But he failed again to find anything, and after a patient search, he gave up and rode along The Step until he came to where it dipped down and could be crossed.
On the far side, he found a wide slope of sparse grass, and presently he came upon cattle, grazing in twos and threes. Acting on an impulse, he chased one group, and when sufficiently near, whirled his rope. The loop dropped neatly over the head of a steer, and Nigger sat back on his haunches. The running beast went down as though its feet had been snatched from under it, with a jar which knocked the breath out of its body. Ere it could recover, the horseman was by its side.
He needed but one look; true, it was a Dumb-bell brand, but one half was inflamed, having evidently been recently added. To make sure, he ran down several other bunches, and without troubling to use his rope again, found further damning evidence.
'Reckon this will interest Owen,' he said grimly. 'I'll have to go to the Bar O after all.' But he was saved the trouble, for on covering only a few miles, he heard a hail, and saw the rancher coming towards him.
''Lo, Jim,' he greeted. 'Seen any cattle-hungry hombres around?'
'No, but I'd like to show yu somethin' if yu ain't in a hurry.'
'I got all the time there is.'
'C'mon then,' Sudden invited. He swung his horse round and the other followed.
'Smart work snatchin' the pot from those bank-breakers,' the rancher remarked. 'You must 'a' been born lucky, Jim.' Sudden did not reply, save by a smile, bitter, without mirth. He was thinking of the youth--not then twenty--who, on the flimsiest evidence, had been branded thief and murderer, a price put upon his head, driven to herd with outlaws and fight for his freedom.1 Lucky? Well, perhaps he was--to be alive.
They crossed The Step and soon came upon the cattle. The marshal roped and threw one, Owen watching the operation with appreciative eyes; rarely had he seen such skill and precision; he said as much.
'Punchin' is my business,' was the reply. 'Take a squint at the brand, an' give me yore opinion.' One look sufficed, but one word did not. 'Sark?' Owen cried. 'So he's the damned, dirty, thievin' dawg? Of all the ...' A string of blistering, vitriolic terms tripped from his tongue in swift succession until, invention and breath failing, he stopped, looked at the marshal--and laughed.
'Damn' silly, but if I didn't cuss I'd just naturally explode,' he excused. 'But that's enough to make any cattleman mad, ain't it?'
'Shorely, but there's one thing I can't understand,' Sudden replied. 'The brand is badly botched--a kid could do better, an' I reckon Sark's hands are cowmen.'
'Some of 'em are better gunmen,' Owen responded. 'I'm needin' an explanation right now. Let's go.' Driving their captive before them, they set out.
As they drew near the forest, they could see the ranch-house standing clear of the trees, with the other buildings and corrals a little distance away. Constructed mainly of 'dobe, it was larger and more pretentious than the Bar O. It had the usual raised terrace in front, giving access to the dwelling, and below this, flower-beds had been laid out, but these now showed every sign of neglect.
'Amos had 'em made for Mary Gray,' Owen said. 'It's a blazin' shame they should belong to this coyote.'
'I'm agreein' with yu. He's comin' to meet us. Keep yore wool on, John; we're an easy mark.' In fact, Sark was swinging towards them, but presently he stopped and waited for them to ride up. His expression of insolent surprise was not one of welcome.
'Well, well, the last two people I'd expect to bring me a present,' he began, his gaze on the steer, still held by Sudden's rope.
'Look at the brand,' Owen said curtly.
Sark stepped closer. 'Ragged work,' he replied coolly. 'If I can find out who did it, he gets his time. I'm obliged to you.'
'Quit stallin',' Owen rapped out.
'You suggestin' I'm stealin' yore cattle?'
'What else? Here's a beast with my iron altered to yores an' there's others where we found it, just this side o' The Step, on yore range.' Sark glared. 'A part I don't use,' he said, 'but no matter. Listen: when I want the Bar O, I'll take it--hook, line, an'sinker, not a few measly cows at a lick. Get that? Now, make tracks, afore I have you run off my land, an' take yore hired killer with you.' He had raised his voice, and several men--appearing from the outbuildings--drew nearer. Sudden saw the backward glance and spoke for the first time :
'I wouldn't crow too loud, even if yu are on yore own dung-hill. An' don't rely on that bunch o' bush- whackersyu'd be buzzard's meat when they started anythin'. That'--he pointed to the steer--'needs explainin'; I've seen men hanged on slimmer evidence.' The cold, passionless tone brought Sark up with a round turn. He spat disgustedly.
'My fellas would do a better job than that, an' wouldn't leave the cattle where you could find 'em till the wounds were healed,' he pointed out. 'I'd say someone is doin' this to throw suspicion on the Dumb-bell, an' cover their own tracks.'
'If you'd said that right off we might 'a' believed you,' was Owen's comment. 'If you ain't liftin' the cattle, I'll bet a blue stack yo're buyin' 'em. It wouldn't be the first rotten trick you've turned, you--jail-bird.' Sark's face
