have to say?'
'Just that he didn't want me,' the foreman smiled. 'Too raw a deal even for him, huh?' Purdie sneered. 'Yu'll have to keep an eye on Slype, an' so will Burdette, though he's bought an' paid for him; Slippery's the right name for that fella.'
He said good-night, took the girl's arm, and went into the ranch-house.
'Tough ol' citizen, Chris,' Yago commented. 'My, but ain't he a good hater too? Mind, he'd be just as strong for a friend, but he don't regard young Luce thataway at present, an' I'll bet a month's pay he never will.'
'Take yu,' the foreman said. 'So long, Bill. I'm for the hay.
Yago, left abruptly alone, stared at the closed door of the foreman's shack. 'Now why in 'ell did he snatch at that wager?' he muttered in perplexity. 'What's he know that I don't? I'm bettin' m'self I lose that bet, cuss him; he's as hard to follow as a flea with its specs on.'
The man behind the door listened to the monologue with a smile of contentment. Life had no better gift than a staunch friend, and in Bill Yago he knew he had one who would 'stay with him' to the dark doors of death itself. The old dangerous days in the West bred such comradeships, and men fought and died ignominiously because of them.
ANOTHER week drifted by without any further act of aggression on the part of the Circle B. Sudden had figured that, for the sake of appearances, they would allow a little time to elapse before striking another blow. Whitey's attempt had been, as Purdie put it, somewhat of 'a raw deal,' and King Burdette knew that, despite his denials, he was commonly reputed to have set the killer on. Overbearing and intolerant though he might be, he was proud of his power in Windy, and did not wish to strain it unduly.
'Make the other fella put hisself in the wrong an' yu take the pot,' was how he stated it to his brothers when they complained of inaction.
'Squattin' on our hunkers doin' nothin' don't rid us o' Green,' Mart observed sourly.
'Get out yore li'l gun an' go abolish him,' King advised. 'Mebbe Whitey'll be pleased to see yu.'
'Talk sense,' snarled the other.
'Right,' returned King. 'I'll start by sayin' yu ain't neither o' yu got the brains of a rabbit, an' yu better leave the plannin' to me. When I want yu to do anythin' I'll let yu know. Get this into yore thick heads--I ain't asleep. Savvy?'
The proof of this came two days later. The C P foreman was riding along the rim of the deep canyon which formed the eastern boundary of the ranch on his way to the line-house. It was a blazing hot afternoon and he was in no hurry. Suddenly, from the other side of the chasm, came the sharp report of a rifle and a ballooning puff of smoke jetted out from a knob of rock at which he happened to be looking. He was conscious of a stunning shock which flung him out of the saddle, and knew no more.
When sense returned he discovered that he was lying in a grass-covered crevice on the brink of the canyon. His head throbbed with pain, and blood was trickling down his cheek. Gingerly he put up a hand; there was a nasty lump and the scalp was cut. How long he had been there he did not know, but from the position of the sun he judged that nearly an hour had passed. He decided to remain awhile; the hidden marksman might not be satisfied. He contrived a clumsy bandage for his hurt, and, cautiously parting the grasses, provided a peep-hole through which he could watch the spot from whence the shot had come. It seemed to be deserted, and he fell to speculating on what had happened.
'Fools for luck,' he told himself. 'I was shore invitin' it, paradin' along in the open thataway, an' I damn near got it too. That slug must 'a' hit the buckle of my hatband, an' if I'd been lookin' straight ahead I'd be climbin' the golden stairs right now. Wonder if it's the jasper who cut down on Strip? Wish he'd show hisself.'
But the unknown declined to oblige, and after giving him a further chance, Sudden crept from his cover and shivered when he saw how nearly he had missed tumbling headlong to the bottom of the abyss. No shot saluted his appearance, and he concluded that the assassin had departed.
Both hat and horse were missing; the former he could do without, but the latter was a necessity, for he was still half-dazed, tottery on his feet, and his head ached intolerably. Moreover, he thirsted for the rifle under the fender of the saddle; to be set afoot and without a long-range weapon was a situation not to his liking. Nigger, he knew, would not go far after the first scare of the shot and unseating of his rider.
A clump of brush about fifty yards away seemed to be what he was looking for, and he painfully crawled towards it, keeping in the long grass as much as possible. He reached it safely, and from the security of the cover it afforded uttered a low whistle. Almost immediately came an answering whinny, and from a nearby hollow the big black emerged, head up, distended nostrils sniffing the air. Sudden repeated the signal and stepped out. With another whinny, Nigger trotted sedately up and rubbed a velvety muzzle against his master's shoulder.
'Glad to see me, huh, yu ebony rascal?' the puncher grinned, as he pulled the animal's ears. 'Well, that goes double. Yu come almighty near losin' yore owner.' He climbed painfully into the saddle, and, as the horse essayed a playful pitch, added, 'Easy, damn yu; my blame' head feels like it was about ready to fall off.'
In the blistering heat of the afternoon Windy's one street was well-nigh deserted. Two or three citizens lolled on the bench beneath the board awning outside 'The Lucky Chance,' and the marshal, slumped in a chair, decorated his own door a few yards distant. One of the loungers sent a spirt of tobacco juice at a post and watched the greedy rays of the sun lick up the moisture.
'Hell, ain't it hot--an' slow?' he grunted. 'Wish suthin' would happen.'
Came the quick thud of hammering hoofs, and one of the other men glanced up lazily. 'Looks like yu got yore wish,' he said. 'They's a lunatic a-comin'.'
Along the eastern trail a rider was approaching at breakneck speed; they could see the rise and fall of his arm as he plied the quirt to the flanks of a horse already doing its best.
'Year or so back you mighta guessed Injuns, but they've bin quiet a goodish while now,' the last speaker continued.
'Shucks! It's Riley, o' the Circle B; reckon he's on'y thirsty.'
By this time the panting pony had rocketed along the street and, in a shower of dust, had been pulled to a sudden stop in front of the marshal's quarters. The rider, a diminutive, bow-legged man with a hard, sly face, sprang down, and wiping his dust-caked lips with the back of his hand, cried,
'Hey, Slippery, come alive an' git busy.'
The marshal tilted back his chair and surveyed the speaker sourly; he had to put up with hectoring from the Burdettes, but he was not going to stand it from their underlings, and he didn't like his nickname.
'What might be yore particular trouble?' he drawled. 'Somebody bumped off King, by any chance?'
'If they had, the Circle B wouldn't be botherin' yu,' was the blunt reply. 'No, sir, but I got a notion the C P is shy a foreman, mebbe.'
This statement brought the officer to attention and the loafers from their shelter. With an upraised hand Riley stilled the babble of questions.
'Here's the how of it,' he said. 'I'm crossin' yore range, marshal, on my way to town, hour or so back. I'm 'bout half a mile from Dark Canyon when I sees Green on the other side of it--can't mistake that black o' his. He's amblin' along casual-like, pointin' for the C P line-house, I figure. Naturally, I ain't interested, an' I'm just turnin' away when there's a shot from that tree-covered bump what sticks up like a wart to the east, an' I sees Green pitch out'n his saddle to the edge o' the canyon; his hoss bolts. Me, I hunt cover plenty rapid, guessin' the gent with the gun has more'n one ca'tridge.
'Nothin' happens for a spell. Green don't show up, an' havin' seen his lid sail into the canyon, I'm bettin' high he's went with it. The fella what did the shootin' must 'a'come to the same conclusion, for presently he busts from his hiding-place an' rides hell-bent for that splash o' pines east.'
'Reckernize him?' the marshal asked.
'Too fur away, an' I on'y see his back,' Riley replied, 'but he was atop of a grey hoss, an' I'd say he was redheaded.'
'How in hell?' began the officer.
'He warn't wearin' a hat,' the Circle B man explained. 'Left it behind or got it tied to his saddle-strings, I s'pose.'
'Odd, that,' the marshal mused. 'Well, I reckon I better look into it. Yu boys comin' along?'
