breed?' he snapped, and relapsed into a moody silence.
BREAKFAST in the C P bunkhouse on the following morning was not the usual cheerful function, for the strange disappearance of their young mistress had a depressing effect on the riders. Though they did not know, they guessed shrewdly, and, after the manner of their kind, yearned for action.
'What's come to the Old Man?' Curly said querulously. 'Ain't them Burdettes prodded him enough a'ready?'
'Huh! Reckon it's Green holdin' him off,' Moody surmised. 'Odd too, for he don't seem the long-sufferin' sort.'
From the head of the table Yago grinned at the malcontents. 'If yu fellas had longer ears it'd be damned hard to tell yu from jackasses, on'y burros has more brains,' he said pleasantly.
'Solomon was the wisest man ever lived--up to his time,' Flatty informed the company. 'O' course, Bill was born later.'
Yago joined in the laugh. 'Awright, yu chumps,' he returned, 'Yu'll get yore bit o' blood-lettin' yet.'
Later, as he and the foreman were riding for the northern rim of the valley, he remarked casually :
'The boys are spoilin' for a scrap; they figure the Circle B has run on the rope a-plenty.'
If he was fishing for information the attempt failed dismally; the answer he got was a question : 'What yu think o' the marshal?'
'Don't think of him--nasty subject,' Bill grinned. 'Sooner occupy my mind with rattlers, centipedes, an' poison toads.'
'I reckon yu'd be right at that,' Sudden conceded. 'But what part's he playin' in this yer game?'
'He's Burdette's dawg, to be petted or kicked at his master's pleasure,' Yago said contemptuously.
The foreman's gesture was one of disagreement. 'Slype ain't no dawg--not even a yaller one,' he said. 'He's a coyote, an' a cunnin' one. I'm beginning to have ideas 'bout that fella.'
'Is that why we're pointin' for his place?'
'Yu've ringed the bell first rattle.'
'If yo're wantin' to see him it's odds yu won't; he ain't there much.'
'Which is why we're goin',' his foreman told him, and held up a hand to enjoin silence as a clink of iron against stone reached them.
Curious to know who it could be, Sudden slid to the ground and stepped to the brush-fringed rim of the ravine along the side of which they were riding. Thirty feet below, in the bed of the gully, the man they had been speaking of was jog-trotting in the direction of his ranch. A perfectly natural proceeding, but the fact that the marshal, like they themselves, had selected a roundabout route, seemed suspicious.
'We'll keep an eye on that jigger,' the foreman decided. 'Mebbe he's meetin' somebody.'
The guess proved a good one, for after less than a mile had been covered they heard the marshal utter a surly, 'Howdy.'
Promptly they dismounted, dropped the reins, and crawled to the edge of the ravine. Squatting cross-legged on the ground, a cigarette drooping from his thin lips, was the Mexican half-breed, Ramon. The marshal descended from his saddle, tied his mount, and sat down facing the man who had evidently been awaiting him.
'What's yore notion, draggin' me out here?' he growled. 'Too lazy to ride in huh?'
'Walls have ears, senor,' Ramon replied. 'What I weesh to say is ver' private, yu sabe?'
Slype pulled out a black cigar, lit up, and said tersely, 'Shoot.'
The Mexican appeared to be in no hurry; his dark, cunning eyes were studying the diminutive, hunched form of the man before him. Apparently the scrutiny pleased, for a sly smile flickered across his face.
'Yu know California, ze miner, he vanish, senor?' he began.
The marshal glared at him. 'Yeah, an' George Washington's dead they tell me,' he said with savage sarcasm. 'Yu bin asleep the last two-three weeks?'
Ramon was unperturbed. 'Yu know where he go?' he went on.
'King Burdette collared him an' somebody snaked him away,' Slype retorted; and with a sneer, 'P'raps yu can tell me where he is?'
Ramon shook his head; he was a little surprised to find that some of his news was not news, but he replied confidently enough, 'I don't know--yet, but I shall. Yu know King Burdette have keednap Miss Purdie, huh?'
This time he scored a bull; the marshal sat up with a jolt, staring unbelievingly. His informant nodded.
'It ees true; she is at ze Circle B now,' he said.
'Hell's bells! ' the marshal exploded. 'What does King expect to git by that?'
'He get ze girl, ze C P ranch, an' mebbe ze gol'-mine California deescover,' Ramon pointed out.
'There's Purdie an' his outfit to be reckoned with first,' Slype argued.
'King holds ze girl,' the other said softly, with an expression which gave the words an ugly significance.
The marshal sat silent, brooding over the astounding information. He recognized that by this daring move Burdette had made himself master of the situation; with Nan in his power he could dictate what terms he chose, and his crew of cut-throats was strong enough to protect him. The owner of the two big ranches would practically rule the town, and he, Slype, would remain the nonentity he had always been. The sudden crumbling of his own cherished scheme brought a bitter curse to his lips. The Mexican watched him narrowly, a little smile of satisfaction on his sinister features; this was a man he could mould, evil, but lacking the usual dominant quality of the 'Gringo.'
'King Burdette play ze beeg game, but Meester Slype play a beeger one, huh?' he asked slyly.
'What the hell yu drivin' at?' the marshal snapped.
'I tell one leetle story,' Ramon replied. 'Once I see two mountain lion fight over ze carcase of a deer. It was one great battle, senor, an' when it was feenish both ze lion was dead. Si, zey keel each other, yu sabe. An' zen a coyote sleenk outa ze brush, where he been watchin', an' he get ze meat.'
The little parable produced an almost audible chuckle from the unsuspected listeners on the rock-rim above.
'Take a peep at what Slippery calls his face,' whispered Yago. 'I'm damned if he don't look like a coyote, an' a poor specimen at that.'
In fact, the officer's snarling lips and savage little eyes were sufficiently animal-like to justify the companion.
'Yu tryin' to be funny?' he growled. 'Talk straight, yu yeller dawg.'
The Mexican raised his shoulders. 'I t'ink I make it ver' plain,' he said quietly, though his eyes had gleamed wickedly at the epithet. 'Ze Circle B an' ze C P are ze lion an''
'I'm the coyote, huh?' rasped the marshal. 'Yu dirty'
Ramon lifted a hand, palm outward. 'Merely a--how yu say--feeger of speech, senor,' he explained. 'Now, in my leetle story, ze coyote did not keel Ol' Man Burdette.'
He saw the start of surprise, the flash of fear in his listener's eyes, and exulted inwardly; the chance shot had gone home. He coolly continued, 'An' make out it was ze work of ze C P. Yu know why King shoot Kit Purdie an' try to peen ze deed on his brother Luce, senor?'
With an effort the marshal got control of himself. 'I dunno nothin' ahout it,' he said sullenly.
'Luce in hees way,' Ramon resumed. 'I t'ink King deescover Nan Purdie look kindly at hees brother an' he want her heemself. Almos' yu help heem when yu nearly hang Luce for bushwhackin' Green; Mart do that. Shall I tell yu who keel heem too?'
The marshal shivered; this fleering devil with the soft purring voice had him in his power; he, a white man, was at the mercy of a 'Greaser'--his own paid hand. Mingled with his fear was a cold rage which was growing steadily stronger.
'Yu seem to know a hell of a lot,' was all he could find to say.
'I make it my beesness to know--everyt'ing,' Ramon replied. He leant forward and the taunt vanished from his tone. 'I put my cards on ze table, senor; ze game is too beeg for one man, but wit' me, yu can win.'
Slype's crafty eyes narrowed. 'An' yore price?' he asked, and folded his arms.
