handed ...'
'Shucks! Forget it, Purdie,' the foreman smiled.
'Not while I got breath in my body,' the rancher returned warmly. His eyes went to Luce. 'I never thought the day would come when I'd thank a Burdette for any-thin', but I guess I gotta,' he added, slowly putting out a hand.
From the shelter of her father's shoulder Nan laughed shyly. 'Hurts your pride, daddy mine, doesn't it?' she whispered. 'But it need not--Luce is no more a Burdette than you are.'
'What do yu mean, girl?' he asked.
Nan told the news, and Mandy, with many nods, confirmed it. Purdie looked at Luce again, and saw what blind prejudice had prevented him from recognizing before: this red-headed, open-faced boy, who did not in any way resemble the Black Burdettes, could not have treacherously slain his son. Chris Purdie was a white man; his hand came out readily enough now.
'I'm right glad, Luce,' he said simply, and meant it. 'I've had some hard thoughts about yu, but I'm hopin' yu'll forget it.'
The boy gripped the extended hand. 'That's done a'ready,' he said. 'The way things looked, I couldn't blame yu.'
Purdie gazed round. 'Seems I gotta thank Mandy too,' he went on. 'An' that of scamp, Cal, an' all the boys. Reckon I'll have to sell the C P to meet my ohligations.'
He grinned hugely; the recovery of his daughter and the paying of an old score had put him in great good humour. 'I'm bettin' we've seen the last o' King Burdette.'
'Yu'd lose, Purdie,' Sudden said quietly.
A little later, Yago called the foreman aside. 'Thought yu'd like to know I found a .38 rifle an' fodder cached in a cupboard in King's bedroom,' he said. 'Sorta bears out Ramon's story, don't it?'
'Shore does,' Sudden agreed. 'Don't tell nobody else; we got trouble enough ahead without gettin' Purdie on the rampage again.'
'What d'yu reckon King'll come back for?' yago asked.
'To do yu a good turn, Bill,' Sudden said, and smiled at his friend's puzzled expression. 'Yeah, he's goin' to try an' make yu foreman o' the C P.'
The little man understood, and his comment was vivid.
SAM SLYPE sat in his office, teeth clamped on a black cigar, brows knitted in thought. It was a blazing afternoon and the street outside was deserted. Two days had passed since the fight at Battle Butte and the excitement had to some extent died down. Save to the more lawless element, the crushing of the Circle B had brought satisfaction--Windy had long resented the arrogance and domination of the Burdettes and their riders. The marshal's own position had been delicate, but he flattered himself that he had adopted the right attitude. While, in deference to his office, he deprecated Purdie's appeal to force, he was careful to also make it clear that, in abducting the girl, King had placed himself outside the pale.
He smiled sourly as he remembered that these sentiments had met with general approval as being those of a fair-minded man who held a public position. But the marshal was by no means satisfied. The Burdettes were shattered, and this he had longed and schemed for, but Green remained. For he both hated and feared this capable young man who, drifting casually into the town, had at once began to make his presence felt. When, following an overheard remark, he had trailed the attackers to the Circle B, it had been in the hope of a furtive shot which would pass unnoticed. It might have been King, Green, or Purdie; it chanced to be Sim, who died because he was a Bur- dette, and, as the slayer had argued, his death would infallibly bring about that of the C P foreman. It was this disappointment over which he was brooding.
'Cuss the crooked luck,' he muttered aloud.
'Conscience troublin' yu, Slippery?' asked a cool, amused voice.
It was King Burdette, and the marshal was aware of an inner icy chill which nearly stopped the beating of his heart. So absorbed had he been in his meditations that he had not heard the door open. Before his bulging eyes pale phantoms of the Burdettes he had so foully murdered seemed to stand beside this one and gibber at him. One thought obsessed him--had King learned the truth? He was smiling, but he was of the type who smiled as they strike.
'Anybody'd think yu weren't pleased to see me,' the visitor went on, leaning lazily against the closed door.
The marshal collected his scattered wits. 'I was thinkin' o' yu right when yu walked in, King,' he stammered.
'Grievin', huh? The town don't appear to be mournin' none.'
'Yore friends is sorry.'
'But bein' in the minority an' wise men--as my friends would be--they're doin' the Br'er Rabbit act an' layin' low; oughtn't to blame 'em for that, I s'pose. What action yu takin', Sam?'
The unexpected question gave the officer a nasty jar. 'Me?' he cried, and his amazement was real enough. 'What can I do?'
Burdette surveyed him with very evident disgust. 'Yo're the marshal,' he reminded. 'See here, Purdie rounds up an army--there was townsfolk in it--shoots me up, killin' eleven o' my men an' damagin' my property. Yu goin' to tell me that's accordin' to law?'
'Yu stole his gal, King,' Slype protested.
'Stole nothin'--she come of her own free will,' came the easy lie. 'When it got out, we pretended she was a prisoner to save her good name. I sent word to Purdie that I'd marry her an' end the trouble between the two families. Yu know what his answer was.'
'Sounds fair to me, King, but her tale don't tally.'
'O' course not; did yu think it would?'
The marshal had not thought so; he knew the story was an invention to hit Purdie through his daughter, but that did not concern him. What he wanted to know was why Burdette had come to him, for the pretext of appealing to the law did not deceive him for an instant; he knew the Burdette nature better than that. Summoning his nerve, he put the question.
'I want justice,' King told him sternly, and Slype's face turned to a sickly yellow. It was coming now; this savage devil would shoot him down without mercy unless ... Fear was driving him to snatch at his own gun in sheer desperation when the visitor spoke again. 'Purdie must make good the damage he an' his men have done.'
The marshal's suspended breath expelled itself in a gasp of relief, and, satisfied that his hide was not in danger, his cunning brain got busy. He could not fathom Burdette's attitude, but an inspiration came to him.
'Purdie figures yu've gone for good,' he said. 'I hear he's givin' the Circle B to Green.' King straightened up, his careless, cynical expression changing to one of fierce surprise. 'An' Green don't aim to be lonely up there on the Butte--he's bin at `The Plaza' most all day,' Slype supplemented. 'Betcha he's there now.'
The poisoned shaft bit deep. Burdette was cruel, heartless, incapable of real affection, but he had his pride. The muscles of his jaw tightened, his lips curled back to uncover the clenched teeth, one hand went to his gun as he leaned forward.
'Yu lie,' he hissed.
The marshal's puny soul shrivelled within him; he saw death itself staring out of those narrowed, flaming eyes. One moment of weakness would be the end--for him. His statement regarding the Circle B and Green was a deliberate invention, made to inflame the visitor, and despite the latter's fierce denial, Slype knew it had succeeded. He fought down his fears and answered steadily:
'I'm givin' yu the straight goods. Actin' friendly to yu don't buy a fella much, King.'
The other ignored the reproach, but relaxed the tenseness of his attitude. The marshal's heart skipped a beat when King pulled out a gun, spun the cylinder, and replaced it carefully in the holster. He ventured a question.
'Yu didn't come in alone, King, did yu?'
The tall man looked down at him disdainfully. 'Yeah, why not?' he retorted. 'Do yu s'pose I'm scared o' this rabbit-warren? If anybody wants to argue with me I'll he right pleased, but I got a little business to 'tend to first.'
