Rimrock Trail

 [Illustration]

[Illustration: The girl drooped, tired from the long climb]

 RIMROCK TRAIL

 By J. ALLAN DUNN

 Author of _"A Man to His Mate, " etc. _

 [Illustration]

 A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York

 Published by arrangement with The Bobbs-Merrill Company Printed in U. S. A. 

 COPYRIGHT 1921 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

 COPYRIGHT 1922 J. ALLAN DUNN

 _Printed in the United States of America_

 ARTHUR SULLIVANT HOFFMAN

 To his loyal friendship, his sincerity and the caustic but kindly criticism which has made my stuff printable. 

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I GRIT 1

 II CASEY 11

 III MOLLY 32

 IV SANDY CALLS THE TURN 46

 V IN THE BED OF THE CREEK 67

 VI PASO CABRAS 81

 VII BOLSA GAP 97

 VIII THE PASS OF THE GOATS 111

 IX CAROCA 119

 X SANDY RETURNS 129

 XI PAY DIRT 135

 XII WHITE GOLD 159

 XIII A ROPE BREAKS 187

 XIV A FREE-FOR-ALL 202

 XV CASEY TOWN 232

 XVI EAST AND WEST 266

 XVII WESTLAKE BRINGS NEWS 291

 XVIII DEHORNED 310

 XIX THE HIDEOUT 345

 XX MOLLY MINE 377

 XXI THE END OF THE ROPE 389

 XXII THE VERY END 396

Rimrock Trail

[Illustration]

Rimrock Trail

CHAPTER I

GRIT

"Mormon" Peters carefully shifted his weighty bulk in the chair that hedared not tilt, gazing dreamily at the saw-toothed mountains shimmeringin the distance, sniffing luxuriously the scent of sage. 

"They oughter spell Arizona with three 'C's, '" he said. 

"Why?" asked Sandy Bourke, wiping the superfluous oil from the revolverhe was meticulously cleaning. 

"'Count of Climate, Cactus, Cattle--an' Coyotes. "

"Makin' four, 'stead of three, " said the managing partner of the ThreeStar Ranch. 

Came a grunt from "Soda-Water" Sam as he put down his harmonica on whichhe had been playing _The Cowboy's Lament_, with variations. 

"Huh! You got no more eddication than a horn-toad, an' less commonsense. You don't spell Arizony with a 'C. ' You can't. 'Cordin' to yoreargymint you should spell Africa with a 'Z' 'cause they raise zebrasthere, 'stead of mustangs. Might make it two 'R's, ' 'count of rim-rockan'--an' revolvers. "

Mormon snorted. 

"That's a hell of a name for a man born in Maricopa County to call agun. _Revolver!_ You 'mind me of the Boston perfesser who come toArizona tryin' to prove the Cliff Dwellers was one of the Lost Tribes ofIsrael. He blows in with an introduction to the Double U, where I wasworkin'. Colonel Pawlin's wife has a cold snack ready, it bein' middlin'warm. The perfesser makes a pretty speech, after he'd eaten two men'sshare of victuals tryin', I reckon, to put some flesh on to his bones. An' he calls the lunch a _col-lay-shun_! Later, he asks the waitressdown to the Rodeo Eatin' House, while he's waitin' for his train, for aserve-yet. A _serve-yet_! That's what he calls a napkin. You must havebeen eddicated in Boston, Sam, though it's the first time I eversuspected you of book learnin'. "

It was Sunday afternoon on the Three Star rancheria. The riders, all thehands--with the exception of Pedro, the Mexican cocinero, indifferent tomost things, including his cooking; and Joe, his half-breed helper, --haddeparted, clad in their best shirts, vests, trousers, Stetsons andbandannas of silk, some seeking a poker game on a neighboring rancho, some bent on courting. Pedro and Joe lay, faces down, under the shade ofthe trees about the tenaya, the stone cistern into which water waspumped by the windmills that worked in the fitful breezes. 

The three partners, saddle-chums for years, ever seeking mutual employ, known through Texas and Arizona as the "Three Musketeers of the Range, "sat on the porch of the ranch-house, discussing business and lightermatters. One year before they had pooled their savings and Sandy Bourke, youngest of the three and the most aggressive, coolest and swiftest ofaction, had gloriously bucked the faro tiger and won enough to buy theThree Star Ranch and certain rights of free range. The purchase had notincluded the brand of the late owner. Originally the holding had beencalled the Two-Bar-P. As certain cattlemen were not wanting who had aknack of appropriating calves and changing the brands of steers, Sandyhad been glad enough, in his capacity of business manager, to change thename of the ranch and brand. Two-Bar-P was too easily altered to H-B, U-P, U-B, O-P, or B; a score of combinations hard to prove as forgeries. 

There had been lengthy argument concerning the new name. Three Star, soSoda-Water Sam--whose nickname was satirical--opined, smacked of thesaloon rather than the ranch, but it was finally decided on and thebranding-irons duly made. 

Sandy Bourke had dark brown hair, inclined to be curly, a tendency heoffset by frequent clipping of his thatch. The sobriquet of "Sandy"referred to his grit. He was broad-shouldered, tall and lean, weighing ahundred and seventy pounds of well-strung frame. His eyes were gray andthe lids sun-puckered; his deeply tanned skin showed the freckles onface and hands as faint inlays; his long limber legs were slightlybowed. 

Not so the curve of Soda-Water Sam's legs. You could pass a small kegbetween the latter's knees without interference. Otherwise, Sam, whoselast name was Manning, was mainly distinguished by his enormous droopingmustache, suggesting the horns of a Texas steer, inverted. 

As for Mormon, disillusioned hero of three matrimonial adventures, woman-soft where Sandy was woman-shy, he was high-stomached, too stoutfor saddle-ease to himself or mount, sun-rouged where his partners wereburned brown. His pate was bald save for a tonsure-fringe ofgrizzle-red. 

All three were first-rate cattlemen, their enterprise bade fair forsuccess, hampered only by the lack of capital, occasioned by Sandy'spreference for modern methods as evidenced by thoroughbred bulls, high-grading of his steers, the steadily growing patches of alfalfa andthe spreading network of irrigation ditches. 

Business exhausted, ending with an often expressed desire for a womancook who could also perform a few household chores, tagged with a lastattempt to persuade Mormon to marry some comfortable person who wouldact in that capacity, they had reverted to the good-humored chaff thatalways marked their talks together. 

Mormon, with stubby fingers wonderfully deft, was plaiting horsehairabout a stick of hardwood to form the handle of a quirt, Sandyoverhauling his two Colts and Sam furnishing orchestra on his harmonica. Now he put it to his lips, unable to find a sufficiently crushing retortto Mormon's diatribe against words of more than one syllable, breathingout the burden of "My Bonnie lies over the Ocean. "

Mormon, in a husky, yet musical bass, supplied the cowboy's version ofthe words. 

 "Last night, as I lay in the per-rair-ree. And gazed at the stars in the sky, I wondered if ever a cowboy, Could drift to that sweet by-an'-by. 

 "Roll on, roll on, Roll on, li'l' dogies, roll----"

He broke off suddenly, staring at the fringe of the waving mesquite. 

"Look at that ornery coyote!" he said. "Got his nerve with him, themangy calf-eater, comin' up to the ranch thataway. "

Sam put down his harmonica. 

"My Winchester's jest inside the door, " he said. "But he'd scoot if Imoved. Slip in a shell, Sandy, mebbe you kin git him in a minute. "

"Yo're sheddin' yore skin, Sam. Got horn over yore eyes. Mormon, youneed glasses fo' yore old age. That ain't a coyote, it's a dawg, "pronounced Sandy. 

The creature left the cover of the mesquite and came slowly butdeterminedly toward the ranch-house, past the corral and cook shack; itsdaring proclaiming it anything but a cowardly, foot-hill coyote. Itscoat was whitish gray. Its brush was down, almost trailing, its muzzledrooped, it went lamely on all four legs and occasionally limped onthree. 

"Collie!" proclaimed Sandy. "Pore devil's plumb tuckered out. "

"Sheepdawg!" affirmed Sam, disgust in his voice. "Hell of a gall to comeround a cattle ranch. "

The gray-white dog came on, dry tongue lolling, observant of the men, glancing toward the tenaya where it smelled the slumbering Pedro andJoe. It halted twenty feet from the porch, one paw up, as Sandy bentforward and called to it. 

"Come on, you dawg. Come in, ol' feller. Mormon, take that hair out ofthat pan of water an' set it where he can see it. "

Mormon shifted the pan in which he had been soaking the horsehair foreasier plaiting and the dog sniffed at it, watching Sandy closely witheyes that were dim from thirst and weariness. Sandy patted his kneeencouragingly, and the tired animal seemed suddenly to make up its mind. Ignoring the water, it came straight to Sandy, uttered a harsh whine, catching at the leather tassel on the cowman's worn leather chaparejos, tugging feebly. As Sandy stooped to pat its head, powdered with thealkali dust that covered its coat, the collie released its hold andcollapsed on one side, panting, utterly exhausted, with glazing eyesthat held appeal. 

Sandy reached for the pan, squatting down, and chucked some water fromthe palm of his hand into the open jaws, upon the swollen tongue. Thedog licked his hand, whined again, tried to stand up, failed, succeededwith the aid of friendly fingers in its ruff and eagerly lapped a fewmouthfuls. 

Again it seized the tassel and pulled, looking up into Sandy's faceimploringly. 

"Somethin' wrong, " said the manager of the Three Star. "Tryin' to tellus about it. All right, ol' feller, you drink some more wateh. Let melook at that paw. " He gently took the foot that clawed at his chaps andexamined it. The pad was worn to the quick, bleeding. "Come out of theBad Lands, " he said, looking toward the range. "Through Pyramid Pass, likely. "

"Some derned sheepman gone crazy an' shot his-self, " grumbled Sam. "Somethin' bound to spile a quiet afternoon. "

"Not many sheep over that way, " said Mormon. "No range. "

Sandy rolled the dog on his side and found the other pads in the samecondition. Running his fingers beneath the ruff, scratching gently insign of friendship, he discovered a leather collar with a brass tag, rudely engraved, the lettering worn but legible. 

 GRIT. Prop. P. Casey. 

"They sure named you right, son, " he said. "We'll 'tend to P. Casey, soon's we've 'tended to you. You need fixin' if you're goin' to take usto him. You'll have to hoof it till we cut fair trail. Sam, fetch mesome adhesive, will you? An' then saddle up; Pronto fo' me, a hawss fo'yoreself an' rope a spare mount. "

"What for? The spare?"

"Don't know for sure. May have to bring him back. "

"A sheepman to Three Star! I'd as soon have a sick rattler around. Mormon, yo're elected to nurse him. "

Sam went into the house for the medical tape, then to the corral. Sandybathed the raw pads softly, cut patches of the tape with his knife, putthem on the abrasions, held them there for the warmth of his palm to setthem. Grit licked at his hands whenever they were in reach, hisbrightening eyes full of understanding, shifting to watch Sam stridingto the corral. 

"One thing about a sheepman is allus good, " said Mormon. "His dawg. Reckon you aim on me tendin' the ranch, Sandy?"

"Come if you want to. "

"Two's plenty, I reckon. I do more ridin' through the week than I carefor nowadays. I'll stick to the chair. "

"Prod up Pedro to git some hot water ready. Keep a kittle b'ilin'. Notellin' what time we'll git back, " said Sandy. "I'll take along somegrub an' the medicine kit. Have to spare some of that whisky Sam's gotstowed away. "

"Goin' to waste booze at fifteen bucks a quart on a sheepman?" grumbledMormon. 

"Not if you an' Sam don't want I should, " replied Sandy, with a smile. He knew his partners. "Now then, Grit, " he went on to the dog in aconfidential tone, "you-all have got to git grub an' wateh inside yoreribs. Savvy? I'm goin' to rustle some hash fo' you. You stay as you are, son. "

He pressed the dog on its side once more, in the shade, and went intothe house. Mormon followed him. Grit watched them disappear, gave alittle whine of impatience, accepted the situation philosophically as helistened to sounds from the corral that told him of horses being caught, and drooped his head on the dirt, lying relaxed, eyes closed, gainingstrength against the return trip. 

Sam rode to the porch on his roan, Sandy's pinto and a gray mareleading, and "tied them to the ground" with trailing reins as Sandy cameout bearing a pan of food, a package and a leather case. Mormon showedat the door. 

"Where'd you hide yore bottle, Sam?" he asked. 

"Where you can't find it, you holler-legged galoot. Why?"

"Fill up a flask to take along, Sam, " said Sandy. "Here, Grit, climboutside of this chuck. "

He coaxed the collie to eat the food from his hand while Sam brought thewhisky. 

"Load my guns, Mormon, " he requested. 

Mormon did it without comment. The two blued Colts were as much a partof Sandy's working outfit as his belt, or the bridle of his horse. Sambuckled on his own cartridge belt, holster and pistol, fixed his spurs, tied the package of food to his saddle, filled two canteens and did thesame with them. Sandy-offered the pan of water to Grit who drank inbusinesslike fashion, assured of the success of his mission. He stood upsquarely on his legs, eased by the plastering. They were only tired now. 

He shook himself vigorously, sending out the dust with which he waspowdered in all directions, making Mormon sneeze. He stretched hismuzzle toward the mountains, threw it up and barked for the first time. As Sandy and Sam mounted, the latter leading the gray mare, Grit ranahead of them and came back to make certain they were following. Then heheaded for the spot in the mesquite whence he had emerged, marking theopening of a narrow trail. The horses broke into a lope, the two men, the three mounts, and the dog, off on their errand of mercy. 

Mormon watched them well into the mesquite before he put back the hairin the water the dog had left and went on with his plaiting: As hehandled the pliant horsehairs he talked aloud, range fashion. 

"On'y sheepman I ever knowed worth trubblin' about was a woman. Used terknit while she watched the woollies. Knit me a sweater--plumb uselesswaste of time an' yarn. If I'd taken it I'd have had to take her alongwith it. Wimmen is sure persistent. Seems like I must look like a dogieto most of 'em. They're allus wantin' to marry me an' mother me. I surehope this one don't turn out to be a she-herder. 'P' might stand ferPolly. "

CHAPTER II

CASEY

The two men followed the dog across the flats, through mesquite, throughscattered sage and greasewood, mounting gradually through chaparral tobarren slopes set with strange twisted shapes of cactus. When it becameapparent that Sandy's hazard had hit the mark, as they entered thedefile that made entrance for Pyramid Pass, the only path across theCumbre Range to the Bad Lands beyond, Sandy reined in, coaxed up Grit, resentful, almost suspicious of any halt, lifting the collie to thesaddle in front of him. Grit protested and the pinto plunged, butSandy's persistence, the soothe of his steady voice, persuaded the dogat last to accommodate itself as best it could, helped by Sandy's onearm, sometimes with two as Sandy, riding with knees welded to Pronto'swithers, dropping reins over the saddle horn, left the rest to thehorse. 

"I figger we got some distance yet, " he said to Sam. "Dawg was goin'steady as a woodchuck ten mile' from water. Reckon my guess wasright, --he wore his pads out crossin' the lava beds, though what in timeany hombre who ain't plumb loco is trapesin' round there for, beats me. There is some grazin' on top of the Cumbre mesa, enough for a smallherd, but the other side is jest plain hell with the lights out, one bigslice of desert thirty mile' wide. "

"Minin' camp over that way, ain't there?"

"Was. There's a lava bed strip of six-seven miles at the end of thepass, then comes a bu'sted mesa, all box caņon an' rim-rock, shot withcaves, nothin' greener than cactus an' not much of that. There's atwenty per cent. Grade wagon road, or there was, for it warn'tengineered none too careful, that run over to the mines. I was overthere once, nigh on to ten years ago. They called the camp Hopeful then. Next year they changed the name to Dynamite. Jest natcherully blew up, did that camp. Nothin' left but a lot of tumbledown shacks an' a couplehundred shafts an' tunnels leadin' to nothin'. Reckon this P. Casey is aprospector, Sam. One of them half crazy old-timers, nosin' round tryin'to pick up lost leads. One of the 'riginal crowd that called the dumpHopeful, like enough. Desert Rat. Them fellers is born with hope an'it's the last thing to leave 'em. "

"Hope's a good hawss, " said Sam. "But it sure needs Luck fo' a runnin'mate. "

"You said it. " Sandy relapsed into silence. 

At the far end of the pass the dog struggled to get down. They lookedout upon a stretch of desolation. Sandy had called it six or sevenmiles. It might have been two or twenty. The deceit of rarefied air wasintensified by the dazzle of the merciless sun beating down on powderedalkali, on snaky flows of weathered lava, on mock lakes that sparkledand dissolved in mirage. The broken mesa, across which ran the road tothe deserted mining camp, mysteriously changed form before their eyes;unsubstantial masses in pastel lights and shades of saffron, mauve androse. Over all was the hard vault of the sky-like polished turquoise. 

"I'll let him give us a lead, " said Sandy, "soon as we hit the lava. Wecan foller his trail that fur. Sit tight, son. " Grit whined but subsidedunder the restraining hands. 

"How about a drink 'fore we tackle that?" asked Sam, nodding at theshimmering view. 

"Better hold off for a while. " Sandy took the lead, bending from thesaddle, reading the trail that Grit's paws had left in the alkali andsand. Cactus reared its spiny stems or sprawled over the ground morelike strange water-growths that had survived the emptying of an inlandsea than vegetation of the land. Once the dog's tracks led aside to ascummy puddle, saucered by alkali, dotted with the spoor of desertanimals that drank the bitter water in extremity. Then it ran straightto a wide reef of lava. Sandy set down the collie. Grit ran fast acrossthe pitted surface, ahead of the horses, waiting for them to cross thelava. They had hard work to get him to come to hand again, but he gavein at last to the knowledge that they would not go on otherwise. 

"Sand's too hot fo' yore pads, dawg, " said Sandy, "Raise the mischiefwith that tape. Shack erlong, Pronto. Give you a slice of Pedro'sdried-apple pie when we git back, to make up for workin' you Sunday. "The pinto tossed a pink muzzle and his master reached to pat the dusty, sweat-streaked neck. Alkali rose about them in clouds. Grit's trail, though blurred in the soft soil, was plain enough. The two riders wentsilently on at a steady walking gait. Talk in the saddle with men whomake range-riding a business comes only in spurts. 

"Never see a prospector with a dawg afore, " said Sam at last. "An' thata sheep dawg. "

"Dawg 'ud be apt to tucker out in desert travel, " agreed Sandy. "Meanone more mouth fo' water. "

He, like Sam, speculated on the kind of man P. Casey--if it was Caseythey were after--might be. If not a sheepman or a prospector, a thirdprobability made him an outlaw, a man with a price on his head, hidingin the wilds from punishment. It sufficed to them that he was a man whoma dog loved enough to bear a call to help his master. 

Slowly, the mesa ahead took on more definite shape. The shadows resolvedthemselves into ravines and caņons. They entered a gorge filled withboulders and rounded rocks, over which the sure-footed ponies madeclattering, slippery progress. Here and there the gaunt skeleton of atree, white as if lime-washed, showed that once cottonwoods hadflourished before the devouring desert had claimed the territory. Thecactus was all prickly pear, the gray-green flesh of the flat leavesstarred with brilliant blossom. Along one side of the caņon, mountingzigzag, showed the remains of a road, broken down by landslip and thefurious rush of cloud-burst waters. 

Making this, finding it free of wagon sign or horse tracks, Sandy pickedup Grit's trail once again. The collie wriggled, shot up its muzzle, whined, licked Sandy's face. 

"Nigh there, " suggested Sam. Sandy nodded and let the dog get down. Gritraced off, nose high, streaking around a curve. When they reached it hewas out of sight. The road had been built up in places on the outer edgewith stones, dry-piled. They had fallen away, the grade following, sothat sometimes all that was left for passage was a ledge along which thehorses sidled carefully in single file, stirrups brushing the insidebank. The zigzags ended, the caņon narrowed, deepened. Sandy looked downto the dry bed of it four hundred feet below. The road rose at a steeppitch, cliff to the right, precipice to the left, stretching on and upto the summit of the pass. 

Suddenly Pronto shied violently, tried to bolt up the cliff, scramblinggoatwise for twenty feet to stand shivering and snorting. Sandy'sbalance was automatic, the muscles of his knees clamped for grip, hegave the pinto its head, trusting to it to establish footing. He sawSam's roan dancing in the trail, the led mare plunging, dust rising allabout them. Left-handed, a Colt flashed out of Sandy's holster, barkedtwice, the echoes tossing between the caņon walls. In the road arattlesnake writhed, headless, its body, thicker than a man's wrist, checkered in dirty gray and chocolate diamonds. 

"Git down there, you hysteric son of a gun, " he said to the horse. "It'sall over. " The pinto hesitated, shifted unwilling hoofs, squatted on itshaunches and, tail sweeping the dirt, tobogganed down to the road, jumping catwise the moment it was reached, away from the squirmingterror. Sandy forced him back, leaned far down, tucked the barrel of thegun under the snake's body and hurled it looping into the gorge. Sam gothis roan and the mare under control as the dust subsided. 

"More'n a dozen buttons, " said Sandy. "Listen!"

Grit, unseen, ahead, was barking in staccato volleys. There was anothersound, a faint shout, unmistakably; human. The men looked at each otherwith eyebrows raised. 

"That ain't no man's voice, " said Sam. "That's a gal. " He lookedquizzically at Sandy, knowing his chum's inhibition. 

Sandy was woman-shy. Men met his level glance, fairly, with swiftcertainty that here stood a man, four-square; or shiftily, according totheir ease of conscience, knowing his breed. Sandy was a two-gun man buthe was not a killer. There were no notches on the handles of his Colts. In earlier days he had shot with deadly aim and purpose, but never savein self-defense and upon the side of law and right and order. Among menhis poise was secure but, in a woman's presence, Sandy Bourke's tonguewas tied save in emergency, his wits tangled. Whatever he privately feltof the attraction of the opposite sex, the proximity of a girl producedan embarrassment he hated but could not help. He had seen admiration, desire for closer acquaintance, in many a fair face but such invitationaffected him as the sight of a circling loop affects a horse in aremuda. 

He gave Sam no chance for banter. Action was forward and it alwaysstraightened out the short-circuitings of Sandy's mental reflexes towardwomankind. He touched Pronto's flanks with the dulled rowels he wore, and the pinto broke into a lope. A big boulder was perched upon the nighside of the road. Grit came out from behind it, barked, whirled andseemingly dived into the caņon. Coming up with the mare, Sam found Sandydismounted, waiting for him. 

What had happened was plain to both of them. The rotten, hastily maderoad collapsed under the lurch of a wagon jolting over outcrop uncoveredby the rains. Scored dirt where frantic hoofs had pawed in vain, tiremarks that ended in side scrapes and vanished. 

Sam got off the roan, the tired horses standing still, snuffing themarks of trouble. Far down the slope Grit gave tongue. The cliffshouldered out and they could see nothing from the broken road. How anyone could have hurtled over the precipice and be still able to call forhelp without the aid of some miracle was an enigma. They listened foranother shout but, save for the barking of the dog, there was silencein the grim gorge. In the sky, two buzzards wheeled. 

Sandy poured a scant measure of water from his canteen into thepunched-in crown of his Stetson, after he had knocked out the dust. Samdid the same, giving each horse a mouth-rinse and a swallow of tepidwater so they would stand more contentedly. Each took a swift swig fromthe containers. Sandy untied the package of food and the leathermedicine kit, Sam slapped his hip to be sure of his whisky flask. Aidedby their high heels, digging them in the unstable dirt, they worked downthe cliff, rounding the shoulder. 

A wide ledge of outcrop jutted out from the caņon wall jagged intobattlements. Piled there was a wagon, on its side, the canvas tiltsagged in, its hoops broken. A white horse, emaciated, little more thanbuzzard meat when alive, lay with its legs stiff in the air, neckflattened and head limp. A broken pole, with splintered ends, crossedthe body of its mate, a bay, gaunt-hipped, high of ribs. It lay still, but its flanks heaved, catching a flash of sun on its dull hide. 

Between the wheels of the wagon knelt a girl in a gown of faded blue, head hidden behind a sunbonnet. She leaned forward in the shadow of thewagon. Sandy caught a glimpse of a huddled body beyond her. Grit sat onhis haunches, head toward the road, thrown back at each bark. Sandyreached the ledge first. The girl did not turn her head, though hisdescent was noisy. He touched her gently on the shoulder, tellinghimself that she was "just a kid. "

She looked up, her face lined where tears had laned down through themask of dust. Now she was past crying. Her eyes met Sandy's pitifully, holding neither surprise nor hope. 

"He's dead. " She seemed to be stating a fact long accepted. 

"He's dead. An' he made me jump. You come too late, mister. "

The man lay stretched out, head and shoulders hidden, his gaunt bodydressed in jeans, once blue, long since washed and sun-faded to thegreen of turquoise matrix. The boots were rusty, patched. The wagon-bed, toppling sidewise, had crashed down on his chest. Rock partly supportedthe weight of it. Sandy picked up a gnarled hand, scarred, calloused andshrunken, the hand of an old prospector. 

"Yore dad?" he asked, kneeling by the girl. 

"Yes. " She stood up, slight and straight, with limbs and body justcurving into womanhood. "The hawsses was tuckered out, " she said, "orDad c'ud have made it. They didn't have no strength left, 'thout food orwater. The damned road jest slid out from under. Dad made me jump. Ifiggered he was goin' to, but his bad leg must have caught in the brake. We slid over like water slides over a rock. He didn't have ahell-chance. " As she spoke them the oaths were merely emphasis. Shetalked as had her father. 

Sandy nodded. 

"Got an ax with the outfit?" he asked. Then turning to Sam as the girlwent round to the back of the fallen wagon and fumbled about throughthe rear opening of the canvas tilt: "Man's alive, Sam. Caught a flirtof the pulse. Have to pry up the wagon. Git that bu'sted end of thetongue. "

The girl handed an ax to Sandy mutely, watching them as Sandy priedloose the part of the tongue still bolted to the wagon, getting it clearof the horses. 

"Think you can drag out yore dad by the laigs when we lift the body ofthe wagon?" he asked her. "May not be able to hold it more'n a fewseconds. May slip on us, the levers is pritty short. "

She stooped, taking hold of a wrinkled boot in each hand, back of theheel. A tear splashed down on one of them and she shook the salt waterfrom her eyes impatiently as if she had faced tragedy before and knew itmust be looked at calmly. 

The two men adjusted the boulders they had set for fulcrums and shoveddown on the stout pieces of ash, their muscles bunching, the veinsstanding out corded on their arms. Grit ran from one to the other witheager little whines, sensing what was being attempted, eager to help. The wagon-bed creaked, lifted a little. 

"Now, " grunted Sandy, "snake him out. "

The girl tugged, stepping backward, her pliant strength equal to thedead drag of the body. Sandy, straining down, saw a white beard appear, stained with blood, an aged seamed face, hollow at cheek and temple, sparse of hair, the flesh putty-colored despite its tan. Grit leaped inand licked the quiet features as Sam and Sandy eased down the wagon. 

"Whisky, Sam. "

The girl sat cross-legged, her father's head in her lap, one handsmoothing his forehead while the other felt under his vest and shirt, above his heart. 

"He ain't gone yit, " she announced. 

The old miner's teeth were tight clenched, but there were gaps in themthrough which the whisky Sandy administered trickled. 

"Daddy! Daddy!"

It might have been the tender agony of the cry to which Patrick Casey'sdulling brain responded, sending the message of his will along thenerves to transmit a final summons. His body twitched, he choked, swallowed, opened gray eyes, filmy with death, brightening withintelligence as he saw his daughter bending over him, the face of Sandyabove her shoulder. The gray eyes interrogated Sandy's long andearnestly until the light began to fade out of them and the wrinkledlids shuttered down. 

Another swallow of the raw spirits and they opened flutteringly again. The lips moved soundlessly. Then, while one hand groped waveringlyupward to rest upon his daughter's head, Sandy, bending low, caughtthree syllables, repeated over and over, desperately, mere ghosts ofwords, taxing cruelly the last breath of the wheezing lungs beneath thebattered ribs, the final spurt of the spirit. 

"_Molly--mines!_"

"I'll look out for that, pardner, " said Sandy. 

The eyelids fluttered, the old hands fell away, the jaw relaxed, serenity came to the lined face, and no little dignity. For the firsttime the girl gave way, lying prone, sobbing out her grief while the twocowmen looked aside. The bay horse began to groan and writhe. 

"Got to kill that cavallo, " said Sam in a whisper. 

"Wait a minute. " The girl had quieted, was kneeling with clasped hands, lips moving silently. Prayer, such as it was, over, she rose, her fiststight closed, striving to control her quivering chin--doing it. Shelooked up as the shadow of a buzzard was flung against the cliff by theslanting sun. 

"We got to bury him, 'count of them damn buzzards. "

"We'll tend to that, " said Sandy. "Ef you-all 'll take the dawg on up tothe hawsses. . . . "

"No! I helped to bury Jim Clancy, out in the desert, I'm goin' to helpbury Dad. It's goin' to be lonesome out here--" She twisted her mouth, setting teeth into the lower lip sharply as she gazed at the desolatecliffs, the birds swinging their tireless, expectant circles in thethroat of the gorge. 

"Dad allus figgered he'd die somewheres in the desert. 'Lowed it 'ud behis luck. He wanted to be put within the sound of runnin' water--he'sgone so often 'thout it. But--" She shrugged her thin shouldersresignedly, the inheritance of the prospector's philosophy strong withinher. 

"See here, miss, " said Sandy, while Sam crawled into the wagon in searchof the dead miner's pick and shovel that now, instead of uncoveringriches, would dig his grave, "how old air you?"

"Fifteen. My name's Margaret--Molly for short--same as my Ma. She's beendead for twelve years. "

"Well, Miss Molly, suppose you-all come on to the Three Star fo' a spellwith my two pardners an' me? You do that an' mebbe we can fix yoredaddy's idee about runnin' water. We'd come back an' git him an' we'llmake a place fo' him under our big cottonwoods below the big spring. Iw'udn't wonder but what he c'ud hear the water gugglin' plain as it runsdown the overflow to the alfalfa patches. "

Molly Casey gazed at him with such a sudden glow of gratitude in hereyes that Sandy felt embarrassed. He had been comforting a girl, aboyish girl, and here a woman looked at him, with understanding. 

"Yo're sure a white man, " she said. "I'll git even with you some time ifI work the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don'tamount to a damn 'thout somethin' back of 'em. I'll come through. "

She put out her roughened little hand, man-fashion, and Sandy took it asSam emerged from the wagon with the tools. The bay mare groaned and gavea shrill cry, horribly human. Sam drew his gun, putting down pick andshovel. 

"Got any water you c'ud spare?" asked the girl. Sandy handed her hiscanteen. 

"Use it all, " he said. "Soon's it's dark, it'll cool off. We'll gitthrough all right. "

He picked up the tools and moved toward Sam as the bay collapsed to themerciful bullet. The girl washed away as best she could the stains ofblood and travel from the dead face while Sandy sounded with the pickfor soil deep enough for a temporary grave. 

The body would have to lie on the ledge over night, nothing but burialcould save it from marauding coyotes, though the wagon might havebaffled the buzzards. The two set to work digging a shallow trench downto bedrock, rolling up loose boulders for a cairn. The whirring chorusof the cicadas drummed an elfin requiem. Now and then there came thechink of bit, or hoof on rock, from the waiting horses in the brokenroad. The sun was low, horizontal rays piercing the flood of violet hazein the caņon. Across the gorge the cliff, above the wash of shadow, glowed saffron; a light wind wailed down the bore. Lizards flirted inand out of the crevices as the miner was laid in his temporary grave, the girl dry-eyed again. 

She had brought a little work box from the wagon, of mahogany studdedwith disks of pearl in brass mountings. Out of this she produced ahandkerchief of soft China silk brocade, its white turned yellow withage. This she spread over her father's features, showing strangelydistinct in the failing light. 

"I don't want the dirt pressin' on his face, " she said. 

From the dead man's clothes Sandy and Sam had taken the few personalbelongings, from the inner pocket of the vest some papers that Sandyknew for location claims. 

"Want to take some duds erlong to the ranch?" he asked Molly. "We canbring in the rest of the stuff later. Got to shack erlong, it's gittin'dark. Brought an extry hawss with us. Can you ride?"

"Some. I ain't had much chance. "

"Don't know how the mare'll stand yore skirt. If she won't Pinto'll packyou. "

"I'll fix that. " She clambered into the wagon. Before she came out withher bundle they piled the cairn, a mask of broken rim-rock heavy enoughto foil the scratching of coyotes. 

It looked to Sandy as if the girl had changed into a boy. The slenderfigure, silhouetted against the afterglow, softly pulsing masses offiery cloud above the top of the mesa, was dressed in jean overalls, awide-rimmed hat hiding length of hair. 

"I reckon I can fool that hawss of yores now, " she said. "I gen'allydress thisaway 'cept when we expect to go nigh the settlements or aranch where we aim to visit. We was makin' for the Two-Bar-P outfit, where Grit came from when he was a bit of a pup. I expected that's wherehe was headin' for when I sent him off after help, but you comeinstead. "

"I was wonderin' how he come to make the ranch, " said Sandy. "You seewe-all bought the Two-Bar-P, though I never figgered old Samson 'ud everown a sheepdawg. He might give one away fast enough. "

"Grit was sent him for a present by a man who summered at the ranch an'heerd Samson say he wanted a dawg, " said the girl. "He was a tenderfootwhen he come, an' when he left, 'count bein' sick. Samson didn't wantto kill the dawg an' didn't want to keep him, so he gave him to Dad an'me when I was ten years old. Are you ready to start?"

She had avoided looking toward the grave, purposely Sandy thought, talking to bridge over the last good-by, the chance of a breakdown. Suddenly she pointed down the cliff. 

"Wait a minute, " she cried and disappeared, sliding and leaping downlike a goat, reappearing with her hat half filled with crimsonsilk-petaled cactus blooms, scattering them at the head of the cairn. 

"Seemed like there jest had to be flowers, " she said as, with Gritnosing close to his mistress, they mounted to the road. The gray maremade no bother and soon they were riding down toward the strip of BadLands. Sandy let the collie go afoot for the time. 

The glory of the range departed, the cliffs turned slate color, thenblack, while a host of stars marshaled and burned without flicker. Thewind moaned through the trough of the caņon as they rode out on theplain. Up somewhere in the darkness the buzzards came circling down, tosettle on the ledge beside the carcasses of the two horses. 

It was close to midnight when they reached the home ranch, riding pastthe outbuildings, the bunk-house of the men where a light twinkled, thecook shack, the corrals, up to the main house. There they alighted. Allabout cottonwoods rustled in the dark, the air was sweet and cool, notfar from frost. Molly Casey shivered as she moved stiffly in hersaddle. Sandy lifted her from the saddle and carried her up the steps, across the porch, kicking open the door of the living-room where theembers of a fire glowed. There was no other light in the big room, butthere was sufficient to show the great form of Mormon, stowed at ease ina chair, asleep and snoring. 

Sam struck a match and lit a lamp. He struck Mormon mightily between hisshoulders. 

"Gawd!" gasped the heavyweight partner. "I been asleep. But there's akittle of hot water, Sandy. Where's the--what in time are you totin'? Agel or a boy?"

"This is Miss Molly Casey, " said Sandy gravely, setting down the girl. "Miss Casey, this is Mr. Peters. Mormon, Miss Molly is goin' to tie upto the Three Star for a bit. "

Mormon, a little sheepish at the suddenly developing age of the girl asshe shook hands with him, recovered himself and beamed at her. "Yo'resure welcome, " he said. "Boss hired you? Cowgirl or cook?"

Sandy noticed the girl's lips quiver and he slipped an arm about hershoulders. He was not woman-shy with this girl who needed help, and whoseemed a boy. 

"Don't you take no notice of him an' his kiddin', " he said. "We'll makehim rustle some grub fo' all of us an' then we-all 'll turn in. I'llshow you yore room. Up the stairs an' the last door on the right. Here'ssome matches. There's a lamp on the bureau up there. Give you a callwhen supper's ready. "

He led her to the door and gave her a friendly little shove, guessingthat she wanted to be alone. 

"The kid's lost her father, lost most everything 'cept her dawg, " hesaid to Mormon. "Thought we might adopt her, sort of, then I thoughtmebbe we'd hire her--for mascot. "

"Lost her daddy? An' me hornin' in an' tryin' to kid her! I ain't gotthe sense of a drowned gopher, sometimes, " said Mormon contritely. 

"She's game, plumb through, ain't she, Sam? Stands right up to trouble?"

"You bet. Mormon, open up a can of greengages, will ye? I reckon she'sgot a sweet tooth, same as me. "

Molly Casey was not through standing up to trouble. They coaxed her toeat and she managed to make a meal that satisfied them. Then she got upto go to her room, with Grit nuzzling close to her, her fingers in hisruff, twisting nervously at the strands of hair. 

"Do you reckon, " she asked the three partners, "that Dad knows he fooledme when he told me to jump? If I'd known he c'udn't git clear I'd havestuck--same as he would if I was caught. Do you reckon he knowsthat--now?"

"I'd be surprised if he didn't, " said Sandy gravely. "You did what hewanted, anyway. "

She shook her head. 

"If I'd been on the outside, he w'udn't have jumped, no matter how muchI begged him. I didn't think of the brake. Don't seem quite square, somehow, way I acted. Good night. What time do you-all git up?"

"With the sun, soon's the big bell rings, " said Sandy. "Good night. "

She looked at them gravely and went out. 

"Botherin' about playin' square in jumpin', " said Sandy. "That gel issquare on all twelve eidges. Sam, slide out an' muzzle that bell. She'lllikely cry herself to sleep after a bit but she'll need all the sleepshe can git. No sense in wakin' her up at sun-up. "

"How'd you come to know so much about gels?" asked Mormon. 

"Me? I don't know the first thing about 'em, " protested Sandy. 

"No more'n any man, " put in Sam. "'Cept it's Mormon. He's sure had theexperience. "

"Experience, " said Mormon, with a yawn, "may teach a man somethin' aboutmules but not wimmen. Woman is like the climate of the state of Kansas, where I was born. Thirty-four below at times and as high as one-sixteenabove. Blowin' hot an' cold, rangin' from a balmy breeze through a rainshower or a thunder-storm, up to a snortin' tornado. Average number ofworkin' days, about one hundred an' fifty. Them's statistics. It ain'tso hard to set down what a woman's done at the end of a year, if you gota good mem'ry, but tryin' to guess what she is goin' to do has got theweather man backed off inter a corner an' squealin' for help. They ain'tall like Kansas. My first resembled it, the second was sortertropic--she run off with a rainmaker an' I hear she's been divorcedthree times since then. Mebbe that's an exaggeration. My third musthave been born someways nigh the no'th pole. W'en she got mad she'dfreeze the blood in yore veins. 

"No, sir, that feller in the po'try who says, 'I learned about wimmenfrom 'er, ' was braggin'. Now, this gel of Casey's 'pears like what herdad 'ud call a good prospect, but you can't tell. Fool's gold is brightenough but you can't change it to the real stuff no matter how youpolish it. "

"Ever see the sour-milk batter Pedro fixes fo' hot cakes?" asked Sam. 

"Sure I have. What's that got to do with it?" demanded Mormon. 

"That's what you've got sloppin' inside of yore haid 'stead of brains. Yore disposition concernin' wimmen is gen'ally soured. You 'mind me ofthe man from New Jersey who come out west to buy a ranch. A hawssthrowed him five times hand-runnin'. He ropes a steer that happens torun into the bum loop he was swingin' an' it snakes him out'n thesaddle. A pesky cow chases him when he was afoot, a couple calves gits arope twisted round his stummick an' lastly a mule kicks him into a bunchof cactus. Whereupon he remarks, 'I don't figger I was calculated forrunnin' a cattle ranch, ' sells out an' goes back to herdin' muskeetersin New Jersey. 

"Mormon, you warn't calculated to handle wimmen. This li'l' gel is gameas they make 'em, an' I reckon she's right sweet if she on'y gits achance. Leastwise, I see several signs of pay dirt this afternoon an'evenin' as I reckon Sandy done the same. She's been trailin' her dad allover hell an' creation, talkin' like him, swearin' like him, actin' likehim. Never see nothin' different. All she needs is a chance. "

"What's the idee in pickin' on me?" asked Mormon aggrievedly. "She's aswelcome as grass in spring. They ain't no one got a bigger heart than mefo' kids. "

"No one got a bigger heart, mebbe, " said Sam caustically. "Nor none asmaller brain. All engine an' no gasoline in the tank!"

"She's an orphan, " went on Sandy. "She ain't got a cent that I know of. The claims her old dad mentioned ain't no good because, in the firstplace, they'd have been worked if they was; second place, they're overto Dynamite an' the sharps say Dynamite's a flivver. All she has insight is the dawg. Some dawg! Comes in from the desert an' takes us outto her an' Pat Casey--him dyin'. Ef it hadn't been fo' the dawg, she'dhave stayed there, to my notion. Got some sort of idee she'd desertedship ef she hadn't stuck till it was too late fo' her to crawl out ofthat slit in the mesa. She's fifteen an' she's got sense. I figger webetter turn in right now an' hold a pow-wow with the gel ter-morrer. "

"Second the motion, " said Sam. 

"Third it, " said Mormon. 

And the Three Musketeers of the Range went off to bed. 

CHAPTER III

MOLLY

Molly came down next morning in the faded blue gingham. Sandy marked howworn it was and marked an item in his mind--clothes. He smiled at herwith the sudden showing of his sound white teeth that made many friends. She was much too young, too frank, too like a boy to affect him with anyof his woman-shyness. He did not realize how close she was to womanhood, seeing only how much she must have missed of real girlhood. 

Molly had a snubby nose, a wide mouth, Irish eyes of blue that were farapart and crystal clear, freckles and a lot of brown hair that she worein a long braid wound twice about her well-shaped head. She was acombination of curves and angles, of well-rounded neck and arms and legswith collar-bones and hips over-apparent, immature but not awkward. 

None of the three partners observed these things in detail. All of themnoted that her eyes were steady, friendly, trusting, and that when shesmiled at them it was like the flash of water in a tree-shady pond, whena trout leaps. Grit, entering with her, divided his attentions among themen, shoving a moist nose at last into Sandy's palm and lying downobedient, his tail thumping amicably, as Sandy examined the tapeprotectors. 

"You lie round the ranch for a day or so, " he told the collie, "an'you'll be as good as new. "

"Fo' a sheepdawg, " said Mormon, "he sure shapes fine. "

Molly's eyes flashed. "He don't _know_ he's a sheepdawg, " she protested. "He's never even seen one, 'less it was a mountain sheep, 'way upagainst the skyline. Samson liked him. Don't you like him?"

"I like him fine, " Mormon answered hurriedly. "Fine!"

"Ef you-all didn't, we c'ud shack on somewheres. I c'ud git work down tothe settlemints, I reckon. I don't aim to put you out any. I've beenthinkin' erbout that. 'Less you should happen to want a woman to run thehouse. I don't know much about housekeepin' but I c'ud l'arn. It's awoman's job, chasin' dirt. I can cook--some. Dad used to say mycamp-bread an' biscuits was fine. I c'ud earn what I eat, I reckon. An'what Grit 'ud eat. We don't aim to stay unless we pay--someway. "

There was a touch of fire to her independence, a chip on the shoulder ofher pride the three partners recognized and respected. 

"See here, Molly Casey, "--Sandy used exactly the same tone and manner hewould have taken with a boy--"that's yore way of lookin' at it. Thenthere's our side. You figger yore dad was a pritty good miner, Ireckon?"

"He sure knew rock. Every one 'lowed that. They was always more'n onewantin' to grubstake him but he'd never take it. Figgered he didn't wantto split any strike he might make an' figgered he w'udn't take no man'smoney 'less he was dead sure of payin' him back. Dad was a good miner. "

"All right. Now, yore dad believes in them claims. The last two words hesays was 'Molly' and 'mines. ' I give him my word then and there, like hewould have to me, to watch out for yore interests. My word is mypardners' word. I'm willin' to gamble those claims of his'll pan outsome day. Until they do, ef you-all 'll stay on at the Three Star, stopMormon stompin' in from the corral with dirty boots, ride herd on Saman' me the same way, mebbe cook us up some of them biscuits once in awhile, why, it'll be fine! Then there's yore schoolin'. Yore dad 'udwish you to have that. I don't suppose you've had a heap. An' you sabe, Molly, that you swear mo' often than a gel usually swears. "

She opened her eyes wide. "But I don't cuss when I say 'em. An' I don'tuse the worst ones. Dad w'udn't let me. I can read an' write, spell an'cipher some. But Dad needed me more'n I needed learnin'. "

"But you got to have it, " said Mormon earnestly. "S'pose them claims panout way rich and you git all-fired wealthy? Bein' a gel, you sabeclothes, di'monds, silks, satins an' feather fuss. You'll want to learnthe pianner. You'll want to know what to git an' how to wear it. Won'twant folks laffin' at you like they laffed at Sam, time he won fo'hundred dollars shootin' craps an' went to Galveston where a smart Alecof a clerk sells him a spiketail coat, wash vest an' black pants withbraid on the seams. 

"Sam, he don't know how to wear 'em, or when. His laigs sure lookedprominent in them braided pants. Warn't any side pockets in 'em, neither, fo' him to hide his hands. Sam's laigs got warped when he wasyoung, lyin' out nights in the rain 'thout a tarp'. That suit set backSam a heap of money an' it ain't no mo' use to him than an extry shellto a terrapin. "

He grinned at Molly with his face creased into good humor that could notbe resisted. She laughed as Sam joined in, but the determination of herrounded chin returned after the merriment had passed. 

"If you did that--took my Daddy's place, " she said, "why, we'd bepardners, same as him an' me was. When the claims pan out, half of it'llhave to be yores. I won't stay no other way. "

The glances of the three partners exchanged a mutual conclusion, amutual approval. 

"That goes, " said Sandy, putting out his hand. "Fo' all three of us. When the mines are payin' dividends, we split, half on 'count of theThree Star, half to you. Providin' you fall in line with the eddication, so's to do yore dad, yo'se'f an' us, yore pardners, due credit when themoney starts comin' in. Sabe?"

"I don't sabe the eddication part of it, " she answered. "Jest what doesthat mean? I don't want to go to school with a lot of kids who'll laf atme. "

"You don't have to. As pardners, " Sandy went on earnestly, "I don't mindtellin' you that the Three Bar has put all its chips into the kitty an', while we figger sure to win, we can't cash in any till the increase ofthe herds starts to make a showin'. Not till after the fall round-up, anyway. So yore eddication'll have to be put off a bit. Meantime you'lllearn to ride an' rope an' mebbe break a colt or two, between meals an'ridin' herd on the dirt. When you start in, it'll be at one of themschools in the East where they make a speshulty of western heiresses. How's that sound?"

"Sounds fine. On'y, you've picked up Dad's hand to gamble with. Mebbe itain't yore game, nor the one you'd choose to play if it wasn't forced onyou. "

"Sister, " said Sam, "yo're skinnin' yore hides too close. Sandy 'udgamble on which way a horn-toad'll spit. It's meat an' drink to him. Wewon this ranch on a gamble--him playin'. He gambles as he breathes. An'whatever hand he plays, me an' Mormon backs. Why, if we win on thisminin' deal, we're way ahead of the game, seein' we don't put upanythin' in cold collateral. It's a sure-fire cinch. "

"Sam says it, " backed Sandy. "One good gamble!"

Molly's eyes had lightened for a moment, losing their gloom of griefthey had held since the shadow of the circling buzzards in the gorge haddarkened them. She fumbled at the waistband of her one-piece gown, working at it with her fingers, producing a golden eagle which shehanded to Sandy. 

"That's my luck-piece, " she said. "Dad give it to me one time hecleaned up good on a placer claim. Nex' time you gamble, will you playthat--for me? Half an' half on the winnin's. I sure need some clothes. "

The glint of the born gambler's superstition showed in Sandy's eyes ashe took the ten dollars. 

"I sure will do that, " he said. "An' mighty soon. Now then, talk's over, all agreed. Sam an' me has got some work to do outside. Won't be backmuch before sun-down. Mormon, he's goin' to be middlin' busy, too. Molly, you jest acquaint yorese'f with the Three Star. Riders won't beback till dark. No one about but Mormon, Pedro the cook, an' Joe. Restup all you can. I'm goin' to bring yore dad in to runnin' water. "

Tears welled in Molly's eyes as she thanked him. Again Sandy saw thegirlish frankness change to the gratefulness of a woman's spirit, looking out at him between her lids. It made him a little uneasy. Themen went out together, walking toward the corral. 

"Sam an' me's goin' to bring in what's left of Pat Casey, Mormon. Wagon's kindlin', harness is plumb rotten. Ain't much to bring 'cepthim, I reckon. We'll take the buckboard, with a tarp' to stow him under. Up to you to knock together a coffin an' dig a grave under thecottonwoods an' below the spring. Right where that li'l' knoll makes theoverflow curve 'ud be a good spot. Use up them extry boards we got forthe bunk-house. Git Joe to help you. No sense in lettin' the gel seeyou, of course. "

"Nice occupation fo' a sunny day, " grumbled Mormon, but, as thebuckboard drove off, he was busy planing boards in the blacksmith'sshop, with the door closed against intrusion. 

Mid-afternoon found him with the coffin completed. He rounded up thehalf-breed to help him dig the grave, first locating Molly in a hammockhe had slung for her in the shade of the trees by the cistern. He hadfurnished her with his pet literature, an enormous mail-order cataloguefrom a Chicago firm. It was on the ground, the breeze ruffling theillustrated pages, lifting some stray wisps of hair on the girl's neckas she lay, fast asleep, relaxed in the wide canvas hammock, her facecheckered by the shifting leaves between her and the sun. 

Mormon could move as softly as a cat, for all his bulk. There was turfabout the cistern, he had made no sound arriving, but he tiptoed off, his kindly mouth rounded into an O of silence, his weather crinkled eyeshalf-closed. 

"She's jest a baby, " he said, half aloud, as he passed beyond the treesto where Joe waited with pick and spade. 

The soil was soft and clear from stone. An hour sufficed to sink a shaftfor Pat Casey's last bed. Mormon carefully adjusted the headboard he hadfashioned from a thick plank, to be carved later when the lettering wasdecided upon. This done he buckled on the belt he had discarded, fromwhich his holster and revolver swung. Sandy carried two guns, hispartners one, habits of earlier, more stirring days, toting them asinevitably as they wore spurs, though there was little occasion to usethem on the Three Star, save to put a hurt animal out of misery, or killa rattlesnake. 

Moisture streamed from Mormon's face, patched his clothes as the heatand his exertions temporarily melted some of his superfluous adiposity. Joe, his mahogany face stolid as a wooden carving, rolled a cigarette. 

"I sure hate to see a nameless grave, " said Mormon. 

"Si, Seņor, " Joe's amiability agreed. 

"You go git a dipper. I'm drier'n Dry Crick. Fetch it full from thespring. " The half-breed ambled off. Mormon wiped his face with hisbandanna. Suddenly his big body stiffened. He heard Molly's voice fromthe cistern, frightened, then storming in anger. Mormon ran at asprinter's gait from the cottonwoods, along a side of the corral, through the trees bordering the cistern. The girl was out of thehammock, facing a man in riding breeches and puttees, his face concealedfor the moment by his hands. A sleeve of the girl's frock was torn away, the outworn fabric in streamers. The man's hands came down and Mormonrecognized him for Jim Plimsoll, owner of the Good Luck Pool Parlors, inthe little cattle town of Hereford, where faro, roulette, chuckaluck andcraps were played in the back room, owner also of a near-by horse ranch. There was blood on his face, the marks of finger nails. 

Plimsoll jumped for the girl, caught her by one arm roughly. Shestruggled fiercely, silently, striking at him with her free fist. Mormon's gun flashed from its sheath as he shouted at the man. Plimsollwheeled, releasing Molly. His dark face was livid with rage, a pistolgleamed as he plucked it from beneath the waistband of his ridingbreeches. The turf spatted between his feet as Mormon fired. 

"Got the drop on ye, Jim! Nex' shot'll be higher. Shove that gun back. Now then, " as Plimsoll sullenly obeyed, "what in hell do you figgeryo're doin'?" Mormon's jovial face was tense, his voice stern and cold, he stood crouched forward a little from the hips, legs apart, his gun athing of menace that seemed to be alive, snaky. 

"Keep still, " he ordered, walking toward the pair, his gun coveringPlimsoll, the cheery blue of his eyes changed to the color of ice in theshade, the pupils mere pin-pricks. Molly glanced at him once, fingerscaressing her bruised arm. 

"He kissed me while I was asleep, the damned skunk!" she flared. "I'dsooner hev rattlesnake-pizen on my lips!" She stopped rubbing the arm toscrub fiercely at her mouth with the back of her hand. 

"It ain't the first time I've kissed you, " said Plimsoll. "Yore daddidn't stop me from doin' it. I didn't notice you scratching like awildcat either. Where's your dad? And where do you come in on this dealbetween old friends?" he demanded of Mormon. 

"Her dad's dead, " said Mormon simply. "Molly is stayin' fo' a spell atthe Three Star. Sandy Bourke, Sam Manning an' me is lookin' out fo'her, an' we aim to do a good job of it. Sabe?"

Plimsoll's thin-lipped mouth sneered with his eyes. 

"Gone in for baby-farming, have you, or robbing the cradle? Who'splaying the king in this deal? I----" The leer suddenly vanished fromhis face, the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Mormon's gun was slowlycoming up level with his heart, steady as Mormon's gaze, fingercompressing the trigger. 

"The law reckons you a man--so fur, " said Mormon. "Yore pals 'ud pack ajury to hang me fo' shootin' the dirty heart out of you, but--ef youever let out a foul word or a look about that gel, I'll take my chanceof their bein' enough white men round here to 'quit me. There ought tobe a bounty on yore scalp an' ears. You hear me, Jim Plimsoll, I'mtalkin' straight. Now git, head yore hawss fo' the short trail toHereford an' keep travelin'. Pronto!"

Plimsoll's pony was standing under the trees and the gambler turned and, with an attempted laugh, swaggered toward it. 

The threat to his personal safety, his desire to fling a sneer atMormon, seemed to have halted any correlation of the statementconcerning the death of the girl's father until now. 

"If that's true about your dad, " he said, "I'm sorry. How did he die?"

Sensing the hypocrisy of the shift to sympathy, the girl took a stepforward. Mormon's pupils contracted again; his finger itched to pressthe trigger it touched. 

"It's none of yore business, " said the girl. "You git. "

Plimsoll's eyes shifted to Mormon's big body, stiffening to the crouchthat prefaced shooting. He faced toward the trees again, flinging hislast words over his shoulder. 

"None of my business? I don't agree with you there, you littlehell-weasel. Your father and me had more than one deal together. You andI may have to do business together yet, Molly mine!"

Molly's teeth showed between her parted lips, her fingers were hooked. Mormon anticipated her indignant leap. His gun spurted fire, theexpensive Stetson broadrim seemed lifted from Plimsoll's hair by aninvisible hand. With the report it sailed forward, side-slipped, landedon its rim, perforated by a steel-nosed thirty-eight caliber bullet. 

"I give you last warnin', " roared Mormon. 

Plimsoll sprang ahead like a racer at the starter's shot, snatched athis hat, missed it, let it lie as he ran on to his horse, mounted andwent galloping off. Mormon holstered his gun and swung about to Molly, standing with crimson cheeks, blazing eyes and a young bosom turbulentwith emotions. 

"I wisht you'd killed him. I wisht you'd killed him!" she cried. "Iwisht I had a gun--or a knife! I hate him--hate him--_hate him_! When hesays he was ever in a deal with Dad, he lies. Dad stood for him and thatwas all. He purtended to be awful strong for Dad, purtended to be fondof me, jest to swarm 'round Dad, for some reason. Brought me a dollonce. I was thirteen. What in hell did I want with a doll?" she panted. "I burned the damn thing that night in the fire. He kissed me an' Dadseemed to think I owed it him for the doll. I nigh bit my lip offafterward. I wisht yore first shot had been higher, or yore secondlower, Peters. "

"Call me Uncle Mormon, Molly. I had all I c'ud do not to make it plumbcenter, li'l' gel, but the jury'd ring in a cold deck on me if I had. He's sure some snake. But we'll take care of Jim Plimsoll, yore UncleMormon, with Sam an' Sandy. "

Patting Molly's shoulder, Mormon smiled at her with his irresistiblegrin, and she reflected it faintly as she tucked in the remnants of hertorn sleeve. 

"That's the on'y dress I got till Sandy Bourke wins me some money, " shesaid. "You sure are quick, Uncle Mormon, when you git inter action. An'you can shoot some. "

"I reckon I coil up tight, between times, like a spring. Used to bepritty light an' limber on my feet oncet. As for shootin', I wish Sandy'ud been here. He'd have shot both the heels off that fo'-flusher, rightan' left, 'thout you ever see his hands move. I ain't so bad, Sam'sbetter, but we had to throw a lot of lead in practise. Sandy shoots likehe walks or breathes. It comes natcherul to him, like Sam's ear fo'music. I've allus 'lowed Sandy must hev cut his teeth on a cartridge. "

His arm around her shoulder, purposely chatting away, Mormon led Mollytoward the ranch-house, waving off the half-breed who came toward them, his dipper of the spring water half emptied in the excitement. Plimsoll's horse was stirring up a dust-cloud on the way to Hereford, other puffs, far-away toward the range, proclaimed that the buckboardwas on its way with its funeral freight. 

The body of the old prospector was lowered into the grave with the lastof the daylight. The raw scar of the grave was covered with turfs Mormonordered cut by the half-breed. Molly Casey walked away alone, her headhigh, the corner of her lower lip caught under her teeth, eyes winkingback the tears. It was the headboard that had forced her struggle forcomposure. Mormon had marked on it, with the heavy lead of a carpenter'spencil. 

 PATRICK CASEY lies here where the grass grows and the water runs. He looked for gold in the desert and found death. Buried June 10, 1920

"Ef that suits you, " he told Molly, "they's a chap over to Herefordwho's a wolf on carvin'. My letterin's punk. When yore mines pay youc'ud have it in stone. "

"You-all are awful good to me, " was all she could trust herself to say. Each of the Three Musketeers of the Range felt a tug to take her in hisarms and comfort her. Instead they looked at one another, as men oftheir breed do. Sam pulled at his mustache. Mormon rubbed the top of hisbald head and Sandy rolled a cigarette and smoked it silently. 

Molly ate no supper that night. Before dawn Sandy thought he heard thedoor of her room open and soft footfalls stealing down the stairs. Whenhe went later to the spring he found the grave covered with the wildblooms that the girl had picked in the dewy dawn. 

CHAPTER IV

SANDY CALLS THE TURN

It was a week after Plimsoll's dismissal from the Three Star premises, that one of the riders, coming back from Hereford with the mail, broughtrumors of a new strike at Dynamite. Neither of the partners paid muchattention to a report so often revived by rumor and as swiftly dying outagain. But the man said that Plimsoll had stated that he expected to goover to the mining camp in the interests of claims located by PatrickCasey in which he had a half-interest, by reason of having grubstakedthe prospector. 

"There's the thorn under _that_ saddle, " said Sandy to Mormon. "That'swhat Jim Plimsoll meant by his 'deal. ' I don't believe he'd stir upthings unless he was fairly sure there was something doin' oveh toDynamite. He may be wrong but he usually tries to bet safe. "

"Molly's father located Dynamite, didn't he?"

"So she tells me. Hopeful, as he called it. Seems he picked up some richfloat. This float was where a dyke of porphyry comes up to the surfacean' got weathered away down to the pay ore. Leastwise, this was herdad's theory. He told her everything he thought as they shacked erlongtogether, I reckon, an' she remembers it. He figgers this sylvanite liesunder this porphyry reef, sabe? Porphyry snakes underground, sometimesfifty feet thick, sometimes twice that, an' hard as steel. Matter ofluck where you hit it how fur you have to go. Cost too much time an'labor an' money for the crowd that made up the rush to stay with it, 'less some one of them hits it at grass roots an' stahts a real boomatop of the rush. They don't an' Hopeful becomes Hopeless. Me, I gotfo'-five chances to grubstake in that time, but I'm broke. I reckonCasey's claims, which is now Molly's claims, is the pick of the camp. Not much doubt, from what I pick up, that he was sure a good miner. Oneof the ol' Desert Rats that does the locatin' fo' some one else to gitthe money. 

"Molly ses her dad never grubstaked. She don't lie an' she was close tothe old man. Mo' like pardners than dad an' daughter. Plimsoll smellssomethin'. Figgers there's somethin' in the rumor an' stahts this talkof bein' pardners with Casey 'cause there's a strike. Me, I'm goin' totake a pasear to town soon an' I'll have a li'l' conversation with Jimthe Gambolier. "

"Count me in on that, " said Sam. 

"Me too, " said Mormon. 

"Can't all three leave the ranch to once, " demurred Sandy. 

The half-breed came sleepily round the corner of the ranch-house andstruck at the gong for the breakfast call. The vibrations flooded theair with wave after wave of barbaric sound and Joe pounded, withawakening delight in the savage noise and rhythm, until Sandy, afteryelling uselessly, threw a rock at him and hit him between theshoulders, whereupon the light died out of his face and he shuffledaway. 

With the boom of the gong, daylight leaped up from the rim of the world. In the east the mountains seemed artificial, sharply profiled like atheatrical setting, a slate-purple in color. To the west, the sharpcrests were luminous with a halo that stole down them, staining themrose. With the jump of the sun everything took on color and lost form, plain and hills swimming, seeming to be composed of vapor, the shapes ofthe mountains shifting every second, tenuous, smoky. The air was crisp, making the fingers tingle. The riders came from their bunk-houses, yawning, sloshing a hasty toilet at a trough with good-natured banter, hurrying on to the shack, where Joe tendered them the prodigious arrayof viands provided by Pedro, who waited himself on the three partnersand the girl, at the ranch-house. The smell of bacon and hot coffeespiced the air. Sam, twisting his mustache, led the way. 

"Smells like somethin' in the line of new bread to me, " he said. "Breador--it ain't _biscuits_, Molly?"

"Sure is. " Molly came in with a plate piled high with biscuits that wereevidently the present pride of her heart. "Made a-plenty, " sheannounced. "Had to wrastle Pedro away from the stove an' I ain't quiteon to that oven yet, but they look good, don't they?"

"They sure do, " said Sandy, taking one to break and butter it. Theeagerness with which his jaws clamped down upon it died into ameditative chewing as of a cow uncertain about the quality of her cud. He swallowed, took a deep swig of coffee and deliberately went on withhis biscuit. Mormon and Sam solemnly followed his example while Mollybeamed at them. 

"You don't _say_ they're good?" she said. 

"Too busy eating, " said Sandy. And winked at Sam. 

Molly caught the wink, took a biscuit, buttered it, bit into it. 

Camp-bread and biscuits, eaten in the open, garnished with thewilderness sauce that creates appetite, eaten piping hot, are mightypalatable though the dough is mixed with water and shortening islacking. As a camp cook, Molly was a success. Confused with Pedro'soffer of lard and a stove that was complicated compared to her Dutchkettle, the result was a bitter failure that she acknowledged as soon asher teeth met through the deceptive crust. 

Molly was slow to tears and quick to wrath. She picked up the plate ofbiscuits and marched out with them, her back very straight. In thekitchen the three partners heard first the smash of crockery, then thebang of a pan, a staccato volley of words. She came in again, empty-handed, eyes blazing. 

"There's no bread. Pedro's makin' hot cakes. " Then, as they looked ather solemnly: "You think you're damned smart, don't you, tryin' to foolme, purtendin' they was good when they'd pizen the chickens? I hatefolks who _act_ lies, same as them that speaks 'em. "

"I've tasted worse, " said Mormon. "Honest I have, Molly. My first wifeput too much saleratus an' salt in at first but, after a bit, she was awonder--as a cook. "

Molly, as always, melted to his grin. 

"I ain't got no mo' manners than a chuckawaller, " she said penitently. "Sandy, would you bring me a cook-book in from town?"

"Got one somewheres around. "

"No we ain't. Mormon used the leaves for shavin', " said Sam. "Lastwinter. W'udn't use his derned ol' catalogue. "

"I'll git one, " said Sandy. "Here's the hot cakes. "

They devoured the savory stacks, spread with butter and sage-honey, incomparative silence. There came the noise of the riders going off forthe day's duties laid out by Sam, acting foreman for the month. Sandygot up and went to the window, turning in mock dismay. 

"Here comes that Bailey female, " he announced. "Young Ed Bailey drivin'the flivver. Sure stahted bright an' early. Wonder what she's nosin'afteh now? Mormon--an' you, Sam, " he added sharply, "you'll stick aroundtill she goes. Sabe? I don't aim to be talked to death an' then pickledby her vinegar, like I was las' time she come oveh. "

A tinny machine, in need of paint, short of oil, braked squeakingly asa horn squawked and the auto halted by the porch steps. Young Ed Baileyslung one leg over another disproportionate limb, glanced at thewindows, rolled a cigarette and lit it. His aunt, tall, gaunt, clad instarched dress and starched sunbonnet, with a rigidity of spine andfeature that helped the fancy that these also had been starched, descended, strode across the porch and entered the living-room, herbright eyes darting all about, needling Molly, taking in every detail. 

"Out lookin' fo' a stray, " she announced. "Red-an'-white heifer we hadup to the house for milkin'. Got rambuncterous an' loped off. Had onehorn crumpled. Rawhide halter, ef she ain't got rid of it. You ain'tseen her, hev you?"

"No m'm, we ain't. No strange heifer round the Three Star that answersthat description. " Sam winked at Molly, who was flushing under theinspection of Miranda Bailey, maiden sister of the neighbor owner of theDouble-Dumbbell Ranch. He fancied the missing milker an excuse if not anactual invention to furnish opportunity for a visit to the Three Star, an inspection of Molly Casey and subsequent gossip. "You-all air up todate, " he said, "ridin' herd in a flivver. "

"I see a piece in the paper the other day, " she said, "about men playin'a game with autos 'stead of hawsses--polo it was called--an' anotherpiece about cowboys cuttin' out an' ropin' from autos. Hawsses ispassin'. Science is replacin' of 'em. "

"Reckon they'll last my time, " drawled Sandy. "I hear they aim to rollfood up in pills an' do us cattlemen out of a livin'. But I ain'tworryin'. Me, I prefers steaks--somethin' I can set my teeth in. Ireckon there's mo' like me. Let me make you 'quainted with Miss Bailey, Molly. This is Molly Casey, whose dad is dead. Molly, if you-all want toskip out an' tend to them chickens, hop to it. "

Molly caught the suggestion that was more than a hint and started forthe door. The woman checked her with a question. 

"How old air you, Molly Casey?"

The girl turned, her eyes blank, her manner charged with indifferencethat unbent to be polite. 

"Fifteen. " And she went out. 

"H'm, " said Miranda Bailey, "fifteen. Worse'n I imagined. "

Sandy's eyebrows went up. The breath that carried his words might havecome from a refrigerator. 

"You goin' back in the flivver?" he asked, "or was you aimin' to keepa-lookin' fo' that red-an'-white heifer?"

Miranda sniffed. 

"I'm goin', soon's as I've said somethin' in the way of a word of advicean' warnin', seein' as how I happened this way. It's a woman's matter orI wouldn't meddle. But, what with talk goin' round Hereford insettin'-rooms, in restyrongs, in kitchens, as well as in dance-halls an'gamblin' hells where they sell moonshine, it's time it was carried toyou which is most concerned, I take it, for the good of the child, notto mention yore own repitashuns. "

"Where was it _you_ heard it, ma'am?" asked Sam politely. 

"Where you never would, Mister Soda-Water Sam-u-el Manning, " sheflashed. "In the parlor of the Baptis' Church. I ain't much time an' Iain't goin' to waste it to mince matters. Here's a gel, a'most a woman, livin' with you three bachelor men. "

"I've been married, " ventured Mormon. 

"So I understand. Where's yore wife?"

"One of 'em's dead, one of 'em's divorced an' I don't rightly sabe wherethe third is, nor I ain't losin' weight concernin' that neither. "

"More shame to you. You're one of these women-haters, I s'pose?"

"No m'm, I ain't. That's been my trouble. I admire the sex but I've beena bad picker. I'm jest a woman-dodger. "

Miranda's sniff turned into a snort. 

"I ain't heard nothin' much ag'in' you men, I'll say that, " sheconceded. "I reckon you-all think I've jest come hornin' in on whatain't my affair. Mebbe that's so. If you've figgered this out same way Ihave, tell me an' I'll admit I'm jest an extry an' beg yore pardons. "

"Miss Bailey, " said Sandy, his manner changed to courtesy, "I believeyou've come here to do us a service--an' Molly likewise. So fur's I sabethere's been some remahks passed concernin' her stayin' here 'thout achaperon, so to speak. Any one that 'ud staht that sort of talk is ablood relation to a centipede an' mebbe I can give a guess as to who itis. I reckon I can persuade him to quit. "

"Mebbe, but you can't stop what's started any more'n a horn-toad canstop a landslide, Sandy Bourke. You can't kill scandal with gunplay. Thegel's too young, in one way, an' not young enough in another, to bestayin' on at the Three Star. You oughter have sense enough to knowthat. Ef one of you was married, or had a wife that 'ud stay with you, it 'ud be different. Or if there was a woman housekeeper to the outfit. "

"That ain't possible, " put in Mormon. "I told you I'm a woman-dodger. Sandy here is woman-shy. Sam is wedded to his mouth-organ. "

The flivver horn squawked outside. Miranda pointed her finger at Sandy. 

"There's chores waitin' fo' me. I didn't come off at daylight jest to bespyin', whatever you men may think. You either got to git a grown womanhere or send the gel away, fo' her own good, 'fore the talk gits soit'll shadder her life. I ain't married. I don't expect to be, but Iaimed to be, once, 'cept for a dirty bit of gossip that started in myhome town 'thout a word of truth in it. Now, I've said my say, you-alltalk it over. "

Sandy went to the door with her, helped her into the machine. Itshudderingly gathered itself together and wheezed off; he came back withhis face serious. 

"She's right, " he said. 

"Mormon, " said Sam, "it's up to you. Advertise fo' Number Three to comeback--all is forgiven--or git you a divo'ce, it's plumb easy oveh in thenex' state--an' pick a good one this time. "

"We got to send her away, " said Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' into Herefo'dto-night. I aim to git a cook-book, interview Jim Plimsoll an' thenbu'st his bank. One of you come erlong. Match fo' it. "

"Bu'st the bank what with?" asked Sam. 

Sandy produced the ten-dollar luck-piece and held it up. 

"This. Mormon, choose yore side. "

"Heads. "

Sandy flipped the coin. It fell with a golden ring on the floor. "Tails, " said Sandy inspecting it. "You come, Sam. Staht afteh noon. Oilup yore gun. "

"I knowed I'd lose, " said Mormon dolefully. "Dang my luck anyway. "

It was a little after seven o'clock when Sandy and Sam walked out of theCactus Restaurant, leaving their ponies hitched to the rail in front. They strolled down the main street of Hereford across the railroadtracks to where the "Brisket, " as the cowboys styled the little town'stenderloin, huddled its collection of shacks, with their false frontsfaced to the dusty street and their rear entrances, still cumbered withcases of empty bottles and idle kegs, turned to the almost dry bed ofthe creek. The signs of ante-prohibition days, blistered and faded, werestill in place. Light showed in windows where fly-specked uselesslicenses were displayed. Back of the bars a melancholy array ofsoda-water advertised lack of interest in soft drinks. The front roomsheld no loungers, but the click of chips and murmurs of talk came frombehind closed doors. 

Sandy stopped outside the place labeled "Good Luck Pool Parlors. J. Plimsoll, Prop. " The line "Best Liquor and Cigars" was half smeared out. He patted gently the butts of the two Colts in the holsters, whose endswere tied down to the fringe ornaments of his chaps. Sam stroked hisropey mustache and eased the gun at his hip. Sandy pushed open the doorand went in. A man was playing Canfield at a table in the deserted bar. As the pair entered he looked up with a "Howdy, gents?" shoving back arickety table and chair noisily on the uneven floor. The inner doorswung silently as at a signal and Jim Plimsoll came out. He stiffened alittle at the sight of the Three Star men and then grinned at Sam. 

"How was the last bottle, Soda-Water?" he asked. "You didn't have tochange your name with Prohibition, did you? Nor your habits. "

"Main thing that's changed is the quality of yore booze--an' the price, neither fo' the better, " said Sam carelessly. 

"We ain't drinkin' ter-night, Jim, " said Sandy. "Dropped in to hev ali'l' talk with you an' then take a buck at the tiger. "

Plimsoll's eyes glittered. 

"Said talk bein' private, " continued Sandy. 

Plimsoll threw a glance at the man who had been posted for lookout andhe left with a curious gaze that took in Sandy's guns. 

"Sorry I was away from the ranch, time you called, " said Sandy, sittingwith one leg thrown over the corner of the table. "Hope to be there nex'time. I hear you-all claim to have an interest in Pat Casey's minin'locations, his interest now bein' his daughter's?"

"That any of your business?"

"I aim to make it my business, " replied Sandy. 

For a moment the two men fought a pitched battle with their eyes. It wasa warfare that Sandy Bourke was an expert in. The steel of his glanceoften saved him the lead in his cartridges. Jim Plimsoll was no fool towage uneven contest. He fancied he would have the advantage over Sandylater, if the pair really meant to play faro--in his place. 

"I grubstaked him for the Hopeful-Dynamite discovery, " he said. 

"Got any papeh showin' that? Witnessed. "

"You know as well as I do that papers ain't often drawn on grubstakingcontracts. A man's word is considered good. "

"Pat Casey's would have been, I reckon, " said Sandy. 

"I've got witnesses. "

"Well, we'll let that matteh slide till the mines make a showin'. Meantime, there's talk goin' on in this town concernin' the gel an' herlivin' at Three Star. I look to you to contradict that so't of gossip, Plimsoll, from now on. "

Plimsoll flushed angrily. 

"Who in hell do you think you are?" he demanded. "Who appointed youcensor to any man's speech?"

"A _man's_ speech don't have to be censored, Plimsoll. An' I reckon youknow who I am. "

"You come here looking for trouble, with me?"

"I never hunt trouble, Jim. If I can't help buttin' into it, like a manmight ride into a rattlesnake in the mesquite, I aim to handle it. Ef Iever got into real trouble, an' it resembled you, I'd make you climb sofast, Plimsoll, you'd wish you had horns on yore knees an' eyebrows. "

Plimsoll forced a laugh. "Fair warning, Sandy. I never raise a fuss witha two-gun man. It ain't healthy. You've got me wrong in this matter. "

"Glad to hear it. Then there won't be no argyment. Game open?"

"Wide. An' a little hundred-proof stuff to take the alkali out of yourthroats. How about it?"

"I don't drink when I'm playin'. I aim to break the bank ter-night. I'mfeelin' lucky. Brought my mascot erlong. "

"Meaning Sam here?"

All three laughed for a mutual clearance of the situation. Sandy hadsaid what he wanted and knew that Plimsoll interpreted it correctly. They went into the back room amicably after Plimsoll had recalled hislookout. 

There was little to indicate the passing of the Volstead Act in the GoodLuck Pool Room, where the tables had long ago been taken out, though thecue racks still stood in place. The place was foul with smoke and reekedwith the fumes of expensive but indifferently distilled liquor. Hereford--the "brisket" end of it--had never been fussy about mixeddrinks. Redeye was, and continued to be, the favorite. A faro and aroulette game, with a craps table, made up the equipment, outside ofhalf a dozen small tables given over to stud and draw poker. 

Some fifty men were present, most of them playing. Many of them noddedat Sandy and Sam as they walked over to the faro layout and stoodlooking on. Plimsoll left them and went back to a table near the door, where his chair was turned down at a game of draw. He started talking ina low tone to the man seated next to him. The first interest of theirentrance soon died out. The dealer at faro went on imperturbably slidingcard after card out of the case, the case-keeper fingered the buttons onthe wires of his abacus and the players shifted their chips about thelayout or nervously shuffled them between the fingers of one hand. 

Sandy knew the dealer for Sim Hahn, a man whose livelihood lay in thedexterity of his slim well-kept fingers and his ability to reckon thebets; swiftly to drag in or pay out losings and winnings without anerror. His face was without a wrinkle, clean-shaven, every slick blackhair in place, the flesh wax-like. He held a record--whispered, notattested--of having more than once beaten a protesting gambler to thedraw and then subscribing to the funeral. As he came to the last turn, with three cards left in the box, he paused, waiting for bets to bemade. His eyes met Sandy's and he nodded. Three men named the order ofthe last three cards. None of them guessed the right one of the six waysin which they might have appeared. Hahn took in, paid out, shuffled thecards for a new deal. Sam nudged Sandy, speaking out of the corner ofhis mouth words that no one else could catch. 

"The hombre Plimsoll's talkin' to is 'Butch' Parsons. He's the killerBrady hired over to the M-Bar-M to chase off the nesters. "

Sandy said nothing, did not move. As the play began he turned and lookedat the "killer" who had been named "Butch, " after he had shot two headsof families that had preempted land on the range that Brady claimed aspart of his holding. Whatever the justice of that claim, it wasgenerally understood that Butch had killed in cold blood, Brady'spolitical pull smothering prosecution and inquiry. Butch had a hawkishnose and an outcurving chin. He was practically bald. Reddish eyebrowsstraggled sparsely above pale blue eyes, the color of cheap graniteware. His lips were thin and pallid, making a hard line of his mouth. Hepacked a gun, well back of him, as he sat at the game. Meeting Sandy'slightly passing gaze, Butch sent out a puff of smoke from hishalf-finished cigar. The pale eyes pointed the action, it might havebeen a challenge, even a covert insult. Sandy ignored it, devoting hisattention to the case-keeper. 

The jacks came out early, three of them losing, showing second on theturn. A dozen bets went down on the fourth jack to win. Sandy placed theluck-piece on the card, reached for a "copper" marker, and played it tolose. 

"That's a luck-piece, Hahn, " he said. "If it loses, I'll take it up. "Hahn gave him an eye-flick of acknowledgment. He was used to mascots. Sandy watched the play until at last the jack slid off to rest by theside of the case, leaving the winning card, a nine, exposed. Sandy alonehad won. The luck-piece had proved its merit. 

In twenty minutes Sam borrowed a stack from Sandy's steadilyaccumulating winnings and departed for the craps table. He wantedquicker action than faro gave him. Luck flirted with him, never entirelydeserting him. And Sandy won until the news of his luck spread throughthe room. The gamblers began to get the hunch that the Three Star manwas going to break the bank. Not all at the faro layout attempted tofollow his bets. Plimsoll's roll had never yet been very badly crimped. With the peculiar paradox of their kind, while they told each other thatPlimsoll's game was square, they held the secret conviction that Hahn'sfingers would manipulate the case in an emergency so that the housewould win. And they waited feverishly for the time to come when such ashow-down would arrive. 

Sandy did not have many chips in front of him, but there were five smalloblongs of blue, markers representing five hundred dollars apiece. Hahnlaid the fingers of his right hand lightly across the top of the case, the fingers of his left hand curled about it. It had come down to thelast turn of the deal again. Every player and onlooker knew what thethree cards were--a queen, a five and a deuce. The checking-board showedthat the queen had lost twice and won once, the five had won three timesand the deuce had won twice and lost once. Most of the players shiftedtheir bets accordingly, the queen to win, the five and deuce to lose. Hahn still waited. 

"Goin' to call th' turn?"

All eyes shifted to Sandy. No one else was going to try to name thatcombination. If the order of the three cards were named correctly thebank would pay four to one. If Sandy staked all on his call he would winover ten thousand dollars. Plimsoll would have to open his safe. Hahndid not have that amount in his cash drawer. 

The rest--save Sam, now close behind Sandy, with ninety dollars winningscashed-in--watched Sandy enviously and curiously. Hahn was a wonder. Thecase might be crooked, the spring eccentric. Plimsoll himself waslooking on. Butch Parsons stood beside him for a second and thenstrolled into the front room. Another man followed him. 

Sandy shoved the markers across the board, followed by his chips. Apparently aimlessly, he hitched at his belt and the two Colts withtheir tied-down holsters swung a little to the front, their handles justtouching his hips. 

"Deuce--queen--five, I'm bettin', " he said. "_An' deal 'em slow. _" Hisvoice drawled and his eyes lifted to Hahn's and rested there. 

Hahn had been mechanically chewing gum most of the evening. Now hischeek muscles bulged more plainly and the end of his tongue showed for asecond between his lips. His right hand dropped and he drew out a deuce. Eyes shifted from Sandy to Plimsoll, to Hahn. Little beads of moistureoozed out on the dealer's forehead. Plimsoll's black brows met. Sandy'sface was placid. Breaths were indrawn as Hahn paid out and raked in onthe card, his left hand covering the top of the case. 

The atmosphere was charged with intensity. Plimsoll's dark eyes wereboring through the dealer's lowered lids. 

"Move yo' fingehs, dealer, an' reveal royalty, " drawled Sandy. "Thequeen wins!" His hands were on his hips, fingers touching the butts ofhis guns, his eyes burned. For all its drag there was a ring to hisvoice. 

Hahn shot one swift look at him and removed his hand. The queen showed. The room gasped. Plimsoll clapped Sandy on the shoulder. 

"You did it, " he said. "Broke the bank when you called that turn. Game's closed and the drinks on the house. How'll you have it?"

The crowd made way as Plimsoll walked across to his safe, twirled thecombination, opened the doors and took out a stack of bills. 

"Bills from a century up, " said Sandy. "The odds and ends in gold--forthe drinks. "

The excitement was dying down. The man from the Three Star had won andhad been paid. Plimsoll's game was square. A few, reading the slightsigns of Hahn's nervousness, still held some doubts, but the games wereclosing. The drinks were brought. Two men lounged out into the frontroom after they had tossed theirs down. Sandy slipped the folded billsinto the breast pocket of his shirt in a compact package. 

"See who went out?" asked Sam in his side whisper. 

"Yep. Saw it in the glass of that picture. We'll go out the back way. Not yet. " He shouldered his way through the congratulating crowd, Samclose behind him, into the front room. It was empty. The short end ofSandy's winnings still provided liquor. For a moment they were alone. Plimsoll had not followed them. Sandy swiftly socketed the bolt on theinside of the front door, turned the key and slid that into his pocket. 

"Now we'll go out the back way, " he said. "I ain't strong fo' playin'crawfish, Sam, but I ain't keen on bein' potted in the dark. I'll betwhat I got in my pocket Butch is huggin' the boards to one side of thisshack. I got too much money on me to be a good insurance risk. "

Sam chuckled. Plimsoll met them just inside the door. 

"Makin' a short cut, " said Sandy. "Good night. "

As the pair went out at the rear, Plimsoll jumped into the front room. Sam, closing the back door behind them noiselessly, heard the gamblercursing at the bolted door. Silently as a cat, he covered the shortdistance between the house and the arroyo of the creek and disappeared, merged in its shadow. Sandy joined him and they made their way swiftlyalong the bottom, climbing the bank where the railroad bridge crossedit, striking off for the main street, lit by sputtery arc-lamps, makingfor their ponies, still standing patiently outside the all-nightrestaurant. 

"No sense in runnin' our heads into a flyin' noose, " said Sandy. "Plimsoll owns the sheriff. Married his sister. We'd be wrong whateverstahted. They'd frisk me of my roll an' we'd never see it ag'in, less wemade a runnin' fight of it. Wondeh how much eddication costs nowadays, Sam? What you laffin' at?"

"Butch an' the rest of Plimsoll's gunmen holdin' up the shack, waitin'fo' us to come out, while Plim is huntin' that key. "

"Don't laff too hard till we git home, " said Sandy. "It's eleven milesto the Three Star. "

They mounted, swung their horses and loped off toward the bridge acrossthe creek. There were two spans, one built since the advent ofautomobiles, the other ancient, little used. They headed for thelatter. Passing the end of the street they saw nothing out of theordinary. The door of the "Good Luck" was open, shown by a square oflight. A group stood outside. Sandy and Sam rode off, the ponies' hoofssilent in the soft thick dust; moving shadows in the twilight, mergingwith the dark. 

CHAPTER V

IN THE BED OF THE CREEK

The old bridge, utilized only by wheels with metal tires these days, andby riders, opened a short-cut to the road leading to the Three Star, away hardly to be distinguished from the plain. Sandy was minded to getback to the ranch as soon as possible with his winnings. Five thousandfor Molly, five thousand for the Three Star, that was the agreement, thecustom, and he knew the girl's breed well enough to have no hesitationin making the split as he would with a man. The next thing to do was topick out a school for her. There Sandy was at a loss. He mulled it overas he rode, his outer senses playing sentinels to his consciousness. 

He had deliberately avoided trouble for reasons he considered quitesufficient, but annoyance pricked him that he had been forced to slideout the back way from Plimsoll's, for all the odds against him. If ithad been his own money--a sudden flash of future responsibilities asMolly Casey's guardian illumined his thought--if the luck-piece had notbeen hers, the play for her future welfare, he would have set his ownmarvelous coordination against Butch and the others in a shooting match, as he had done other times, in other places. Sam, he knew, waswondering a little at their strategic retreat. 

But the old days were going, law and order were beginning to supersedethe old methods of every man to his own judgment and action. Herefordhad a sheriff who was not above suspicion, but the majority of thepeople had little use for him and this term of office would be his last. 

Sandy could not quite gauge Plimsoll's actions in tamely paying over thewinnings and he looked and listened, noting every movement of Prontomoving free-muscled beneath him, for some sign of alarm--perhaps arifle-shot out of the mesquite. They were not the best of targets, Samand he, riding fast in the thick dusk under the stars. The road wasalmost invisible, the plain unsubstantial, though the far-off mountainranges showed plainly cut, with a curious trick of seeming always toshift back as the observer advanced. Little winds blew in their faces, cool and sweet from the desert, charged with spice of sage. 

The ponies struck the loosened planks of the bridge clop-clop, springingforward into a gallop as their riders touched heels to flanks. The pintowas the quicker to get into his stride. Just past the center of thebridge Sam saw Sandy's mount jump like a startled cat into the air. Hesaw Sandy pliant in his seat; marked against the starry sky. Then came aspurt of red flame from the far bank--to the right--another--andanother--from the left. A bullet hummed by him and his own horse slidstiff-legged, plowing the planks, hind feet flat from hoof-points tofetlocks as the pony whirled away from the yawning gap in the bridge, where boards had been pried away in the preparation, of the ambush. 

Helpless for the moment until he got his bearings and his pony gainedsolid footing, Sam automatically whipped out his gun, cursing as he sawSandy slide from the saddle, clutch at the rim of the gap, drop down tothe bed of the creek, while Pronto, frantic at the loss of his master, leaped the opening and fled with clatter of hoof and swinging stirrupinto the desert. 

Sam, wild with rage at the thought of Sandy shot, scrambling in bloodysand below him, flung himself from the roan as more bullets whined, whupping into the planks. One seared his upper arm, another struck thesaddle tree as he vaulted off, slapping the roan on the flanks, yellingat it as it gathered, leaped the gap and followed Pronto. 

"You damned, cowardly, murderin' pack of lousy coyotes!" swore Sammechanically, as he knelt on the edge of the gap and tried to pierce theblackness, listening fearfully for a groan. He had not fired back. Therewas nothing to fire at but clumps of blurred growth. The shots had beentoo sudden, the shying of the horses too confusing for location. 

He kneeled over the rim of the last plank, turned, caught with hishands, revolver thrust back into its holster, swung, dropped. A handclosed about his ankle, pulled him down sprawling on the soft sand. 

"I'm O. K. , " whispered Sandy, and Sam's heart leaped. "Only plugged therim of my hat. I faked a fall to fool 'em. Snake erlong down the crickbed. Here's where we git even. " Sam knew that ring in his partner'svoice, low though it was, and his blood tingled. The high crumbly banksof the creek, gouged out by winter rains and cloud-bursts, were set withbrush. Immediately above the bridge were the stripped trunks ofcottonwoods, stranded in a flood. Peering through the boughs, they sawstooping figures running along the bank. A man called from the lowerside of the bridge, a shot was fired harmlessly. The hunters in viewraced back. 

"Think they saw us, " whispered Sandy. "They'll hear from us, rightsoon. " He led the way back, crossing to the town side beneath thebridge, keeping half-way up the bank, close under the stringers of thebridge, crawling between bushes on his belly, Sam with him. Now theycould see no gunmen but occasionally they caught a whisper, the slightsound of moving brush. 

There was only a trickle of water in the bed of the creek. Here andthere were small bars of bleached shingle and larger boulders. Sandyfound a stone imbedded in the bank, loosened it, squatted on hishaunches and passed it to Sam, taking a gun in each hand. 

"Chuck it into that sunflower patch, " he said with his mouth close toSam's ear. "Then fire at the flashes. " Sam pitched the stone through thedarkness. It fell with a rustle, chinked against a rock. Instantlythere came a fusillade from the opposite bank, four streaks of fire, thebullets cutting through the dried stalks, the marksmen evidently huntingin couples. 

Sandy, crouching, pulled triggers and the shots rattled out as if firedfrom an automatic. Beside him, Sam's gun barked. Each fired three times, Sandy shooting two-handed, flinging six bullets with instinctive aimwhile the bed of the creek echoed to the roar of the guns and the airhung heavy with the reek of exploded gases. Then they rushed for the topof the bank, wriggling behind the cover of bushes, lying prone for thenext chance. 

One yell and a stream of curses came from across the arroyo. Twoindistinct figures bent above a third, lifted it, hurrying back toward aclump of willows. The fourth man trailed the others, his oathssmothered, running beside the two bearers, his hand held curiously infront of him, dimly seen. 

"They're through. That's enough, " said Sandy. "We ain't killers. "

"Got two of 'em, " said Sam. "Good shootin', Sandy! I reckon I missedclean. I fired to the left. "

"The man who's down is Butch, " said Sandy. "I'd know his figger in acoal shaft. I've a hunch the other was Hahn. Hit him somewheres in thehand; spile his dealin' fo' a while. Let's git out of this. They'vequit. "

"Wonder if Plimsoll was with 'em. How about the hawsses? Can you whistlePronto back?"

"Reckon so. "

They walked toward the bridge and crossed it, passing the gap on theside timbers. Plimsoll's men had departed with their casualties. Sandywhistled shrilly through his teeth. After a minute he repeated the call. 

"Sure hate to hoof it to the ranch, " said Sam. "Mebbe the shotsstampeded 'em. Better not try to borrow hawsses in town, I figger. "

"No. Pronto ain't fur. Yore roan'll stick with him. That pinto of mineis half human. I've sent him ahead before. Ef I'd yelled 'Home' he'dhave gone. Shots w'udn't have scared him. Made him stand by--likeMolly. "

"Got yore money safe?"

"Yep. "

There came a sound of pounding hoofs. Then that of others, coming fromthe town. 

"Better load up, Sam, " said Sandy grimly, "we ain't out of this yet. That'll be Jim Plimsoll's brother-in-law, likely. "

"Here come our ponies. "

As yet they could see nothing advancing, but a horse whinnied from theplain lying between them and the Three Star road. 

"Pronto, " said Sandy, shoving cartridges into his guns. 

A body of mounted men had come out from town and ridden fast upon thebridge. The foremost stopped with an exclamation at the missing boards. All wheeled in some confusion and slid their horses down into thearroyo to scramble up the bank again and spur for Sam and Sandy just asthe pinto and the roan, curveted up to their masters. The two cowmenleaped for their seats, Sandy temporarily sheathing one gun. They facedthe townsmen who formed a half-circle about them. 

"You, Sandy Bourke an' Sam Manning, stick up yore hands!"

"You got good eyesight, " returned Sandy. "What's the idee? Ef you shoot, don't miss, I'm holdin' tol'able close ter-night. "

His tone was almost good-humored, tolerant, full of confidence. 

"You was shootin' in town limits. May have killed some one. Ag'in' thelaw to shoot inside the Herefo'd line. I'm goin' to take you in. "

"You air?" Sandy's drawl was charged with mockery. "How about theHerefo'd men who stahted the fireworks? Ef you want our guns, Sheriff, come an' take 'em. First come, first served. "

There was no forward movement. A man swore as his horse began to dance. 

"You go back an' tell Jim Plimsoll to do his own dirty wo'k, if he's gotany guts left fo' tryin'. Me, I'm goin' home. "

The sheriff and his hastily gathered band of irregular deputies, workingin the interests of Plimsoll, knew, with sufficient intimacy to endowthem with caution, the general record of Sandy Bourke and Soda-WaterSam. None of them wanted to risk a shot--and miss. Sandy would not. Evena fatal wound might not prevent him taking toll. Sam was almost asdangerous. They were politicians rather than fighting men, every one ofthem. And they were tolerably certain that Plimsoll had ambushed the twofrom the Three Star. His methods were akin to their own. The sheriffblustered. 

"I ain't through with you yit, Sandy Bourke. I know where to find you. "

"You-all are goin' to have a mighty hard time findin' yo'se'f aftehelection, Sheriff, as it is. The cowmen ain't crazy about you. Theymight take a notion to escort you out of the county limits. "

"You're inside the town line. I----"

"I won't be in two minutes. Git out of our road, " said Sandy, his voicefreezing in sudden contempt. He roweled Pronto and, with Sam even in thejump, they galloped through the half-ring without opposition. Horseswere neck-reined aside to let them pass. The wind sang by them as theytangented off from the road. A shot or two announced the attempt of someto save their own faces, but no bullets came near the pair. Thefusillade was sheer bravado. 

Pronto and the roan went at full speed, bellies low to the plain thatstreamed past, the manes whipping the hands of their riders, springingon sinews of whalebone through soapweed and mesquite, spurning the soilwith drumming hoofs, night-seeing, danger-dodging, jumping the littlegullies, reveling in the rush. Sandy and Sam sat slightly forward, loose-seated, thigh-muscles and knees feeling the withers rather thanpressing them, balancing their own limber bodies to every movement ofthe flying ponies. 

A late moon climbed out of the east and scudded up the sky, silveringthe distant peaks. For almost a mile they rode at top speed, then theysettled down to a lope that ate up the miles--a walk at the end ofthree--then lope and walk again, until the giant cottonwoods of theThree Star rose from the plain, leaves shimmering in the moonlight, theranch buildings blocked in purple pin-pointed with orange--thepin-points enlarging, resolving into two lighted windows as they passedshack and barn and rode into the home corral at last, to unsaddle, wipedown the horses and dismiss them for the time with a smack on theirlathery flanks, knowing they would be too wise to overdrink at thetrough, promising them grain later. 

Mormon tiptoed heavily out on the creaking porch with a husky, "Hush!"

"What fo'?"

"Molly's asleep. 'Sisted on waitin' up for you. "

"Well, we're here, ain't we?" demanded Sam. "Me, I got a scrape in myarm an' some son of a wolf spiled my saddle. Sandy, he sorter evened upfo' it. "

"Bleedin'?" asked Mormon. 

"Nope. Tied my bandanner round it. Cold air fixed it. Shucks, it ain'tnuthin'! Sandy's got a green kale plaster fo' it. Come to think of it, Igot ninety bucks myse'f. "

"You won?"

"Did we win? Wait till we show you. "

Molly met them as they went in, her eyes wide open, all sleep banished. 

"Was it a luck-piece?" she demanded. 

Sandy produced the package of bills, divided it, shoved over part. 

"Your half, " he said. "Five thousand bucks. Bu'sted the bank. An' here'sthe 'riginal bet. " He showed the gold eagle, put it into her palm. 

"Served me, now you take it, " he said. "I'll git you a chain fo' it. It's sure a mascot--same as you are--the Mascot of the Three Star. "

She looked up, her eyes, cloudy with wonder at the sight of the money, shining at her new title. They rested on Sam's arm, bandaged with thebandanna. 

"There's been shootin', " she said. "You're hit. Oh!"

"More of a miss than a hit, " replied Sam. 

Molly turned to Sandy. Anxiety, affection, something stronger thatstirred him deeply, showed now in her gaze. 

"_You_ hurt?"

"Didn't hardly muss a ha'r of my head. Jest a li'l' excitement. "

"Tell me all about it. "

Sandy gave her a condensed and somewhat expurgated account to which shelistened with her face aglow. 

"I wisht I'd been there to see it, " she said as he finished. 

"It warn't jest the time nor place fo' a young lady, " said Sandy. "Mainp'int is we got the money for yo' eddication, like we planned. "

The light faded from her face. 

"Air you so dead set for me to go away?" she asked. 

"See here, Molly. " Sandy leaned forward in his chair, talking earnestly. "You've got the makin' of a mighty fine woman in you. An' paht of you isyore dad an' paht yore maw. Sabe? They handed you on down an', if youmake the most of yo'se'f, you make the most of them. Me, I've allus beentrubbled with the saddle-itch an' I've wanted the out-of-doors. A chapwrit a poem that hits me once. It stahts in, "I want free life an' I want free air, An' I sigh fo' the canter afteh the cattle, The crack of whips like shots in battle; The melly of horns an' hoofs an' heads That wars an' wrangles an' scatters an' spreads, The green beneath an' the blue above, An' dash an' danger an' life. . . . 

"Somethin' like that. I mayn't have got it jest right, but that's _me_. The chap that wrote that might have writ pahts of it jest fo' me. Hesure knew what he was writin' erbout. It's called _In Texas, Down by theRio Grande_. I've been there. Arizony ain't much differunt. "

"It's called _Lasca_, " put in Sam. "I seen it in the movies. Had thepo'try strung all through it. It was a love story. This Lasca, she----"

Mormon put a heavy foot over Sam's and he subsided. 

"So you see I lost out on a heap, " said Sandy. "An' I'm a man. I can giterlong with less. But fo' a gel, learnin's a grand thing. An' there'sthe big cities, an' theaters, fine clothes an' fine manners. Like livin'in another world. "

"Where they wear suits like Sam's spiketail, " said Mormon. "I mind mewhen I was to Chicago with a train of steers one time, the tallbuildin's was higher than caņon cliffs. On'y full breath I drawed wasdown on the lake front where they was a free picter show in a museum. Reg'lar storm there was out on the lake; big waves. Wind like to curl mytongue back down my throat an' choke me. "

"Who's hornin' in now?" asked Sam. "Go on, Sandy. "

"But, " said Molly, wide-eyed, "that's the life _I_ like. I mean outhere. I don't want to be different. "

"Shucks, " said Sandy. "You won't be. Jest polished up. Skin slicked up, hair fixed to the style, nails trimmed an' shined. Culchured. Insideyou'll be yore real self. You can't take the gold out of a bit of oreany more than you can change iron pyrites inter the reel stuff. But, ifthe gold's goin' to be put into proper circulation, it's got to berefined. Sabe?"

"I ain't refined, I reckon, " said Molly with a sigh. "I don't know as Iwant to be. I can allus come back, can't I?"

"You sure can. "

"An' there's Dad. He's where he wanted to be. I w'udn't want to go awayfrom him. "

"He'd want you to make this trip, sure, " said Sandy. "An' that settlesit. You go off to bed an' dream on it. We got to figger out where you goan' that'll take some time an' thinkin'. I'm some tired myse'f. I'vebeen out of trainin' lately fo' excitement. Sam, I'm goin' to soak thatplace on yore arm with iodine. Good night, Molly. "

She got up immediately, went to Mormon and to Sam and gravely shookhands, thanking them. 

"You-all are damned good to me, " she said. Opposite Sandy she hesitated, then threw her arms round his neck and kissed him before she ran fromthe room, with Grit leaping after her. Sandy's bronzed face glowed likereflecting copper. 

"Some folks git all the luck, " said Mormon. 

"There you go, " bantered Sam, stripping his arm for the iodine. "Youbeen married three times, reg'lar magnet fo' the wimmin, an' you grudgeSandy pay fo' what he done. Me, I helped, but I ain't grudgin' him. Though I sure envy him. "

"Yes, you helped an' left me to home to count fingers. "

"Shucks! You matched for it, didn't you? An' didn't you have yore li'l'session with Plimsoll all to yorese'f. What's eatin' you? You want to bea five-ringed circus all to yorese'f an' have all the fun. Ef that stuffheals like it smahts, Sandy, I'll say I'm cured now. "

"It don't amount to much, Sam, " said Sandy. "Yore flesh allus closed upquick. What you goin' to do with yore ninety dollars?"

"I thought of buyin' me a new saddle. Mine's spiled. Couldn't trust thattree fo' ropin' now. But I figger I'll buy me a fine travelin' bag fo'Molly. Loan me yore catalogue, Mormon, so's I can choose one. "

So, bantering one another, they bunked in. 

CHAPTER VI

PASO CABRAS

They did not make butter on the Three Star. 

Since the arrival of Molly an unwilling and refractory cow had beenbrought in from the range and half forced, half coaxed to give the freshmilk that Mormon insisted the girl needed. Until then evaporated milkhad suited all hands. But butter--to go with hot cakes andsage-honey--was an imperative need for the riders. Riders demanded thebest quality in the "found" part of their wages and the three partnerssupplied it. The butter came over weekly from the Bailey ranch to bekept under the spring cover for cooling. Usually the gangling young EdBailey brought it over in the crotchety flivver. When Sandy saw thesparsely fleshed figure of Miranda Bailey seated by the driver he wincedin spirit. This second visitation looked like mere curiosity and gossipand offset the opinion he had begun to form of the spinster--that shewas sound underneath her angularities and mannerisms. 

It was twilight. The three partners and Molly were on the ranch-houseporch after supper, and there was no escape. Sam slid his harmonica intohis pocket silently and Mormon groaned aloud as the rattlebang carchugged up and was braked, shaking all over until the engine was shutoff. Ed Bailey crossed his legs and rolled his cigarette. No one at theThree Star had ever seen him alight from the car, Mormon insisted he ateand slept in it. Miranda nodded at the three partners, who rose as shecame up the steps. 

"You sure need some new clothes, child, " she said to Molly. "You got tohave 'em. I heard you was shot, " she went on to Sam. "That sling ain'tright. You should have it fixed so yore wrist is higher'n yore elbow. Who's tendin' it?"

"It's healin' fine, " said Sam. "I'm pure-blooded an' my flesh allusheals quick. "

Miranda sniffed. 

"I reckon prohibition helps some, " she retorted. "Now then, I come onbusiness. Sandy Bourke, you ain't any of you the legal guardian of thatchild, air you?"

"Nothin' illegal in what we're doin', I reckon. "

"I didn't ask you that. You-all ain't got papers?"

With the question she wriggled her eyebrows, shifted her glance andgenerally twisted her features in what Sandy interpreted plainly enoughas a suggestion that Molly should be eliminated from the talk. He didnot agree with the spinster. It was Molly's prime affair and he knewthat she would resent being treated too childishly in regard to her ownconcerns. Sandy had gentled too many high-spirited fillies and colts notto have found out that methods that apply to well-bred quadrupeds aregenerally coefficient with humans. He shook his head slightly at MissBailey's signaling. 

"Jest what's the idea?" he asked. "Some one figgerin' on makin' her stayat the Three Star unpleasant? Fur as jest gossip is concerned, it don'thave any weight with none of us an' there ain't no sense in mentionin'it. "

"'Pears you ain't givin' me over an' above credit for sense, " saidMiranda, a bit grimly. "This ain't gossip. Ef you're bound the gel is tosit in with her elders I'll go right ahead. I got a lot of chores to doyet, deliverin' butter, an' the car's actin' up uncertain. Here 'tis. Igot it direct from my brother who's heard the talk that's goin' round. You've run foul of Jim Plimsoll--or he foul of you, which is morelikely. Plimsoll an' Eke Jordan, the sheriff, are like two peas in apod. The sheriff's got the inside of local politicks, so fur. When wewimmen git to votin' this fall things is goin' to be different. Rightnow, he's in. He an' the courts of this county are all striped the sameway. Reg'lar zebras. Penitentiary pattern 'ud match their skins. Mebbesome of 'em ought to be wearin' it. 

"Now for the meat of the nut. They're figgerin' on gettin' control ofthe gel away from you-all. They'll use argymints for the general publicthat she's too young to be keepin' house for three unmarried men, leastwise three men who ain't livin' with their wives. " She lookedpointedly at Mormon. "They'll rouse up opinion enough for a change. They'd like to app'int a guardian of their own kidney. Mebbe we canblock that if one of us comes out an' offers to take her. I'd be gladto, for one, an' do the right thing by her. "

Molly walked over to Sandy's chair and stood behind it, her eyeswidening, her breath beginning to come quickly. 

"There's some talk about her father's claims over to Dynamite lookin'up. Party of easterners over that way lately, nosin' around to find outowners, lookin' up assessment work an' so on. Talk of a boom. I reckonPlimsoll's twigged that. Lawyer Feeder, who run for state senator an'whose record's none too dainty, is in cahoots with Jordan an' Plimsoll. Ed heard they figger on goin' before Judge Vanniman, one of their crowd, to get an order of court. She's a minor. They can git her away from you. If we crowd them too hard for them to app'int one of their own ring--an'they're figgerin' on Plimsoll, he claimin' to be her father'spartner--they'll likely have her put in some institution. An' it's goin'to be done right sudden. I w'udn't wonder, from all I hear, but whatthey're over here ter-morrer with a court order. An' you can't fight thecourts 's long as they're in authority, the way you fought JimPlimsoll. "

Molly stepped out, eyes flashing, fists clenched, talking passionately. "I won't go with 'em. I'll run away. They can't take me. Jim Plimsoll isa damned liar. You won't let 'em take me?" She turned to Sandy, her armsstretched in appeal. 

"No, Molly, I won't. Will we, boys?"

"You can bet everything you got an' ever hope to own we won't, " saidSam. 

"That goes for me, " echoed Mormon, but he scratched his fringe of hairin some perplexity. 

"Talk don't beat an order of the court, " said Miranda Bailey. "Mebbe Iseem sort of vinegary to you, child, but I'm not a bad sort. My brotherEd has got somethin' to say in this community an' I'm likely to controla few votes this fall myself. I figger if you came home with me to-daywe c'ud manage to git you placed with us. There's been tattle about youstoppin' here. You're fifteen--an'. . . . "

"Some folks is jest plumb rotten, " flared Molly. "I'm no kid. I . . . _oh, if_ Dad was alive!"

Sandy stood up and slid an arm about her shaking shoulders. She wheeledand buried her head on his shoulder, sobbing. 

"We're powerful obliged to you, Miss Bailey, for what you told us, " saidSandy. "I'm right sure you'd give Molly a fine home, but we got otherplans an' we aim to carry 'em out. Plimsoll's a skunk an' I'll block hisgame about the mines ef they amount to anything. Molly's goin' east forher eddication. She's got plenty money to git the best that's goin' an'she's goin' to have it. "

"Then you better git her 'cross the county line before many hours areover. " Miranda Bailey recognized something better than mere decision inSandy's voice, she was not the leading suffragist of the county forlack of brains. But there was true regret in her voice as she went on. "I'm sorry she don't cotton to the idee of comin' over to our place. Awoman needs a woman's company. " At the diplomatic concession to hermaturity Molly gave the spinster a mollified glance. Miss Bailey climbedinto the machine. 

"You aim on takin' her out of the county to the railroad ter-morrer?"she asked. "What school is she goin' to?"

"We ain't settled all the details, " said Sandy. "But we'll do that allright. We'll git ready soon's we can. Meantime, we'll keep our eyespeeled ter-morrer against any order from Hereford. "

"Want to use this car? I'll bring it over early. Ed can drive it. "

The gangling youth for the first time showed an intelligent interest inanything outside of his cigarette. 

"Fo' time's sake, aunt, " he said, "'twouldn't be no manner of good if itcome down to a runnin' chase. Nearest depot's fifty mile' across thecounty line. Racin' this car ag'in' the sheriff's 'ud be like matchin' aflea ag'in' a grasshopper. Dern it, she's balked ag'in. " He wrestledwith the crank, conquered it and the machine shivered like a hunting dogwhile his aunt adjusted spark and gas. She nodded to him to start andthey moved off, Miranda waving a farewell as she called out, "Goodluck!"

"Some sport!" announced Sam. "That's the kind of woman you sh'ud havemarried, Mormon. "

Molly, excited now, demanded audience. 

"When do we start?" she asked eagerly. "Will you wait till they come outfrom Hereford?"

"I got to think out things a bit, Molly, " said Sandy. "I figger we'llgit a start on 'em, ef you can git ready. In the mornin'. "

"I haven't got much to take. "

"We'll buy you an outfit. "

"Horseback?"

Sandy looked at her with puckered eyes. 

"Can't tell you what I ain't sure of myse'f, " he drawled. "One thing issure, you got to tuhn in an' git a good rest. Ef we slide out it won'tbe all a pleasure trip. I reckon Plimsoll means business. An' he's suregot the county machinery behind him right now. "

"I can take Grit?"

"W'udn't want to leave us somethin' to remember you by?" asked Sandy. "Somethin' to help make sure you'll come back?"

"I'd allus come back, to visit Dad, " she said. "But Grit. . . ? I don'twant to leave Grit. "

"It 'ud be a hard trip fo' him this way, Molly. I ain't sure about theregulations at them schools. I reckon the best way w'ud be fo' you tomake arrangements fo' him to come on afteh you git there. "

Molly regarded Sandy soberly, her fingers twining through the dog'smane. 

"You'd be good to him--same as you air to me? Oh, I'm jest plumb mean toask you that. I know you w'ud. He's goin' to be jest as lonesome as mefor a bit, ain't you, Grit? He allus slep' with me, cuddlin' up, an'----" She gulped, straightened. 

"Good night, " she said. "Come, Grit. "

The three men sat silent for a moment or two after she left. 

"She's sure a stem-winder, " said Mormon presently. "How you goin' to fixto git her away, Sandy? Plimsoll'll be hotter'n a bug on a hot griddle. "

"I got a plan warmin' up, " said Sandy. "Nearest to the county line iswest through the Cabezas Range. Only two gaps, Paso Cabras, an' theBolsa. "

"But the Bolsa. . . . " started Sam. 

Sandy checked him. 

"I know. Listen! I aim to git to the railroad an' then me an' Molly'llmake for New Mexico. "

"Huh!"

"You guessed it, Mormon. For the Pecos River an' Boville an' the ReddingRanch. I reckon Barbara Redding'll handle the thing. She'll git Mollyher outfit an' she'll know all about the right schools. "

Mormon brought his hand down on Sam's thigh with a sounding whack. 

"Dern me, ef he ain't the wise ol' son of a gun, " he cried delightedly. "Sure!"

"It's the thing, " assented Sam, rubbing himself, "but you don't have tobreak my laig over it. Sandy, you sure use yo' brains. "

Barbara Redding, once Barbara Barton of the celebrated Curly O, was abright star in the mutual firmament of the Three Star partners. They hadall worked together on the Curly O in the old days. Sandy had beenforeman there. Once he had rescued Barbara Barton from horse rustlerswith a grudge against her father and once again he had rendered her evengreater service when members of the same crowd kidnapped hertwo-year-old son whom Barbara Redding had brought on a visit to hisgrandfather. Sandy had trailed alone and brought in the "li'l' son of agun, " as he styled the youngster. There was little that Barbara Reddingand her husband, wealthy rancher, would not do for Sandy. 

"I've got an itch to give Plimsoll an' his pals a run fo' their money, "went on Sandy. "An' here's the way I figger to do it, in the rough. Seewhat you all think of it. "

Subdued guffaws rose from the porch in through the open window of theroom where Molly Casey lay wide awake, the dog beside her. Presently sheheard the martial strains of Sam's harmonica, cuddled under his bigmustache, played one-handed. He was playing an air that he had dedicatedto Sandy. Vaguely it comforted her. 

"They're _good_, " she said to Grit. "An' they've figgered out somethingor they w'udn't be actin' thataway. You an' me got to be game. "

Sandy smoked his cigarette and Mormon lolled in his chair, while Sambreathed out his melody into the night that was very still and veryquiet, with the great white stars burning rayless. The tune swelledtriumphantly. 

 Behold El Capitan, Notice his misanthropic stare, Look at his independent air; And match him if you can, He is the champion beyond compare. 

It was a tribute to the strategy of Sandy Bourke, the D'Artagnan of theThree Musketeers of the Range, whereof Mormon was surely Porthos, if Samwas hard to recognize as Aramis. "One for all and all for one" was theirmotto, and neither Mormon nor Sam doubted for an instant that Sandywould win. Sandy, smoking cigarette after cigarette, was not so sure butequally complacent. 

Next morning, breakfast over before the sun was well above the peaks, while desert birds were still rising, twittering shrill welcome to thedawn, Sandy went about humming snatches of cowboy songs just above hisbreath as he oversaw the arrangements for the exodus that was to be; notso much a flight, as a deliberately calculated laying of a trail for thepursuit. So might an old dog fox, sure of his speed and wisdom, trotleisurely across a field in full sight of the pack. Sandy had nointention of waiting until the lawhounds arrived, he needed a startagainst the handicap of high-powered cars. He was in high humor as thebuckboard was greased, a team of buckskins given a special feed and arub-down, and various articles gathered for transportation. Among thesewere a spool of barbed wire and a dozen fence posts. 

 "I'm a rollickin', rovin' son of a gun Of a roamin' gambolier;"

sang Sandy, lights dancing in his gray eyes. Sandy was not old--a littleshort of thirty--but he was generally mature, suggesting deliberation ofmind if not of action. This morning youth was his, rollicking, devil-may-care youth that showed in his walk, the set of his shoulders, his smile. 

His spirit was infectious. Four riders, jumping to his orders, tossedbadinage among one another like a ball. Mormon and Sam, seated on thetop rail of the corral fence, openly admired their partner. 

"Like old times, Mormon?" suggested Sam. 

"Sure is. I reckon we'll have some fun 'fore the day's out. Sandy cancert'nly scheme out the scenarios. "

"The what?"

"The scenarios, " repeated Mormon loftily. "I got that out of a movingpitcher magazine down to Hereford. It's the word fo' the plot of thestory. Sabe?"

"Huh! I reckon them movin' pitcher shooters 'ud have to move some to gitall that's movin' this trip. Got yore gun oiled up, Mormon? Here'sMolly. "

Molly came out on the porch carrying a small grip packed with her fewbelongings, Grit beside her. Sandy nodded to her, busy givinginstructions to two riders. Mormon and Sam waved and she went over tothem, swinging up to the rail beside them. 

"Jim, " said Sandy, "I want you should ride out to'ards Hereford an' hideout atop of Bald Butte. You don't need to stay there any later thannoon. Take a flash-glass with you. If any of the sheriff's crowd comeserlong, any one who looks like he might be servin' papers, sabe, youflash in a message. Make it a five-flash fo' anything suspicious, athree-flash fo' any one shackin' this way, even if you figger they'replumb harmless. "

"Seguro, Miguel. " With the slang phrase, Jim, an upstanding young chap, despite his horse-bowed legs, walked over to the bunk-house forflash-mirror and gun, came back to his already caught-up and saddledhorse, turned stirrup and set foot in it, caught hold of mane and horn, beat the quick swirl of his pony sidewise with the fling of leg overcantle and went streaming off for the Bald Butte in a cloud of dust. Sandy called to Buck Perches, oldest of his riders, whose exposed skinmatched the leather of his saddle. 

"Buck, ef any visitors arrives while we're gone, you entertain 'em sameas I w'ud. I w'udn't be surprised but what Jim Plimsoll 'ud be moseyin'erlong, with Sheriff Jordan an' mebbe one or two mo'. Mo' the merrier. They'll be lookin' fo' me an' Miss Molly with some readin' matter that'sgot a seal to the bottom of it. We won't be to home. You'll be the onlyone to home 'cept Pedro an' Joe. They've got their instructions to knownothin'. They ain't supposed to know nothin'. You--you've stayed to theranch to do some fixin' of yore saddle. Started, but come back when yorecinch bu'sted. Sabe? All the rest of the riders is on the range 'tendin'business. When they left, an' when you left with 'em, me an' Mormon an'Sam, with Miss Molly, was all here. So you supposed. Don't let 'em thinkyo're planted to feed 'em info'mation. "

Buck nodded, solemn as an image, his dark eyes twinkling a little. 

"I'm real pleasant to the sheriff an' sort of indifferent to this herePlimsoll person?" he suggested. 

"Let 'em size up the thing fo' themselves. They'll find Pronto in thecorral, also Sam's roan, which they know is our usual mounts. If theydon't sabe the buckboard's gone, which they probably will, knowin' thisoutfit fairly well, an' the sheriff not bein' a dumbhead; lead up to it. Then you might horn it out of Pedro that he thinks we started erbout teno'clock an' leave it to them to foller trail. It'll be plain enough. We'll take care of the rest. Up to you, Buck, to act natcherul. "

"I'll sure do that. I sabe the play. "

"Then we'll light out soon's we're packed. Mormon, git the grub an'water aboard. Sam, help me with the rest of the truck. Got yore war-bag, Molly?"

"I haven't said good-by to Dad, or Grit, " she said. 

Sandy nodded. "Reckon you'd like to do that alone. Suppose you take Gritwith you to the spring an' then leave him up in yore room. "

"He knows I'm goin'. I told him last night, but he knew it 'thout that. "Molly spoke in a monotone. She was pale and her eyes showed lack ofsleep but she had fought the thing out with herself and she was goingto be game. She gave Sandy her grip and walked off toward thecottonwoods. Grit nosed along in her shadow, his muzzle touching herskirt. 

It was a big load for the buckboard with Mormon and Sam in the back seatcrowded by the piled-up baggage, with Sandy driving and Molly besidehim, flushed a little with growing excitement. But the buckskins weresinewed with whalebone and used to desert work. They surged forward atthe word, tightening the tugs in an eager leap and settled down to afast trot, out across the prairie. The riders, with the exception ofBuck, and Jim, who was already close to the butte, which was midwaybetween the ranch and Hereford, loped off, two and two, to their work, not to return until sun-down. 

It was still cool, the dust rose about them in eddies as they crossedthe slowly descending slope of the sink that presently mounted againtoward the far-off range. There was no apparent road, but Sandy chose acompass course between the sage for the first few miles, then skirtedthe mesquite. Sam leaned forward once when the buckskins had been pulleddown to a walk and spoke to Molly. 

"See that notch in the range?" he asked, "oveh to the no'th, where theshadder's blue. That's Paso Cabras, the Pass of the Goats. Some saysit's named 'cause the cliffs is fair lousy with goats, some 'cause on'ya goat can make the climb. County line's five mile' out on the plainbeyond the pass. Railroad two mo', at Caroca. "

"Are we goin' through the pass?" she asked Sandy. 

"Well, I'll tell you this much, Molly. If we sh'ud decide to go that wayan' strike the pass afore the sheriff catches up with us, he'll have tofoller afoot or go clean round the mesa. The Goat's Pass ain't no placefo' an automobeel, nor an airyplane neither. Don't believe there's alevel spot wider'n five foot or bigger than that much square. "

Either Mormon or Sam sat always with neck twisted, watching for aflash-signal from the butte that stood up clearly in the crystalatmosphere, sometimes distorted, changing hue from chocolate to indigo, never seeming to get any farther away, just as the mesa range neverseemed to get any closer. Sometimes Molly relieved them as lookout, buthour after hour passed without sign. 

Close to noon they reached a watering hole, with water none too cool orsweet, but still welcome. There the buckskins were unhitched, rubbeddown and, after they had cooled off, given water and grain. Save forsweat marks, they showed little sign of the grueling trip through thesoft dirt. A strip of lava, half a mile of ancient flow, lay betweenthem and the long up-slope of the desert to the mesa. As they ate lunchin the shadow of some barrel cactus, Sandy suddenly gave a grunt ofsatisfaction, pointing with outstretched forefinger to the butte. Fiveflashes had flickered up. They were repeated. Jim had signaled asuspicious party on their way to Three Star. The sheriff was out withhis papers. 

"We got five hours' staht, " said Sandy. "Made close to thirty mile'. They've got thirty-five to make. Take 'em mo'n two hours, countin'questions with Buck. Good enough. See anything of the boys, Sam? Theyought to be showin' up. I told 'em noon. "

"On time, " announced Sam. The two riders who had last talked with Sandyrode out of a straggling thicket of cactus and skirted the lava flow. Each led a spare horse, unsaddled. 

CHAPTER VII

BOLSA GAP

Sheriff Jordan had a high-powered car purchased, not so much from thefees of his office as with his perquisites, a word covering a wide rangeof possibilities, all of which the sheriff made the most of. He wasproud of his car and proud of his ability to run it anywhere atrecord-breaking speed. It carried an extra water container that could bemounted on the running board for desert work, an extra gasoline and oilsupply, there were always extra tires strapped on, extra spark plugshandy and his batteries were always well charged. 

"I aim to make her efficient, " said Jordan, "bein' she represents myoffice. That's me. If I needed me an airyplane, I'd get me one to huntthe outlaws out of cover, an' I'd run it myself, an' run it right. That's me, Bill Jordan!"

Boaster though he was, there was little doubt as to Jordan's efficiencyor his courage. He brought in the criminals he went out to get, somealive, some dead; prosecuted the first with zeal and collected therewards with alacrity. The trouble was that he did _not_ always go outafter certain individuals, who were outside the law, as interpreted bythe people, but inside it, as protected by the political ring to whichJordan, with other prominent officials, belonged. 

Jordan had taken up his brother-in-law's grievance with the greater zestsince he had a half-interest in Plimsoll's Good Luck Pool Parlors, ashare that had cost him good money. On top of that had come Sandy'sflouting of him on the bridge in front of the sheriff's own followers. He had to save his face, politically as well as personally. 

To secure papers bringing Molly Casey within the jurisdiction of thecourt was not a difficult matter, but it was not so easy to get them atan early hour, since court was not in session and the judge none tooeager to arise of a morning. But Jordan knew nothing of the visit ofMiranda Bailey to the Three Star and he pressed matters with no specialexpedition, though he characteristically wasted no time. 

Armed with the necessary warrant, backed by an assurance that, unlesssome extraordinary howl went up, the girl would be given into thecustody of Jim Plimsoll as guardian, by virtue of his claim topartnership with her father, the sheriff, Plimsoll and two others, allthree deputized for the occasion, started the car from Hereford at aquarter of twelve, after an early lunch. They passed the butte where Jimlay prone atop without noticing the flashes he shot into the sky. At afew minutes after twelve they reached Three Star where Buck, seated onthe porch, his saddle astride a sawhorse, stitched away at a cinch. 

Buck played his part well, allowing Jordan to ferret out information tohis own satisfaction. It appeared plain that all three partners hadtaken flight with the girl in the buckboard. Sandy's pinto and Sam'sroan were in the corral. Jordan overlooked one thing, the counting ofsaddles, though that would not have been an easy determination. 

"Some one tipped this thing off, " he said sternly to Buck. "Who was it?"

"Meanin' this visit's offishul?" asked Buck. "What's it fo', Sheriff?Moonshine or hawss stealin'?" He spoke in a jesting note, his weatheredface impassive as the shell of a walnut, but Plimsoll scowled, notingthe turn of Buck's bland countenance in his direction for the firsttime. It was whispered that the brands on Plimsoll's horse ranch werenot those usually known in the county, nor even in the countiesadjoining. There were rumors, smothered by Plimsoll's stand with theauthorities, of bands of horses, driven by strangers, arrivingwearied--and always by night--at his corrals. 

"It don't matter--to you--what it's for, " answered Jordan. "I'lloverhaul 'em an' bring 'em back. Crossin' the county line won't do 'emany good with this warrant. Ef they try hide-out tactics or put up ascrap, it'll be kidnappin' an' that's a penal offense. "

Buck whistled. 

"Thought you wasn't goin' to let me know, " he said. "It's the gel. "

"Who's been here to tip it off?" asked Jordan. 

Buck looked at him serenely, took a plug of chewing from his hip pocket, took his knife, opened it deliberately and slowly cut off a corner ofthe tobacco. 

"Search me, " he drawled. "Me, I don't stay up to the house. "

Jordan, temporarily discomfited but still confident of bringing back hisquarry, marked the trail of the buckboard in the alkali soil, noted thehoof-prints of the diverging riders and nodded with the semi-smile andhalf closed-eyes of conscious superiority. He had already elicitedapparently reluctant information from Pedro as to the four passengers inthe buckboard. Buck had been more reticent. To the sheriff Buck'sreticence betokened desire to cover the fugitives. He fancied thatPedro's testimony was the result of Jordan's own cleverness incross-questioning. Joe resorted to "no sabes. "

"You 'tendin' ranch?" Jordan asked Buck, at last. 

"Yep. Till I git fresh orders. "

"I'll bring you back those orders, also yore bosses, before sun-down. "

Buck permitted himself his first grin. 

"You'll have to go some, " he said. "Goin' to bring 'em back in irons?Figgerin' on abduction?"

Jordan gave no hint of how Buck's shaft might have targeted hisintentions, but climbed into the car and started it. The powerfulmachine went lunging through the soft dirt, following the blurry trailof the buckboard's iron tires, throwing up dust as a fast launch churnsspray. 

After leaving the Three Star all semblance of road vanished. Thealkaline soil was almost as fine as flour, and deep. This and the fearof losing the trail kept the machine down to a limit that would havebeen ridiculous on a real road but represented fast work on the desert. The water boiled in the radiator from the heat of the toiling engine andJordan stopped, replenished, reoiled. Reaching the lava strip where thebuckboard had halted for water and the noon meal, they found the trailskirting the flow toward the south. The main mass of the mesa, broken upinto gorges, gaps, stairway cliffs, marked by purple shadows, scanty inthe early afternoon but gradually widening, was about fifteen milesaway. Jordan braked his car. He ignored the water in the spring. Hisspare supply was still ample and was distilled, not alkaline. 

He turned to one of his deputies. 

"Which way do you figger they're headin', Phil?" he asked. "Is there acut or a pass through the mesa?"

"Dam'fino. Mesa's all cut up, but it's sure a Godforsaken country. Nothin' but rock an' clay an' cactus. No one ever goes there. I reckon Iknow as much of this country as most an' I sure never explored the dump. One thing's sure an' certain. Them fellers from the Three Star usuallyknow where they are headin'. Trail's plain. "

"Sure is. " But Jordan scratched his head a trifle doubtfully. If SandyBourke and his chums had been tipped off, this trail was a little tooplain to be true. Presently, as the machine plowed on south, theystruck a patch of desert where the rock surfaced out and showed no traceof hoof or tire. Jordan stopped the car and the four got out, castingaround, expecting that this outcropping had been used as a device tothrow off the pursuit. Fairly fresh horse droppings showed that thebuckboard had held to its course and, the rock passed, the trail showedplain again, curving in toward the broken wall of the mesa, leadingtoward a cleft that was plainly distinguishable. 

"That's Bolsa Boquete, " announced the deputy named Phil. "I never wentthrough it. "

"What's it mean--the name?"

"Boquete's gap. Bolsa's money--not jest the same as dinero. It's theword they have on the bank winders down in Mexico. Exchange. "

"Money Gap? That don't tell us a thing, " said Jordan. "But I'll bet mystar they've gone through it all right. We ought to be not much more'nan hour behind them. "

"They're on about us getting the papers, " said Plimsoll. He had not saidmuch on the trip so far. "Too much talk nowadays. You can't whisper in adugout but what the news is all over the county inside of twentyminutes. Bourke sabes that getting the girl out of the county won't doany good; he aims to get her out of the state and any Arizona court orsheriff jurisdiction. He's the brains of the outfit. We've got to gether, Jordan. "

"You ain't tellin' me a thing I don't know, Jim. But there's one thingyou _can_ tell me. Is that tip you got about Dynamite a sure one?"

Plimsoll, sitting beside Jordan, flashed him a look of contempt. 

"Do you think I'm chasing this girl because I'm stuck on her? One of theparty with this eastern crowd dropped into my place and talked. Showedsome samples and I had a good look at them. He happened to leave a bitor two behind and I had them assayed. Here is where I get back the moneyI put up to grubstake Casey. "

Jordan gave him a grin of derision. 

"You an' yore grubstake, " he jeered. 

Plimsoll said nothing more. 

As they neared the gap, translated by Phil in the unconsciousness thatBolsa had two meanings in Spanish, Jordan slowed up. 

"No shootin' in this deal, " he warned. "Come to a show-down, Bourkewon't buck the law soon's we show papers. So long's he ain't beennotified the court is makin' a ward of the girl they ain't done nothin'wrong. But--if he resists, that's different. "

"I ain't goin' to be awful anxious to start shootin', " said Phil. "Theydone some pretty shootin' at the bridge that time. Sandy Bourke's atwo-handed lead flinger an' Soda-Water Sam's no slouch. Neither'sMormon. Me, I'll be peaceable 'less it's forced on me otherwise. "

They entered the split in the mesa. The cliffs shimmered in the heat, their outlines fuzzy. Branched and pillared cactus showed in gray-greenreptilian growths. The soft earth, through which here and there thevolcanic cores of the range were thrust, seemed as if it could supplythe paint shops of a nation with almost any hue desired, ready formixing with oil or water. Waves of heat beat between the walls of thecleft. The floor was fairly smooth, swept clean by occasionalcloud-bursts, save for the skeleton of a tree and another of a too-farwandering steer, both blanched white as the alkali-crusted boulders. Itwas nearly level going and the car pounded along, all the occupantslooking for trail sign. The mesa corridor, nowhere more than thirty feetwide, twisted and snaked, three hundred feet of sheer wall on eitherside topped by sloping cliffs mounting far higher toward the actual topof the mesa. 

"Keep an eye peeled for rain, Phil, " said Jordan, "I'd sure hate to getcaught in here with a cloud-burst. "

"Right, " answered Phil. "I c'ud see better if I had a drink. Plimsoll, you got somethin' on the hip, ain't you?"

Plimsoll produced a bottle and the four of them drank the fieryunrectified, unstamped liquor. Ahead was an abrupt turn. Jordan slowed. Making the curve, a fence stretched across the gorge, reaching from wallto wall, a four-strand barrier of barbed-wire, strung on patent steelposts. Jordan braked with emergency. The sight of such a fence in such aplace was as unexpected as the sun-dried carcass of a steer would be onBroadway. Plimsoll and Jordan cursed, the former in pure anger, thelatter with some appreciation of the stratagem for delay. 

"We can tear it down quicker'n they fixed it, " he said. "I've got a pairof nippers in the tool kit. They can't have driven in those posts deep. Come on. "

A voice floated down to them. 

"You leave that fence alone, gents. _If_ you please. I went to a heap oftrouble puttin' up that fence. It's _my_ fence. "

They looked up, to see Mormon seated on the top of a great boulder thathad land-slipped from the cliff into the gorge. From thirty feet abovethem he looked down, amiably enough, though there was a glint of bluedmetal in his right hand. 

"Hello, Jim Plimsoll, " he went on. "I ain't seen you-all fo' quite awhile. You fellers out fo' a picnic?"

Jordan advanced to the foot of the rock, producing his papers. 

"I have a bench warrant here to bring into court for the appointment ofa proper guardian, the child Molly Casey, she being a minor and withoutnatural or legal protectors. I've got yore name on these papers, MormonPeters, as one of the three parties with whom the girl is now domiciled. I warn you that you are obstructing the process of the law by yoreactions. You put up that gun an' come down here an' help to pull downthis fence, illegally erected on property not yore own. Otherwise you'resubject to arrest. "

"That is sure an awful long speech fo' a hot day, " said Mormon equably. "But I don't sabe that talk at all. Molly Casey ain't here, to beginwith. Nor she ain't been here. An' I don't sabe no obstruction of thelaw by settin' up a fence in a mesa caņon to round up broom-tails. "

One of the deputies snickered. 

"Broom-tails?" cried Jordan. "That's too thin. There's no mustangshangin' round a mesa like this, 'thout feed or water. " He flushedangrily. He was short-tempered and he was certain the fence was a ruseto gain time, with Mormon left behind to parley. It all seemed to pointto Sandy Bourke making for the railroad. 

"You never kin tell about wild hawsses, or even branded ones, " saidMormon pleasantly. "Ask Plimsoll. He picks 'em up in all sorts ofplaces. "

Plimsoll cursed. Mormon still held his gun conspicuously, and herestrained his own impulse to draw. Jordan wheeled on the gambler. 

"You keep out o' this, Jim Plimsoll, " he said. "I'm runnin' this end ofit. He's talkin' against time. You come down an' help remove thisfence, " he shouted up at the smiling Mormon, "or I'll start something. It ain't on yore property and it's hindering the carrying out of mywarrant. "

"It ain't on a public highway neither, " retorted Mormon. "But I'll comedown. Don't you go to clippin' those wires an' destroyin' what _is_ myproperty. " He slid down the rock and commenced to unbend the metalstraps that held the wire in place. Jordan and one of his men followedsuit with pliers from the motor kit. The job took several minutes. 

"You'll come along with us, " said Jordan. "You lied about the girlcomin' this way. I've a notion to take you in for that. But I reckon youcan go back in the buckboard with yore partners. "

"Reckon I'll travel in the buckboard, when you catch up with it, " saidMormon. "But I'll come erlong with you fo' a spell--of my own free will. I don't see no harm in takin' the gel visitin' anyway, " he concluded ashe took an extra seat in the tonneau. 

Jordan made no answer but started the engine. The gorge began to narrowperceptibly, its floor slanted upward and the machine labored with amixture that constantly needed more air. The way zigzagged for half amile and then they came to a second fence. No buckboard was in sight. Beyond the wire the pitch of the ravine showed steeper yet, as itmounted to a sharp turn. Leaning against a post stood Soda-Water Sam, smoking a cigarette, his gun holster hitched forward, the butt of theweapon close to one hand. Jordan and his men leaped out as the carstopped, Mormon following more slowly. 

"Afternoon, hombres all, " said Sam. "Joy-ridin'?"

Jordan wasted no more explanations. 

"You take down this fence, " he fairly shouted. 

"What fo'?"

"Ask yore partner. "

"Sheriff claims we're cumberin' the landscape with our li'l' corral, Sam, " said Mormon. "He's got a paper that gives him right of way, hesays. Seen anything of Molly Casey?"

"Not for quite a spell. Go easy with them wires, Sheriff. Price ofwire's riz considerable. "

The second barrier down and the car through, Jordan ordered Sam to getin the car. 

"Jump, or I'll put the cuffs on you, " he said. 

"Not this trip, " replied Sam coolly. "No sense in my climbin' in there. Me an' Mormon's through with our li'l' job. We'll go back in thebuckboard. It's round the bend. I was jest goin' to hitch up. "

Jordan glared unbelievingly, yet Sam's words carried conviction. 

"Yo're sure goin' to have trouble turnin' yore car right here, " Sam wenton imperturbably. "Kind of mean to back down, too. It's worse higher up. Matter of fac' the gap peters out jest round the turn. This is BolsaBoquete. Bolsa means purse, Sheriff, one of them knitted purse nets. Good name for it. Look for yo'self, if you don't believe me. "

Jordan and Plimsoll strode on up the pitch. Mormon followed, Sam stayedwith the two deputies. Around the bend stood the buckboard with thebuckskins in a patch of shadow under a scoop in the ending wall thatturned the so-called pass to a box caņon. 

"I told you the gel warn't erlong, " said Mormon. "She and Sandy was withus fo' a spell. But they're goin' visitin' an' they shifted to saddleway back, out there by the spring beside the lava strip. "

Mormon's bland smile masked a sterner intent than showed in his eyes. Jordan, furious at being outwitted, dared not provoke open combat. Hehad nothing on which to make arrest of the two Three Star partners andhe was far from sure of his ability to do so under any circumstances. Mormon hitched up the buckskins, but followed the sheriff and thescowling, silent Plimsoll back to the car. 

"See that notch, way over to the no'th?" said Mormon, bent on exploitingthe situation to the full. "I reckon Sandy and the gel's shackin'through there about now. Hawss trail only. 'Fraid you won't catch him, Sheriff. They aim to ketch the seven o'clock train at Caroca. It's theon'y pass over the mesa. If Sandy had knowed you wanted him he mighthave waited. Why didn't you phone? Ninety mile' around the mesa, nearestway, an' it must be all of five o'clock now, by the sun. "

He stopped, puzzled by the change in the sheriff's face. Chagrin hadgiven place to exultation. 

"Catch the seven o'clock train at Caroca?" said Jordan. "Thanks for theinformation, Mormon. That schedule was changed last week when theypulled off two trains on the main line. The train leaves at nine-thirtyan', if I can't make ninety miles in four hours an' a half, I'll makeyou a present of my car. Stand back, both of you. No monkey businesswith my tires. Cover 'em, boys. The law's on my side, you two gabbingword-shooters. "

He handled the car wonderfully, backing and turning her, and, whileMormon and Sam stood powerless, the former crestfallen, the lattersardonically gazing at his partner, the machine went tilting, snortingdown the gorge. 

"You sure spilled the beans, Mormon, " said Sam finally. "I'd havethought them three wives of yores 'ud have taught you the vally ofsilence. "

"I ain't got a damned word to say, Sam. But I'd be obliged if you'd kickme--good. Use yore heels, I see you got yore spurs on. "

CHAPTER VIII

THE PASS OF THE GOATS

In the throat of the gorge the sun shone red on the tawny cliffs. Thetrail, a scant four feet wide at its best, with crumbled, weatheredmargin, crept along the face of the cliff above a deep caņon where thenight shadows had already gathered in a purple flood, slowly rising asthe rays of the setting sun shifted upward, not yet staining the summit. 

It was close to seven o'clock. Sandy's lean face was anxious. The girldrooped in her seat tired from the long climb, not yet inured to thesaddle. The horses traveled gamely, sure-footed but obviously losingendurance. Every little while they stopped of their own accord, theirflanks heaving painfully in the altitude. 

Sandy had only once crossed the Pass of the Goats and that was yearsbefore. There had been washouts since then. Several times they wereforced to dismount and lead the nervous beasts, Sandy doing the coaxing, helping Molly over the difficult places. He rode a mare named Goldie andthe girl a bay with a white blaze that Sandy had chosen for the mountainwork and which had been brought to them at the lava strip. 

The mare halted, neck stretched out, turning it to look inquiringly ather master. A sharp incline lay ahead, the path little better than onemade by the goats for which the pass was named. Behind, Molly's mountfollowed suit, blowing at the dust. Sandy patted the mare's neck anddismounted. 

"It's late, ain't it?" asked Molly. "Will we miss that train?"

"There's others, " answered Sandy. "Or, if there ain't any mo' ter-night, we'll hire us a car an' keep movin'. Yo're sure game, Molly;" he addedadmiringly, "you must be clean tuckered out. "

She shook her head with an attempt at a smile. 

"I'll be glad when we start goin' down, fer a change, " she admitted, looking into the gloomy trough of the caņon through which the night windsoughed. 

"I'll tighten up yore cinches, " said Sandy. "Worst of the climb's jestahead. Then we start to drop down t'other side. You don't have to gitoff. Trail's bound to be better once we git atop the mesa and startdown. Mesa's right narrer, as I remember. T'other side's away from theweather. There's a caņon with oak trees an' a stream of water. " Hetugged at the leathers, his knee against the bay's ribs as she grunted. 

"You ain't much furtheh to go, li'l' hawss, " he chatted on. "Downhillall the way soon an' then a drink to wash out yore mouth an' the bestfeed in Caroca fo' the pair of you. "

"Gits dark mighty quick up here, " said the girl. 

A great cloud was ballooning above them, like a dirigible that had lostbuoyancy and was bumping along the mesa ridge. Its belly was black, itswestern side ruddy in the sunset. Sandy viewed it apprehensively. Insuperficial survey the mesa seemed much like the stranded carcass of amastodonic creature left behind when the waters departed from theseinland seas. A hard skeleton of igneous rock, with clayey soil forflesh, riven and seamed and pitted, crumbling and dusty in the sun, everdisintegrating with wind and water and frost. Under a rain the trail wasslimy as a whale's back. The cloud was soggy with moisture. Bursting, itwould send torrents roaring down every ravine, wash out weathered massesof earth, sweep all before it as it gathered forces and rushed out onthe desert, leaving the main caņons carved a little richer, the surfaceof the soil on the sink a little deeper, against the time when menshould control these storm waters or bring the precious fluid up fromunderground reservoirs and make the desert blossom like the rose. 

Where Molly and Sandy rode they were exposed to the first drench of acloud-burst. Deeper in the pass, where the flood would be confined, their chance for escape would be infinitesimal. Even on the heights itwould be precarious unless they could cross the remainder of theup-trail before the inevitable downpour. 

Sandy examined his own cinch and tightened it before he mounted. And hewhispered something in the mare's ear that caused her to lip hissleeve. 

"Let yore hawss have his own way, Molly, " he said. "I'm lettin' Goldiedo the pickin' fo' the lead. Ready?"

It was growing cold in the deepening twilight, the belt of sunshine wasrapidly climbing toward the topmost palisades with the purple shadows inthe gorge mounting, twisting and eddying in skeins of mist, twining uptoward them. One spire ahead glowed golden. The cloud drifted down uponit, glooming and glowing on its sunset side. The crag pierced it, rippedit as it glided along, like the knife of a diver in the belly of ashark. A cold wind blew from the riven mass. Then came the hiss ofdescending waters. There was neither thunder nor lightning, only thesteady rush of the rain that glazed the slippery trail, hid the opposingcliff from sight, sheeting it with dull silver, pounding, pitting, beating at them as they plodded doggedly on, almost blinded, trusting tothe instinct of their horses. 

Through the steady patter began to sound the savage voice of torrentsfalling over cliffs, rapids rising and surging in deep gorges. Thewetness and the cold sapped Molly's vitality. She shivered, her fleshseemed sodden, her hands and wrists began to puff and she saw theirflesh was purple in the fading light. She rode with hands on the saddlehorn, her head bowed, water streaming from the rim of her Stetson, thethud of the rain on her tired shoulders heavy as shot. The bay slipped, lurched, scrambled frantically for footing, hind feet skidding in theclay, haunches gathering desperately, heaving beneath her to the effortthat brought him back to the trail. She saw Sandy ahead, dimly, like asheeted ghost, twisted in his saddle, watching her. From the hips downhe was a part of the mare he rode, from waist up he was in suchexquisite balance while keeping his individuality apart from the horsethat, despite her present misery and a presentiment of coming evil thatwas beginning to encompass her, Molly realized what a magnificent riderhe was, and clung to his strength and skill, sensing the comfortingpower of his manhood. 

To her right was the cliff, slimy with water, the trail so narrow thatnow and then her elbow dug into the soft stuff. To the left wasblackness out of which mists ascended, writhing, like steamy vapors, therain pelting into the gulf, far, far below; the thunder of augmentingwaters. Masses of broken cloud swept on above their heads, purple andcrimson and orange as they streamed across the summit like the tatteredbanners of a routed army. The light rayed upward at an acute angle. In afew moments it would be dark. But they were close to the top. The marealready stood on a level ledge of side-jutting rock, a horizontalprotuberance that marked the extreme height of the Pass of the Goats, from which one could look down into the caņon of the oaks and theunfailing stream. 

Sandy heard a cry from Molly and saw, through the curtain of the fallingrain, the wide-flared nostrils of her horse, its eyes protruding as thebrute, with the ground slopping away beneath him, slid slowly downtoward the gulf, the girl, her weight flung forward on the withers, herface white as paper, turning to him mutely for help. It was a badmoment. Sandy and his mount stood upon an island in a shifting sea. Thewhole cliff seemed working and crawling, slithering down. 

He had no space to turn in, no chance to whirl his lariat, even for aside throw. There was no time to spin a loop. But his hand detached therope, flying fingers found the free end as he pivoted in the saddle, thighs welded to the mare. 

"Take a turn about the horn!" he shouted. "Hang to the end yo'se'f!" Hesent the line jerking back, whistling as it streaked across the girl'sshoulders. She clutched for it, with plenty of slack, snubbed it aboutthe saddle horn, clung to the end, made a bight of it about her body. 

Sandy spoke to the mare. 

"Steady, li'l' lady, steady!" The rope was about his own horn; hethanked God that he had examined the cinches of Molly's saddle. The baywas cat-footed; with the help of the mare Sandy believed he could digand scrape and climb to safety. It was the decision of a split-secondand he did not dare risk dragging the girl from the saddle past thestruggling horse. 

He felt Goldie stiffen beneath him, braced against the strain she knewwas coming. The taut lariat hummed, it bruised into Sandy's thigh. Behind, the bay snorted, struggling gallantly. They were poised on thebrink of death for a moment, two--three--and then the mare began to moveslowly forward, neck curved, ears cocked to her master's urging, whilethe bay sloshed through the treacherous muck, found foothold, lost it, made a frantic leap, another, and landed trembling on the ledge. Sandyleaped from his saddle and caught Molly, sliding from her seat in sheerexhaustion and the revulsion of terror, clinging closely to him. 

"It's all right, Molly darlin', " he said soothingly. "All set an' safe. Rain's oveh an' stars comin' out. We're top of the pass. We'll git downinter the caņon a ways an' then we'll light a fire an' warm up a bit, 'fore we go on. "

She found her feet and cleared from his hold, gasping for recovery ofherself. 

"I'm all right, " she said. "I was scared an' yet I knew you'd pull meout. I'm plumb shamed of myself. Jest like a damned gel to act thatway. "

"Shucks! You wasn't half as scared as the bay. Wonder did he strainhimself?" He passed clever hands over the bay's legs, talking to it. 

"Yo're all right, ol' surelegs. Right as rain. " Goldie, the mare, stoodstock-still with trailing lariat, watching them intelligently in thedusk that was growing quickly luminous as star after star shone throughthe flying wrack. A clean, strong wind blew through the throat of thepass. Sandy recoiled his lariat, gave Molly a hand to her foot to lifther to her saddle, mounted himself and they rode slowly down. The trailwas in better shape this side, though half an inch of water still toppedit. The turmoil of running waters far below burdened the night, but thedanger from the storm was over. 

Train time was long past. Sandy knew nothing of the change of schedule, but he was confident of winning clear. He knew a man in the little townthey were aiming for whose livery stable was, in the march of the times, divided between horses and machines. There he expected to put up thehorses until they could be returned to Three Star, and there he figuredon hiring a car and a driver if, as he anticipated, there were no moretrains that night. He believed that Mormon and Sam had delayed thesheriff. Probably the latter had given up the chase, but there was notelling. Jordan's best attribute was his pertinacity. They should loseno time in getting out of the state. 

CHAPTER IX

CAROCA

As Sandy had promised, there was a wide-bottomed caņon where great oaksgrew on the flats beside the unfailing stream. The trees were only vastshapes in the starlight, the long grass was wet and clinging, the creekspouted and tore along as Sandy led the way on the mare to a shelvingbench, a place where he had camped once long before and, with hisout-of-doors-man's craft, never forgotten. Molly was tired almost toinsensibility as to what might be going on, soaked and chilled tolimpness. Sandy got her out of the saddle and into a shallow cave in asandy bank. The next thing she knew a fire was leaping and sending lightand warmth into her nook. 

She heard Sandy talking to his mare. Between the range rider and hismount there is always an understanding born of loneliness, closecompanionship and mutual appreciation. Sandy was certain that his poniesunderstood most of what he said, and they were very sure that Sandyunderstood them thoroughly. 

"Used yore brains, you did, li'l' old lady, " said Sandy. "Sure did. Can't do much fo' you now. There's a li'l' grain left fo' you an' thebay, an' we'll dry out these blankets a bit. Can't let you stay long orwe'll git all stiffened up, but Chuck Goodwin, down to Caroca, he knowshawses an' he's a pal of mine. He'll fix you with a hot mash an', afterthat, anything on the menu from alfalfy to sugar. The pair of you. Youbay, you, dern me if you ain't a reg'lar goat! A couple o' pie-eatin', grain-chewin', antelope-eyed, steel-legged cayuses, that's what youare!"

Molly listened drowsily to the affection in his voice. It was nice to bespoken to that way, she thought. Nice to be looked after. Her dad hadbeen fond of her, but his words had lacked the silk, the caress thatsavored the strength, as it did with Sandy. She snuggled into the warmheat-reflecting sand like a rabbit in its burrow. 

"Eat this, Molly, an' we got to be on our way. " Sandy was handing her acupful of hot savory stew, made for the trip, warmed up hastily, thebest kind of a meal after their strenuous experience, though Sandybemoaned its quality. 

"Figgered you an' me 'ud eat on the Pullman ter-night, " he said. "Butthis snack'll do us no harm. We'll git a cup of coffee in Caroca ifthere's a chance. "

She gulped the reviving food gratefully, strength coming back with thefuel that gave both warmth and motive power. Soon they were jogging ondown the wide trough of the caņon beneath the white, steady stars, through scrub oak and chaparral, the air sweet scented with wild spice, through slopes set with sleeping folded poppies and Mariposa lilies, past cactus groves, columnar, stately, mystic; the mesa slopesreceding, its great bulk dim mass, the twin notches that marked thePass of the Goats hardly discernible against the sky. They crossed awhite road, unfenced but evidently a main source of travel though nowdeserted. 

"County line runs plumb down the middle of the road, " announced Sandy. "There's the lights of Caroca blinkin' away to the left. Too bad wemissed the train. Sleepy?"

"Some, " she admitted. 

"Me too, " lied Sandy companionably. 

Coming down from the mesa he had talked with her about Barbara Redding, how welcome she would make Molly and what she would do for her. Mollyhad listened silently. Only once she had spoken. 

"Why didn't you marry her 'stead of that Redding?" she asked. 

Sandy laughed, whole-heartedly. 

"Don't believe she'd have had me. Never figgered on marryin' anybody. I'm a privateerin' sort of a person, Molly, sailin' under my own colors, that means. I've allus had the saddle itch till Mormon an' Sam an' mesettled down to the ranch. Never had time enough in one place to foolround the gels. "

"Sam says yo're woman-shy?" queried Molly. 

"Mebbe I am. But it ain't the way a dawg is gun-shy. Must be thehorrible example Mormon's set up. "

"Don't you like wimmen?"

"Sure do. Admire 'em pow'ful. Never met the one I'd want to tie to, that's all, Molly. "

"None of 'em pritty enough?"

"Pritty? Shucks! Looks don't count so all-fired much. The woman I mostadmired was the wife of ol' Pete Holden, a desert prospector an'drifter, like yore dad, Molly. She was old an' tough an' wiry, like hewas. I don't figger she'd ever have taken a blue ribbon in a beautycontest, but she was like first-grade linoleum, the pattern wore cleanthrough an' the stuff was top quality. She'd drifted with Pete over mostof Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Arizony, Nevada and paht of NewMexico an' Texas, an' she warn't jest his wife, she was his pal an'fifty-fifty partner. Pete said the on'y time he ever knew her to holdout on him was once in the Caņon Pintada when he woke up in the nightand saw her pourin' water out of her canteen into his. Nothin' prittyabout Kate Holden, but she was full woman-size from foot callus to grayha'r, back to back with Pete all the time she wasn't standin' side ofhim. "

"She warn't eddicated?" asked Molly. 

"She was. Some thought it funny, for Pete was no scholar. I've listenedwith him, more'n once when she'd tell us things about plants andinsects, or about the stars, things we'd never dreamed of. They say shec'ud play the pianny an' she sure c'ud sing. Ask Sam about that. ButPete was her man an' she was his woman, so they trailed fine together. "

"I see, " said Molly. "She loved him. "

There was a peculiar quality to the tone of the girl's voice. It was notthe first time that Sandy had noticed it, lately wondering a little, notrealizing that his own observation was a recognition based uponresponse. Now he figured that the low softness of her speech was due toher tired condition and a little wave of tenderness swept him, blentwith admiration of her pluck. Saddle-racked, nerve-tried, she had nevermurmured, never mentioned the trials of the trail. 

They entered the little town, once a cattle station, now renamed inmusical Spanish, Caroca, --A Caress--a spot where fruits were grown andshipped and flowers bloomed the year round wherever the water caressedthe earth. Sandy rode the mare into the livery where the last skirmishbetween hoof and rim, iron and rubber tire was being fought, and calledfor "Chuck" Goodwin. 

A stout man came out, not so heavy, not so big as Mormon, but sheathedin flesh with the armor of ease and good living. He peered up at Sandy, then let out a shout. 

"You long-legged, ornery, freckle-faced, gun-packin' galoot, SandyBourke! Light off'n that cayuse, you an' yore lady friend. Where in timedid you-all drop from?"

"Come across the mesa. Like to git washed across through Paso Cabras, "said Sandy. "Miss Casey, let me make you 'quainted with Chuck Goodwin, one time the best hawss-shoer in the seven Cactus States, now sellin'oil an' gasoline at fancy prices, not to mention machines fo' which heis agent. "

"Got a few oats left fo' yore hawsses, Sandy. Miss, won't you comeinside the office? Where you bound, Sandy?"

"We was aimin' to catch the seven o'clock train east, makin' fo' NewMexico an' the Redding Ranch, where Miss Casey is to visit fo' a spell, but we found the trail bad an' a cloud-bu'st finally set us back so wequit hurryin' an' loafed in. Chuck, have you got a machine you c'ud rentus, with a driver?"

"You can have anything I got in the place with laigs or wheels, an'welcome. Goin' to the old Redding Ranch? Give my howdedo to MissBarbara, or Mrs. Barbara as she is now. But--" He looked at the wallclock. "It's a quarter of ten. Yore train's been altered to suit mainline schedules. She don't come through till nine-thirty an' she'sgen'ally late makin' the grade. I ain't heard her whistle yet. Iwouldn't wonder but what you can make it. Not that I'm aimin' none tohurry you. "

The ex-blacksmith reached for the telephone and got his connection. 

"Runnin' twenty minutes late, " he announced. "Hop in my car an' we'lljest about make her. She don't do much more'n hesitate at Caroca whenshe's behind time. "

He hurried them out on the street to where a car stood by the curb. Molly and her few belongings got in behind, Sandy mounted with Goodwin. 

"You'll take good care of the hawsses, Chuck?" he said. "I'll probablybe back for 'em myse'f in three-fo' days. "

"Seguro. " Goodwin stepped on his starter and the flywheel whirred tosputtering explosions. Another car came limping down the street, flaton both rims of one side, its paint plastered with mud, one light out, the other dimmed with mire. The driver called to Goodwin. 

"Which way to the depot?"

Goodwin, his hand on the lever, foot on the clutch, was astounded tohear Sandy hissing out. 

"Don't tell 'em. Scoot ahead full speed. " Then, over his shoulder to thegirl, "Crouch down there, Molly. " Goodwin was still a man of action andhe knew Sandy Bourke of old. Out came the pedal, the gears engaged andthe car shot ahead, beneath a swinging arc light. Sandy's hat-rim didnot sufficiently shade his face or Molly's action had not been swiftenough. There came a yell and a string of curses from the crippled carwhich backed and turned and followed, its torn treads flapping. 

Goodwin asked no questions of Sandy. If the latter wanted ever to tellhim why he required a quick exit out of Caroca, or why he was followed, he could. If not, never mind. He slid his gears into high and dodgedaround corners recklessly. A red lantern showed ahead in the middle ofthe road. They crashed through a light obstruction of boards andtrestles, overturning the lantern and plowed on over rough stones. 

"I'm mayor, " said Goodwin with a grin. "Breakin' my own rules but Ifigger that broken stone'll bother 'em some. We'll chance it. "

They lunged through, regardless of tires and, behind them, the pursuingcar rattled, lurched, skidded. A third tire blew out and as Goodwinswung a corner with two wheels in the air the sheriff's machine smashedviciously across the sidewalk, poking its crumpling radiator into acottonwood. 

"Brazen bulls!" shouted Goodwin. "There she blows! You got to run. "

The depot was ahead, to one side of the road-crossing. The train, itsclanging bell slowing for the stop, ground to a halt, the conductorswinging from a platform to glance at the "clear" board. He waved"ahead" as Sandy and Molly raced up and clambered to the platform fromwhich the trainman had dropped off. Now the latter remounted while thetrain restarted, gathered speed. 

"Where to?" he asked Sandy, surveying the pair of them curiously. 

Sandy did not answer. He was watching four running figures coming downthe street. A star flashed on the breast of one of them, a star dulledwith mud. Goodwin had disappeared. Jordan pulled up, Plimsoll closebehind him, and the depot building shut off Sandy's view. 

"Where to?" asked the conductor again. "Got reservations?"

"Bound for Boville, New Mexico. On the El Paso and Southwestern. What'sthe charges? No reservations, but we rode fifty mile' across the mesa tomake the train. "

Sandy produced his roll and at the same time he grinned in the light ofthe conductor's lantern. And Sandy's smile was worth much more thanordinary currency. It stamped him bona-fide, certified his character. The conductor's profession made him apt at such endorsements. 

"We take you to Phoenix, " he said. "Change there for El Paso. I can giveyou a spare upper for the lady. "

Molly, all eyes, tired though they were, was staring at the PullmanAfro-American, flashing eyes and teeth and buttons at her and even moreat Sandy. 

"Fine!" said Sandy. "Smoker's good enough fo' me. He's got a bed foryou, Molly. See you in the morning. "

He waited, countenancing her while she climbed the short ladder to thealready curtained berth. Molly's system might be aquiver with wonder butshe never showed loss of wits or poise. She might have traveled so ahundred times. Back of the curtain she curled up half-undressed but, even as Sandy registered to himself with a low chuckle: "She neverturned a hair or shied. "

He found the smoking-room empty and rolled cigarettes. Presently theconductor came in to go over his batch of tickets and accounts. 

"Cattle?" he asked Sandy. 

"Yes, sir. Three Star Ranch, nigh to Hereford. "

"Business good these days? Beef's high enough in the city. "

"It's fair in the main, " answered Sandy. "Sometimes we seem right happyan' prosperous an' then ag'in, " he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "we're jest a jump ahead of the sheriff. "

"Boss, " said the porter to the conductor, later, "Ah reckon that's a badman fo' suah. Carryin' two of them six-guns. You figgah he's elopin' wivthat gal?"

The conductor surveyed his aide disdainfully. 

"You've been seeing too many cheap picture-shows lately, Clem, " he said. "Eloping with that young girl? I wouldn't hint it to him if I were you. Don't you know a he-man when you see one?"

CHAPTER X

SANDY RETURNS

Eight days passed before Sandy came riding back on Goldie, leading thebay, reaching the Three Star at the end of sunset. Mormon was in hischair with the one letter that Sandy had written on his lap. It wasalmost too dark to read it. Mormon's eyes were beginning to fail him atanything short of long distance but he knew the contents by heart, yethe liked to keep the letter near him as a dog loves a favorite bone longafter all the nourishment from it has been absorbed. Mormon was stillpenitent. He knew that the sheriff had just failed to make the train, but he did not cease to blame himself for submitting Sandy and Molly toso close a chance, neither did Sam forget occasionally to remind him ofhis lapse of tongue. 

Sandy pulled in the mare beyond the corral. He could hear the sound ofSam's harmonica and pictured him with the instrument cuddled up underhis great mustache. Sam was playing _The Girl I Left Behind Me_ and hemanaged to breathe a good deal of pathos into the primitive mouth organ. 

"It's sure good to be home, Goldie, " said Sandy. The mare whinnied. Thebay nickered. Answers came back from the corral. Pronto, Sandy's firststring horse, came trotting cross the corral, head up. 

"Hello, you ol' pie-eater!" said Sandy. "You sure look good to me. C'udn't take you erlong this trip, son, but we'll be out ter-morrertogether. " Then he let out a mighty, "Hello, the house!"

Sam's lilt ceased abruptly. The riders came hurrying. Sam appeared, withMormon waddling after, too swiftly for his best ease or grace of motion, both grabbing at Sandy, swatting him on the back as he off-saddled. 

"Lemme go, " said Sandy. "I'm hungry as a spring b'ar. Where's Pedro?Pedro, I'm hungry--_muy hambriento_. _Despachese Vd. Pronto!Huevos--seis huevos--fritos! Frijoles! Jamon! Cafe! Panecilos! Todo elrancho! Pronto!_"

"_Si, seņor, inmediatamente. _" And, with a yell for Joe the half-breed, Pedro hurried away, grinning, to prepare the six fried eggs, the ham, the coffee, the muffins, everything in the larder!

His two partners watched him eat, plying him with food and then withquestion after question about the trip, about Barbara Redding and aboutMolly's going to school. Mormon made abject apology for talking too muchand Sandy told how close a shave it had been. 

"I don't cotton to playin' jack-rabbit to Plimsoll and Jordan'scoyotes, " said Sandy. "Speshully Plimsoll, who's at the bottom of thewhole thing. Nex' time he may not have the law backin' him, an' I won'thave to run. How's the sheriff?"

"Sort of tamed. They've been kiddin' him a mite. Seems he done someboastin' 'fore he started. His car's laid up fo' repairs. Jordan'slayin' low. Miss Bailey, she's at the head of the Wimmen's League togen'ally clean up politics an' the town, one to the same time. I figgerthe first thing their broom's goin' to locate'll be either Jordan orPlimsoll. They're sure goin' into all the dark corners an' under thefurniture. She's a hustler an' she's thorough, is Mirandy Bailey. "

"Where'd you learn all this, Mormon? Over to Herefo'd?"

"'Pears Miss Bailey's took a great interest--in Molly, " said Sam, with agrin. "She's been over here twice to see if there was news. Mormonentertained her. He seems to be the fav'rite. Beats all how one man'llcharm the fair sect, like honey'll bring flies, while another ain't everbothered. "

Mormon changed the trend of the conversation by demanding to know aboutthe school. 

"Molly's got an outfit Barbara Redding bought her, " said Sandy. "Trunkan' leather grip, all kinds of do-dads. School costs fifteen hundredbucks a year. The rest of Molly's money is banked. Barbara picked out aschool in Pennsylvania she said was the best. Here's an advertisement ofit. "

He handed the magazine leaf to Sam who read over the items with Mormonlooking over his shoulder, forming the words with his lips. Sam read:

 CORONA COLLEGE

 "_Developing School for Girls. Development of well poised personality through intellectual, moral, social and physical trainin'. _

 "_Extensive Campus_--(whatever that is)--_Elective Academic_--(Sufferin' Cows!)--_Domestic Science, Household Economics, Expression, Supervised Athletics. _

 "_Horseback Riding_--(Huh, I never see an eastener yet who c'ud ride)--_Swimming, basketball, country tramping, dancing, military drill. _"

Sam made heavy going of many of the words that left him in the dark asto their meaning. Sandy tried to elucidate, repeating the explanationsBarbara Redding had given him. 

"Campus is the College Field, Sam, " he said. 

"Then why in time don't they say so? Ain't they goin' to teach her totalk United States? I s'pose them things is all fine an' necessary fo'the female eddication but, dern me, if I can see where she's goin' tofind time to eat an' sleep. "

"It's been all-fired lonely with both you an' her gone, " said Mormon. "An' the dawg ain't eat a mouthful, I don't believe. Mebbe you can coaxhim, Sandy. Set around an' howled like a sick coyote fo' fo'-fivedays--mostly nights. If the gel balks at all that line of stuff I'llstand back of her to quit an' come back to Three Star. "

"An' have Jordan git her away an' put her under Plimsoll'sguardeenship?"

"He c'udn't do that. Mirandy Bailey 'ud block him. "

"He c'udn't do anything, " said Sandy. "I got myse'f app'inted legalguardeen to Molly while we was in Santa Rosa, one day Barbara an' Mollywas shoppin'. John Redding's lawyer fixed it up. "

The months passed without especial incident at the Three Star. Sandypurchased a Champion Hereford bull for the herd out of the ranch shareof the faro winnings. Other improvements were added, and the threepartners seemed on the fair way to prosperity. Sandy's theory thatbetter bred and better fed beef, bringing better prices, would pay, began to demonstrate itself slowly, though it would take three yearsbefore the get of the thoroughbred stock was ready for marketing. 

Occasional letters came from Molly. Homesickness and unhappiness showedbetween the lines of the first epistles, despite her evident efforts toconceal them. Her ways were not the ways of the other girls who were_developing a well poised personality through intellectual, moral, social and physical training_. She apparently formed no friendships andit seemed that none were invited from her. 

 "But I'm going to stick with it till I get same as the rest--on the outside, anyway, " she wrote. "I don't know how some of them work inside. It ain't like me. But I've started this and you-all want me to go through so I will, though I get lonesome as a sick cat for the ranch. I don't swear any more--I got into awful trouble for spilling my language one time--and I can spell pretty good without hunting up every word in the dictionary. I reckon I'm a hard filly to break but then I was haltered late. I don't think it would be allowed for me to have Grit, so you'll have to look out for him and not let him forget me. I hope you won't do that yourselves. Some of the other girls are nice enough. It will be all right soon as we get to understand each other. Don't think I'm starting out to buck or that I'm unhappy, because I'm not. "

"If she's happy, I'm a Gila lizard, " said Mormon. "What's the sense ofhavin' her miserable fo' the sake of a li'l' book learnin'. She'sgettin' to spell so I can't make out what she's writin' about. "

At last Molly wrote that she had made the basketball team and won honorsand favors. She gained laurels for Corona in swimming and tennis, andlife went more merrily. Mormon looked up tennis outfits in his mailcatalogue and sent for a book on the game, which he soon abandoned. 

"You have to learn a foreign langwidge before you start to play, " hesaid. "Leastwise a code. The langwidge ain't what you'd expect them tobe handin' out in a young lady's college. All erbout deuce an' love. I'da notion we'd fix up the game fo' her so she'd c'ud keep it up but Idunno. It sure ain't a fat man's game. It's a human grasshopper's. "

CHAPTER XI

PAY DIRT

In September there was a killing in the Good Luck Pool Room, the murderof a stranger whose friends made such an investigation, backed by thereal law-and-order element of Hereford, that the exposure brought aboutforfeiture of all licenses and a strict shutting down on gambling andillicit liquor. Plimsoll left Hereford for his horse ranch, deprived ofthe sheriff's official countenance, and Jordan began to worry aboutelection. 

One evening in early October a little body of riders came to the ThreeStar, all strangers to the county, men whose faces were grim, whocracked no jokes, whose greetings were barely more than civil. They werewell armed and they acted like men of a single purpose. 

"This is the Three Star, ain't it?" asked the leader of a cowboy, whonodded silently, taking in the appearance of the visitors. 

"Bourke, Peters and Manning?"

"One and all, " answered the Three Star rider. "Find 'em at chuck, Ireckon. You-all are jest in time. If you aim to stay overnight I'll tendyore hawsses an' put 'em in the corral. "

"You seem hospitable here. "

The tone was half sarcastic. 

"Rule of the ranch, " replied Buck. "Folks arrivin' after sun-down, thesame bein' strangers, is expected to pass the night, if they're in nohurry. "

Sandy personally backed the invitation a moment later and steaks werebeing pan-fried as the men dismounted and lounged on the porch, awaitingtheir meal. The leader introduced himself by the name of Bill Brandon, claiming previous knowledge, without actual acquaintance, of Sandy, Mormon and Sam in Texas. Sizing each other up, man-fashion, eye to eye, appraising a score of tiny things that aggregated sufficiently to tipthe mental scale, the crowd grew more familiar and welded with supper, exchanged anecdotes with digestion, to get confidential over thetobacco. 

"We're out after a man who's been collectin' hawsses too primiscuous, "said Brandon finally. "We know you gents by past reputation an' by whatthey say of you in Herefo'd. Also, by that last reckonin', I ain'tfiggerin' you as any speshul pal of the man we're tryin' to round up. Ireckon you know who we mean. Jim Plimsoll, who owns what he calls theWaterline Hawss Ranch, sixteen miles east of you, more or less; an' whogits more fancy breeds out of the mangy cayuses he shows his breedin'mares an' stallions, than there is different fish in the sea. From all Ican figger most of his mares must have fo' foals a year. 

"Some of us are from this state--Mojave County--two of us from Nevada. Me, I'm from California. We've all been losin' hawsses off an' on an'we've final' got together an' compared notes. Seems most of the missin'stock sorter drifted across the Arizony line somewheres between MojaveCity an' Topock. Most of 'em have been sold or passed on. All of 'emhave been faked an' doctored more or less. Talk points to Plimsoll, sodo some facts, but not enough. An' this Plimsoll has got some mightyclose friends where they do the most good. You'd have to prove a damnsight more than we got to even sight a blank warrant. "

"You been over to his ranch?" asked Sandy. 

"Jest come from there. He's slick an' cool, is Plimsoll. We was supposedto be lookin' over hawsses for buyin', but he's careful who he sells to. We saw some. An' we recognized some. But you know how it is, Bourke, itain't hard to change a hawss. Dock its foretop, do a little doctorin', an' how you goin' to prove it? I'll say this for the man, he's thefinest brand-faker I've met up with. He suspicioned what we was afteran' we didn't see all he had. But we're goin' to git him yet an', whenwe do, there won't be any more hawss-stealin' an' fakin' in CoconinoCounty, Arizona. Hawss-stealin' was a hangin' matter when I first comewest an' I reckon there's some feels the same way now. Speshully whenthe courts back up a man like Plimsoll. Lead's cheaper than rope, butsomehow it ain't so convincin'. "

Brandon changed the subject after he had spoken, but it was plain thathe and his companions had not given up the matter; clear also that theywere sure of Plimsoll's guilt and laying plans to trap him. They stayeduntil the next morning and departed. 

"That man Brandon's got some trick up his sleeve to trap Plimsoll, " saidSam, watching them ride off. "He ain't quite got it fixed up yet to suithimself but it's a good un. "

"He's got brains, " commented Sandy, rubbing Grit's ears. The collie hadpicked up since Sandy's return, sensing some connection with hismistress closer than that of Mormon and Sam. He would feed only fromSandy's hand and attached himself to the latter almost as permanently ashis shadow. "So has Jim Plimsoll. I ain't hankerin' fo' another man toclean him up befo' I get my own chance. But that bunch sure meanbusiness. "

The incident was forgotten as the round-up days grew near, with frostymornings when the mountains looked as flat as if they had been profiledfrom cardboard and stuck up along the horizon--until the lifting sunmodeled them with shadows--with sweltering noons tapering slowly off tocool nights while horses raced after the flying cattle, driving andcutting out, and so to the corral brandings, where the three partnersfound their increase better than they had anticipated. 

Molly was not to come home at Christmas after all. She formed afriendship, the first close one she had made, and Barbara Reddingadvised that the invitation extended by this new acquaintance to spendthe holidays be accepted. There had been plans of a Christmas tree anda celebration, but the gifts were boxed and sent off. Others arrivedfrom the East in exchange, a collar for Grit, a cigarette case forSandy, a necktie for Mormon and a three-decked harmonica for Sam. Therewas a picture too, not so much of a girl but a young woman, a somewhatwistful look in her eyes, but a firm-lipped, resolute-chinned youngwoman for all that, who smiled out at them frankly and confidently. Itwas signed

 A Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year from the Mascotte of the * * *

 MOLLY. 

"I dunno about the merry Christmas, " said Mormon. "We're prosperousenough, short of bein' profiteers. Molly's gettin' to be a good-looker, ain't she? Goin' to git it framed, Sandy?"

Snows fell, the temperature ranged down far below zero at times, wintergave reluctant place to spring until the last moment when it turned andfled and, far into the desert, myriads of flower-blooms sprang upovernight while everywhere the cactus gleamed in silken blooms in yellowand crimson. 

One April night the Bailey flivver came charging up to Three Star, smothering itself in a cloud of dust that had not settled before theresprang out of it Miranda Bailey and the lanky Ed, temporarily chargedwith a tremendous activity. The cause of young Ed's galvanism was sostrong that he actually won from his aunt as bearer of the news. 

"Gold!" he cried. "They've struck pay dirt at Dynamite! Chunks ofsylvanite that sweat gold in the fire. Assay thirty thousand dollars aton. Whole streaks of it. Vein's twelve foot wide. The whole town'sstampedin' by way of White Cliff Caņon. I'm goin'. Got a pick an' shovelin the car. Aunt Mirandy, she was bound we'd come this way. Mebbe we canpack you all in. But you got to hurry or they'll swarm over Dynamitelike flies on a chunk o' liver!"

"It's true, " backed Miss Bailey. "Folks over to Hereford have gonecrazy. I caught a word or two that Plimsoll's to the bottom of the rush. Ed heard he got hold of some samples them easterners took an' had 'emsent away an' assayed. They turned out to be the big stuff. 'Course youcan't depend on gossip, when folks are talkin' mines but, if it's so, Plimsoll's burned the wind to git first pick. An' he'll grab thoseclaims of Molly's first thing. That's one reason I made Ed come thisway. Thought you might like to come erlong, on'y he took the words outof my mouth. "

"You goin'?" asked Mormon. There were two red splotches in Miranda'scheeks, a glitter in her eyes that suggested she had not escaped thegold fever. 

"Sure am, " she answered. "Ed Bailey Senior, he 'lows there's no sense inchasin' gold underground. Says he likes to see his prospects growin' upunder his own eyes an' gazin' on his own land. I'm the adventurous oneof the Bailey fam'ly, though you mightn't guess it to look at me, " shesaid with a twitch of her lips. "Me an' young Ed here. He takes afterme. Got the gamblin' germ in our systems. Want to git somethin' fo'nothin', " she went on with grim humor. "I reckon Ed's right but, land-sake, doin' the same thing, day in an' out--gits mighty monotonous. Bein' a woman, you're more tied than a man. I tried to work my extryenergy out in politics but it all come my way too easy. 

"Plimsoll ain't got much love for me. He figgers I lost him his licensean' his brother-in-law sheriff his badge. He's right. I did. I figgeredyou'd not be anxious to let him have his own way about Molly's claimsan' I 'lowed I'd like to be along an' see the excitement. Me an' Edhere'll stake off suthin' for ourselves. I'd jest as soon git some easymoney as the rest of 'em. If I do I'll buy another car. This thing"--shesurveyed the panting flivver contemptuously--"is nigh worn out and it'sjest a tin kittle on wheels. Biles if you leave it out in the sun. "

Sandy, after a swift word of apology, turned away toward the bunk-house. Mormon, with a sweeping salute from his bald head to his knees, voicedhis opinion. 

"Marm, " he said, "you're a dyed-in-the-wool sport an' I'd admire totrail with you. But that kittle, as you call it, 'll sure bu'st itscinches with we-all ridin' it. I'm no jockeyweight, fo' one. "

"It'll stand up. We've got to make time. I was wonderin' if we c'udmake it by the old road, where you found Molly? It's shorter than WhiteCliff Caņon an' we've lost time comin' out here. "

Sam shook his head. 

"No'm, c'udn't be done. There ain't no road. Las' winter 'ud finish whatwas left of it an' there was spots this side of where we found Caseywhere a wagon c'udn't have passed. We just made it with the buckbo'd. Ask Sandy. "

Sandy, coming up, endorsed Sam. 

"We'll have to go the long way, " he said. "How are you off fo' grub?It'll be sca'ce an' high in Dynamite. Some of us may have to stay an'hang on to claims until they're recorded an' the new camp settles down. An' one of us sh'ud stay an' run the ranch, " he added. At which hispartners balked resolutely. 

"We've got some food, " said Miranda. "You might fetch along some cannedstuff if you've any handy. Ed, you sure you got plenty ile, gas an'water? Better look her all over. "

With orders to Buck, with some provisions, ammunition and a few tools, the hurried start was made. Mormon clambered to the front seat besideyoung Ed, Miranda Bailey sat between Sandy and Sam. Whatever lack ofenergy the lank Ed Junior displayed on his feet, he eliminated as adriver. The springs creaked, chirpings arose from various parts of thecar as it ran, but he coaxed the engine, performed miracles at badplaces in the road, nursed the insufficient radiator surface and keptthe "kittle" at a simmer. 

He judged grades, rushed them, conquered them, sometimes at a crawl, slid and skipped and jumped down slopes, negotiated curves on two wheelsand brought them triumphantly through White Cliff Caņon, over themalpais belt, up and across a mesa and so to the far brink of it an hourbefore dawn without puncture, without a broken leaf in the springs, withshock absorbers still on duty and the cylinders performing full service. 

Cold and raw as it was, the engine was hot and they halted to cool it. They could see a light or two glimmering at the foot of the mesa, something that had not shown in the deserted mining camp for many years. Miranda Bailey shivered as she got stiffly from the car. 

"I've got some powdered coffee an' some solid alcohol, " she announced. "We can all have somethin' hot to drink anyway. It won't take but aminute. Here's some cold biscuits we can warm up on that radiator. It'snigh as good as a stove. "

The trio watched interestedly the capable way in which she got togetherthe meal, adding sugar and evaporated milk to her coffee. Sam picked upthe tin of solid alcohol after it had cooled off. 

"It's too bad they can't fix up the real stuff that way, " he said. "It'ud sure make a hit. Canned Tom-and-Jerry, all ready for heatin'. "

"And you called Soda-Water Sam, " said Miranda Bailey. 

"That title was give me in derision, " replied Sam. "Me, I don'thesitate to say I like my licker. Likewise I can do 'thout it. Theyclaim that I used to leave nothin' but the sody-water inter a saloononce I'd entered it. Which same is a calummy. Gittin' light in the east, ain't it, folks?"

Coffee-comforted, they made the down-road as the sun rose above the rimof the eastern range, so jagged it seemed trying to claw back themounting sun. Ever in view below them lay the intermountain valley inwhich the camp had been located. Its floor was jumbled with hard-coredhills. There was little greenery. A few cottonwoods, fewer willows alongthe deep bed of a scanty stream. Under the sunrise the whole scene wastheatrical with vivid light and shade. The crumpled ground, thedeep-ridged hills, all seemed unreal, made up of papier-mâché, crudelymodeled and painted, garish, unfinished. The effect was enhanced by theappearance of the one main street of the camp and the few scatteringcabins on the hills, the ancient dumps in front of the lateral shaftswhere the weathered timbers sagged. 

There were a few tents, some wagons and picketed horses, and there werea great many machines parked at will. But, from the height, it alllooked like the miniature scene of a panoramic model, the housescardboard, the horses and wagons toys of tin. The horses were the onlymoving objects, no smoke curled yet from the chimneys. 

Here and there unbroken glass in the windows flung back the sun. A dooropened and a midget in shirtsleeves came out, stretching arms, palpablyyawning. Suddenly smoke jetted from a tumbled chimney, other puffsfollowed and steady vapors mounted. Ant-like men emerged from everyhouse, gathered in little knots, busied themselves with the horses, hurried back to breakfasts. Faint sounds came up to the travelers. 

"W'udn't think that place had been dead as a cemetery fo' years?"commented Sandy. "Stahted up overnight like an old engine. That's thehotel, with the high front. Furniture all in it an' in the cabins. Mostof the fixtures left in the saloons, an' there was a plenty of them. Twohotels, five restyronts, seven gamblin' houses, twenty-two saloons an'the rest sleepin' cabins. That was Dynamite. When they git it dusted offand started up it'll run ortermatic. "

"Cuttin' out the saloons, " said Miranda. 

"I'm not so sure of that, " said Mormon, turning in his seat. "You-allwant to remember, ma'am, that this is an unco'porated town an' that'sthere's allus a shortage of law an' order for a whiles wherever there'sa strike, gold, oil or whatever 'tis. Eighty per cent. Of the rush is ahard-shelled lot an' erlong with 'em is a smaller bunch that thrivesbest when things is run haphazard. There'll be licker down there, an'it'll sure be quickfire licker at that. If you warn't the kind you are, "added Mormon, "I'd tell you that down there ain't no place fo' a woman?"

"Meanin'?" snapped Miranda Bailey. But there was a gleam in her eye thatshowed of a compliment accepted. 

"Meanin', " said Mormon "that, ef you'll take it 'thout offense, you-allair plumb up-to-date. When wimmen took up the ballot I figger theywasn't on'y ready fo' equal rights, they knew how to git 'em. 'Side fromthe shootin' end of it, I'd say you was as well equipped as any man tolook out fo' yore own interests. "

"Thanks, " replied Miranda. "I suppose you mean that as a compliment. Also I know one end of a gun from another an' I can hit a barn if itain't flyin'. Ed, what you stoppin' fer?"

"Blamed if they ain't a puncture, " said Ed as he put on the brakes. "Wegot a spare tire but 'twon't do to spile this 'un. We got to git backsome time. Might not be able to buy a spare round here. I got to fixthis. "

"Fix it when you git down, " said his aunt. "Put on the spare. I'm kindernervous to git my claim staked. There's a sight of folks here. Look at'em runnin' around like so many crazy chickens. Put on the spare, Ed, while we pile out. An' hurry. "

The spare was soon adjusted and they rolled down to the valley and overthe dusty road to the camp. Before they reached the main street a carpassed them from behind with a rush, driver and passengers reckless, whooping as they rode, one man waving a bottle, another firing his guninto the air. 

"That's the kind that'll figger to run Dynamite fo' a while, " saidSandy. "I'll bet there ain't twenty old-timers in the camp--real miners, I mean. "

The street was alive with changing groups, merging, breaking up tolisten to some fresh report of a strike, or opinion as to the prospects. There were no women in sight. The men were of all sorts, from cowboys intheir chaps, who had left the range for the chance of sudden wealth, tostorekeepers from Hereford and other towns. Excitement reigned, no onewas normal. Bottles passed freely. Among the crowd moved shifty-eyed menwho had come to speculate. There were gamblers, plain bullies, swaggerers, with here and there a bearded miner, gray of hair and fadedblue of eye, either moving steadily through the throng or held up by alittle crowd to whom he declaimed with the right of experience. Some, itseemed certain, must be on their claims, but the bulk of the men whofilled the street of the resurrected town, were those who prey upon thework and luck of others, camp-followers of the Army of Good Fortune. 

Mormon's pronouncement that the town, after its long desertion, hadautomatically refunctioned, was not far wrong. Rudely lettered signsproclaimed where meals could be bought and boldly announced gambling. 

 KENO--CHUCKALUCK AND STUD CRAPS AND DRAW POKER THE OLD RELIABLE FARO BANK J. PLIMSOLL, PROP. 

read Sandy. 

"He's here, lookin' fo' easy money, both ends an' the middle, " hedrawled. "W'udn't wonder but what we'd rub up ag'in' him 'fo' we leave. "

"You'll want to go right through to Molly's claims, I suppose, " saidMiranda Bailey. "Do you know where they are?"

"I can soon find the location, " replied Sandy. "But there ain't anyextry hurry. They've been recorded. They'll keep. We'll git us some realhot grub at one of these restyronts an' listen a bit to the news. Findout where is the most likely place fo' you an' yore nevvy to locate. "

"Ain't you afraid Plimsoll or some one'll have jumped those claims?"asked the spinster. 

"W'udn't be surprised. But there's allus two ways to jump, Miss Mirandy. In an' _out_. Let's try Cal Simpson's Place. I knew him when he wasrunnin' a chuck-wagon. He's sure some cook if it's him. "

They pressed through the crowded street to the sign. Next door to thecabin that Simpson had preempted on the first-come-first-served orderthat prevailed, was one of the olden saloons. Through door and windowthey could see the crowded bar with bottles and tin mugs upon theancient slab of wood. Over the door the inscription:

 ROCKY MOUNTAIN GRAPEJUICE MULE BRAND TWO KICKS FOR ONE BUCK

Some looked curiously at Miranda Bailey, but the sight of her escortchecked any familiarity. Covered with dust from their ride, guns onhip, the three musketeers did not encourage persiflage at the expense oftheir outfit and they passed unchallenged into the eating-house where astubby man with a big paunch shouted greetings at Sandy. 

"You ornery son of a gun! _An'_ Mormon. This yore last, Mormon. No? Ibeg yore pardon, marm. I c'ud have wished Mormon 'ud struck somethin'sensible an' satisfactory at last. It's his loss more'n your'n. What'llyou have, folks? I've got steak an' po'k an' beans. Drove over somebeef. More comin' ter-morrer. I'll have a real mennoo by the end of theweek. Steak? Seguro! Biscuits an' coffee. "

He shouted orders to a helper and hurried off to pan-broil the steaks. To the order he added some fried potatoes. 

"They ain't on the bill-of-fare, " he said. "Try 'em, marm. Hope youstrike it lucky, Sandy. Damn few--beggin' yore pahdon, miss--damn few ofthis crowd ever had a blister on their hands. It ain't like the old dayswhen the sourdoughs made a strike. They worked their own shafts. Thisbunch specklates on 'em. A claim'll change hands twenty times betweennow an' ter-morrer night. 

"Rush is over fo' the mornin'. I'll sit in with you, if you don't mind. I got my steak in that pan. "

"What's the indications?" asked Sandy, after Simpson had rejoined them. 

"Big. Look here. White gold!" He pulled out a piece of tin white mineralwith a brilliant metallic luster, sparkling with curious crystals. "Sylvanite--twenty-five per cent, gold an' twelve an' a half silver. Veined in the porphyry. There's a young assayer come in last night. He'lows it's sylvanite, same as they have over to Boulder County inColorado. He comes from the Boulder School of Mines. He's a kid, but Iw'udn't wonder but he knows what he's talkin' about. Some calls ittelluride. But it's gold, all right, an' there's a big vein of it closeto the surface on the knoll east side of Flivver Crick. "

They passed the heavy mineral from hand to hand, examining it with eagercuriosity. Simpson rambled on. 

"Over five hundred in camp an' more comin' all the time. The rush ain'tstarted yet. Goin' to be an old-time boom, sure. Bound to make money efyou don't hold on too long. Peg you out a claim or two 'long that eastbank, Sandy. Don't matter 'ef she's located or not, you can sell it fo'mo'n you'll ever git out of it by workin' it. 

"This man Plimsoll aims to make him a fortune, " he continued. "He's gota gang of bullies with him who're stakin' out the best claims an'jumpin' others. He's runnin' a game wild. He's here to clean up. I tellyou, Sandy, the sheriff ought to be on the job on the start of a rushlike this. But he's t'other end of the county, they tell me, an' likelyhe won't hear of it for three-four days. And by that time she may haveblew up ag'in, " he closed pessimistically. "Blew up once, did Dynamite. This may be jest a flash in the pan, a grass-root outcrop. That's theway she started when old man Casey drifted in an' his burro kicked uppay-ore. Damn--dern--few of this crowd'll ever stop to run shaft ortunnel. Though this young assayin' feller talks big about folds an'uplifts, synclines an' anticlines. Claims the po'phyry is syncline. Yougot to catch it where the fold is shaller or else dig half-way to China. You still in the cow business, Sandy?"

So he chatted until fresh customers came in and claimed his skill andsteaks. Miranda Bailey and her companions finished the meal and startedout. 

The Casey claims were on the east side of the creek, Sandy knew. The oldprospector's lore, or instinct, had been unfailing. It remained to seeif his marks and monuments had been respected. Molly had said that theassessment work had been done, and she had so described the place in anarrow terrace of the hill that Sandy felt sure of finding them withouttrouble. 

He pointed out a sign over the door of a shack ahead, white lettered onblack oil cloth:

 CLAY WESTLAKE. ASSAYER--SURVEYOR AND MINING ENGINEER. 

A knot of men were milling about the place. 

"Doin' a trade already, " said Sam. "Must have brung that sign erlongwith him. Smart, fo' a youngster. Simpson said he was a kid. How 'boutseein' him befo' Miss Bailey an' Ed here stake their claims? I'm aimin'to mark out one fo' me, same time. "

"Also me, " said Mormon. 

Guffaws suddenly rose from the little crowd by the assayer's sign. Adeep voice boomed out in bullying tone, followed by silence, then morelaughs. Sandy leaned to Mormon. 

"You keep her an' young Ed back, " he said. "Trouble here, I figger. "

Mormon nodded, stepping ahead, blocking Miranda's progress in apparentlyaimless and clumsy fashion while Sandy, his hands dropping to his gunbutts, lifting the weapons slightly and, releasing them into theholsters once again, lengthened his stride, walking cat-footed, on thesoles of his feet, as he always did when he scented trouble. Sam, easinghis own gun, lightly touched his lips with the tip of his tongue andfollowed Sandy with eyes that widened and brightened. 

"Bullyin' the kid, I reckon, " he said to Sandy as they went. Sandy didnot need to nod before they reached the half-ring that had formed abouta young chap in khaki shirt, riding breeches and puttees, whose fairhair was curly above a face tanned, and resolute enough. Yet he wasclearly nervous at the jibes of the crowd and the actions of the man whofaced him, heavy of body, long of arm, heavy of jowl; a deep-chested, broad-shouldered individual whose head, cropped close, tapering in arounded cone from his bushy eyebrows, helped largely to give him theaspect of a professional wrestler, or a heavyweight prizefighter. Hecarried a big blued Colt revolver, and the way he spun the weapon on thetrigger guard showed familiarity with the weapon. 

The young assayer had no holster to his belt, seemingly no gun. Hisclean shaven jaws were clamped tight so that the muscles lumped here andthere, and he fronted the unsympathetic crowd and the jeering bully witha courage that was partly born of desperation. 

"Mining engineer!" read the bully. "Smart, ain't he, for a curly-headedkid! Engineer? Peanut butcher 'ud suit better. Looks like a moviepitcher actor, don't he? Mebbe he's a vodeville performer. I'll bet heis, at that. What's yore speshulty, kid? Singin' or dancin'. Or both. "

He flung a shot from the gun into the ground between the young man'sfeet. 

"Show us a few steps, you powder-faced dood! Mebbe we'll let you stay incamp if you amuse us. "

Sandy and Sam had elbowed their way lightly through the ring and theformer turned to the man beside whom he happened to stand. 

"What's the idea?" he asked. 

"The young 'un good as told Roarin' Russell he didn't know what he wastalkin' about. Chap asked the kid's opinion on a bit of ore an' he giveit. It didn't suit Russell. "

"It didn't, eh? Now, that's too bad, " drawled Sandy. The other looked athim curiously. Sandy's drawl was often provocative. Russell's gunbarked again. 

"Dance, damn ye! An' sing at the same time; blast you for a buttin' intenderfoot! Won't, eh?"

The victim, game but despairing, flung a look of appeal about him. Togive in meant to become the laughing-stock of the camp, to have itsribaldry follow him, to be laughed out of the camp, branded as a coward. Yet to resist was a challenge to death. The bully had been drinking, thegleam in his eyes was that of the killer, a man half insane fromalcohol. 

"Up with yore hands! Up with 'em, or I'll shoot the knuckles off of 'em!I'll make a jumpin'-jack of you or I'll shoot yore. . . . "

The first syllable of the intended volley of foulness was barely outwhen Sandy, stepping forward, touched the bully on the shoulder. Russellwhirled as a bear whirls, gun lifting. 

"Lady back here in the crowd, " said Sandy quietly. 

For a second Russell gasped and stared and, as he stared, the cold hardlook in Sandy's eyes told him the manner of man who had interrupted him. But this man's guns were in the holsters, Russell's weapon was in handthough its muzzle was tilted skyward. The crowd, thickening, waited hisnext move. He had been stopped in his baiting. He saw no woman back ofthe big bulk of Mormon, keeping Miranda well away, not seeing what wasgoing forward. 

"To hell with the lady!" shouted Russell. At his back was only theunarmed assayer. This lean cold-eyed interferer was a hardy fool whoneeded a lesson. He swept down his gun, thumb to hammer. Two guns grewlike magic in Sandy's hands. Russell read a message in Sandy's glance, he heard the gasp of the crowd. With his own gun first in the open thestranger had beaten him to the drop and fire. He felt the fan of thewing of death on his brow. His gun flew out of his fingers, wrenchedaway by the force of impact from Sandy's bullet on its muzzle, low down, near the cylinder. Dazed, he watched it spinning away, his hand numb. 

"Back up to that door, you! Back up!" Sandy's voice was almostconversational but it was profoundly convincing. The bully obeyed him, standing at the door in the place of the assayer, who stepped aside, feeling a little sick at the stomach, Sam bracing him in friendlyfashion by one elbow. 

"I won't shoot _yore_ knuckles off, " said Sandy, "pervidin' you keepyore fingers wide apaht, an' don't wiggle 'em. Spread 'em out againstthe wood, bully man!"

His face whitening from the ebb of blood to his cowardly heart, Roarin'Russell opened his fingers wide, judging implicit obedience his greatestsafety. Sandy did not move position, he hardly seemed to move wrist orfinger as his guns spat fire, left and right, eight shots blending, eight bullets smashing their way through the door between the "V's" ofthe bully's fingers while the crowd held their breath for theexhibition. 

Sandy quickly reloaded, quickly but without obvious haste. He did notreturn the guns to their holsters and he paid no attention to theadmiring comments of the crowd. 

"Who is he? Two-gun man! They say his name's Sandy Bourke. "

"You-all interfered with a friend of mine, " said Sandy. "It ain't ahealthy trick. An' you ain't apologized to the lady. I don't know howWestlake feels about it, but you've sure got to apologize to the lady. "

The assayer, bewildered at Sandy's assumption of friendship, waved hishand deprecatingly. Russell's eyes rolled from side to side toward hisstill elevated hands. 

"You can lower 'em if you can't talk with 'em up, " said Sandy. "I'mwaitin' fo' that apology, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. "

"I didn't see no woman, " mumbled the bully, crestfallen. 

"I told you there _was_ one, " said Sandy. "I don't lie, even tostrangers. You're sorry you swore, ain't you?"

"You're quicker'n I am on the draw with yore two guns, " retorted thegoaded Russell. "I c'ud lick you one-handed 'thout guns--or any man inthis crowd, " he blustered in an attempt to halt his departing prestige. 

"You-all had a gun in yore hand when we stahted in, " said Sandy equably. "You're sorry you swore--_ain't_ you?"

The repeated words, backed by the cold gaze, the ready guns, weremerciless as probes. 

"I apologizes to the lady, " growled Russell. 

"Now, that's fine, " said Sandy. "Fine! Westlake, will you come erlongwith me fo' a spell?"

He made his way through the opening group. Sam followed with the assayerwho now began to realize that Sandy's interference had established afriendship that would continue protective. They met Mormon, almostpurple in the face from suppressed feelings. Young Ed Bailey eyed Sandywith awe and new respect. Miranda Bailey's attempt to learn exactly whathad happened was thwarted by Sandy's presentation of Westlake. Duringthe introduction Mormon slipped away. Roaring Russell was endeavoring toreadjust his swagger when the stout cowboy met him. 

"I was with the lady, " said Mormon. "Consequent I c'udn't git heresooner. You said you c'ud lick any one in the camp one-handed, gunsbarred. Now I don't like the way you apologized, sabe? It warn't willin'enough, nor elegant enough, nor spontaneous enough. Ter-night, after Igit through showin' the lady around the diggin's, I'll meet you whereyou say for fun, money or marbles, an' argy with you barehanded. Thisaway. "

He slapped Russell on the cheek. The bully roared and the crowd steppedback. Mormon, with the surprising alertness he showed in action, for allhis bulk and weight, sprang back, poised for strike or clutch. MirandaBailey came with a rush and stepped between the two men. Russellforesaw a laugh at his expense and curbed himself, the sooner for hisnew-found consideration for Sandy's gunplay. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yoreselves, both of you, " exclaimed thespinster. "I'll have no one fightin' over me. I can take care ofmyself. "

"Yes, m'm, I reckon you can. I reckon we are ashamed, " said Mormonmeekly, as the crowd roared in laughter that died away before the evenlyswung gaze of Sandy, backed by Sam. Russell slipped off and the mendispersed. Miranda addressed Mormon. 

"I'll not have you fighting with that hulkin' brute on my account, " shesaid. "Do you understand?"

Mormon gulped. He seemed summoning his courage, gripping it with bothhands. 

"Marm, " he said desperately, "you can't stop me. "

The spinster gasped, met his eyes, flushed and turned away. Sam nudgedMormon with elbow to ribs. 

"You dog-gone ol' desperado, " he said in a whisper. "I didn't think youhad it in you. That the way you treated the first three?"

"No, it ain't, " said Mormon, mopping his forehead. "And she ain't thesame kind they was, neither. Come on, or we'll lose 'em. "

CHAPTER XII

WHITE GOLD

"It was mighty decent of you to take me under your protection, " said theyoung engineer to Sandy. He made hard going of the last word but shot itout with a snap that left his jaw advanced. Sandy told himself that heliked the clean-cut, well-set-up Westlake. 

"Shucks, " he answered, "I reckon you w'udn't have much trubbleprotectin' yo'self, providin' terms was any way nigh even. That Roarin'Russell throwed down on you, figgerin' you packed no gun, seein' therewas none in sight. 

"I sabe that kind of hombre. Since he was knee-high he's always had anaidge on most folks, 'count of his size an' weight. But that ain'tenough, he's got to have somethin' on the other man 'fo' he tackles him. He plays all his games with an ace in a hold-out. Which shows him fo' aman who figgers he ain't equal to tacklin' another 'thout he knows he'sgot the best of it. He thinks he's one hell of a wrastler an'rough-an'-tumble man but, if he ever mixes with Mormon, it's goin' to bea bull an' b'ar affair--an' Mormon'll do the tossin'. "

Westlake looked somewhat dubiously at Mormon's girth. 

"Don't jedge a man by the size of his waistband, " said Sandy. "Mormon'sfooled mo'n one. He's hog fat, to look at, but if you was to skin himyou'd find mighty li'l' fat an' a heap of muscle. Got flesh like anInjunrubber ball, has Mormon. Minute Roarin' Russell finds he ain't gota walkover he'll begin to quit. That sort does, ninety-nine out of ahundred. The yaller jest natcher'ly oozes out of 'em. How'd your fusscome to staht?"

"A man was showing Russell and some others a piece of quartz picked upround here. It had nothing in it but some mica and galena, but Russellhad given it as his opinion that it was the gold-bearing rock of theregion. I told them I thought they would find that in the porphyry andRussell asked me what the hell I knew about it? That's how it started. Idon't know how it would have finished if you hadn't taken a hand andsaid I was a friend of yours. That saved my face. I came to the strikebecause I thought there would be a chance of getting in on the groundfloor in new diggings and I hated to be driven out of it by having todance for a bully and a bully's crowd. I don't know that I _would_ havedanced. It's hard to weigh the odds when a gun has been fired at you, but I figured he wouldn't shoot to kill. "

"Might have crippled you, " said Sandy. "If I'd been you I'd havedanced. "

"You would?"

"I sure would. No sense in argy'in' with a gun an' a boozy bluffer atthe other end of it. He'd put up his bluff an', feelin' sure you c'udn'thurt him, he'd have carried it through. Any time a man has the drop onme I raise my hands--or my feet, 'cordin' to orders. I've spent a dealof time practisin' so it's hahd to beat me to the draw. Trouble was, efyou-all don't mind my sayin' so, you horned in. You give out informationgratis. You had yore sign up fo' minin' engineer. Chahge fo' what youknow, son, an' yo' customers'll be grateful. Give 'em a slug o' goldfree an' they'll chuck it at a perairie dawg befo' they've gone fiftyyards. "

"Do you know anything about mining, Mr. Bourke?"

"Sandy is my name to my friends. A cowman with a mister to the front ofhis name seems to me like a hawss with an extry bridle. No, sir, Idon't. Do you?"

Sandy's eyes twinkled as he put the quiz. Westlake laughed. 

"I hope so. I think so. Mining is bound to be more or less of a gamble. A first-class mining engineer could tell you where you ought to find thegold in a certain region, but he couldn't guarantee that there would beany. Experience counts a lot, of course, but I do know something aboutsylvanite, or white gold. I've seen its big field over in Boulder andTeller Counties, Colorado. They call it graphic gold, sometimes, becausethe crystals are very frequently set up in twins and branch off so thatthey look like written characters. The crystals are monoclinic and occurin porphyry almost exclusively. It is a mixture of gold and silvertelluride and it's also called tellurium. Named after Transylvania whereit was first found. There's some in Australia. "

"I'm much obliged, " said Sandy. "I've learned a heap. "

Westlake looked at him suspiciously, but Sandy's face was grave as thatof the sphinx. 

"The porphyry dykes here are in syncline, " the engineer went on. "Theydip toward each other from both sides of the valley and form loops orfolds. If you imagine an onion sliced in half you catch the idea. Callevery other layer porphyry, with rock and other dirt between. The bottomof a loop may be deep down or it may be missing altogether, ground awaywhen the valley was gouged out by a glacier. There may be other loopsbeneath it. Some portions of the loops come to the surface on thehillside and you can guess at their dip. But--the gamble lies in this. The ones that are exposed may or may not carry the gold-bearing veins. You might hit it at grass roots and find a lot of it. Or you might godown deep sinking through the hard porphyry for nothing. Science saysthat the tellurium crystals are in the porphyry dykes and that thesedykes lie in syncline, perhaps two or three, nested one under theother. "

"Gosh, " ejaculated Miranda Bailey. "It sure sounds like a lottery to me. I wonder c'ud we hire you to p'int out a likely place for us tolocate?" They had left the one street by this time and were making theirway slowly along the western slope of the valley. Men worked at creakyand shaky old windlasses or appeared and disappeared at the mouths oflateral shafts, repairing the ancient timbers, wheeling out rubbish. Once or twice they heard the dull boom of a shot where dynamite wastrying to split the rock and uncover a lead. On several of the claimswere groups, the members of which made no pretense at mining, but lolledabout, playing cards or pitching dollars at a mark. These werespeculators, holding to sell. Stakes with papers in clefts, piles ofstones at the corners, showed the boundaries of the claims. 

"If you think my judgment is any good, " said Westlake, "you're welcometo it. I could be more certain of helping you when it comes to assayingor developing a mine. Are you-all taking up claims? Do you want to alignthem, or do you want to pool interests and locate here and there wherethe chances look good?"

"Miss Bailey an' her nephew are goin' to take a chance, " said Sandy. "Mean' my two partners are lookin' for claims located by the man who firstdiscovered the camp. They can't get away an' we'll see Miss Mirandysettled first. "

"Me, I aim to take up a claim, " said Mormon. "So does Sam. "

"Who's goin' to work it?" asked Sandy. "You-all forget that we agreedwhen we went into the ranchin' business together not to go intospeculations on the side 'thout mutual consent. From what I can makeout from Westlake's talk speculation is a mild term fo' lookin' fo'gold. I don't consent, by a long shot. We got Molly's claims to lookafter with our interest in 'em, an' I've a hunch that's goin' to occupyall our time we got to spare. What does Roarin' Russell do in the camp, "he asked Westlake, seemingly irrelevantly, "or ain't he shown yet?"

"He is a sort of bouncer, or capper for that gambling joint run byPlimsoll. "

Sandy nodded. "I ain't surprised. Plimsoll's figgerin' that he'll get abig chunk of whatever's dug out, 'thout takin' any chances on diggin'. W'udn't wonder but what he figgers to run the camp, mo' ways than one, with a few bullies like Roarin' Russell to help him. "

"This Casey, " said Westlake, "who made the original strike, did he takeout much?"

"As I understand it, " replied Sandy, "he hits the porphyry where it'sshaller, or worn off, like you said. An' he finds rich pay stuff rightaway, enough to start the camp. Quite a few works on that outcrop an'then it peters out. Casey sabed a bit about synclines, I reckon, fo' hekept faith in the camp, on'y he realized it 'ud take a heap of money todevelop, meanin' to dig through the porphyry, I suppose. Now they'vefound some mo' of that float ore that the first crowd overlooked. Reckonthat'll peter out too, after a while. But capital may come in on thissecond staht. Some eastern folk were lookin' over the place a whileback. Took samples an' Plimsoll got wise to what they amounted to. "

"And he hasn't taken up any claims?" said Westlake. "Despite hisgambling investment, I should have thought he would. "

"He's got an interest in one or two, I fancy, or thinks he has, " saidSandy dryly. 

Westlake halted and took a small steel hammer from his pocket with whichhe struck off a fragment of rock protruding from the ground. Thecleavage showed purple. He walked slowly along for some fifty feet, kicking the soil with his foot, breaking off other samples to which heput his tongue. 

"Taste good?" asked Sam. 

"Not bad, if you're looking for mineral. They've got a distinct flavorall their own, but I wetted them to show the color up more plainly. Hereis the outcrop of a syncline reef. It may carry gold and it may not, butit's wide enough, it's near the surface and it's as good a place as any. It dips deeper lower down, but I imagine you'll find it floating outagain on the other side of the valley. Runs like the ribs of a ship, with the valley the hull. And the ship's rail, the gunwale in therim-rock that outlines the auriferous deposit. "

Sandy, glancing across the valley to where the engineer pointed, noddedhis head. "Your judgment goes with Casey's, " he said. "Right across fromhere is where he located his claims, I take it. How about it, Mormon?Fits the description to a T. "

"Sure does, " assented Mormon. "Thar's the notched boulder half-way upthe hill, the three-forked dead pine on the ridge. If you locate here, marm, " he said to Miranda, "an' we-all make a strike, we'll be on thesame vein, I reckon. "

"It's all Greek to me, " said the spinster. "How do we locate? I've comethis far, an' I'll see the thing through to some sort of finish. Me an'young Ed'll camp here. I figger we can git the car up. It's gone throughworse places. There's water down there in the crick. We've got grub. When it's gone we can buy more. How many claims can we take up an'what's the size of 'em, Mr. Westlake?"

The three partners left Miranda and the engineer measuring off andsetting up their monuments at the corners of the claim. Young Baileystarted for the faithful flivver. They started directly down thesidehill, making for the valley, in silence, like men with businessahead of them that called for action rather than words. 

"Figger that tent is on them claims of Molly's and our'n?" asked Sam, asthey paused before they tackled the eastern slope. "Looked like it wasto me. "

"Me too, " said Mormon. 

"I wouldn't wonder, " agreed Sandy. "Here's the situation, as I sabe it. Plimsoll met up with Pat Casey from time to time. Molly said so. There'sother witnesses to that. Plimsoll'll use some of them to swear that hegrubstaked Casey. They'll be some of his own crowd. No doubt Plimsollgot the location of the claims from the old records an' these buckaroopals of his, who are roostin' on said location, knew jest where to goan' stahted out well in front with their outfit. I don't reckon we'llfind Plimsoll up there, though we ain't seen him so far this mo'nin', but I'll bet our best bull ag'in' a chunk of dogmeat that they're on hispay-roll. "

"Shucks, it don't make no difference whose pay-roll they're on, " saidMormon. "They're claim-jumpers an', like you said, Sandy, a jump can bemade two ways. Let's go look 'em over. "

The tent was pitched on the hillside where the grade was too steep topermit of level ground enough for more than the actual floor space. Thebrown duck erection strained at the guy ropes of its upper side wherethe stakes had been driven deep into the soil. The chimney of a smallstove came through the top of the cloth, guarded by a metal ring. Outside were boxes, saddles, an ax, kettles and pans, a portable grilland other camping equipment. The tent flaps were open and showed cots onwhich blankets and clothing were roughly spread. On two of these bedsmen sprawled asleep. Five others were seated on boxes about a boulderthat looked like porphyry outcrop. Its surface was flat enough to serveas a table. The five were playing poker. One was bearded and seemed theold-time miner. All boasted stubble on their chins, two wore mustaches. One was bald. Their clothes varied, from the miner's faded blueoveralls, high boots and flannel shirt, to soiled khaki and lacedprospector's footwear. One thing they all had in common, cartridgebelts and guns, in plain view. Taken together they were not aprepossessing lot, playing their game in silence, looking up with ascowl and movements toward gun butts at the visitors. Two burros croppedat the scanty herbage above the tent. A demijohn stood between two ofthe box seats. 

"I've seen that tent afore, " whispered Sam to Sandy. The latter nodded. 

"Campin' out, gents?" he asked amiably. 

"No, we ain't. These claims are preempted. Trespassers ain't welcome. You're invited to move on. "

"That's a new name fo' it, " said Sandy pleasantly. "New to me. Preempted. "

"What in hell are you driving at?" asked the other. "This is privateproperty. "

"Property of Jim Plimsoll?"

"None of yore damned business. "

There was a movement in the tent. One of the men got up from his cot andstood yawning in the entrance, one hand on the pole. The other snoredon. Sandy, with Mormon and Sam, stood just above the group on the narrowbench that furnished the floor for the tent. They had little doubt thatthe jumpers knew who they were, though they recognized none of them bysight. There was a hesitancy toward action that might have been born outof respect to Sandy's two guns or a foreknowledge of his reputation inhandling them, aside from the armament of his partners. Sandy's handsrested lightly on his hips, his thumbs hooked in his belt, fingersgrazing the butts of his guns. There was a smile on his lips but none inhis eyes. His tone and manner were easy. 

"Saw his stencil on the tent, " he said. "J. P. In a diamond. Same brandhe uses fo' his hawsses. Or mebbe you found it. "

His drawling voice held a taunt that brought angry flushes of color tothe faces of the men opposing him, yet they made no definite movementtoward attack. It seemed patent that Sandy Bourke was testing them. Trouble was in the air, two kinds of it: on the one side hesitantbelligerency; on the other--cool nonchalance. Sandy, with his smilinglips and unsmiling eyes, stood lightly poised as a dancing master. Mormon and Sam were tenser, crouched a little from the hips, elbows awayfrom their sides, hands with fingers apart, ready to close on gun butts, standing as boxers stand or distance-runners set on their marks. 

The man who stood in the tent door kicked at his sleeping companion androused him to sit on the side of his cot and stare sleepily out, gradually taking in the situation. There were seven against three but, when the odds are so big and the minority faces them with a readinessand an assurance that shows in their eyes, on their lips, vibrates fromtheir compacted alliance, the measure is one of will, rather thanphysical and merely numerical superiority, and the balance beam quiversundecidedly. The bearded miner, with the rest, looked shiftily towardthe man who had done the speaking, the bald-headed one, whose khaki andnail-studded boots were belied by the softness and puffiness of hisflesh, the sags and wrinkles beneath his eyes and under his doublechins. He had little gray-green orbs that glittered uneasily. 

"I'm giving you men two minutes to clear out of here, " he said. "Notwo-gunned cow-puncher can throw any bluff round here, if that's whatyou're trying to do. "

Sandy laughed joyously. The smile was in his eyes now. 

"If I figger a man's throwin' a bluff, " he said, "I usually figger tocall him, not to chew about it. Me, I pack two guns fo' a reason. Oncein a while I shoot off all the ca'tridges from one an' then I don't haveto reload. Now, _I'm_ talkin'. These claims are duly registered in thename of Patrick Casey, his heirs an' assigns. Here's the papers. Theassessment work is all done. Pat's daughter owns 'em now. We'rerepresentin' her. An' I'm servin' you notice to quit. We'll take thesame two minutes you was talkin' of. They must be nigh up now, though Ididn't see you lookin' at yo' watch. I'm lookin' at my Ingersoll an' Igive it sixty seconds mo'. Then staht yore li'l' demonstration, gents, providin' I don't beat you to it. " He started to roll a cigarette withhands skilful and steady. Back of him Sam and Mormon stood like dogs onpoint, watchful, unmoving, but instinct with suppressed motion. 

"The girl may be his heir, " said the bald-headed man, "but Plimsoll isassignee. Plimsoll staked him an' these claims are half his. The girlcan put in her share to the title later, if they amount to anything. Sheain't of age. "

"So J. P. Was hirin' you to do his dirty work, " said Sandy, his voicecold with contempt. "You go back to him, the whole lousy pack of you, an' tell him from me he's a yellow-spined liar. Git! Take yore stuffwith you or send back fo' it. Now, git off this property. "

If a man can make movements with his hands so swiftly that they arecovered in less than a tenth of a second, ordinary human sight can notregister them. He has achieved the magician's slogan--_the quickness ofthe hand deceives the eye_. It takes natural aptitude and long practise, whether one is juggling gilded balls or blued-steel revolvers. Sandycould, with a circling movement of his wrists, draw his guns from theirholsters and bring them to bear directly upon the target to which hiseyes shifted. Glance, twist of wrist, arrest of motion, pressure offinger, all coordinated. One moment his hands were empty, his glancecarelessly contemptuous, the veriest movement of a split-secondstop-watch and the gun in his right hand spat fire, the gun in his leftswung in an arc that menaced the five card players. 

The other two were struggling beneath the crumpled folds of a collapsedtent, wriggling frantically like the stage hands who simulate waves bycrawling beneath painted canvas. Sandy had shattered the pegs that heldup the upper corners of the tent on the slope, had cut the cords of theremaining guys on that side and the structure had swayed and collapsed. 

Sam and Mormon had lined up now with Sandy. There was no mistaking theirintention to use their guns. But the exhibition had been quitesufficient. With one accord the five raised their hands shoulder highand began to shuffle down the hill, regardless of their equipment, which, having been paid for by Plimsoll, they regarded as of much lessvalue than the necessity for departure. 

"Come out of that, " commanded Sandy to the two wrigglers. "Git a moveon. "

The faces that appeared were ludicrous in their expressions of dismayand appeal. Their owners came out like dogs from a kennel who expect tobe kicked as they emerge. One of them had taken off his boots for bettersleeping and he hobbled uneasily in his socks. 

"Take along yore booze, " said Sandy. 

The bootless one looked furtively at the demijohn, still like a wary curwho snatches at and bolts with a stray bone. Then the pair set off at ajog trot after the rest. 

"I wonder, " said Sam, "if that was good whisky?"

Sandy looked at him reproachfully. "Sody-Water, " he said, "I'm plumbdisappointed in you an' yore cravin'. Smell it an' see. "

His gun exploded. The man with the demijohn gave a curious hop, skip andjump. The demijohn jerked in his hand but seemed intact. The bullet, smashing through the wickerwork, had shattered the container but thetough willow twigs preserved the shape. Two more shots and there was atinkle of broken glass. The last bullet had clipped the neck. It was tooclose shooting for the sockless one and the whisky was dripping fastthrough the weave, bringing a reek of crude liquor to Sam's twitchingnostrils. The claim-jumper dropped what was left of his burden and wenthopping on, acquiring stone bruises with every leap. 

"Scattered like a bunch of coyotes, " said Sam. 

"Sure did, " agreed Sandy. "Minute they stahted talkin', 'stead ofshootin', I knew they was ready to stampede. They'll beat it to Plimsollan' we'll see jest how much sand he's got in his craw. "

"Not enough to keep him from skiddin' on a downgrade, " said Mormon. "Sandy, that's cruelty to animals, sendin' that hombre off 'thout hisboots after you took away his licker. I've got tender feet myse'f aswell as a soft heart. Help me with this tent a minute, Sam. "

Together they raised the fallen canvas enough to discover the boots, which Mormon hurled down-hill after the limping one, who was far in therear of his companions. He turned at Mormon's shout and he stopped, fearful at the act of kindness, crawled up the slope and retrieved hisfootwear, pulled them on and scurried off. 

A distant shout reached them from the other side of the gulch. Byposition, rather than actual recognition, Sandy guessed the figure thatof Westlake. The firing must have sounded only a little louder thancork poppings, but evidently the engineer had sized up the retreatingmen and the collapsed tent. Sandy waved to him in assurance that all waswell and the other waved back in understanding. 

"Think Plim'll show?" asked Sam. 

"Got to--or quit, " said Sandy. "That bunch of jumpers he got together'llspill the beans unless he makes some play. It's plumb evident he wantsthese partickler claims. I don't believe he's hirin' men just to make uspeevish. 'Sides, he didn't know fo' sure we were comin'. Might havefiggered we'd trail the news of the rush, but I'll bet a sack of Durhamagainst a pinch o' dirt that he's fairly sure that old man Patrick Caseypicked him some first-class locations. We got one card that'll upset himconsiderable, my bein' the legal guardeen of Molly. "

"A heap he cares fo' legal or not legal, " said Sam. 

"That's jest what he _will_ do, now he ain't standin' in with the crowdthat hands out the law, Sam. He might try to make it a show-down righthere an' drive us out of the camp or leave us tucked away stiff in someprospect hole. But there's a lot of decent material drifted in an' itw'udn't be hard to beat him to that play an' organize a camp committeefo' the regulation of law an' order till such time as the camp provesitself an' is established. Once big capital gits stahted in here thelaw'll be workin' right along hand in hand with the development. Let'stake a pasear an' look at Casey's workings. "

Patrick Casey had run in a tunnel from the face of his discovery. Weathered porphyry float showed on the dump whose size suggested greaterdepth to the tunnel than they had expected. Its mouth had been closed bytimbers fitting closely into the frame of the horizontal shaft, forming, not so much a door, as a barricade, that had been firmly spiked to heavytimbers. This had been recently dismantled and then replaced, as recentmarks on the weathered lumber showed. Sandy looked at these placesclosely, frowning as he gave his verdict. 

"Some one monkeyin' with this inside of the last month, " he announced. "The nails ain't rusted like the old ones an' the chips are fresh. Likeas not it was that bunch of easterners. They'd figger the camp wasabandoned an' consider themselves justified as philanthropists intobu'stin' open anything that looked good--like this tunnel. A man w'udn'tgo to the trouble of timberin' up if he didn't think he had somethin'inside that was goin' to turn up high cahd some day. 'Course thecapitalist, if he found somethin' that looked good, 'ud hunt up theowner in the registry an' make him an offer. But it w'udn't be a halfinterest in the mine. He'd say he was thinkin' of developin' half a mileaway an', if he bought cheap enough, he might make an offer. Yes, sir, "Sandy went on, warming to his own theory, "it w'udn't surprise me ifthis warn't the mine they sampled which Plimsoll finds out is the realstuff an' clamps on. "

"Well, " said Mormon, "we'll have a chance to ask him in a minute. He'scomin' up with that crowd of his rangin' erlong an' their ha'r liftin'. Thar's that ungrateful skunk I chucked the boots at. Plim don't lookover an' above pleased the way things are breakin'. Looks as amiable asa timber wolf with his tail in a b'ar trap. "

The three partners met the jumpers, now headed by Plimsoll, on theborder of the claims. The gambler's face was livid. He had boasted andlashed himself into a bullying confidence that he knew was inadequate tomeet the situation he could not avoid. Hatred of the men who had balkedhim more than once served him better. 

"You four-flushers get off this ground, " he blustered. "You're claimingto represent Molly Casey's rights after you've kidnaped the girl andsent her out of the state. It won't get you anywhere or anything. I'vegot a half interest in these claims and I've plenty of witnesses toprove it. "

"I don't believe yore witnesses are half as vallyble as they might havebeen before politics shifted in Herefo'd County, " said Sandy. "You ain'tgot a written contract an' it w'udn't do you a mite of good if you had, fur as I'm concerned. Because I've been duly an' legally app'intedguardeen to Casey's daughter Molly an' I'm here to represent herinterests, likewise mine. I've got my guardianship papers right withme. "

"A hell of a lot of good they'll do you in this camp, " sneered Plimsoll. "Representin' _her_ interests. I'll say you are, an' your own along with'em. " A laugh from his followers heartened him. "If the camp ever hearsthe yarn of your running off with the girl and now, with her tuckedaway, coming back to clean up, I've a notion they'd show youfour-flushers where you've sat in to the wrong game. Why. . . . "

Something in Sandy's face stopped him. It became suddenly devoid of allexpression, became a thing of stone out of which blazed two gray eyesand a voice issued from lips that barely moved. 

"I've got a notion, too, Plimsoll. A notion that it 'ud be a good day'swork to shoot you fo' a foul-mouthed, lyin', stealin' crook! You sureain't worth bein' arrested fo', an' there ain't no open season fo'two-laigged coyotes of yore sort, so I'll give you yore chance. You'vecalled me a fo'-flusher twice, an' the on'y way to prove a fo'-flush isto call fo' a show-down. I'm doin' it. "

The words came cold and even, backed by a grim earnestness thatimprinted itself on the lesser manhood of the jumpers as a finger leavesits print in clay. They shifted back a little from Plimsoll, circlingout as they might have moved away from a man marked by pestilence. Hestood trying to outface Sandy, to keep his eyes steady. His lips weretight closed, still he could not help but open his mouth to a quickenedbreathing, to touch the lips with a furtive tongue that found the skinpeeling in tiny feverish strips. 

"You pack yore gun under yore coat flap, " said Sandy. "I don't know howquick you can draw but I aim to find out. "

He handed one of his own guns to Mormon, announcing his action lestPlimsoll might mistake it. 

"Now then, " he went on, "I once told you I looked to you to stop anygossip about Molly Casey. Same time Butch Parsons an' Sim Hahn got huht. You don't seem able to sabe plain talk an' I'm tired of talkin' to you, Jim Plimsoll. Me, I'm goin' to roll me a cigareet. Any time you want toyou can draw. I'm givin' you the aidge on me. If you don't take thataidge, Jim Plimsoll, I'm givin' you till sun-up ter-morrer mornin' togit plumb out of camp. An' to keep driftin'. "

Deliberately Sandy took tobacco sack and papers from the pocket of hisshirt, his fingers functioning automatically, precisely, his eyes nevershifting from Plimsoll's face, measuring by feel the amount of tobaccoshaken into the little trough of brown paper. While he rolled thecigarette the sack swung from his teeth by its string. 

The group gazed at him fascinated. Plimsoll's face beaded with tinydrops of sweat, his hands moved slowly upward toward his coat lapels, touched them as Sandy twisted the end of the cigarette, stayed there, shaking slightly with what might have been eagerness--or paralysis. Forthe look in the steel gray eyes of Sandy Bourke, half mocking, allconfident, spurred the doubts that surged through the gambler'schance-calculating mind, while he knew that every atom of hesitationlessened his chances. 

His own hands were close to his chest. His right had but a few inchesto dart, to drag the automatic from its smooth holster. Sandy's handswere high above his belt, rolling the cigarette. They had four times asfar to go. But Plimsoll knew that if anything went wrong with hisperformance, if he failed to kill outright, that nothing would go wrongwith Sandy's shooting. The mention of Butch and Sim Hahn did not composehim. He had had the stage all set that time and Butch had been shotdown, Sim Hahn's capacities as a crooked dealer had been spoiled forever. But--if he did not take his chance and, failing it, did not leavecamp. . . . 

He felt cold. The temperature of his own conceit, the mercury of theregard of his bullies, was falling steadily. The nervous sweat was nolonger confined to his face. The palms of his hands were moist, slippery. . . . 

"Gimme a match, Sam. " Sandy's voice came to Plimsoll across a gulf thatcould never be bridged. He watched the flame, pale in the sunshine, watched it lift to the cigarette and then a puff of smoke came into hisface as Sandy flung away the burnt stick and turned on his heel. Murderstirred dully in Plimsoll's brain at the sneers he surmised rather thanread on the faces of his followers. His defeat was also theirs. But themoment had gone. He knew he lacked the nerve. Sandy knew it and hadturned his back on him. 

His prestige was gone. His boon companions would talk about it. Mormongave Sandy back his second gun and Sandy slid it into the holster. Heexhaled the last puff of his cigarette before he spoke again toPlimsoll. 

"Sun-up, ter-morrer. You can send fo' yore stuff here any time you've amind to. Fo' a gamblin' man, Plimsoll, you're a damned pore judge of ahand. "

Plimsoll strode off down the hill alone. The men who had come with himhesitated and then crossed the gulch. They had severed connections withthe J. P. Brand for the time, at least. The three partners walked backtoward the tunnel. 

"I saw the carkiss of a steer one time, " said Sam, "that had been lyin'on a sidehill fo' quite a spell. The coyotes an' the buzzards had beenat it, an' the wind an' weather had finished the job till there warn'tmuch mo'n hide an' some scattered bones. Mebbe a li'l' hair. But thatcarkiss sure held mo' guts than Jim Plimsoll packs. "

"He ain't through, " said Mormon. "You didn't ought to give him tillsun-up, Sandy. Sun-down 'ud have been better. He's a mangy coyote, buthe's got brains an' he'll addle 'em figgerin' out some way to git even. "

"I w'udn't wonder, " answered Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' to do a li'l'figgerin' too. "

"We got to stay on the claims, " said Sam. "If they happened to think ofit they might heave a stick of dynamite in our midst afteh it's good an'dahk. A flyin' chunk of dynamite is a nasty thing to dodge, at that. "

He spoke as dispassionately as if he had been discussing a display ofharmless fireworks. Sandy answered in the same tone. 

"I don't think it likely, Sam. Camp knows, or will know, what's beenhappenin'. If dynamite was thrown they'd sabe who did it an' I don'tbelieve the crowd 'ud stand for it. Jest the same it 'ud sure surpriseme if we didn't git some sort of a shivaree pahty afteh nightfall. Iw'udn't wonder if Jim Plimsoll forgets to send fo' that tent an' stuffof his. Hope he does. "

"What do we want with it?" demanded Mormon. 

"Nothin', with the stuff. We'll set it out beyond the lines come dusk. But the tent'll come in handy. We didn't bring one erlong. "

Sam and Mormon both looked at him curiously, but Sandy's face wassphinx-like and they refrained from useless questioning. 

"Here comes young Ed, " announced Sandy as they gained the tunnel. "He'stotin' somethin' that looks to me as if it might be grub. "

"Won't offend me none ef it is, " said Mormon. "I'm hungrier'n a springb'ar an' all our stuff's oveh with Mirandy Bailey. "

"She's sure one thoughtful lady, " said Sam. "What you got, Ed?" hequeried as the gangling youth came up. 

"Beans, camp-bread an' coffee. Aunt Mirandy, she 'lowed you-all mightnot want to leave the claim so she sent this over to bide you through. You been havin' some trouble, ain't you?" he asked, his eyes gleamingwith interest. "We heard somethin' that sounded like shots an' Mr. Westlake saw the first bunch go away. He said you waved to him it wasall right. Aunt, she 'lowed you c'ud look out fo' yourselves. Then thesecond bunch come erlong. "

"Jest wishin' us luck, son, " said Sandy. "How's everything with you?"

"I bet it warn't good luck they was wishin', " grinned Ed, squatting downon his haunches and rolling a cigarette. "We're gettin' on fine. Gotsome dandy claims, I reckon. One for maw an' one fo' father, rightalongside Aunt Mirandy's an' mine. It 'ud be great if we sh'ud allstrike it rich, to once, w'udn't it?"

"Great!" agreed Sandy, munching beans with gusto. "Don't you think youought to be gettin' back, 'case some one might take a notion to themclaims of yores? 'Pears to me it's up to you, Ed, to protect yore aunt. Westlake can't stick around with you all the time. He's got his businessto attend to. "

Young Ed straightened. 

"I'll look out for her all right, " he said. "But you don't know AuntMirandy over well or you'd know she can do her own protectin'. You betshe can. 'Sides, the men who've got claims nigh us come over an' toldher they'd see she wasn't interfered with none. Said they'd heard somebully had sworn at her an' the real miners in camp warn't goin' to standanything like that. Nor no claim-jumpin'. They're goin' to organize, they say. Git up a Vigilance Committee. "

"Good!" said Sandy. "That means the decent element aims to run things. We'll help 'em. It'll be easier with Plimsoll out of camp. "

"Figger he'll go?" asked Sam. 

"I w'udn't be surprised if he listened to the small voice of reason, "answered Sandy. "You tell yore aunt we're much obliged fo' the grub, Ed. One of us'll be over afteh a bit an' tote our things across. We'll camphere fo' a bit an' sit tight. I'd do the same, if I was you, Ed, spiteof yore friends. I don't doubt fo' a minute but what yore aunt is plumbcapable of lookin' out for herself, but you see, she's a woman an' yo'rea man, an' it's you folks'll be lookin' to. "

The lad flushed with pride under the hand that Sandy set in chummyfashion on his shoulder. 

"I'll do that, " he said, and, picking up the emptied utensils he hadbrought he started off down and across the gulch. 

"No sense in encouragin' him to hang around us, " said Sandy. "There'sapt to be fireworks round here most any time between now an' ter-morrermo'nin'. Plimsoll'll shack erlong about sun-up--providin' he ain't ableto call the tuhn on us befo'. Mormon, if you'll go git our blankets an'outfit, Sam an' me'll fix up those bu'sted guy ropes an' shift thetent. "

"You don't aim fo' us to sleep in it, do you?" asked Mormon. 

"Don't believe we'd rest well if we tackled it. But it mightn't be a badscheme if we give the gen'ral idee that we _are_ sleepin' in it. I put alantern in the car when we stahted. Fetch that erlong too, will you, Mormon?"

It was late afternoon before Mormon reappeared, bearing a camp outfit, part of which was carried by Westlake. Sandy and Sam had repitched thetent on fairly level ground of the valley bottom. The claim boundariesran to within fifty yards of the little creek named Flivver and thetent-pins were set almost on the border-line. The ground was sparselycovered with scrub grass, shrubs and willows, the space about the tentclear of anything higher than clumps of bushes and sage. 

Mormon's eye brows went up at the location with which Sandy and Sam, seated cross-legged on the ground, one smoking, the other draining lowharmonies through his mouth organ, appeared perfectly satisfied. 

"Why on the flat?" asked Mormon. "There's a heap of cover round herewhere they might snake up afteh dahk an' sling anythin' they minded toat us, from lead to giant powdeh!"

"Wal, " drawled Sandy, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "it's handyto watch, fo' one thing, an' yore right about that coveh, Mormon. That'swhy we chose it. Sam an' me had a heap of trouble pickin' out thisplace. Finally we found jest what we wanted, didn't we, Sam?"

"Sure did. "

Mormon set down his load and took off his hat to scratch his headperplexedly. Then his face lightened as he looked up-hill. 

"You figger on settin' the lantern in here afteh dahk, " he said. "An'watchin' the fun from the tunnel. "

"Pritty close, Mormon. Come inside, you an' Westlake, an' I'll show yousuthin'. "

They followed him into the tent and came out again laughing. 

"No matteh what happens, " said Sandy, "an' I'm hopin' fo' the worst, itain't our tent. You been up to the main street this afternoon, Westlake?"

"Yes. There's a lot of talk loose about the trouble between you andPlimsoll's crowd. Factions for both sides and a lot of onlookers who areneutral and just waiting for the excitement. I saw Roaring Russell buthe passed me up. He might not have known me. He was pretty well drunk. He's talking big about taking you apart, Mr. Peters. He claims to havebeen a champion wrestler at one time. "

"You don't say so, " said Mormon. "Me, I was the champeen wrastler of theCow Belt, one time. Had the belt to prove it till I lost it at drawpoker. I've got hawg fat sence then, but I don't believe I've softenedany. An' the booze he's tuckin' away is mighty pore stuff fo' trainin'. But I ain't long on walkin', " he added. "B'lieve I'll sit me down aspell. I'll make fire an' git supper if you want to take Westlake up tothe tunnel. "

Westlake carefully inspected the tunnel, the float and the contents ofthe dump. 

"I wouldn't wonder if Casey was running this as a drift to follow a goodlead, " he pronounced. "It looks better to me than any part of the campI've inspected. I'll assay these samples for you, if you've noobjection. I've got a lot of orders back at my shack already. Mycustomers told me that they'd put a flea in Russell's ear that the campassayer was not to be interfered with, so there is some value in aneducation, you see. "

Sandy nodded. "You pack a gun?" he asked. 

"No. I've got one, but I don't carry it. My practise with firearms hasbeen with larger calibers. "

"War?" asked Sandy. 

"Yes. I was in the artillery. Is there anything else I can do? Get yousome supplies? I'm coming back to have supper with Miss Bailey and hernephew. "

"Not a thing, " said Sandy. "Much obliged. " He watched the engineer swingaway. 

"There's a good man for you, " he said to Sam. "Well set up and able tohandle himself. I like his ways first-rate. "

"Me, too, " said Sam. "He'd make a good match fo' Molly, when she comesback with her eddication, w'udn't he?"

Sandy stopped in his stride suddenly, so that Sam halted and regardedhim curiously. 

"Twist yo' foot?" he asked. "High heels is all right fo' stirrups butthey're tough on hill climbin'. "

"No. I was jest thinkin'. Nothin' that amounts to shucks. Gettin' dahk. We better git outside of our supper an' sneak up to the tunnel soon's itgits dusk enough to light the lantern. "

CHAPTER XIII

A ROPE BREAKS

The lantern, turned down, dimly illumined the tent and revealed thefigures of three men seated about some sort of rough table. The flap wasdrawn and fastened. Occasionally a figure moved slightly. No passer-bywould have guessed that the three partners were ensconced in the blackmouth of the tunnel, ramparted by the dump heap, watching fordevelopments they were fairly sure would start with darkness. Everylittle while Sandy twitched a line that was attached to a clumsy buteffective rocker he had contrived beneath one of the dummies they hadbuilt from the stuff that Plimsoll had not reclaimed. 

"Don't want to work the blamed thing too much, " he said. "Might bu'stit. It's on'y the one figger but I'll be derned if it don't looknatcherul. "

After which they all relapsed into silence, restrained from smoking forfear of a telltale spark or casual fragrance carried by the wind. It wasa dark night, the hillsides stood blurry against a blue-black sky inwhich the stars glittered like metal points but failed to shed muchlight. Later, much later, toward morning, a moon would rise. 

Here and there on the slopes bright spots or glows of fire marked theoccupied claim-sites. From the camp itself there came a murmur thatsometimes swelled louder under the dull flare that hung over the lowerend of the valley; reflection and diffusion from the gasoline lights andacetylene flares used by the owners of the eating-houses, the bars andgambling shacks, all open for business during miners' hours, which meanttwo shifts, of night and day. 

From the mouth of the tunnel the three watched the march of the stars, the wheel of the Big Dipper around its pivot, the North Star; markingtime by the sidereal clock of the heavens, each with a variant emotion. 

Mormon shifted his position more frequently than the others. None ofthem was especially comfortable, but Mormon wanted to keep as limber aspossible, he was afraid of stiffening up, thinking always of hischallenge to Roaring Russell. Slow to anger, Mormon, when his ragemounted was slow of statement. What he said he meant. The insult toMiranda Bailey while under his escort chafed him as a saddle chafes agalled horse. It had to be wiped out at the earliest moment and, singularly enough, the spinster was not particularly prominent in thematter. It was not a personal question; the insult had been offered towomanhood, and Mormon was ever its champion and its victim. 

Sam, cut off from tobacco and melody, bunkered down with his backagainst a frame timber and looked at the tall lean figure of Sandysilhouetted against the stars, wondering why Sandy had stopped soabruptly when the names of Westlake and Molly Casey had been coupled. Itwasn't like Sandy to move or halt without definite purpose, Samreasoned. "I suppose he figgers Molly too much of a kid, " he toldhimself. "If these claims pan out she'll be rich. Likewise, so will we. "His thoughts shifted to dreams of what he would do when they werewealthy. Very far beyond the purchase of an elaborate saddle and outfit, a horse or two he coveted, the finest harmonica to be bought, he did notgo. That Sandy might have felt a tinge of jealousy toward young Westlakewas furthest from his conjectures. 

As for Sandy, he had lost his mental orientation. Something hadhappened, something was happening within him and he could not tell theprocess nor name it. He was as a man who goes out into the darkness amidrooms and passages with which he considers himself familiar andsuddenly--there comes a door where should be space, or space where thereshould be a window--and he is lost, his senses betray him, for themoment he is completely fogged, all bearings lost, possessed with theblankness that accompanies the flight of self-confidence. 

He could see very plainly in mental vision the picture that Molly hadsent to the Three Star, now framed and given the place of honor on thetable of the ranch-house living-room. The picture of a girl in whoseeyes the fleeting look of womanhood, that Sandy had now and then seenthere and which had thrilled him so strangely, had become permanent. That she was something so vital she could not be dismissed from the lifeof the Three Star, from his own life, by sending her to school whenceshe would return almost a stranger, by making her an heiress, Sandyrecognized. He had deliberately given her his hand to help her out ofthe rut in which he had found her and now, with the swift series oftableaux conjured up by Sam's suggestion of her and Westlake together, lovers, Sandy realized the gap that was widening between Molly and him. If she was out of the rut would she not now regard him as in another ofhis own from which there was no up-lifting?

To Sandy, Westlake seemed little more than a likable lad, placing him atabout twenty-three or four. He felt immeasurably older, harder, thoughthere were not more than six years between them--seven at the most. Eventhat made him almost twice the age of Molly. With this twist of hisreverie he realized that Molly was no longer to be considered as a girl. Toward the little maid he had poured out protectiveness, affection and, while his vials were emptying, she had crossed the brook. Into what hadhis affection shifted with the changing of Molly to womanhood?

Sandy Bourke, knight of the roving heel, had never attempted to findsolution for his attitude toward women. It was neither wariness norantipathy. His life, drifting from rancho to rancho, sometimesconsorting with the rougher side of men careless of conventions, hadbeen, in the main, not unlike the life of a hermit, with long periodswhen he rode alone under sun and stars with only his horse for company. 

There were months of this and then came swiftly moving periods ofrelaxation in a cattle town where men unleashed the repressions and letpent-up energies and appetites have full sway. Sandy loved card chanceswhere his own skill might back what luck the pasteboards brought him inthe deal. Drinking bouts, the company of the women with whom many of hisfellows consorted, never appealed to him. His reservations found outletin gambling or in the acceptance of some job where the danger risks ranhigh, where success and self-safety hung upon his coolness, his keensense, his courage and his skill with horse and lariat and gun. A lifeas apart as a sailor's, more lonely, for he was often companionless formonths. 

So far he had never felt lack of anything, least of all lately, with thetwo men he liked best in active partnership with him, with a maturinginterest in the development of his ranch and his grade of cattle bymodern methods. But, to have Molly not come back, or, returning, to haveher wooed and won, entirely absorbed by some one like Westlake, struckhim with a sense of impending loss that amounted to a real pain, difficult of self-diagnosis. Westlake was worthy enough. A good mate forMolly, climbing up the ladder of education and culture to stand wherethe engineer, well-bred, well-mannered, now stood, the two of them to goon together. . . . 

"Shucks!" muttered Sandy. "And he ain't even seen her picture. I musthave been chewin' loco weed. "

"What say?" asked Sam. 

"I'm goin' to take a li'l' look-see, " said Sandy. "I reckon they'retryin' to git warmed up an' decide on what they'll do round here. Notellin' how long they may take or what kind of deviltry that camp boozemay work 'em up to. I'm pritty certain no one saw us sneak out of thetent afteh dahk. "

If they had been seen no attempt might be made to dislodge them from theclaims. Sandy did not believe such effort would turn out to be ashooting match, --unless the defenders started it, --but something moreunderhanded. The flinging of a dynamite stick, if the throwers feltcertain of not being caught, was a possibility if enough crude whiskyhad been absorbed. In all probability the crowd of ousted men weremaking themselves conspicuous in the camp during the earlier hours ofthe evening in view of a needed alibi. Nothing might happen untilmidnight and the long vigil was not comfortable. Sandy vanished from thetunnel mouth, sinking to the ground, instantly indistinguishable even toSam and Mormon. There was nothing to tell whether he had gone up-hill ordown. The momentary cessation of the cicadas' chorus was the onlywarning that a human was abroad. 

"Have a chaw?" Mormon whispered presently, after he had changed hispose. 

Sam took the plug tobacco and bit into it gratefully. 

"I sure hate stickin' around, waitin', " he said under his breath. "Allusmakes me plumb nerv'us. "

"Same here, " answered Mormon. "Reckon it's that way with most men. Sandydon't show it, 'cept by goin' out on a snoop. "

"He can see, smell an' hear where we'd be deef, dumb an' blind, " saidSam. "Wonder what time it is? We've been here all of two hours already'cordin' to them stars. "

"What time does the moon rise?" asked Mormon. 

"'Bout half past three or so. You figgerin' on wrastlin' Roarin' Russellby moonlight, after we git through down here?"

"I've got a hunch this is goin' to be a busy night, plumb through tillsun-up, " said Mormon. "An', when I meet up with Roarin' Russell it ain'tgoin' to be jest a wrastlin match, believe me. It's goin' to be afree-fo'-all exhibition of ground an' lofty tumblin', 'thout rounds, seconds or referee. When one of us hits the ground it'll likely be fo'keeps. "

"I ain't seen you so riled up in a long time, old-timer. An' I'm backin'you fo' winner, at that. Jest the same, me an' Sandy'll do a li'l'refereein' fo' the sake of fair play. "

"I can hear you two gossipin' old wimmin gabbin' clear up to the top ofthe hill an' down to the crick, " added a third voice as Sandy glided in, materializing from the darkness. 

"Anythin' doin'?" asked Sam. 

"No, an' there won't be long as you air yo' voices. You play like anangel on that mouth harp of yores, Sam, but you talk like a rasp. Mormonbooms like a bull frawg. "

They settled down again to their watch. The Great Bear constellationdipped down, scooping into the darkness beyond the opposing hill. 

"Pritty close to midnight, " said Sam at last. "What's the . . . "

Sandy's grip on his arm checked him, all senses centering intolistening. 

The three stared blankly into the night, while their hands sought gunbutts and loosened the weapons in their holsters. Out of the blacknesscame little foreign sounds that they interpreted according to theirpowers. The tiny clink of metal, the faint thud of horses' hoofs, anexclamation that had barely been above the speaker's breath floated upto them through the stillness. The glow of the lantern showed throughthe tent wall. 

"Two riders, " mouthed Sandy so softly that Mormon and Sam swung heads tocatch his words. "Came up the valley t'other side of the crick. Bothcrossed it above the tent. Reckon they're visitin' us. One of 'em'scomin' this way. "

They crouched, breathless now, listening to the soft padded sounds thattold of the approach of man and horse. These ceased. Still they couldsee nothing. Then there came a sharp shrill whistle, answered from thelevels. Followed instantly the thud of galloping ponies going at topspeed, parallel, one between the watchers and the tent as they saw theswift shadow shade the glow for an instant, the other between the tentand the creek. There was a sharp swishing as of something whippingbrush. 

"Yi-yi-yippy!" The cries rang out exultant as the horses dashed by thetunnel. The light in the tent wavered, went out. There was a shout ofsurprise and dismay, a _twang_ like the snapping of a mighty bowstringand then came the whoops of the trio from the Three Star as theyrealized what the attempt had been and how it had failed. 

Two riders, trailing a rope, had raced down the valley hoping to sweepaway the tent, to send its occupant sprawling, its contents scattered ina confusion of which advantage would be taken to chase the three offtheir claims, taken by surprise, made ridiculous. 

Sandy and Sam, searching for a convenient tent site, had happened upon amass of outcrop, overgrown by brush. Over this they had pitched thetent, using the rock for table, propping their dummies about it. Ifdynamite was flung it would find something to work against. They had notanticipated the use of the rope to demolish the canvas any more than thetwo riders had expected to bring up against a boulder. The impact, withtheir ponies spurred, urged on by their shouts to their limit, tore thecinches of one saddle loose, jerked it from the horse and catapulted theunprepared rider over its head, flying through the air to land heavily, while his mount, unencumbered, frightened, went careering off leavingits breathless master stunned amid the sage. 

As the cinches had given way at one end, the line itself had parted atthe other. The second pony had stumbled sidewise, rolling before the manwas free from the saddle. They could hear it thrashing in the willows, the rider cursing as he tried to remount while Sandy ran cat-footed downthe hill, leaving Mormon and Sam to handle the other. If there had beenassistants to the raid they had melted away, willing enough to join in adrive against men yanked from their tent, defenseless, but not at alleager to face the guns of those same men on the alert, the aggressive. 

Mormon and Sam found their man groaning and limp. 

"Don't believe he's bu'sted anything, " announced Sam, "'less he's druvhis neck inter his shoulders. Got his saddle, Mormon?"

"Yep. Want the rope?"

They trussed their captive with the lariat still snubbed to hissaddle-horn. Down in the willows there was a flash, a report, ascurrying flight punctuated by an oath almost as vivid as the shot. Sandy came up the hill toward them. 

"Miss him?" asked Mormon. 

"It was sure dahk, " said Sandy, "and I hated to plug the hawss. So Ionly took one shot to cheer him on his way. He was mountin' at the timean' it was a snapshot. I aimed at the seat of his pants. I w'udn't besurprised but what he's ridin' so't of one-sided. Who you got here? Totehim down-hill. I don't believe they bu'sted the lantern. We'll take alook at him. "

Sandy retrieved the lantern from the collapsed canvas and lit it. Mormonand Sam took the senseless man down to the creek where they attempted torevive him by pouring hatfuls of the icy water on his head. He was ablack-haired chap, sallow of face, clean-shaven. His clothes were thoseof a cowman. 

"Looks a heap like a drowned rat, " said Mormon. "It's Sol Wyatt, one ofPlim's riders oveh to his hawss ranch. He got fired from theTwo-Bar-Circle fo' leavin' his ridin' iron to home an' usin' anothehbrand. Leastwise, that's what they suspected. Old Man Penny giv' him thebenefit of the doubt an' jest kicked him out of the corral. If he'd hadthe goods on him he'd have skinned him alive an' put his pelt on thebahn do' fo' a warnin'. "

"The damn fool rode a single-fire saddle fo' a job like that, " said Sam. "No wonder it bu'sted. He's sniffin', Sandy; what we goin' to do withhim?"

"Take him up inter camp, soon's he's able to walk an' hand him over toPlimsoll with our compliments. They figgered they'd make us all lookplumb ridiculous with bein' flipped out of the tent. Then they'd havehad the crowd on their side erlong with the la'f, way it usually goes. Don't drown him, Mormon, he don't look oveh used to water, to me. "

Wyatt opened a pair of shifty black eyes to consciousness and the lightof the lantern and immediately closed them again, playing opossum. Samprodded him gently in the ribs. 

"Wake up, Sol, " he said. "Come back to earth, you sky-salutin'circus-rider. You sure looped the loops 'fore you lit. Serves you rightfo' usin' a one-cinch saddle. Git up!"

Wyatt gasped and sat up, grinning foolishly. 

"What happened?" he asked. 

"Nothin', " answered Sandy. "Jest nothin'. Who was your buckaroo friendon the otheh end of the rope?"

"I dunno. Never saw him before to-night. "

"Pal of Jim Plimsoll?"

"I dunno. Nobuddy I know. Nobuddy you know, I reckon. "

"I'll know him likely next time I run across him, " said Sandy. "He'spackin' a saddle brand I put on him. " His voice was grimly humorous, herecognized Wyatt's obstinacy as something not without merit. "How's yorehaid?"

"Some tender. "

"It ain't in first-rate condition or you w'udn't be drawin' pay fromPlimsoll. Yore saddle's here, yore hawss went west. Ef you want to leavethe saddle till you locate the hawss, you can git it 'thout any troubleany time you come fo' it. Or you can pack it with you now. We're goin'up to camp. "

"Figger it's safe to leave yore claims now?" asked Wyatt cheerfully. 

"I don't figger we'll be jumped ag'in befo' mornin', " replied Sandy. "Efwe are, why, we'll have to start the arguments all over. "

"I w'udn't be surprised, " said the philosophic Wyatt, gingerly pressinghis head with his fingertips, "but what there is a gen'ral impression'stablished by this time that you three hombres from the Three Star areright obstinate about considerin' this yore property. "

"You leavin' camp with Plimsoll in the mornin'?" Mormon asked casually. 

"I heard some rumor about his hittin' the sunrise trail, " said Wyatt. "Ef he goes, I stay. I'm a li'l' fed up on Jim Plimsoll lately. He pullstoo much on his picket line to suit me. Ef he's got a yeller stripe onhis belly, I'm quittin'. Some day he's goin' to git inter a hole that'llsure test his standard. Me, I may be a bit of a wolf, but I'm damned efI trail with coyotes. I'll leave my saddle. Any of you got the makin's?I seem to have lost most everything but my clothes. I shed a gun roundhere somewheres. "

"You can have it when you come back fo' yore saddle, Wyatt, " said Sandy. "Where was you an' yore unknown pal goin' to repo't back to Plimsoll?"

Wyatt grinned in the lantern light. 

"Ef we trailed inter his place an' made a bet on the red over to thefaro table he'd sabe everything went off fine an' dandy. He w'udn'tfigger we'd show at all if it didn't come off. An' we w'udn't have. "

"There was one or two mo' staked out in the brush, 'less my hearin'sgone back on me, " said Sandy. "Seemed to me I heard 'em makin' theirgetaway. I suppose you don't know their names, either?"

"No, sir, I sure don't. An' I don't imagine they'll be showin' up atPlimsoll's right off. It was a win-or-lose job. Pay if it was pulledoff. Otherwise, nothin' doin'. You hombres treated me white. There's alot who'd have plugged me full of lead an' death. I was on yore land. Efyou force me to walk into Plimsoll's Place ahead of you I ain'tresistin' none, an' I shall sure admire to watch Plim's face when hesees you-all back of me. "

He took the trail ahead of them, hands in his pockets, his cigaretteglowing. Behind him walked Sandy. Wyatt finished his smoke and startedto hum a tune. 

 "Oh, I'm wild an' woolly an' full of fleas, I'm hard to curry below the knees. I'm a wild he-wolf from Cripple Crick, An' this is my night to howl. 

 "I ain't got a friend but my hawss an' gun, The last kin shoot an' the first kin run, An' I'm a rovin' son-of-a-gun, An' this is my night to howl. "

"He's a cool sort of a cuss, " said Sam to Mormon. "I reckon he's a badactor, but there's sure somethin' erbout the galoot I like. He ain'tover fond of Plimsoll, that's a sure thing, if he is workin' fo' him. Wonder why?"

"They tell me, " replied Mormon, "thet Plimsoll's apt to be fond of theother feller's gal. He ain't satisfied with what he can pick forhimself. T'otheh feller's apple allus has a sweeter core. I w'udn'twondeh but what that was the trouble. Plim ain't got any mo' respect fo'wimmen than hell has fo' fryin' souls. "

"Uh-huh! He w'udn't go round pickin' a scrap with Roarin' Russell ontheir account, fer instance?"

Mormon paid no attention to the friendly gibe. As they entered thestreet of the camp, largely deserted, though there was every evidence ofcrowds forgetting time in the drinking and gambling shacks, Sandy movedup even with Wyatt and locked arms with him. 

"I ain't goin' ter make no break, " said Wyatt. "Here's Plim's. Jest youlet me go in ahead through the door. I've seen you use your guns. Iain't suicidin'. "

They allowed him to go in first, unescorted. Their plans held no furtherreprisal against Wyatt. 

CHAPTER XIV

A FREE-FOR-ALL

Plimsoll's place was crowded. There were more onlookers than actualplayers though the tables were fairly well patronized. Many of those whohad seats were only cappers for the game. The majority of the men whohad rushed to the new strike had not brought any great sums of moneywith them, or, if they had, reserved its use for speculation in claimsrather than the slimmer chances of Plimsoll's enterprises. In a fewdays, if the camp produced from grass roots, as was expected and hoped, Plimsoll would gather in his harvest. A garnering in which Sandy hadsadly interfered. 

Plimsoll had set up a working partnership with a man who had broughtmoonshine and bootlegged whisky to the camp, occupying the next shack tothe gambling place. For convenience of service extra doors had been cutand a rough-boarded passageway erected between the two places. The feverof gambling provided thirsty customers for the liquor dealer, and thewhisky blunted the wits of the gamblers and gave the dealers more thantheir customary percentage of odds in the favor of the house. It was acombination that worked both ways. Waiters impressed into service fromcamp followers, crudely took orders and delivered them. There were nomixed drinks, no scale of prices. And there was no question of license. The will of the majority ruled. The gold-seeking reduced things toprimitive methods, men to primitive manners. 

Plimsoll himself presided over the stud-poker table, dealing the game. He showed nothing of the nervousness that crawled beneath his skin. Heawaited the result of his play with Wyatt and the latter's companions. If he could make Sandy, Mormon and Sam ridiculous, he would achieve hisend, but he hoped for bigger results. Wyatt and his fellow rider hadbeen detailed to ride down the tent that had been reported occupied bythe Three Star owners. That part of the plan had been suggested by Wyattout of the sheer deviltry of his invention. Plimsoll had enlisted othersof his following, none too fearless, to loiter in the brush and, in thegeneral confusion, fire to cripple and to kill. 

Plimsoll had learned of the visit of the men who had come with BillBrandon to investigate Plimsoll's methods of running the Waterline HorseRanch. He had learned, through the leakage that always occurs in acattle community, that Brandon claimed to be an old acquaintance ofSandy and his partners. So he had told his men who had come with him tothe camp from the Waterline Ranch that the Three Star outfit was adanger to all of them, undoubtedly acting as spies for Brandon, andthat they should be eliminated for the general good. But there was noneof them, from Plimsoll down, who had any fancy to stand up against theguns of Sandy, or of Mormon and Sam, when the breaks were anywherenearly even. 

So Plimsoll dealt stud and collected the percentage of the house, watching his planted players profit by their professionalism and by thelittle signs bestowed upon them by Plimsoll that tipped them off as tothe value of the hidden cards. Plimsoll, with his ejection fromHereford, the advent of woman suffrage, the coming of Brandon and otherirate horse owners, had begun to realize that his days were gettingshort in the land. He looked to the camp for a final coup. If he heldthe Casey claims and sold them, as he expected to do, to an easterncapitalist to whom he had telegraphed some days before, he mightreestablish himself. Sandy's prompt arrival and subsequent events hadcrimped that plan and he fell back upon all the crooked tactics that hepossessed in gambling. And now, if Wyatt. . . . 

He was dealing the last card around when Wyatt came in and his eyes litup. Then his face stiffened, the light changed to a gleam ofmalevolence. Following Wyatt were the three partners, taking open orderas they came through the entrance, about which the space was clear, Sandy in the middle, Mormon on the right flank and Sam on the left. Thetwo last smiled and nodded to one or two acquaintances. Sandy's face wasset in serious cast. The players at Plimsoll's table turned to see whatcaused the suspension of the game, others followed their example. TheThree Star men were known personally to some of those in the room. Thestory of what had happened during the day had buzzed in everybody'sears, from Roaring Russell's discomfiture to Plimsoll's failure to holdthe claims and the eviction notice served on him by Sandy. 

The phrase "you'll see me through smoke, " held a grim significance thattouched the fancy of these gold gatherers, men of the cruder types forthe most part. The issue between Sandy and Plimsoll was the paramounttopic, they wanted to see the two men face to face and size them up. There was no especial sympathy with one or the other. There were othergamblers to provide them with excitement. Mormon's challenge of Russellwas a sporting event that appealed to them more directly and there weremany possessed of a rough chivalry that appreciated the heavyweightcowman's taking up the cudgels on behalf of a woman. But that was sport, this was a business matter, a duel, with Death offering services asreferee. 

Chairs edged back, the standing moved for a better view-point, the roomfocussed on Plimsoll, Wyatt and the three cow-chums. Then Wyatt steppedaside. There was a malicious little grin on his face. Mormon'ssuggestion as to his private grudge against Plimsoll was not withoutfoundation. Wyatt had been glad to find excuse for severing relationswith the gambler. He had done his best and failed, but his failure wasnot bitter. 

The partners walked between the tables toward Plimsoll who sat regardingthem balefully, his teeth just showing between his parted lips, cards inmidair, action in a paralysis that was caused by the concentrationforced by Sandy's even gaze, by the same sickening conviction that hismanhood shriveled in front of Sandy and that Sandy knew it. Oathsagainst Wyatt rose automatically in his brain like bubbles in a mineralspring, together with the consciousness that Wyatt, if not alliedagainst him, was no longer for him, that his chosen tools lacked edge. The placing of bets ceased, there was no sound of clicking chips, theroulette dealer held the wheel, expectant, dealer and case-keeper at thefaro bank halted their manipulations, the presiding genius of the crapslayout picked up the dice. Tragedy hovered, the shadow of its wing wason the dirt floor of the rude Temple of Chance. 

"The chaps you sent up to move yore tent an' truck didn't make a goodjob of it, Plimsoll, " drawled Sandy. "I reckon they warn't the rightso't of help. Ef you-all are aimin' to take that stuff erlong with youI'd recommend you 'tend to it yorese'f. It's gettin' erlong to'ardssun-up, fast as a clock can tick. "

Silence held. Sandy stood non-committal, at ease. His conversation withPlimsoll might have been of the friendliest nature gauged by hisattitude. His hands were on his hips. Back of him, slightly turningtoward the crowd, were Mormon and Sam, smilingly surveying the room. Butnot one there but knew that, faster than the ticking of a clock, gunsmight gleam and spurt fire and lead in case of trouble. It was allbeing done ethically enough. They did not know exactly what the entranceof Wyatt meant, but Sandy's talk gave them a hint and his poise wascorrect, without swagger, without intent to start general ruction. Itwas up to Plimsoll. 

"I'll attend to my own business in my own way, " said the gambler, knowing the room weighed every word. It was a non-committal statementand a light one, but it passed the situation for the moment. His eyesshifted to Wyatt, shining with hate, the whites blood-flecked bysuppressed passion. 

Sandy pulled out a gunmetal watch. 

"I make it half afteh one. 'Bout three hours to sunrise, Plimsoll. I'llbe round later. " He turned his back on the gambler and sauntered towardthe door. Before the general restraint broke Mormon put up his hand. 

"I figger Roarin' Russell ain't in the room, " he said. "Ef he happenserlong, some of you might tell him I was lookin' fo' him. An' I'm goin'to keep on lookin', " he added. 

There was a laugh that swelled into a roar of approval in the generalreaction. 

"Good for you!" A dozen phrases of commendation chimed and jangled. Afew followed the three out into the street, among them, Wyatt. 

"I got a hunch it ain't extry healthy fo' me in there, " he said. "Agamblin' parlor where I ain't welcome to stay or play makes no hit withme. I'll help you-all find Russell. "

The search was not an easy one. Russell had been seen freely in themakeshift saloons and other places on both sides of the street. Itseemed, from what they could glean and put together, that he had stoppeddrinking when he had arrived at a certain point in his boasting and hadannounced his intention of sobering up before he "took the bloody, hog-bellied cow-puncher apart, providin' the latter showed. " This suitedMormon, who wanted fairly to whip a live opponent, not fight astaggering drunkard. But they could not find him. They had severalvolunteer assistants who proved useless. Sam began to yawn. 

"I ain't sleepy, I'm hungry, " he said. "Let's go get us a steak oveh toSimpson's. If he's gone to bed we'll rout him out. Won't be the firsttime he turned out to cook me a meal. A shot of that Rocky Mountaingrapejuice w'udn't go so bad. Mormon, a feed 'ud round you out. Roarin'Russell has crawled in somewheres an' died of heart failure. Come on, hombres. "

Simpson was awake and dressed and on the job. His place was almost aswell filled as it had been the first time they entered it. In the firstseethe of the gold excitement no one seemed to get sleepy, whileappetites developed. Word had preceded them that Mormon Peters waslooking for Roaring Russell and their entrance caused more than a rippleof interest. Simpson came bustling forward to serve them. 

"Good thick rare steak's what you want, ain't it? Fine fightin' food. Me, I'm takin' in a few bets on you, Mormon. 'Member the time you got ahammerlock on that long-horned gent from Texas with the Lazy Z outfit?I cleaned up on you that time an' this'll be a repeater. This sameRoarin' Russell has been tellin' the camp what a rip-snortin', limb-loosenin', strong-armed galoot he is, an' some of 'em haveswallered it. They ain't seen you in action, Mormon, an' I have. You'lljest natcherly chaw him inter hash. I'm bettin' there won't be enough ofhim left to stuff a Chili pepper after you git through. "

"I ain't as limber as I was, Alf, " said Mormon deprecatingly. "Make mysteak thick, will you? Have you seen anything of the Roarin' gent?"

"Not personal. He don't eat here. There was a friend of yores in a whileago who seemed to be sort of keepin' tabs on him. That young assayerRussell started to bulldoze when Sandy took a hand. Said he'd be inag'in later. 'Peared to think you was bound to show before mornin'. "

Simpson went to the back of his shack and started the steaks. A waiterbrought over drinks of the Rocky Mountain grapejuice with theinformation that they were "on the house. "

"It ain't the hooch we're sellin', " he said. "This is private stock, hundred proof. " He eyed Mormon professionally as he hung about thetable, setting out the battered cutlery and tin plates that Simpsonprovided. "They was offerin' two to one on Roarin' Russell a littlewhile ago, " he volunteered. "I think I'll take up a piece of theirmoney. "

"This ain't a prize-fight, it's a privut quarrel, " said Mormon as hesmelled the fiery stuff in the glass, sipped it and then swallowed it inone gulp. "That's prime stuff. "

"You'll have one hell of a time keepin' it privut, mister, " said thewaiter. "They tell me there's nigh to six hundred folks in the camp an'there won't be many more'n six missin' when you two meet up. You want towatch out for Russell's pals, though; they ain't the gentlest bunch inthe herd. But I reckon you can handle 'em, " he said, turning to Sandy. "I saw you handlin' your hardware this mornin' an' you sure can juggle agun. "

A call from another of the makeshift tables claimed his attention. Simpson came hurrying with the meat, biscuits and coffee. He sat downwith them, offering more drinks which they refused. 

"Slack right now, " he said, "but I sure have done a whale of a businessto-day. If this keeps up I don't want no claims. They're tellin' me yougive Plimsoll till sun-up to git out of camp, Sandy. I don't figgerthere'll be any argyment. He's yeller as the yolk of a rotten aig. Hellw'udn't take him in, he ain't fit to be fried. Gittin' rid of him an'his crowd'll sure purify the air in this camp. Times ain't like theyused to be. This ain't the frontier any more and a few bad men can't runa strike to suit themselves. If the camp's no good it'll peter out likeit did afore; if it amounts to anything, we'll have a police station onone end of this street, a fire station at t'other an' streetcars runnin'down the middle, inside of a month. Plimsoll's gettin' a bum name inthis county. The wimmin are ag'in' him. An' I tell you, gents, wehombres 'll have to watch our steps or they'll be takin' our vote awayfrom us next thing you know. It's a lucky thing for us that men is inthe majority in this section. Here's yore friend now. "

Westlake came through the door, looked round, saw them and came over. 

"Russell is down at the Chinaman's eating shack by the bridge, " heannounced. "He's been drinking black coffee to sober up on. He's gotsome of his own sort with him. I think they're nearly ready to comeup-street. He knows you are in camp and looking for him. "

"Then we'd better be shackin' erlong, " said Mormon, mopping up gravywith half a biscuit. "I w'udn't want to keep him waitin'. "

Outside, it was apparent that the whole camp was waiting for theappearance of the two principals in an event that was not to be allowedto be dealt with purely as a personal encounter. The waiter's estimatewas a fair one. The moon had risen, sailing round and fair and mild ofbeam from behind the eastern hills, making pallid by comparison theartificial flares. The one street was packed with men, not all of whomwere sober. The crowd thickened every moment from outlets of thegambling shacks and saloons. All other business and pleasure wasforgotten with the swift word passing to say that the cowman who hadslapped the bully in the face and challenged him that morning to acatch-as-catch-can, free-for-all contest, was now in Alf Simpson's ChuckHouse while his opponent, in the cold range of enforced, semi-sobriety, was in Su Sing's Hashery, the pair about to emerge. 

This was to be better than any gunplay, a gladiatorial combat to delightthe hearts of frontiersmen. And they warmed to it. All day there hadbeen rumors busy of the clash, of the matters involved. Garbled versionsof the truth ran excitement up to hot-blood heat. The town had stayed upfor developments. Bets had been made on Plimsoll's backing down atsunrise; on the cowman, Mormon; on the bully, Russell. 

The affair with Plimsoll at sun-up was likely to be short and sharp. Menwho knew the three from the Three Star Ranch spread their opinions. Theprime event was the scrap. Russell was, or had been, a professionalwrestler and held fame as a rough-and-tumble fighter. Mormon had oncebeaten all comers for the Cow Belt. The spectators swarmed like bees andbuzzed as busily. They came in from the claims, warned by their friends. They greeted Mormon with a shout and one bulk of them surged down towardthe bridge over Flivver Creek, escorting the three partners andWestlake, Simpson and his help with them. More were milling up-streetfrom Su Sing's place, Russell in their midst. Where the two factionsmet, the principals kept apart by the crowd, a broad-shouldered giantwith the voice of a bull and a beard that crimped low on his chest, harangued the multitude from a wagon-box. They halted to listen, like acrowd at a fair. 

"Gents all, " bellowed the big man. "There's been some tall talkin' doneto-day between two hombres who have agreed to see which is the best man, in man fashion, usin' the strength an' skill that God gave 'em, withoutrecourse to gun, knife or slungshot. Roarin' Russell, champeen wrastler, allows he can lick any man in camp. Mormon Peters, champeen holder ofthe Cow Belt, 'lows he can't. That's the cause an' reason of the combat. Any other reason that has been mentioned is private between the twoprincipals an' none of our damned business. "

The crowd roared in approval of the speaker's style and the force of hisbreezy delivery. He had touched their chivalry in thus delicatelyalluding to the episode of the insult and apology to the only woman incamp. 

"Therefore, " he went on, and the word slipped round that he was LemPardee, wealthy rancher and ex-representative of the state, "such anaffair appealin' to every red-blooded male among us, it behooves us tosee it brought off in due form, fair an' square to both parties, in abare-fisted settlement--an' may the best man win. "

More howls went up, dying as he held up his hand. 

"There's level ground below the bridge with free seats an' standin' roomfor all on both sides. The moon graces the occasion an' provides theproper illumination. I move you that a referee be appointed to discussfightin' rules with Roarin' Russell an' Mormon Peters, to settle allside bets, with power to app'int a committee to keep the side lines an'take up a suitable purse for the winner. Referee will give the decision, if necessary, an' settle all disputes. "

Shouts that drowned all others nominated Pardee as chief official. Heaccepted the choice with a wave of his hand and, glancing about him, rapidly picked five men as his committee. Two of them he did not know byname but selected from his judgment of men, and his choices met withgeneral approval. 

"The principals will choose their own seconds, " he said. "Not more thanthree to each man, to act only in that capacity and in no way tointerfere. That's all. "

In two factions the crowd moved down the slant of the street, turnedaside at the bridge and, as Pardee indicated the level space on the nighside of the creek that trickled down the gulch like quicksilver in themoonlight, ranged themselves about the natural arena while the committeeestablished the side lines and the referee conferred with Mormon, Russell and their seconds in the open. Sandy and Sam appointedthemselves corner men for Mormon, and Sandy asked Westlake to make thethird. A roulette dealer from Plimsoll's and a bartender rangedthemselves alongside Russell, together with Plimsoll himself. Pardeeeyed the group. 

"There's bad blood between you two, " he said to Plimsoll and Sandy. "Iunderstand you've got your own grudges. You'd better keep clear of this. And I'm tellin' you both this, " he added. "This camp is in therough-and-ready stage, but there's enough of us who've got together tosee it's goin' to be run decent an' regular. We're goin' to establishfair play and order, from now on. We don't expect to run no man'saffairs so long's they don't interfere with the general welfare of thecamp, but, if there's any dirty work pulled off, the man that spills thedirt is goin' to be interviewed pronto. Things are goin' to be runclean. We ain't goin' to give this camp a bad name at the start. "

"Suits me, " said Sandy. "My blood's runnin' cool enough, Pardee. "

"I'm not talkin' personal, 'cept so far as this bout is concerned. Youtwo had better stay out of it. "

Sandy stepped back and Plimsoll, after a few whispered words to Russell, followed suit. 

"You men want another second apiece?" asked Pardee. "Or are two enough?"

"The Roarin' gent, " said Mormon, "made his brags an' I took it up. Me, Idon't know nothin' about Queensbury rules an', though the camp seems tohave arranged this affair to suit itself, I didn't bargain for no boxin'match, nor no wrastlin' match either. It's either he can lick me, man toman, or I lick him. An' a lickin' don't mean puttin' down shoulders on amat. If a man goes down, t'other lets him git up, if he can. Barkickin', bitin', gougin' an' dirty work, an' to hell with yore secondsan' yore rounds. This ain't no exhibition. It's a fight!"

He spoke loudly enough for most of the crowd to hear, and they cheeredhim till the hills echoed. 

"That suit you, Russell?" asked Pardee sharply. 

Russell, stripping to the waist, belting himself, stood forward. 

"Suits me, " he said. "Suit me better to cut out all this talk an' getthis over with. It won't take long. "

He was a formidable-looking adversary. In the moonlight certain signs ofpuffiness, of dissipation, did not show, save for rolls of fat aboutshoulders and paunch. He was powerfully built, his chest matted withblack hair, his forearms rough with it. Taller than Mormon, he had allthe advantage of reach. He sneered openly at his opponent. 

"One thing more, " said Mormon. "We ain't fightin' fo' a purse. Roarin'knows what we're fightin' fo'. A private matter. But we'll put up astake, if he's agreeable. Loser leaves the camp. "

"When he's able to walk. You slapped my face this morning. This evensit. "

Russell lashed out suddenly, his hand open, striking with the heel ofhis palm for Mormon's jaw. Mormon sprang back, warding off, but it wasPardee who struck aside Russell's blow and sent him reeling back with apowerful shove. 

"Strip down, " he said to Mormon. "Both of you keep back of your linestill I give the word. Sabe?" He scored two lines in the dirt with thetoe of his shoe and waved them behind the marks. 

"No rounds to this affairs, " he called to the crowd. "Fair fightin', foul holds and punches barred. Everything else goes. Man down allowedten seconds. That's my ruling, " he added to the two men. 

Mormon looked clumsy as a bear as he waited for the word. He was farstouter than Russell. His bald pate, with its reddish fringe of hair, looked grotesque under the moon. The bulge of his stomach seemed astrong handicap in agility and wind. Yet his flesh was hard and, wherethe tan ended on neck and forearms, it held a glisten that caused theknowing ones to nod approvingly. There was strength in his back, bigmuscles shifted on his shoulders and his arms were bigger thanRussell's, if shorter, corded with pack of sinew and muscle. As he toedhis line, swaying from side to side, arms apart, the left a littleforward, he moved with a lightness strange to his usual tread. Russellcrouched a little, his long arms hanging low, knees bent. The two lineswere about six feet apart. 

They faced each other in a silence of held breath on all sides. Pardeestood to one side, equally between them. His arm went up. 

"Ready?" he asked. "Let her go!"

A great sigh went up as the two fighters leaped forward. Both seemedabout to clinch, to test their prowess as wrestlers. Murmurs went upfrom back of Mormon where his fanciers had ranged themselves. "Russell'sgot too many tricks for him, " men told each other and then gasped. 

Mormon had landed, light as a dancing master, despite his bulk, hadstooped, turned in a flash with his right hand clamped about the rightwrist of Russell, bowing his back, heaving with all his might. 

Russell, shifting at the last second from a clutch, seeing Mormoncharging, swung a vicious uppercut. He made the mistake ofunderestimating Mormon, thinking him slow-witted. He found his wrist ina vise, his arm twisted, bent down across the thick ridge of thecowman's shoulder, the powerful heave of Mormon's back. His own impetusserved against him. Mormon shifted grips, he cupped Russell's elbow withhis right palm and crowded all his energy into one dynamic effort ofpull and hoist. Russell went over his head in a Flying Mare as the crowdstood up and yelled. 

Surprised off his feet, Russell's experience served him in good stead asthey left the ground. Mormon's trick had scored, but it was an old oneand had its counter-move. As he landed, legs flexed, he twisted, grabbedMormon's arm with his free one and jerked him forward, hunching ashoulder under the cowman's stomach. The pair of them rolled together onthe ground, struggling and clubbing, while the spectators shoutedthemselves hoarse and smote each other great blows. Pardee, steppingwarily, watched the writhing pair. 

Russell, wiser at this game, contrived leverage, twisting Mormon, andpinned his arms in a scissors grip while he battered at his face andMormon writhed to get away from the reach of those long arms. The softdust clouded about them and their grunts came out from it as theystruggled. Once, with Mormon striving to open the leg grip, jerking awayfrom the flailing blows, they rolled perilously near a clump of pricklypear on the verge of their little arena and a universal cry of warningwent up. 

The two heard nothing of it in their hammer and tongs affair, thesuperheated blood, stoked by passion, surging through their veins. 

Mormon felt the pressure of Russell's thigh-muscles closingrelentlessly, clamping down on his chest, shutting off oxygen. Hisenergy waned, his limbs grew heavy, nerveless, his brain clogged anddulled. He set his chin well down into his neck to save his jaw, but hisright cheek was pounded, one eye closing. It was only a matter ofmoments before he must relax and then Russell would pin him down withone arm and send in the final smashing blow. He felt himselfsuffocating, sinking--the noise of roaring waters dinned in his ears. 

He lay on his back, Russell on his side, one leg below, one leg aboveMormon's body, bending at the hips in his efforts to reach the cowman'sjaw. He bent a fraction too much, the scissors grip shiftedimperceptibly and the message of that weakening of the chain flashed toMormon's hazy brain. With every muscle taut in one supreme convulsion hemanaged to twist sidewise, back to Russell, opening the grip that nowcompressed shoulders instead of chest and back. He got a breath of air, dust-laden but blessed. His chest expanded, strength flowed in, heforced his arms apart, rolling over on Russell, crushing him into thesoft earth with his weight. Another wriggling twist and he faced hisman, bringing his mighty back into play to break clear. He got a forearmacross Russell's Adam's apple, regardless of the blows that smashed intohis face. He hammered home one jolt hard to the jaw and, as Russell'sbody grew limp, dragged himself from the relaxing hold and crouched onhands and knees, wheezing, spent, gulping air to his flattened lowerlungs that refused to function. 

Now he could hear the shouting of the crowd, a clatter of yells. He sawRussell's head move, his eyes opening in the moonlight. MechanicallyMormon stood up, swaying, bruised, one eye useless. Pardee begancounting over Russell, according to the ruling he had made. 

Russell rolled over on his face. It looked as if he was not going to tryto get up. This was not how Mormon had wanted the fight to end, in atechnical knockout, with his man beginning to come back and he notallowed to finish him. 

Pardee had put in the clause, "Man down allowed ten seconds, with theother on his feet, " merely to make a better, longer fight of it from thespectator's standpoint. It was supposed to be the sporting thing to do, but Mormon, blood-flushed, brain-dull, had no thought of ethics at thatmoment. Russell was lifting himself to knees and elbows, crouching asMormon had done, watching his opponent, listening to the count. He wasgoing to get up. He _was_ up at nine, stooping, groggy, his long armshanging low, and a shout went up from his backers as Pardee steppedaside. 

Russell began to back away, to describe a half-circle, right forearmacross his chest, left arm extended, both in slight motion. Mormon stoodlike a baited bear, slowly revolving to face Russell, wary of a feint todraw him out. There were smears of blood on Russell's arms, on his face, dark in the moonlight. Mormon's whiter skin showed greater defacement. There was a mouse swelling above his eye, the lids were clamping. 

The ring of spectators was almost silent now, leaning forward, watching. Little jerky sentences passed between them. 

"Russell's goin' to box. " "He can beat the cowman at that game. " "Cuthim to ribbons. Blind him first. "

The man in the crowd was right. Mormon knew little of boxing, but heknew enough to throw a cushion of sturdy arm across his jaw, the leftelbow crooked, nose buried in it, eyes--one eye--indomitable above it. And the blunted elbow like a ram, as he ducked and Russell's straightright slid over his bald pate. He was far faster, lighter on his feetthan Russell dreamed. The bully still underestimated his man, but woketo vivid and just appraisal as Mormon's elbow smashed against hiscollar-bone, left forearm clubbing his nose, starting spurts of blood, right fist coming up like a piston in short-armed, jolting upper-cuts. 

Desperately Russell clutched, failed; held, clung, half tumbling into aclinch. Mormon's arms were about him, underneath, binding him with hoopsof steel, compressing. He lost his footing, began to rise and heback-heeled in an outside click. They both went down together side byside in a dog-fall. Mormon loosed his arms as he rolled atop, gotastride of Russell, strove to gather and control the arms that thrashedand smote. 

Something jagged crushed against Mormon's temple. It seemed as if theskull split open and a jagged, red-hot probe searched through his brain. He threw up his head in agony, his chin exposed, but instinct stillawake to fling out both hands, catch the oncoming blow, his fingersclamping deep about the wrist above the hand that held the rock--someore fragment tossed away by an old-timer--that Russell had found in thedirt, and used in unfair, murderous intent. 

The maddening pain of first impact died to a throb as the blood poureddown, seeming to leave his brain clear, cold with a rage that respondedto a deep disgust of the bully who was now at his mercy. For, with therage came absolute conviction that this was the end of the fight. 

He screwed unmercifully, flesh and sinews and the small bones of thewrist, until Russell shrieked through his swollen mouth at the anguishof it and dropped the rock. Pardee, hovering near, seeing all, pickedit up and slipped it into his pocket as Mormon pinned down Russell's armwith his left knee and swung left and right in sledge-hammer blows tothe jaw of the face that tried in vain to dodge the knockout. As if agalvanic current that had simulated life had suddenly been shut off, Roaring Russell's body lost all energy, it seemed to flatten, laywithout a quiver. 

Mormon got on his feet and stood to one side while Pardee counted offthe seconds that were only a grim parody. Russell's brain wasshort-circuited. There was not even a tremor of his eyelids. Pardeeknelt, felt pulse and heart. Then he beckoned to the loser's seconds. 

"Come and get your man, " he told them. "He's through for this evening. "

Pandemonium broke loose as the crowd broke formation and surged down. Four men packed off Roaring Russell, limp and sagging between them. Pardee exhibited the chunk of ore, stained with Mormon's blood, whileSandy, Sam and Westlake ramparted Mormon from enthusiastic admirers andpushed down to the creek where he washed his hurts with the stinging icywater and stiffly put on his clothes. 

"Knew he was licked and figured he might get away with it, " declaredPardee. "Lucky it didn't split his head open. " Murmurs gathered forceagainst the bully's methods. 

"Cut out the lynching talk, boys, " cried Pardee. "The man's been beatenup. I wouldn't wonder if his jaw was bu'sted. His nose is. Let him go;we'll see that he leaves the camp as soon as he can hobble. " He brokethrough to Mormon, being assisted into his coat by Sandy. "How are youstanding up, old bearcat?" asked the referee. "I thought he had younipped once but you walloped him. "

"Me? I'm jest about standin' up, an' that's all, " said Mormon, gingerlyfeeling certain places on his face. "I sure thought it was my brainsoozin' when he swiped me with that rock. But my bone's pritty solid inthe head, I reckon. I don't mind tellin' you-all I'm feelin' a good deallike a bass drum at the end of a long parade, but I believe it's all onthe outside. And I ain't entered for any beauty show--at present. "

"Eleven minutes of straight fighting by the watch, " said a man. 

Mormon looked at him humorously, and one-eyed. 

"Seemed mo' like 'leven hours to me. " He caught sight of Simpson, holding out a flask. "Now that's what I call a friend, " he started, hishand outstretched. Then it dropped and a blank look came over his face. 

"Let's git out of this, " he murmured to Sandy. "Dern me if I didn'tplumb forgit about any chance of her showin' up. "

"Here's where you git called a hero, " said Sam. "She knows what you'vebeen fightin' erbout. More'n that she's been in the crowd for the lastfive minnits of the scrap. That right, Westlake?"

"Yes. I saw her come into the crowd with young Ed. She wants to thankyou, Mormon. No use dodging it. "

Young Ed was maneuverin' through to their side. 

"Aunt wants to see you, " he announced with a grin. "We heard the rowdown here, an' she sent me to see what it was. When I didn't hurry backshe trailed me. Great snakes, Mormon, but you sure whaled him!"

"Huh!" Mormon said nothing but that mystic monosyllable until theyreached the place where Miranda Bailey stood apart from the crowd whodeferentially gave her room, whispering her supposed share in the recentevent. She did not look much like the heroine of a romance, neither didMormon resemble a hero. Her somewhat worn but wholesome face was set inforbidding lines, but Westlake and Sandy fancied they saw the ghost of atwinkle in her eyes. She greeted Mormon as if he had been a disgracedschoolboy. 

"What have you been fightin' about?" she demanded. 

But, like Russell, she underestimated Mormon. His one working eye wasinnocent of all guile as he looked at her. 

"Fightin' fo'? Jest fo' the fun of it, marm. "

She surveyed him grimly and then her features softened. 

"I reckon yo're too tough to get hurt much, " she said. "I can fix upthat eye. I sh'ud think a man of yore age 'ud have more sense thanfightin' at all in front of a crowd of hoodlums who ought to be asleep, 'stead of disturbin' the whole camp, let alone for sech a ridicklusreason. "

"I didn't think the reason ridicklus, " said Mormon, and the spinster'slips twitched. 

"What he wants is a lancin' an' a chunk of raw beef, " put in Simpson, with a sympathetic wink at Mormon that suggested more pungent remediesin the background. "Come up to my place. "

There may have been some thought of trade from the many who would wantto see the victor at close range. Mormon hesitated, all slowly movingtoward the bridge. Men were staring toward the mesa whence came ahigh-powered car, rushing at high speed, magnificently driven, takingcurve and pitch and level with superb judgment. Its lights flamed out onthe night. It turned and came on, stopping on the bridge, blocked by thecrowd that made slow opening for it. The driver, in chauffeur's livery, sat immobile, controlling the car, his worldly-wise, blasé face like amask. Two men were in the tonneau. One of them leaned forward, lookingat the crowd, a square-jawed man, clean-shaven but for the bristle of asilver mustache beneath an aggressive nose, above a firm hard mouth anddetermined chin. The mintage of the East was stamped upon his features. He was a man accustomed to sway, if not to lead. His companion was asplainly as eastern product, but his manner was subordinate though hisface that, alone of the three, seemed to hold a measure of fearfulwonder at the turbulent throng of men, was shrewd enough. 

"I'm looking for a man named Plimsoll, " said the first of these two, hisvoice an indication that he was accustomed to a quick answer. "He wiredme about some claims. Where'll I find him?" He made no questionconcerning the crowd, his eyes passed casually over Mormon's damagedcountenance, over the procession that bore Russell, sack-fashion. Herewas a man who, at any hour of the twenty-four, was primed for businessand for profit. 

Yet he could not fail but see that his question charged the crowd withsome emotion he could not fathom. The night was spent, it was gettingclose to dawn. The issue between Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll, crowdedaside for the moment, was now paramount. Some craned for sight of thetwo-gun man, others glanced toward the eastern sky. The stars seemed tobe losing their brilliance, the golden moon turning silver, the highhorizon, jagged with mountain crests, appeared to be gaining form and athird dimension. 

"You'll likely find him at his place, " answered a miner. "Up-street onthe left. Name's outside. "

They let the car go on in a lane that was pressed out of their ranks. They fell in behind or alongside of it as it passed slowly up thestreet. One or two of the bolder got on the running boards unchecked. The easterner who was looking for Plimsoll took in the situation assomething beyond his present range, accepting it. Sandy turned toMormon. 

"You better see Miss Mirandy up to her claim, " he said, his voice casualenough. Mormon started an appeal but it died unvoiced. The spinster knewnothing of the clash impending between Sandy and the gambler, neitherdid her nephew, who, the excitement of the fight over, yawned and wentoff with his aunt and Mormon. 

"I'll bring you up that chunk of meat, Mormon, " whispered Sam. "An' I'llbring you somethin' stronger, same time. "

"Don't bring it all on yore breath, " Mormon whispered back. "If I hearany shootin' I'll come back lopin'. "

"There won't be any shootin', " said Sam. "You go soak that eye of yoresin Mirandy Bailey's sage tea. Me 'n' Sandy, we'll handle Plimsoll. " ThenSam broke clear from Mormon and hurried after Sandy and Westlake. 

Sandy walked up the street without hurry and, as they had made way fromthe car, men gave him space. The nearer he got to Plimsoll's place themore room they allowed him. They melted away from the car on all sides, leaving it clearest between the machine and the entrance to the gamblingshack. The chauffeur preserved his bored look and carved attitude. Hisface was lined with lack of sleep and the strain of driving at highspeed over unknown mountain roads, powdered gray with dust. He seemedalmost an automaton. The man with the square face looked alertly abouthim at the crowd, giving place to the lean tall man walking leisurely upthe street, high lights touching the metal of the two guns that hung inholsters well to the front of his hips. Sandy's face was serene, butthere was no mistaking the fact that the star performer of the momenthad come upon the stage. Five paces back of him strolled Sam, his eyesdancing with the excitement that did not show in Sandy's steel-grayorbs. Westlake followed to one side, by the advice of Sam. 

The stranger saw that Sandy walked lightly, on the balls of his feet, with a springy tread. He appraised his face, frown-lines appearedbetween his eyebrows and he half rose in his seat. Then the door of thecabin opened and the man who had volunteered to find Plimsoll emerged. 

"He's comin' right along, " he announced. 

It was Plimsoll's way--the professional gambler's way--to play his cardsuntil he knew himself beaten. He had been hoping for the arrival of thisman. He represented capital, the development of the camp into a miningtown, the movement of money, the boom of quick sales. With hisbacking--once the camp understood what it meant to all of them--he mightturn the tables on Sandy Bourke. The protection of Capital was powerful. 

He came out licking his lips nervously, with a swift survey that took inthe setting of the stage prepared for his entrance. His eyes, shiftingfrom the big machine, as if drawn by something beyond his will, focusedon the figure of Sandy, easy but sinister in its capacity to avoid allmelodrama. Half-way between door and car he halted. 

"Plimsoll?" said the stranger. "I am Keith. "

The light was perceptibly changing. Faces of men came out of theshadows, pale but visible. The lights of the machine changed from yellowto pale lemon, the flares outside the cabins, the illumination of thewindows altered. High up, a tiny fleck of cloud caught the fire of theas yet unseen sun, rolling on to dawn behind the range. Things seemedflat, lacking full definition, lacking shadow. In the east the skyshowed gray behind the dark purple crests between which mists weretrailing. Men shivered, half from cold, half from tension and lack ofsleep. 

"Plimsoll, " said Sandy. "That peak oveh on Sawtooth Range is goin' tocatch the light first. I'll call it sun-up when the sun looks oveh themesa. "

Plimsoll bared his teeth in a fox-grin. Sandy stood with his hands byhis sides, covering him with his eyes. Plimsoll looked at the hands thathe knew could move swifter than he could follow, he looked at the carwith Keith gazing from him to Sandy, he sensed the waiting strain of allthe men, waiting to see Sandy shoot--if he did not go, to see himcrumple up in the dust, and--he looked at the peak on Sawtooth and hisface grayed as the granite suddenly flushed with rose. His will melted, he turned and went inside his cabin. No one followed him, there was noone inside to greet him. His heart was filled with helpless rage, centered against Sandy Bourke. He knew the camp was against him, considering him outbluffed or outmatched. His horse, ready saddled, hadbeen at the door since midnight. He mounted, dug spurs into the beast'sflanks and went galloping madly up the slope that rose from the streetgulch leading down to the main gulch of Flivver Creek. He wasshortcutting for the mesa road, hate in his heart, his blood, his brain;poisoning hate that turned all his secretions to gall. His plans forwealth had been blocked by a man he dared not face. Before Sandy Bourkehis spirit flinched as a leaf shrinks and curls from flame. The forcedacknowledgment of it was an acid aggravation. He raked his horse'sflanks with his rowels and the spirited brute, pick of all Plimsoll'shorse herd, tore up the hillside to suit the mad humor of his master, who was permeated with the venom of a man who knows his deeds at onceevil and futile, a venom that was bound to spread until the infectionmastered him, body and mind and soul, steeped them in a devil's brewthat permitted of no other thought but what was dominated by the maddesire to get even. 

Some one caught sight of the galloping horse and rider lunging along ina cloud of dust that showed golden as the sun rose and looked over themesa. He raised a shout that was joined in by the rest, that reached theflying Plimsoll as the view-halloo reaches the fox making for itsearth. 

CHAPTER XV

CASEY TOWN

The man named Keith called to Sandy Bourke who, for the moment, stillstood alone, now rolling a cigarette. He was the only man in the closevicinity of the car and he turned at the sound of Keith's voice. 

"You-all talkin' to me?" he inquired mildly. 

"I would like to know, " said Keith in a manner which he appearedstruggling to invest with humor, "exactly what is the idea of thistheatrical, moving-picture episode?"

Sandy smiled back at him. 

"Look like film stuff, to you?" he asked in his drawl. "Surely is movin'pictures to Plimsoll, though it's hell on the hawss. You can let it goat that, if you like. Li'l' western drama entitled _To Be Shot atSunrise_. "

The crowd began to gather closer, curious to find out the reason for theswift advent of the car, the desire to see Plimsoll. 

"You were ready to shoot at Plimsoll?"

"I was ready. I didn't figger there was goin' to be much shootin'. "

"It looks to me as if you've driven the man out of camp and, as I'vecome all the way from New York to do business with him, driven the lasttwo hundred miles in this car, I'd be obliged if you would tell me justwhat was the matter, Mr. ----?"

"Bourke. Sandy Bourke. "

The stranger had managed to muffle down his chagrin and resentment atthe outcome of his trip. Of necessity he was a judge of men and it didnot take him long to place Sandy. Keith was an adept at adapting himselfto his environment. 

"Sorry to have upset things fo' you, " went on Sandy, "but this was apersonal matteh between myse'f an' Plimsoll that had to be settledpronto an' permanent. I don't reckon how you've lost a heap, saidPlimsoll bein' a crook. "

"My name's Keith, Wilson Keith, " said the other. "I don't know that thatmeans much to you as I judge you generally belong to the range ratherthan the mining camp, but there may be a few in the crowd who know me. Iam a mining promoter. Plimsoll had agreed to sell me his interest incertain claims which showed well in assay reports. They alone wereinsufficient to interest me. When he wired me the news of the generalstrike, the prospect of development opened and I came on. You seem tohave blocked the deal. However, I suppose Plimsoll can be located later. Have you any idea where he might be found?"

"It w'udn't do you one mite of good, " said Sandy. "Plimsoll didn't ownthose claims. Didn't have an interest in 'em. Tried to jump 'em, an'did the jumpin' himse'f. I've got an idea you might have been throughhere some time back. I heard some eastern folk had been samplin' ore an'I saw some signs up on the Casey claims. Those are the claims Plimsolltried to sell you, I reckon, for cash, figgerin' on the deal goin'through quick. He 'lowed he'd grubstaked Casey, which was a plumb lie. Casey had a constitutional objection about bein' grubstaked, an' he hadnone too much use fo' Plimsoll. Plimsoll's got nothin' to prove his end. From now on he won't try to. The claims belong to Molly Casey, the samebein' my legal ward. "

"Ah!" Wilson Keith's eyes grew keen and cold. "Have you any interest inthem yourself, Mr. Bourke?"

"Me an' my two partners of the Three Star Ranch own one-half interest, equal with Molly, " said Sandy easily. His eyes matched those of thepromoter and held them for a second or two. 

The thought passed through Keith's mind that Sandy's interest, and thatof his partners, might have been obtained from the girl under falsepretenses, but he was very far from a fool and, among the things he sawin Sandy's eyes, it was clearly written that here was a man who was bothabsolutely fearless and absolutely honest. He had not seen many such. 

"I'll be glad to talk with you later, " he said. "Just now I'm ravenous. Any place to eat? And does the camp get up early or just go to bedlate?"

The remark raised a laugh in the crowd, now milling good-naturedly aboutthe machine. 

"Want to buy any more claims?" asked a voice. 

"I might. I've looked over the ground once, I may as well admit, andI've had an expert report upon it. I'd like to have a talk with all ofyou after I've had some coffee. This is a camp where it will take agreat deal of money, of labor and of time to develop it, whether you tryto drill and blast yourselves, or pool your interests and installmachinery. Did you say which was the best place to eat, Mr. Bourke?"

Sandy recommended Simpson's and pointed it out. Keith, the man with him, his secretary, and the chauffeur, got out and walked stiff-legged totheir coffee. The crowd once more had sleep discounted by excitement. Keith had shrewdly said just enough. The seed that he had planted in thesuggestion that they pool interests fell in such rich ground that itbegan sprouting immediately. 

Sandy introduced Sam as his partner, Westlake as a mining engineer andassayer. Keith gave Westlake a shrewd appraising glance, and a nod. 

"I'm too sleepy myse'f to talk business, " said Sandy. "My two pardnersare in the same boat. So, if you-all want to look oveh the camp ag'in, Mr. Keith, an' talk business with any one you find awake an' willin', I'll prob'bly see you befo' nightfall. You know where the claims are. "

Keith stood for a moment in the door of Simpson's, looking after Sandy. 

"A fairly slick article, the man with the two guns, Blake, " he said tohis secretary. "But he's straight. "

"And mighty hard to bend, " added Blake with a yawn. 

The chauffeur ate apart, devouring enormous quantities of food with asmuch emotion as a hopper taking in grain. Keith talked matters over withBlake, not because he valued his secretary's opinion, able as he was inhis appointed duties, but because it helped Keith to clarify conditionsin his own mind. 

"There were only a few old-timers in the crowd, Blake, " he said. "Therest of them will want to be going back to wherever and whatever theycame from as soon as they find this is not a placer proposition. A heapof people heard of a gold rush and think it's always a Tom Tiddler'sGround, like washing out the rich sands of Nome. They'll be glad to selland take shares for cash. "

"Ought to change the name of the camp, " suggested Blake. "Dynamite isknown as an exploded prospect. "

"Thought of that, " said Keith. "This is damned good coffee. I'll haveanother cup. . . . How about Casey Town, after the original discoverer whoalways believed in the place, but lacked the money for development andwouldn't take in a partner? Picturesque and good stuff for theprospectuses. You might send off some stuff about that, Blake, work inthis Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll affair and find out what this all-nightracket was about. Good, lively publicity stuff we can use again lateron. Romance of Casey's daughter. Wonder where she is?"

He lapsed into silence, swallowing his third cup of coffee in gulps. Blake, who admired his employer's successes, whatever he thought of hismethods, did not interrupt him. Keith was planning a campaign, figuringout the best bait for gulls. 

Sandy and his companions found Mormon asleep on the Bailey claims. Miranda brewed coffee, and they told her the news of Plimsoll and thearrival of Keith. 

"It's too bad you didn't run Plimsoll out of the county, or the state, "remarked the spinster. "He'll not rest until he does you some sneakin'injury, soon as he figgers out what'll do you the most harm. "

"An' him the least risk, " remarked Sam. 

"Since the excitement is temp'rarily over, " said Miranda dryly, lookingat where Mormon snored beneath blankets, "I reckon we better all follerhis example. If that man Keith wants to buy my claims I'm willin' tosell. Milkin' is more in my line than minin', I've decided. I had a foolidea we'd pick up nuggets, top of the ground. From what Mr. Westlaketells me, you got to put out a lot of money before you even find outwhether you're goin' to see the color of gold. "

"Let's hold a pow-wow before we turn in, " said Sandy. "Westlake, what doyou know about Keith? Anything?"

"I've heard of him. I imagine he started out as a promoter rather than adeveloper. He has made some lucky strikes. There is no doubt but thathe can float this proposition on a large scale, induce others to putmoney into it. The least likely-looking properties he'll put on themarket and tie them up with the reports of any strikes he, or others, may make. He'll put the camp on a working basis. If the gold's here thatwill be a sound one. You see, Miss Bailey, not every porphyry dyke isgoing to have a gold lining. "

"Do you figger it w'ud pay best to sell him outright or let him form acompany?" asked Sandy. 

"For your claims, or these of Miss Bailey and her nephew?"

"All of 'em. Didn't you say they were all on the same syncline?"

"Yes. You really want to go by my opinion? I am not too experienced. "

"You know a darn sight mo' about it than we do. I'm not takin' Keith'sopinion on anything he wants to buy. He's tipped his hand already inshowin' how far an' fast he came here. Probably had Plimsoll tied up onan option or he w'udn't have said 's much as he did. "

"Then--there is no doubt in my mind that Patrick Casey picked the bestside of the gulch. The indications are in sight there. This side theexposed reef may have been ground down below the sylvanite. There areglacial signs all around here. I would say sell these for cash, holdingout on price until Keith refuses to offer more. He'll come back for afinal bid. But let him organize with your claims. "

"The Molly Casey Mine? With fifty-one per cent. Of the shares, if wecan't get more?"

"He'll squeal like a pig before he grants that, " said Westlake. "Buthe'll have to come through to your terms. Those claims are the big betof this camp, and he knows it. "

It would have surprised Keith had he known how accurately the youngengineer he had glanced at and dismissed as almost an amateur at thegame, followed the trend of his scheming. There is not much variation inthe methods of Mining Promotion, and Westlake was an observer and aconserver of the pith of what he had seen. 

"Fifty-one per cent. , an' the name's Molly Casey, then, " said Sandy. "What's more, you're to be consulting engineer or whatever they call thefat job, Westlake. I'm dawg-tired. Sam, let's you an' me shack over toour claims. We'll leave Mormon where he is till he gits his sleep out, if you've no objection, marm?"

 * * * * *

Sandy, Sam and Mormon returned to the Three Star with the papers drawnand signed and the shares of stock issued that gave twenty-six per cent. Of the Molly property to her and twenty-five to the three partners. Keith returned to New York with his forty-nine per cent. To weave hisplans for the full development of the claims he had acquired. 

While he lacked the controlling interest, there was always, he fancied, a chance of division between the four who held control. Either he couldget the girl to vote apart from the three partners or he might splitthem some way or another. But, wisely, he did not count on this. And hetook up the task of exploitation with zest, Blake, primed with materialand notes gathered on the spot, a ready and expert assistant. 

When Wilson Keith made up his mind there was money in a plan--money forWilson Keith--he lost no time in planning and carrying out all details. He loved the excitement of the gamble, he loved to evolve some play forwhich he could pat himself upon the back and tell himself how muchcleverer he was than the public, swimming up to his golden-baited hookslike so many fish. Thornton, expert mining engineer, believed theprospects good for the new camp at Casey Town; but Keith, with Blake, who was a wizard at publicity, delighted most in the way it lent itselfto exploitation. 

Blake, nosing here and listening there, while Keith satisfied himself asto the legality of Sandy's guardianship of Molly and the powers that hadbeen granted him to look after all her interests, assuring himself ofthe speciousness of Plimsoll's claim for grubstake interest. Blake, weaving fact into fiction, compiled the romance of Molly Casey, daughterof the wandering prospector, Patrick Casey; her father's trail-chum bymountain and desert; the death of Casey, the rescue of Molly, the strikeat Dynamite. 

Much about Sandy's part in it all Blake did not use. He learned littleand said nothing of Plimsoll's attempt to get the girl under hiscontrol, of the wild ride across the county line. Blake's generalcanniness concentrated wherever his personal interests were concernedand he had made up his mind that Sandy Bourke was a man whom it wouldnot pay to offend. He might never see the story in print, then again hemight, and Blake, very likely, would return to Casey Town once in awhile with Keith. 

But it was a good story. A Sunday feature story if he could strengthenit a little. If the mine made the girl a millionairess it would carrythe yarn as sheer news, but Blake wanted the story to help to carry themine, to bring in the money from the outside to exploit Casey Town andthe Keith holdings. 

Keith had the capital and was willing enough to put it into developingthe Molly Mine if necessary, but it was a business principle of hisnever to use his own money when he could get hold of some one else's. His stock in the Molly Mine he meant to hold on to, not to sell, but, with the profits from the sale of his promoter's shares of the "Groups, "he expected to mine the Molly claims. 

He had turned his eyes toward oil of late, scenting quick turns and thistook money. His wife took more, his son, just out of college, took allthat he could get. Mrs. Keith seemed to regard her husband'sbank-account much as the wife of a farmer might regard the spring in themeadow. With the extravagance of the post-war period, the advance inprices, the amounts she spent were staggering even to Keith, who set nolimits on his own ability to make money. To suggest retrenchment wouldnot merely have had small effect upon his wife, but any curtailmentwould infallibly hurt the standing of the Keith investments. New Yorkwas full of people with money to invest. Profiteering, easy-come money, a lot of it. Easy-go money, too, when the profiteers, still dazzled bytheir riches, totally unconscious of real values, would meet Keith, thinking their money an open sesame to equality with such financiers. 

Then Keith entertained them, taking them to his clubs--not his best--tohis home where he dazzled them, fogged them in an atmosphere where theywere ill at ease though striving to cover it; Keith, drawing them asidewhen the time was ripe, would tell them of their shrewdness, confess aliking, almost an admiration for them--and let them in on the groundfloor. 

There were the many who could not be touched personally and, for these, Blake prepared the literature and laid his schemes for real newspaperpublicity. Submitting them to Keith, the latter approved. Mrs. Keith wasto look Molly up at her school, take her into the Keith home onvacations, introduce her into the social whirl. The right newspapermenwould see her, meet her, get the story from Blake of her romanticchildhood, with photographs of the Western Heiress in the Park onHorseback. There would be drawings by staff artists of the way she andher father appeared wandering through the desert, discovering theclaims, her father's grave, anything to round out the human interest. Moreover, she could be introduced to the right people, that was Mrs. Keith's end of it. 

Then would come the prospectuses with these extracts of the bestparagraphs, tied up with views of Casey Town, with engineers' reports, with semi-scientific stuff about sylvanite, a masterpiece of romance andfiction, peppered with fact. The whole to be titled _White Gold_. 

Advertisements, headed _White Gold_, offering the shares. Personalletters to those on the carefully selected lists of _PreferredInvestors_. Offices of the Casey Town Mining Company with alluringspecimens behind glass cases, with models of mining machinery and ofsections of mines, framed maps and drawings, blue-prints, a chunk ofsylvanite ore in a railed-off enclosure with the legend of its marvelousvalue. Many, most, of these lures, had done service in previousenticements of Keith, but they still held good. They were a good deallike the fake mermaids, the skulls and odds and ends in the window of apalmist, all bait, of better quality, more deftly arranged anddisplayed, part of the fakir's kit, bait for goldfish. Also brass rails, fine rugs, mahogany furniture, a ticker, busy and pretty stenographers. 

Blake submitted his clever campaign, worthy of better things, and Keithapproved of it. That the partners of the Three Star as fifty-one percent, owners, or Molly Casey herself with them, should be consulted orinformed, never entered his head. 

Of course there was always a chance of the investors realizing heavilyif Casey Town turned up big production. Keith hoped it would. Providedhe made all the money he wanted, he was always willing to have othersget hold of some, especially when he would be regarded by them as thebenefactor who had given them the golden opportunity. He would reap themajor harvest, and success would open up the way for otherfields--perhaps in oil. Keith had some associates who rather scoffed athis gold-mining promotion as out-of-date. Oil was quicker, more in thepublic eye. Every time the price of gasoline or kerosene went up theAmerican automobile-owning public thought of oil, they were primedperpetually toward its possibilities. 

But Keith was still in gold. He knew all the technique of that branch ofspeculation and Blake's campaign was carried out most successfully. Mrs. Keith descended overwhelmingly upon Molly at her school, chauffeur andfootman on the driving seat of her luxurious sedan; gasped a little whenshe saw that Molly was a beauty, could be made an unusual one with theright dressing, the right setting. 

Her brain, which was keen enough in business matters, told her that shecould improve her husband's program of using Molly as an attraction tobring investors to the Keith residence. It might be a good thing--Mrs. Keith was quick at dealing with the future--if her son, Donald, fell inlove with Molly, the heiress. She wrote to the Three Star Ranch, toSandy Bourke, guardian of Molly Casey, without Molly's knowledge. Sandyread the letter aloud to his partners. 

 DEAR MR. BOURKE:

 I feel that I should write this letter to you although I have never met you, rather than my husband, since the question is one that a woman can handle better than a man, --that only a woman can understand and appreciate. 

 I have seen your Molly and she has entirely captivated me. She is really wonderful, with wonderful possibilities. She is more than pretty, she is talented and she possesses character in a marked degree that sets her aside from the rest. It is this difference, this broadness of view, perhaps a certain intolerance of conventionality, that make me feel that, much as it has done for her, and that has been largely due to her own endeavors, this school, or any school, is not the place for her best development. 

 I want to take her into my home, Mr. Bourke. She is practically a woman grown, much more so than the girls with whom she associates. This, I suppose, is due to her early experiences. There she would be under my own eye, which will be a maternal one, and she can have private tutoring in what she still lacks. I think she feels the need of the companionship and advice of an older woman, rather than that of the girls at the school. 

 I wish I could talk with you personally about this. Letters are such inadequate things. But I know, from Mr. Keith, that you have her interests at heart--and so have I. I shall dearly love to have her with me. I have, of course, said absolutely nothing to her about this plan before I hear from you, but I feel confident from what I have seen of her, that she will be happier in a home, with some one, who, however poorly, may take the place of the mother she must have missed all these years. 

 Let me hear from you soon. If my health and other matters permit, I must try to come out with Molly before very long. Mr. Keith has seen this letter and approves of my suggestion to have Molly with us. 

 Most sincerely yours, ELIZABETH VERNON KEITH. 

It was a clever letter. There were several touches about it that almostamounted to genius. The hints of Molly's unhappiness so cleverlysuggested, the mother suggestion, the need of companionship and advicefrom an older woman, Molly's intolerance of conventionalities, all wenthome; though it was some time before the trio entirely absorbed themeaning of the glossy phrases and glib vocabulary. The letter passedabout in silence after Sandy had read it, Sam and Mormon plowing throughthe maze of the fashionable script. 

"Reckon she's right, " said Mormon. "Molly's different. She had a mightyhard time of it along with her old man, compared to what themsoft-skinned snips must have had. Stands to reason she c'udn't be like'em, any mo' than Sam c'ud be easy in his spiketail suit, or me handin'ice-cream at a swarry. Not that Molly 'ud make no breaks, but their waysw'udn't be her'n, most of the time. How 'bout it, Sam?"

"This Mrs. Keith must live high, " said Sam. "She w'udn't be botherin'about Molly if she didn't see a heap of promise in her. I mind me itmust be tough to be herded inter a corral where you got to learn allover ag'in how to handle yore feet an' hands, not to mention forks. ThisKeith woman's spotted Molly ain't easy at school. The other gals likeher, but they ain't her style. She's range bred an' free. Those otherfillies have been brought up in loose boxes. They probably don't mean tohurt her feelin's none, but I 'low they snicker once in a while if Mollyforgets the right sasshay. An' Molly's proud as they make 'em. Soundsgood to me. What you think, Sandy? It's up to you as her guardeen. "

"It sure sounds good, " said Sandy. "Seems like this Mrs. Keith must be apritty fine woman to think of takin' Molly into her own home. I reckonMolly must have changed a good deal. I'd be inclined to put it this way;if Molly cottons to the idea, let her hop to it. "

"Mirandy ain't brought over the butter yet, " put in Mormon, with aglance at his partners that was half shamefaced. "Why not git heropinion? Takes a woman to understand a woman. She'd sabe this letter aheap bettern' we c'ud. "

Sam winked covertly at Sandy and shoved his tongue in his cheek. 

"That's a good idea, Mormon, " said Sandy. 

"Never did find out jest what happened to that last wife of your'n, didye, Mormon?" asked Sam. 

"Never did. "

"That's too bad. "

"Why?"

"Gen'ral principles. " Sam said no more but took out his harmonica, everin one hip pocket, and crooned into it. A jiggly-jazz edition of_Mendelssohn's Wedding March_ strained through the curtains of Sam'sdrooping mustache. 

"Speakin' wide, the weddin' cake of matrimony has been mostly mildewedfor me, " said Mormon reflectively, "but there was one thing about mylast wife I sure admired. Uncommon thing in woman an' missin' in somemen. "

Sam, eager for chaffing, fell. 

"What was that, Mormon? I heerd she was a good cook. "

"It warn't her cookin', though that was prime when she was in the humor. But she sure c'ud attend to her own business, an' there's damn few cando that. Sandy's one of the few. I can't call another to mind jest now. "

Sam grinned. 

"You sure had me that time, ol' hawss. An' the mildew on the weddin'cake warn't none of yore fault. That sort of pastry's too rich for me totackle. I used to wonder why they allus put frostin' on weddin' cake. Ireckon it's a warnin'--or else sarcasm. "

"Ef you ever git roped thataway, Sam, you're goin' to fall high an'hard, " said Mormon. "You'll come to consciousness hawg-tied an'branded. "

"That the way it was with you?"

"Yep. I've allus had an affinity fo' the sex. I ain't like Sandy. Naturegive him an instinct ag'in' 'em, as pardners. He was bo'n lucky. "

But Sandy had gone out. Sam and Mormon trailed him and saw him walkingtoward the cottonwood grove with Grit at his heels. 

"He thinks a heap of Molly, " opined Sam. "I reckon he sure hates tolose her, if he is woman-shy. 'Course Molly was jest a kid. But I don'tfancy she'll take the back-trail once she gits mixed up with the Keithoutfit. "

"I ain't so plumb sure of that, " returned Mormon. "Molly's bo'n an' bredwith the West in her blood. She'll allus hear the call of the range, like a colt that's stepped wild. He'll drink at the tank, but he ain'tforgettin' the water-hole. "

Sam glanced at Mormon curiously. It wasn't often Mormon showed any touchof what Sam characterized as poetical. 

Sandy, under the cottonwoods where the spring bubbled, so near the oldprospector's grave that perhaps the old-miner lying there could, in hisnew affinities with Nature, hear its flow, was thinking much the samething Mormon had expressed, hoping it might be true, chiding himselflest the thought be selfish. 

A granite block stood now as marker for Patrick Casey's resting-place, carved with the words that Mormon had chalked on the wooden headstone. Arailing outlined the grave, and the turf within it was kept short andgreen. Sandy squatted down and rolled a cigarette, smoking it as he satcross-legged. Grit, as was his custom, leaped the railing lightly andlay down above the dust of his dead master, head couched on paws, turneda little sidewise, his grave eyes surveying Sandy. 

"Miss her, ol' son? So do I. Mebbe she'll come back to see us-all. Shesure did seem to belong. "

Memories of Molly flickered across the screen of his mind: Molly besideher father by the broken wagon, climbing to get the cactus blossom forhis cairn; Molly at the grave; Molly giving him the gold piece; the wildride across the pass and the race for the train and a recollection thatwas freshest of all, one he had not mentioned to his partners; the touchof Molly's lips on his as he had bade her good-by. The kiss had not beenthat of a child, there had been a magic in it that had thrilled somechord in Sandy that still responded to that remembrance. He never dwelton it long, it brought a vague reaction always, stirred that strangeinstinct of his that had branded him as woman-shy, kept him clean. Partof it was intuitive desire for freedom of will and action, as the wildhorse shies at even the shadow of a halter that may mean bondage, however pleasant. Part of it was reverence for woman, deep-seated, ahazy, never analyzed feeling that this belief might be disappointed. 

Miranda, alone in the flivver, a new car of her own, bought with moneypaid by Keith for her claim, was at the ranch-house when Sandy returned. Miranda and young Ed Bailey, accepting Westlake's advice, had sold forcash, getting fifteen thousand dollars to divide between them, refusingmore glittering offers of stock. It was a windfall well worth theirendeavor and they were amply satisfied. Young Ed had promptly gone toAgricultural College, putting in part of his money to buy new stock andimplements for his father's ranch, in which he now held a halfpartnership. Miranda, Mormon and Sam were talking about this when Sandycame up. 

"It sure made a man of young Ed overnight, " said the spinster. "Hethought it out all by himse'f an' nigh surprised us off our feet. He wassort of ganglin', more ways than one, an' we feared the money 'ud go tohis head. Which it did, as a matter of fact, but it was a tonic, 'steadof actin' like an intoxicant. We're plumb proud of him. 

"Mr. Westlake was over day before yesterday, " she went on. "Goin' onthrough to the East fo' a consultation with Mr. Keith an' his crowd. Said to say he was mighty sorry he c'udn't git out to the Three Star, but he only had a couple of hours before his train. He says things isboomin' up to Casey Town. There's been some good strikes, one in theclaim nex' but one to ours. Keith's goin' to start things whirlin', Ireckon. "

"Mebbe he'll see Molly, " suggested Sam. "Though of course she ain't toKeith's house yet. "

"How's that?" asked the spinster eagerly. 

"We are waitin' fo' Sandy to show you the letter, " said Sam. 

Miranda read the letter through twice, folded it and held it in her lapfor a few moments. 

"Want my opinion on it?" she asked finally. 

"Yes, " said Sandy. "If the mines are goin' to produce big she'll likelybe rich. She went east to git culchured up. Seems like the school ideamight not have been the best, after all. "

"I don't know. I don't rightly git the motive back of this writin'. Itain't been sent without one. Mebbe she's just taken a fancy to Molly, mebbe she's a woman that likes to do kind things and thinks Molly'll paywell for bein' taken up. I don't mean in money but, if Molly didn't havea show of bein' rich, an' warn't pritty, which she is, I ain't certainMrs. Keith 'ud be so eager. I guess it's all right but, somehow, itdon't hit me as plumb sincere. Still . . . I reckon my opinion is likethat gilt hawss top of Ed's barn, " she ended with a smile. "It was setup too light, I reckon, an' it was allus shiftin', north, south, eastan' west, when you c'udn't feel a breath of wind on the level. I ain'tgot a thing to pin it to, but I feel there's something back of it, likea person's rheumatic spot'll ache when rain's comin'. "

"You'd vote ag'in' it?" asked Sandy. 

"No-o. I w'udn't. "

"I figgered on puttin' it up to Molly. "

"That's a good idee. An', as her guardeen, I'd suggest that Mrs. Keithlives up to that half-promise of hers an' make it a condition she bringsMolly out here inside of six months. That'll give time for a fair trialan' you can see right then fo' yoreself how it's workin'. Long's shegoin' to have teachers she can't lose much. "

"That's a plumb fine idee, " said Mormon, looking triumphantly at hispartners. 

It ran with Sandy's own wishes and he subscribed to it. Sam endorsed itas well, and a letter was sent east that night, containing the provisoof Molly's return and another that Molly should bear all her ownexpenses of tuition and living. All this to hang upon Molly's own desireto make the change. 

When Molly's letter came there appeared no doubt as to her willingness. She admitted that she had been sometimes "lonesome" at the school. Onepage was devoted to her anticipations of coming back to visit ThreeStar:

 I may stay; there are lots of new and lovely things here, but I miss the mountains and the range terribly. Also Grit. Please tell him I have not forgotten him. You might draw cards to see who will kiss him on the end of the nose--for me. It is a very nice nose. High man out. Lovingly, MOLLY. 

 P. S. There are three other people I miss just as much as I do Grit, but, being quite grown up, I can not send them the same message, though it would be awfully funny to see you delivering it to each other. Maybe, when I come, I'll be so glad to see you, I'll do it myself. M. 

"I'll kiss no dawg, " declared Sam. "I like a dawg first-rate, like I doa hawss, on'y not so much, but I'm a hell-singed son of a horned-toad ifI'd ever kiss one. "

"It's two to one you don't have to, " said Mormon. "If you're a sportyou'll do as Molly asks an' draw cards fo' the privilege. It's asure-fire cinch she'll never give you one of them salutes she hints atwhen she comes home ef she knows you backed out. Wait till I git thecards. "

It was plain to Sandy that Sam and Mormon, despite Sam's protest, tookMolly's pleasantry in earnest and he made no comment as Mormon deftlyshuffled the deck and riffled it out over the table. He picked a jack, Mormon a three of clubs and Sam an eight of hearts. Sam whooped at sightof Mormon's card. 

"Hold on, Molly said 'High man out. ' That's Sandy. You an' me got todraw again. Ain't that so, Sandy?"

"Sure is, " said Sandy gravely. "You hollered too soon, Sam. Prob'lycrabbed yore luck. "

Both chose their cards and drew them to the edge of the table, facedown, taking a peep at the index corners. 

"Bet you ten dollars I got you beat, " said Mormon cheerfully. 

Sam turned up his card disgustedly. It was the deuce of spades. 

"Oh, hell!" he exclaimed. "Now I got to kiss a dawg!"

At his voice and face Mormon and Sandy bent double with laughter thatbrought water to their eyes and nearly sent Mormon into convulsions. Samsurveyed them with gloomy contempt. 

"Laf, you couple of ring-tailed snakes in the sage!" he said bitterly. "I'm stuck an' I'm game, but if either of you ever whisper a word of itto a livin' soul, outside of Molly, I'll plumb scalp, skin an' silenceboth of you. _Kiss a dawg!_ Hell's delight!"

They started to follow him, still weak with laughter, but he threatenedthem with his gun and they fell back in mock alarm while Sam went roundback of the corral and they heard him whistling for Grit. When hereappeared, straddling along on his bowed legs, his good humor hadreturned. 

"How's he like it?" asked Mormon. 

Sam grinned at him. 

"You bald-headed ol' badger, you, he acted plumb like yore wives musthave, when I salutes him on the snoot. Licks my nose first an' thencurls up his tongue an' licks off his own. Wipes out all trace of theoskylation pronto an' thorough. Most unappreciative animile I ever see. "

"I'll tell you straight out that none of my wives ever acted thataway, "started Mormon, and the laugh swung at his expense. 

"I didn't mind the operation so much, " Sam confided to them, "when Ifigger out that I was just handin' it on fo' Molly, an' that she owes meone, whether she decides to salute you two galoots or not. "

Molly's letters were prime events at the Three Star. She wrote everyweek telling of life at the Keiths'. Miranda made up the quartet to readthem. Molly wrote:

 It is full of excitement, this life at the Keiths', and they are just lovely to me. There is a lot of company always at the house and every one seems to be enjoying himself, but somehow it strikes me as not quite real. I want to be back where nobody pretends. 

 I go automobiling a good deal, with Mrs. Keith and once in a while with Donald, but I'd give anything, sometimes, for a good gallop through the redtop and sage and rabbit-brush on my pony. I can go riding here, but it is in the Park and you should see the saddle! Imagine a real saddle with the cantle taken away, the horn gone, the pommel trimmed down to almost nothing, no skirts to it, just pared to the core. And the poor horse bob-tailed and roach-maned, taught to go along with its knees high, like a trained horse in a circus. High-school gaited, they call it. 

There was more talk of dinners and dances, of receptions and theaters, with mention of Donald Keith here and there, chat of new clothes, kindwords for the elder Keiths. "Don't think I've changed, " she said. "I'mthe same Molly underneath even if I have been revamped and decorated. "

The famous _White Gold_ prospectuses and advertisements duly followedthe news stories. Three Star saw no copies of the last, nor, it seemed, did Molly. Neither did prospectuses or advertisements come their way, for that matter. Casey Town boomed with some bona-fide strikes that sentKeith's stocks soaring high. The porphyry dyke at the Molly Mine beganto yield rich results almost from the first and dividends were paid insuch quantities as to stagger the Three Star outfit who saw themselvesin a fair way to become rich. All over the barren hills, where the firstfutile shafts had been driven and abandoned, buildings sprang up likemushrooms, housing machinery, sending up plumes of white smoke thattokened the underground energies. The Keith properties were beingdeveloped with much show of outlay, prices jumping at every report fromthe Molly Mine or other successful developments. None of the investorsin these Keith undertakings knew that he owned forty-nine per cent ofthe shares of the Molly and of none other, save for the space betweenissuing them and selling them. 

The three partners held consultation as to their disposal of the checksthat were sent them. 

"Molly, she's gettin' the same amount we're splittin' both ways, " saidSam, "but somehow it don't seem right to me the way we come in. It washer dad's mine. He found it. All we did was to find her--an' Grit donethat. The dawg ought to have a gold collar an' we might accept a goldplated collar-button, apiece, that's the way it sizes up to me. "

"The gal w'udn't promise to go to school 'less we shared even-Steven, "said Mormon. 

"She didn't know how much money she c'ud use then, " demurred Sam. "Nowshe's bein' shown how to spend it. It ain't that she'd kick, but somemight think we'd taken advantage of her. Darn me if I don't feelthataway myse'f. "

"I see it this way, " said Sandy. "I've done a heap of thinkin' over thematter. I don't believe that Molly has changed--still she might beinfluenced by folks who w'ud look at it that she made the deal when shewas a minor an' we c'udn't enfo'ce it. Bein' her guardeen, I'mresponsible fo' what she makes an' what she loses. Jim Redding fixed upthings in that line He an' Ba'bara Redding understand it all but othersmightn't. I'm plumb sure that if we-all didn't take the money Molly 'udpull out her picket-pin an' say we wasn't playin' fair an' square withher. It was a deal an', at the time, I had no mo' idee the mines w'udpan out than I have that Sam's laigs'll grow straight. I figger we cando this. We can use the money, keepin' account of it, puttin' it intostock an' improvements that'll pay fo' themselves long befo' Molly comesof age an' my guardeen papers play out. That way we'll have the benefitof the capital an' keep it ready to turn over to her if she ever needsit. I don't believe she'll ever take one red cent of it. It was a gamblewith her an' she's a thoroughbred sport. To my mind, she'd sooner beslapped in the face by us than have us try an' wiggle out of the deal. But, in case anything ever turns up, or she gits married, we'll have ithandy. "

"Figger she's goin' to marry that young Keith? She writes a heap ofDonald's this an' Donald doin' that. I'd like to take a slant at him. Isure hate to think of Molly hitchin' up with a tenderfoot. "

"What put that in yore head?" Sam asked Mormon. 

"Mirandy was wonderin' whether Ma Keith 'ud like to keep Molly's moneyin the family. Mirandy's allus 'spicioned a motive to that invite. "

"Shucks! She asked her befo' the mine made a showin'. An' every dollarMolly makes, Keith makes five or six, out of the sale of them shares. But I subscribe to Sandy's scheme on these here dividends of ours. "

"'Count me in, " said Mormon. And so the affair was settled. 

 * * * * *

Of Plimsoll little was heard. The gambler had deserted that nowunpopular profession, since suffrage ruled, and stayed close to hishorse ranch. It lay alone, and few visited it save Plimsoll's ownassociates. Rumors drifted concerning Plimsoll's remarkable herdincrease of saleable horses but, unless proof of actual operation wasforthcoming, there was small chance of pinning anything down in the wayof illegal work. There was always the excuse of having rounded up abunch of broom-tail wild horses to account for growing numbers, and, ifhe stole or not, Plimsoll left the horses of his own county alone. Noneighbor was injured and though stories of wild happenings at the horseranch were current it was considered nobody's business. Wyatt once, staggering out of some blind pig in Hereford, still existent despite thesuffrage sweeping, babbled in maudlin drunkenness of his determinationto get even with Plimsoll for stealing his sweetheart. For Wyatt, forthe sake of the girl, had gone back to Plimsoll's employ. The newsheriff took Wyatt's guns away and locked him up overnight in the"cooler, " letting him go in the morning, soberer and more silent. 

"But, " said the sheriff to his cronies, "some day there'll be one grandshoot-up an' carry-out at Plimsoll's. Wyatt's sore clean through. "

"He ain't got the sand in his craw to make a killing, " said one of thelisteners. "Sandy Bourke backed him off the map to Casey Town. "

"Just the same, he's got something in his craw, " replied the sheriff. "He may not shoot Plimsoll, but he's primed to pull something off firstchance he gets. I spoke to him about what he's been firing off from hismouth the night before an' he shuts up like a clam. 'I was foolishdrunk, ' he says, but there was a look in his eyes that was nasty. IfPlim's wise he'll get rid of Wyatt. He knows too much an' he's liable totip it off. "

"Wyatt an' Plim's both of 'em side-swipers, " returned the other. "They'dthrow dirt but not lead. Plumb yeller as a Gila monster's belly. Plimsoll told it all over the county he'd tally score with Sandy Bourke. Has he? He ain't even bought him a stick of chalk. "

"He ain't had the chance he's lookin' for. That's all that's holdingPlimsoll. Same way with Wyatt. Two buzzards of a feather, they are. "

Thoughts of Plimsoll and his revenges did not bother Sandy's head. The"old man" of the Three Star--bearing the cowman's inevitable title forthe head of the management, whether young or old, male orfemale--carried out his long cherished plans for additionalwater-supply, for alfalfa planting, for registered bulls and high-gradecows. Now that there was money in sight the success of the ranch wasassured. He studied hard, he got in touch with the state experimentaldevelopments, he subscribed for magazines that told of cattle breeding, he sent soils for analysis and young Ed, coming home from his firstterm, found, somewhat to his chagrin, that Sandy was far ahead of him inboth the theory and practise of ranching. 

The days multiplied into weeks and the weeks into months. Sandy receivedone letter from Brandon that seemed to presage another visit across theline. It was terse, characteristic of the man. 

 MY DEAR BOURKE:

 We are still losing three-and four-year-olds, and the evidence points plainly to their drifting over toward Plimsoll. We have traced up some of the links leading from this end. To be quite frank, the authorities of your own county do not seem over-disposed to bother in the matter, and we are taking things in our own hands. We have set a trap for Jim Plimsoll and have hopes he will walk into it if he is the guilty party. 

 If it springs and catches him you'll probably see us over your way again--after we have concluded our business with J. P. There are some of us old-timers--and I believe you are of our way of thinking or I would not write asking you to do this favor for me--who look at horse-stealing just as it used to be looked at--and dealt with. To be plain, we have been losing a lot of valuable animals and we are all considerably "riled. "

 The favor I want of you is to tip me off if Plimsoll appears about to leave the country. We have had a tip that he expects to do so before long. If you get wind of this a wire would be much appreciated by me. 

 Sincerely yours, W. J. BRANDON. 

 Have been hearing fine things about the way things are being run along modern lines on the Three Star. More power to you. Good stock _always_ pays. 

Sandy filed the letter. There was a room in the ranch-house that was nowfitted up as an office, known to the riders of the Three Star as the"Old Man's Room. " Sandy had even contemplated a typewriter, but given itup for the time being after talking it over. 

"I don't believe I c'ud ever learn to ride one of those contraptions, "he said. "I tried it once an' the wires bucked my fingers off reg'lar. But I sure hate writin' longhand. "

"Why not import one of them stenographers?" suggested Mormon. 

"Sure, " jeered Sam. "Why not? Then you c'ud put in yore spare momentsgentlin' a hawss fo' her an' pickin' wild flowers, until Mirandy Baileypersuades her the climate is too chilly. But I'll bet Molly c'ud handlethat end of it prime, if she was back. "

"I w'udn't wonder, " said Sandy. 

There was a lot of interjected talk about what Molly might say or do. With the founding of the Three Star Ranch the lives of the partners hadchanged a good deal. They held responsibilities, they owned a home andthey lived there. None of them, since they were children, had ever knownthe close companionship of a young girl. Mormon's matrimonial adventureshad been foredoomed shipwrecks on the sands of time, his wives maritalpirates preying on his good nature and earnings. Molly had leavenedtheir existences in a way that two of them hardly suspected and theyeast of affection was still working. Each hung to the hope that shemight return to the ranch again to stay and each felt that hope was afaint one. 

When, at last, there came the news, from Molly herself and from Mrs. Keith, that Keith was coming out to make inspection of his Casey Townproperties, that he was traveling in a private car with his son, withMolly and her governess-companion, and that the two latter would get offat Hereford for a visit to the Three Star, Sandy went about with awhistle, Sam breathed sanguine melodies through the harmonica and Mormonbeamed all over. The illumination was apparent. Sam told him he looked"all lit up, like a Chinee lantern" and Mormon beamed the more. 

Molly's letter was primed with delight. Mrs. Keith's contained regretsthat her physicians did not think the journey would be best for her toundertake in the present state of her health, which meant that shefeared possible discomforts en route and imagined the ranch as a placewhere one was fed only on beans, sourdough bread, bull meat andindifferent coffee. 

 "You will find Miss Nicholson most efficient and amenable, " she penned. "She has done remarkably well with your ward. I believe my husband expects to stay in your vicinity about a month and we have decided to make a holiday of it for Molly, so far as lessons are concerned. She can resume her studies on her return to New York. I regret exceedingly not being able to make your personal acquaintance. But, if ever you come east, we shall hope to see something of you. "

Miranda Bailey sniffed at this letter openly. 

"I hope they ain't spiled the child, " she said. "I wonder what's thematter with the Nicholson teacher woman?"

"What do you mean?" asked Mormon. 

"She says she's amenable. I ain't sure of the word, but I believe thatmeans thin-blooded or underfed. My sister's niece by marriage was thatway till they fed her cod-liver oil an' scraped beef. 'Pears to me as ifall the companions an' governesses was that kind of folk. I suppose theyhire out cheaper account of not bein' overstrong. "

"You can search me, " answered Mormon. "Ask Sandy, he's browsin' throughthe dikshunary reg'lar these days. Gettin' so it's hard to sabe half hetells you. "

Sandy had to look up the word. "Liable to make answer, " he read out. 

"One of the snippy kind, back-talkin' an' peevish, " said Miranda. "Ican't bear 'em. "

"That's the legal meaning, " said Sandy. "I reckon this isit--submissive. "

"Halter-broke. That's more likely. That's the kind that Keith party w'udpick. I ain't ever seen her nor don't hope nor expect to, but that's thekind she'd pick. No backbone. Molly'll twist her round her littlefinger. Wonder how old she is?"

"The word you meant was anemic, Miss Mirandy, " said Sandy, turning aleaf in the dictionary. "They sound about the same. "

"There's too many words anyway, " she replied. "Folks don't use mo'n ahundredth part of 'em an' git along first-rate. I don't see why theyprint 'em. " Miranda did not show to the best advantage during the restof her visit. She snubbed Mormon severely when he offered to get waterfor her car. "I've fetched an' carried for myself long enough not towant to be waited on, " she said. "An' I don't need water anyway. " Shedrove off and had to bail from an irrigating ditch before she washalf-way to her destination. Whereupon she took herself to task. 

"Miranda Bailey, there's no fool like an old fool, " she said aloud, withsage-brush and timid prairie dogs for audience. "What you want to do isto keep sweet. Now git on. " The final adjuration was to her car, towhich she always spoke exactly as if it was a horse. 

"What do you suppose made her so cantankerous?" Mormon inquired aftershe had driven round the corral. "Reckon you got her sore bawlin' herout about usin' the wrong word, Sandy. A woman's sensitive about themthings. "

Sam smote Mormon between the shoulders before Sandy could make answer. 

"Fo' a man who's had yore experience, you're deef, blind, dumb an' lostto all sense of touch or motion, " he shouted. "Remember what I saidabout the stenographer? Mirandy's jealous of the Nicholson woman. Plumbjealous! You better wear blinders while she's here, Mormon. If she's agood-looker, Gawd help you! Mirandy won't. "

CHAPTER XVI

EAST AND WEST

When Miranda Bailey heard the news she announced her determination ofcoming over to the Three Star to prepare for the visitors. 

"I reckon my reputation'll stand it, " she said, "seein' I'm older thantwo of you an' the third is still a married man. That spinelessgoverness'll be writin' back to the Keith woman about everything shesees, eats, sits or sleeps on. Pedro's cookin' is enough to give anyeasterner dyspepsy. The whole house wants reddin' up, it ain't beenswept proper fo' a year. "

Abashed, the partners gave her full sway. They lived on the porch intheir spare waking moments, they ate cold victuals, and the lives ofPedro and Joe were made miserable. But the ranch-house was scoured fromtop to bottom. Miranda's car brought over curtains for the windows, flowers for the window-sills, odds and ends that made the place lookhomely, cheerful, inviting. Pedro was given lessons at the stove that heat first took sulkily but, being praised and his wages raised, tookpride in. 

"He'll do, " vouchsafed Miranda at last, the evening before the arrival. "He's no hand at cookies or doughnuts an' never will be, but I'll bringthem over from time to time. He can make a pie an' biscuit an' he canbroil meat. I've taught him to mash his pertaters with milk 'stead ofwater an' to put butter in his hot cakes. I'm stayin' over till supperter-morrer to see everything has a good staht. "

"She's stayin' over to git a good look at the Nicholson party, " Sam saidto Mormon. "All this ain't jest for Molly. "

"There's nothin' between Miss Mirandy an' myse'f, " replied Mormon withdignity. "She's a wonderful housekeeper. "

"She sure is. Me, I'm so I'm afeard to come into my own house, it's sogolderned clean. If that third wife of yor'n. . . . "

The long-suffering Mormon turned upon his partner. They were seated onthe broad top rail of the breaking corral, waiting the call to supper. Mormon clutched Sam by his collar and jerked him off the rail, catchingthe slack cloth of his pants at the seat, holding him firmly gripped andbending him across his padded lap. Despite Sam's kicks and squirms, hepaddled him unmercifully and then dropped him sprawling into the corral. 

"I ain't done that to you, Sam Manning, " he said sternly, "fo' five-sixyears. An' you've got too all-fired fresh. Nex' time I'll do it in frontof Mirandy, you ornery, bow-laiged, hornin'-in son of a lizard. "

Sam said nothing. His face, as he stooped somewhat painfully, was fieryred. He took hold of a post to help himself up, pretending disability. On the post a horsehair lariat hung from the snub of a lopped-off boughof the tree that made the heavy stake. He fumbled with this while Mormonshook with laughter like a great jelly. The next moment the lariat cameflying, circling, settled down over Mormon's head, over his body andarms. Sam, working like a jumping-jack, took a quick turn, flung a coilabout Mormon's legs and in a few seconds, had him trussed helplessly tothe rail. 

"Paddle me, you overgrown buzzard, will you? There you roost tillMirandy comes to look for you. "

Mormon pleaded and Sam pretended to be inflexible. At last they came toa capitulation. Mormon promised to keep his hands off Sam, and thelatter vowed he would gibe no more about Mormon's matrimonial affairs, past, present or future. 

"An' don't _look_ nothin', neither, " added Mormon as Joe glided intosight and grunted his message. 

"Grub piled. Squaw she say hurry. "

For the life of him Sam could not resist a side glance of mirthfulsuggestion at Miranda's tendency to issue orders. Mormon did not noticeit. 

"There's room for five--supposed to be--in my car, " said Miranda. "An'there's four of us an' six to come back. The other car's in use. How wegoin' to manage it?"

"Mormon c'ud take the Nicholson party on his lap, if she ain't toofinicky, " suggested Sam. This was hewing close to the line, and Mormonglared at him while the spinster sniffed. 

"Molly'll ride in with me, " said Sandy. "I'm goin' over early on Prontoan' take the white blazed bay along that Molly rode over the Goats'Pass. "

"Ride in?"

"She wrote she was jest waitin' fo' the minute she c'ud climb into areal saddle, astride a range-bred hawss, " said Sandy. 

"She won't be dressed for it, travelin' on the train, " said Mirandy. 

"I've got a hunch she will, " Sandy answered simply. "They got their ownprivate car. If she ain't, why, Sam can ride the bay back. But me an'Pronto, the bay an' Grit are goin' thataway. "

There were certain tones of Sandy's voice that gave absolute finality tohis statements. He used them on this occasion. The argument dropped. Ina way Sandy was making the matter a test of Molly. If she was as anxiousas she wrote to "fork a bronco, " if she understood Sandy and he her, shewould feel that he would be waiting with her mount for her to return tothe ranch western fashion. If not, it meant that she was out of thechrysalis and had become, not the busy bee that belongs to the mesquiteand the sage, but a gaudier, less responsible flutterer among easternflower-beds. 

The bay with the white blaze had been groomed by Sandy until his hidewas glossy and rich as polished mahogany, while the blaze on his noseshone like a plate of silver. His dark mane and tail had been braidedand combed until it crinkled proudly, the light shone from his curvesas he moved, reflecting the sky in the high-lights. Hoofs had been oiledand Sandy had attended to his shoeing. The bay had been up for a monthand fed until he was almost pampered, save that Sandy took the excesspepper out of him every morning. 

A new saddle came from Cheyenne, most famous of all cities for making ofsaddles that are tailor-made, the leather carved cunningly intoarabesques of cactus design, bossed and rimmed here and there withsilver, the pattern carried over into the tapideros that hooded thestirrups, even into the bridle. It was a masterpiece of art craft, thatsaddle, "made for a lady to ride astride, " and it cost Sandy an evenquarter of a thousand dollars. 

Sam and Mormon knew of the grooming of the horse but, when the saddle, cinched above a Navajo blanket, smote their vision, they blinked andcomplained. They too had gifts for the homecomer, but Sandy's outshonethem as a newly minted five-dollar gold piece does a silver coin. 

"If that don't win her to stay west there ain't no use a-tryin', "declared Sam as Sandy mounted and rode away, leading the bay. Grit, newly washed also, sorely against his will, since he did not know theoccasion of the bath at the time of suffering it, went bounding on padsof rubber, leaping up, tearing ahead and back, a shuttling streak ofgold and silver. 

Miranda's caravan started an hour later, she driving, Mormon and Sam inthe back, each dressed in his best, minus chaparejos and spurs, butotherwise most typically the cowboy and therefore out of place--andfeeling it--as they sat stiffly in the leatherette-lined tonneau. Miranda was in starched linen, destitute of all ornament, a dark redribbon at her throat the only touch of color, looking extremelyefficient and, as Sam whispered to Mormon, "a bit stand-offish. " Hewanted to add, "'count of the Nicholson party, " but dared not. 

The train rolled in majestically, the private car gleaming with varnishand polished glass and brass, with a white-coated darky flashing whiteteeth on the platform as the fussy local engine took the detached luxuryto the side-track designated for its Hereford location. There, forewarned by the agent, much of Hereford assembled to witness thearrival of the magnate who had helped to place them more definitely onthe map and increased their revenues as supply depot for Casey Town. Theflivver was parked and Miranda, Mormon and Sam made one group a littleahead of the others, recognized by the crowd as privileged. Sandy satPronto, talking to the restive bay, proudly conscious of its newtrappings and the remarks of the onlookers. 

If Wilson Keith, clad in tweeds tailored on Fifth Avenue, a littleportly, square-faced, confident, a trifle condescending, typified theEast, Sandy was the West. A good horse is the incarnation of symmetry, grace and power. Sandy, erect in the saddle, lean and keen, matched allof Pronto's fitness. Man and mount both eminently belonged to the land, shimmering with sage, far-stretching to the mountains, a land thatdemanded and bred such a combination. 

Sandy's clean-shaven face was sharp with obstacles faced and overcome, his eyes held clean fine spirit, his jaw showed determination and thegood lines of his mouth belied obstinacy. He wore the regalia of hiscow-punching holidays, soft-collared shirt of blue, silk bandanna ofdark weave in lieu of tie, leather gauntlets, leather chaps, fringed andbuttoned with leather and trimmed with disk of silver, silver spurs onhis high-heeled boots, trousers of dark gray stripe, a quirt with thehandle plaited in black and white diamonds of horsehair dangling fromone wrist, and the blue Colts in the twin holsters. He could not avoidbeing picturesque, yet there was nothing of the masquerader, themoving-picture cowboy. He held the eye, even of Hereford, but onlybecause they liked to gaze upon a good man on a good horse. His bodyresponded to every shift of Pronto, jigging impatiently, showing off, pretending to be afraid of the panting locomotive, body shining likemetal of bronze and aluminum, his nostrils pink as the inside of ashell, ears twitching, rider and mount one in every movement. Grit stoodwith plumy tail erect and waving gently, ears up, red tongue playingbetween white teeth, his eyes like jewels; braced on his feet, tiptoe onhis pads, watching the parking of the private car with now and then aglance of inquiry at Sandy. 

Keith stood by the railing of his platform, the darky ready with thedismounting stool. He surveyed the crowd affably, with the poise of asuccessful candidate assured of welcome, waving his hand in demi-saluteto Sandy, Sam and Mormon, lifting his hat graciously to Miranda Bailey. The man and the car emanated prosperity. Yet, for all the booming ofCasey Town, the finding of pay-ore, the sale of shares, Keith's presentfinancial status was not all that he trusted it might be within a shorttime. It was part of the technique of his profession to assume a maskand manner of financial success, and of late he had worn these until attimes they jaded him, but they were well designed, well worn, and no onedoubted but that Wilson Keith was a man of ready millions. 

Keith was essentially a gambler. He knew that those who bought hisshares were largely tinctured with the same spirit that exists, more orless, in almost every man. They were amateurs and Keith theprofessional, that was the main difference. The average man likes tobelieve himself lucky. Keith was no exception. He knew the prevalence ofthe trait and traded upon it. Also he knew the gold mining game fromprospect to prospectus and possible profit. But the expert faro-dealer, after his trick is over, is apt to take his wages to the roulette wheelof an opposition house and buck a game that his experience tells him is, like his own, run with the percentages against the player. 

Keith had dallied with oil, had speculated, plunged, been persuaded toinvest heavily. He was beginning to have a vague fear of not being socertain as he would have wished as to which end of the line he hadtaken, that of the baited hook, or the end that was attached to the reelthat automatically plays the fish. 

He sold gold and he was buying oil. More, he was sinking wells, infectedwith the fever of the game, whereas, with his own mines, he was coolwith the poise of the physician who takes count of a pulse. Others, partners with him in new enterprises in the petroleum field, were makingsudden fortunes. His turn had not come yet, but they assured him thathis ventures promised even more than those that had enriched them. Faster than gold came out of Casey Town, Keith used it in Oklahoma andTexas. He had come west to view his resources, to strain them to theutmost, to overlook the ground with the eye of the past-master ofpromotion, who could conjure up visions of wealth from the barestindication of pay-ore, trusting to find inspiration for furtherflotation on his return to New York, his market-place, "fresh from thefield of operations. "

The engine uncoupled and panted off, leaving the car at rest on thespur-track. The fox-faced secretary came out, held the door open. Someone followed Molly Casey. Sandy surmised it must be Donald Keith, but hehad sight for nothing except the slender figure whose radiant face, between a Panama hat and a dustcoat of pongee silk, shone straight athim. It was Molly, but a glorified Molly, woman not girl. The freckleshad gone, the snub nose had become defined, the eyes of Irish blueseemed to have deepened in hue back of their smudgy lashes. The widemouth was the same, scarlet and soft as cactus blossom, smiling, openingin a glad cry. . . . 

"Sandy!" Her arms went out toward him in greeting over the brassrailing. Then Grit, catapulting from ground to platform, with franticyaps of welcome, fairly bowled over the darky with his mounting blockand bounded up into Molly's embrace. There was confusion on the platformfor a moment with Grit as the nucleus. Another person had come out, evidently Miss Nicholson. She was neither undernourished nor thin, shewas medium-sized and her bones were well covered. She had the generalappearance of a white rabbit and the manners of a maternally intentionedbut none too efficient hen. "Amenable" described her in one word. Thedarky was bringing out kitbags and suit-cases, piling them on theground. Sam tackled him and showed him the flivver. 

"There's a cupple of trunks, " said the porter. 

"We'll come back for them, " Sam told him and helped him pile in thesmaller baggage. 

Keith descended first, Molly darted by his extended hand and ranstraight to Sandy, who had dismounted. 

"I'm going to hug you, and Mormon and Sam, as soon as we get home to theranch, " she cried. "Home! I'm so glad to be here. Pronto, you beauty, and my own bay, Blaze! Do you remember the trip over the mesa, Blaze?How did you know I wanted to ride to Three Star instead of drive?"

"Took a chance, " said Sandy. "Do you?" The old woman-shyness had comeover him, fighting with his knowledge of the child who had changed intoa woman. And the pongee duster deceived him. 

"Do I? Didn't I write you I was aching to fork a saddle? Look!"

She unbuttoned the duster with swift fingers and stripped it off, standing revealed in riding togs of smallest black and white checks, coat flaring out from the trim waist, slim straight legs in breeches andriding boots, a white stock about the slender, rounded neck. She gaveone hand to Mormon, the other to Sam, gazing at her in admiration thatwas radiant and goggle-eyed. 

"You're losing weight, Mormon, " she said. "I believe you must be inlove. "

"I allus was, with you, " gallantried Mormon. 

"You stand aside, you human chuckawalla!" said Sam. "Miss Molly, yousure look good to sore eyes. An' I'm sure happy you're in my debt, ifyou ain't grown up too fur to pay yore dues. "

"I always pay my debts, Sam. What do you mean?"

"It was me kissed the dawg, " said Sam. "I give the animile somethin' Ihadn't received. "

Molly laughed at him reassuringly. Sandy, looking down at her, saw hereyes crinkle at the corners in the old way. Keith and his son joinedthem, coming from the car, the Amenable Nicholson hovering behindingratiatingly. 

"Glad to see you, Bourke, " he said. "And you, Manning. You too, Peters. Meet my son, Donald. "

The three partners shook hands gravely with the boy, appraising himwithout his guessing it. 

"Glad to see you out west, " said Mormon. "We'd sure admire to have youvisit us fo' a spell. "

"I was hoping for a bid, " said young Keith. "Thanks. The car is here, orwill be within an hour or two. Father shipped it ahead. Sims wired us itwas at the junction. He will drive it over for us to go on to Casey Townas soon as he overhauls it. Then I'll run in from the mines, as soon asDad can spare me. "

"Donald has to get acquainted with a real mining property, " said Keithaffably. "Molly was certain you would have a horse for her, Bourke. Don't wait round for us. We have to get some supplies and we'll wait inmy car till the machine comes. Er"--he looked around, and Miss Nicholsonfluttered up--"this is Molly's companion, Miss Nicholson. She goes withyou to the ranch. How. . . ?"

Sandy indicated the flivver and introduced Miranda Bailey, who had beendirecting the stowage of the grips and the proper subordination of theporter, who had not seemed appreciative of the flivver. 

Molly held out a gloved hand for the reins of the fretful Blaze. YoungKeith advanced with the proffer of a palm of her mounting. She shook herhead at him. 

"Blaze wouldn't know what you were trying to do, Don, " she said. Sheturned the stirrup, set in her foot, grasped mane and horn and raisedherself lightly, holding her body close to the bay's withers for asecond as he whirled, then lifting to the saddle, firm-seated, with alaugh for Blaze's plungings. 

"I see they didn't unteach you ridin' back east, " said Mormonadmiringly. 

The pair rode out of the crowd that opened for them, with whisperedcomments upon Molly's appearance, or rather, her reappearance. Therewere few stings in the remarks; the girl's spontaneous gaiety, herabsolute unconsciousness of effort or cause, her evident delight in herreturn and reunion with the Three Star partners, disarmed all criticismof her costume. The Amenable Nicholson clambered into the flivver besideMiranda Bailey. Sam, Mormon and the grips packed the tonneau, and Keithand his son were left standing by the private car. 

Keith was soon surrounded with a crowd, making himself popular, flattering them until they finally went away convinced that they had allconstituted a first-class reception committee to meet the illustrious, the energetic, good-fellow-well-met promoter and engineer of otherpeople's fortunes. 

Some of them were invited into the car for a private talk. It is certainthat cigars were handed round and it was hinted that some private stockhad found its way upon the car. When, three hours later, the big machinewith Sims the chauffeur, imperturbable as ever, at the wheel, departedwith the promoter and his heir, the name of Keith was, for a time atleast, a household word in Hereford. 

There was not much spoken between Molly and Sandy on the way back to theranch. She seemed content to breathe in deep the herb-scented air andgaze at the mountains. 

Sandy, riding a little to one side, a little back of her, so that hecould see her better without appearing to stare, echoed, for the time, her happiness. It seemed to him as if this ride had been dreamed of byhim, long ago, as if he had always known this was to happen, the gallop, side by side, the wind in their faces, their gaze toward the range, heand a woman who was all the world to him. Even the dog, leaping besidethem as they loped, ranging when the pinto and the bay broke to abreathing walk, belonged in that picture. It was, he told himself, as ifa boy had long cherished an illustration seen in a book and, suddenly, the beloved picture had become real and he a part of it. 

This was Molly, the girl, who had sworn when she told them of herfather's death. He could recall the tone of the words at will. 

"The damned road jest slid out from under. He didn't have ahell-chance!"

Molly, who had put arms about his neck and kissed him good-by when shewent to school--how long ago that seemed--and said, "Sandy, I don't wantto go, but I'll be game. "

Game! Sandy looked at the supple strength of her, so subtly knit incurves of graciousness, alert and upright in the new saddle, Panama hatin one hand, the better to get the wind full in her face, her cheeksflushed with the caress of it, the thick brown braids fluffing here andthere;--she was the essence of gameness. He had quoted _Lasca_ to heronce--a line or two. More came to him now. 

 To ride with me and forever ride, From San Saba's shore to Valacca's tide. 

Molly, who had told him, the first time the woman-look had come into hereyes, "Yo're sure a white man. I'll git even with you some time if Iwork the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don't'mount to a damn 'thout somethin' back of them 'em. I'll come through. "

That Molly, and yet another Molly, swiftly maturing, with all lifeopening up before her to wider horizons than would have been hers if shehad stayed back west. 

 I want free life and I want free air, And I sigh for the canter after the cattle, The crack of whips like shots in battle, The męlée of horns and hoofs and heads. 

Pronto's hoofs beat out the cantering rhythm of the poem. 

 That wars and wrangles and scatters and spreads, The green beneath and the blue above, And dash and danger and life and----

He had stopped the quotation there before. Now he finished the stanza, ----and life and love And Lasca!

Only it was Molly! The knowledge swept over Sandy and left him tingling. Love came to him, the first, clean white flame of first love, burninglike a lamp in the heart of a man. It was for this, he knew, that he hadbeen woman-shy, that he had cherished his own thought of womanhood assomething so rare a thought might tarnish it. First love, shorn of boyfallacies, strong, irresistible, protective, passionate. He closed hiseyes and, for the first time in his life, touched leather, gripping thehorn of his saddle as if he would squeeze it to a pulp. 

Game and dainty, tender, true, a girl-woman, partner--what a partner shewould make, western-bred. . . !

He checked himself there. She was western born but, what had thetransplanting done? Would she ever now be satisfied with western ways?She would come to him, Sandy knew that. Whatever he asked her she wouldnot refuse. But would that be fair to her? And he did not want her tocome to him out of gratitude. He wanted her nature to fuse with his. Swiftly maturing as she had done, out of the ruggedness of her earlyyears, she was still young in Sandy's eyes. 

It seemed no time since he had taken her from her saddle and carriedher, a tired heartsore child, in his arms. She must have a fair chanceto see if the East, with all it could offer her of amusement andinterest, would not outbid the claims of the West. He must wait andwatch and hold himself in hand though his love and his knowledge of itthrilled through him, charging him as if with an electric current thatstrove to close all gaps between him and Molly, struggling ever, in mindand body, to complete the circle. 

Molly reined up Blaze and turned in her saddle toward him, her eyessparkling, the color of lupines damp with the dew of dawn. Their eyesmet, the glance held, welded. For a moment the circuit was formed, polarity effected. For a moment Sandy looked deep and then Molly's eyeshazed with tenderness, with a yearning that made Sandy's heartconstrict, that warned him his emotions were getting beyond control, hisown eyes betraying him. He summoned his will. His face hardened to theeffort, his eyes steeled. Molly's face flushed rose, from the line ofher white linen riding stock up to her hair, then it paled, her eyesseemed to hold surprise, then hurt. Their expression changed, Sandycould not read it now as long lashes veiled them. He spoke with aneffort, his voice sounded strange to himself, phonographic. 

"How's the saddle?" he heard himself asking. 

"It's wonderful. I'm not going to begin to thank you for it, now, Sandy. "

"Glad to be back?"

She shook her head at him. 

"No words for that, Sandy. " Her eyes crinkled at him, with a hint ofmischief, the old Molly looking out. "If you want to find that out, justyou watch my smoke, " she said, and set her heels sharply to the flanksof her mount. The astonished Blaze responded with a snort and a leap andcut loose his speed, Sandy after them on the pinto. 

They got to the ranch ahead of the flivver by a scant margin. MirandaBailey inducted Molly and her chaperon governess into the quarters shehad helped prepare for them, Molly giving little cries of delight at theimprovements she saw down-stairs. Miranda came down first and joined thepartners. 

"Molly is certainly sweet, " she said. "She's grown into a woman an'she's grown away from the old Molly. Can't say as how she's affectednone an' her speech an' manners is sure fine. That gel's natcherally gota grand disposition. 

"The Nicholson person--her first name is Clarice--is well-meanin'enough. She ain't shif'less, but she ain't what you'd call practical. Ireckon she does fine in teachin' Molly some things, but she'd be plumbwasted out West. She never saw a churn an' she'd likely die of thirstbefore she'd ever learn how to milk a cow. She's like the rest of 'emback East, I imagine, goes fine so long as folks can be hired to doeverything fo' you. I'll say she never washed out anything bigger than ahankychif or cooked a thing larger'n an egg. An' she c'udn't boss a sicklizard. But she's easy to git along with, I suppose. "

There was a certain complacency about the spinster's summing up of theAmenable Nicholson that made Sam wink covertly at Sandy, watching Mormonat the same time. Sam was convinced that, despite the handicap of athird wife, present whereabouts unknown, Miranda had made up her mind tomarry Mormon and regarded all other women as possible rivals. 

"That Donald is a good-lookin' lad, " went on Miranda. "It must take himan awful waste of time to fix his clothes every time he puts 'em on. Idon't know how smart he is inside, but he's got some of themmovin'-picture heroes beat on appearance. I'm wonderin' what Mollythinks about him. As for his father, he's smart enough inside an' out. But he talks too much like a politician to suit me. I'm mighty glad wegot cash for our claims. Keith's too slick an' smooth an' smilin' tosuit me. So long as he had lots he'd give you some to help the gameerlong but, when the grazin' gits short, he'll hog the range or quit it. That's my opinion. Or ruther, it ain't my opinion, for I ain't done aheap of thinkin' on it, it's the way I feel. Some apples sets my teethon aidge before I know it, some victuals riles my stomach jest tomention 'em. I never c'ud abear castor-ile, jest the mention of it makesme squirmy. Keith affects me that way, on'y in my mind, well as in thepit of my stomach. "

It was a lengthy diatribe from Miranda Bailey, accustomed as they wereto hear her state opinions freely. The trio at Three Star haduniversally come to respect her decisions and also her intuitions andnone of them had felt especially cordial toward Keith as a man, thoughthey considered him good in his profession. 

"The writer, Kiplin', " said Sandy, "wrote a poem about East an' West, sayin' that never the two c'ud meet. I reckon he meant White Man an'Yeller Man but, seems to me, sometimes they do breed mighty differenteast an' west of the Mississippi. The man in New York is sure a heapdifferent from the man in Denver or San Francisco or Phoenix. Out herewe reckon a man is square till we find him out different an', back East, they figger he's a crook till he proves he ain't--which is apt to besome job. I don't cotton to Keith myse'f, because he ain't my kind of ahombre. He don't talk my talk, or think my line of thought, any mo' thanhe wears the same clothes or does the same work. Give him a cow pony orstrand me alongside one of them stock-market tickers an' we'd both lookfoolish. I'm playin' him as square till I find he ain't. Ef he tries toflamjigger Molly out of anything that's comin' to her by rights, why, Ireckon that's one time the West an' East is goin' to meet--an' mebbe lapover a bit. So fur, he's put money in our pockets. Here's Molly. . . . "

"I'm goin' home, " said Miranda, as the girl entered the room. "I've gotyou started an' I'll run over once in a while to see how Pedro is makin'out. "

She said good-by to Molly, who had swiftly changed out of her ridingclothes into a gown that looked simple enough to Sandy, though he sensedthere were touches about it that differentiated it from anything turnedout locally. With the dress she looked more womanly, older, than in theboyish breeches. Miss Nicholson had made some changes also, but she hada chameleon-like faculty of blending with the background that preservedher alike from being criticized or conspicuous. As she shook hands withMiranda the two presented marked contrasts. Miranda wastwentieth-century-western, of equal rights and equal enterprise; MissNicholson mid-Victorian, with no more use for a vote than for one ofSandy's guns. Yet likable. 

"I'm going to Daddy's grave, " said Molly, when Miranda had flivveredoff. "I wish the three of you would come there to me in about tenminutes. Miss Nicholson, everybody's at home here. Please do anythingyou want to, nothing you don't want to. She rides, Sandy. And rideswell. Can you get up a horse for her to-morrow?"

Miss Nicholson's face flushed, the suggestion of a high-light came intoher mild eyes. 

"I used to ride a good deal, " she said. "But I have no saddle, no habit, and I am afraid--" She hesitated looking at them in embarrassment. 

"Nicky, dear, you must learn to ride western fashion. With dividedskirts, if you like. We can get you a khaki outfit in Hereford. "

"I should like to try it, " said Miss Nicholson, her face still flaming, the high-light quite apparent. 

"Up to you, Sam, " said Sandy. "I sh'ud think the blue roan w'ud suit. "

"I'll have her gentled to a divvy-skirt this time ter-morrer, " said Samgallantly. "You've got pluck, marm--I mean, miss--an' once you've forkeda saddle, you'll never ride otherwise. "

Miss Nicholson gasped at Sam's metaphor and Mormon kicked him on theshin. 

"What's the idea?" he demanded after Molly had gone out and MissNicholson had ensconced herself on the veranda with a book. 

"You're plumb indelicut. You ought to be ashamed of yorese'f. You got tobe careful round females, Sam Mannin', with yore expressions. Speshullyone like this Nicholson party. She's a lady. "

"Who in hell said she ain't?" demanded Sam. "Me--I guess I know how totreat a lady, well as the nex' man. I don't notice you ever made a grandsuccess of it with yore three-strikes-an'-out. "

Mormon disdained to reply. They went outside and, at the end of the tenminutes, walked together toward the cottonwoods. Grit was lying on thegrave, and they saw Molly kneeling by the little railing. They advancedsilently over the turf and stood in a group about her with their hatsoff and their heads bowed. Grit made no move and Molly did not look upfor two or three minutes. Then she greeted them with a smile. There wereno tear-signs on her face though her eyes were moist. 

"I wanted to thank you all, " she said, "and to tell you how glad I amto be back. I have met lots of people, of all sorts and kinds, but notone of them who could hold a candle to any of you three kind, true-hearted friends. I wanted to do it here where Daddy is in the placeyou gave him and made for him under the trees, close to the runningwater. I was only a girl--a kiddie--when I went away. I think I am agreat deal older now, perhaps, than other girls of my age. And I realizeall you have done for me. The only thing is, I don't know how to beginto thank you. "

She went to Mormon and took hold of both his hands, her head raised, lips curved to kiss him. Mormon stooped and turned his weathered cheek, but Molly kissed him full on the lips. So with Sam, despite the enormousmustache. Then she came to Sandy, taller than the others, his facegrave, under control, the eagerness smothered in his eyes, desirechecked by reverence for the pure affection of the offered salute. Hefancied that her lips trembled for a moment as they rested softly warm, upon his own. But the tremor might have been his own. He knew his heartwas pounding against the slight touch of her slenderness that wasmanifest with womanhood. His arms ached with the restraint he set uponthem, despite the presence of Mormon and Sam. 

Grit surveyed the gift of thanks gravely, as a ceremony, as some ancientlineaged noble might have looked upon the bestowal of sacrament andaccolade for honorably deserved knighthood. Perhaps it was that and thedog knew it. To Sandy, the little space about the grave, where the greatcottonwoods waved overhead like banners, their trunks like pillars, thedappled carpet of the turf, with the sweet air blowing through theclearing and peeps of blue above through the boughs, was like asanctuary. That the two others, men of rough life and free habit, yet ofclean thought and decent custom, were touched with the same sensation, their eyes attested. 

"I've brought some things for you, " said Molly. "Just presents that Ibought in shops. But I wanted to thank you out here where Daddy lies. "She sought their glances, searching to see if they understood, satisfied. 

"We're sure glad to git back the Mascot of the Three Star, " said Mormon. 

"An' the sooner you git through bein' eddicated an' come back fo' keeps, the better, " amended Sam. 

Sandy said nothing but smiled at her and Molly smiled back again. 

"I think you have been my mascot rather than me yours, " she demurred. 

"Shucks!" said Mormon. "Yore mine, warn't it? He found it, " he added, setting a brown big hand on the headstone. "You wait till you see whatwe bought with our share of the Molly Mine. Prime stock an' machinery. Look at the new corrals an' buildin's. Wait till you've gone over theplace. An' we sure have been lucky with everythin'. I'll say you're amascot. "

"I've still got my lucky piece, " she said and pulled out of her neck, suspended by the fine chain of gold, the gold piece with which Sandy hadwon the stake that had started her east. "Now show me all theimprovements. We'll get Kate Nicholson. She's a first-class scout if youever get her out of the shell she crawled into a long time ago when herfolks suddenly lost everything they had. If we had a piano, Sam, she'dplay the soul out of your body. Wait until she gets at the harmoniumto-night. You and she will have to play duets, Sam, you on thethree-decked harmonica I got for you. "

"Aw, shucks!" protested Sam? "I'm no musician. "

"You are, " she said gaily. "You are my Three Wise Men of the West. Youare all magicians. You took me out of the desert, you have made lifebeautiful for me. Don't dispel the illusion, Soda-Water Sam. I'd ratherhear you play _El Capitan_ than listen to the Philharmonic Orchestra. "

"Whatever that is, " answered Sam. 

Molly's words were light but her eyes were frankly wet now and so werethose of the three men. 

"Come, Grit, " she said, and the dog bounded to her, licking her hand, and so to the rest of them cementing the alliance in his own way. 

"Some day!" speculated Mormon as they went to the ranch-house. He got agood deal into those two words, for all three of them. 

CHAPTER XVII

WESTLAKE BRINGS NEWS

In the week that followed the partners of the Three Star managed to findmany hours for holiday-making. The ranch ran well on its own routine, and Molly was a princess to be entertained. Kate Nicholson emerged fromher chrysalis and became almost a butterfly rather than the pale graymoth they had fancied her. Even Miranda revised her opinion. TheNicholsons, it came out, had been a family of some consequence and afair degree of riches in South Carolina before an unfortunatespeculation had taken everything. Kate Nicholson, left alone soonafterward, had assumed the role of governess or companion with more orless success and drifted on, submerged in the families who had used herservices until Keith had secured her for the post with Molly when thingshad seemed particularly black. Now, riding with Molly, with Sam andSandy for escorts, over the open range or up into the caņons, onpicnics, the years slid off from her. She acquired color with thecapacity for enjoyment, she developed a quaint gift of jest and sheproved a natural horsewoman. Molly coaxed her into different modes ofhair dressing and little touches of color. She laughed understandinglyand talked spontaneously. Evenings, when they would return to thedisconsolate Mormon, who bewailed openly his lack of saddle ease, theyfound, two nights out of three, Miranda Bailey, self-charioted in herflivver with offerings of cake and doughnuts to supplement Pedro's stilluncertain efforts. 

Molly chuckled once to Sandy. 

"Miranda's a dear, " she said. "I wish she'd marry Mormon. But KateNicholson is a far better cook than she is. Only she won't do anythingfor fear of hurting Miranda's feelings. "

Yet the governess did cook on occasion, trout that they caught in themountain streams, and camp biscuits and fragrant coffee when they madeexcursion, so deft a presiding genius of the camp-fire that Sam declaredshe belonged to Sageland. 

"I love it, " she answered, sleeves tucked to the elbow, stooping overthe fire, her face full of color, tucking a vagrant wisp of hair intoplace. 

"Not much like the East, is it, Molly?" Sandy would ask. 

"Not a bit. Lots better. "

"You must miss a lot. "

"What, for instance, Sandy?"

"Real music, for one thing. Concerts, theaters. Your sports. Tennis andgolf. The people you met at the Keiths'. Clothes, pritty dresses, dancin'. "

"I love dancing, " she said. "But not always the way they dance. Tennisand golf are poky compared to riding Blaze. I like pretty things, butI'm not crazy about clothes, Sandy. And lots of them are, back there. Grown-up women as well as the girls I knew. And they are neversatisfied, Sandy. It isn't real there. Nobody seems to know each other. Anybody could drop out and not be missed. It is all a rush. It is goodto be back--good. "

She stopped talking, gazing into the fire. The nights at Three Star werecrisp. It was as if cold was jealous of the land that the sun wooed soardently and rushed upon it the moment the latter sank behind the hills. Sandy looked at her hungrily, wishing she would elect to sit therealways, mistress of the hearth and of him. 

"Young Keith'll be over soon, I reckon, " he said presently. "He saidhe'd come. Like him, Molly?"

It was not jealousy prompted the suggestion, but Sandy had more thanonce contrasted himself with the youngster and his easy manners, hisundeniably good looks, his youth, wondering how close he was to Molly'smoods and ideals, making him typical of the East as against the West. 

"He's a nice boy, " she said. "He has always had things his own way. He'spartly spoiled, I'm afraid. He'd have been a lot nicer if he had beenbrought up on a ranch. I've told him so. "

"Why?"

"Life's quieter out here, Sandy. It's bigger somehow. Donald onlypleases himself. He--they don't seem to have real families out East, Sandy. I don't quite mean that, but as I have seen them. The Keiths. They are kind but they don't belong just to each other. They have theirown ways and none of them do anything together. He's been nice tome--Donald. So have Mr. And Mrs. Keith. "

Sandy had no effort imagining Donald being nice to Molly, contrastedwith the other girls who just amused themselves. 

"I'd cut a pore figger at tennis, I reckon, " he said. "Or golf. "

"So would Donald breaking a bronco, " she laughed. "He's keen to rideone, to see a round-up. Why, Sandy, they think life is wonderful outhere. And it is. "

He wondered how much of her enthusiasm was lasting, how much came of theaffectionate gratitude she showed them constantly, how much she thoughtof the swifter life she was going back to presently at the end of themonth--with one week gone out of the four. He wrestled with thetemptation to ask her not to go back, or to have Miss Nicholson remainon the ranch to complete the education that was steadily widening--as hesaw it--the gap between them. 

Sandy was not ignorant. His speech was mostly dialect, born ofenvironment. He wrote correctly enough, aided by the dictionary he hadacquired. He had business capacity, executive ability, strong manhood. He read increasingly, his mind was plastic. But these things hebelittled. And he was her guardian. Though he knew he might win herpromise to stay easily enough, he did not wish to exercise hisauthority. It might be misunderstood, even by Molly herself, later. Hecould not force his hand in this vital matter, as he handled otherthings. And yet. . . . 

 * * * * *

Sam had stopped playing, Kate Nicholson was weaving chords in musicunknown to those who listened, save that it seemed to speak some commonlanguage that had been forgotten since childhood. The fire shifted, there was silence in the big room. Mormon sat shading his face, MirandaBailey beside him, her knitting idle. Sam lounged in a shady corner nearthe harmonium. Grit lay asleep. It was infinitely peaceful. 

There was the sound of a motor outside, the honk of a horn. The dooropened and a man came in, gazing uncertainly about him in thehalf-light--Westlake. 

"This is the Three Star, isn't it?" he asked, evidently puzzled at thegroup. 

Sandy lit the big lamp as they all rose, Grit nosing the engineer, accepting him. 

"Sure is, " he said. "You know Miss Bailey, Westlake? Miss Keith an' MissNicholson, Mr. Westlake. They both know something about you. Come tostay, I hope. "

His voice was cordial as he gripped Westlake's hand, though theremembrance of what Sam had said at the mining camp leaped up withinhim. Westlake and Molly! Here was a man who might mate with her, mightsuit her wonderfully well. Upstanding, educated, no lightweightpleasure-seeker, as he estimated Donald Keith. Here was a complicationin his dreams of happiness that he had lost sight of. He saw the twoappraising each other and approving. 

"If you can put up with me, for a bit, " said Westlake. "I've come partlyon business, Bourke. I've left Casey Town. "

He seemed to speak with some embarrassment, glancing toward Molly. Sandysensed that something had happened with his relations with Keith. 

"You're more than welcome, " he said. "Any one with you?"

"No, I came over with a machine from the garage at Hereford, " he said. "I'll get my things and send him back. "

Sandy went outside with him and helped him with his grips. The machinestarted. 

"Quit Keith?" asked Sandy. 

"Yes, we had a misunderstanding. About my staying here, Bourke. It maybe a bit awkward. Young Donald Keith intends coming over. I am sure hedoesn't know a thing about his father's business affairs. But I have astrong hunch that Keith himself will be along later to offset any talkhe thinks I may have with you. He'll figure I've come here. He doesn'tknow all that I have found out, at that. If it's likely to embarrass youor your guests in the least I'll go on to Denver to-morrow. I'm headedthat way. I've got a South American proposition in view. Wired themyesterday and may hear at any minute. "

"Shucks!" said Sandy. "Yo're my friend. Young Keith don't interest me, save as Molly wants to entertain him. I'm under no obligations to Keithhimse'f. Yo're my guest an' we'll keep you's long we can hold you in thecorral. As fo' Molly, you don't know her. If it come to a show-downbetween you an' Keith, with you in the right, there ain't any questionas to where she'd horn in. "

"I had no idea Miss Casey would be like--what she is, " said Westlake, asMiranda Bailey, Mormon in attendance, came out of the house. 

"Time fo' me to be trailin' back, " said the spinster. "Moon's risin'. Good night, Mr. Westlake. See you ag'in before you go, I hope. I reckonyou sure gave me good advice when you said to take cash fo' my claims. "

She climbed into the machine which Mormon cranked. It moved off, Mormonwatching it. Then Sam came out and joined them. 

"Gels gone to bed, " he announced. "What's Keith doin' up to Casey Town, Westlake?"

"It won't take long to tell you. "

The four walked over to the corral and the three partners climbed on thetop rail, ranch-fashion. Westlake stood before them. 

"Practically all the gold found in Casey Town comes from the main gulchwhere the creek runs. The gulch was once non-existent. It is likelythere was a hill there. Its nub was a porphyry cap, the rest of it wascomposed of layers of porphyry and valueless rock dipping downward, nested like saucers in the synclinal layers. Ice and water wore off thenub and leveled the hill, then gouged out the gulch. They ground away, in my belief, all the porphyry that held gold except the portions nowlying either side of the gulch. That gold was distributed far down thecreek, carried by glacier and stream. Casey found indications and workedup to where he believed he had struck the mother vein. He did strike itbut it had been worn down like the blade of an old knife. 

"It was the top layers that held the richest ore. Of those that are leftonly one carries it and that is the reef that outcrops here and thereboth sides of the gulch. This isn't theory. All strikes have been madein this top layer. Where they have sunk through to a lower porphyrystratum they have found only indications where they found anything atall. But the strikes were rich because sylvanite is one of the richestof all gold ores. They look big and they encourage further developmentand--what is more to the point--further investment. Some of the strikeshave been on the Keith Group properties. They have boosted the stock ofall of them. 

"I have been developing these group projects. The value of grouppromotion, to the promoter, is, that as long as one claim shows promise, the shares keep selling. The public loves to gamble. Keith came backthis trip and proposed to purchase a lot of claims that are nothing butplain rock, surface dirt and sage-brush. They are not even on the maingulch. He can buy them for almost nothing. But he does not propose tosell them for that. He was going to start another group. He ordered meto make the preliminary surveys. Later I was to plan development work, to make a showing for his prospectus. 

"He knew one would have as much chance digging in a New York back-yard. I told him so. He has his own expert and, if he didn't tell him so too, he's a crook. 

"Keith said he understood his business and suggested I should attendstrictly to mine. I told him I understood mine and that it included somepersonal honor. I was hot. I suggested that wildcat development was notmy business. He called me a quixotic young fool among other things, andI may have called him a robber. I'm not sure. Anyway, I quit. 

"Now, Keith's kept me off from the properties as soon as they have beenfairly started and I have been only consulting engineer for the Molly. I've been busy on preliminary work. The engineer he brought from NewYork has been in actual charge. That was all right. I'm comparatively akid. But I know what is going on generally in Casey Town. There havebeen no more strikes, for one thing; the discoveries have all been inthe one layer and they are gradually working out. 

"Keith would rather develop a good property than a bad one. He hasestablished himself, has a future to look to. He carries his investingclients from one proposition to another. He never has to risk his ownmoney and he has been lucky. He has made money--lots of it. Now then, why does he start wildcatting?"

"Must need money, " suggested Sandy. 

"That's my idea. I believe he's been stung somewhere. I know he's beenfooling with oil stocks. His mail's full of it. And I believe he's beenbitten by the other fellow's game instead of sticking to his own. "

"It's been done befo'. "

"But that isn't all. " Westlake brought down his right fist into the palmof his left hand for emphasis. "This comes from information I can relyon, from logical deductions of my own, from actual observation ofconditions. Yesterday they closed up the stopes in the Molly. Boarded'em over. This was done without consulting me. The superintendent talkedsome rot about not wishing over-production and pushing development. Iheard of it after I had walked out of Keith's office, resigned, orfired. You can't issue an order like that without miners talking. I knowmost of them. 

"Now then--there's no gold left back of the boarding in thosestopes--practically none! The Molly is played out, picked like a walnutof its meat! If they do develop down to the second porphyry level theywon't find anything to pay for the work. They have taken all thesylvanite out of your mine and _Keith is trying to cover up that fact_. "

Westlake stopped and eyed them. They took it differently. Mormon softlywhistled. Sam slid out his harmonica, cuddled in beneath his mustacheand played a little of the _Cowboy's Lament_. Sandy's eyes closedslightly. They glittered like gray metal in the moonlight. 

"Keith can't help the mine peterin' out, " he said. "Jest why is hehidin' it? So's he can sell new shares an' keep the price up of the oldones. So's he can unload?"

"Plain enough. Now the Molly Mine stock isn't on the market. It is allowned, as I understand, by Miss Casey and you three holding thecontrolling interest, Keith the rest. It's been paying dividends fromthe start. Keith will try to unload. "

"He'll have to do it on the quiet or it 'ud have the same effect as ifthe news came out about the mine, " said Sandy. 

"True. He may try to sell it to you. "

"Not likely. He doesn't expect us to have the money. We haven't. I takeit he can't dump 'em in a hurry. That's why he's boardin' the stopes. Ifhe don't trail over here in a day or so I'll shack over to Casey Townfo' a li'l' chat. I'd admire to go over the mine. Mebbe we'll all go. Might even call a directors' meetin'. Quien sabe? Much obliged to you, Westlake. "

Westlake nodded. He understood that quiet drawl of Sandy's. If the li'l'chat came off, Keith would not enjoy himself, he fancied. 

"The question is what move to make an' when to make it. If Molly is onething she is game. We've got a good deal out of the mine an' it's allcome so far from the sale of gold to the mint, I take it. We don'tdabble in stocks. We're ahead. If the mine's gone bu'st she's donenicely by us, at that. "

Back of Sandy's talk thoughts formed in his brain that held a good dealof comfort. Molly was no longer an heiress, if Westlake's news was true. And he did not doubt it. Molly would not have to go back East. Herrelations with the Keiths would be broken. She had not spent all hershare of the dividends. Keith held some portion of this. Just how muchSandy did not know. He had not held Keith to strict accountings, he hadtrusted him to bank the funds. That Molly had a banking-account, heknew. It might mean her staying west. The principal used on the ThreeStar was intact and would be turned over to her, if they could make heraccept it, but it began to look as if Molly might remain, all thingsconsidered. 

"I figger you're right about Keith trailin' over here to see if you'veshowed, " Sandy went on. "That's the way I'd play him. As you say, he'sgot to git rid of his shares quietly an' he can't do it in a rush. Idon't want to tell Molly she's bu'sted until we're plumb certain. An'Keith's got money of hers. We want to git that out of the pot befo' webreak with Keith. He'll give us an openin' fo' a general understandin', I reckon. If he don't show inside of a couple of days I'll take a pasearover to Casey Town an' have a li'l' chat with him. 

"Young Keith sabe his father's play?" asked Sandy. 

"No. " Westlake spoke decidedly. "He's not interested in mining. He's onthe trip because his father holds the purse strings. He's a good deal ofa cub, at present. I mean he don't show much inclination to use hisbrains. He's having a good time on easy money. He doesn't know thedifference between an adit and an air-drill. Doesn't want to. Makes ashow of interest, naturally, to stand in with his old man, but he putsin a good deal of time scooting round the hills in that big car oftheirs, or going hunting. I heard he was trying to buck a poker game, but Keith's secretary heard that too and I imagine attended to it. Itwas not my province. He's a likable kid in many ways but he's just akid. "

"'Tw'udn't be fair to hold anythin' ag'in' him, 'count of his breedin', "said Sandy, "but colts that ain't bred right bear watchin'. Men an'hawsses, there's a sight of difference between thoroughbred an' _well_bred. I've known a heap of folks mighty well bred who didn't have muchpedigree. So long's the blood's pure, names don't amount to shucks. Nowtell us some about that South American berth of yours, Westlake. "

Westlake rather marveled at the ease with which Sandy and his chumsdismissed a matter that meant a material loss of money to them, but hehad seen the light in Sandy's eyes and he knew his capacity for actionwhen the moment arrived. The four sat up late, talking of mining invarious ways and places. 

"This Westlake hombre'll go a long ways, " summed up Sam to Sandy afterWestlake had turned in and Mormon had yawned himself off to bed. "Hesure knows a heap, he don't brag, he's on the square an' he ain't afraidof work. "

"A good deal of a he-man, " assented Sandy. "Stands up on his hind laigs. He didn't come out of the same mold as Keith. Sam, you ain't a potenshulmillionaire any longer, just plain ranchman. You can go to sleep 'thoutworryin' how yo're goin' to spend yore dividends. "

"That so't of worry won't tuhn my ha'r gray, " retorted Sam, "though Iwish you'd talk plain United States an' forgit the dikshunary. What I'mworryin' about is Molly. "

"So'm I, Sam, " said Sandy. "Good night. "

That Westlake won approval from Molly, and also from Kate Nicholson, waspatent before breakfast was over the next morning. A buyer came out fromHereford demanding Sandy's attention and he stayed at the ranch whilethe three and Sam went off saddleback. Westlake had expressed a desireto see the ranch and Molly had volunteered to display her own renewedknowledge of it. The buyer looked at the Three Star stock with experteyes and made bids that were highly satisfactory. 

"Better beef, better prices, that's the modern slogan, " he said at thenoon meal with Sandy and Mormon. "I see you believe in it. You canestablish a brand for the Three Star steers, Mr. Bourke, just as readilyas any producer of staple goods, and you can command your own market. 

"I heard some talk in Hereford this morning of trouble at one ranch notfar from here, " he went on. "A horse ranch run by a man named Plimsoll. Waterline Ranch, I think they call it. I have a commission from a man inChicago to look up some horses for him and I had heard of Plimsollbefore, not over-favorably. I understand he is a horse-dealer ratherthan a breeder. And that he is not fussy over brands. "

"He's got a big herd, " said Sandy non-committally. "Claims to round upslick-ears. "

"Slick-ears?"

"Same as broom-tails--wild hawsses. What was the trouble?"

"General row among the crowd, far as I could make out. Plimsoll shot atone of his men named Wyatt, I believe, and started to run him off theranch. There were sides taken and shots fired. "

"News to me, " said Sandy. He was not especially interested in Waterlinehappenings so long as Plimsoll remained set. The buyer left and the restof the day went slowly. 

When the quartet returned, Molly and Westlake were obviously more thanmere acquaintances. Sandy felt out of the running though Molly held himin the conversation. Kate Nicholson unconsciously intensified his mood. 

"They make a wonderful pair, don't they?" she said to him. "BothWestern, full of life and mutual interest. "

Miranda Bailey, driving over, created a welcome diversion. 

"I've brought a telegram out for you, Mr. Westlake, " she said. "Theoperator phoned us to see if any one was coming over. Said you left wordyou were at the Three Star. Here it is. When you goin' to have yourphone put into the ranch, Sandy?"

"Company promised to finish the party line next month, " answered Sandy. "Held up for poles. "

He answered with his eyes on the yellow envelope that Westlake, with anapology, was opening. The engineer read it and passed it to Molly. Sandysaw her face glow. 

"That's fine!" she exclaimed. "But it means you've got to go. I'm sorryfor that. "

The relief that Sandy felt, and dismissed as selfish, was marred by thecordial understanding that had sprung up between the two. He wondered ifthey had discovered a real attachment for each other. Such things couldhappen in a flash. His view was apt to be jaundiced, but he did notrealize that. 

"I'll have to go first thing to-morrow, " said Westlake. "I'm sorry, too. They've come up to my counter-offer, Bourke, and they want me to come onimmediately. It means a lot to me. Everything, " he added, with a smilethat Molly returned. 

"You'll write?" she said. "You promised. "

Kate Nicholson looked at Sandy with arching eyebrows. She too appearedto scent romance, to approve of it. Miranda broke in. 

"I'm sure glad it's good news, " she said. 

Sandy fancied she was about to ask about Keith. He knew her curiosityto be lively, though he thought her tact would appreciate the situationwith regard to Molly. "I've got some of my own, " she continued. "There'sbeen trouble out to Jim Plimsoll's. He shot at Wyatt or Wyatt at him, Idon't know which rightly. But there was sides taken an' a gen'ralrumpus. Several of his men quit or was run off the place. It's been areg'lar scandal. Called the place the Waterline. Whiskyline w'ud havesuited it better, I reckon. Plimsoll's aimin' to sell out, Ed heard. It'll be a good riddance. "

"Whoever buys the stock is takin' a long chance, " said Mormon. "Aimin'to sell, is he?"

"I'll have a telegram fo' you to take back, Mirandy, " said Sandy. "Yousendin' one, Westlake?"

"If you'll take it, Miss Bailey. "

"Glad to. "

Westlake and Molly were both standing. They moved toward the door andout to the moonlit veranda together. 

"They seem to hit it off well, that pair, " said Miranda. 

Kate Nicholson murmured something about the kitchen and left the room toattend to some refreshments. She had gradually taken over supervision ofPedro and the results had justified Molly's praise of her qualificationsas a housekeeper. 

"Now tell me about Keith, " demanded Miranda. "What's he been up to?"

Sandy told her. 

"I ain't a mite surprised. That Westlake acts white. I liked him fromthe start. What are you goin' to do about Molly? You ain't told heryet?"

"No use spoilin' her holiday befo' we have to, " said Sandy. "I'm goin'to talk with Keith first. "

"It'll be a good thing in a way, mebbe, " said Miranda. "Molly belongsout west where she was born an' brought up. I hope she stays, " she addedwith a shrewd glance at Sandy that startled him into a suspicion thatMiranda had guessed his secret. 

Kate Nicholson returned and the talk changed. Westlake and Mollyremained outside until the food was served. Then there was music. Through the evening the pair talked together, confidentially, apart fromthe rest. Miranda departed at last with the telegrams. Molly lingered asgood nights were said. 

"I've got something to tell you, Sandy, " she said. "It's private, forthe present, " she added with a glance toward Westlake. 

Sandy sat down by the fire with a sinking qualm. Molly perched herselfon the arm of his chair, silent for a moment or two. 

"It's a love story, Sandy, " she said presently. 

"Westlake?"

"Yes. He wanted me to tell you before he went. He's very fond of you, Sandy. "

"Is he?" Sandy spoke slowly, rousing himself with an effort. "I thinkhe's a fine chap. I sure wish him all the luck in the world. " He fanciedhis voice sounded flat. 

"I suppose you wondered why we were so chummy all the evening?"

"Yes. I wondered a li'l' about that. " Sandy did not look at her, butgazed into the dying fire. He saw himself sitting there, lonely, woman-shy once more, through the long stretch of years, with a lettercoming once in a while from far-off places telling of a happiness thathe had hoped for and yet had known could not be for him; Sandy Bourke, cow-puncher, two-gun man, rancher, growing old. 

"I was the first girl he had seen for a long while, you see, " Molly wassaying. "And he had to talk it over with some one. He told me about itfirst this morning and then the telegram came. "

"Talkin' about what?"

"His sweetheart. Now he can marry her with this opportunity. She maysail with him. Isn't it fine? He showed me her picture. "

"It's the best news I've heard fo' a long time, " answered Sandy soberly. 

"I'm sleepy, " said Molly. "Good night, Sandy, dear. "

She put her lips to his tanned cheek and left him in a maze. The dyingfire leaped up and the room lightened. It died down again, but Sandy satthere, smoking cigarette after cigarette. 

CHAPTER XVIII

DEHORNED

Miranda Bailey had offered to come in for Westlake with her car, but thetrain went early and he had refused. Molly drove him in the buckboard, his grips stowed behind, and Sandy saw them go with the old light backin his eyes. He gave Westlake a grip of the hand that made him wince. 

"Bring her out to the Three Star sometime, " he told him. "Mind if I tellSam and Mormon, Westlake? They'll sure be tickled. "

"I'd like them to know. And we'll come, when we can. Maybe we'll findyou coupled by that time, Sandy. All three of you. And I hope we'll findMolly here. "

"I hope so. " Sandy fancied the last sentence more than casual. 

"You can rely upon my information being correct, " were Westlake's lastwords, spoken aside before he climbed into the buckboard and Mollyflirted the reins over the backs of the team shooting off at top speed. 

Sandy's mood had changed. He was in high fettle as he watched them go. The rider who was breaking horses for the Three Star surrendered his jobthat morning to the "old man. "

Molly came back a little before noon, her eyes wide with excitement. 

"Mr. Keith's in town, " she said. "With Donald and his secretary, Mr. Blake. He asked me if Mr. Westlake had been here and he seemed annoyedwhen I told him I had just seen him off on the train. They all came fromCasey Town in the big car. Has there been any trouble between Mr. Keithand Mr. Westlake?"

"The South American offer is a better chance than Casey Town, " answeredSandy. "Mr. Keith may have been annoyed about that. His boy's along, yousay? Is he comin' oveh to the ranch?"

"Yes. He wanted to come with me, to drive me out in the car, but I hadthe buckboard and I'd rather drive horses any day. So he'll be out alittle later to take up your invitation. Mr. Keith has some business inHereford. He and Mr. Blake will stay on their private car. He told me totell you he would be out to-morrow to see you. Oh, here's a telegram foryou. "

"Thanks. " Sandy tucked the envelope in his pocket. "Hop out, Molly, an'I'll put up the team. "

"I'll help you. I haven't forgotten how to unhitch. " Her nimble fingersworked as fast as Sandy's with buckles, coiling traces and loopingreins. She led the team off to the drinking trough and fed each anapple, with Sandy looking at her, registering the picture that made suchstrong appeal. 

"Goin' to take Donald Keith out fo' a real ride on a real hawss?" heasked her. 

"Yes. To-morrow. He's keen to go. You'll come. And Sam and Kate?"

"I've got a hunch I'm goin' to be busy ter-morrer. Keith's comin', fo'one thing. "

"I forgot. I wish you could come. " The passing shadow on her face wassunshine to Sandy. Molly went into the house and he opened the telegram. It was from Brandon, as he expected. 

 Thanks. Coming immediately. Was starting anyway. That trap worked. May need horses for eight. Will you arrange?

 BRANDON. 

"It sure looks like a busy day ter-morrer, " Sandy said half aloud. "Keith and Brandon--which means roundin' up Jim Plimsoll. Sam don't getto any picnic, either. He'll have to 'tend to the hawsses. "

The Keith touring car arrived in mid-afternoon with young Keith at thewheel, the chauffeur beside him, grips in the tonneau. Donald Keithjumped out, affable, a little inclined to condescension at first towardeverything connected with the ranch, including Kate Nicholson. Theimperturbable driver left with the car. Young Keith's snobbery wore offas he inspected the corrals and the stock with eager interest and theriders with a certain measure of awe, which he transferred to Sandy onlearning that he had broken two colts that morning. 

"If they're broken, I must be all apart, " he said, watching them plungewildly about the corral at the sight of visitors. "I'd hate to try toride one of them in Central Park. If I could stick on I'd be pinched forendangering the public. Wish I could have seen you bu'st them. "

"There'll be mo' of it befo' you leave, " said Sandy. His mood of themorning held. His generosity of feeling toward Keith's boy did notlessen when he saw how much the elder of the two Molly appeared. Theyoungster was spoiled, probably selfish, but he was distinctly likable. 

"Know what time yore father expects to be out?" Sandy asked him, later. 

"He didn't say. He's got some business to attend to. Some time in theforenoon, I imagine. I know he's figuring on getting back to Casey Townto-night. Molly, you haven't taken me out to see your father's grave. Won't you? You promised to. " Sandy liked the lad for that. But it didnot ameliorate his attitude toward the visit of Keith Senior. 

That worthy arrived after lunch had been cleared the next day. KateNicholson busied herself to wait deferentially upon him and hissecretary, the fox-faced Blake. Keith was brisk and brusk, breathingprosperity. 

"I was detained in Hereford, Bourke, " he said. "I haven't much time foranything but a flying visit. I promised Mrs. Keith I'd come over thefirst opportunity, and I wanted to see you. Donald's out with Molly, yousay. I'll leave him with you on your invitation and pick him up when wego back east. That will be in about a week. Sooner than I expected. I'dlike to spare a day to look over the ranch. I've heard fine things aboutit. "

"Thanks, " drawled Sandy laconically. "Glad to have a talk with you. Sam, Mr. Blake might like to see the hawsses gentled that came up thismo'nin'. "

Keith raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Leaving Blake, Sandy ledKeith to his office, rolled a cigarette, offered a chair to his visitorand smoked, waiting for the latter to open the talk. 

"There are some papers for you to examine, as Molly's guardian, " saidKeith. "But Blake has them. "

"We'll take them up later. Anythin' else?"

Keith looked sharply at Sandy's face. There was a certain grimness to itthat reminded the promoter of the first time he had seen it. His ownchanged to a mask, expressionless, save for his eyes, holding suspicionthat changed to aggressiveness. But the latter did not show in his voicewhich was smooth and ingratiating. 

"Nothing of great importance. I hear Westlake has been over here, Bourke. We had a misunderstanding. Sorry to lose him, since yourecommended him. "

"He figgers he has a better job, " answered Sandy. 

"I'm glad he thinks so. He is young and lacks experience. His opinionclashed with that of my engineer-in-charge, an expert of high standing. Westlake was hot-headed and would not brook being overruled. There is nodoubt but that he was mistaken. He is a valuable man, under a superior, but he is intolerant. "

"He didn't strike me that way, " said Sandy. "Me, I set a good deal onhis opinion. "

"I didn't imagine you knew much about mining, Bourke. " Keith looked athis watch. "I'll really have to be going as soon as you have looked overthose papers. Hadn't we better call Blake?"

Sandy looked out of the window. He saw Miranda Bailey's flivver haltingby the big car, Mormon walking toward her, and wondered what had broughther over. So far he had not got the opening he wanted, unless he took updefense of Westlake more forcibly to introduce the matter. He wasinclined to suggest a trip for himself to Casey Town to inspect the minein company with Keith that night, but the coming of Brandon hamperedhim. He wanted to be on hand for that. Then he saw Mormon leave Mirandaand come toward the office, bowling along at top speed. 

"Excuse me a minute, Keith, " he said. "My partner wants to see me. "

Keith's face wore a scowl as Sandy stepped outside. His conscience wasnot entirely clear and he did not like the general atmosphere of theoffice. He scented antagonism in this rancher who called him Keithwithout the prefix. It was all right for him to omit it, but. . . . He tookout a cigar, bit off the end savagely and lit it. 

"Mirandy wants to see you, " panted Mormon. "She's found out somethin'about Keith that sure shows his play. He's been discardin'!"

The Keith chauffeur had wandered off to the corrals where Sam wasshowing Blake around. Miranda handed Sandy a long envelope. 

"Hen Collins had an accident last night, " she said. "Blew a tire on thebridge by our place an' smashed through the railin'. Bu'sted a rib ortwo an' was knocked out. We took him in. I'm sorry for Hen but it surewas a lucky accident. You see, Keith told him to keep quiet but Hen wasgrateful to Ed fo' takin' him in an' puttin' him to bed an' sendin' fo'the doctor. Don't open that envellup, that Keith weasel might belookin'. I reckon you'll want to spring it on him sudden. "

"Sure, " said Sandy. "Spring what?"

"I'm flustered, " admitted Miranda. "I usually talk straight. Now I'llstart to the beginnin'. When Keith arrived on this trip he held quite areception in his private car. Ed was there with the rest. He invitedthem up fo' cigars. Talked big about Casey Town an' gen'ally pattedhimself on the back. Said it was too bad all the stock of the Mollywasn't held in locally, but of co'se the pore promoter had to havesomethin' fo' his money. He was real affable. Ben Creel asked him if hedidn't want to sell some of his Molly stock an' they all laffed. 

"This time, when he come back yesterday, he brings up the subject ag'in. He, an' that secretary of his who looks like a coyote. I don't know howmany he saw or jest what he said, but this is what he told Hen. Afterhe'd got Hen to lead up to it, mind you. That Casey Town was boomin' bigan' that his own holdin's was nettin' him a heap. That he liked Henfine an' had picked him out as a representative citizen. With a lot mo'slush, the upshot of which was that he lets him have a hundred shares ofthe Molly Mine at par. Hen was to say nothin' about it because, saysKeith, if it got out he was sellin' stock, it would send down the priceof the shares an' hurt Casey Town in general, Hereford some, an' you-allat the Three Star in partickler. I reckon he was plausible enough. Henwas sure tickled. He w'udn't have said a word about it on'y Ed picksthese shares up out of the bed of the crick an' give them to Hen aftehhe'd been fixed up. 

"Ed went nosin' around Hereford this mo'nin'. He got eight men--theirnames is inside the envelope--Creel one of 'em--to admit they'd boughtsome shares. Mighty glad they was to have 'em. Ed didn't tell 'emanything different, but he come scootin' home at noon an' I borrowedHen's certificut, seein' he was asleep. An' here it is. "

"Mirandy, " said Sandy, "I'll let Mormon tell you what we all think ofyou. You've sure dealt me an ace. Mormon, help Sam ride herd on thesecretary. I'll be callin' you in after a bit. You'll stay, Mirandy?"

"I'll go visit with Kate Nicholson. I'm beginnin' to like her real well. Molly away?"

Sandy left Mormon to tell her and returned to the office. Keith eyed theenvelope. 

"Blake coming?" he asked. 

"Not yet. When do we get another dividend from the Molly, Keith?"

Keith laughed. 

"You're as bad as all the others, " he said. "Sell a man stock, give hima dividend and he's like a girl eating candy. You had one just fourteenweeks ago. "

Sandy nodded. 

"I was askin' you about the _next_, " he said, his voice still drawlingbut with a finer edge to it. 

"Needing some ready money?"

"How about the dividend?"

"Why, that depends upon the output. " Keith's voice purred but his eyeshad narrowed. He watched Sandy like a card player who begins to thinkhis opponent superior to first impressions. "The output has been big. The Molly has been a bonanza, so far. I do not think it wise always topay dividends according to the immediate production, however. It isbetter, as a rule, to average it, generally to develop the mine as awhole rather than work the first rich veins. "

"That why you boarded up the stopes?"

Keith's face grew dark. The veins twitched at his temples. 

"Look here, Bourke, " he blustered. "You've been listening to some fooltalk from that cub, Westlake. I know my business. You've got some stockin the mine, twenty-five per cent. I've put money and brains into it andI've got forty-nine per cent. Molly. . . . "

"If you _had_ fo'ty-nine per cent. I wouldn't be worryin' so much. "

"What the devil do you mean?"

"I took you fo' a betteh gambler than to git mad, " said Sandy. "I'lljest ask you a question on behalf of myse'f an' partners' twenty-fiveper cent. , an' Molly's twenty-six, me bein' her guardian. Plump an'plain, is the Molly pinched out?"

Keith hesitated, struggled to control himself. 

"Save me a trip over to Casey Town, mebbe, " Sandy added. 

"I got mad just now, Bourke, because of the interference of a man Ifired for lack of common sense, experience and recognition of hissuperiors. Westlake is a hot-head and I suppose he has some idea oftrying to get even with me by belittling me in your eyes and runningdown my management. I think I have shown my interests allied with yours. Mrs. Keith and I. "

"She don't come into this. You didn't answer my question, Keith. Howabout it?"

"It's a damned falsehood. "

"Then why are you sellin' your stock?"

The words came like bullets as Sandy whipped the certificate out of theenvelope and slapped it smartly on the desk. Keith whitened, flushedagain, recovered himself. 

"If I was not friendly to you, Bourke, I should take that as a directinsult. I can understand that you believe in Westlake and take stock inwhat he told you. But he is a discharged employee. He has everyreason. . . . "

Sandy held up his hand. 

"He's a friend of mine, " he said. "Keith, I may not know the minin'game--as you play it. In some ways it's gamblin', like playin' poker. I've played that a heap. I can tell pritty well when a man's bluffin'. Mebbe you're losin' some of yore nerve lately. You show it in yore face. Yore eyes flickered when you said it was a 'damned falsehood. ' I don'thanker to insult a man but--I don't believe you. An' here's this stockyou sold. I've got the names of more you sold it to. Why?"

"A man in my position, " said Keith slowly, "swings many big deals andsometimes he is pushed for ready money. "

"I reckon that's the reason, " said Sandy dryly. "Well, you've got to gitit some other way. You've got to buy these stocks back, Keith. I controlthe big end of the stock in the Molly. If I have to go to the bother ofgittin' an expert of my own, an' goin' to Casey Town to look back ofthose stopes, you're goin' to be sorry fo' it. "

"I have a right to sell my stock. "

"You ain't goin' to exercise that right, Keith. You may make a businesssellin' chances to folks who like to buy 'em, but you can't sellHerefo'd folks paper when they think they're buyin' gold. I won't buncomy neighbors an' I ain't goin' to 'low you to do it with any propositionI'm interested in. You'll give me the money you got fo' the shares witha list of the men you sold 'em to an' I'll tell 'em the Molly is pinchedout--as it is. "

"You must be crazy, man! They wouldn't believe you. If you went roundwith a statement like that you'd lose every cent of your own and yourward's. You have no right. . . . "

"Trouble is with you, you don't know the meanin' of that last word, "said Sandy. "Right is jest what I aim to do. We'll put it up to Mollyan' you'll see where she stands. We don't do business out west the wayyou do. We don't rob our friends or even try an' run a razoo onstrangehs. I reckon the folks'll believe me. If they don't I'll give 'emstock of ours, share fo' share, to convince 'em until it's known theMolly has flivvered. "

"You'll ruin the whole camp. "

"Not to my mind. They'll git out what gold's left The Molly'll shutdown. I'll git you to give me a statement 'long with the money an' thelist fo' me to check up, sayin' you've jest had news the vein haspetered out sudden--like it has. That's lettin' you down easy. They'llthink you an honorable man 'stead of a bunco-steerer. I'm doin' this'count of the fact you folks have looked out fo' Molly. An' I'm tellin'you, Keith, that, if Herefo'd folks knew you'd deliberately sold themrotten stock, you an' yore private car might suffer consid'rable damagebefo' you got away. Out west folks still git riled over trick plays an'holdouts, hawss-stealin' an' otheh deals that ain't square. I'd sureadvise you to come across. "

Keith looked into the face of Sandy and, briefly, into his eyes, hard assteel. He made one more attempt. 

"Let's talk common sense, Bourke. You're quixotic. The Molly iscapitalized for a quarter of a million dollars. The stock can be sold atpar if it's done quietly. I can dispose of it for you. There is nocertainty that the mine will not produce richly when we strike throughthe second level of porphyry. There are plenty of people willing to buyshares on that chance after the showing already made. I tried to sayjust now that you have no right to throw away your ward's money, and youare a fool to throw away your own. People buy stock as a gamble. "

"No sense in you talkin' any mo' that way, Keith. Mebbe you sell paperto folks who gamble on it, an' on what you tell 'em about the chances, makin' yore story gold-colored. Folks may like to git somethin' fo' nex'to nothin', but I won't sell 'em nothin' fo' somethin', neitheh will mypartners, neitheh will Molly Casey. She's a western gel. Above all, Iwon't gold-brick my friends. I know the mine is petered out. You won'tcall my play about havin' an expert examine it, which same is no bluff. I believe in Westlake's report. We've had our share of the gold in itan', we won't sell the dirt. No mo' w'ud Pat Casey, lyin' out there bythe spring, if he was alive. "

"Suppose I refuse?" asked Keith, his square face obstinate. "I've donenothing outside the law. "

"To hell with that kind of law! We make laws of our own out here once ina while. Justice is what we look fo', not law. We aim to trail straight. I reckon you'll come through. Fo' one thing I expect to have yore boyvisit with us till you do. "

The promoter's face twisted uglily and he lost control of himself. 

"Kidnapping? A western method of justice. Not the first time you've beenmixed up in it either, from what I hear. You don't dare. . . . "

Keith stopped abruptly. Sandy had not moved, but his eyes, fromresembling orbs of chilled steel, seemed suddenly to throw off the blazeand heat of the molten metal. 

"Fo' a promoter yo're a mighty pore judge of men, " he said. "I'm warnin'you not to ride any further along that trail. Yore son can stay here, orwe can tell the Herefo'd folk what you've tried to hand to them. Yo'reapt to look like a buzzard that's fallen into a tar barrel after theygit through with you, Keith. Trouble with you is that you've beenbullin' the market an' havin' it yore own way too long. Now you see ab'ar on the horizon, you don't like the view. 

"When we bring up stock fo' shipment we sometimes have trouble with thelonghorns. We've got a dehornin' machine fo' them. That's yore trubble, so fur as this locality is concerned. You need dehornin'. I can find outwho you sold stock to easy enough, but I don't care to waste the time. An' if I do there'll be more publicity about it than you'd care fo'. Might even git back to New Yo'k. I'm givin' you the easy end of it, Keith, 'count of Molly. You an' me can ride into town in yore car an'clean this all up befo' the bank closes. We'll leave the money withCreel of the Herefo'd National. Then you can come back an' git yoreboy. "

"I don't remember the names. Blake took the record of them, " said Keithsullenly. 

"Then we'll have him in. "

Sandy went to the door and hailed Sam and Mormon. They came to theoffice escorting Blake, whose fox-face moved from side to side withfurtive eyes as if he smelled a trap. 

"We want the list of the folks you unloaded Molly stock to, " said Sandy. 

Blake looked at his employer who sat glowering at his cigar end, lickedhis lips and said nothing. 

"Speak up, " said Sandy. 

"There's a fine patch of prickly pear handy, " suggested Sam. "Fine fo'restorin' the voice. Last time we chucked a tenderfoot in there they hadto peel the shirt off of him in strips. " He took the secretary by oneelbow, Mormon by the other, both grinning behind his back as he shookwith a sudden palsy in the belief that they meant their threat. 

"Tell him, you damned fool!" grunted Keith. 

"The stubs are in the car at Hereford depot, " said Blake. "In the safe. "

"Money there too? I suppose you cashed the checks?"

"I deposited them to my own account, " said Keith. "Come on, let's getthis over with since you are determined to throw away your own and yourpartners' good money, to say nothing of the girl's. She could bring suitagainst you, Bourke, with a good chance of winning. "

He glanced hopefully at Mormon and Sam. They kept on grinning. 

"Round up that chauffeur, Sam, will you?" asked. Sandy. "Tell him we'restartin' fo' Herefo'd right off. You an' me can go over those accountsof Molly's same time we attend to the other business, Keith. "

They went outside, Blake looking anxious and a trifle bewildered, Keiththrowing away his cigar and lighting a new one, his face sullen with therage he dammed. Kate Nicholson and Miranda Bailey were on theranch-house veranda. 

"Could I ask you to mail these letters, Mr. Keith? Two of Molly's andone of my own. " Kate Nicholson advanced toward him, the letters in hand. With a spurt of fury Keith snatched at the letters and threw them on theground. 

"To hell with you!" he shouted, his face empurpled. "You're fired!" Allof his polish stripped from him like peeling veneer, he appeared merelya coarse bully. 

Sam came up the veranda in two jumps and a final leap that left him withhis hands entwined in Keith's coat collar. He whirled that astoundedperson half around and slammed him up against the wall of theranch-house, rumpled, gasping, with trembling hands that lifted beforethe menace of Sam's gun. 

"I oughter shoot the tongue out of you befo' I put a slug through yorehead, " said Sam, standing in front of the promoter, tense as a jaguarcouched for a spring, his eyes glittering, his voice packed with venom. "You git down on yo' knees, you ring-tailed skunk, an' apologize tothis lady. Crook yo' knees, you stinkin' polecat, an' crawl. I'll makeyou lick her shoes. Down with you or I'll send you straight tojudgment!"

"No, Sam, Mr. Manning--it isn't necessary, " protested Kate Nicholson. "Please. . . . "

Sam looked at her cold-eyed. 

"This is my party, " he said. "It'll do him good. I'll let him offlickin' yo' shoes, he might spile the leather. But he'll git themletters he chucked away, git 'em on all-fours, like the sneakin', slinkin', double-crossin' coyote he is. Crook yo' knees first an'apologize! I'll learn you a lesson right here an' now. You stay rightwhere you are, Kate. Let him come to you. "

Sam fired a shot and the promoter jumped galvanically as the bullet torethrough the planking of the ranch-house between his trembling knees. 

"I regret, Miss Nicholson, " he commenced huskily, "that I let my temperget the better of me. I was greatly upset. In the matter of yourservices I was--er--doubtless hasty. It can be arranged. "

He shrank at the tap of Sam's gun on his shoulder, wilting to his knees. 

"She w'udn't work fo' you fo' the time it takes a rabbit to dodge arattler, " said Sam. "She never did work fo' you. It was Molly's moneypaid her. Kate's goin' to stay right here as long as she chooses an'I. . . . "

Catching Kate Nicholson's gaze, the admiring look of a woman who hasnever before been championed, conscious of the fact that he had blurtedout her Christian name and disclosed the secret of that touch ofintimacy between them, Sam grew crimson through his tan. KateNicholson's face was rosy; both were embarrassed. 

"Thank you, Mr. Manning, " she said. "Please let him get up, and put awayyour pistol. "

"Git up, " said Sam, "an' go pick up them letters. "

Keith, humiliated before his secretary and his chauffeur, the lattergazing wooden-faced but making no attempt at interference, gathered upthe envelopes and presented them, with a bow, to the governess. He hadrecovered partial poise and his face was pale as wax, his eyes evil. 

"I'll mail them, Miss Nicholson, " said Sandy. "Let's go. " He took Samaside as the car swung round and up to the porch. "I'm obliged to you, Sam, " he said. "It was sure comin' to him an' I've been havin' hard workto keep my hands off him. I've a notion he'll trail better now. IfBrandon arrives befo' we git back, look out fo' him. Mormon'll help youentertain. "

"Seguro, " replied Sam. "Look at Keith. He looks like a rattler with hisfangs pulled. I'll bet he c'ud spit bilin' vitriol right now. "

"His cud ain't jest what he most fancies, this minute, " said Sandydryly. "Sorter bitter to chew an' hard to swaller. Sammy, " Sandy's voicechanged to affection, his eyes twinkled, "I didn't sabe you an' MissNicholson was so well acquainted. "

Sam looked his partner in the eyes and used almost the same words forwhich he had just tamed Keith. But he said them with a smile. 

"You go plumb to hell!"

 * * * * *

Creel, president of the Hereford National Bank, a banker keen at abargain, shot out his underlip when Keith, with Sandy in attendance, tendered him the money for all shares of the Molly Mine sold inHereford, including his own. 

"You say the mine has petered out?" he asked Keith, with palpablesuspicion. Keith glanced swiftly at Sandy sitting across the table fromhim in the little directors' room back of the bank proper. Sandy satsphinx-like. As if by accident, his hands were on his hips, the fingersresting on his gun butts. Keith did not actually fear gunplay, but hewas not sure of what Sandy might do. Sam's bullet, that had undoubtedlybeen sped in grim earnest, had unnerved him. Sandy Bourke held thewinning hand. 

"That is the news from my superintendent, " said Keith. "I wish I coulddoubt it. Under the circumstances, consulting with Mr. Bourke, whorepresents the majority stock, we concluded there was no other actionfor us to take but to recall the shares although the money had actuallypassed. Naturally, in the refunding, which I leave entirely to you, itwould be wiser not to precipitate a general panic and to treat thematter with all possible secrecy. "

"Humph!" Keith's suavity did not appear entirely to smooth down Creel'schagrin at losing what he had considered a good thing. He smelt a mousesomewhere. "There are only two reasons for repurchasing such stock, " hesaid crisply. "The course you take is rarely honorable and suggestsgreat credit. The second reason would be a strike of rich ore ratherthan a failure. "

"I will guarantee the failure, Creel, " said Sandy. "If, at any time, astrike is made in the Molly, I shall be glad to transfer to youpersonally the same amount of shares from my own holdin's. I'll put thatin writin', if you prefer it. "

"No, " said Creel, "it ain't necessary. " He glumly made the retransfer. Sandy viséed Keith's accounts and took Keith's check for the balance, placing it to a personal account for Molly. The check was on theHereford Bank and it practically exhausted Keith's local resources. 

As they left the bank a cowboy rode up on a flea-bitten roan that waslathered with sweat, sadly roweled and leg-weary. Astride of it wasWyatt, riding automatically his eyes wide-opened, red-rimmed, owlishwith lack of sleep and overmuch bad liquor. Afoot he could hardly havenavigated, in the saddle he seemed comparatively sober. He spurred overto the big machine as Sandy and Keith got in to return to the ranch, sweeping his sombrero low in an ironical bow. 

"Evenin', gents, " he greeted them, his voice husky, inclined tohiccough. "This here is one hell of a town, Bourke! They've took away myguns an' told me to be good, they're sellin' doughnuts an' buttermilkdown to Regan's old joint, popcorn an' sody-water over to PapGleason's! Me, I tote my own licker an' they don't take that off 'n myhip. You don't want a good man out to the Three Star, Bourke?"

"I never saw a real good man the shape you're in, Wyatt. Sober up an'I'll talk to you. "

Wyatt leaned from the saddle and held on to the side of the machine withone hand, his alcohol-varnished eyes boring into Sandy's with the fixityof drink-madness. 

"Why in hell would I sober up?" he demanded. "Plimsoll, the lousy swine, he stole my gal, God blast him! He drove me off'n the Waterline, him an'the ones that hang with him. I'd like to see him hang. I'd like to seethe eyes stickin' out of his head an' his tongue stickin' out of hislyin' jaws! I'm gettin' even with Jim Plimsoll fo' what he done to me. "Wyatt's eyes suddenly ran over with tears of self-pity. "Blast him tohell!" he cried. "Watch my smoke!" He withdrew his hand and galloped upthe street as Keith's car started. 

The powerful engine made nothing of the few miles between Hereford andthe Three Star and it was only mid-afternoon when they arrived. Mollyand Donald Keith were still absent, there was no sign of Brandon. Sandyfancied that any wait would not be especially congenial to Keith, butthe promoter was firm in his determination to take away his son from theranch. While his resentment could find no outlet, it was plain that heand his were through with any one connected with the Three Star brand. 

Acting without any thought of this, save as it simmered subconsciously, Sandy rejoiced that Molly would now stay. He intended to give her openchoice--there was money enough left, aside from the capital used on theThree Star, to send her back east for a completion of education. Or topay Miss Nicholson for remaining as educator. He surmised that Sam wouldpersuade Kate Nicholson to stay in any event. Molly, returned, appearedso much the woman, that the question of further schooling seemedsuperfluous to Sandy. He felt that it would to her, especially after hehad told her all that had occurred since morning. That she would approvehe had no doubt. Molly was true blue as her eyes. Altogether, Sandyconsidered the petering out of the Molly Mine far from being a disaster. And, if Molly stayed west--for keeps--?

 * * * * *

Keith stayed in his car, smoking, ignoring the very existence of theranch and its people. The afternoon wore on with the sun droppinggradually toward the last quarter of the day's march. At four o'clockone of the Three Star riders came in at a gallop, carrying double. Behind him, clinging tight, was Donald Keith, woebegone, almostexhausted, his trim riding clothes snagged and soiled, his shiningputtees scuffed and scratched. He staggered as he slid out of the saddleand clung to the cantle, head sunk on arms until Sandy took him by thearm. Keith sprang from his car and came over. Sam and Mormon hurried up. 

"What's this?" demanded Keith angrily, suspicion rife in his voice. 

"I picked him up three mile' back, hoofin' it. He was headin' fo' BitterFlats but he wanted the ranch, " said the cowboy to Sandy, ignoringKeith. "We burned wind an' leather comin' in, seein' Jim Plimsoll an'some of his gang have made off with Miss Molly!"

"Where'd this happen?" demanded Sandy. "Sam, go git Pronto fo' me an'saddle up. "

"That's the hell of it, " said the rider. "The pore damn fool don't know. Plumb loco! Scared to death. Been wanderin' round sence afore noon. "

Donald Keith sagged suddenly and Sandy picked the lad up in his arms. Weariness and fright, thirst, the changed altitude, had overtoiled hisendurance. Sandy strode with him to the car and laid him on thecushions. 

"Git some water, " he ordered Keith. "We've got no licker on the ranch. Here's one of the times Prohibition an' me don't hitch. "

Keith bent, opened a shallow drawer beneath the seat and produced asilver flask. He unscrewed the top and poured some liquor into it. Itwas Scotch whisky of a pre-war vintage. The aroma of the stuff dissolvedin the rare air, vaguely scenting it. The nose of the wooden-facedchauffeur wrinkled. Sandy raised the boy's head and lifted the whisky tohis pallid lips, gray as his face where the flesh matched the powderyalkali that covered it. 

"Pinch his nose, " he said to Keith. "He's breathin' regular. Stroke histhroat soon as I git the stuff back of his teeth. So. Now then. "

The cordial trickled down and Donald's eyes opened. Almost immediatelycolor came back into his cheeks and lips and he tried to sit up. Sandyhelped him. 

"Now, sonny, " he said. "Tell us about it. How'd this happen an' where?An' when, if you can place that?"

Donald nodded. 

"Just a second, " he whispered and closed his eyes. They were bright whenhe raised the lids again. 

"Whisky got me going, " he said. "I'd have given a whole lot for thatflask two or three hours ago, Dad. "

"Never mind the whisky, where did you leave Molly?" demanded Sandy. 

"I don't know just where. I wasn't noticing just which way we rode. Shedid the leading. I don't know how I ever got back. "

"Didn't she tell you where you were makin' fo'?"

"She didn't name it. It was a little lake in some caņon where Molly saidthere used to be beavers. "

"Beaver Dam Caņon, " said Sandy exultantly. "You left here 'bout seven. How fast did you trail?"

"We walked the horses most of the time. It was all up-hill. And I lookedat my watch a little before it happened. It was a quarter of eleven. Molly said we'd be there by noon. "

"Where were you then? What kind of a place? Near water?"

"We'd just crossed a stream. "

"Willer Crick, runs out of Beaver Dam Lake. You c'udn't foller that up, 'count of the falls. Now, jest what happened?"

"We saw some men ahead of us. Molly wondered who they could be. Thenthey disappeared. We were riding in a pass and two of them showed again, coming out of the trees ahead of us. One of them, on a big black horse, held up his hand. "

"Jim Plimsoll!"

"Yes. Molly recognized him and she spoke to him to get out of the trail. It was brush and cactus either side of us and we'd have had to crowd in. Grit was trailing us. Plimsoll wouldn't move. I heard more horses backof us and I turned to look. Two more men were coming up behind. They hadrifles. So did the man with Plimsoll. He had a pistol under his vest. Wecouldn't go back very well and I could see from the way Plimsoll grinnedthat he was going to be nasty. Molly spurred Blaze on and cut atPlimsoll with her quirt. He grabbed her hand with his left. Grit sprangup at him and he got out his gun from the shoulder sling and shot him. "

"Shot the dawg? Hit him?"

"Yes, in the leg. He fired at him again, but Grit got into the brush. "

"Jest what were you doin' all the time?" Sandy knew the lad was atenderfoot, knew he would have been small use on such an occasion, butthe thought of Grit rising to the rescue, falling back shot, brought thetaunt. 

"The two men behind told me to throw up my hands, " said young Keith, hisface reddening. "What could I do?"

"Nothin', son. You c'udn't have done a thing. Go on. "

"Plimsoll twisted Molly's wrist so that the quirt fell to the ground. The man who was with him tossed his rope over her and they twisted itround her arms. I had the muzzle of a rifle poked into my ribs. Theymade me get off my horse. And they made me walk back along the trail. They fired bullets each side of me and laughed at me when I dodged. Theytold me if I looked back they'd shoot my damned head off. " Donald's eyeswere filled with tears of self-pity and the remembrance of his helplessrage. "They kept firing at me until I'd passed the stream. I hid in thewillows, but I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see the men whohad been firing at me. 

"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't rescue Molly without a horse. Ionly had a revolver against their rifles and I'm not much of a shot. Itried to get back here but it was hard to find the way. I knew it waseast but the sun was high and I wasn't sure which way the shadows lay. Iwas all in when your man found me. "

"All right, my son. Keith, I'm goin' to borrow that flask of yores. Might need it. "

He jumped from the car, flask in hand, and ran to the ranch-house. KateNicholson met him as he entered. "Has anything happened to Molly?" shegasped. 

"That's what I'm goin' to find out, " Sandy answered. "Mormon, git me mycartridge belt an' some extry shells fo' my rifle. "

"I got to go git me my hawss, " demurred Mormon who had followed him in. "Becos' I'm goin' on this trail. "

"You can come erlong with Sam when the Brandon outfit shows. Or, if theydon't show, you can bring erlong our own boys soon's they come in. ButI'm hittin' this alone. "

As he spoke he rummaged in a drawer and brought out the first-aid kit healways kept handy. 

"You ain't takin' Sam?" asked Mormon, returning with the cartridge belt, Sandy's rifle and a box of shells. "I know you're goin' to ride hard an'fast, Sandy, but you got to go slow after you git tryin' to cut sign. Plimsoll's likely taken her over to the Waterline range country. Theygot a place over there somewhere they call the Hideout. It's where theyhide their hawsses when they want 'em out of sight an' I reckon it'shard to find. I c'ud keep within' sight of you till you start cuttin'sign, Sandy, an' then catch up. "

"Sam ain't comin', " said Sandy, filling his rifle magazine and breech, stowing away extra clips. "I'm goin' in alone. Mo'n one 'ud be likely tospoil sign, Mormon, mo'n one is likely to advertise we're comin'. They're liable to leave a lookout. Know we'll miss Molly some time. Figgered young Keith might git back some time. Plimsoll's clearin' outof the country an' I'm trailin' him clean through hell if I have to. Efhe's harmed Molly I'll stake him out with a green hide wrapped round himan' his eyelids sliced off. I'll sit in the shade an' watch him frizzlean' yell when the hide shrinks in the sun. This is my private play, Mormon. You an' Sam can back it up, but I'm handlin' the cards. I'llleave sign plain fo' you to foller from Willer Crick. They must havecrossed at the ford below the big bend. "

He left the room and they saw him covering the ground in a wolf trot towhere Sam, astride his own favorite mount, held Pronto ready saddled. They saw Sam's protest, Sandy's vigorous overruling of it, and thenSandy was up-saddle and away at a brisk lope with Sam gazing after himdisconsolately. Keith's car was turning for the trip to Hereford, spurning the dust of the Three Star Ranch forever--and not lamented. 

"Ain't it jest plumb hell--beggin' yore pardon, marm--but that's what itis--plain hell!" cried Mormon. Tears of mortification were in his eyes, his voice was high-pitched and his chagrin was so much like that of anovergrown child that Kate Nicholson felt constrained to laugh despitethe seriousness of the situation. "Me, I been punchin' cows, ridin' ahawss fo' a livin' fo' nigh thirty years, " said Mormon. "I ain't whatyou'd call sooperannuated yit, if I am bald. I'm healthy as a woodchuck. But I'm so goldarned, hunky-chunky, hawg-fat I can't ride a hawss nomo'--not faster 'n a walk or further than two mile', fo' fear ofbreakin' his back. So I git left home to sit in a damn rockin' chair!Hell and damnation!"

"You're going to follow him, aren't you?"

"That was jest Sandy's way of lettin' me down easy. Sam'll go, but I'llstay to home. I'm goin' to give away my guns an' learn milkin'. Sandy'sgot about three hours of daylight. He'll go 'cross lots on the hawss, fur as he reckons the sign shows safe, an' no man can read sign better'nSandy. Then he'll play snake an' he can beat an Indian at takin' cover. He'll drift over open country 'thout bein' spotted an', up there in therange, they'll never see, smell or hear him till he's on top of 'em an'his guns are doin' the talkin'. You ought to see him in action. I'vedone it. I've been in action with him, me an' Sam. Now all I'm good fo'is a close quarters ra'r an' tumble. He w'udn't take Sam erlong fo' fearof hurtin' my feelin's though even Sam 'ud be some handicap to Sandy onthis trip of scoutin'. 

"Sam can't take cover extra good, though he shoots middlin'. Sandy, heshoots like lightnin' fast an' straight. "

"But there are four against him, at least. "

"Fo' what?" asked Mormon with a look of scorn. "Plimsoll an' three ofhis cronies. Mebbe one or two mo' chucked in fo' good measure. What ofit? Yeller, all of 'em, yeller as the belly of a Gila River pizenlizard. On'y way the odds 'ud be even w'ud be fo' them to git the dropon Sandy an' it can't be done. He's got his fightin' face on an' thatmeans hands an' heart an' eyes an' brain an' every inch of him lined upto win. Sandy fights with his head an' he's got the heart to back it. Hell's bells, marm, beggin' yo' pardon ag'in, I ain't worryin' noneerbout Sandy! I ain't seen him lose out yet. I'm cussin' about_me_--warmin' an armchair an' waddlin' round like a fall hawg. "

Mormon slammed his hat on the floor and jumped on it and Miss Nicholsonfled, a little reassured by Mormon's eulogy, anxious to talk it overwith Sam. 

Sandy, his eyes like the mica flakes that show in gray granite, hishumorous mouth a stern line, little bunches of muscles at the junctionof his jaws, held the pinto to a steady lope that ate up the ground, drifting straight and fast across country for the opening in the mesathat he had marked as the short-cut to the spot described by DonaldKeith. Through gray sage and ferny mesquite Pronto moved, elastic ofevery sinew, springy of pastern, without fret or fuss though he had notbeen ridden for two days. Even as the man fitted the saddle, counterbalanced every supple movement of his steed, so Sandy's willdominated that of Pronto, making his mood his master's, telling him theoccasion was one for best efforts with no place for wasted energy. 

"We're goin' to cross a hard country, li'l' hawss, " said Sandy. "But Ifigger we can make it. Got to make it, Pronto. An' we're sure goin' to. Doin' it fo' her. "

Every now and then he talked his thoughts aloud, as the lonely riderwill and, if the pinto could not understand, he listened with prickedears. 

"Grit must have been hurt pritty bad, I'm afraid. Still he might havetrailed her 'stead of comin' back. Sun's gettin' to'ards the no'th. "

He glanced at the luminary, slowly descending. "But the moon's upalready an' she's full. " He looked to where a wan plate of batteredsilver hung in the east. "We got some luck on our side, Pronto, afterall. 

"Wonder who the three were with Plimsoll? They've gone to the Hideoutan' we got to find it, li'l' hawss. Some job, I reckon. But Plimsoll'sgoin' to be mighty sorry fo' himse'f befo' long. "

As they neared the foot-hills of the range he lapsed to silence. He wastaking chances, crossing country this fashion. He knew it fairly well, and he guessed at what lay behind the visible contours from theexperience of years. Deep barrancas might crop up in their path, massedthickets of cactus that had to be ridden around for loss of time. Themesa, looking like a solid block of rock at a distance, was, he knewwell, broken into tortuous ravines and caņons, eroded into wild thrustsof the mother rock, its central part eaten away by time and weather. 

Part of the Three Star range, shared by two ranches, ran over thesouthern part of the mesa and it was close to its boundary fence thatSandy was heading. Then came the range of Plimsoll's Waterline, a roughcountry, unknown to Sandy, with scant food for many cattle, but sweetgrass enough for a horse herd and containing pockets where theslicktails sometimes came. 

Sandy struck the first rise. He was now a crucible filled with glowingwhite fury. Thoughts of what Plimsoll might achieve in insult and injuryto Molly could not be kept out of his mind and they but added fuel. Itwas not Sandy Bourke of the Three Bar, riding his favorite pinto, but adesperate man on a horse infected with the same grim determination, aman with a face that, despite the fiery heat within, blazing from hiseyes, would have chilled the blood of any meeting him. 

He did not spare Pronto nor did Pronto attempt to spare himself, goingat the task set before him with all the superb coordination of muscleand tendon and bone that he possessed. They slid down the sides ofravines that were almost as steep as a wall, the pinto squatting on itstail; they climbed the opposing banks with the surety of a mountaingoat, a rush, a scramble of well-placed hooves, a play of fetlocks;then, with a heave of spreading ribs and hammer-strokes of a gallantheart under Sandy's lean thighs, they were over the top and away, withSandy's eyes searching the land for the shortest, most practical way. 

The place it had taken Molly and young Keith nearly three hours to reachin leisurely fashion, Sandy gained in one, splashing through theshallows of Willow Creek at the ford below the big bend and givingPronto the chance to cool his fetlocks and rinse out his mouth in thecold water. 

Ahead lay the chimney ravine that led around into Beaver Dam Lake, inwhich Molly and the boy had been attacked. Sandy viewed the chaparral, the trees that covered the lesser slopes, the stark cliffs above. Partof this lay in the Waterline territory. The chances that Plimsoll hadleft some one on guard were not to be slighted. But he rode on down thenarrow trail. Once in a while he broke a branch and left it swinging asa guide to Sam when he should follow with the riders from the ranch. They would be coming in now and in a few minutes would start onremounts. Perhaps Brandon had come? Sandy wasted little time on surmise. 

The tracks of Molly's Blaze and the horse Donald had been riding wereplain as print to Sandy. He even noticed the slot of Grit's pads hereand there in softer soil. He had picked them up at the coming-out placeof the ford. Two more sets of hoofs came out of the chaparral and fromthere on the sign was badly broken. But Sandy knew the story and theinterpretation was sufficient. 

The shadows were getting longer, half the eastern side of the ravine wasin shadow that steadily crept down as if to obliterate the telltaleimprints. The moon was slowly brightening. Sandy's eyes, burningsteadily, were untroubled by doubt. 

The place of the struggle was plain. The brush was trampled. To one sideof the trail there was a clot of blood, almost black, with flies buzzingattention to it. It must have come from Grit. He caught sight of anotherfleck of it on some leaves where Grit had raced into the brush out ofthe way of the crippling fire. 

"I'll score one fo' you, Grit, while I'm about it, " muttered Sandy as hedismounted and carefully surveyed the sign. He even picked up Donald'sreturning shoemarks. Six horses had gone on, one led. 

Sandy swung up the heavy stirrups and tied them above the saddle seat. He stripped the reins from the bridle and pulled down Pronto's wisehead. 

"Hit the back-trail fo' home, li'l' hawss, " he said. "If I need me amount to git back I'll borrow one. I got to go belly-trailin' prittysoon. "

He gave the pinto a cautious slap on the flank and Pronto started offdown the trail. So far Sandy believed he had not been seen. If he had, arifle-shot would have been the first warning. With the experience of aman who has seen shooting before, he had chanced a miss, knowing theodds on his side. It was twenty to one Plimsoll and his men had hurriedoff to the Hideout. 

A buzzard hung in the early evening sky, circling high and then suddenlydropping in a swoop. 

"Looks like Grit's cashed in, " thought Sandy. "That bird was a latecomer, at that. "

But it was not Grit. 

The ravine curved, forked. One way led to Beaver Dam Lake, the otherrifted deep through rocky outcrop, leading to the Waterline Range. Theboundary fence crossed it. Two posts had been broken out, the wireflattened. Through the gap led the sign that Sandy followed. He carriedhis rifle with him and he moved cautiously but swiftly through the halflight, for the cleft was in shadow. The walls lowered, the inclineended, became a decline, leading down. The clouds were assembling forsunset overhead, the moon just topped the eastern cliffs, beginning tosend out a measure of reflected light. A beam struck a little cylinder, the emptied shell of a thirty-thirty rifle. There was another close by. And scanty soil was marked with more hoofs. Sandy halted, wondering thekey to the puzzle. Did it mean a quarrel between Plimsoll's men?Altogether he figured there had been a dozen horses over the ground. Itwas only a swift guess but he knew it close to the mark. Had Plimsollbeen joined or attacked? And. . . ?

His practised eyes, roving here and there, saw still more cartridgeshells. Walking cat-footed, he made no sound but suddenly three buzzardsrose on heavy wings and he went swiftly to where they had beensquatting. A dead man lay up against the cliff, a saddle blanket thrownover his face. This had held off the carrion birds. The body was limpand still warm, it had been a corpse only a short time. Sandy took offthe blanket. 

It was Wyatt! Wyatt, whom he had seen not much more than four hoursbefore, riding on the main street in Hereford, threatening vengeance onPlimsoll. A bullet had made a small hole in his skull by the righttemple and crashed out through the back of his head in a bloody gap!

CHAPTER XIX

THE HIDEOUT

The row that had culminated at the Waterline Ranch, ending in thetrouble between Plimsoll and Wyatt, had brewed steadily. It had been areckless crowd at the horse ranch, practically outlaws by their actionsthough not yet so adjudged, yet knowing their tenure of immunity wasgrowing short. There had collected, besides Plimsoll's riders, ButchParsons, Hahn's and others of Plimsoll's following who had been forcedfrom their livelihood as gamblers. They still hung together, waiting forPlimsoll to make a clean-up of his horses and move to places where theywere less discredited. 

Meantime they made their own crude liquors and drank them freely. Theygambled and caroused late. There were some women at the ranch. There waslittle fellowship. 

Plimsoll had lost caste as a leader. His moods were morose or bragging. His ascendancy was gone. The crowd clung to him like so many leeches, waiting for a split of the proceeds of the sale of horses that no oneappeared eager to buy in quantity. Ready cash was short. There werefrequent quarrels; through it all there worked the leaven of Wyatt'sjealousy, fermenting steadily. There were men among them who had foughtwith gunplay and who had killed but, as they were cheats, so they werecravens, at heart. 

When the split came, after an all-night session with cards and liquor, following the refusal of a dealer to buy the herd, it was not merely amatter between Wyatt and Plimsoll. Sides were taken and the weakerdriven from the ranch. Preparations were made for departure. Thefrightened women fled back to Hereford. 

"It's a rotten mess, " declared Butch Parsons. "Wyatt or one of theothers'll tell all they know. You ought to have shot straighter, Plimsoll. Just like cuttin' our own throats to let 'em get away. "

"You did some missing on your own account, " retorted Plimsoll. 

"It was the rotten booze. You started it. If you'd plugged Wyatt rightit would have ended it. Now we've got to clear out. "

"There isn't two hundred dollars of real money in the crowd, " saidPlimsoll. "If Taylor had taken the herd. . . . "

"He was afraid to touch it. We'll go south. That's my plan. You can finda buyer in Tucson. Put the horses in the Hideout. Leave one or two tolook out for 'em an' turn 'em over later. We can arrange for a deliveryif we make a sale. "

"Who in hell's goin' to stay behind?" asked one of the men. 

"We'll cut cards for it. "

"Not me. "

"What's the use of fighting among ourselves again?" suggested Hahnsmoothly. "We can settle who's to stay later. There's grub in theHideout and a safe place to lay low if anything goes wrong. They'll havea fine time proving up the horses are stolen. We've got to take achance. Butch is right. We can't take them with us. There's a goodchance of a sale in Tucson. Meantime we've got to figure on Wyatt. He'lllikely try to get in touch with that Brandon outfit. "

"Or that chap who said he was from Phoenix, " put in Butch. "You made amisplay, there, Plimsoll. That chap was a ringer. "

"You talk like a fool, " retorted Plimsoll. "He sold us the bunch cheapenough. He never raised horses he'd let go at that price. He lifted 'em, like he said. "

"Just the same, he didn't act like a rustler. "

"It was his first trick. Young vouched for him. "

"This ain't getting us anywhere, " said Hahn. "Let's make for the Hideoutand talk it out there. This place ain't safe. "

Within an hour the herd, already corralled for the chance of a quicksale, was being driven to the glen known as the Hideout, a littlemountain park with water and good feed where Plimsoll placed the horsesthat his men drove off from far-away ranches, or Plimsoll bought fromother horse dealers of his own sort, keeping them there until theirbrands were doctored and possible pursuit died down. There were twoentrances to the Hideout, one through a narrow gut almost blocked by afallen boulder, with only a passage wide enough to let through horse andrider single file, a way that could be easily barricaded or masked sothat none would suspect any opening in the cliff. The second led by awinding way through a desolate region, over rock that left no sign andwound by twists and turns that none but the initiated could follow. Theplace, accidentally discovered, was perfect for its purpose. 

There were some horses now in the Hideout, the lot purchased from theman from Phoenix, whom Butch suspected. But Parsons was of a suspiciousdisposition and the rest had overruled him, though the purchase hadtaken most of the cash at their disposal, until they could make the salethat had fallen through at the last minute. There was feed enough forthe entire herd for a month. There was a cabin in a side gully of thepark, near the blocked entrance, the whole place was honeycombed withcaves, in the towering sidewalls and underground. 

Five of the nine left of the Waterline outfit drove the herd. Hahn andParsons could both ride, but they were not experts at handling horses. They chose to go with Plimsoll and the outfit-cook, while the rest tookthe long way round to the other way in. The four lingered to give therest a start. There was some liquor left and this they started todispose of. At noon the cook got a farewell meal and they mounted. 

"I hate leaving the country without evening up some way with the Bourkeoutfit, " said Plimsoll. "Damn him and the rest of them, they broke theluck for us. As for the girl, if. . . ?"

"Oh, quit throwing the bull con about that, Jim, " said Parsons bluntly. "Sandy Bourke's a damn good man for you to leave alone an' you know it. Talk ain't goin' to hurt him. "

"I'm coming back some time, " said Plimsoll with a string of oaths. "Thenyou'll see something besides talk. "

Parsons jeered at him. Plimsoll was no longer the leader and he knew it. But he hung on to the semblance of authority that an open quarrel withButch might shatter. Butch was a bully, but Plimsoll respected hisshooting. And Hahn sided with him. The cook did not count. 

Plimsoll carried with him a fine pair of binoculars and, as they rodeleisurely on and reached a vantage-point, he swept the tumbled horizonfor signs of any strange riders. It was the caution of habit as much asactual fear of a raid. There were no Hereford County horses in his herdsave those he had bred himself and he did not think Wyatt or the otherswho had left the outfit would be able to stir up sentiment against himin Hereford. It would take time to get in touch with Brandon. But theymade it a point to be sure that no casual rider noticed them on the wayto the Hideout, or coming from it. 

At times Plimsoll rode aside from the trail to a ridge crest for widervision. At last, coming up the pass of Willow Creek, he sighted Mollyand Donald with Grit trotting beside them. It was the dog that confirmedhis first surmise. He had heard that Molly had returned, but he had notdared a visit to the Three Star. Who the rider with her was he did notcare. That it was a tenderfoot was plain by his clothes and by his seat. As he adjusted the powerful glasses to a better focus Plimsoll's facetwisted to an ugly smile. He had a flask in his hip pocket and heswigged at it before he rode to catch up with Parsons and Hahn. 

"I'll show you if I do nothing but talk, " he said to Butch after he toldthem of his discovery. "We'll wait for them along the trail. We'll sendthe chap with her back afoot. "

"And what'll you do with her?" asked Hahn. "We've had enough of skirts, Plimsoll. This is no time to be mixed up with them. "

"Isn't it?" The drink had given Plimsoll some of his old swagger, andthe prospect of hatching the revenge over which he had brooded so longtook possession of him. "Then you're a bigger fool than I thought you, Hahn. That particular skirt, aside from my personal interest in her, represents about a quarter of a million dollars--maybe more. She's got aquarter interest and a little better in the Molly Mine. The Three Starowns another quarter. How much will they give up to have her back?Bourke's her guardian, remember. I think the chap with her may be youngKeith. We won't monkey with him. He'll do to tell what happened. Butwe'll take the girl along and we'll send back word of how much we wantto let her go. After I'm through with her. She may not go back the sameas she came, but they won't know that and they'll pay enough to set usup and to hell with the herd. "

Parsons and Hahn looked at each other, greed rising in their eyes. Theyhad no love for the partners of the Three Star nor for Molly Casey. Abig ransom was possible if it was handled right. 

"You'll have the whole county searching the range, " objected Parsons. "There's a lot know something about the Hideout and they'll use Wyatt toshow 'em the way. Bourke'll guess where she is. "

"Let him. Wyatt don't know about the caves, does he? We can take hersome other place to-morrow. We won't say anything now to the kid about aransom. We'll mail a letter after we fix details. But we'll take thegirl into the Hideout now. That tenderfoot'll be lucky if he drifts backto the Three Star by nightfall afoot. We'll be out of the place longbefore that. And we'll put her where they can't find her till they comethrough. I'm running this. "

The cook had ridden on ahead. Now he was waiting for them, looking back. Parsons shrugged his shoulders. 

"How do we split?" asked Hahn. 

"Three ways, " said Plimsoll. "We'll take her to the cabin. The rest'llbe at the other end. We'll keep Cookie with us--for the present. No needfor the boys to know about it. We can manage that all right. Threeways, and I handle the girl. "

Butch Parson grinned at him. 

"I thought you'd lost all your nerve, Jim, but I guess I was wrong. Allright, it goes as it lays. You handle the lady. You ought to know how. Now then, how'll we bring it off?"

Plimsoll talked glibly, convincingly. Butch Parsons had no extra shareof brains, those he had had never been developed beyond the ordinary. Hahn was a good faro dealer. There his intelligence specialized andended. Plimsoll was the master-mind of his crowd; they appreciated andacknowledged his capacity for details. That he had been unsuccessful oflate they set down to his lack of nerve, dissipated in his encounterwith Sandy. Their present lack of cash, the doubtfulness of being ableto sell and deliver the horses, made ransom a glittering possibility. Hahn had some objections, but Plimsoll overruled them plausibly enough. 

"I don't see the sense of letting the kid go, " questioned Hahn. "He'sgood for a big split as well as the girl. "

"You're a fool when it comes to looking ahead, Hahn. You always were, "answered Plimsoll. What with the chance of revenge in sight over whichhe had brooded until it became a part of his consciousness, and theliquor still stirring potently within him, he felt that his ascendancyhad become reestablished, "Keith--the old man--is too big a fish tomonkey with. Got too many pulls and connections. He'd have the wholecountry out and the trick played up big in every dinky newspaper. That'spart of his business--publicity. We've got one fish--or will have--nosense straining the net. We don't want the kid. Let him string alongback best way he can. We'll get all the start we need. What else wouldyou do with him?"

"Stow him away somewhere and send a tip where they can find him in a dayor two. "

Plimsoll shot a look of contempt at Butch, making the proposal. 

"You and Hahn make a good team, " he said. "No. One's enough. He may getlost--we'll take his horse--and that won't be our fault. He may makeThree Star late this afternoon. I wish I could be with him when he tellswhat he knows. Time they locate the Hideout, we'll be miles away throughthe south end and they'll have one hell of a time trailing us over therocks. The boys weren't over-keen about staying with the herd and theycan vamose. We'll tell them it's best to scatter for a bit and name ameeting-place. The horses can stay in the park. If we put this deal overright we don't need to bother about horse-trading. We can get clean outof the country with a big stake, go down to South America and start up aplace. There are live times and good plays down there, boys. All right, Cookie, we're coming. I'm going to take another look. It's ten to onethey're making for Beaver Dam Lake--on a picnic. "

He laughed and the two laughed with him as he went for his survey andreturned, announcing that the girl and her escort were entering theravine at the other end. They rode through the trees toward them. Mollyand Donald came on so leisurely that Plimsoll feared they might haveturned back and, with Butch, he risked a look down the trail, sightingthem. 

"They didn't recognize us, " he said. "We've got to take Cookie intothis. You and Butch ride on through the trees a ways, Hahn, till you getback of them. Then we'll get 'em between us. I'll wise Cookie up to whatwe are doing. "

It was more than doubtful whether the three ever intended for a secondto allow Cookie to share in the ransom money, but Plimsoll easilypersuaded him that he would be a partner, adding that it would befoolish to let all the riders into the pot. 

"She's Molly Casey of the Casey Mine, " he told him. "Sandy Bourke's herguardian. We'll make him come through with twenty or thirty thousand, sabe? But there ain't enough to go all round and make a showing. "

Cookie was a willing rascal and a natural adept at the double-cross. Heraised no objections and the trap was set and sprung. 

"You go ahead, Cookie, and open up the gate, " said Plimsoll. Hahn andButch were speeding Donald Keith on his way with close-flung bullets. "I'm going to have a little private talk with this lady. Go to the cabinand get some grub ready. There's plenty there. Spread yourself. We'llbe along in a little while. That was a nice job of roping you did. Iwon't forget it. "

"Allus c'ud lass' fair to middlin', " grinned the man through yellow, stumpy teeth. "That's why I tote a rope. An' I sure had a purty target. "

Plimsoll scowled at him and he rode off. Molly, the lariat twisted abouther upper body from shoulders to waist, constricting her arms, fastenedwhere she could not reach it by a hitch, sat on Blaze, looking withsteady contempt at Plimsoll, who held her bridle rein. He regarded herwith sleek complacency and then his eyes slowly traveled over herrounded figure, accented by her riding toggery. 

"Grown to be quite a beauty, quite a woman, Molly, my dear, " he said. "Never should have suspected you'd turn out such a wonder. Clothes makethe woman, but it takes a proper figure to set them off. And you've gotall of that. "

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked. 

"I'm not going to tell you--yet. It depends upon circumstances, my dear. We'll all have a little chat after lunch. I'd take that rope off if Iwasn't afraid I might lose you. You are quite precious. "

She looked through him as if he had been a sheet of glass. From herfirst sight of him, back in childhood, she had known instinctively theman was evil. But she was not afraid. The blood that ran in her veinswas pure and bore in its crimson flood the sturdy heritage of pioneerswho had outfaced dangers of death and torture and shame. She was allwesterner. The blood was fighting blood. She felt it urged in her pulseswhile her brain bade her bide her time. Rage mounted as she faced thepossible issues of this capture, the flaunting dismissal of young Keith. 

Plimsoll must be either very sure of his ground or desperate, shefancied. Both, perhaps. Molly had come into contact with life in the rawlong before she went east. Education had not made a prude of her nortainted her clean purity. She faced the fact and, for the time, sheignored the man. She had even time to think of young Donald turnedtenderfooted into the mountains, to wonder whether he would be able tofind his way back or get lost in the ranges. She heard the laughter thatfollowed the rifle-shots and surmised that they were having their ideaof a joke with the lad. 

If he got back--then Sandy would come after her. She was very sure ofSandy and that he would find her. Until he did she must use her wits. 

And Grit, gallant Grit, wounded and lying in the chaparral!

Though she still gazed through Plimsoll rather than at him, the scornshowed in her eyes and bit through his assumption of ease as acid bitesthrough skin, eating its way on. He burned to wipe out his owntrickeries, his cowardice, his failures, to wreak a vile satisfaction onthis girl who sat so disdainfully, with her chin lifted, her lips firm, oblivious of him. She baffled him. A mind like Plimsoll's never had theclarity of prevision to see the strength of character that had been inthe prospector's child, even as he had never suspected her unfolding tobeauty. It roused the vandal in him--he longed to break her, mar her. 

The return of Butch and Hahn brought him back to the fact that he wasnot playing this deal alone. While they might allow him some personallicense, to them the girl represented so much money. Plimsoll'sreprisals were only partly theirs, they would not permit him to balkthem of their share. There is Berserker madness latent in every one thatbreaks out sometimes in the child that torments a kitten and ends bytorturing it, maiming--killing. There had been nothing in what stood forPlimsoll's manhood to change such instinct, to restrain it where he heldthe will and power. But here he had to go carefully. 

He cut short Butch's boast of the way they had scared young Keith. BothHahn and Parsons felt a coil of embarrassment at the silence, almost theserenity, of their captive. They had expected her to act fardifferently, to rage, threaten, cry out. She almost abashed them. 

"See if you can round up that damned dog, Butch, " said Plimsoll. "Iplugged him but we want to be sure he don't get away. He might helpKeith's kid, for one thing. And he clamped my arm. "

Parsons rode into the chaparral until he was barred by its thickness, trying to stir out the dog, without success. 

"Dead, I reckon, " he reported. "Crawled in somewheres. You hit himhard, Plim. Plenty blood on the leaves. "

Molly bit her lips and paled a little, but turned away her head so thatthey could not see. She winked back the tears that came to her thoughtof Grit helpless, panting, bleeding. 

They rode on up the rocky ravine that gradually closed in on either sidewith the rock walls set with cactus here and there, carved into greatmasses superimposed upon one another for a hundred feet. Presently theyturned aside from the stony trail that left no record of hooves, and, Plimsoll in the lead, Molly next, walked their horses over a precariousledge that zigzagged back and forth up to where a notch in the cliff hadbeen nearly filled by a titanic boulder. To one side appeared a narrowopening, unseen from below by the curve of the great rock, just wideenough to admit horse and rider. A few feet in, they halted, andPlimsoll turned in his saddle while the other three men dismounted andcarefully adjusted several rock fragments in the opening, piling themwith a swift care that showed familiarity with their task, so placingthem that they appeared as if a part of the wall. Butch clambered to thetop of the great boulder and viewed the job from the outside. 

"First-class, " he announced. "That's sure a great scheme, Plim. "

"Go on up to the tree and take a look, " said Plimsoll. "Hahn, hand himmy glasses. "

Parson took them and climbed up to where a dead tree stood like askeleton in a crotch of the rocks. It screened him from observationperfectly by outer approach. 

"I can see Keith's kid, " he said with a chuckle when he came down. "He'sthrough the creek and he don't know which way to start. Looks as if hemeant to follow down the creek. "

"He'll not go far that way, " commented Plimsoll. "Mount up. Cookie'sgetting grub and I'm getting hungry. He'll have to cook for the boysafter we're through. They'll be showing up after a bit. "

Below them, Molly saw the hidden park that lay so snugly back of thebarrier walls. It was an irregular oval that appeared to curve at thefar end. Gulches reached back, occasionally thick with timber that grewin clumps among the rocks and on the ledges, dotting the green grass ofthe floor. She caught the sparkle of a little cascade, the gleam of astreamlet. The cliffs were terraced and battlemented in red and whiteand gray. Their facades showed fantasies of weather sculpture thatlooked like ruined castles and cathedrals with cave mouths forentrances. Here and there a monolith of stone stood up out from the maincliff, spiring for a hundred feet or more. The grass was starred withflowers. Some horses were grazing a little distance away and stood atgaze, to break and wheel and gallop away with flying manes and tails. There was a good deal of underbush covering the talus. 

The trail down was plainly marked. It forked after they reached thegeneral level and the branch they took led into a side gulch where a logcabin stood, smoke coming from its chimney. Plimsoll took the rein ofBlaze again and they broke into a canter. At the cabin Plimsoll tookMolly from the saddle and carried her into the rude interior. There heset her on a chair. Cookie was busy at a stove frying ham and eggs, withcoffee simmering. 

"You'd better sit up and eat nicely, my dear, " said Plimsoll as heunbound her. "You'll have to sooner or later, you know. No sense inbeing stubborn. "

She said nothing but he saw a gleam in her eyes as she glanced towardthe table where Hahn was setting out plates and cutlery. 

"You'll eat with a fork, Molly, " said Plimsoll. "Those steel knives aretoo handy for you. There's a nasty look in those blue eyes of yours thatwill have to be tamed--have to be tamed, " he repeated as he took ademijohn from a corner and poured out a liquor that sent the reek of itsraw strength sickeningly through the cabin. "Here's to your health, Molly--Molly Mine!"

The others laughed and drank their share before they ate the food thatCookie placed before them, talking louder, growing flushed with thecrude whisky, while Molly sat facing the door, striving to catchsomething that might help, might give some clue. But the talk was all ofthe brawl at the Waterline with contemptuous mention of Wyatt and therest. They seemed by common consent to ignore her once she had refusedthe food. 

This attitude weakened her resistance though she strove against it. Shehad nerved herself to meet action. Now she seemed to count for littlemore than a bundle, of more or less value, that, having been secured, could wait its time for utility. Yet, before she had telescoped hervision to extend through and beyond Plimsoll, she had seen devilslooking from his eyes, smug devils, but none the less menacing, risenfrom the man's own private hell pit. 

Plimsoll looked at his watch. 

"The horses should be showing up pretty soon, " he said and rose, alittle unsteadily. The effects of the liquor were patent on all of them. "Butch, you and Hahn go down with Cookie and keep 'em down at the southend. Get 'em to turn the horses loose. And get them out of the place assoon as you can after they've eaten. Better take what stuff you want, Cookie. "

"I suppose you'd be jealous if we stuck around, " said Butch, leering nowat Molly. The whisky seemed to have been an acid test for his features, dissolving all that was not brutal. Hahn's cold sneering face was nonethe less evil. 

"How long do you want us to give you, Plim?" asked the dealer. "No sensein our sticking round here that I can see. "

"We've got to get the boys out of the way, haven't we? Keep your eyespeeled on Cookie, " Plimsoll said in a lower voice as the ranch chef wentout of the door with his arms piled with provisions. "He might take anotion to talk too much. We had to let him in, but he don't have to stayin. Soon as the boys are away you come back and we'll go out again thisend, if all is clear. "

"Where are you going to stow her?" asked Hahn "Leave her here in SplitRock Cave?"

The callous reference to her as if she was something inanimate chilledMolly. If only she had a gun! She had laughed at Donald's tenderfootinsistence upon carrying the one he had brought west as a part of hisoutfit and had never attempted to use. The cook's too well thrown ropewould have probably thwarted any move of hers if she had had a weapon. Her fingers crept up toward her throat touching a slender chain uponwhich, ever since she had returned to the Three Star, hung a gold disk, the coin with which Sandy had gambled, the luck-piece. To Molly, evennow, it was a talisman that held promise. If they left her behind them, somehow Sandy would unearth her. But that hope died. 

"She'll stay in sight and touch, " said Plimsoll. "Then we'll know she'ssafe. We'll make Windy Gulch to-night and stay there. It's as good aplace as I know. One of us can ride over the mountain to Redding andmail the letter. "

Butch nodded. "Come on, Hahn, " he said. "Let's leave 'em together. "

Molly cast an involuntary glance at the opening door, watched it closeafter the pair of blackguards and braced herself. The issue was at hand. 

Plimsoll slid a bolt on the door, brought over one of the makeshiftchairs and placed it in front of Molly, seating himself. Hisalcohol-laden breath reached her nauseatingly and she turned her headaside. As if a trigger had been released Plimsoll's face became inflamedwith a passionate fury. The veins on face and neck swelled and writhedlike little blue snakes, his eyes congested. 

"Damn you!" he said. "Don't you turn your head away from me. I'll trainyou to better manners before I'm through with you. You'll be jumping todo what you think I want you to before long. You'll be begging me forfavors. You may think you're too good for me now. You won't presently. "

She saw that she had gone too far in her disdain; that she must try toleash the devils that had broken loose in his brain. 

"Just what do you want?" she asked, and her voice seemed not to belongto her as she uttered the words that showed no tremor. 

"You! Not for love, my beauty! Because you are good to look at--yes. ButI'll take my time. I'll sip at the dish, my dear. I've got a big scoreto settle and I'll do it properly. We'll go over some of the items. "

He got up and emptied a bottle that still held a generous measure. Hestaggered slightly and fumbled the chair as he sat down again. Mollywatched him intently. If only he got sufficiently drunk. Before the restcame back. Perhaps she could get his own gun? Plimsoll laid a familiarfinger on her knee and instantly loathing showed in her eyes. Helaughed. 

"Using that busy li'l' brain of yours, eh? Figurin' I'll get drunk. Want to play Delilah? Nothin' doin', m' dear. I made that booze and Iknow just how it treats me, sabe? Now then. 

"Your guardian angel Sandy chiseled me out of my share in the Molly Minebelongin' to me 'count of grubstakin' your father. "

"That's a lie. "

"That's easy to say when it nets you a fortune. Easy to go back on adead man's agreement. Four-flushing Sandy Bourke. . . . "

Molly suddenly slipped back into the primitive. Something seemed toclick and the refinement she had learned and used so far fell like acloak that is dropped for freedom in battle. With the malignment ofSandy and her father she was Molly Casey, daughter of a Desert Rat, oncemore. 

"That's another damned lie, " she said. 

"Haven't forgotten how to swear, have you?"

"I've heard how Sandy Bourke chased your rotten-hearted jumpers out offthe claim and gave you until sun-up to sneak out of town. I've heard howyou were afraid to look at him through the smoke but went galloping offwhile the whole camp laughed at you. Sandy a four-flusher! A coyote'llfight when it's cornered, but you. . . . "

She had heard the whole story from Keith. It was a favorite tale of thepromoter's. He used it as publicity across his dinner table. It gave theright touch of adventure to Casey Town. Plimsoll grew slowly livid. 

"Heard all about it, did you?" he said slowly. "Then you know some ofthe score. And I can wipe off what I owe Sandy Bourke through you. Andthere are more items. There was the first time we met. I haven'tforgotten that. There was the kiss you said you tried to bite out afteryou'd burned the doll I gave you. You told about that the next time Ikissed you in the hammock at Three Star. You tried to rub out that kiss, too. Maybe the next ones will stay put. "

"That was the time Mormon manhandled you. " She saw the blue snakes crawlon his purpling skin, and she kept her eyes on them though her mentalvision was on the holster beneath his vest. She deliberately taunted himto provoke him to an uncalculated move. Molly knew her own litheness, her strength. If she could get inside his arms, if even to endure amoment of his beastly embrace and could get a grip on the gun?

But there was something in Plimsoll that delighted in playing with avictim he felt sure of. It soothed his broken vanity. 

"So, " he said, "I'm going to get even with Sandy and with Mormon andthat bow-legged fool Sam Manning who call you the Mascot of the ThreeStar, all at once; while I get even with you. And get what should havebeen mine at the same time. We'll have you tucked away while we mail theletter that will bring your ransom. Never mind the details of handlingthe money. I'll attend to that. But we'll bleed you dry. The price ofall your stock and that of the three suckers at the Three Star atpar--and all they can borrow on the ranch--that will be the price foryou, my lady. With three days to deliver in. "

"You talk like a crazy man, or a drunken one. They can't sell the stockin that time. And if you lay a finger on me they'll trail you to hell, Jim Plimsoll, and the devil himself won't stop them from skinning youalive. "

Plimsoll shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes flickered and, for asecond, his cowardly soul shrank. 

"I'll look out for that, " he said. "If you are delivered back to them asdamaged goods they'll never know it till you tell them. Maybe you won'tbe over-anxious to do that. " His eyes grew moody, his manner sullen. Hewas passing into another alcoholic phase. Molly sensed imminent danger. 

"I'll take those kisses now, " he cried and lunged for her, catching herabout the waist as she rose from the chair. "And more to boot, " he addedthickly as he drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingerstwining in her hair, twisting her face forward, upward. She had botharms inside of his, her hands on his chest. With all her strength shestrained and pushed away, her right hand slid up to the holster, groping. 

The gun was not there. Plimsoll had reloaded it during the meal and leftit on the table. His breath sickened her. She got her arm clear andstruck him viciously on the mouth, breaking the lips against his teeth. Fighting like a cave-woman, she scored his cheek with nails that dugdeep from the corner of his eyelid and brought the blood. As he shiftedhis hold she wrenched loose, leaving strands of brown hair in hisfingers, and jumped for the door. In her spring she saw, too late, thepistol on the table. She drew the bolt, half opening the door before hecaught her and dragged her back again. 

"You wildcat, " he panted. "I'll fix you. "

Like a panther Molly fought, matching her young muscles against his, striking, clawing, biting. Her riding coat ripped, the neck of her waistwas torn away. Maddened at her resistance he struck back. Once he gother about the throat, but her fingers were at his face, tearing at hiseyes and he had to beat her off. The girl fought with all the sublimateddespair of attacked womanhood, the man like a gorilla. The struggle wasunequal, with more than forty pounds in favor of Plimsoll though, ifMolly had possessed the puniest of weapons, she might have won. He heldher at last, close to him, one arm wrapped about her, his right handforcing the heel of the palm under her tucked-in chin, slowly, inexorably forcing it back while his bleeding, distorted face lowered. This time her arms were locked in, bent double, useless. Her kicks werefutile, she had only her teeth left and she was going to try those. Butshe knew her strength sapped, knew in another moment or two she would beat the mercy of this brute who did not know the meaning of the word. 

A shadow barred the half-open door, low down. A pointed head appearedwith blazing eyes, with a neck-ruff flaring high. White teeth showed asred gums bared in hate and, forgetting the wounded leg that had held himback, Grit hurled himself in a staggering but magnificent leap. He couldnot reach Plimsoll's throat, he had lost much of his momentum throughthe damaged leg, he lacked power from loss of blood, but fury gave himstrength for the spring that brought his teeth within reach ofPlimsoll's right wrist, exposed; the cuff half-way up the forearm. Grit's teeth slashed like chisels, ripping through flesh, tendon andartery, sending jets of blood spurting before Plimsoll, with a yell ofsurprise and consternation, flung Molly into a corner, dazed and weak, and threw up his left forearm to guard against the dog's second leap. 

It fell short. Plimsoll's right hand, scattering blood, groped blindlyfor the gun on the table behind him. He found the barrel and brought theheavy butt down with a crash on Grit's head, back of the ear. The dogdropped like a length of chain. Plimsoll kicked the body viciously, taking the bandanna from his neck and tying it tight about his wrist, fastening the knots with his teeth. With a look at Molly, crumpledunconscious in the corner, he sought for more liquor, found it andpoured himself a big jorum, gulping it down while the blood drippedheavily from the bandage. He was soggy with shock and fatigue, thestrong stuff half paralyzed his faculties and he dropped into a chair, gazing stupidly at his wrist. 

His imagination was a curse to him. He had seen Grit's slavering jaws asthey rose in the leap, the crimson glare in his eyes. To all intents thedog was mad. It had been lying wounded in the sun. Only madness couldhave given it strength to track so far. What if it meantlockjaw--hydrophobia? Through his dulled brain ran like a black threadthe impression that he could feel the virus stealing through his veins, stiffening his body. How long did the damned thing take. And thehorrible ending! He had seen a man die of it once, bitten by a madcollie, the same breed as the brute under the table. He had done forhim, anyway. 

Water--that was the test! There was water that Cookie had brought in forcoffee, half a bucket, by the stove. He felt a sudden repugnance towardit. The slashed veins in his wrists burned and throbbed as if they wereoozing molten lead instead of blood. And he was growing weak. If hedidn't get a tourniquet fixed he might bleed to death. But what was theuse?

Grit, who had opened a way out for Molly, lay still beneath the table. Molly, overtaxed, was in a swoon. Plimsoll sat in a stupor. The doorswung wide. Cookie rushed in, his face muddy with alarm. 

"The show's gone wrong, " he cried to Plimsoll, who stared at himhalf-comprehending. "For Gawd's sake what's happened here? Gimme adrink. " He snatched at the bottle and swallowed from the neck. "Here, you need a swig. We got to git out of here, pronto. Have you scraggedthe gel?" He thrust the bottle at Plimsoll who drank, senses rallyingby the urge of danger that emanated from the cook like the sweaty stenchof a frightened animal. 

"Brandon's gang has come back, " said Cookie. "It's the damndest streakof luck. They must have fell in with Wyatt or some of his pals. Theymust have been to the ranch. They cut off the boys and the horses overby Sand Crick! Reynolds got clear. He saw them comin' an' streaked it. They were shootin' like hell, he said. But he got a start an' he fooled'em. Lost 'em, if they tried to foller him. "

"And led 'em straight here, " said Plimsoll with a curse, getting to hisfeet. 

"Not him. He c'ud lose 'em twenty times between here an' Sand Crick. They were throwin' lead hard an' fast an' too busy to trail him if theysaw him. He's gone out ag'in through the south end. Case they've gotsome one who does know the way in, he'll side-track by Spur Rock an' gitthrough the pass at Nipple Peaks. It's hard goin', but we can make itunless we can git out this end. Hahn an' Butch has gone up to thelookout to. . . . Hear that?"

_That_ was a single rifle-shot, followed by two others, the last almostas one. 

"Hell!" cried Plimsoll, "they've got us this end. It's Wyatt. Just mydamned luck for him to meet up with Brandon. "

"Butch says it was the deal with that chap from Phoenix. He allusspotted him for a crooked one. They've planted hawsses on us to proveup. And Wyatt has been in touch with Brandon ever sense you took hisgel away from him. Come on, I'm goin'. "

He ran outside and Plimsoll followed to the door, lethargy leaving himin the face of disaster though he could not think fast or clearly. Hahncame clattering over the rocks on his horse, his face chalky white. Hewas reeling in his saddle, the horse spraddling, wild-eyed, almost outof control. Cookie jumped for its bridle as Hahn slumped sidewise in thesaddle, clutched for the horn, missed it and was falling when Plimsollcaught him and helped him to the wall of the cabin where he leanedweakly. A blotch of blood showed on his left shoulder. 

"Go get him a slug of whisky, " Plimsoll ordered Cookie. 

But Cookie, his face twitching with fright, jumped for his own mount andwent galloping down the valley to the south. 

Plimsoll sent curses after him, reaching for his own pistol before heremembered it was inside, dragging Hahn's half out of its holster andthen quitting as the fleeing cook tangented and disappeared behind sometimber. 

The handkerchief about Plimsoll's wounded wrist was now a sodden rag, but the loss of blood had cleared his brain. He set his left arm aboutHahn and helped him into the cabin. Molly was stirring and Plimsollscowled blackly at her. He gave Hahn a drink. 

"Brace up, " he said, "what happened? I know about Reynolds. I mean atthe lookout. "

Hahn finished his glass, pushed it out for another, gulped that. 

"Got to make our getaway, " he said. "Butch is done for. They got me hereunder the collar-bone. I reckon they touched the lung. I never saw suchshooting. But Butch got Wyatt. "

"Tell it straight, " demanded Plimsoll. "How many of 'em? What did theydo?"

"We no more than made the lookout, " said Hahn, "before six men cameriding along, heeled for trouble. One of them was the black-bearded guyfrom California who was here with that Brandon, first time they camenosing around. And another was Wyatt, God blast his rotten soul in hellfor a twisting hound! Wyatt was just starting to point 'em out theentrance when Butch lets him have it. Hits him smack in the forehead. Before he could show 'em the way in. He may have told 'em about it onthe way up. But Blackbeard must have caught the shine of Butch's barrel. He fires back--they all had their rifles handy cross the pommel--thebullet goes plumb through the tree and knocks Butch down. Went throughboth hips. He falls against me and I show in the open, sliding on thatdamned slippery boulder, sliding inside and out of range, but they gotme. 

"They'll be through any minute, Plim. They'll go careful until they findthere's no one firing back at them, then it won't take 'em long tofigure out the way in. You can't tell how much Wyatt told 'em on the wayup. They've got me. I can't ride. My lungs are filling up. Butch isparalyzed--if he ain't dead. A hell of a wind-up! You can make it outthe way Reynolds did. None of the gang that left with Wyatt knows aboutthe side-trail by Spur Rock. But you'd better beat it. Me, I've turnedmy last card. The case is empty!"

His head fell forward on to his arms. A trickle of scarlet came from thecorner of his mouth. Plimsoll looked at him calculatingly. Hahn couldnot ride. But he wouldn't die for a while. To leave him here where theraiders would find him might mean a confession wrung from him that wouldtell of the getaway trail by Spur Rock and Nipple Peaks. He shook Hahnby the sound shoulder. 

"Brace up, " he said. "You can hide in Split Rock Cave. I'm going to putthe girl in there. Take another drink. Pick up some grub. There's waterin the cave. You can come out soon's the coast is clear. "

"I'll not be coming out, " said Hahn huskily. "But it's a good move. " Heweakly collected the bottle, some scraps of food. 

Plimsoll stooped over Molly, coming out of her faint, and gagged herwith her own scarf as her eyes opened and looked at him. He took off herbelt and strapped her arms behind her back. Then, despite his woundedwrist, he lifted her easily enough and strode with her out of the door, Hahn following. 

Hahn's horse was standing there obediently with pendent reins anchoringit! Blaze and Plimsoll's black were nipping grass in the little corralwhere they had been placed. Blaze whinnied at the sight, or the scent, of his mistress. Plimsoll passed the corral and went through a grove ofquaking asps close to the wall of the side-gulch, keeping to the rock asmuch as possible. He turned into a cleft, stopping at a rock whosealmost flat surface was level with his feet, a great mass of granitethat some freak of weathering or convulsion of earthquake had splitalmost in half. Into the crevice a wild grape-vine had twined, and died. 

"Can you make it, Hahn?" he asked. 

The dealer nodded and knelt, using his sound arm to aid himself by thetough fibers, bracing with his knees. Down some ten feet in the crack helooked up, his ghastly face pallid in the shadow, with an attempt at agrin. 

"Good-by, Plim, " he said. "Good luck! What do I do with the girl?"

"Keep her from calling out. She's gagged but she might try it. Make hernurse you. Do anything you damn please with her!"

Hahn dropped out of sight. Plimsoll did not wait but picked Molly upfrom where he had deposited her, a helpless bundle, on the rock. 

"The bottom's soft down there, " he said. "Sand. It ain't more thanfifteen feet. Down you go, you hellcat! They'll have a fine timelocating you. And you've got a dying man for company. He'll be a deadone before morning. "

He lowered her, feet down, released her and watched her disappear. Heswung about and ran back to the corral, his hurt arm throbbing with hisexertion. He had entertained a brief thought of hiding in the cavehimself, but the fear of madness from the bite had not left him, thesuggestion of it coming on in an underground cavern sickened him withhorror. He craved the open. He flung himself into the saddle of theblack horse, once leader of a slick-ear herd of wild mustangs, magnificent for speed and symmetry, worthy a better master, and gallopedout of the corral, out of the side-ravine, into the open park. The roughtowel about his arm was becoming soaked. Every jump of the black horseseemed to increase the bleeding. The spurt of fictitious energy that hadcarried him through since the arrival of Cookie was dying away. But hewas on a mount that none could match, he was going on a trail that washard to follow, practically unknown. Unless he was headed off, he couldbreak through. At Nipple Peaks he could rest, attend to his wound. 

A shout, a bullet whistling past that nicked the stallion's ear and senthim plunging and bucking, warned him that his enemies had found the wayin and were after him. He did not look back, but bent forward in hissaddle and sunk the spurs into the black's flanks. The half-tamedmustang's indignant bounds spoiled the aim of the marksmen, and, thoughthe steel-nosed missiles hummed like bees about them, they gained theshelter of the same trees that had covered Cookie. Belly almost toground, the black swept over the cropped turf at racing speed, the drumof his hooves like distant thunder, crest high, crimson-satin nostrilsflaring, mad at the sting of the red notch in his ear. 

Round the elbow of the Hideout, with Brandon's men distanced, into thegorge at the south end. A wild scramble up a steep slope and the way toSpur Rock was clear. Plimsoll smiled grimly. "Damn them, I'll beat themyet!" For a second he was silhouetted against a skyline, then he plungeddown. Fresh droppings told him that Reynolds had won clear. He was safefrom pursuit. If the wound--he should have cauterized it. But. . . . 

He reined in for a moment. The sound of a shout rang in his ears. It wasan echo, he fancied, it must be an echo, flung back from the mountainwalls ahead. But it could mean nothing else than a view-halloo. Some onehad glimpsed him disappearing beyond the ridge. 

CHAPTER XX

MOLLY MINE

Sandy, replacing the blanket on Wyatt's face, examined his guns andstarted climbing up to the big boulder. He could not see the rocksdisplaced by Brandon's men from below, but he picked up the bloodyimprint of Grit's pad, with other smears of blood less distinctlymarked. Soon he discovered the narrow opening and proceeded cautiously. The moon was quite bright now and the daylight almost vanished. Only theafterglow still flamed in the eastern sky back of the violet cliffs. Thetouch of night chill was already threatening, great stars wereassembling court about the moon. 

To Sandy's right was perpendicular rock, to his left the curve of theblocking boulder with the skeleton tree topping it, withered in thecleft that had first nourished, then denied it nourishment. It gleamedsilver gray, attracting his attention. As he gazed his sharp ears caughtthe tiny crack of a brittle branch. Instantly he dropped to all fours asa spurt of flame showed from the tree and a bullet whined over him, tosmack against the rock and fall flattened. 

Sandy did not move. He knew that, to the man firing, his fall might haveseemed a hit, that he had beaten the missile by the space of a wink. Heheard more broken boughs, as if his assailant were clumsily, assuredly, clambering out of ambush, and he shifted silently into position, rifleset down, both guns ready. There came a strange thrashing sound, a groanof mortal anguish, silence. If this was a trick it was a crude one. Sandy waited. That groan, half sigh, half rattle, could not be mistaken. He half circled the boulder, gliding up a flattened traverse, and saw, lying outspread over a low bough of the withered tree, face to the moon, gun away from the curling hand, Butch Parsons. 

With ready gun Sandy reached him, bent, turned him on his side. A bullethad ranged through both hips, shattering them. The spine must have beeninjured. There were puddles of blood that told the injury was some hoursold. Butch had lain there paralyzed, passed by Brandon's men as dead, lingering like the traditional snake until sunset to see and recognizeSandy coming through the gap, to use his last remnant of life to pulltrigger and so to die, the injured vertebrae giving away to the effort, the spark of life pinched out. 

Sandy left him and returned to the gap. He could still read sign, plainas it was on every side. He found the side-gulch, saw the cabin, sawHahn's saddled horse grazing free, Blaze in the corral, the cabin dooropen with the moon streaming in. He had pieced out the puzzle to his ownsatisfaction. Brandon and his men had arrived and, in Hereford, they hadrun across Wyatt, procuring horses there and saving themselves the tripto the Three Star. Butch's body was evidence that they had not beenunsuccessful, Wyatt's that the fight had not been all one-sided, thesurprise not perfect. And, if Plimsoll had been warned, what had becomeof Molly?

He got an answer that made his heart stand still, then pound in a rushof action. On the floor, in the beam of the moon, lay the luck-piece, afew links of gold chain attached to the coin. Stooping for it, hebrushed a strand of brown hair. Then he saw Grit's body beneath thetable. Fury boiled in him, chilled to icy wrath and determination. Heput away the coin and hauled out the dog's body into the moonlight. Itwas limber and still warm. Sandy rose from his squat and swiftlyexamined the cabin. He discovered a lantern with oil in it, which helit. The condition of the fire, corroborating other signs, told him thatthe fighting was long over with, the issue passed on. He had no fear ofinterruption. Before very long Sam and the Three Star riders would bealong. The sight of Blaze suggested that Molly was not far away. If shehad gone, by force, or her own free will, the probability was that herown mount and saddle would have been requisitioned. 

Sandy's capacity for reading sign was almost without limit. He wasbetter at it than an Indian because he had equally good observation andbetter judgment. But, to find Molly, with the ground about the cabin cutby arriving and departing feet and hooves, with Blaze in the corral, was a miracle that called for more than eyesight and deduction. If hecould revive Grit. . . ?

He found water warm in a kettle; he had the first-aid kit with itsbandages, iodine, lint. And, above all, he had Keith's silver flask, half full. He did not fail to note the empty bottles on the table, theblood marks where Plimsoll's veins had sprinkled and Grit had stainedthe floor. He found, too, a button of horn with a fragment of black andwhite check, torn from Molly's riding coat in the struggle. Sandy'sanger crystallized into one ambition beyond the finding of Molly, andthat was to kill Plimsoll, if possible with his hands. He pictured thestruggle between the gambler and the girl, desperate on one side, brutalon the other and, whether the stake had been won or lost, he resolvedthat Plimsoll should die for that attack. 

Now his hope hung on Grit. He squatted on the floor by the lantern, agun handy in case of need. He took the collie's head on his lap andexamined the blow made by the butt of Plimsoll's gun. It had laid barethe bone but he did not think it either splintered or fractured. Grit'stongue lolled out from between his teeth and his muzzle was dry, yetSandy fancied breath still passed the nostrils and that there was afaint beat of heart beneath the heavy draggled coat, matted with theblood that had drained life from him. Sandy knew that dog or wolf orcoyote will lie in a torpor after being badly wounded and often recoverslowly, waking from the recuperating sleep revitalized. But, if hecould bring Grit back, he must make fresh demands on him. 

He washed the wound on the head and poured iodine into it. He did thesame with the hole in the leg, cleansing it from the dried blood andhair. It had stopped bleeding. He disinfected it, stitched it, closedit, bound it with adhesive tape and strengthened it with a bandageadjusted as expertly as any surgeon could have done. He pried open thejaws with but little resistance and let the tongue slip back before hepoured in a measure of Scotch and water between the canine and incisorteeth. He tilted Grit's limp head, shut off his muzzle, stroked histhroat and let the restorative trickle into the gullet. For a momentthere was no response, then Grit coughed, choked, swallowed. Sandyrepeated the dose with less water. It went down naturally. Almostimmediately he felt the heart stroke strengthen. Grit sneezed, openedhis eyes and feebly thumped his tail as he licked Sandy's hand. 

"Grit, ol' pardner, " said Sandy seriously, the dog's head between hishands, "yo're sure mussed up a heap an' I hate to do it, but I got tocall on you, son. Mebbe it won't be such a long trick, but I can't gitby without yore nose, Grit. It's worth more'n all I've got. An' I knowyo're game. I'm goin' to give you some mo' of Keith's special Scotch, which I sure had a hunch w'ud come in handy, an' then we'll try it. "

Grit wagged his tail more vigorously and tried to get on his feet, butSandy prevented him until the third dose was administered. Then hecarried the dog outside to save him every foot of unnecessary progress, and set him down. The collie stood up, wabbly on one foot but able tostand, looking eagerly at Sandy, commencing to snuff the air. Sandy lethim smell the coin, the strand of hair, the piece of cloth and, with hiskeenest sense stimulated with the perfume that stood to Grit for love, the dog wrinkled his nose and cast around. But he led direct to Blazeand stood by the horse uncertain while Blaze nosed down at him. 

"Carried out of the cabin, son, " said Sandy. "We'll guess at Plimsoll. He's got clear of the locality. Blaze knows but he can't tell. We've gotto cast about. " He picked up the dog again, puzzled, and looked abouthim in the gulch, suffused with moonlight. "There sh'ud be soft dirtunder those asps, let's give a look-see there. "

They had not gone five feet into the trees before man and dog made asimultaneous discovery. For Sandy it was a heel-mark left by Plimsoll, treading heavily under his burden, a slight depression enough, but plainto Sandy. Grit began to struggle in his arms. Molly's hair or body musthave brushed against lower boughs at the same height that Sandy carriedthe wounded Grit and the scent still clung. 

"They c'udn't go fur in this direction by the looks of the place, Grit, "said Sandy. "See what you can make of it. " He put him down by theheel-print. Grit uttered a low growl deep back in his throat, his rufflifted. Hatred replaced love, but the two odors and emotions wereinextricably linked for Grit that day. He started off, hobbling along, leading truly over rock or sand, into the cove where the split rock lay, its crevice black, the vine curving down into it like a serpent. WherePlimsoll had laid her down Grit halted and raised his head, his tongueplaying in and out of his jaws in his triumphant excitement, his eyesluminous, his tail waving like the plume of a knight. Sandy gentlypatted him, pressed him down to a crouch. 

"Down charge, Grit, " he whispered in his ear. "You've got it. You stayhere. " Sandy had left his rifle at the cabin when he carried Grit out, now he spun the two cylinders of his Colts, lowered himself into thesplit, holding on to the vine, looking straight into Grit's lambenteyes. 

"Stay here, son, " he said softly, and Grit licked the face now on alevel with his own. "I'll be back. "

Sandy doubted whether he would find Plimsoll in this rock hollow, or anyone but Molly. There had been the one horse saddled and grazing free, but that might have belonged to the dead man by the withered tree. Itmade little difference. There was, to him, the certainty that Molly wasthere and there was no other way of finding out or getting to her. Hehad adventured more dangerous chances than this. 

He felt his legs dangle into space and his hands found a curving loop inthe vine trunk that sagged slightly under his weight. Extended at fulllength, his toes touched bottom. Letting go, he dropped lightly andstood in blackness, the crevice above him showing a strip of azurelight. Sandy listened, wishing for Grit. He might be able to get himdown, now that he knew the depth of the descent. 

There was only the sound of dripping water. He had a vague sense ofempty spaces all about him. He ventured a match, holding it at arm'slength in his left hand, flicking friction with his nail, an old trick. The match caught and began to blaze instantly in the still air. Lowdown, and to the right, there showed a stab of flame, the roar of anexploding cartridge, the reek of high-powered gas seemed to fill thecavern. The bullet passed through Sandy's coat sleeve. If he had heldthe match in front of him he would have been shot through heart orlungs. His right-hand gun barked from his hip, straight for where theflame had showed, then to right of it, to left, above, his left-hand gunjoining in the merciless probe. No second shot came in answer. 

Sandy lit another match. Its flare showed him a sandy floor, slightlysloping, moist in one place, a charred stick almost at his feet. It wasa pine knot, half burned, and he lighted it easily, advancing toward thespot where he had flung the shots he knew had silenced whoever had firedat the first match. He found Hahn, crumpled up, shot through the rightarm and a thigh, besides the other wound in his shoulder. There was notmuch life in him, he had suffered a hemorrhage twice before Sandy came;the shock of the two bullets had brought on another. 

Sandy turned him over, brought Keith's flask into play. Hahn looked upat him and essayed a grin. 

"Yo're game all right, Hahn, " said Sandy. "You ain't the man I waslookin' fo', but you fired first. I see I wasn't the first to plug you. Mebbe I can fix you up a bit?"

Hahn shook his head. 

"'Twouldn't be a mite of use, " he said huskily. "I'm empty of blood as aprohibition flask. I reckon it will be prohibition for me from now on. They say it's sure dry where I'm going. No grudge against you, Sandy. Ithought you one of Brandon's gang. They got Butch and me an' they'rechasin' Jim Plimsoll to hell and gone--over Nipple Peaks--if he beats'em to Spur Rock he'll fool 'em on the black--I couldn't ride--he leftme here--with the girl--but the case is empty and the bank'sbu'sted--cashing--in--time and no chips. "

He was wandering in his mind, speaking without control, but Sandy'smouth tightened at the mention of Nipple Peaks, relaxed again on theword "girl. " He gave Hahn the last few drops of whisky. 

"Where in hell'd you get that?" asked the dealer weakly, coughedviolently, collapsed, shuddered, writhed a little and was still beforehe could answer Sandy's eager question about Molly. 

He found her without much searching, rolled down a little slope beyondthe crevice. Under the light of the torch her eyes looked up at him. Herhair was in disorder, her raiment torn, her slender body wound about bythe lariat rope, her mouth and chin hidden by the tightly drawnbandanna, but her gaze, reflecting the flare of the pine knot, held somuch of welcome, of faith, of pride and courage, all sourced insomething deeper, far more wonderful, moving beneath the surface like awell spring, that Sandy's heart swelled with glad emotion, knowing shewas unharmed, knowing that his coming was no surprise, however welcome. 

He found himself trembling as he untied her bonds and took away the gagfrom the mouth that lifted to his. She snuggled into his arms and, asthe torch sputtered out, leaving them in the darkness, save for theluminous beams that stole down from where Grit whimpered in joyousimpatience, her hair showered down over both of them. 

"Sandy. I knew you'd come in time!" she whispered. 

He held her close and hard for a tense moment that gave all his world tohis embrace. 

"Molly--girl, " he said brokenly, his voice broken with passion. 

Her hand crept up and a soft palm cupped about his chin. He kissed theedge of it. He rose easily, still holding her and lifted her high towhere she could reach the vine, swinging up after her, Grit dancing athree-legged reel of joy as they came up into the free air and themoonlight. 

Blaze greeted them in the corral. Molly mounted, and Sandy set Grit onthe saddle in front of her. 

"Where's Pronto?" she asked. 

He told her. 

"I figger Sam an' the boys'll be erlong soon, " he said. "They may meetup with Pronto. Anyway, they'll likely bring Goldie fo' me. She's up. An' Pronto'll be too tired fo' what I want him to do ter-night. "

She sensed the change in his voice, intuitively guessed but, womanlike, asked:

"What do you mean, Sandy? Aren't you coming home with me to Three Star. If it wasn't so far I'd love to go back just like this, without meetinganybody. " She had taken off Sandy's Stetson and she ran fingers throughhis hair, thrilling him to the intimacy of the caress. But, if there wasany plan in her actions, it did not deter him from his. 

"Plimsoll's makin' fo' Nipple Peaks an' he's likely to git clear. Me, Iaim to head him off an' settle the account. "

"Sandy. " There was a plea in her voice that plucked at his heartstrings. "Don't spoil to-night. Please!"

"That ain't Molly Casey talkin', " said Sandy. "That's somethin' you musthave picked up back to Keith's. "

"He didn't harm me, Sandy. "

"He tried to. "

Her hand slipped to his shoulder, touched his cheek. She reined inBlaze. Sandy stood beside her, straight and stern, his eyes implacable. 

"He ain't fit to live, " he went on. "I w'udn't be fit to go back toThree Star where yore daddy lies an' know he was there in his gravewhile I let that coyote go loose. I found the luck-piece on the floor ofthe cabin, Molly, with a lock of yore hair he must have tore out, abutton an' a bit of yore dress he nigh tore off you. I was in hell whenI thought of you fightin' him off an' if I have to wade through itknee-deep in flamin' sulphur I'm goin' to find that snake an' make surehe quits trailin'. Why, it's my job, Molly. What w'ud you think of me ifI let him slide?"

"I know, " she answered. 

A horse whinnied from down the ravine. Blaze answered. 

"That'll be Sam an' the boys, Molly. " He cupped hands and sounded a"Yahoo!"

The answer came back clear through the evening, multiplied by the rocksabout them. 

"I'm afraid, " she said. 

"Afraid?"

"I know. I never was before. But. . . . " She broke off, leaned swiftly downfrom the saddle and kissed him. 

"Come back to me soon, Sandy, " she said. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE END OF THE ROPE

Pronto had chosen his own trail and gait back to the Three Star. It wasGoldie that Sandy rode under the stars toward Nipple Peaks. He wasalone, refusing any company of Sam or the riders. Molly's last kiss hadbeen the key that turned in the lock of his heart and opened up toreality the garden of his dreams where the two of them would walktogether, work together all their days. It could have meant nothingelse. And she had been afraid--for him. Plimsoll living was a blot uponthe fair page of happiness. Though Molly, thank God, had come throughunharmed, to Sandy the touch of Plimsoll was a defilement that couldonly be wiped out by his death. 

Nipple Peaks he knew by sight, two high mounds of bare granite above thetimber-line, barring the way to a jumbled country of peaks and ravinesand cross caņons among which lay Plimsoll's Hideout. Spur Rock he knewonly by rumor. That there was a pass between the peaks he did not doubt. And he rode to meet Plimsoll coming down out of it. To have returned tothe Hideout and attempted to follow a rock trail by moonlight, despiteits brilliance, would have been sheer folly. Plimsoll had from three tofour hours' start, he figured. And he calculated that, with luck, withcommon luck and justice, he would pick him up before he reached the baseof the mountain, before he got into the timber. If not, sooner or laterhe would cut Plimsoll's sign and follow it to the end. 

As he rode over the finny ridge of Elk Mountain and saw the Nipple Peaksgleaming above the black pines across the valley, with Elk Rivergleaming in the middle, he realized that he had said nothing to Molly ofKeith, of the shutting down of the mine and his own action in her name. While she had asked nothing of young Donald. For the time it had been asif the rest of the world had been fenced off from them and their ownintimate affairs. 

He compressed his knees and the mare answered in a lope that stretchedinto a gallop, fast and faster as she reached the levels and sped towardElk River. Sandy was not going to waste time looking for a ford. Themare could swim. The moon, sloping down toward the west, still above therange, helped by the big white stars, made the valley bright almost asday. He scanned the mountain toward the peaks, passed over the darkimpenetrable pines, surveyed the stretch of gently rising ground betweenthe Elk and the trees and shifted his guns in their scabbards. His riflehe had left with Sam. Either Plimsoll had not passed the peaks, was inthe woods, or he had come and gone. Something told Sandy this last hadnot occurred. Travel beyond the peaks must have been hard and slow androundabout for Plimsoll while he had tangented fast for the cut-off. 

The mare took the cold river water about her fetlocks with a littleshiver, wading in to the girths, sliding to a deep pool where she had toswim a few strokes before she found gravel under her hoofs and scrambledout. Suddenly, while Sandy hesitated how best to arrange his patrol, ahorse came floundering out of the pines less than a quarter of a mileaway, a black horse, shining with sweat, tired to its limit, staggeringin its stride, the rider hunched in the saddle more like a sack of mealthan a man. 

Before Sandy could turn the mare toward them three riders burst from thetrees like bolts from a crossbow, spurring their mounts, the two in thelead swinging lariats. They divided, one to either side of thefoundering black stallion, one at the rear, gaining, angling in. Theropes slithered out, the loops seemed to hang like suspended rings ofwire for a second before they settled down, fair and true, about theneck and shoulders of the black's rider. They tightened, the lariatssnubbed to the saddle horns, the horses sliding with flattened pasterns. The black lunging on, pitched forward as it was relieved of a suddenweight and its rider jerked hideously from the saddle, hands clawing atthe ropes that choked his gullet, wrenching, sinking deep, shutting offair and light with a horrid taste of blood and the noise of thunderingwaters. 

The ropers wheeled their mounts and galloped back toward the woods, thelimp body of their victim dragging, bouncing over the ground. The thirdrode to meet Sandy. It was Brandon. He hailed Sandy with surprise. 

"How'd you happen here this time of night, Bourke? Not looking for me?"

"No. I was looking for the man you've just caught. I was about a minutetoo late. "

Brandon glanced curiously at Sandy, caught by the grim note in hisvoice. But he made no comment. 

"Sorry if I spoiled your private vendetta, Bourke. You can have him, what's left of him, if you want. We were going to swing him from a treewith a card on his chest presenting him to Hereford County, with ourcompliments. As it is, Bourke, I'd be relieved if you'd keep out of thisentirely. Even forgetting you'd met us. We're within our rights, butwe've done some cleaning up to-night that we might have to explain if westayed too long in the state. We got the goods on Plimsoll; one of hismen whose girl Plimsoll had stolen helped us to pin them on him. We methim at Hereford. I'm going to send the facts and proofs to yourauthorities. They may not approve of lynch law these days, but theywouldn't act--and we did. I don't fancy they'll bother us any. He wasn'tworth the ropes he spoiled. Just as well you kept out of the mix-up. "

Sandy said nothing. There was no need to mention Molly's adventure. 

"Want to be sure it's him?" asked Brandon. "Let's look at the blackfirst. He gave us a hard chase, but we were too many for him and roundedhim up. "

They found the black stallion stretched out on the turf with its neckcuriously twisted. Tired out, it had fallen clumsily and broken thevertebrae. It was quite dead. Both men looked at it silently, with amental tribute to a good horse. 

The body of Plimsoll lay at the foot of a big pine. The loops were stilltight about his neck. One of the ropes had been tossed over a bough. Thetwo men had dismounted. They nodded to Sandy as he came up with Brandon. He had seen them before on their first unsuccessful trip to theWaterline. They were horse-owners, responsible men, who considered theyhad administered justice, who felt no more qualms concerning the deadman than if his body had been the carcass of a slaughtered steer. 

"Waiting for the rest of the boys to come up, " said Brandon. "We'll hitthe trail home to-night. Bourke wants to identify the body, boys. "

Sandy looked down at the contorted, blackened face, and hisdisappointment at having been forestalled, sedimented down. Thegambler's features had not been made placid by death; they still heldmuch of the horror of the last moments of that relentless chase, hishorse failing under him, foreknowledge of sudden death and then thewhistling ropes, the jerk into eternity. . . ! It was a thing to beforgotten, a nightmare that had nothing to do with the new day ahead. 

"It's Plimsoll, " said Sandy shortly. "I'm ridin' back to Three Star. Ifound him hangin' to a tree. Good night, hombres. " He left them standingabout their quarry and turned the willing mare toward home. Peacesettled down on him under the stars that were fading, the moon below thehills when he rode into the home corral. 

A figure was perched upon the fence, waiting. It was Molly, and sheleaped down almost into his arms as he sprang from the mare. In the graydawn her face seemed drawn and weary. There were the blue shadows underthe eyes that he remembered seeing there the time they had ridden overthe Pass of the Goats. She came close to him, her hands up against hischest. 

"You're safe, Sandy. Safe!"

"I was too late, " he said. "Brandon's men had been ahead of me. "

"I'm so glad, Sandy. Your hands are clean of his blood. They are myhands, now, Sandy. "

He swept her up to him, kissing her mouth and eyes, the eager pressureof her lips returning all with full measure. A streak of rose glowed inthe east behind the amethyst peaks. Her face reflected it like a mirror. The tired lines were gone as he set her down. 

"How long have you been waiting, Molly?"

"Ever since I got back. I slipped out of the house when the rest hadgone to bed. If you hadn't come back, Sandy, I should have died. "

"I don't have to go back east, " she said presently. They had left thecorral and were under the big cottonwoods by Patrick Casey's grave. "DoI?"

"I don't reckon you can, even if you wanted to, " answered Sandy. "Iforgot to tell you, Molly, that you're bu'sted, so far's the mine isconcerned. Listen. "

She laughed when he finished speaking. 

"Is that all?" She patted the turf on the green mound. "I'm sorry, Daddy, for you, it didn't pan out bigger. But I guess what you wantedmost was my happiness--and I've got that. " She turned to Sandy. The bigbell of the ranch boomed brassily. Molly put her hand in Sandy's. "Itmay be most unromantic, Sandy dear, " she said, "but I'm hungry. Let's goin to breakfast. "

CHAPTER XXII

THE VERY END

There was a council held later that day, that was almost a council ofwar. Sandy was in the chair, Mormon and Sam present, Molly the indignantspeaker-in-chief. 

"I'm very much ashamed of all of you, " she said. "An agreement is anagreement, and we were to share as we arranged. We shook hands upon it. I've had three times as much as any one of you, as it is. I haven'tspent all of it, Sandy tells me. 

"I've got to accept Sandy's share of it, I suppose, because it goes withSandy. As for you, Sam Manning, you'll need your third when you marryKate Nicholson. "

Soda-Water Sam gasped. 

"Marry Miss Nicholson?"

"Certainly. She expects you to. "

"She--Molly, it ain't no jokin' matter with me. She wouldn't look at arough-hided cuss like me. "

"You ask her, Sammy. Mormon, I suppose you'll have to hang fire untilyou find out about that third wife. I hope the fourth time will be thecharm. It will if you marry Miranda Bailey. "

"You're sure talkin' like a matrimonial boorow, Molly, " said Mormon. "Isure think a sight of Mirandy. She's different from my first three. Theyall married me, fo' me to look out fo' them. If Mirandy can be persuadedto take me it's becos she is willin' to look after me. She 'lows I needit, " he added sheepishly. Then he chuckled. 

"I've knowed the whereabouts of my third fo' some time back, " he said. "She got a divorce six years ago. I've kept the matter secret as a so'tof insurance policy. I've allus been sort of unbalanced in my leanin'sto'ards the sex, you see. An' it sure acted as a prop an' a defense sofur. "

"Then the meeting is closed, " said Molly. "I accept your apologies andyou keep your money. "

Mormon and Sam rose. With a glance at each other that ended in a wink, they left the room. Molly turned to Sandy. 

"You didn't give me back my luck-piece, Sandy. "

"What does a mascot want with a luck-piece?"

"She would like it made into an engagement ring, Sandy. "

"Why not a weddin' ring, Molly, Molly mine?"

THE END

 Popular Copyright Novels

 AT MODERATE PRICES

 Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction

 =Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. = By Frank L. Packard. =Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. = By A. Conan Doyle. =Affinities, and Other Stories. = By Mary Roberts Rinehart. =After House, The. = By Mary Roberts Rinehart. =Against the Winds. = By Kate Jordan. =Ailsa Paige. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Also Ran. = By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. =Amateur Gentleman, The. = By Jeffery Farnol. =Anderson Crow, Detective. = By George Barr McCutcheon. =Anna, the Adventuress. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Anne's House of Dreams. = By L. M. Montgomery. =Anybody But Anne. = By Carolyn Wells. =Are All Men Alike, and The Lost Titian. = By Arthur Stringer. =Around Old Chester. = By Margaret Deland. =Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist. = By John T. McIntyre. =Ashton-Kirk, Investigator. = By John T. McIntyre. =Ashton-Kirk, Secret Agent. = By John T. McIntyre. =Ashton-Kirk, Special Detective. = By John T. McIntyre. =Athalie. = By Robert W. Chambers. =At the Mercy of Tiberius. = By Augusta Evans Wilson. =Auction Block, The. = By Rex Beach. =Aunt Jane of Kentucky. = By Eliza C. Hall. =Awakening of Helena Richie. = By Margaret Deland. 

 =Bab: a Sub-Deb. = By Mary Roberts Rinehart. =Bambi. = By Marjorie Benton Cooke. =Barbarians. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Bar 20. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Bar 20 Days. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Barrier, The. = By Rex Beach. =Bars of Iron, The. = By Ethel M. Dell. =Beasts of Tarzan, The. = By Edgar Rice Burroughs. =Beckoning Roads. = By Jeanne Judson. =Belonging. = By Olive Wadsley. =Beloved Traitor, The. = By Frank L. Packard. =Beloved Vagabond, The. = By Wm. J. Locke. =Beltane the Smith. = By Jeffery Farnol. =Betrayal, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Beulah. = (Ill. Ed. ) By Augusta J. Evans. =Beyond the Frontier. = By Randall Parrish. =Big Timber. = By Bertrand W. Sinclair. =Black Bartlemy's Treasure. = By Jeffery Farnol. =Black Is White. = By George Barr McCutcheon. =Blacksheep! Blacksheep!= By Meredith Nicholson. =Blind Man's Eyes, The. = By Wm. Mac Harg and Edwin Balmer. =Boardwalk, The. = By Margaret Widdemer. =Bob Hampton of Placer. = By Randall Parrish. =Bob, Son of Battle. = By Alfred Olivant. =Box With Broken Seals, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Boy With Wings, The. = By Berta Ruck. =Brandon of the Engineers. = By Harold Bindloss. =Bridge of Kisses, The. = By Berta Ruck. =Broad Highway, The. = By Jeffery Farnol. =Broadway Bab. = By Johnston McCulley. =Brown Study, The. = By Grace S. Richmond. =Bruce of the Circle A. = By Harold Titus. =Buccaneer Farmer, The. = By Harold Bindloss. =Buck Peters, Ranchman. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Builders, The. = By Ellen Glasgow. =Business of Life, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. 

 =Cab of the Sleeping Horse, The. = By John Reed Scott. =Cabbage and Kings. = By O. Henry. =Cabin Fever. = By B. M. Bower. =Calling of Dan Matthews, The. = By Harold Bell Wright. =Cape Cod Stories. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper. = By James A. Cooper. =Cap'n Dan's Daughter. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Cap'n Erl. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Cap'n Jonah's Fortune. = By James A. Cooper. =Cap'n Warren's Wards. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Chinese Label, The. = By J. Frank Davis. =Christine of the Young Heart. = By Louise Breintenbach Clancy. =Cinderella Jane. = By Marjorie B. Cooke. =Cinema Murder, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =City of Masks, The. = By George Barr McCutcheon. =Cleek of Scotland Yard. = By T. W. Hanshew. =Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces. = By Thomas W. Hanshew. =Cleek's Government Cases. = By Thomas W. Hanshew. =Clipped Wings. = By Rupert Hughes. =Clutch of Circumstance, The. = By Marjorie Benton Cooke. =Coast of Adventure, The. = By Harold Bindloss. =Come-Back, The. = By Carolyn Wells. =Coming of Cassidy, The. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Coming of the Law, The. = By Charles A. Seltzer. =Comrades of Peril. = By Randall Parrish. =Conquest of Canaan, The. = By Booth Tarkington. =Conspirators, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Contraband. = By Randall Parrish. =Cottage of Delight, The. = By Will N. Harben. =Court of Inquiry, A. = By Grace S. Richmond. =Cricket, The. = By Marjorie Benton Cooke. =Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. = By Rex Beach. =Crimson Tide, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Cross Currents. = By Author of "Pollyanna. " =Cross Pull, The. = By Hal. G. Evarts. =Cry in the Wilderness, A. = By Mary E. Waller. =Cry of Youth, A. = By Cynthia Lombardi. =Cup of Fury, The. = By Rupert Hughes. =Curious Quest, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 

 =Danger and Other Stories. = By A. Conan Doyle. =Dark Hollow, The. = By Anna Katharine Green. =Dark Star, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Daughter Pays, The. = By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. =Day of Days, The. = By Louis Joseph Vance. =Depot Master, The. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Destroying Angel, The. = By Louis Joseph Vance. =Devil's Own, The. = By Randall Parrish. =Devil's Paw, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Disturbing Charm, The. = By Berta Ruck. =Door of Dread, The. = By Arthur Stringer. =Dope. = By Sax Rohmer. =Double Traitor, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Duds. = By Henry C. Rowland. 

 =Empty Pockets. = By Rupert Hughes. =Erskine Dale Pioneer. = By John Fox, Jr. =Everyman's Land. = By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. =Extricating Obadiah. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Eyes of the Blind, The. = By Arthur Somers Roche. =Eyes of the World, The. = By Harold Bell Wright. 

 =Fairfax and His Pride. = By Marie Van Vorst. =Felix O'Day. = By F. Hopkinson Smith. =54-40 or Fight. = By Emerson Hough. =Fighting Chance, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Fighting Fool, The. = By Dane Coolidge. =Fighting Shepherdess, The. = By Caroline Lockhart. =Financier, The. = By Theodore Dreiser. =Find the Woman. = By Arthur Somers Roche. =First Sir Percy, The. = By The Baroness Orczy. =Flame, The. = By Olive Wadsley. =For Better, for Worse. = By W. B. Maxwell. =Forbidden Trail, The. = By Honorč Willsie. =Forfeit, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Fortieth Door, The. = By Mary Hastings Bradley. =Four Million, The. = By O. Henry. =From Now On. = By Frank L. Packard. =Fur Bringers, The. = By Hulbert Footner. =Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale. = By Frank L. Packard. 

 =Get Your Man. = By Ethel and James Dorrance. =Girl in the Mirror, The. = By Elizabeth Jordan. =Girl of O. K. Valley, The. = By Robert Watson. =Girl of the Blue Ridge, A. = By Payne Erskine. =Girl from Keller's, The. = By Harold Bindloss. =Girl Philippa, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Girls at His Billet, The. = By Berta Ruck. =Glory Rides the Range. = By Ethel and James Dorrance. =Gloved Hand, The. = By Burton E. Stevenson. =God's Country and the Woman. = By James Oliver Curwood. =God's Good Man. = By Marie Corelli. =Going Some. = By Rex Beach. =Gold Girl, The. = By James B. Hendryx. =Golden Scorpion, The. = By Sax Rohmer. =Golden Slipper, The. = By Anna Katharine Green. =Golden Woman, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Good References. = By E. J. Rath. =Gorgeous Girl, The. = By Nalbro Bartley. =Gray Angels, The. = By Nalbro Bartley. =Great Impersonation, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Greater Love Hath No Man. = By Frank L. Packard. =Green Eyes of Bast, The. = By Sax Rohmer. =Greyfriars Bobby. = By Eleanor Atkinson. =Gun Brand, The. = By James B. Hendryx. 

 =Hand of Fu-Manchu, The. = By Sax Rohmer. =Happy House. = By Baroness Von Hutten. =Harbor Road, The. = By Sara Ware Bassett. =Havoc. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Heart of the Desert, The. = By Honorč Willsie. =Heart of the Hills, The. = By John Fox, Jr. =Heart of the Sunset. = By Rex Beach. =Heart of Thunder Mountain, The. = By Edfrid A. Bingham. =Heart of Unaga, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Hidden Children, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Hidden Trails. = By William Patterson White. =Highflyers, The. = By Clarence B. Kelland. =Hillman, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Hills of Refuge, The. = By Will N. Harben. =His Last Bow. = By A. Conan Doyle. =His Official Fiancee. = By Berta Ruck. =Honor of the Big Snows. = By James Oliver Curwood. =Hopalong Cassidy. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Hound from the North, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =House of the Whispering Pines, The. = By Anna Katharine Green. =Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. = By S. Weir Mitchell, M. D. =Humoresque. = By Fannie Hurst. 

 =I Conquered. = By Harold Titus. =Illustrious Prince, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =In Another Girl's Shoes. = By Berta Ruck. =Indifference of Juliet, The. = By Grace S. Richmond. =Inez. = (Ill. Ed. ) By Augusta J. Evans. =Infelice. = By Augusta Evans Wilson. =Initials Only. = By Anna Katharine Green. =Inner Law, The. = By Will N. Harben. =Innocent. = By Marie Corelli. =In Red and Gold. = By Samuel Merwin. =Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. = By Sax Rohmer. =In the Brooding Wild. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Intriguers, The. = By William Le Queux. =Iron Furrow, The. = By George C. Shedd. =Iron Trail, The. = By Rex Beach. =Iron Woman, The. = By Margaret Deland. =Ishmael. = (Ill. ) By Mrs. Southworth. =Island of Surprise. = By Cyrus Townsend Brady. =I Spy. = By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. =It Pays to Smile. = By Nina Wilcox Putnam. =I've Married Marjorie. = By Margaret Widdemer. 

 =Jean of the Lazy A. = By B. M. Bower. =Jeanne of the Marshes. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Jennie Gerhardt. = By Theodore Dreiser. =Johnny Nelson. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Judgment House, The. = By Gilbert Parker. 

 =Keeper of the Door, The. = By Ethel M. Dell. =Keith of the Border. = By Randall Parrish. =Kent Knowles: Quahaug. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Kingdom of the Blind, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =King Spruce. = By Holman Day. =Knave of Diamonds, The. = By Ethel M. Dell. 

 =La Chance Mine Mystery, The. = By S. Carleton. =Lady Doc, The. = By Caroline Lockhart. =Land-Girl's Love Story, A. = By Berta Ruck. =Land of Strong Men, The. = By A. M. Chisholm. =Last Straw, The. = By Harold Titus. =Last Trail, The. = By Zane Grey. =Laughing Bill Hyde. = By Rex Beach. =Laughing Girl, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =Law Breakers, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Law of the Gun, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. = By Baroness Orczy. =Lifted Veil, The. = By Basil King. =Lighted Way, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Lin McLean. = By Owen Wister. =Little Moment of Happiness, The. = By Clarence Budington Kelland. =Lion's Mouse, The. = By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. =Lonesome Land. = By B. M. Bower. =Lone Wolf, The. = By Louis Joseph Vance. =Lonely Stronghold, The. = By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. =Long Live the King. = By Mary Roberts Rinehart. =Lost Ambassador. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Lost Prince, The. = By Frances Hodgson Burnett. =Lydia of the Pines. = By Honorč Willsie. =Lynch Lawyers. = By William Patterson White. 

 =Macaria. = (Ill. Ed. ) By Augusta J. Evans. =Maid of the Forest, The. = By Randall Parrish. =Maid of Mirabelle, The. = By Eliot H. Robinson. =Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. = By Vingie E. Roe. =Major, The. = By Ralph Connor. =Maker of History, A. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Malefactor, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Man from Bar 20, The. = By Clarence E. Mulford. =Man from Bitter Roots, The. = By Caroline Lockhart. =Man from Tall Timber, The. = By Thomas K. Holmes. =Man in the Jury Box, The. = By Robert Orr Chipperfield. =Man-Killers, The. = By Dane Coolidge. =Man Proposes. = By Eliot H. Robinson, author of "Smiles. " =Man Trail, The. = By Henry Oyen. =Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The. = By Arthur Stringer. =Marqueray's Duel. = By Anthony Pryde. =Mary 'Gusta. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Mary Wollaston. = By Henry Kitchell Webster. =Mason of Bar X Ranch. = By E. Bennett. =Master Christian, The. = By Marie Corelli. =Master Mummer, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. = By A. Conan Doyle. =Men Who Wrought, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Midnight of the Ranges. = By George Gilbert. =Mischief Maker, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Missioner, The. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Miss Million's Maid. = By Berta Ruck. =Money Master, The. = By Gilbert Parker. =Money Moon, The. = By Jeffery Farnol. =Moonlit Way, The. = By Robert W. Chambers. =More Tish. = By Mary Roberts Rinehart. =Mountain Girl, The. = By Payne Erskine. =Mr. Bingle. = By George Barr McCutcheon. =Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. = By E. Phillips Oppenheim. =Mr. Pratt. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Mr. Pratt's Patients. = By Joseph C. Lincoln. =Mr. Wu. = By Louise Jordan Miln. =Mrs. Balfame. = By Gertrude Atherton. =Mrs. Red Pepper. = By Grace S. Richmond. =My Lady of the North. = By Randall Parrish. =My Lady of the South. = By Randall Parrish. =Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The. = By Anna K. Green. =Mystery of the Silver Dagger, The. = By Randall Parrish. =Mystery of the 13th Floor, The. = By Lee Thayer. 

 =Nameless Man, The. = By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. =Ne'er-Do-Well, The. = By Rex Beach. =Net, The. = By Rex Beach. =New Clarion. = By Will N. Harben. =Night Horseman, The. = By Max Brand. =Night Operator, The. = By Frank L. Packard. =Night Riders, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =North of the Law. = By Samuel Alexander White. 

 =One Way Trail, The. = By Ridgwell Cullum. =Outlaw, The. = By Jackson Gregory. =Owner of the Lazy D. = By William Patterson White. 

 =Painted Meadows. = By Sophie Kerr. =Palmetto. = By Stella G. S. Perry. =Paradise Bend. = By William Patterson White. =Pardners. = By Rex Beach. =Parrot & Co. = By Harold MacGrath. =Partners of the Night. = By Leroy Scott

 +-----------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the | | original document have been preserved. | | | | Typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | Page 61 parodox changed to paradox | | Page 113 caress changed to carcass | | Page 144 enchanced changed to enhanced | | Page 158 Morman changed to Mormon | | Page 181 Eh changed to Ed | | Page 270 missing word "cent" added | | Page 271 chaperajos changed to chaparejos | | Page 295 Miss Keith should be Miss Casey | | Page 318 Burke changed to Bourke | | Page 325 starin' changed to startin' | | Page 325 knes changed to knees | | Page 339 stead changed to steed | | Page 347 corraled changed to corralled | | Page 372 staring changed to starting | | Page 383 couch changed to crouch | +-----------------------------------------------+