12 files changed, 36240 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/28638-8.txt b/28638-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b3f4cd9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11970 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Rimrock Trail
+
+Author: J. Allan Dunn
+
+Release Date: April 29, 2009 [EBook #28638]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIMROCK TRAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Barbara Kosker and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  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 he
+dared not tilt, gazing dreamily at the saw-toothed mountains shimmering
+in 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 revolver
+he was meticulously cleaning.
+
+"'Count of Climate, Cactus, Cattle--an' Coyotes."
+
+"Makin' four, 'stead of three," said the managing partner of the Three
+Star Ranch.
+
+Came a grunt from "Soda-Water" Sam as he put down his harmonica on which
+he had been playing _The Cowboy's Lament_, with variations.
+
+"Huh! You got no more eddication than a horn-toad, an' less common
+sense. You don't spell Arizony with a 'C.' You can't. 'Cordin' to yore
+argymint you should spell Africa with a 'Z' 'cause they raise zebras
+there, 'stead of mustangs. Might make it two 'R's,' 'count of rim-rock
+an'--an' revolvers."
+
+Mormon snorted.
+
+"That's a hell of a name for a man born in Maricopa County to call a
+gun. _Revolver!_ You 'mind me of the Boston perfesser who come to
+Arizona tryin' to prove the Cliff Dwellers was one of the Lost Tribes of
+Israel. He blows in with an introduction to the Double U, where I was
+workin'. 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's
+share 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 waitress
+down to the Rodeo Eatin' House, while he's waitin' for his train, for a
+serve-yet. A _serve-yet_! That's what he calls a napkin. You must have
+been eddicated in Boston, Sam, though it's the first time I ever
+suspected you of book learnin'."
+
+It was Sunday afternoon on the Three Star rancheria. The riders, all the
+hands--with the exception of Pedro, the Mexican cocinero, indifferent to
+most things, including his cooking; and Joe, his half-breed helper,--had
+departed, clad in their best shirts, vests, trousers, Stetsons and
+bandannas of silk, some seeking a poker game on a neighboring rancho,
+some bent on courting. Pedro and Joe lay, faces down, under the shade of
+the trees about the tenaya, the stone cistern into which water was
+pumped 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 lighter
+matters. One year before they had pooled their savings and Sandy Bourke,
+youngest of the three and the most aggressive, coolest and swiftest of
+action, had gloriously bucked the faro tiger and won enough to buy the
+Three Star Ranch and certain rights of free range. The purchase had not
+included the brand of the late owner. Originally the holding had been
+called the Two-Bar-P. As certain cattlemen were not wanting who had a
+knack of appropriating calves and changing the brands of steers, Sandy
+had been glad enough, in his capacity of business manager, to change the
+name 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, so
+Soda-Water Sam--whose nickname was satirical--opined, smacked of the
+saloon rather than the ranch, but it was finally decided on and the
+branding-irons duly made.
+
+Sandy Bourke had dark brown hair, inclined to be curly, a tendency he
+offset by frequent clipping of his thatch. The sobriquet of "Sandy"
+referred to his grit. He was broad-shouldered, tall and lean, weighing a
+hundred and seventy pounds of well-strung frame. His eyes were gray and
+the lids sun-puckered; his deeply tanned skin showed the freckles on
+face and hands as faint inlays; his long limber legs were slightly
+bowed.
+
+Not so the curve of Soda-Water Sam's legs. You could pass a small keg
+between the latter's knees without interference. Otherwise, Sam, whose
+last name was Manning, was mainly distinguished by his enormous drooping
+mustache, 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 stout
+for saddle-ease to himself or mount, sun-rouged where his partners were
+burned brown. His pate was bald save for a tonsure-fringe of
+grizzle-red.
+
+All three were first-rate cattlemen, their enterprise bade fair for
+success, hampered only by the lack of capital, occasioned by Sandy's
+preference for modern methods as evidenced by thoroughbred bulls,
+high-grading of his steers, the steadily growing patches of alfalfa and
+the spreading network of irrigation ditches.
+
+Business exhausted, ending with an often expressed desire for a woman
+cook who could also perform a few household chores, tagged with a last
+attempt to persuade Mormon to marry some comfortable person who would
+act in that capacity, they had reverted to the good-humored chaff that
+always marked their talks together.
+
+Mormon, with stubby fingers wonderfully deft, was plaiting horsehair
+about a stick of hardwood to form the handle of a quirt, Sandy
+overhauling his two Colts and Sam furnishing orchestra on his harmonica.
+Now he put it to his lips, unable to find a sufficiently crushing retort
+to Mormon's diatribe against words of more than one syllable, breathing
+out the burden of "My Bonnie lies over the Ocean."
+
+Mormon, in a husky, yet musical bass, supplied the cowboy's version of
+the 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, the
+mangy 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 I
+moved. 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, you
+need 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 but
+determinedly toward the ranch-house, past the corral and cook shack; its
+daring proclaiming it anything but a cowardly, foot-hill coyote. Its
+coat was whitish gray. Its brush was down, almost trailing, its muzzle
+drooped, it went lamely on all four legs and occasionally limped on
+three.
+
+"Collie!" proclaimed Sandy. "Pore devil's plumb tuckered out."
+
+"Sheepdawg!" affirmed Sam, disgust in his voice. "Hell of a gall to come
+round 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 and
+Joe. It halted twenty feet from the porch, one paw up, as Sandy bent
+forward and called to it.
+
+"Come on, you dawg. Come in, ol' feller. Mormon, take that hair out of
+that pan of water an' set it where he can see it."
+
+Mormon shifted the pan in which he had been soaking the horsehair for
+easier plaiting and the dog sniffed at it, watching Sandy closely with
+eyes that were dim from thirst and weariness. Sandy patted his knee
+encouragingly, 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 the
+alkali dust that covered its coat, the collie released its hold and
+collapsed on one side, panting, utterly exhausted, with glazing eyes
+that held appeal.
+
+Sandy reached for the pan, squatting down, and chucked some water from
+the palm of his hand into the open jaws, upon the swollen tongue. The
+dog licked his hand, whined again, tried to stand up, failed, succeeded
+with the aid of friendly fingers in its ruff and eagerly lapped a few
+mouthfuls.
+
+Again it seized the tassel and pulled, looking up into Sandy's face
+imploringly.
+
+"Somethin' wrong," said the manager of the Three Star. "Tryin' to tell
+us about it. All right, ol' feller, you drink some more wateh. Let me
+look at that paw." He gently took the foot that clawed at his chaps and
+examined it. The pad was worn to the quick, bleeding. "Come out of the
+Bad 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 same
+condition. Running his fingers beneath the ruff, scratching gently in
+sign 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 us
+to him. You'll have to hoof it till we cut fair trail. Sam, fetch me
+some 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. Sandy
+bathed the raw pads softly, cut patches of the tape with his knife, put
+them on the abrasions, held them there for the warmth of his palm to set
+them. Grit licked at his hands whenever they were in reach, his
+brightening eyes full of understanding, shifting to watch Sam striding
+to 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 care
+for nowadays. I'll stick to the chair."
+
+"Prod up Pedro to git some hot water ready. Keep a kittle b'ilin'. No
+tellin' what time we'll git back," said Sandy. "I'll take along some
+grub an' the medicine kit. Have to spare some of that whisky Sam's got
+stowed away."
+
+"Goin' to waste booze at fifteen bucks a quart on a sheepman?" grumbled
+Mormon.
+
+"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 a
+confidential tone, "you-all have got to git grub an' wateh inside yore
+ribs. 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 into
+the house. Mormon followed him. Grit watched them disappear, gave a
+little whine of impatience, accepted the situation philosophically as he
+listened to sounds from the corral that told him of horses being caught,
+and drooped his head on the dirt, lying relaxed, eyes closed, gaining
+strength against the return trip.
+
+Sam rode to the porch on his roan, Sandy's pinto and a gray mare
+leading, and "tied them to the ground" with trailing reins as Sandy came
+out bearing a pan of food, a package and a leather case. Mormon showed
+at 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, climb
+outside of this chuck."
+
+He coaxed the collie to eat the food from his hand while Sam brought the
+whisky.
+
+"Load my guns, Mormon," he requested.
+
+Mormon did it without comment. The two blued Colts were as much a part
+of Sandy's working outfit as his belt, or the bridle of his horse. Sam
+buckled on his own cartridge belt, holster and pistol, fixed his spurs,
+tied the package of food to his saddle, filled two canteens and did the
+same with them. Sandy-offered the pan of water to Grit who drank in
+businesslike fashion, assured of the success of his mission. He stood up
+squarely on his legs, eased by the plastering. They were only tired now.
+
+He shook himself vigorously, sending out the dust with which he was
+powdered in all directions, making Mormon sneeze. He stretched his
+muzzle toward the mountains, threw it up and barked for the first time.
+As Sandy and Sam mounted, the latter leading the gray mare, Grit ran
+ahead of them and came back to make certain they were following. Then he
+headed for the spot in the mesquite whence he had emerged, marking the
+opening 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 hair
+in the water the dog had left and went on with his plaiting: As he
+handled the pliant horsehairs he talked aloud, range fashion.
+
+"On'y sheepman I ever knowed worth trubblin' about was a woman. Used ter
+knit while she watched the woollies. Knit me a sweater--plumb useless
+waste of time an' yarn. If I'd taken it I'd have had to take her along
+with it. Wimmen is sure persistent. Seems like I must look like a dogie
+to most of 'em. They're allus wantin' to marry me an' mother me. I sure
+hope this one don't turn out to be a she-herder. 'P' might stand fer
+Polly."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+CASEY
+
+
+The two men followed the dog across the flats, through mesquite, through
+scattered sage and greasewood, mounting gradually through chaparral to
+barren slopes set with strange twisted shapes of cactus. When it became
+apparent that Sandy's hazard had hit the mark, as they entered the
+defile that made entrance for Pyramid Pass, the only path across the
+Cumbre Range to the Bad Lands beyond, Sandy reined in, coaxed up Grit,
+resentful, almost suspicious of any halt, lifting the collie to the
+saddle in front of him. Grit protested and the pinto plunged, but
+Sandy's persistence, the soothe of his steady voice, persuaded the dog
+at last to accommodate itself as best it could, helped by Sandy's one
+arm, sometimes with two as Sandy, riding with knees welded to Pronto's
+withers, dropping reins over the saddle horn, left the rest to the
+horse.
+
+"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 was
+right,--he wore his pads out crossin' the lava beds, though what in time
+any 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 small
+herd, but the other side is jest plain hell with the lights out, one big
+slice 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 the
+pass, then comes a bu'sted mesa, all box ca�on an' rim-rock, shot with
+caves, nothin' greener than cactus an' not much of that. There's a
+twenty per cent. grade wagon road, or there was, for it warn't
+engineered none too careful, that run over to the mines. I was over
+there 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 couple
+hundred shafts an' tunnels leadin' to nothin'. Reckon this P. Casey is a
+prospector, Sam. One of them half crazy old-timers, nosin' round tryin'
+to pick up lost leads. One of the 'riginal crowd that called the dump
+Hopeful, 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 looked
+out upon a stretch of desolation. Sandy had called it six or seven
+miles. It might have been two or twenty. The deceit of rarefied air was
+intensified by the dazzle of the merciless sun beating down on powdered
+alkali, on snaky flows of weathered lava, on mock lakes that sparkled
+and dissolved in mirage. The broken mesa, across which ran the road to
+the deserted mining camp, mysteriously changed form before their eyes;
+unsubstantial masses in pastel lights and shades of saffron, mauve and
+rose. 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. We
+can foller his trail that fur. Sit tight, son." Grit whined but subsided
+under the restraining hands.
+
+"How about a drink 'fore we tackle that?" asked Sam, nodding at the
+shimmering view.
+
+"Better hold off for a while." Sandy took the lead, bending from the
+saddle, reading the trail that Grit's paws had left in the alkali and
+sand. Cactus reared its spiny stems or sprawled over the ground more
+like strange water-growths that had survived the emptying of an inland
+sea than vegetation of the land. Once the dog's tracks led aside to a
+scummy puddle, saucered by alkali, dotted with the spoor of desert
+animals that drank the bitter water in extremity. Then it ran straight
+to a wide reef of lava. Sandy set down the collie. Grit ran fast across
+the pitted surface, ahead of the horses, waiting for them to cross the
+lava. They had hard work to get him to come to hand again, but he gave
+in at last to the knowledge that they would not go on otherwise.
+
+"Sand's too hot fo' yore pads, dawg," said Sandy, "Raise the mischief
+with that tape. Shack erlong, Pronto. Give you a slice of Pedro's
+dried-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 went
+silently on at a steady walking gait. Talk in the saddle with men who
+make range-riding a business comes only in spurts.
+
+"Never see a prospector with a dawg afore," said Sam at last. "An' that
+a sheep dawg."
+
+"Dawg 'ud be apt to tucker out in desert travel," agreed Sandy. "Mean
+one more mouth fo' water."
+
+He, like Sam, speculated on the kind of man P. Casey--if it was Casey
+they were after--might be. If not a sheepman or a prospector, a third
+probability made him an outlaw, a man with a price on his head, hiding
+in the wilds from punishment. It sufficed to them that he was a man whom
+a dog loved enough to bear a call to help his master.
+
+Slowly, the mesa ahead took on more definite shape. The shadows resolved
+themselves into ravines and ca�ons. They entered a gorge filled with
+boulders and rounded rocks, over which the sure-footed ponies made
+clattering, slippery progress. Here and there the gaunt skeleton of a
+tree, white as if lime-washed, showed that once cottonwoods had
+flourished before the devouring desert had claimed the territory. The
+cactus was all prickly pear, the gray-green flesh of the flat leaves
+starred with brilliant blossom. Along one side of the ca�on, mounting
+zigzag, showed the remains of a road, broken down by landslip and the
+furious rush of cloud-burst waters.
+
+Making this, finding it free of wagon sign or horse tracks, Sandy picked
+up 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. Grit
+raced off, nose high, streaking around a curve. When they reached it he
+was out of sight. The road had been built up in places on the outer edge
+with stones, dry-piled. They had fallen away, the grade following, so
+that sometimes all that was left for passage was a ledge along which the
+horses sidled carefully in single file, stirrups brushing the inside
+bank. The zigzags ended, the ca�on narrowed, deepened. Sandy looked down
+to the dry bed of it four hundred feet below. The road rose at a steep
+pitch, cliff to the right, precipice to the left, stretching on and up
+to the summit of the pass.
+
+Suddenly Pronto shied violently, tried to bolt up the cliff, scrambling
+goatwise for twenty feet to stand shivering and snorting. Sandy's
+balance was automatic, the muscles of his knees clamped for grip, he
+gave the pinto its head, trusting to it to establish footing. He saw
+Sam's roan dancing in the trail, the led mare plunging, dust rising all
+about them. Left-handed, a Colt flashed out of Sandy's holster, barked
+twice, the echoes tossing between the ca�on walls. In the road a
+rattlesnake 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's
+all over." The pinto hesitated, shifted unwilling hoofs, squatted on its
+haunches and, tail sweeping the dirt, tobogganed down to the road,
+jumping catwise the moment it was reached, away from the squirming
+terror. Sandy forced him back, leaned far down, tucked the barrel of the
+gun under the snake's body and hurled it looping into the gorge. Sam got
+his 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 another
+sound, a faint shout, unmistakably; human. The men looked at each other
+with eyebrows raised.
+
+"That ain't no man's voice," said Sam. "That's a gal." He looked
+quizzically at Sandy, knowing his chum's inhibition.
+
+Sandy was woman-shy. Men met his level glance, fairly, with swift
+certainty that here stood a man, four-square; or shiftily, according to
+their ease of conscience, knowing his breed. Sandy was a two-gun man but
+he 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 save
+in self-defense and upon the side of law and right and order. Among men
+his poise was secure but, in a woman's presence, Sandy Bourke's tongue
+was tied save in emergency, his wits tangled. Whatever he privately felt
+of the attraction of the opposite sex, the proximity of a girl produced
+an embarrassment he hated but could not help. He had seen admiration,
+desire for closer acquaintance, in many a fair face but such invitation
+affected him as the sight of a circling loop affects a horse in a
+remuda.
+
+He gave Sam no chance for banter. Action was forward and it always
+straightened out the short-circuitings of Sandy's mental reflexes toward
+womankind. 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 nigh
+side of the road. Grit came out from behind it, barked, whirled and
+seemingly dived into the ca�on. Coming up with the mare, Sam found Sandy
+dismounted, waiting for him.
+
+What had happened was plain to both of them. The rotten, hastily made
+road collapsed under the lurch of a wagon jolting over outcrop uncovered
+by the rains. Scored dirt where frantic hoofs had pawed in vain, tire
+marks that ended in side scrapes and vanished.
+
+Sam got off the roan, the tired horses standing still, snuffing the
+marks of trouble. Far down the slope Grit gave tongue. The cliff
+shouldered out and they could see nothing from the broken road. How any
+one could have hurtled over the precipice and be still able to call for
+help without the aid of some miracle was an enigma. They listened for
+another shout but, save for the barking of the dog, there was silence
+in the grim gorge. In the sky, two buzzards wheeled.
+
+Sandy poured a scant measure of water from his canteen into the
+punched-in crown of his Stetson, after he had knocked out the dust. Sam
+did the same, giving each horse a mouth-rinse and a swallow of tepid
+water so they would stand more contentedly. Each took a swift swig from
+the containers. Sandy untied the package of food and the leather
+medicine kit, Sam slapped his hip to be sure of his whisky flask. Aided
+by their high heels, digging them in the unstable dirt, they worked down
+the cliff, rounding the shoulder.
+
+A wide ledge of outcrop jutted out from the ca�on wall jagged into
+battlements. Piled there was a wagon, on its side, the canvas tilt
+sagged in, its hoops broken. A white horse, emaciated, little more than
+buzzard meat when alive, lay with its legs stiff in the air, neck
+flattened and head limp. A broken pole, with splintered ends, crossed
+the 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 the
+wagon. Sandy caught a glimpse of a huddled body beyond her. Grit sat on
+his haunches, head toward the road, thrown back at each bark. Sandy
+reached the ledge first. The girl did not turn her head, though his
+descent was noisy. He touched her gently on the shoulder, telling
+himself that she was "just a kid."
+
+She looked up, her face lined where tears had laned down through the
+mask 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 body
+dressed in jeans, once blue, long since washed and sun-faded to the
+green of turquoise matrix. The boots were rusty, patched. The wagon-bed,
+toppling sidewise, had crashed down on his chest. Rock partly supported
+the weight of it. Sandy picked up a gnarled hand, scarred, calloused and
+shrunken, 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 just
+curving into womanhood. "The hawsses was tuckered out," she said, "or
+Dad c'ud have made it. They didn't have no strength left, 'thout food or
+water. The damned road jest slid out from under. Dad made me jump. I
+figgered 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 a
+hell-chance." As she spoke them the oaths were merely emphasis. She
+talked as had her father.
+
+Sandy nodded.
+
+"Got an ax with the outfit?" he asked. Then turning to Sam as the girl
+went round to the back of the fallen wagon and fumbled about through
+the rear opening of the canvas tilt: "Man's alive, Sam. Caught a flirt
+of the pulse. Have to pry up the wagon. Git that bu'sted end of the
+tongue."
+
+The girl handed an ax to Sandy mutely, watching them as Sandy pried
+loose the part of the tongue still bolted to the wagon, getting it clear
+of the horses.
+
+"Think you can drag out yore dad by the laigs when we lift the body of
+the wagon?" he asked her. "May not be able to hold it more'n a few
+seconds. May slip on us, the levers is pritty short."
+
+She stooped, taking hold of a wrinkled boot in each hand, back of the
+heel. A tear splashed down on one of them and she shook the salt water
+from her eyes impatiently as if she had faced tragedy before and knew it
+must be looked at calmly.
+
+The two men adjusted the boulders they had set for fulcrums and shoved
+down on the stout pieces of ash, their muscles bunching, the veins
+standing out corded on their arms. Grit ran from one to the other with
+eager 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 the
+dead 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 in
+and 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 hand
+smoothing 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 them
+through which the whisky Sandy administered trickled.
+
+"Daddy! Daddy!"
+
+It might have been the tender agony of the cry to which Patrick Casey's
+dulling brain responded, sending the message of his will along the
+nerves to transmit a final summons. His body twitched, he choked,
+swallowed, opened gray eyes, filmy with death, brightening with
+intelligence as he saw his daughter bending over him, the face of Sandy
+above her shoulder. The gray eyes interrogated Sandy's long and
+earnestly until the light began to fade out of them and the wrinkled
+lids shuttered down.
+
+Another swallow of the raw spirits and they opened flutteringly again.
+The lips moved soundlessly. Then, while one hand groped waveringly
+upward to rest upon his daughter's head, Sandy, bending low, caught
+three syllables, repeated over and over, desperately, mere ghosts of
+words, taxing cruelly the last breath of the wheezing lungs beneath the
+battered 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 first
+time the girl gave way, lying prone, sobbing out her grief while the two
+cowmen 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 fists
+tight closed, striving to control her quivering chin--doing it. She
+looked up as the shadow of a buzzard was flung against the cliff by the
+slanting 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 to
+the hawsses...."
+
+"No! I helped to bury Jim Clancy, out in the desert, I'm goin' to help
+bury 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 desolate
+cliffs, the birds swinging their tireless, expectant circles in the
+throat of the gorge.
+
+"Dad allus figgered he'd die somewheres in the desert. 'Lowed it 'ud be
+his luck. He wanted to be put within the sound of runnin' water--he's
+gone so often 'thout it. But--" She shrugged her thin shoulders
+resignedly, the inheritance of the prospector's philosophy strong within
+her.
+
+"See here, miss," said Sandy, while Sam crawled into the wagon in search
+of the dead miner's pick and shovel that now, instead of uncovering
+riches, would dig his grave, "how old air you?"
+
+"Fifteen. My name's Margaret--Molly for short--same as my Ma. She's been
+dead for twelve years."
+
+"Well, Miss Molly, suppose you-all come on to the Three Star fo' a spell
+with my two pardners an' me? You do that an' mebbe we can fix yore
+daddy's idee about runnin' water. We'd come back an' git him an' we'll
+make a place fo' him under our big cottonwoods below the big spring. I
+w'udn't wonder but what he c'ud hear the water gugglin' plain as it runs
+down the overflow to the alfalfa patches."
+
+Molly Casey gazed at him with such a sudden glow of gratitude in her
+eyes that Sandy felt embarrassed. He had been comforting a girl, a
+boyish 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 if
+I work the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don't
+amount 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 as
+Sam emerged from the wagon with the tools. The bay mare groaned and gave
+a shrill cry, horribly human. Sam drew his gun, putting down pick and
+shovel.
+
+"Got any water you c'ud spare?" asked the girl. Sandy handed her his
+canteen.
+
+"Use it all," he said. "Soon's it's dark, it'll cool off. We'll git
+through all right."
+
+He picked up the tools and moved toward Sam as the bay collapsed to the
+merciful bullet. The girl washed away as best she could the stains of
+blood and travel from the dead face while Sandy sounded with the pick
+for soil deep enough for a temporary grave.
+
+The body would have to lie on the ledge over night, nothing but burial
+could save it from marauding coyotes, though the wagon might have
+baffled the buzzards. The two set to work digging a shallow trench down
+to bedrock, rolling up loose boulders for a cairn. The whirring chorus
+of the cicadas drummed an elfin requiem. Now and then there came the
+chink of bit, or hoof on rock, from the waiting horses in the broken
+road. The sun was low, horizontal rays piercing the flood of violet haze
+in the ca�on. Across the gorge the cliff, above the wash of shadow,
+glowed saffron; a light wind wailed down the bore. Lizards flirted in
+and 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 studded
+with disks of pearl in brass mountings. Out of this she produced a
+handkerchief of soft China silk brocade, its white turned yellow with
+age. This she spread over her father's features, showing strangely
+distinct 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 personal
+belongings, from the inner pocket of the vest some papers that Sandy
+knew for location claims.
+
+"Want to take some duds erlong to the ranch?" he asked Molly. "We can
+bring 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 pack
+you."
+
+"I'll fix that." She clambered into the wagon. Before she came out with
+her bundle they piled the cairn, a mask of broken rim-rock heavy enough
+to foil the scratching of coyotes.
+
+It looked to Sandy as if the girl had changed into a boy. The slender
+figure, silhouetted against the afterglow, softly pulsing masses of
+fiery cloud above the top of the mesa, was dressed in jean overalls, a
+wide-rimmed hat hiding length of hair.
+
+"I reckon I can fool that hawss of yores now," she said. "I gen'ally
+dress thisaway 'cept when we expect to go nigh the settlements or a
+ranch 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 where
+he was headin' for when I sent him off after help, but you come
+instead."
+
+"I was wonderin' how he come to make the ranch," said Sandy. "You see
+we-all bought the Two-Bar-P, though I never figgered old Samson 'ud ever
+own 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 tenderfoot
+when he come, an' when he left, 'count bein' sick. Samson didn't want
+to 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 down
+like a goat, reappearing with her hat half filled with crimson
+silk-petaled cactus blooms, scattering them at the head of the cairn.
+
+"Seemed like there jest had to be flowers," she said as, with Grit
+nosing close to his mistress, they mounted to the road. The gray mare
+made no bother and soon they were riding down toward the strip of Bad
+Lands. Sandy let the collie go afoot for the time.
+
+The glory of the range departed, the cliffs turned slate color, then
+black, while a host of stars marshaled and burned without flicker. The
+wind moaned through the trough of the ca�on as they rode out on the
+plain. Up somewhere in the darkness the buzzards came circling down, to
+settle on the ledge beside the carcasses of the two horses.
+
+It was close to midnight when they reached the home ranch, riding past
+the outbuildings, the bunk-house of the men where a light twinkled, the
+cook shack, the corrals, up to the main house. There they alighted. All
+about cottonwoods rustled in the dark, the air was sweet and cool, not
+far from frost. Molly Casey shivered as she moved stiffly in her
+saddle. Sandy lifted her from the saddle and carried her up the steps,
+across the porch, kicking open the door of the living-room where the
+embers of a fire glowed. There was no other light in the big room, but
+there was sufficient to show the great form of Mormon, stowed at ease in
+a chair, asleep and snoring.
+
+Sam struck a match and lit a lamp. He struck Mormon mightily between his
+shoulders.
+
+"Gawd!" gasped the heavyweight partner. "I been asleep. But there's a
+kittle of hot water, Sandy. Where's the--what in time are you totin'? A
+gel 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 up
+to the Three Star for a bit."
+
+Mormon, a little sheepish at the suddenly developing age of the girl as
+she shook hands with him, recovered himself and beamed at her. "Yo're
+sure welcome," he said. "Boss hired you? Cowgirl or cook?"
+
+Sandy noticed the girl's lips quiver and he slipped an arm about her
+shoulders. He was not woman-shy with this girl who needed help, and who
+seemed a boy.
+
+"Don't you take no notice of him an' his kiddin'," he said. "We'll make
+him rustle some grub fo' all of us an' then we-all 'll turn in. I'll
+show you yore room. Up the stairs an' the last door on the right. Here's
+some matches. There's a lamp on the bureau up there. Give you a call
+when supper's ready."
+
+He led her to the door and gave her a friendly little shove, guessing
+that she wanted to be alone.
+
+"The kid's lost her father, lost most everything 'cept her dawg," he
+said to Mormon. "Thought we might adopt her, sort of, then I thought
+mebbe we'd hire her--for mascot."
+
+"Lost her daddy? An' me hornin' in an' tryin' to kid her! I ain't got
+the 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's
+got a sweet tooth, same as me."
+
+Molly Casey was not through standing up to trouble. They coaxed her to
+eat and she managed to make a meal that satisfied them. Then she got up
+to go to her room, with Grit nuzzling close to her, her fingers in his
+ruff, twisting nervously at the strands of hair.
+
+"Do you reckon," she asked the three partners, "that Dad knows he fooled
+me when he told me to jump? If I'd known he c'udn't git clear I'd have
+stuck--same as he would if I was caught. Do you reckon he knows
+that--now?"
+
+"I'd be surprised if he didn't," said Sandy gravely. "You did what he
+wanted, anyway."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"If I'd been on the outside, he w'udn't have jumped, no matter how much
+I 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 is
+square on all twelve eidges. Sam, slide out an' muzzle that bell. She'll
+likely cry herself to sleep after a bit but she'll need all the sleep
+she 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 the
+experience."
+
+"Experience," said Mormon, with a yawn, "may teach a man somethin' about
+mules 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-sixteen
+above. Blowin' hot an' cold, rangin' from a balmy breeze through a rain
+shower or a thunder-storm, up to a snortin' tornado. Average number of
+workin' days, about one hundred an' fifty. Them's statistics. It ain't
+so hard to set down what a woman's done at the end of a year, if you got
+a good mem'ry, but tryin' to guess what she is goin' to do has got the
+weather man backed off inter a corner an' squealin' for help. They ain't
+all like Kansas. My first resembled it, the second was sorter
+tropic--she run off with a rainmaker an' I hear she's been divorced
+three times since then. Mebbe that's an exaggeration. My third must
+have been born someways nigh the no'th pole. W'en she got mad she'd
+freeze the blood in yore veins.
+
+"No, sir, that feller in the po'try who says, 'I learned about wimmen
+from 'er,' was braggin'. Now, this gel of Casey's 'pears like what her
+dad 'ud call a good prospect, but you can't tell. Fool's gold is bright
+enough but you can't change it to the real stuff no matter how you
+polish 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 of
+the man from New Jersey who come out west to buy a ranch. A hawss
+throwed him five times hand-runnin'. He ropes a steer that happens to
+run into the bum loop he was swingin' an' it snakes him out'n the
+saddle. A pesky cow chases him when he was afoot, a couple calves gits a
+rope twisted round his stummick an' lastly a mule kicks him into a bunch
+of cactus. Whereupon he remarks, 'I don't figger I was calculated for
+runnin' a cattle ranch,' sells out an' goes back to herdin' muskeeters
+in New Jersey.
+
+"Mormon, you warn't calculated to handle wimmen. This li'l' gel is game
+as they make 'em, an' I reckon she's right sweet if she on'y gits a
+chance. 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 all
+over hell an' creation, talkin' like him, swearin' like him, actin' like
+him. Never see nothin' different. All she needs is a chance."
+
+"What's the idee in pickin' on me?" asked Mormon aggrievedly. "She's as
+welcome as grass in spring. They ain't no one got a bigger heart than me
+fo' kids."
+
+"No one got a bigger heart, mebbe," said Sam caustically. "Nor none a
+smaller 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 first
+place, they'd have been worked if they was; second place, they're over
+to Dynamite an' the sharps say Dynamite's a flivver. All she has in
+sight is the dawg. Some dawg! Comes in from the desert an' takes us out
+to her an' Pat Casey--him dyin'. Ef it hadn't been fo' the dawg, she'd
+have stayed there, to my notion. Got some sort of idee she'd deserted
+ship ef she hadn't stuck till it was too late fo' her to crawl out of
+that slit in the mesa. She's fifteen an' she's got sense. I figger we
+better 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 how
+worn it was and marked an item in his mind--clothes. He smiled at her
+with 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 any
+of 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 far
+apart and crystal clear, freckles and a lot of brown hair that she wore
+in a long braid wound twice about her well-shaped head. She was a
+combination of curves and angles, of well-rounded neck and arms and legs
+with collar-bones and hips over-apparent, immature but not awkward.
+
+None of the three partners observed these things in detail. All of them
+noted that her eyes were steady, friendly, trusting, and that when she
+smiled at them it was like the flash of water in a tree-shady pond, when
+a trout leaps. Grit, entering with her, divided his attentions among the
+men, shoving a moist nose at last into Sandy's palm and lying down
+obedient, his tail thumping amicably, as Sandy examined the tape
+protectors.
+
+"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 up
+against 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 to
+the settlemints, I reckon. I don't aim to put you out any. I've been
+thinkin' erbout that. 'Less you should happen to want a woman to run the
+house. I don't know much about housekeepin' but I c'ud l'arn. It's a
+woman's job, chasin' dirt. I can cook--some. Dad used to say my
+camp-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 of
+her pride the three partners recognized and respected.
+
+"See here, Molly Casey,"--Sandy used exactly the same tone and manner he
+would have taken with a boy--"that's yore way of lookin' at it. Then
+there's our side. You figger yore dad was a pritty good miner, I
+reckon?"
+
+"He sure knew rock. Every one 'lowed that. They was always more'n one
+wantin' to grubstake him but he'd never take it. Figgered he didn't want
+to split any strike he might make an' figgered he w'udn't take no man's
+money '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 he
+says was 'Molly' and 'mines.' I give him my word then and there, like he
+would have to me, to watch out for yore interests. My word is my
+pardners' word. I'm willin' to gamble those claims of his'll pan out
+some day. Until they do, ef you-all 'll stay on at the Three Star, stop
+Mormon stompin' in from the corral with dirty boots, ride herd on Sam
+an' me the same way, mebbe cook us up some of them biscuits once in a
+while, why, it'll be fine! Then there's yore schoolin'. Yore dad 'ud
+wish 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't
+use 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 pan
+out way rich and you git all-fired wealthy? Bein' a gel, you sabe
+clothes, di'monds, silks, satins an' feather fuss. You'll want to learn
+the pianner. You'll want to know what to git an' how to wear it. Won't
+want folks laffin' at you like they laffed at Sam, time he won fo'
+hundred dollars shootin' craps an' went to Galveston where a smart Alec
+of a clerk sells him a spiketail coat, wash vest an' black pants with
+braid on the seams.
+
+"Sam, he don't know how to wear 'em, or when. His laigs sure looked
+prominent 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 was
+young, lyin' out nights in the rain 'thout a tarp'. That suit set back
+Sam a heap of money an' it ain't no mo' use to him than an extry shell
+to a terrapin."
+
+He grinned at Molly with his face creased into good humor that could not
+be resisted. She laughed as Sam joined in, but the determination of her
+rounded chin returned after the merriment had passed.
+
+"If you did that--took my Daddy's place," she said, "why, we'd be
+pardners, same as him an' me was. When the claims pan out, half of it'll
+have to be yores. I won't stay no other way."
+
+The glances of the three partners exchanged a mutual conclusion, a
+mutual 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 the
+Three 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 the
+money starts comin' in. Sabe?"
+
+"I don't sabe the eddication part of it," she answered. "Jest what does
+that mean? I don't want to go to school with a lot of kids who'll laf at
+me."
+
+"You don't have to. As pardners," Sandy went on earnestly, "I don't mind
+tellin' 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 of
+the 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'll
+learn 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 them
+schools 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 it
+ain't yore game, nor the one you'd choose to play if it wasn't forced on
+you."
+
+"Sister," said Sam, "yo're skinnin' yore hides too close. Sandy 'ud
+gamble on which way a horn-toad'll spit. It's meat an' drink to him. We
+won 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 this
+minin' deal, we're way ahead of the game, seein' we don't put up
+anythin' 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 grief
+they had held since the shadow of the circling buzzards in the gorge had
+darkened them. She fumbled at the waistband of her one-piece gown,
+working at it with her fingers, producing a golden eagle which she
+handed to Sandy.
+
+"That's my luck-piece," she said. "Dad give it to me one time he
+cleaned up good on a placer claim. Nex' time you gamble, will you play
+that--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 as
+he 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 back
+much 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 be
+back till dark. No one about but Mormon, Pedro the cook, an' Joe. Rest
+up 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 the
+girlish frankness change to the gratefulness of a woman's spirit,
+looking out at him between her lids. It made him a little uneasy. The
+men 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 'cept
+him, 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 the
+cottonwoods an' below the spring. Right where that li'l' knoll makes the
+overflow curve 'ud be a good spot. Use up them extry boards we got for
+the bunk-house. Git Joe to help you. No sense in lettin' the gel see
+you, of course."
+
+"Nice occupation fo' a sunny day," grumbled Mormon, but, as the
+buckboard drove off, he was busy planing boards in the blacksmith's
+shop, with the door closed against intrusion.
+
+Mid-afternoon found him with the coffin completed. He rounded up the
+half-breed to help him dig the grave, first locating Molly in a hammock
+he had slung for her in the shade of the trees by the cistern. He had
+furnished her with his pet literature, an enormous mail-order catalogue
+from a Chicago firm. It was on the ground, the breeze ruffling the
+illustrated pages, lifting some stray wisps of hair on the girl's neck
+as she lay, fast asleep, relaxed in the wide canvas hammock, her face
+checkered by the shifting leaves between her and the sun.
+
+Mormon could move as softly as a cat, for all his bulk. There was turf
+about the cistern, he had made no sound arriving, but he tiptoed off,
+his kindly mouth rounded into an O of silence, his weather crinkled eyes
+half-closed.
+
+"She's jest a baby," he said, half aloud, as he passed beyond the trees
+to where Joe waited with pick and spade.
+
+The soil was soft and clear from stone. An hour sufficed to sink a shaft
+for Pat Casey's last bed. Mormon carefully adjusted the headboard he had
+fashioned from a thick plank, to be carved later when the lettering was
+decided upon. This done he buckled on the belt he had discarded, from
+which his holster and revolver swung. Sandy carried two guns, his
+partners one, habits of earlier, more stirring days, toting them as
+inevitably as they wore spurs, though there was little occasion to use
+them on the Three Star, save to put a hurt animal out of misery, or kill
+a rattlesnake.
+
+Moisture streamed from Mormon's face, patched his clothes as the heat
+and 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, Se�or," Joe's amiability agreed.
+
+"You go git a dipper. I'm drier'n Dry Crick. Fetch it full from the
+spring." The half-breed ambled off. Mormon wiped his face with his
+bandanna. Suddenly his big body stiffened. He heard Molly's voice from
+the cistern, frightened, then storming in anger. Mormon ran at a
+sprinter's gait from the cottonwoods, along a side of the corral,
+through the trees bordering the cistern. The girl was out of the
+hammock, facing a man in riding breeches and puttees, his face concealed
+for 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 Mormon
+recognized him for Jim Plimsoll, owner of the Good Luck Pool Parlors, in
+the little cattle town of Hereford, where faro, roulette, chuckaluck and
+craps 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. She
+struggled fiercely, silently, striking at him with her free fist.
+Mormon's gun flashed from its sheath as he shouted at the man. Plimsoll
+wheeled, releasing Molly. His dark face was livid with rage, a pistol
+gleamed as he plucked it from beneath the waistband of his riding
+breeches. 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 figger
+yo'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 a
+thing of menace that seemed to be alive, snaky.
+
+"Keep still," he ordered, walking toward the pair, his gun covering
+Plimsoll, the cheery blue of his eyes changed to the color of ice in the
+shade, the pupils mere pin-pricks. Molly glanced at him once, fingers
+caressing her bruised arm.
+
+"He kissed me while I was asleep, the damned skunk!" she flared. "I'd
+sooner hev rattlesnake-pizen on my lips!" She stopped rubbing the arm to
+scrub fiercely at her mouth with the back of her hand.
+
+"It ain't the first time I've kissed you," said Plimsoll. "Yore dad
+didn't stop me from doin' it. I didn't notice you scratching like a
+wildcat either. Where's your dad? And where do you come in on this deal
+between old friends?" he demanded of Mormon.
+
+"Her dad's dead," said Mormon simply. "Molly is stayin' fo' a spell at
+the 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's
+playing the king in this deal? I----" The leer suddenly vanished from
+his face, the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Mormon's gun was slowly
+coming up level with his heart, steady as Mormon's gaze, finger
+compressing the trigger.
+
+"The law reckons you a man--so fur," said Mormon. "Yore pals 'ud pack a
+jury to hang me fo' shootin' the dirty heart out of you, but--ef you
+ever let out a foul word or a look about that gel, I'll take my chance
+of their bein' enough white men round here to 'quit me. There ought to
+be a bounty on yore scalp an' ears. You hear me, Jim Plimsoll, I'm
+talkin' straight. Now git, head yore hawss fo' the short trail to
+Hereford 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 at
+Mormon, seemed to have halted any correlation of the statement
+concerning 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 step
+forward. Mormon's pupils contracted again; his finger itched to press
+the 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 crouch
+that prefaced shooting. He faced toward the trees again, flinging his
+last words over his shoulder.
+
+"None of my business? I don't agree with you there, you little
+hell-weasel. Your father and me had more than one deal together. You and
+I 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, the
+expensive Stetson broadrim seemed lifted from Plimsoll's hair by an
+invisible hand. With the report it sailed forward, side-slipped, landed
+on 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 at
+his hat, missed it, let it lie as he ran on to his horse, mounted and
+went galloping off. Mormon holstered his gun and swung about to Molly,
+standing with crimson cheeks, blazing eyes and a young bosom turbulent
+with emotions.
+
+"I wisht you'd killed him. I wisht you'd killed him!" she cried. "I
+wisht I had a gun--or a knife! I hate him--hate him--_hate him_! When he
+says he was ever in a deal with Dad, he lies. Dad stood for him and that
+was all. He purtended to be awful strong for Dad, purtended to be fond
+of me, jest to swarm 'round Dad, for some reason. Brought me a doll
+once. 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' Dad
+seemed to think I owed it him for the doll. I nigh bit my lip off
+afterward. I wisht yore first shot had been higher, or yore second
+lower, Peters."
+
+"Call me Uncle Mormon, Molly. I had all I c'ud do not to make it plumb
+center, 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 Uncle
+Mormon, with Sam an' Sandy."
+
+Patting Molly's shoulder, Mormon smiled at her with his irresistible
+grin, and she reflected it faintly as she tucked in the remnants of her
+torn sleeve.
+
+"That's the on'y dress I got till Sandy Bourke wins me some money," she
+said. "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 be
+pritty 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, right
+an' left, 'thout you ever see his hands move. I ain't so bad, Sam's
+better, but we had to throw a lot of lead in practise. Sandy shoots like
+he 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 Molly
+toward 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 buckboard
+was on its way with its funeral freight.
+
+The body of the old prospector was lowered into the grave with the last
+of the daylight. The raw scar of the grave was covered with turfs Mormon
+ordered cut by the half-breed. Molly Casey walked away alone, her head
+high, the corner of her lower lip caught under her teeth, eyes winking
+back the tears. It was the headboard that had forced her struggle for
+composure. Mormon had marked on it, with the heavy lead of a carpenter's
+pencil.
+
+          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 Hereford
+who's a wolf on carvin'. My letterin's punk. When yore mines pay you
+c'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 his
+arms and comfort her. Instead they looked at one another, as men of
+their breed do. Sam pulled at his mustache. Mormon rubbed the top of his
+bald head and Sandy rolled a cigarette and smoked it silently.
+
+Molly ate no supper that night. Before dawn Sandy thought he heard the
+door of her room open and soft footfalls stealing down the stairs. When
+he went later to the spring he found the grave covered with the wild
+blooms 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, brought
+rumors of a new strike at Dynamite. Neither of the partners paid much
+attention to a report so often revived by rumor and as swiftly dying out
+again. But the man said that Plimsoll had stated that he expected to go
+over to the mining camp in the interests of claims located by Patrick
+Casey in which he had a half-interest, by reason of having grubstaked
+the prospector.
+
+"There's the thorn under _that_ saddle," said Sandy to Mormon. "That's
+what Jim Plimsoll meant by his 'deal.' I don't believe he'd stir up
+things unless he was fairly sure there was something doin' oveh to
+Dynamite. 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 rich
+float. This float was where a dyke of porphyry comes up to the surface
+an' got weathered away down to the pay ore. Leastwise, this was her
+dad's theory. He told her everything he thought as they shacked erlong
+together, I reckon, an' she remembers it. He figgers this sylvanite lies
+under this porphyry reef, sabe? Porphyry snakes underground, sometimes
+fifty feet thick, sometimes twice that, an' hard as steel. Matter of
+luck 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 boom
+atop of the rush. They don't an' Hopeful becomes Hopeless. Me, I got
+fo'-five chances to grubstake in that time, but I'm broke. I reckon
+Casey'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. One
+of the ol' Desert Rats that does the locatin' fo' some one else to git
+the money.
+
+"Molly ses her dad never grubstaked. She don't lie an' she was close to
+the old man. Mo' like pardners than dad an' daughter. Plimsoll smells
+somethin'. Figgers there's somethin' in the rumor an' stahts this talk
+of bein' pardners with Casey 'cause there's a strike. Me, I'm goin' to
+take a pasear to town soon an' I'll have a li'l' conversation with Jim
+the 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 and
+struck at the gong for the breakfast call. The vibrations flooded the
+air with wave after wave of barbaric sound and Joe pounded, with
+awakening delight in the savage noise and rhythm, until Sandy, after
+yelling uselessly, threw a rock at him and hit him between the
+shoulders, whereupon the light died out of his face and he shuffled
+away.
+
+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 a
+theatrical setting, a slate-purple in color. To the west, the sharp
+crests were luminous with a halo that stole down them, staining them
+rose. 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 of
+the 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 array
+of viands provided by Pedro, who waited himself on the three partners
+and the girl, at the ranch-house. The smell of bacon and hot coffee
+spiced the air. Sam, twisting his mustache, led the way.
+
+"Smells like somethin' in the line of new bread to me," he said. "Bread
+or--it ain't _biscuits_, Molly?"
+
+"Sure is." Molly came in with a plate piled high with biscuits that were
+evidently the present pride of her heart. "Made a-plenty," she
+announced. "Had to wrastle Pedro away from the stove an' I ain't quite
+on to that oven yet, but they look good, don't they?"
+
+"They sure do," said Sandy, taking one to break and butter it. The
+eagerness with which his jaws clamped down upon it died into a
+meditative chewing as of a cow uncertain about the quality of her cud.
+He swallowed, took a deep swig of coffee and deliberately went on with
+his biscuit. Mormon and Sam solemnly followed his example while Molly
+beamed 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 the
+wilderness sauce that creates appetite, eaten piping hot, are mighty
+palatable though the dough is mixed with water and shortening is
+lacking. As a camp cook, Molly was a success. Confused with Pedro's
+offer of lard and a stove that was complicated compared to her Dutch
+kettle, the result was a bitter failure that she acknowledged as soon as
+her teeth met through the deceptive crust.
+
+Molly was slow to tears and quick to wrath. She picked up the plate of
+biscuits and marched out with them, her back very straight. In the
+kitchen the three partners heard first the smash of crockery, then the
+bang 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 at
+her solemnly: "You think you're damned smart, don't you, tryin' to fool
+me, purtendin' they was good when they'd pizen the chickens? I hate
+folks who _act_ lies, same as them that speaks 'em."
+
+"I've tasted worse," said Mormon. "Honest I have, Molly. My first wife
+put too much saleratus an' salt in at first but, after a bit, she was a
+wonder--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. "Last
+winter. 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, in
+comparative silence. There came the noise of the riders going off for
+the day's duties laid out by Sam, acting foreman for the month. Sandy
+got 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 around
+till she goes. Sabe? I don't aim to be talked to death an' then pickled
+by her vinegar, like I was las' time she come oveh."
+
+A tinny machine, in need of paint, short of oil, braked squeakingly as
+a horn squawked and the auto halted by the porch steps. Young Ed Bailey
+slung one leg over another disproportionate limb, glanced at the
+windows, rolled a cigarette and lit it. His aunt, tall, gaunt, clad in
+starched dress and starched sunbonnet, with a rigidity of spine and
+feature that helped the fancy that these also had been starched,
+descended, strode across the porch and entered the living-room, her
+bright eyes darting all about, needling Molly, taking in every detail.
+
+"Out lookin' fo' a stray," she announced. "Red-an'-white heifer we had
+up to the house for milkin'. Got rambuncterous an' loped off. Had one
+horn crumpled. Rawhide halter, ef she ain't got rid of it. You ain't
+seen her, hev you?"
+
+"No m'm, we ain't. No strange heifer round the Three Star that answers
+that description." Sam winked at Molly, who was flushing under the
+inspection of Miranda Bailey, maiden sister of the neighbor owner of the
+Double-Dumbbell Ranch. He fancied the missing milker an excuse if not an
+actual invention to furnish opportunity for a visit to the Three Star,
+an inspection of Molly Casey and subsequent gossip. "You-all air up to
+date," 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' another
+piece about cowboys cuttin' out an' ropin' from autos. Hawsses is
+passin'. Science is replacin' of 'em."
+
+"Reckon they'll last my time," drawled Sandy. "I hear they aim to roll
+food up in pills an' do us cattlemen out of a livin'. But I ain't
+worryin'. Me, I prefers steaks--somethin' I can set my teeth in. I
+reckon 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 to
+skip out an' tend to them chickens, hop to it."
+
+Molly caught the suggestion that was more than a hint and started for
+the door. The woman checked her with a question.
+
+"How old air you, Molly Casey?"
+
+The girl turned, her eyes blank, her manner charged with indifference
+that 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 have
+come from a refrigerator.
+
+"You goin' back in the flivver?" he asked, "or was you aimin' to keep
+a-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 advice
+an' warnin', seein' as how I happened this way. It's a woman's matter or
+I wouldn't meddle. But, what with talk goin' round Hereford in
+settin'-rooms, in restyrongs, in kitchens, as well as in dance-halls an'
+gamblin' hells where they sell moonshine, it's time it was carried to
+you which is most concerned, I take it, for the good of the child, not
+to 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," she
+flashed. "In the parlor of the Baptis' Church. I ain't much time an' I
+ain'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 where
+the 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 been
+a 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," she
+conceded. "I reckon you-all think I've jest come hornin' in on what
+ain't my affair. Mebbe that's so. If you've figgered this out same way I
+have, 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 believe
+you've come here to do us a service--an' Molly likewise. So fur's I sabe
+there's been some remahks passed concernin' her stayin' here 'thout a
+chaperon, so to speak. Any one that 'ud staht that sort of talk is a
+blood relation to a centipede an' mebbe I can give a guess as to who it
+is. I reckon I can persuade him to quit."
+
+"Mebbe, but you can't stop what's started any more'n a horn-toad can
+stop a landslide, Sandy Bourke. You can't kill scandal with gunplay. The
+gel's too young, in one way, an' not young enough in another, to be
+stayin' on at the Three Star. You oughter have sense enough to know
+that. 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 be
+spyin', whatever you men may think. You either got to git a grown woman
+here or send the gel away, fo' her own good, 'fore the talk gits so
+it'll shadder her life. I ain't married. I don't expect to be, but I
+aimed to be, once, 'cept for a dirty bit of gossip that started in my
+home town 'thout a word of truth in it. Now, I've said my say, you-all
+talk it over."
+
+Sandy went to the door with her, helped her into the machine. It
+shudderingly gathered itself together and wheezed off; he came back with
+his face serious.
+
+"She's right," he said.
+
+"Mormon," said Sam, "it's up to you. Advertise fo' Number Three to come
+back--all is forgiven--or git you a divo'ce, it's plumb easy oveh in the
+nex' state--an' pick a good one this time."
+
+"We got to send her away," said Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' into Herefo'd
+to-night. I aim to git a cook-book, interview Jim Plimsoll an' then
+bu'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. Oil
+up 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 the
+Cactus Restaurant, leaving their ponies hitched to the rail in front.
+They strolled down the main street of Hereford across the railroad
+tracks to where the "Brisket," as the cowboys styled the little town's
+tenderloin, huddled its collection of shacks, with their false fronts
+faced to the dusty street and their rear entrances, still cumbered with
+cases of empty bottles and idle kegs, turned to the almost dry bed of
+the creek. The signs of ante-prohibition days, blistered and faded, were
+still in place. Light showed in windows where fly-specked useless
+licenses were displayed. Back of the bars a melancholy array of
+soda-water advertised lack of interest in soft drinks. The front rooms
+held no loungers, but the click of chips and murmurs of talk came from
+behind 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 ends
+were tied down to the fringe ornaments of his chaps. Sam stroked his
+ropey mustache and eased the gun at his hip. Sandy pushed open the door
+and 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 a
+rickety table and chair noisily on the uneven floor. The inner door
+swung silently as at a signal and Jim Plimsoll came out. He stiffened a
+little 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 to
+change 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 a
+li'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 and
+he left with a curious gaze that took in Sandy's guns.
+
+"Sorry I was away from the ranch, time you called," said Sandy, sitting
+with 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 was
+a warfare that Sandy Bourke was an expert in. The steel of his glance
+often saved him the lead in his cartridges. Jim Plimsoll was no fool to
+wage uneven contest. He fancied he would have the advantage over Sandy
+later, 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 grubstaking
+contracts. 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' her
+livin' 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 you
+censor to any man's speech?"
+
+"A _man's_ speech don't have to be censored, Plimsoll. An' I reckon you
+know 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 man
+might ride into a rattlesnake in the mesquite, I aim to handle it. Ef I
+ever got into real trouble, an' it resembled you, I'd make you climb so
+fast, Plimsoll, you'd wish you had horns on yore knees an' eyebrows."
+
+Plimsoll forced a laugh. "Fair warning, Sandy. I never raise a fuss with
+a 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 your
+throats. How about it?"
+
+"I don't drink when I'm playin'. I aim to break the bank ter-night. I'm
+feelin' lucky. Brought my mascot erlong."
+
+"Meaning Sam here?"
+
+All three laughed for a mutual clearance of the situation. Sandy had
+said what he wanted and knew that Plimsoll interpreted it correctly.
+They went into the back room amicably after Plimsoll had recalled his
+lookout.
+
+There was little to indicate the passing of the Volstead Act in the Good
+Luck Pool Room, where the tables had long ago been taken out, though the
+cue racks still stood in place. The place was foul with smoke and reeked
+with the fumes of expensive but indifferently distilled liquor.
+Hereford--the "brisket" end of it--had never been fussy about mixed
+drinks. Redeye was, and continued to be, the favorite. A faro and a
+roulette game, with a craps table, made up the equipment, outside of
+half a dozen small tables given over to stud and draw poker.
+
+Some fifty men were present, most of them playing. Many of them nodded
+at Sandy and Sam as they walked over to the faro layout and stood
+looking 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 in
+a low tone to the man seated next to him. The first interest of their
+entrance soon died out. The dealer at faro went on imperturbably sliding
+card after card out of the case, the case-keeper fingered the buttons on
+the wires of his abacus and the players shifted their chips about the
+layout or nervously shuffled them between the fingers of one hand.
+
+Sandy knew the dealer for Sim Hahn, a man whose livelihood lay in the
+dexterity of his slim well-kept fingers and his ability to reckon the
+bets; swiftly to drag in or pay out losings and winnings without an
+error. His face was without a wrinkle, clean-shaven, every slick black
+hair in place, the flesh wax-like. He held a record--whispered, not
+attested--of having more than once beaten a protesting gambler to the
+draw 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 be
+made. His eyes met Sandy's and he nodded. Three men named the order of
+the last three cards. None of them guessed the right one of the six ways
+in which they might have appeared. Hahn took in, paid out, shuffled the
+cards for a new deal. Sam nudged Sandy, speaking out of the corner of
+his mouth words that no one else could catch.
+
+"The hombre Plimsoll's talkin' to is 'Butch' Parsons. He's the killer
+Brady 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 looked
+at the "killer" who had been named "Butch," after he had shot two heads
+of families that had preempted land on the range that Brady claimed as
+part of his holding. Whatever the justice of that claim, it was
+generally understood that Butch had killed in cold blood, Brady's
+political pull smothering prosecution and inquiry. Butch had a hawkish
+nose and an outcurving chin. He was practically bald. Reddish eyebrows
+straggled sparsely above pale blue eyes, the color of cheap graniteware.
+His lips were thin and pallid, making a hard line of his mouth. He
+packed a gun, well back of him, as he sat at the game. Meeting Sandy's
+lightly passing gaze, Butch sent out a puff of smoke from his
+half-finished cigar. The pale eyes pointed the action, it might have
+been a challenge, even a covert insult. Sandy ignored it, devoting his
+attention to the case-keeper.
+
+The jacks came out early, three of them losing, showing second on the
+turn. A dozen bets went down on the fourth jack to win. Sandy placed the
+luck-piece on the card, reached for a "copper" marker, and played it to
+lose.
+
+"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 the
+side of the case, leaving the winning card, a nine, exposed. Sandy alone
+had won. The luck-piece had proved its merit.
+
+In twenty minutes Sam borrowed a stack from Sandy's steadily
+accumulating winnings and departed for the craps table. He wanted
+quicker action than faro gave him. Luck flirted with him, never entirely
+deserting him. And Sandy won until the news of his luck spread through
+the room. The gamblers began to get the hunch that the Three Star man
+was going to break the bank. Not all at the faro layout attempted to
+follow his bets. Plimsoll's roll had never yet been very badly crimped.
+With the peculiar paradox of their kind, while they told each other that
+Plimsoll's game was square, they held the secret conviction that Hahn's
+fingers would manipulate the case in an emergency so that the house
+would win. And they waited feverishly for the time to come when such a
+show-down would arrive.
+
+Sandy did not have many chips in front of him, but there were five small
+oblongs of blue, markers representing five hundred dollars apiece. Hahn
+laid 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 the
+last turn of the deal again. Every player and onlooker knew what the
+three cards were--a queen, a five and a deuce. The checking-board showed
+that the queen had lost twice and won once, the five had won three times
+and the deuce had won twice and lost once. Most of the players shifted
+their 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 that
+combination. If the order of the three cards were named correctly the
+bank would pay four to one. If Sandy staked all on his call he would win
+over ten thousand dollars. Plimsoll would have to open his safe. Hahn
+did not have that amount in his cash drawer.
+
+The rest--save Sam, now close behind Sandy, with ninety dollars winnings
+cashed-in--watched Sandy enviously and curiously. Hahn was a wonder. The
+case might be crooked, the spring eccentric. Plimsoll himself was
+looking on. Butch Parsons stood beside him for a second and then
+strolled 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 with
+their tied-down holsters swung a little to the front, their handles just
+touching his hips.
+
+"Deuce--queen--five, I'm bettin'," he said. "_An' deal 'em slow._" His
+voice drawled and his eyes lifted to Hahn's and rested there.
+
+Hahn had been mechanically chewing gum most of the evening. Now his
+cheek muscles bulged more plainly and the end of his tongue showed for a
+second between his lips. His right hand dropped and he drew out a deuce.
+Eyes shifted from Sandy to Plimsoll, to Hahn. Little beads of moisture
+oozed out on the dealer's forehead. Plimsoll's black brows met. Sandy's
+face was placid. Breaths were indrawn as Hahn paid out and raked in on
+the card, his left hand covering the top of the case.
+
+The atmosphere was charged with intensity. Plimsoll's dark eyes were
+boring through the dealer's lowered lids.
+
+"Move yo' fingehs, dealer, an' reveal royalty," drawled Sandy. "The
+queen wins!" His hands were on his hips, fingers touching the butts of
+his guns, his eyes burned. For all its drag there was a ring to his
+voice.
+
+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 the
+combination, opened the doors and took out a stack of bills.
+
+"Bills from a century up," said Sandy. "The odds and ends in gold--for
+the drinks."
+
+The excitement was dying down. The man from the Three Star had won and
+had been paid. Plimsoll's game was square. A few, reading the slight
+signs of Hahn's nervousness, still held some doubts, but the games were
+closing. The drinks were brought. Two men lounged out into the front
+room after they had tossed theirs down. Sandy slipped the folded bills
+into 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, Sam
+close behind him, into the front room. It was empty. The short end of
+Sandy's winnings still provided liquor. For a moment they were alone.
+Plimsoll had not followed them. Sandy swiftly socketed the bolt on the
+inside 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 bet
+what I got in my pocket Butch is huggin' the boards to one side of this
+shack. 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 gambler
+cursing at the bolted door. Silently as a cat, he covered the short
+distance between the house and the arroyo of the creek and disappeared,
+merged in its shadow. Sandy joined him and they made their way swiftly
+along the bottom, climbing the bank where the railroad bridge crossed
+it, striking off for the main street, lit by sputtery arc-lamps, making
+for their ponies, still standing patiently outside the all-night
+restaurant.
+
+"No sense in runnin' our heads into a flyin' noose," said Sandy.
+"Plimsoll owns the sheriff. Married his sister. We'd be wrong whatever
+stahted. They'd frisk me of my roll an' we'd never see it ag'in, less we
+made 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 miles
+to the Three Star."
+
+They mounted, swung their horses and loped off toward the bridge across
+the creek. There were two spans, one built since the advent of
+automobiles, the other ancient, little used. They headed for the
+latter. Passing the end of the street they saw nothing out of the
+ordinary. The door of the "Good Luck" was open, shown by a square of
+light. A group stood outside. Sandy and Sam rode off, the ponies' hoofs
+silent in the soft thick dust; moving shadows in the twilight, merging
+with the dark.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+IN THE BED OF THE CREEK
+
+
+The old bridge, utilized only by wheels with metal tires these days, and
+by riders, opened a short-cut to the road leading to the Three Star, a
+way hardly to be distinguished from the plain. Sandy was minded to get
+back to the ranch as soon as possible with his winnings. Five thousand
+for Molly, five thousand for the Three Star, that was the agreement, the
+custom, and he knew the girl's breed well enough to have no hesitation
+in making the split as he would with a man. The next thing to do was to
+pick out a school for her. There Sandy was at a loss. He mulled it over
+as he rode, his outer senses playing sentinels to his consciousness.
+
+He had deliberately avoided trouble for reasons he considered quite
+sufficient, but annoyance pricked him that he had been forced to slide
+out the back way from Plimsoll's, for all the odds against him. If it
+had been his own money--a sudden flash of future responsibilities as
+Molly Casey's guardian illumined his thought--if the luck-piece had not
+been hers, the play for her future welfare, he would have set his own
+marvelous coordination against Butch and the others in a shooting match,
+as he had done other times, in other places. Sam, he knew, was
+wondering a little at their strategic retreat.
+
+But the old days were going, law and order were beginning to supersede
+the old methods of every man to his own judgment and action. Hereford
+had a sheriff who was not above suspicion, but the majority of the
+people 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 the
+winnings and he looked and listened, noting every movement of Pronto
+moving free-muscled beneath him, for some sign of alarm--perhaps a
+rifle-shot out of the mesquite. They were not the best of targets, Sam
+and he, riding fast in the thick dusk under the stars. The road was
+almost invisible, the plain unsubstantial, though the far-off mountain
+ranges showed plainly cut, with a curious trick of seeming always to
+shift 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, springing
+forward into a gallop as their riders touched heels to flanks. The pinto
+was the quicker to get into his stride. Just past the center of the
+bridge Sam saw Sandy's mount jump like a startled cat into the air. He
+saw Sandy pliant in his seat; marked against the starry sky. Then came a
+spurt of red flame from the far bank--to the right--another--and
+another--from the left. A bullet hummed by him and his own horse slid
+stiff-legged, plowing the planks, hind feet flat from hoof-points to
+fetlocks 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 gained
+solid footing, Sam automatically whipped out his gun, cursing as he saw
+Sandy slide from the saddle, clutch at the rim of the gap, drop down to
+the bed of the creek, while Pronto, frantic at the loss of his master,
+leaped the opening and fled with clatter of hoof and swinging stirrup
+into the desert.
+
+Sam, wild with rage at the thought of Sandy shot, scrambling in bloody
+sand below him, flung himself from the roan as more bullets whined,
+whupping into the planks. One seared his upper arm, another struck the
+saddle tree as he vaulted off, slapping the roan on the flanks, yelling
+at it as it gathered, leaped the gap and followed Pronto.
+
+"You damned, cowardly, murderin' pack of lousy coyotes!" swore Sam
+mechanically, as he knelt on the edge of the gap and tried to pierce the
+blackness, listening fearfully for a groan. He had not fired back. There
+was nothing to fire at but clumps of blurred growth. The shots had been
+too sudden, the shying of the horses too confusing for location.
+
+He kneeled over the rim of the last plank, turned, caught with his
+hands, revolver thrust back into its holster, swung, dropped. A hand
+closed about his ankle, pulled him down sprawling on the soft sand.
+
+"I'm O. K.," whispered Sandy, and Sam's heart leaped. "Only plugged the
+rim of my hat. I faked a fall to fool 'em. Snake erlong down the crick
+bed. Here's where we git even." Sam knew that ring in his partner's
+voice, low though it was, and his blood tingled. The high crumbly banks
+of the creek, gouged out by winter rains and cloud-bursts, were set with
+brush. Immediately above the bridge were the stripped trunks of
+cottonwoods, stranded in a flood. Peering through the boughs, they saw
+stooping figures running along the bank. A man called from the lower
+side of the bridge, a shot was fired harmlessly. The hunters in view
+raced back.
+
+"Think they saw us," whispered Sandy. "They'll hear from us, right
+soon." He led the way back, crossing to the town side beneath the
+bridge, keeping half-way up the bank, close under the stringers of the
+bridge, crawling between bushes on his belly, Sam with him. Now they
+could see no gunmen but occasionally they caught a whisper, the slight
+sound of moving brush.
+
+There was only a trickle of water in the bed of the creek. Here and
+there were small bars of bleached shingle and larger boulders. Sandy
+found a stone imbedded in the bank, loosened it, squatted on his
+haunches and passed it to Sam, taking a gun in each hand.
+
+"Chuck it into that sunflower patch," he said with his mouth close to
+Sam's ear. "Then fire at the flashes." Sam pitched the stone through the
+darkness. It fell with a rustle, chinked against a rock. Instantly
+there came a fusillade from the opposite bank, four streaks of fire, the
+bullets cutting through the dried stalks, the marksmen evidently hunting
+in couples.
+
+Sandy, crouching, pulled triggers and the shots rattled out as if fired
+from an automatic. Beside him, Sam's gun barked. Each fired three times,
+Sandy shooting two-handed, flinging six bullets with instinctive aim
+while the bed of the creek echoed to the roar of the guns and the air
+hung heavy with the reek of exploded gases. Then they rushed for the top
+of the bank, wriggling behind the cover of bushes, lying prone for the
+next chance.
+
+One yell and a stream of curses came from across the arroyo. Two
+indistinct figures bent above a third, lifted it, hurrying back toward a
+clump of willows. The fourth man trailed the others, his oaths
+smothered, running beside the two bearers, his hand held curiously in
+front 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 missed
+clean. I fired to the left."
+
+"The man who's down is Butch," said Sandy. "I'd know his figger in a
+coal shaft. I've a hunch the other was Hahn. Hit him somewheres in the
+hand; spile his dealin' fo' a while. Let's git out of this. They've
+quit."
+
+"Wonder if Plimsoll was with 'em. How about the hawsses? Can you whistle
+Pronto back?"
+
+"Reckon so."
+
+They walked toward the bridge and crossed it, passing the gap on the
+side timbers. Plimsoll's men had departed with their casualties. Sandy
+whistled shrilly through his teeth. After a minute he repeated the call.
+
+"Sure hate to hoof it to the ranch," said Sam. "Mebbe the shots
+stampeded '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 mine
+is half human. I've sent him ahead before. Ef I'd yelled 'Home' he'd
+have gone. Shots w'udn't have scared him. Made him stand by--like
+Molly."
+
+"Got yore money safe?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+There came a sound of pounding hoofs. Then that of others, coming from
+the 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 the
+plain 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 the
+bridge. The foremost stopped with an exclamation at the missing boards.
+All wheeled in some confusion and slid their horses down into the
+arroyo to scramble up the bank again and spur for Sam and Sandy just as
+the pinto and the roan, curveted up to their masters. The two cowmen
+leaped for their seats, Sandy temporarily sheathing one gun. They faced
+the 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' the
+law 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 the
+Herefo'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 got
+any guts left fo' tryin'. Me, I'm goin' home."
+
+The sheriff and his hastily gathered band of irregular deputies, working
+in the interests of Plimsoll, knew, with sufficient intimacy to endow
+them with caution, the general record of Sandy Bourke and Soda-Water
+Sam. None of them wanted to risk a shot--and miss. Sandy would not. Even
+a fatal wound might not prevent him taking toll. Sam was almost as
+dangerous. They were politicians rather than fighting men, every one of
+them. And they were tolerably certain that Plimsoll had ambushed the two
+from the Three Star. His methods were akin to their own. The sheriff
+blustered.
+
+"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 afteh
+election, Sheriff, as it is. The cowmen ain't crazy about you. They
+might 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 voice
+freezing in sudden contempt. He roweled Pronto and, with Sam even in the
+jump, they galloped through the half-ring without opposition. Horses
+were neck-reined aside to let them pass. The wind sang by them as they
+tangented off from the road. A shot or two announced the attempt of some
+to save their own faces, but no bullets came near the pair. The
+fusillade was sheer bravado.
+
+Pronto and the roan went at full speed, bellies low to the plain that
+streamed past, the manes whipping the hands of their riders, springing
+on sinews of whalebone through soapweed and mesquite, spurning the soil
+with drumming hoofs, night-seeing, danger-dodging, jumping the little
+gullies, reveling in the rush. Sandy and Sam sat slightly forward,
+loose-seated, thigh-muscles and knees feeling the withers rather than
+pressing them, balancing their own limber bodies to every movement of
+the flying ponies.
+
+A late moon climbed out of the east and scudded up the sky, silvering
+the distant peaks. For almost a mile they rode at top speed, then they
+settled down to a lope that ate up the miles--a walk at the end of
+three--then lope and walk again, until the giant cottonwoods of the
+Three Star rose from the plain, leaves shimmering in the moonlight, the
+ranch buildings blocked in purple pin-pointed with orange--the
+pin-points enlarging, resolving into two lighted windows as they passed
+shack and barn and rode into the home corral at last, to unsaddle, wipe
+down the horses and dismiss them for the time with a smack on their
+lathery flanks, knowing they would be too wise to overdrink at the
+trough, 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 my
+arm an' some son of a wolf spiled my saddle. Sandy, he sorter evened up
+fo' it."
+
+"Bleedin'?" asked Mormon.
+
+"Nope. Tied my bandanner round it. Cold air fixed it. Shucks, it ain't
+nuthin'! Sandy's got a green kale plaster fo' it. Come to think of it, I
+got 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's
+the '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 the
+bandanna.
+
+"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 that
+stirred 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 she
+listened 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. "Main
+p'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 is
+yore dad an' paht yore maw. Sabe? They handed you on down an', if you
+make the most of yo'se'f, you make the most of them. Me, I've allus been
+trubbled with the saddle-itch an' I've wanted the out-of-doors. A chap
+writ 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. He
+sure knew what he was writin' erbout. It's called _In Texas, Down by the
+Rio Grande_. I've been there. Arizony ain't much differunt."
+
+"It's called _Lasca_," put in Sam. "I seen it in the movies. Had the
+po'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 git
+erlong with less. But fo' a gel, learnin's a grand thing. An' there's
+the 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 me
+when I was to Chicago with a train of steers one time, the tall
+buildin's was higher than ca�on cliffs. On'y full breath I drawed was
+down 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 my
+tongue 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 out
+here. 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. Inside
+you'll be yore real self. You can't take the gold out of a bit of ore
+any more than you can change iron pyrites inter the reel stuff. But, if
+the gold's goin' to be put into proper circulation, it's got to be
+refined. Sabe?"
+
+"I ain't refined, I reckon," said Molly with a sigh. "I don't know as I
+want 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 away
+from him."
+
+"He'd want you to make this trip, sure," said Sandy. "An' that settles
+it. You go off to bed an' dream on it. We got to figger out where you go
+an' that'll take some time an' thinkin'. I'm some tired myse'f. I've
+been out of trainin' lately fo' excitement. Sam, I'm goin' to soak that
+place on yore arm with iodine. Good night, Molly."
+
+She got up immediately, went to Mormon and to Sam and gravely shook
+hands, 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 from
+the room, with Grit leaping after her. Sandy's bronzed face glowed like
+reflecting copper.
+
+"Some folks git all the luck," said Mormon.
+
+"There you go," bantered Sam, stripping his arm for the iodine. "You
+been married three times, reg'lar magnet fo' the wimmin, an' you grudge
+Sandy 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 be
+a five-ringed circus all to yorese'f an' have all the fun. Ef that stuff
+heals like it smahts, Sandy, I'll say I'm cured now."
+
+"It don't amount to much, Sam," said Sandy. "Yore flesh allus closed up
+quick. What you goin' to do with yore ninety dollars?"
+
+"I thought of buyin' me a new saddle. Mine's spiled. Couldn't trust that
+tree 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 been
+brought in from the range and half forced, half coaxed to give the fresh
+milk that Mormon insisted the girl needed. Until then evaporated milk
+had suited all hands. But butter--to go with hot cakes and
+sage-honey--was an imperative need for the riders. Riders demanded the
+best quality in the "found" part of their wages and the three partners
+supplied it. The butter came over weekly from the Bailey ranch to be
+kept under the spring cover for cooling. Usually the gangling young Ed
+Bailey brought it over in the crotchety flivver. When Sandy saw the
+sparsely fleshed figure of Miranda Bailey seated by the driver he winced
+in spirit. This second visitation looked like mere curiosity and gossip
+and offset the opinion he had begun to form of the spinster--that she
+was sound underneath her angularities and mannerisms.
+
+It was twilight. The three partners and Molly were on the ranch-house
+porch after supper, and there was no escape. Sam slid his harmonica into
+his pocket silently and Mormon groaned aloud as the rattlebang car
+chugged up and was braked, shaking all over until the engine was shut
+off. Ed Bailey crossed his legs and rolled his cigarette. No one at the
+Three Star had ever seen him alight from the car, Mormon insisted he ate
+and slept in it. Miranda nodded at the three partners, who rose as she
+came up the steps.
+
+"You sure need some new clothes, child," she said to Molly. "You got to
+have 'em. I heard you was shot," she went on to Sam. "That sling ain't
+right. 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 allus
+heals quick."
+
+Miranda sniffed.
+
+"I reckon prohibition helps some," she retorted. "Now then, I come on
+business. Sandy Bourke, you ain't any of you the legal guardian of that
+child, 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 and
+generally twisted her features in what Sandy interpreted plainly enough
+as a suggestion that Molly should be eliminated from the talk. He did
+not agree with the spinster. It was Molly's prime affair and he knew
+that she would resent being treated too childishly in regard to her own
+concerns. Sandy had gentled too many high-spirited fillies and colts not
+to have found out that methods that apply to well-bred quadrupeds are
+generally coefficient with humans. He shook his head slightly at Miss
+Bailey's signaling.
+
+"Jest what's the idea?" he asked. "Some one figgerin' on makin' her stay
+at the Three Star unpleasant? Fur as jest gossip is concerned, it don't
+have 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," said
+Miranda, a bit grimly. "This ain't gossip. Ef you're bound the gel is to
+sit in with her elders I'll go right ahead. I got a lot of chores to do
+yet, deliverin' butter, an' the car's actin' up uncertain. Here 'tis. I
+got 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 more
+likely. Plimsoll an' Eke Jordan, the sheriff, are like two peas in a
+pod. The sheriff's got the inside of local politicks, so fur. When we
+wimmen git to votin' this fall things is goin' to be different. Right
+now, he's in. He an' the courts of this county are all striped the same
+way. Reg'lar zebras. Penitentiary pattern 'ud match their skins. Mebbe
+some of 'em ought to be wearin' it.
+
+"Now for the meat of the nut. They're figgerin' on gettin' control of
+the gel away from you-all. They'll use argymints for the general public
+that she's too young to be keepin' house for three unmarried men,
+leastwise three men who ain't livin' with their wives." She looked
+pointedly 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 can
+block that if one of us comes out an' offers to take her. I'd be glad
+to, for one, an' do the right thing by her."
+
+Molly walked over to Sandy's chair and stood behind it, her eyes
+widening, 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 out
+owners, lookin' up assessment work an' so on. Talk of a boom. I reckon
+Plimsoll'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's
+partner--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 what
+they're over here ter-morrer with a court order. An' you can't fight the
+courts 's long as they're in authority, the way you fought Jim
+Plimsoll."
+
+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 is
+a damned liar. You won't let 'em take me?" She turned to Sandy, her arms
+stretched in appeal.
+
+"No, Molly, I won't. Will we, boys?"
+
+"You can bet everything you got an' ever hope to own we won't," said
+Sam.
+
+"That goes for me," echoed Mormon, but he scratched his fringe of hair
+in some perplexity.
+
+"Talk don't beat an order of the court," said Miranda Bailey. "Mebbe I
+seem sort of vinegary to you, child, but I'm not a bad sort. My brother
+Ed has got somethin' to say in this community an' I'm likely to control
+a few votes this fall myself. I figger if you came home with me to-day
+we c'ud manage to git you placed with us. There's been tattle about you
+stoppin' 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 wheeled
+and buried her head on his shoulder, sobbing.
+
+"We're powerful obliged to you, Miss Bailey, for what you told us," said
+Sandy. "I'm right sure you'd give Molly a fine home, but we got other
+plans an' we aim to carry 'em out. Plimsoll's a skunk an' I'll block his
+game about the mines ef they amount to anything. Molly's goin' east for
+her 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 are
+over." Miranda Bailey recognized something better than mere decision in
+Sandy's voice, she was not the leading suffragist of the county for
+lack 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. A
+woman needs a woman's company." At the diplomatic concession to her
+maturity Molly gave the spinster a mollified glance. Miss Bailey climbed
+into 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 all
+right. We'll git ready soon's we can. Meantime, we'll keep our eyes
+peeled 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 in
+anything outside of his cigarette.
+
+"Fo' time's sake, aunt," he said, "'twouldn't be no manner of good if it
+come down to a runnin' chase. Nearest depot's fifty mile' across the
+county line. Racin' this car ag'in' the sheriff's 'ud be like matchin' a
+flea ag'in' a grasshopper. Dern it, she's balked ag'in." He wrestled
+with the crank, conquered it and the machine shivered like a hunting dog
+while his aunt adjusted spark and gas. She nodded to him to start and
+they moved off, Miranda waving a farewell as she called out, "Good
+luck!"
+
+"Some sport!" announced Sam. "That's the kind of woman you sh'ud have
+married, Mormon."
+
+Molly, excited now, demanded audience.
+
+"When do we start?" she asked eagerly. "Will you wait till they come out
+from Hereford?"
+
+"I got to think out things a bit, Molly," said Sandy. "I figger we'll
+git 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 is
+sure, you got to tuhn in an' git a good rest. Ef we slide out it won't
+be all a pleasure trip. I reckon Plimsoll means business. An' he's sure
+got 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't
+want to leave Grit."
+
+"It 'ud be a hard trip fo' him this way, Molly. I ain't sure about the
+regulations at them schools. I reckon the best way w'ud be fo' you to
+make arrangements fo' him to come on afteh you git there."
+
+Molly regarded Sandy soberly, her fingers twining through the dog's
+mane.
+
+"You'd be good to him--same as you air to me? Oh, I'm jest plumb mean to
+ask you that. I know you w'ud. He's goin' to be jest as lonesome as me
+for 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 fix
+to 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 is
+west through the Cabezas Range. Only two gaps, Paso Cabras, an' the
+Bolsa."
+
+"But the Bolsa...." started Sam.
+
+Sandy checked him.
+
+"I know. Listen! I aim to git to the railroad an' then me an' Molly'll
+make for New Mexico."
+
+"Huh!"
+
+"You guessed it, Mormon. For the Pecos River an' Boville an' the Redding
+Ranch. I reckon Barbara Redding'll handle the thing. She'll git Molly
+her 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 to
+break my laig over it. Sandy, you sure use yo' brains."
+
+Barbara Redding, once Barbara Barton of the celebrated Curly O, was a
+bright star in the mutual firmament of the Three Star partners. They had
+all worked together on the Curly O in the old days. Sandy had been
+foreman there. Once he had rescued Barbara Barton from horse rustlers
+with a grudge against her father and once again he had rendered her even
+greater service when members of the same crowd kidnapped her
+two-year-old son whom Barbara Redding had brought on a visit to his
+grandfather. Sandy had trailed alone and brought in the "li'l' son of a
+gun," as he styled the youngster. There was little that Barbara Redding
+and 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. See
+what you all think of it."
+
+Subdued guffaws rose from the porch in through the open window of the
+room where Molly Casey lay wide awake, the dog beside her. Presently she
+heard the martial strains of Sam's harmonica, cuddled under his big
+mustache, played one-handed. He was playing an air that he had dedicated
+to Sandy. Vaguely it comforted her.
+
+"They're _good_," she said to Grit. "An' they've figgered out something
+or 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 Sam
+breathed out his melody into the night that was very still and very
+quiet, with the great white stars burning rayless. The tune swelled
+triumphantly.
+
+    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 the
+Three Musketeers of the Range, whereof Mormon was surely Porthos, if Sam
+was hard to recognize as Aramis. "One for all and all for one" was their
+motto, and neither Mormon nor Sam doubted for an instant that Sandy
+would win. Sandy, smoking cigarette after cigarette, was not so sure but
+equally complacent.
+
+Next morning, breakfast over before the sun was well above the peaks,
+while desert birds were still rising, twittering shrill welcome to the
+dawn, Sandy went about humming snatches of cowboy songs just above his
+breath as he oversaw the arrangements for the exodus that was to be; not
+so much a flight, as a deliberately calculated laying of a trail for the
+pursuit. So might an old dog fox, sure of his speed and wisdom, trot
+leisurely across a field in full sight of the pack. Sandy had no
+intention of waiting until the lawhounds arrived, he needed a start
+against the handicap of high-powered cars. He was in high humor as the
+buckboard was greased, a team of buckskins given a special feed and a
+rub-down, and various articles gathered for transportation. Among these
+were 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 little
+short of thirty--but he was generally mature, suggesting deliberation of
+mind 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, tossed
+badinage among one another like a ball. Mormon and Sam, seated on the
+top 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 can
+cert'nly scheme out the scenarios."
+
+"The what?"
+
+"The scenarios," repeated Mormon loftily. "I got that out of a moving
+pitcher magazine down to Hereford. It's the word fo' the plot of the
+story. Sabe?"
+
+"Huh! I reckon them movin' pitcher shooters 'ud have to move some to git
+all that's movin' this trip. Got yore gun oiled up, Mormon? Here's
+Molly."
+
+Molly came out on the porch carrying a small grip packed with her few
+belongings, Grit beside her. Sandy nodded to her, busy giving
+instructions to two riders. Mormon and Sam waved and she went over to
+them, swinging up to the rail beside them.
+
+"Jim," said Sandy, "I want you should ride out to'ards Hereford an' hide
+out atop of Bald Butte. You don't need to stay there any later than
+noon. Take a flash-glass with you. If any of the sheriff's crowd comes
+erlong, any one who looks like he might be servin' papers, sabe, you
+flash in a message. Make it a five-flash fo' anything suspicious, a
+three-flash fo' any one shackin' this way, even if you figger they're
+plumb harmless."
+
+"Seguro, Miguel." With the slang phrase, Jim, an upstanding young chap,
+despite his horse-bowed legs, walked over to the bunk-house for
+flash-mirror and gun, came back to his already caught-up and saddled
+horse, 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 over
+cantle and went streaming off for the Bald Butte in a cloud of dust.
+Sandy called to Buck Perches, oldest of his riders, whose exposed skin
+matched the leather of his saddle.
+
+"Buck, ef any visitors arrives while we're gone, you entertain 'em same
+as 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's
+got a seal to the bottom of it. We won't be to home. You'll be the only
+one to home 'cept Pedro an' Joe. They've got their instructions to know
+nothin'. They ain't supposed to know nothin'. You--you've stayed to the
+ranch to do some fixin' of yore saddle. Started, but come back when yore
+cinch 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 think
+yo'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 here
+Plimsoll person?" he suggested.
+
+"Let 'em size up the thing fo' themselves. They'll find Pronto in the
+corral, also Sam's roan, which they know is our usual mounts. If they
+don't sabe the buckboard's gone, which they probably will, knowin' this
+outfit 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 ten
+o'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 Grit
+with 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 of
+sleep but she had fought the thing out with herself and she was going
+to be game. She gave Sandy her grip and walked off toward the
+cottonwoods. Grit nosed along in her shadow, his muzzle touching her
+skirt.
+
+It was a big load for the buckboard with Mormon and Sam in the back seat
+crowded by the piled-up baggage, with Sandy driving and Molly beside
+him, flushed a little with growing excitement. But the buckskins were
+sinewed with whalebone and used to desert work. They surged forward at
+the word, tightening the tugs in an eager leap and settled down to a
+fast trot, out across the prairie. The riders, with the exception of
+Buck, and Jim, who was already close to the butte, which was midway
+between 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 crossed
+the slowly descending slope of the sink that presently mounted again
+toward the far-off range. There was no apparent road, but Sandy chose a
+compass course between the sage for the first few miles, then skirted
+the mesquite. Sam leaned forward once when the buckskins had been pulled
+down to a walk and spoke to Molly.
+
+"See that notch in the range?" he asked, "oveh to the no'th, where the
+shadder's blue. That's Paso Cabras, the Pass of the Goats. Some says
+it's named 'cause the cliffs is fair lousy with goats, some 'cause on'y
+a goat can make the climb. County line's five mile' out on the plain
+beyond 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 way
+an' strike the pass afore the sheriff catches up with us, he'll have to
+foller afoot or go clean round the mesa. The Goat's Pass ain't no place
+fo' an automobeel, nor an airyplane neither. Don't believe there's a
+level spot wider'n five foot or bigger than that much square."
+
+Either Mormon or Sam sat always with neck twisted, watching for a
+flash-signal from the butte that stood up clearly in the crystal
+atmosphere, sometimes distorted, changing hue from chocolate to indigo,
+never seeming to get any farther away, just as the mesa range never
+seemed to get any closer. Sometimes Molly relieved them as lookout, but
+hour after hour passed without sign.
+
+Close to noon they reached a watering hole, with water none too cool or
+sweet, but still welcome. There the buckskins were unhitched, rubbed
+down and, after they had cooled off, given water and grain. Save for
+sweat marks, they showed little sign of the grueling trip through the
+soft dirt. A strip of lava, half a mile of ancient flow, lay between
+them and the long up-slope of the desert to the mesa. As they ate lunch
+in the shadow of some barrel cactus, Sandy suddenly gave a grunt of
+satisfaction, pointing with outstretched forefinger to the butte. Five
+flashes had flickered up. They were repeated. Jim had signaled a
+suspicious party on their way to Three Star. The sheriff was out with
+his 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? They
+ought to be showin' up. I told 'em noon."
+
+"On time," announced Sam. The two riders who had last talked with Sandy
+rode 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 the
+fees of his office as with his perquisites, a word covering a wide range
+of possibilities, all of which the sheriff made the most of. He was
+proud of his car and proud of his ability to run it anywhere at
+record-breaking speed. It carried an extra water container that could be
+mounted on the running board for desert work, an extra gasoline and oil
+supply, there were always extra tires strapped on, extra spark plugs
+handy and his batteries were always well charged.
+
+"I aim to make her efficient," said Jordan, "bein' she represents my
+office. That's me. If I needed me an airyplane, I'd get me one to hunt
+the 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 efficiency
+or his courage. He brought in the criminals he went out to get, some
+alive, some dead; prosecuted the first with zeal and collected the
+rewards with alacrity. The trouble was that he did _not_ always go out
+after certain individuals, who were outside the law, as interpreted by
+the people, but inside it, as protected by the political ring to which
+Jordan, with other prominent officials, belonged.
+
+Jordan had taken up his brother-in-law's grievance with the greater zest
+since he had a half-interest in Plimsoll's Good Luck Pool Parlors, a
+share that had cost him good money. On top of that had come Sandy's
+flouting 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 the
+court was not a difficult matter, but it was not so easy to get them at
+an early hour, since court was not in session and the judge none too
+eager to arise of a morning. But Jordan knew nothing of the visit of
+Miranda Bailey to the Three Star and he pressed matters with no special
+expedition, though he characteristically wasted no time.
+
+Armed with the necessary warrant, backed by an assurance that, unless
+some extraordinary howl went up, the girl would be given into the
+custody of Jim Plimsoll as guardian, by virtue of his claim to
+partnership with her father, the sheriff, Plimsoll and two others, all
+three deputized for the occasion, started the car from Hereford at a
+quarter of twelve, after an early lunch. They passed the butte where Jim
+lay prone atop without noticing the flashes he shot into the sky. At a
+few minutes after twelve they reached Three Star where Buck, seated on
+the porch, his saddle astride a sawhorse, stitched away at a cinch.
+
+Buck played his part well, allowing Jordan to ferret out information to
+his own satisfaction. It appeared plain that all three partners had
+taken flight with the girl in the buckboard. Sandy's pinto and Sam's
+roan were in the corral. Jordan overlooked one thing, the counting of
+saddles, 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 weathered
+face impassive as the shell of a walnut, but Plimsoll scowled, noting
+the turn of Buck's bland countenance in his direction for the first
+time. It was whispered that the brands on Plimsoll's horse ranch were
+not those usually known in the county, nor even in the counties
+adjoining. There were rumors, smothered by Plimsoll's stand with the
+authorities, of bands of horses, driven by strangers, arriving
+wearied--and always by night--at his corrals.
+
+"It don't matter--to you--what it's for," answered Jordan. "I'll
+overhaul 'em an' bring 'em back. Crossin' the county line won't do 'em
+any good with this warrant. Ef they try hide-out tactics or put up a
+scrap, 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 of
+the tobacco.
+
+"Search me," he drawled. "Me, I don't stay up to the house."
+
+Jordan, temporarily discomfited but still confident of bringing back his
+quarry, marked the trail of the buckboard in the alkali soil, noted the
+hoof-prints of the diverging riders and nodded with the semi-smile and
+half closed-eyes of conscious superiority. He had already elicited
+apparently reluctant information from Pedro as to the four passengers in
+the buckboard. Buck had been more reticent. To the sheriff Buck's
+reticence betokened desire to cover the fugitives. He fancied that
+Pedro's testimony was the result of Jordan's own cleverness in
+cross-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 his
+intentions, but climbed into the car and started it. The powerful
+machine went lunging through the soft dirt, following the blurry trail
+of the buckboard's iron tires, throwing up dust as a fast launch churns
+spray.
+
+After leaving the Three Star all semblance of road vanished. The
+alkaline soil was almost as fine as flour, and deep. This and the fear
+of losing the trail kept the machine down to a limit that would have
+been 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 and
+Jordan stopped, replenished, reoiled. Reaching the lava strip where the
+buckboard had halted for water and the noon meal, they found the trail
+skirting the flow toward the south. The main mass of the mesa, broken up
+into gorges, gaps, stairway cliffs, marked by purple shadows, scanty in
+the early afternoon but gradually widening, was about fifteen miles
+away. Jordan braked his car. He ignored the water in the spring. His
+spare 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 a
+cut 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 I
+know 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 usually
+know where they are headin'. Trail's plain."
+
+"Sure is." But Jordan scratched his head a trifle doubtfully. If Sandy
+Bourke and his chums had been tipped off, this trail was a little too
+plain to be true. Presently, as the machine plowed on south, they
+struck a patch of desert where the rock surfaced out and showed no trace
+of hoof or tire. Jordan stopped the car and the four got out, casting
+around, expecting that this outcropping had been used as a device to
+throw off the pursuit. Fairly fresh horse droppings showed that the
+buckboard had held to its course and, the rock passed, the trail showed
+plain again, curving in toward the broken wall of the mesa, leading
+toward a cleft that was plainly distinguishable.
+
+"That's Bolsa Boquete," announced the deputy named Phil. "I never went
+through it."
+
+"What's it mean--the name?"
+
+"Boquete's gap. Bolsa's money--not jest the same as dinero. It's the
+word 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 my
+star they've gone through it all right. We ought to be not much more'n
+an hour behind them."
+
+"They're on about us getting the papers," said Plimsoll. He had not said
+much on the trip so far. "Too much talk nowadays. You can't whisper in a
+dugout but what the news is all over the county inside of twenty
+minutes. Bourke sabes that getting the girl out of the county won't do
+any good; he aims to get her out of the state and any Arizona court or
+sheriff jurisdiction. He's the brains of the outfit. We've got to get
+her, Jordan."
+
+"You ain't tellin' me a thing I don't know, Jim. But there's one thing
+you _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 the
+party with this eastern crowd dropped into my place and talked. Showed
+some samples and I had a good look at them. He happened to leave a bit
+or two behind and I had them assayed. Here is where I get back the money
+I 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 that
+Bolsa had two meanings in Spanish, Jordan slowed up.
+
+"No shootin' in this deal," he warned. "Come to a show-down, Bourke
+won't buck the law soon's we show papers. So long's he ain't been
+notified 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. "They
+done some pretty shootin' at the bridge that time. Sandy Bourke's a
+two-handed lead flinger an' Soda-Water Sam's no slouch. Neither's
+Mormon. 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-green
+reptilian growths. The soft earth, through which here and there the
+volcanic cores of the range were thrust, seemed as if it could supply
+the paint shops of a nation with almost any hue desired, ready for
+mixing with oil or water. Waves of heat beat between the walls of the
+cleft. The floor was fairly smooth, swept clean by occasional
+cloud-bursts, save for the skeleton of a tree and another of a too-far
+wandering steer, both blanched white as the alkali-crusted boulders. It
+was nearly level going and the car pounded along, all the occupants
+looking for trail sign. The mesa corridor, nowhere more than thirty feet
+wide, twisted and snaked, three hundred feet of sheer wall on either
+side topped by sloping cliffs mounting far higher toward the actual top
+of the mesa.
+
+"Keep an eye peeled for rain, Phil," said Jordan, "I'd sure hate to get
+caught 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 fiery
+unrectified, unstamped liquor. Ahead was an abrupt turn. Jordan slowed.
+Making the curve, a fence stretched across the gorge, reaching from wall
+to wall, a four-strand barrier of barbed-wire, strung on patent steel
+posts. Jordan braked with emergency. The sight of such a fence in such a
+place was as unexpected as the sun-dried carcass of a steer would be on
+Broadway. Plimsoll and Jordan cursed, the former in pure anger, the
+latter with some appreciation of the stratagem for delay.
+
+"We can tear it down quicker'n they fixed it," he said. "I've got a pair
+of 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 of
+trouble puttin' up that fence. It's _my_ fence."
+
+They looked up, to see Mormon seated on the top of a great boulder that
+had land-slipped from the cliff into the gorge. From thirty feet above
+them he looked down, amiably enough, though there was a glint of blued
+metal in his right hand.
+
+"Hello, Jim Plimsoll," he went on. "I ain't seen you-all fo' quite a
+while. 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 of
+a proper guardian, the child Molly Casey, she being a minor and without
+natural or legal protectors. I've got yore name on these papers, Mormon
+Peters, 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 yore
+actions. You put up that gun an' come down here an' help to pull down
+this fence, illegally erected on property not yore own. Otherwise you're
+subject 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 begin
+with. Nor she ain't been here. An' I don't sabe no obstruction of the
+law by settin' up a fence in a mesa ca�on to round up broom-tails."
+
+One of the deputies snickered.
+
+"Broom-tails?" cried Jordan. "That's too thin. There's no mustangs
+hangin' round a mesa like this, 'thout feed or water." He flushed
+angrily. He was short-tempered and he was certain the fence was a ruse
+to gain time, with Mormon left behind to parley. It all seemed to point
+to Sandy Bourke making for the railroad.
+
+"You never kin tell about wild hawsses, or even branded ones," said
+Mormon pleasantly. "Ask Plimsoll. He picks 'em up in all sorts of
+places."
+
+Plimsoll cursed. Mormon still held his gun conspicuously, and he
+restrained his own impulse to draw. Jordan wheeled on the gambler.
+
+"You keep out o' this, Jim Plimsoll," he said. "I'm runnin' this end of
+it. He's talkin' against time. You come down an' help remove this
+fence," 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 my
+warrant."
+
+"It ain't on a public highway neither," retorted Mormon. "But I'll come
+down. Don't you go to clippin' those wires an' destroyin' what _is_ my
+property." He slid down the rock and commenced to unbend the metal
+straps that held the wire in place. Jordan and one of his men followed
+suit with pliers from the motor kit. The job took several minutes.
+
+"You'll come along with us," said Jordan. "You lied about the girl
+comin' this way. I've a notion to take you in for that. But I reckon you
+can go back in the buckboard with yore partners."
+
+"Reckon I'll travel in the buckboard, when you catch up with it," said
+Mormon. "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 as
+he took an extra seat in the tonneau.
+
+Jordan made no answer but started the engine. The gorge began to narrow
+perceptibly, its floor slanted upward and the machine labored with a
+mixture that constantly needed more air. The way zigzagged for half a
+mile 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 it
+mounted to a sharp turn. Leaning against a post stood Soda-Water Sam,
+smoking a cigarette, his gun holster hitched forward, the butt of the
+weapon close to one hand. Jordan and his men leaped out as the car
+stopped, 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, he
+says. Seen anything of Molly Casey?"
+
+"Not for quite a spell. Go easy with them wires, Sheriff. Price of
+wire's riz considerable."
+
+The second barrier down and the car through, Jordan ordered Sam to get
+in 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 the
+buckboard. 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 went
+on 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 Bolsa
+Boquete. 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 stayed
+with the two deputies. Around the bend stood the buckboard with the
+buckskins in a patch of shadow under a scoop in the ending wall that
+turned the so-called pass to a box ca�on.
+
+"I told you the gel warn't erlong," said Mormon. "She and Sandy was with
+us fo' a spell. But they're goin' visitin' an' they shifted to saddle
+way 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. He
+had nothing on which to make arrest of the two Three Star partners and
+he was far from sure of his ability to do so under any circumstances.
+Mormon hitched up the buckskins, but followed the sheriff and the
+scowling, silent Plimsoll back to the car.
+
+"See that notch, way over to the no'th?" said Mormon, bent on exploiting
+the 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 the
+on'y pass over the mesa. If Sandy had knowed you wanted him he might
+have waited. Why didn't you phone? Ninety mile' around the mesa, nearest
+way, 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 had
+given place to exultation.
+
+"Catch the seven o'clock train at Caroca?" said Jordan. "Thanks for the
+information, Mormon. That schedule was changed last week when they
+pulled off two trains on the main line. The train leaves at nine-thirty
+an', if I can't make ninety miles in four hours an' a half, I'll make
+you a present of my car. Stand back, both of you. No monkey business
+with my tires. Cover 'em, boys. The law's on my side, you two gabbing
+word-shooters."
+
+He handled the car wonderfully, backing and turning her, and, while
+Mormon and Sam stood powerless, the former crestfallen, the latter
+sardonically gazing at his partner, the machine went tilting, snorting
+down the gorge.
+
+"You sure spilled the beans, Mormon," said Sam finally. "I'd have
+thought them three wives of yores 'ud have taught you the vally of
+silence."
+
+"I ain't got a damned word to say, Sam. But I'd be obliged if you'd kick
+me--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. The
+trail, a scant four feet wide at its best, with crumbled, weathered
+margin, crept along the face of the cliff above a deep ca�on where the
+night shadows had already gathered in a purple flood, slowly rising as
+the 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 girl
+drooped in her seat tired from the long climb, not yet inured to the
+saddle. The horses traveled gamely, sure-footed but obviously losing
+endurance. Every little while they stopped of their own accord, their
+flanks heaving painfully in the altitude.
+
+Sandy had only once crossed the Pass of the Goats and that was years
+before. There had been washouts since then. Several times they were
+forced to dismount and lead the nervous beasts, Sandy doing the coaxing,
+helping Molly over the difficult places. He rode a mare named Goldie and
+the girl a bay with a white blaze that Sandy had chosen for the mountain
+work and which had been brought to them at the lava strip.
+
+The mare halted, neck stretched out, turning it to look inquiringly at
+her master. A sharp incline lay ahead, the path little better than one
+made by the goats for which the pass was named. Behind, Molly's mount
+followed suit, blowing at the dust. Sandy patted the mare's neck and
+dismounted.
+
+"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 added
+admiringly, "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 ca�on through which the night wind
+soughed.
+
+"I'll tighten up yore cinches," said Sandy. "Worst of the climb's jest
+ahead. Then we start to drop down t'other side. You don't have to git
+off. Trail's bound to be better once we git atop the mesa and start
+down. Mesa's right narrer, as I remember. T'other side's away from the
+weather. There's a ca�on with oak trees an' a stream of water." He
+tugged 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. "Downhill
+all the way soon an' then a drink to wash out yore mouth an' the best
+feed 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 lost
+buoyancy and was bumping along the mesa ridge. Its belly was black, its
+western side ruddy in the sunset. Sandy viewed it apprehensively. In
+superficial survey the mesa seemed much like the stranded carcass of a
+mastodonic creature left behind when the waters departed from these
+inland seas. A hard skeleton of igneous rock, with clayey soil for
+flesh, riven and seamed and pitted, crumbling and dusty in the sun, ever
+disintegrating with wind and water and frost. Under a rain the trail was
+slimy as a whale's back. The cloud was soggy with moisture. Bursting, it
+would send torrents roaring down every ravine, wash out weathered masses
+of earth, sweep all before it as it gathered forces and rushed out on
+the desert, leaving the main ca�ons carved a little richer, the surface
+of the soil on the sink a little deeper, against the time when men
+should control these storm waters or bring the precious fluid up from
+underground reservoirs and make the desert blossom like the rose.
+
+Where Molly and Sandy rode they were exposed to the first drench of a
+cloud-burst. Deeper in the pass, where the flood would be confined,
+their chance for escape would be infinitesimal. Even on the heights it
+would be precarious unless they could cross the remainder of the
+up-trail before the inevitable downpour.
+
+Sandy examined his own cinch and tightened it before he mounted. And he
+whispered something in the mare's ear that caused her to lip his
+sleeve.
+
+"Let yore hawss have his own way, Molly," he said. "I'm lettin' Goldie
+do the pickin' fo' the lead. Ready?"
+
+It was growing cold in the deepening twilight, the belt of sunshine was
+rapidly climbing toward the topmost palisades with the purple shadows in
+the gorge mounting, twisting and eddying in skeins of mist, twining up
+toward them. One spire ahead glowed golden. The cloud drifted down upon
+it, glooming and glowing on its sunset side. The crag pierced it, ripped
+it as it glided along, like the knife of a diver in the belly of a
+shark. A cold wind blew from the riven mass. Then came the hiss of
+descending waters. There was neither thunder nor lightning, only the
+steady rush of the rain that glazed the slippery trail, hid the opposing
+cliff from sight, sheeting it with dull silver, pounding, pitting,
+beating at them as they plodded doggedly on, almost blinded, trusting to
+the instinct of their horses.
+
+Through the steady patter began to sound the savage voice of torrents
+falling over cliffs, rapids rising and surging in deep gorges. The
+wetness and the cold sapped Molly's vitality. She shivered, her flesh
+seemed sodden, her hands and wrists began to puff and she saw their
+flesh was purple in the fading light. She rode with hands on the saddle
+horn, her head bowed, water streaming from the rim of her Stetson, the
+thud of the rain on her tired shoulders heavy as shot. The bay slipped,
+lurched, scrambled frantically for footing, hind feet skidding in the
+clay, haunches gathering desperately, heaving beneath her to the effort
+that brought him back to the trail. She saw Sandy ahead, dimly, like a
+sheeted ghost, twisted in his saddle, watching her. From the hips down
+he was a part of the mare he rode, from waist up he was in such
+exquisite balance while keeping his individuality apart from the horse
+that, despite her present misery and a presentiment of coming evil that
+was beginning to encompass her, Molly realized what a magnificent rider
+he was, and clung to his strength and skill, sensing the comforting
+power of his manhood.
+
+To her right was the cliff, slimy with water, the trail so narrow that
+now and then her elbow dug into the soft stuff. To the left was
+blackness out of which mists ascended, writhing, like steamy vapors, the
+rain pelting into the gulf, far, far below; the thunder of augmenting
+waters. Masses of broken cloud swept on above their heads, purple and
+crimson and orange as they streamed across the summit like the tattered
+banners of a routed army. The light rayed upward at an acute angle. In a
+few moments it would be dark. But they were close to the top. The mare
+already stood on a level ledge of side-jutting rock, a horizontal
+protuberance that marked the extreme height of the Pass of the Goats,
+from which one could look down into the ca�on of the oaks and the
+unfailing stream.
+
+Sandy heard a cry from Molly and saw, through the curtain of the falling
+rain, the wide-flared nostrils of her horse, its eyes protruding as the
+brute, with the ground slopping away beneath him, slid slowly down
+toward the gulf, the girl, her weight flung forward on the withers, her
+face white as paper, turning to him mutely for help. It was a bad
+moment. Sandy and his mount stood upon an island in a shifting sea. The
+whole cliff seemed working and crawling, slithering down.
+
+He had no space to turn in, no chance to whirl his lariat, even for a
+side throw. There was no time to spin a loop. But his hand detached the
+rope, 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!" He
+sent the line jerking back, whistling as it streaked across the girl's
+shoulders. She clutched for it, with plenty of slack, snubbed it about
+the 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; he
+thanked God that he had examined the cinches of Molly's saddle. The bay
+was cat-footed; with the help of the mare Sandy believed he could dig
+and scrape and climb to safety. It was the decision of a split-second
+and he did not dare risk dragging the girl from the saddle past the
+struggling horse.
+
+He felt Goldie stiffen beneath him, braced against the strain she knew
+was coming. The taut lariat hummed, it bruised into Sandy's thigh.
+Behind, the bay snorted, struggling gallantly. They were poised on the
+brink of death for a moment, two--three--and then the mare began to move
+slowly forward, neck curved, ears cocked to her master's urging, while
+the bay sloshed through the treacherous muck, found foothold, lost it,
+made a frantic leap, another, and landed trembling on the ledge. Sandy
+leaped from his saddle and caught Molly, sliding from her seat in sheer
+exhaustion 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 down
+inter the ca�on 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 of
+herself.
+
+"I'm all right," she said. "I was scared an' yet I knew you'd pull me
+out. I'm plumb shamed of myself. Jest like a damned gel to act that
+way."
+
+"Shucks! You wasn't half as scared as the bay. Wonder did he strain
+himself?" He passed clever hands over the bay's legs, talking to it.
+
+"Yo're all right, ol' surelegs. Right as rain." Goldie, the mare, stood
+stock-still with trailing lariat, watching them intelligently in the
+dusk that was growing quickly luminous as star after star shone through
+the flying wrack. A clean, strong wind blew through the throat of the
+pass. Sandy recoiled his lariat, gave Molly a hand to her foot to lift
+her to her saddle, mounted himself and they rode slowly down. The trail
+was in better shape this side, though half an inch of water still topped
+it. The turmoil of running waters far below burdened the night, but the
+danger 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 town
+they were aiming for whose livery stable was, in the march of the times,
+divided between horses and machines. There he expected to put up the
+horses until they could be returned to Three Star, and there he figured
+on hiring a car and a driver if, as he anticipated, there were no more
+trains that night. He believed that Mormon and Sam had delayed the
+sheriff. Probably the latter had given up the chase, but there was no
+telling. Jordan's best attribute was his pertinacity. They should lose
+no time in getting out of the state.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+CAROCA
+
+
+As Sandy had promised, there was a wide-bottomed ca�on where great oaks
+grew on the flats beside the unfailing stream. The trees were only vast
+shapes in the starlight, the long grass was wet and clinging, the creek
+spouted and tore along as Sandy led the way on the mare to a shelving
+bench, a place where he had camped once long before and, with his
+out-of-doors-man's craft, never forgotten. Molly was tired almost to
+insensibility as to what might be going on, soaked and chilled to
+limpness. Sandy got her out of the saddle and into a shallow cave in a
+sandy bank. The next thing she knew a fire was leaping and sending light
+and warmth into her nook.
+
+She heard Sandy talking to his mare. Between the range rider and his
+mount there is always an understanding born of loneliness, close
+companionship and mutual appreciation. Sandy was certain that his ponies
+understood most of what he said, and they were very sure that Sandy
+understood 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' the
+bay, an' we'll dry out these blankets a bit. Can't let you stay long or
+we'll git all stiffened up, but Chuck Goodwin, down to Caroca, he knows
+hawses an' he's a pal of mine. He'll fix you with a hot mash an', after
+that, anything on the menu from alfalfy to sugar. The pair of you. You
+bay, 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 you
+are!"
+
+Molly listened drowsily to the affection in his voice. It was nice to be
+spoken to that way, she thought. Nice to be looked after. Her dad had
+been fond of her, but his words had lacked the silk, the caress that
+savored the strength, as it did with Sandy. She snuggled into the warm
+heat-reflecting sand like a rabbit in its burrow.
+
+"Eat this, Molly, an' we got to be on our way." Sandy was handing her a
+cupful of hot savory stew, made for the trip, warmed up hastily, the
+best kind of a meal after their strenuous experience, though Sandy
+bemoaned its quality.
+
+"Figgered you an' me 'ud eat on the Pullman ter-night," he said. "But
+this snack'll do us no harm. We'll git a cup of coffee in Caroca if
+there's a chance."
+
+She gulped the reviving food gratefully, strength coming back with the
+fuel that gave both warmth and motive power. Soon they were jogging on
+down the wide trough of the ca�on 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 slopes
+receding, its great bulk dim mass, the twin notches that marked the
+Pass of the Goats hardly discernible against the sky. They crossed a
+white road, unfenced but evidently a main source of travel though now
+deserted.
+
+"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 we
+missed 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. Molly
+had 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' me
+settled down to the ranch. Never had time enough in one place to fool
+round 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 the
+horrible 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 most
+admired was the wife of ol' Pete Holden, a desert prospector an'
+drifter, like yore dad, Molly. She was old an' tough an' wiry, like he
+was. I don't figger she'd ever have taken a blue ribbon in a beauty
+contest, but she was like first-grade linoleum, the pattern wore clean
+through an' the stuff was top quality. She'd drifted with Pete over most
+of Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Arizony, Nevada and paht of New
+Mexico 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 hold
+out on him was once in the Ca�on Pintada when he woke up in the night
+and saw her pourin' water out of her canteen into his. Nothin' pritty
+about Kate Holden, but she was full woman-size from foot callus to gray
+ha'r, back to back with Pete all the time she wasn't standin' side of
+him."
+
+"She warn't eddicated?" asked Molly.
+
+"She was. Some thought it funny, for Pete was no scholar. I've listened
+with him, more'n once when she'd tell us things about plants and
+insects, or about the stars, things we'd never dreamed of. They say she
+c'ud play the pianny an' she sure c'ud sing. Ask Sam about that. But
+Pete 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 not
+the first time that Sandy had noticed it, lately wondering a little, not
+realizing that his own observation was a recognition based upon
+response. Now he figured that the low softness of her speech was due to
+her tired condition and a little wave of tenderness swept him, blent
+with admiration of her pluck. Saddle-racked, nerve-tried, she had never
+murmured, never mentioned the trials of the trail.
+
+They entered the little town, once a cattle station, now renamed in
+musical Spanish, Caroca,--A Caress--a spot where fruits were grown and
+shipped and flowers bloomed the year round wherever the water caressed
+the earth. Sandy rode the mare into the livery where the last skirmish
+between hoof and rim, iron and rubber tire was being fought, and called
+for "Chuck" Goodwin.
+
+A stout man came out, not so heavy, not so big as Mormon, but sheathed
+in 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, Sandy
+Bourke! Light off'n that cayuse, you an' yore lady friend. Where in time
+did 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 he
+is agent."
+
+"Got a few oats left fo' yore hawsses, Sandy. Miss, won't you come
+inside the office? Where you bound, Sandy?"
+
+"We was aimin' to catch the seven o'clock train east, makin' fo' New
+Mexico 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 we
+quit hurryin' an' loafed in. Chuck, have you got a machine you c'ud rent
+us, 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 Miss
+Barbara, or Mrs. Barbara as she is now. But--" He looked at the wall
+clock. "It's a quarter of ten. Yore train's been altered to suit main
+line schedules. She don't come through till nine-thirty an' she's
+gen'ally late makin' the grade. I ain't heard her whistle yet. I
+wouldn't wonder but what you can make it. Not that I'm aimin' none to
+hurry you."
+
+The ex-blacksmith reached for the telephone and got his connection.
+
+"Runnin' twenty minutes late," he announced. "Hop in my car an' we'll
+jest about make her. She don't do much more'n hesitate at Caroca when
+she'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 probably
+be back for 'em myse'f in three-fo' days."
+
+"Seguro." Goodwin stepped on his starter and the flywheel whirred to
+sputtering explosions. Another car came limping down the street, flat
+on 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 to
+hear Sandy hissing out.
+
+"Don't tell 'em. Scoot ahead full speed." Then, over his shoulder to the
+girl, "Crouch down there, Molly." Goodwin was still a man of action and
+he knew Sandy Bourke of old. Out came the pedal, the gears engaged and
+the car shot ahead, beneath a swinging arc light. Sandy's hat-rim did
+not sufficiently shade his face or Molly's action had not been swift
+enough. There came a yell and a string of curses from the crippled car
+which backed and turned and followed, its torn treads flapping.
+
+Goodwin asked no questions of Sandy. If the latter wanted ever to tell
+him 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 dodged
+around corners recklessly. A red lantern showed ahead in the middle of
+the road. They crashed through a light obstruction of boards and
+trestles, overturning the lantern and plowed on over rough stones.
+
+"I'm mayor," said Goodwin with a grin. "Breakin' my own rules but I
+figger that broken stone'll bother 'em some. We'll chance it."
+
+They lunged through, regardless of tires and, behind them, the pursuing
+car rattled, lurched, skidded. A third tire blew out and as Goodwin
+swung a corner with two wheels in the air the sheriff's machine smashed
+viciously across the sidewalk, poking its crumpling radiator into a
+cottonwood.
+
+"Brazen bulls!" shouted Goodwin. "There she blows! You got to run."
+
+The depot was ahead, to one side of the road-crossing. The train, its
+clanging bell slowing for the stop, ground to a halt, the conductor
+swinging from a platform to glance at the "clear" board. He waved
+"ahead" as Sandy and Molly raced up and clambered to the platform from
+which the trainman had dropped off. Now the latter remounted while the
+train 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 down
+the street. A star flashed on the breast of one of them, a star dulled
+with mud. Goodwin had disappeared. Jordan pulled up, Plimsoll close
+behind 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's
+the charges? No reservations, but we rode fifty mile' across the mesa to
+make the train."
+
+Sandy produced his roll and at the same time he grinned in the light of
+the conductor's lantern. And Sandy's smile was worth much more than
+ordinary 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 give
+you a spare upper for the lady."
+
+Molly, all eyes, tired though they were, was staring at the Pullman
+Afro-American, flashing eyes and teeth and buttons at her and even more
+at Sandy.
+
+"Fine!" said Sandy. "Smoker's good enough fo' me. He's got a bed for
+you, Molly. See you in the morning."
+
+He waited, countenancing her while she climbed the short ladder to the
+already curtained berth. Molly's system might be aquiver with wonder but
+she never showed loss of wits or poise. She might have traveled so a
+hundred times. Back of the curtain she curled up half-undressed but,
+even as Sandy registered to himself with a low chuckle: "She never
+turned a hair or shied."
+
+He found the smoking-room empty and rolled cigarettes. Presently the
+conductor 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 happy
+an' 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 bad
+man fo' suah. Carryin' two of them six-guns. You figgah he's elopin' wiv
+that 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 the
+bay, reaching the Three Star at the end of sunset. Mormon was in his
+chair with the one letter that Sandy had written on his lap. It was
+almost too dark to read it. Mormon's eyes were beginning to fail him at
+anything short of long distance but he knew the contents by heart, yet
+he liked to keep the letter near him as a dog loves a favorite bone long
+after all the nourishment from it has been absorbed. Mormon was still
+penitent. 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 to
+so close a chance, neither did Sam forget occasionally to remind him of
+his lapse of tongue.
+
+Sandy pulled in the mare beyond the corral. He could hear the sound of
+Sam's harmonica and pictured him with the instrument cuddled up under
+his great mustache. Sam was playing _The Girl I Left Behind Me_ and he
+managed 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. The
+bay nickered. Answers came back from the corral. Pronto, Sandy's first
+string 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-morrer
+together." Then he let out a mighty, "Hello, the house!"
+
+Sam's lilt ceased abruptly. The riders came hurrying. Sam appeared, with
+Mormon 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 el
+rancho! Pronto!_"
+
+"_Si, se�or, 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 with
+question after question about the trip, about Barbara Redding and about
+Molly's going to school. Mormon made abject apology for talking too much
+and Sandy told how close a shave it had been.
+
+"I don't cotton to playin' jack-rabbit to Plimsoll and Jordan's
+coyotes," said Sandy. "Speshully Plimsoll, who's at the bottom of the
+whole thing. Nex' time he may not have the law backin' him, an' I won't
+have to run. How's the sheriff?"
+
+"Sort of tamed. They've been kiddin' him a mite. Seems he done some
+boastin' 'fore he started. His car's laid up fo' repairs. Jordan's
+layin' low. Miss Bailey, she's at the head of the Wimmen's League to
+gen'ally clean up politics an' the town, one to the same time. I figger
+the first thing their broom's goin' to locate'll be either Jordan or
+Plimsoll. They're sure goin' into all the dark corners an' under the
+furniture. 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 a
+grin. "She's been over here twice to see if there was news. Mormon
+entertained her. He seems to be the fav'rite. Beats all how one man'll
+charm the fair sect, like honey'll bring flies, while another ain't ever
+bothered."
+
+Mormon changed the trend of the conversation by demanding to know about
+the school.
+
+"Molly's got an outfit Barbara Redding bought her," said Sandy. "Trunk
+an' leather grip, all kinds of do-dads. School costs fifteen hundred
+bucks a year. The rest of Molly's money is banked. Barbara picked out a
+school in Pennsylvania she said was the best. Here's an advertisement of
+it."
+
+He handed the magazine leaf to Sam who read over the items with Mormon
+looking 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 as
+to their meaning. Sandy tried to elucidate, repeating the explanations
+Barbara 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 to
+talk 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' to
+find 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 coax
+him, Sandy. Set around an' howled like a sick coyote fo' fo'-five
+days--mostly nights. If the gel balks at all that line of stuff I'll
+stand back of her to quit an' come back to Three Star."
+
+"An' have Jordan git her away an' put her under Plimsoll's
+guardeenship?"
+
+"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 legal
+guardeen to Molly while we was in Santa Rosa, one day Barbara an' Molly
+was shoppin'. John Redding's lawyer fixed it up."
+
+The months passed without especial incident at the Three Star. Sandy
+purchased a Champion Hereford bull for the herd out of the ranch share
+of the faro winnings. Other improvements were added, and the three
+partners seemed on the fair way to prosperity. Sandy's theory that
+better bred and better fed beef, bringing better prices, would pay,
+began to demonstrate itself slowly, though it would take three years
+before the get of the thoroughbred stock was ready for marketing.
+
+Occasional letters came from Molly. Homesickness and unhappiness showed
+between the lines of the first epistles, despite her evident efforts to
+conceal 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 and
+it 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 of
+havin' her miserable fo' the sake of a li'l' book learnin'. She's
+gettin' 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 honors
+and favors. She gained laurels for Corona in swimming and tennis, and
+life went more merrily. Mormon looked up tennis outfits in his mail
+catalogue and sent for a book on the game, which he soon abandoned.
+
+"You have to learn a foreign langwidge before you start to play," he
+said. "Leastwise a code. The langwidge ain't what you'd expect them to
+be handin' out in a young lady's college. All erbout deuce an' love. I'd
+a notion we'd fix up the game fo' her so she'd c'ud keep it up but I
+dunno. 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 murder
+of a stranger whose friends made such an investigation, backed by the
+real law-and-order element of Hereford, that the exposure brought about
+forfeiture of all licenses and a strict shutting down on gambling and
+illicit liquor. Plimsoll left Hereford for his horse ranch, deprived of
+the sheriff's official countenance, and Jordan began to worry about
+election.
+
+One evening in early October a little body of riders came to the Three
+Star, all strangers to the county, men whose faces were grim, who
+cracked no jokes, whose greetings were barely more than civil. They were
+well armed and they acted like men of a single purpose.
+
+"This is the Three Star, ain't it?" asked the leader of a cowboy, who
+nodded silently, taking in the appearance of the visitors.
+
+"Bourke, Peters and Manning?"
+
+"One and all," answered the Three Star rider. "Find 'em at chuck, I
+reckon. You-all are jest in time. If you aim to stay overnight I'll tend
+yore 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, the
+same bein' strangers, is expected to pass the night, if they're in no
+hurry."
+
+Sandy personally backed the invitation a moment later and steaks were
+being pan-fried as the men dismounted and lounged on the porch, awaiting
+their 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 tip
+the mental scale, the crowd grew more familiar and welded with supper,
+exchanged anecdotes with digestion, to get confidential over the
+tobacco.
+
+"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 what
+they say of you in Herefo'd. Also, by that last reckonin', I ain't
+figgerin' you as any speshul pal of the man we're tryin' to round up. I
+reckon you know who we mean. Jim Plimsoll, who owns what he calls the
+Waterline Hawss Ranch, sixteen miles east of you, more or less; an' who
+gits 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 I
+can 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 Mojave
+City an' Topock. Most of 'em have been sold or passed on. All of 'em
+have been faked an' doctored more or less. Talk points to Plimsoll, so
+do some facts, but not enough. An' this Plimsoll has got some mighty
+close friends where they do the most good. You'd have to prove a damn
+sight 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 supposed
+to 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, it
+ain'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 the
+finest brand-faker I've met up with. He suspicioned what we was after
+an' we didn't see all he had. But we're goin' to git him yet an', when
+we do, there won't be any more hawss-stealin' an' fakin' in Coconino
+County, Arizona. Hawss-stealin' was a hangin' matter when I first come
+west an' I reckon there's some feels the same way now. Speshully when
+the courts back up a man like Plimsoll. Lead's cheaper than rope, but
+somehow it ain't so convincin'."
+
+Brandon changed the subject after he had spoken, but it was plain that
+he and his companions had not given up the matter; clear also that they
+were sure of Plimsoll's guilt and laying plans to trap him. They stayed
+until the next morning and departed.
+
+"That man Brandon's got some trick up his sleeve to trap Plimsoll," said
+Sam, watching them ride off. "He ain't quite got it fixed up yet to suit
+himself but it's a good un."
+
+"He's got brains," commented Sandy, rubbing Grit's ears. The collie had
+picked up since Sandy's return, sensing some connection with his
+mistress closer than that of Mormon and Sam. He would feed only from
+Sandy's hand and attached himself to the latter almost as permanently as
+his shadow. "So has Jim Plimsoll. I ain't hankerin' fo' another man to
+clean him up befo' I get my own chance. But that bunch sure mean
+business."
+
+The incident was forgotten as the round-up days grew near, with frosty
+mornings when the mountains looked as flat as if they had been profiled
+from cardboard and stuck up along the horizon--until the lifting sun
+modeled them with shadows--with sweltering noons tapering slowly off to
+cool nights while horses raced after the flying cattle, driving and
+cutting out, and so to the corral brandings, where the three partners
+found their increase better than they had anticipated.
+
+Molly was not to come home at Christmas after all. She formed a
+friendship, the first close one she had made, and Barbara Redding
+advised that the invitation extended by this new acquaintance to spend
+the holidays be accepted. There had been plans of a Christmas tree and
+a celebration, but the gifts were boxed and sent off. Others arrived
+from the East in exchange, a collar for Grit, a cigarette case for
+Sandy, a necktie for Mormon and a three-decked harmonica for Sam. There
+was a picture too, not so much of a girl but a young woman, a somewhat
+wistful look in her eyes, but a firm-lipped, resolute-chinned young
+woman for all that, who smiled out at them frankly and confidently. It
+was 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 prosperous
+enough, 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, winter
+gave reluctant place to spring until the last moment when it turned and
+fled and, far into the desert, myriads of flower-blooms sprang up
+overnight while everywhere the cactus gleamed in silken blooms in yellow
+and 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 there
+sprang out of it Miranda Bailey and the lanky Ed, temporarily charged
+with a tremendous activity. The cause of young Ed's galvanism was so
+strong that he actually won from his aunt as bearer of the news.
+
+"Gold!" he cried. "They've struck pay dirt at Dynamite! Chunks of
+sylvanite that sweat gold in the fire. Assay thirty thousand dollars a
+ton. Whole streaks of it. Vein's twelve foot wide. The whole town's
+stampedin' by way of White Cliff Ca�on. I'm goin'. Got a pick an' shovel
+in the car. Aunt Mirandy, she was bound we'd come this way. Mebbe we can
+pack you all in. But you got to hurry or they'll swarm over Dynamite
+like flies on a chunk o' liver!"
+
+"It's true," backed Miss Bailey. "Folks over to Hereford have gone
+crazy. 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 'em
+sent away an' assayed. They turned out to be the big stuff. 'Course you
+can'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 those
+claims of Molly's first thing. That's one reason I made Ed come this
+way. Thought you might like to come erlong, on'y he took the words out
+of my mouth."
+
+"You goin'?" asked Mormon. There were two red splotches in Miranda's
+cheeks, a glitter in her eyes that suggested she had not escaped the
+gold fever.
+
+"Sure am," she answered. "Ed Bailey Senior, he 'lows there's no sense in
+chasin' gold underground. Says he likes to see his prospects growin' up
+under his own eyes an' gazin' on his own land. I'm the adventurous one
+of the Bailey fam'ly, though you mightn't guess it to look at me," she
+said with a twitch of her lips. "Me an' young Ed here. He takes after
+me. 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 extry
+energy 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 license
+an' his brother-in-law sheriff his badge. He's right. I did. I figgered
+you'd not be anxious to let him have his own way about Molly's claims
+an' I 'lowed I'd like to be along an' see the excitement. Me an' Ed
+here'll stake off suthin' for ourselves. I'd jest as soon git some easy
+money as the rest of 'em. If I do I'll buy another car. This thing"--she
+surveyed the panting flivver contemptuously--"is nigh worn out and it's
+jest 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, voiced
+his opinion.
+
+"Marm," he said, "you're a dyed-in-the-wool sport an' I'd admire to
+trail with you. But that kittle, as you call it, 'll sure bu'st its
+cinches 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'ud
+make it by the old road, where you found Molly? It's shorter than White
+Cliff Ca�on 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 what
+was left of it an' there was spots this side of where we found Casey
+where 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 his
+partners balked resolutely.
+
+"We've got some food," said Miranda. "You might fetch along some canned
+stuff 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 beside
+young Ed, Miranda Bailey sat between Sandy and Sam. Whatever lack of
+energy the lank Ed Junior displayed on his feet, he eliminated as a
+driver. The springs creaked, chirpings arose from various parts of the
+car as it ran, but he coaxed the engine, performed miracles at bad
+places in the road, nursed the insufficient radiator surface and kept
+the "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 wheels
+and brought them triumphantly through White Cliff Ca�on, over the
+malpais belt, up and across a mesa and so to the far brink of it an hour
+before dawn without puncture, without a broken leaf in the springs, with
+shock 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 a
+minute. Here's some cold biscuits we can warm up on that radiator. It's
+nigh as good as a stove."
+
+The trio watched interestedly the capable way in which she got together
+the meal, adding sugar and evaporated milk to her coffee. Sam picked up
+the 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't
+hesitate to say I like my licker. Likewise I can do 'thout it. They
+claim that I used to leave nothin' but the sody-water inter a saloon
+once 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 rim
+of the eastern range, so jagged it seemed trying to claw back the
+mounting sun. Ever in view below them lay the intermountain valley in
+which the camp had been located. Its floor was jumbled with hard-cored
+hills. There was little greenery. A few cottonwoods, fewer willows along
+the deep bed of a scanty stream. Under the sunrise the whole scene was
+theatrical with vivid light and shade. The crumpled ground, the
+deep-ridged hills, all seemed unreal, made up of papier-m�ch�, crudely
+modeled and painted, garish, unfinished. The effect was enhanced by the
+appearance of the one main street of the camp and the few scattering
+cabins on the hills, the ancient dumps in front of the lateral shafts
+where the weathered timbers sagged.
+
+There were a few tents, some wagons and picketed horses, and there were
+a great many machines parked at will. But, from the height, it all
+looked like the miniature scene of a panoramic model, the houses
+cardboard, the horses and wagons toys of tin. The horses were the only
+moving objects, no smoke curled yet from the chimneys.
+
+Here and there unbroken glass in the windows flung back the sun. A door
+opened and a midget in shirtsleeves came out, stretching arms, palpably
+yawning. Suddenly smoke jetted from a tumbled chimney, other puffs
+followed and steady vapors mounted. Ant-like men emerged from every
+house, 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 the
+hotel, with the high front. Furniture all in it an' in the cabins. Most
+of the fixtures left in the saloons, an' there was a plenty of them. Two
+hotels, five restyronts, seven gamblin' houses, twenty-two saloons an'
+the rest sleepin' cabins. That was Dynamite. When they git it dusted off
+and 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-all
+want to remember, ma'am, that this is an unco'porated town an' that's
+there's allus a shortage of law an' order for a whiles wherever there's
+a strike, gold, oil or whatever 'tis. Eighty per cent. of the rush is a
+hard-shelled lot an' erlong with 'em is a smaller bunch that thrives
+best 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 that
+showed of a compliment accepted.
+
+"Meanin'," said Mormon "that, ef you'll take it 'thout offense, you-all
+air plumb up-to-date. When wimmen took up the ballot I figger they
+wasn't on'y ready fo' equal rights, they knew how to git 'em. 'Side from
+the shootin' end of it, I'd say you was as well equipped as any man to
+look 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 it
+ain't flyin'. Ed, what you stoppin' fer?"
+
+"Blamed if they ain't a puncture," said Ed as he put on the brakes. "We
+got a spare tire but 'twon't do to spile this 'un. We got to git back
+some time. Might not be able to buy a spare round here. I got to fix
+this."
+
+"Fix it when you git down," said his aunt. "Put on the spare. I'm kinder
+nervous 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 over
+the dusty road to the camp. Before they reached the main street a car
+passed them from behind with a rush, driver and passengers reckless,
+whooping as they rode, one man waving a bottle, another firing his gun
+into the air.
+
+"That's the kind that'll figger to run Dynamite fo' a while," said
+Sandy. "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 to
+listen 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 in
+their chaps, who had left the range for the chance of sudden wealth, to
+storekeepers from Hereford and other towns. Excitement reigned, no one
+was normal. Bottles passed freely. Among the crowd moved shifty-eyed men
+who had come to speculate. There were gamblers, plain bullies,
+swaggerers, with here and there a bearded miner, gray of hair and faded
+blue of eye, either moving steadily through the throng or held up by a
+little crowd to whom he declaimed with the right of experience. Some, it
+seemed certain, must be on their claims, but the bulk of the men who
+filled the street of the resurrected town, were those who prey upon the
+work and luck of others, camp-followers of the Army of Good Fortune.
+
+Mormon's pronouncement that the town, after its long desertion, had
+automatically refunctioned, was not far wrong. Rudely lettered signs
+proclaimed 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," he
+drawled. "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," said
+Miranda Bailey. "Do you know where they are?"
+
+"I can soon find the location," replied Sandy. "But there ain't any
+extry hurry. They've been recorded. They'll keep. We'll git us some real
+hot grub at one of these restyronts an' listen a bit to the news. Find
+out 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 was
+runnin' a chuck-wagon. He's sure some cook if it's him."
+
+They pressed through the crowded street to the sign. Next door to the
+cabin that Simpson had preempted on the first-come-first-served order
+that prevailed, was one of the olden saloons. Through door and window
+they could see the crowded bar with bottles and tin mugs upon the
+ancient 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 escort
+checked any familiarity. Covered with dust from their ride, guns on
+hip, the three musketeers did not encourage persiflage at the expense of
+their outfit and they passed unchallenged into the eating-house where a
+stubby man with a big paunch shouted greetings at Sandy.
+
+"You ornery son of a gun! _An'_ Mormon. This yore last, Mormon. No? I
+beg 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'll
+you have, folks? I've got steak an' po'k an' beans. Drove over some
+beef. More comin' ter-morrer. I'll have a real mennoo by the end of the
+week. 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 you
+strike it lucky, Sandy. Damn few--beggin' yore pahdon, miss--damn few of
+this crowd ever had a blister on their hands. It ain't like the old days
+when the sourdoughs made a strike. They worked their own shafts. This
+bunch specklates on 'em. A claim'll change hands twenty times between
+now 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 mineral
+with 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 in
+Colorado. He comes from the Boulder School of Mines. He's a kid, but I
+w'udn't wonder but he knows what he's talkin' about. Some calls it
+telluride. But it's gold, all right, an' there's a big vein of it close
+to the surface on the knoll east side of Flivver Crick."
+
+They passed the heavy mineral from hand to hand, examining it with eager
+curiosity. Simpson rambled on.
+
+"Over five hundred in camp an' more comin' all the time. The rush ain't
+started yet. Goin' to be an old-time boom, sure. Bound to make money ef
+you don't hold on too long. Peg you out a claim or two 'long that east
+bank, 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 got
+a 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 tell
+you, Sandy, the sheriff ought to be on the job on the start of a rush
+like this. But he's t'other end of the county, they tell me, an' likely
+he won't hear of it for three-four days. And by that time she may have
+blew 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 the
+way she started when old man Casey drifted in an' his burro kicked up
+pay-ore. Damn--dern--few of this crowd'll ever stop to run shaft or
+tunnel. Though this young assayin' feller talks big about folds an'
+uplifts, synclines an' anticlines. Claims the po'phyry is syncline. You
+got 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 and
+steaks. Miranda Bailey and her companions finished the meal and started
+out.
+
+The Casey claims were on the east side of the creek, Sandy knew. The old
+prospector's lore, or instinct, had been unfailing. It remained to see
+if his marks and monuments had been respected. Molly had said that the
+assessment work had been done, and she had so described the place in a
+narrow terrace of the hill that Sandy felt sure of finding them without
+trouble.
+
+He pointed out a sign over the door of a shack ahead, white lettered on
+black 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 erlong
+with him. Smart, fo' a youngster. Simpson said he was a kid. How 'bout
+seein' 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. A
+deep voice boomed out in bullying tone, followed by silence, then more
+laughs. 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 apparently
+aimless and clumsy fashion while Sandy, his hands dropping to his gun
+butts, lifting the weapons slightly and, releasing them into the
+holsters once again, lengthened his stride, walking cat-footed, on the
+soles of his feet, as he always did when he scented trouble. Sam, easing
+his own gun, lightly touched his lips with the tip of his tongue and
+followed Sandy with eyes that widened and brightened.
+
+"Bullyin' the kid, I reckon," he said to Sandy as they went. Sandy did
+not need to nod before they reached the half-ring that had formed about
+a young chap in khaki shirt, riding breeches and puttees, whose fair
+hair was curly above a face tanned, and resolute enough. Yet he was
+clearly nervous at the jibes of the crowd and the actions of the man who
+faced him, heavy of body, long of arm, heavy of jowl; a deep-chested,
+broad-shouldered individual whose head, cropped close, tapering in a
+rounded cone from his bushy eyebrows, helped largely to give him the
+aspect of a professional wrestler, or a heavyweight prizefighter. He
+carried a big blued Colt revolver, and the way he spun the weapon on the
+trigger guard showed familiarity with the weapon.
+
+The young assayer had no holster to his belt, seemingly no gun. His
+clean shaven jaws were clamped tight so that the muscles lumped here and
+there, and he fronted the unsympathetic crowd and the jeering bully with
+a courage that was partly born of desperation.
+
+"Mining engineer!" read the bully. "Smart, ain't he, for a curly-headed
+kid! Engineer? Peanut butcher 'ud suit better. Looks like a movie
+pitcher actor, don't he? Mebbe he's a vodeville performer. I'll bet he
+is, 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's
+feet.
+
+"Show us a few steps, you powder-faced dood! Mebbe we'll let you stay in
+camp if you amuse us."
+
+Sandy and Sam had elbowed their way lightly through the ring and the
+former 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 was
+talkin' about. Chap asked the kid's opinion on a bit of ore an' he give
+it. It didn't suit Russell."
+
+"It didn't, eh? Now, that's too bad," drawled Sandy. The other looked at
+him curiously. Sandy's drawl was often provocative. Russell's gun
+barked again.
+
+"Dance, damn ye! An' sing at the same time; blast you for a buttin' in
+tenderfoot! Won't, eh?"
+
+The victim, game but despairing, flung a look of appeal about him. To
+give in meant to become the laughing-stock of the camp, to have its
+ribaldry 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, the
+gleam in his eyes was that of the killer, a man half insane from
+alcohol.
+
+"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 out
+when Sandy, stepping forward, touched the bully on the shoulder. Russell
+whirled 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 hard
+look 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 hand
+though its muzzle was tilted skyward. The crowd, thickening, waited his
+next move. He had been stopped in his baiting. He saw no woman back of
+the big bulk of Mormon, keeping Miranda well away, not seeing what was
+going forward.
+
+"To hell with the lady!" shouted Russell. At his back was only the
+unarmed assayer. This lean cold-eyed interferer was a hardy fool who
+needed a lesson. He swept down his gun, thumb to hammer. Two guns grew
+like 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 the
+stranger had beaten him to the drop and fire. He felt the fan of the
+wing of death on his brow. His gun flew out of his fingers, wrenched
+away 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 almost
+conversational 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 friendly
+fashion by one elbow.
+
+"I won't shoot _yore_ knuckles off," said Sandy, "pervidin' you keep
+yore fingers wide apaht, an' don't wiggle 'em. Spread 'em out against
+the 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 greatest
+safety. Sandy did not move position, he hardly seemed to move wrist or
+finger as his guns spat fire, left and right, eight shots blending,
+eight bullets smashing their way through the door between the "V's" of
+the bully's fingers while the crowd held their breath for the
+exhibition.
+
+Sandy quickly reloaded, quickly but without obvious haste. He did not
+return the guns to their holsters and he paid no attention to the
+admiring 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 a
+healthy trick. An' you ain't apologized to the lady. I don't know how
+Westlake feels about it, but you've sure got to apologize to the lady."
+
+The assayer, bewildered at Sandy's assumption of friendship, waved his
+hand deprecatingly. Russell's eyes rolled from side to side toward his
+still elevated hands.
+
+"You can lower 'em if you can't talk with 'em up," said Sandy. "I'm
+waitin' 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 to
+strangers. You're sorry you swore, ain't you?"
+
+"You're quicker'n I am on the draw with yore two guns," retorted the
+goaded Russell. "I c'ud lick you one-handed 'thout guns--or any man in
+this 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, were
+merciless as probes.
+
+"I apologizes to the lady," growled Russell.
+
+"Now, that's fine," said Sandy. "Fine! Westlake, will you come erlong
+with me fo' a spell?"
+
+He made his way through the opening group. Sam followed with the assayer
+who now began to realize that Sandy's interference had established a
+friendship that would continue protective. They met Mormon, almost
+purple in the face from suppressed feelings. Young Ed Bailey eyed Sandy
+with awe and new respect. Miranda Bailey's attempt to learn exactly what
+had happened was thwarted by Sandy's presentation of Westlake. During
+the introduction Mormon slipped away. Roaring Russell was endeavoring to
+readjust his swagger when the stout cowboy met him.
+
+"I was with the lady," said Mormon. "Consequent I c'udn't git here
+sooner. You said you c'ud lick any one in the camp one-handed, guns
+barred. Now I don't like the way you apologized, sabe? It warn't willin'
+enough, nor elegant enough, nor spontaneous enough. Ter-night, after I
+git through showin' the lady around the diggin's, I'll meet you where
+you say for fun, money or marbles, an' argy with you barehanded.
+Thisaway."
+
+He slapped Russell on the cheek. The bully roared and the crowd stepped
+back. Mormon, with the surprising alertness he showed in action, for all
+his bulk and weight, sprang back, poised for strike or clutch. Miranda
+Bailey came with a rush and stepped between the two men. Russell
+foresaw a laugh at his expense and curbed himself, the sooner for his
+new-found consideration for Sandy's gunplay.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yoreselves, both of you," exclaimed the
+spinster. "I'll have no one fightin' over me. I can take care of
+myself."
+
+"Yes, m'm, I reckon you can. I reckon we are ashamed," said Mormon
+meekly, as the crowd roared in laughter that died away before the evenly
+swung gaze of Sandy, backed by Sam. Russell slipped off and the men
+dispersed. Miranda addressed Mormon.
+
+"I'll not have you fighting with that hulkin' brute on my account," she
+said. "Do you understand?"
+
+Mormon gulped. He seemed summoning his courage, gripping it with both
+hands.
+
+"Marm," he said desperately, "you can't stop me."
+
+The spinster gasped, met his eyes, flushed and turned away. Sam nudged
+Mormon with elbow to ribs.
+
+"You dog-gone ol' desperado," he said in a whisper. "I didn't think you
+had it in you. That the way you treated the first three?"
+
+"No, it ain't," said Mormon, mopping his forehead. "And she ain't the
+same 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 the
+young engineer to Sandy. He made hard going of the last word but shot it
+out with a snap that left his jaw advanced. Sandy told himself that he
+liked the clean-cut, well-set-up Westlake.
+
+"Shucks," he answered, "I reckon you w'udn't have much trubble
+protectin' yo'self, providin' terms was any way nigh even. That Roarin'
+Russell throwed down on you, figgerin' you packed no gun, seein' there
+was none in sight.
+
+"I sabe that kind of hombre. Since he was knee-high he's always had an
+aidge on most folks, 'count of his size an' weight. But that ain't
+enough, 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' a
+man who figgers he ain't equal to tacklin' another 'thout he knows he's
+got 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 be
+a 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's
+fooled mo'n one. He's hog fat, to look at, but if you was to skin him
+you'd find mighty li'l' fat an' a heap of muscle. Got flesh like an
+Injunrubber ball, has Mormon. Minute Roarin' Russell finds he ain't got
+a walkover he'll begin to quit. That sort does, ninety-nine out of a
+hundred. The yaller jest natcher'ly oozes out of 'em. How'd your fuss
+come to staht?"
+
+"A man was showing Russell and some others a piece of quartz picked up
+round here. It had nothing in it but some mica and galena, but Russell
+had given it as his opinion that it was the gold-bearing rock of the
+region. I told them I thought they would find that in the porphyry and
+Russell asked me what the hell I knew about it? That's how it started. I
+don't know how it would have finished if you hadn't taken a hand and
+said I was a friend of yours. That saved my face. I came to the strike
+because I thought there would be a chance of getting in on the ground
+floor in new diggings and I hated to be driven out of it by having to
+dance for a bully and a bully's crowd. I don't know that I _would_ have
+danced. 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 have
+danced."
+
+"You would?"
+
+"I sure would. No sense in argy'in' with a gun an' a boozy bluffer at
+the other end of it. He'd put up his bluff an', feelin' sure you c'udn't
+hurt him, he'd have carried it through. Any time a man has the drop on
+me I raise my hands--or my feet, 'cordin' to orders. I've spent a deal
+of time practisin' so it's hahd to beat me to the draw. Trouble was, ef
+you-all don't mind my sayin' so, you horned in. You give out information
+gratis. You had yore sign up fo' minin' engineer. Chahge fo' what you
+know, son, an' yo' customers'll be grateful. Give 'em a slug o' gold
+free an' they'll chuck it at a perairie dawg befo' they've gone fifty
+yards."
+
+"Do you know anything about mining, Mr. Bourke?"
+
+"Sandy is my name to my friends. A cowman with a mister to the front of
+his name seems to me like a hawss with an extry bridle. No, sir, I
+don'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 the
+gold in a certain region, but he couldn't guarantee that there would be
+any. Experience counts a lot, of course, but I do know something about
+sylvanite, or white gold. I've seen its big field over in Boulder and
+Teller Counties, Colorado. They call it graphic gold, sometimes, because
+the crystals are very frequently set up in twins and branch off so that
+they look like written characters. The crystals are monoclinic and occur
+in porphyry almost exclusively. It is a mixture of gold and silver
+telluride and it's also called tellurium. Named after Transylvania where
+it 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 that
+of the sphinx.
+
+"The porphyry dykes here are in syncline," the engineer went on. "They
+dip toward each other from both sides of the valley and form loops or
+folds. If you imagine an onion sliced in half you catch the idea. Call
+every other layer porphyry, with rock and other dirt between. The bottom
+of a loop may be deep down or it may be missing altogether, ground away
+when the valley was gouged out by a glacier. There may be other loops
+beneath it. Some portions of the loops come to the surface on the
+hillside 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 go
+down deep sinking through the hard porphyry for nothing. Science says
+that the tellurium crystals are in the porphyry dykes and that these
+dykes lie in syncline, perhaps two or three, nested one under the
+other."
+
+"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 to
+locate?" They had left the one street by this time and were making their
+way slowly along the western slope of the valley. Men worked at creaky
+and shaky old windlasses or appeared and disappeared at the mouths of
+lateral shafts, repairing the ancient timbers, wheeling out rubbish.
+Once or twice they heard the dull boom of a shot where dynamite was
+trying to split the rock and uncover a lead. On several of the claims
+were groups, the members of which made no pretense at mining, but lolled
+about, playing cards or pitching dollars at a mark. These were
+speculators, holding to sell. Stakes with papers in clefts, piles of
+stones at the corners, showed the boundaries of the claims.
+
+"If you think my judgment is any good," said Westlake, "you're welcome
+to it. I could be more certain of helping you when it comes to assaying
+or developing a mine. Are you-all taking up claims? Do you want to align
+them, or do you want to pool interests and locate here and there where
+the chances look good?"
+
+"Miss Bailey an' her nephew are goin' to take a chance," said Sandy. "Me
+an' my two partners are lookin' for claims located by the man who first
+discovered the camp. They can't get away an' we'll see Miss Mirandy
+settled 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 agreed
+when we went into the ranchin' business together not to go into
+speculations on the side 'thout mutual consent. From what I can make
+out 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 look
+after with our interest in 'em, an' I've a hunch that's goin' to occupy
+all 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 by
+Plimsoll."
+
+Sandy nodded. "I ain't surprised. Plimsoll's figgerin' that he'll get a
+big 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 take
+out much?"
+
+"As I understand it," replied Sandy, "he hits the porphyry where it's
+shaller, or worn off, like you said. An' he finds rich pay stuff right
+away, 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' he
+kept faith in the camp, on'y he realized it 'ud take a heap of money to
+develop, meanin' to dig through the porphyry, I suppose. Now they've
+found some mo' of that float ore that the first crowd overlooked. Reckon
+that'll peter out too, after a while. But capital may come in on this
+second staht. Some eastern folk were lookin' over the place a while
+back. Took samples an' Plimsoll got wise to what they amounted to."
+
+"And he hasn't taken up any claims?" said Westlake. "Despite his
+gambling investment, I should have thought he would."
+
+"He's got an interest in one or two, I fancy, or thinks he has," said
+Sandy dryly.
+
+Westlake halted and took a small steel hammer from his pocket with which
+he struck off a fragment of rock protruding from the ground. The
+cleavage showed purple. He walked slowly along for some fifty feet,
+kicking the soil with his foot, breaking off other samples to which he
+put his tongue.
+
+"Taste good?" asked Sam.
+
+"Not bad, if you're looking for mineral. They've got a distinct flavor
+all their own, but I wetted them to show the color up more plainly. Here
+is the outcrop of a syncline reef. It may carry gold and it may not, but
+it'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 out
+again 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 the
+rim-rock that outlines the auriferous deposit."
+
+Sandy, glancing across the valley to where the engineer pointed, nodded
+his head. "Your judgment goes with Casey's," he said. "Right across from
+here 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 up
+the 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 the
+same vein, I reckon."
+
+"It's all Greek to me," said the spinster. "How do we locate? I've come
+this 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 through
+worse 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 and
+setting up their monuments at the corners of the claim. Young Bailey
+started for the faithful flivver. They started directly down the
+sidehill, making for the valley, in silence, like men with business
+ahead of them that called for action rather than words.
+
+"Figger that tent is on them claims of Molly's and our'n?" asked Sam, as
+they paused before they tackled the eastern slope. "Looked like it was
+to 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's
+other witnesses to that. Plimsoll'll use some of them to swear that he
+grubstaked Casey. They'll be some of his own crowd. No doubt Plimsoll
+got the location of the claims from the old records an' these buckaroo
+pals of his, who are roostin' on said location, knew jest where to go
+an' stahted out well in front with their outfit. I don't reckon we'll
+find 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 his
+pay-roll."
+
+"Shucks, it don't make no difference whose pay-roll they're on," said
+Mormon. "They're claim-jumpers an', like you said, Sandy, a jump can be
+made two ways. Let's go look 'em over."
+
+The tent was pitched on the hillside where the grade was too steep to
+permit of level ground enough for more than the actual floor space. The
+brown duck erection strained at the guy ropes of its upper side where
+the stakes had been driven deep into the soil. The chimney of a small
+stove came through the top of the cloth, guarded by a metal ring.
+Outside were boxes, saddles, an ax, kettles and pans, a portable grill
+and other camping equipment. The tent flaps were open and showed cots on
+which blankets and clothing were roughly spread. On two of these beds
+men sprawled asleep. Five others were seated on boxes about a boulder
+that looked like porphyry outcrop. Its surface was flat enough to serve
+as a table. The five were playing poker. One was bearded and seemed the
+old-time miner. All boasted stubble on their chins, two wore mustaches.
+One was bald. Their clothes varied, from the miner's faded blue
+overalls, high boots and flannel shirt, to soiled khaki and laced
+prospector's footwear. One thing they all had in common, cartridge
+belts and guns, in plain view. Taken together they were not a
+prepossessing lot, playing their game in silence, looking up with a
+scowl and movements toward gun butts at the visitors. Two burros cropped
+at the scanty herbage above the tent. A demijohn stood between two of
+the 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 private
+property."
+
+"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 and
+stood yawning in the entrance, one hand on the pole. The other snored
+on. Sandy, with Mormon and Sam, stood just above the group on the narrow
+bench that furnished the floor for the tent. They had little doubt that
+the jumpers knew who they were, though they recognized none of them by
+sight. There was a hesitancy toward action that might have been born out
+of respect to Sandy's two guns or a foreknowledge of his reputation in
+handling them, aside from the armament of his partners. Sandy's hands
+rested lightly on his hips, his thumbs hooked in his belt, fingers
+grazing the butts of his guns. There was a smile on his lips but none in
+his eyes. His tone and manner were easy.
+
+"Saw his stencil on the tent," he said. "J. P. in a diamond. Same brand
+he uses fo' his hawsses. Or mebbe you found it."
+
+His drawling voice held a taunt that brought angry flushes of color to
+the faces of the men opposing him, yet they made no definite movement
+toward attack. It seemed patent that Sandy Bourke was testing them.
+Trouble was in the air, two kinds of it: on the one side hesitant
+belligerency; on the other--cool nonchalance. Sandy, with his smiling
+lips and unsmiling eyes, stood lightly poised as a dancing master.
+Mormon and Sam were tenser, crouched a little from the hips, elbows away
+from 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 and
+roused 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 readiness
+and an assurance that shows in their eyes, on their lips, vibrates from
+their compacted alliance, the measure is one of will, rather than
+physical and merely numerical superiority, and the balance beam quivers
+undecidedly. The bearded miner, with the rest, looked shiftily toward
+the man who had done the speaking, the bald-headed one, whose khaki and
+nail-studded boots were belied by the softness and puffiness of his
+flesh, the sags and wrinkles beneath his eyes and under his double
+chins. He had little gray-green orbs that glittered uneasily.
+
+"I'm giving you men two minutes to clear out of here," he said. "No
+two-gunned cow-puncher can throw any bluff round here, if that's what
+you'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 to
+call him, not to chew about it. Me, I pack two guns fo' a reason. Once
+in a while I shoot off all the ca'tridges from one an' then I don't have
+to reload. Now, _I'm_ talkin'. These claims are duly registered in the
+name of Patrick Casey, his heirs an' assigns. Here's the papers. The
+assessment work is all done. Pat's daughter owns 'em now. We're
+representin' her. An' I'm servin' you notice to quit. We'll take the
+same two minutes you was talkin' of. They must be nigh up now, though I
+didn't see you lookin' at yo' watch. I'm lookin' at my Ingersoll an' I
+give 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 with
+hands skilful and steady. Back of him Sam and Mormon stood like dogs on
+point, watchful, unmoving, but instinct with suppressed motion.
+
+"The girl may be his heir," said the bald-headed man, "but Plimsoll is
+assignee. Plimsoll staked him an' these claims are half his. The girl
+can put in her share to the title later, if they amount to anything. She
+ain't of age."
+
+"So J. P. was hirin' you to do his dirty work," said Sandy, his voice
+cold 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 stuff
+with you or send back fo' it. Now, git off this property."
+
+If a man can make movements with his hands so swiftly that they are
+covered in less than a tenth of a second, ordinary human sight can not
+register them. He has achieved the magician's slogan--_the quickness of
+the hand deceives the eye_. It takes natural aptitude and long practise,
+whether one is juggling gilded balls or blued-steel revolvers. Sandy
+could, with a circling movement of his wrists, draw his guns from their
+holsters and bring them to bear directly upon the target to which his
+eyes shifted. Glance, twist of wrist, arrest of motion, pressure of
+finger, all coordinated. One moment his hands were empty, his glance
+carelessly contemptuous, the veriest movement of a split-second
+stop-watch and the gun in his right hand spat fire, the gun in his left
+swung in an arc that menaced the five card players.
+
+The other two were struggling beneath the crumpled folds of a collapsed
+tent, wriggling frantically like the stage hands who simulate waves by
+crawling beneath painted canvas. Sandy had shattered the pegs that held
+up the upper corners of the tent on the slope, had cut the cords of the
+remaining guys on that side and the structure had swayed and collapsed.
+
+Sam and Mormon had lined up now with Sandy. There was no mistaking their
+intention to use their guns. But the exhibition had been quite
+sufficient. With one accord the five raised their hands shoulder high
+and began to shuffle down the hill, regardless of their equipment,
+which, having been paid for by Plimsoll, they regarded as of much less
+value than the necessity for departure.
+
+"Come out of that," commanded Sandy to the two wrigglers. "Git a move
+on."
+
+The faces that appeared were ludicrous in their expressions of dismay
+and appeal. Their owners came out like dogs from a kennel who expect to
+be kicked as they emerge. One of them had taken off his boots for better
+sleeping 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 cur
+who snatches at and bolts with a stray bone. Then the pair set off at a
+jog trot after the rest.
+
+"I wonder," said Sam, "if that was good whisky?"
+
+Sandy looked at him reproachfully. "Sody-Water," he said, "I'm plumb
+disappointed in you an' yore cravin'. Smell it an' see."
+
+His gun exploded. The man with the demijohn gave a curious hop, skip and
+jump. The demijohn jerked in his hand but seemed intact. The bullet,
+smashing through the wickerwork, had shattered the container but the
+tough willow twigs preserved the shape. Two more shots and there was a
+tinkle of broken glass. The last bullet had clipped the neck. It was too
+close shooting for the sockless one and the whisky was dripping fast
+through the weave, bringing a reek of crude liquor to Sam's twitching
+nostrils. The claim-jumper dropped what was left of his burden and went
+hopping on, acquiring stone bruises with every leap.
+
+"Scattered like a bunch of coyotes," said Sam.
+
+"Sure did," agreed Sandy. "Minute they stahted talkin', 'stead of
+shootin', I knew they was ready to stampede. They'll beat it to Plimsoll
+an' 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 his
+boots after you took away his licker. I've got tender feet myse'f as
+well 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 the
+rear of his companions. He turned at Mormon's shout and he stopped,
+fearful at the act of kindness, crawled up the slope and retrieved his
+footwear, pulled them on and scurried off.
+
+A distant shout reached them from the other side of the gulch. By
+position, rather than actual recognition, Sandy guessed the figure that
+of Westlake. The firing must have sounded only a little louder than
+cork poppings, but evidently the engineer had sized up the retreating
+men and the collapsed tent. Sandy waved to him in assurance that all was
+well 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'll
+spill the beans unless he makes some play. It's plumb evident he wants
+these partickler claims. I don't believe he's hirin' men just to make us
+peevish. 'Sides, he didn't know fo' sure we were comin'. Might have
+figgered we'd trail the news of the rush, but I'll bet a sack of Durham
+against a pinch o' dirt that he's fairly sure that old man Patrick Casey
+picked him some first-class locations. We got one card that'll upset him
+considerable, 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 crowd
+that hands out the law, Sam. He might try to make it a show-down right
+here an' drive us out of the camp or leave us tucked away stiff in some
+prospect hole. But there's a lot of decent material drifted in an' it
+w'udn't be hard to beat him to that play an' organize a camp committee
+fo' the regulation of law an' order till such time as the camp proves
+itself an' is established. Once big capital gits stahted in here the
+law'll be workin' right along hand in hand with the development. Let's
+take 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 greater
+depth to the tunnel than they had expected. Its mouth had been closed by
+timbers fitting closely into the frame of the horizontal shaft, forming,
+not so much a door, as a barricade, that had been firmly spiked to heavy
+timbers. This had been recently dismantled and then replaced, as recent
+marks on the weathered lumber showed. Sandy looked at these places
+closely, 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. Like
+as not it was that bunch of easterners. They'd figger the camp was
+abandoned an' consider themselves justified as philanthropists into
+bu'stin' open anything that looked good--like this tunnel. A man w'udn't
+go 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 the
+capitalist, if he found somethin' that looked good, 'ud hunt up the
+owner in the registry an' make him an offer. But it w'udn't be a half
+interest in the mine. He'd say he was thinkin' of developin' half a mile
+away 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 if
+this warn't the mine they sampled which Plimsoll finds out is the real
+stuff an' clamps on."
+
+"Well," said Mormon, "we'll have a chance to ask him in a minute. He's
+comin' 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 look
+over an' above pleased the way things are breakin'. Looks as amiable as
+a timber wolf with his tail in a b'ar trap."
+
+The three partners met the jumpers, now headed by Plimsoll, on the
+border of the claims. The gambler's face was livid. He had boasted and
+lashed himself into a bullying confidence that he knew was inadequate to
+meet the situation he could not avoid. Hatred of the men who had balked
+him more than once served him better.
+
+"You four-flushers get off this ground," he blustered. "You're claiming
+to represent Molly Casey's rights after you've kidnaped the girl and
+sent her out of the state. It won't get you anywhere or anything. I've
+got a half interest in these claims and I've plenty of witnesses to
+prove it."
+
+"I don't believe yore witnesses are half as vallyble as they might have
+been before politics shifted in Herefo'd County," said Sandy. "You ain't
+got 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'inted
+guardeen to Casey's daughter Molly an' I'm here to represent her
+interests, likewise mine. I've got my guardianship papers right with
+me."
+
+"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 hears
+the yarn of your running off with the girl and now, with her tucked
+away, coming back to clean up, I've a notion they'd show you
+four-flushers where you've sat in to the wrong game. Why...."
+
+Something in Sandy's face stopped him. It became suddenly devoid of all
+expression, became a thing of stone out of which blazed two gray eyes
+and a voice issued from lips that barely moved.
+
+"I've got a notion, too, Plimsoll. A notion that it 'ud be a good day's
+work to shoot you fo' a foul-mouthed, lyin', stealin' crook! You sure
+ain'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've
+called me a fo'-flusher twice, an' the on'y way to prove a fo'-flush is
+to call fo' a show-down. I'm doin' it."
+
+The words came cold and even, backed by a grim earnestness that
+imprinted itself on the lesser manhood of the jumpers as a finger leaves
+its print in clay. They shifted back a little from Plimsoll, circling
+out as they might have moved away from a man marked by pestilence. He
+stood trying to outface Sandy, to keep his eyes steady. His lips were
+tight closed, still he could not help but open his mouth to a quickened
+breathing, to touch the lips with a furtive tongue that found the skin
+peeling in tiny feverish strips.
+
+"You pack yore gun under yore coat flap," said Sandy. "I don't know how
+quick you can draw but I aim to find out."
+
+He handed one of his own guns to Mormon, announcing his action lest
+Plimsoll might mistake it.
+
+"Now then," he went on, "I once told you I looked to you to stop any
+gossip 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 to
+you can draw. I'm givin' you the aidge on me. If you don't take that
+aidge, Jim Plimsoll, I'm givin' you till sun-up ter-morrer mornin' to
+git plumb out of camp. An' to keep driftin'."
+
+Deliberately Sandy took tobacco sack and papers from the pocket of his
+shirt, his fingers functioning automatically, precisely, his eyes never
+shifting from Plimsoll's face, measuring by feel the amount of tobacco
+shaken into the little trough of brown paper. While he rolled the
+cigarette the sack swung from his teeth by its string.
+
+The group gazed at him fascinated. Plimsoll's face beaded with tiny
+drops 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. For
+the look in the steel gray eyes of Sandy Bourke, half mocking, all
+confident, spurred the doubts that surged through the gambler's
+chance-calculating mind, while he knew that every atom of hesitation
+lessened his chances.
+
+His own hands were close to his chest. His right had but a few inches
+to dart, to drag the automatic from its smooth holster. Sandy's hands
+were high above his belt, rolling the cigarette. They had four times as
+far to go. But Plimsoll knew that if anything went wrong with his
+performance, if he failed to kill outright, that nothing would go wrong
+with Sandy's shooting. The mention of Butch and Sim Hahn did not compose
+him. He had had the stage all set that time and Butch had been shot
+down, Sim Hahn's capacities as a crooked dealer had been spoiled for
+ever. But--if he did not take his chance and, failing it, did not leave
+camp....
+
+He felt cold. The temperature of his own conceit, the mercury of the
+regard of his bullies, was falling steadily. The nervous sweat was no
+longer 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 that
+could 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 his
+face as Sandy flung away the burnt stick and turned on his heel. Murder
+stirred dully in Plimsoll's brain at the sneers he surmised rather than
+read on the faces of his followers. His defeat was also theirs. But the
+moment had gone. He knew he lacked the nerve. Sandy knew it and had
+turned his back on him.
+
+His prestige was gone. His boon companions would talk about it. Mormon
+gave Sandy back his second gun and Sandy slid it into the holster. He
+exhaled the last puff of his cigarette before he spoke again to
+Plimsoll.
+
+"Sun-up, ter-morrer. You can send fo' yore stuff here any time you've a
+mind to. Fo' a gamblin' man, Plimsoll, you're a damned pore judge of a
+hand."
+
+Plimsoll strode off down the hill alone. The men who had come with him
+hesitated and then crossed the gulch. They had severed connections with
+the J. P. brand for the time, at least. The three partners walked back
+toward 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 been
+at it, an' the wind an' weather had finished the job till there warn't
+much mo'n hide an' some scattered bones. Mebbe a li'l' hair. But that
+carkiss sure held mo' guts than Jim Plimsoll packs."
+
+"He ain't through," said Mormon. "You didn't ought to give him till
+sun-up, Sandy. Sun-down 'ud have been better. He's a mangy coyote, but
+he'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 of
+it 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 of
+harmless fireworks. Sandy answered in the same tone.
+
+"I don't think it likely, Sam. Camp knows, or will know, what's been
+happenin'. If dynamite was thrown they'd sabe who did it an' I don't
+believe the crowd 'ud stand for it. Jest the same it 'ud sure surprise
+me if we didn't git some sort of a shivaree pahty afteh nightfall. I
+w'udn't wonder if Jim Plimsoll forgets to send fo' that tent an' stuff
+of 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 was
+sphinx-like and they refrained from useless questioning.
+
+"Here comes young Ed," announced Sandy as they gained the tunnel. "He's
+totin' 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 spring
+b'ar an' all our stuff's oveh with Mirandy Bailey."
+
+"She's sure one thoughtful lady," said Sam. "What you got, Ed?" he
+queried as the gangling youth came up.
+
+"Beans, camp-bread an' coffee. Aunt Mirandy, she 'lowed you-all might
+not 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 gleaming
+with interest. "We heard somethin' that sounded like shots an' Mr.
+Westlake saw the first bunch go away. He said you waved to him it was
+all right. Aunt, she 'lowed you c'ud look out fo' yourselves. Then the
+second 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 down
+on his haunches and rolling a cigarette. "We're gettin' on fine. Got
+some dandy claims, I reckon. One for maw an' one fo' father, right
+alongside Aunt Mirandy's an' mine. It 'ud be great if we sh'ud all
+strike it rich, to once, w'udn't it?"
+
+"Great!" agreed Sandy, munching beans with gusto. "Don't you think you
+ought to be gettin' back, 'case some one might take a notion to them
+claims 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 business
+to attend to."
+
+Young Ed straightened.
+
+"I'll look out for her all right," he said. "But you don't know Aunt
+Mirandy over well or you'd know she can do her own protectin'. You bet
+she can. 'Sides, the men who've got claims nigh us come over an' told
+her they'd see she wasn't interfered with none. Said they'd heard some
+bully had sworn at her an' the real miners in camp warn't goin' to stand
+anything 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 camp
+here fo' a bit an' sit tight. I'd do the same, if I was you, Ed, spite
+of yore friends. I don't doubt fo' a minute but what yore aunt is plumb
+capable of lookin' out for herself, but you see, she's a woman an' yo're
+a man, an' it's you folks'll be lookin' to."
+
+The lad flushed with pride under the hand that Sandy set in chummy
+fashion on his shoulder.
+
+"I'll do that," he said, and, picking up the emptied utensils he had
+brought he started off down and across the gulch.
+
+"No sense in encouragin' him to hang around us," said Sandy. "There's
+apt to be fireworks round here most any time between now an' ter-morrer
+mo'nin'. Plimsoll'll shack erlong about sun-up--providin' he ain't able
+to 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 the
+tent."
+
+"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 bad
+scheme if we give the gen'ral idee that we _are_ sleepin' in it. I put a
+lantern 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 the
+tent on fairly level ground of the valley bottom. The claim boundaries
+ran to within fifty yards of the little creek named Flivver and the
+tent-pins were set almost on the border-line. The ground was sparsely
+covered with scrub grass, shrubs and willows, the space about the tent
+clear 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 low
+harmonies through his mouth organ, appeared perfectly satisfied.
+
+"Why on the flat?" asked Mormon. "There's a heap of cover round here
+where they might snake up afteh dahk an' sling anythin' they minded to
+at us, from lead to giant powdeh!"
+
+"Wal," drawled Sandy, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "it's handy
+to watch, fo' one thing, an' yore right about that coveh, Mormon. That's
+why we chose it. Sam an' me had a heap of trouble pickin' out this
+place. 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 head
+perplexedly. 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 you
+suthin'."
+
+They followed him into the tent and came out again laughing.
+
+"No matteh what happens," said Sandy, "an' I'm hopin' fo' the worst, it
+ain'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 and
+Plimsoll's crowd. Factions for both sides and a lot of onlookers who are
+neutral and just waiting for the excitement. I saw Roaring Russell but
+he 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 have
+been a champion wrestler at one time."
+
+"You don't say so," said Mormon. "Me, I was the champeen wrastler of the
+Cow Belt, one time. Had the belt to prove it till I lost it at draw
+poker. I've got hawg fat sence then, but I don't believe I've softened
+any. 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 a
+spell. I'll make fire an' git supper if you want to take Westlake up to
+the tunnel."
+
+Westlake carefully inspected the tunnel, the float and the contents of
+the dump.
+
+"I wouldn't wonder if Casey was running this as a drift to follow a good
+lead," he pronounced. "It looks better to me than any part of the camp
+I've inspected. I'll assay these samples for you, if you've no
+objection. I've got a lot of orders back at my shack already. My
+customers told me that they'd put a flea in Russell's ear that the camp
+assayer was not to be interfered with, so there is some value in an
+education, 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 has
+been with larger calibers."
+
+"War?" asked Sandy.
+
+"Yes. I was in the artillery. Is there anything else I can do? Get you
+some supplies? I'm coming back to have supper with Miss Bailey and her
+nephew."
+
+"Not a thing," said Sandy. "Much obliged." He watched the engineer swing
+away.
+
+"There's a good man for you," he said to Sam. "Well set up and able to
+handle himself. I like his ways first-rate."
+
+"Me, too," said Sam. "He'd make a good match fo' Molly, when she comes
+back with her eddication, w'udn't he?"
+
+Sandy stopped in his stride suddenly, so that Sam halted and regarded
+him curiously.
+
+"Twist yo' foot?" he asked. "High heels is all right fo' stirrups but
+they'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 it
+gits dusk enough to light the lantern."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+A ROPE BREAKS
+
+
+The lantern, turned down, dimly illumined the tent and revealed the
+figures of three men seated about some sort of rough table. The flap was
+drawn and fastened. Occasionally a figure moved slightly. No passer-by
+would have guessed that the three partners were ensconced in the black
+mouth of the tunnel, ramparted by the dump heap, watching for
+developments they were fairly sure would start with darkness. Every
+little while Sandy twitched a line that was attached to a clumsy but
+effective rocker he had contrived beneath one of the dummies they had
+built from the stuff that Plimsoll had not reclaimed.
+
+"Don't want to work the blamed thing too much," he said. "Might bu'st
+it. It's on'y the one figger but I'll be derned if it don't look
+natcherul."
+
+After which they all relapsed into silence, restrained from smoking for
+fear of a telltale spark or casual fragrance carried by the wind. It was
+a dark night, the hillsides stood blurry against a blue-black sky in
+which the stars glittered like metal points but failed to shed much
+light. Later, much later, toward morning, a moon would rise.
+
+Here and there on the slopes bright spots or glows of fire marked the
+occupied claim-sites. From the camp itself there came a murmur that
+sometimes swelled louder under the dull flare that hung over the lower
+end of the valley; reflection and diffusion from the gasoline lights and
+acetylene flares used by the owners of the eating-houses, the bars and
+gambling shacks, all open for business during miners' hours, which meant
+two 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; marking
+time by the sidereal clock of the heavens, each with a variant emotion.
+
+Mormon shifted his position more frequently than the others. None of
+them was especially comfortable, but Mormon wanted to keep as limber as
+possible, he was afraid of stiffening up, thinking always of his
+challenge to Roaring Russell. Slow to anger, Mormon, when his rage
+mounted was slow of statement. What he said he meant. The insult to
+Miranda Bailey while under his escort chafed him as a saddle chafes a
+galled horse. It had to be wiped out at the earliest moment and,
+singularly enough, the spinster was not particularly prominent in the
+matter. It was not a personal question; the insult had been offered to
+womanhood, and Mormon was ever its champion and its victim.
+
+Sam, cut off from tobacco and melody, bunkered down with his back
+against a frame timber and looked at the tall lean figure of Sandy
+silhouetted against the stars, wondering why Sandy had stopped so
+abruptly when the names of Westlake and Molly Casey had been coupled. It
+wasn't like Sandy to move or halt without definite purpose, Sam
+reasoned. "I suppose he figgers Molly too much of a kid," he told
+himself. "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 were
+wealthy. 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 not
+go. That Sandy might have felt a tinge of jealousy toward young Westlake
+was furthest from his conjectures.
+
+As for Sandy, he had lost his mental orientation. Something had
+happened, something was happening within him and he could not tell the
+process nor name it. He was as a man who goes out into the darkness amid
+rooms and passages with which he considers himself familiar and
+suddenly--there comes a door where should be space, or space where there
+should be a window--and he is lost, his senses betray him, for the
+moment he is completely fogged, all bearings lost, possessed with the
+blankness that accompanies the flight of self-confidence.
+
+He could see very plainly in mental vision the picture that Molly had
+sent to the Three Star, now framed and given the place of honor on the
+table of the ranch-house living-room. The picture of a girl in whose
+eyes the fleeting look of womanhood, that Sandy had now and then seen
+there and which had thrilled him so strangely, had become permanent.
+That she was something so vital she could not be dismissed from the life
+of the Three Star, from his own life, by sending her to school whence
+she would return almost a stranger, by making her an heiress, Sandy
+recognized. He had deliberately given her his hand to help her out of
+the rut in which he had found her and now, with the swift series of
+tableaux 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 of
+his own from which there was no up-lifting?
+
+To Sandy, Westlake seemed little more than a likable lad, placing him at
+about twenty-three or four. He felt immeasurably older, harder, though
+there were not more than six years between them--seven at the most. Even
+that made him almost twice the age of Molly. With this twist of his
+reverie 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 had
+his affection shifted with the changing of Molly to womanhood?
+
+Sandy Bourke, knight of the roving heel, had never attempted to find
+solution for his attitude toward women. It was neither wariness nor
+antipathy. His life, drifting from rancho to rancho, sometimes
+consorting with the rougher side of men careless of conventions, had
+been, in the main, not unlike the life of a hermit, with long periods
+when he rode alone under sun and stars with only his horse for company.
+
+There were months of this and then came swiftly moving periods of
+relaxation in a cattle town where men unleashed the repressions and let
+pent-up energies and appetites have full sway. Sandy loved card chances
+where his own skill might back what luck the pasteboards brought him in
+the deal. Drinking bouts, the company of the women with whom many of his
+fellows consorted, never appealed to him. His reservations found outlet
+in gambling or in the acceptance of some job where the danger risks ran
+high, where success and self-safety hung upon his coolness, his keen
+sense, his courage and his skill with horse and lariat and gun. A life
+as apart as a sailor's, more lonely, for he was often companionless for
+months.
+
+So far he had never felt lack of anything, least of all lately, with the
+two men he liked best in active partnership with him, with a maturing
+interest in the development of his ranch and his grade of cattle by
+modern methods. But, to have Molly not come back, or, returning, to have
+her wooed and won, entirely absorbed by some one like Westlake, struck
+him with a sense of impending loss that amounted to a real pain,
+difficult of self-diagnosis. Westlake was worthy enough. A good mate for
+Molly, climbing up the ladder of education and culture to stand where
+the engineer, well-bred, well-mannered, now stood, the two of them to go
+on together....
+
+"Shucks!" muttered Sandy. "And he ain't even seen her picture. I must
+have been chewin' loco weed."
+
+"What say?" asked Sam.
+
+"I'm goin' to take a li'l' look-see," said Sandy. "I reckon they're
+tryin' to git warmed up an' decide on what they'll do round here. No
+tellin' how long they may take or what kind of deviltry that camp booze
+may work 'em up to. I'm pritty certain no one saw us sneak out of the
+tent afteh dahk."
+
+If they had been seen no attempt might be made to dislodge them from the
+claims. Sandy did not believe such effort would turn out to be a
+shooting match,--unless the defenders started it,--but something more
+underhanded. The flinging of a dynamite stick, if the throwers felt
+certain of not being caught, was a possibility if enough crude whisky
+had been absorbed. In all probability the crowd of ousted men were
+making themselves conspicuous in the camp during the earlier hours of
+the evening in view of a needed alibi. Nothing might happen until
+midnight and the long vigil was not comfortable. Sandy vanished from the
+tunnel mouth, sinking to the ground, instantly indistinguishable even to
+Sam and Mormon. There was nothing to tell whether he had gone up-hill or
+down. The momentary cessation of the cicadas' chorus was the only
+warning that a human was abroad.
+
+"Have a chaw?" Mormon whispered presently, after he had changed his
+pose.
+
+Sam took the plug tobacco and bit into it gratefully.
+
+"I sure hate stickin' around, waitin'," he said under his breath. "Allus
+makes me plumb nerv'us."
+
+"Same here," answered Mormon. "Reckon it's that way with most men. Sandy
+don't show it, 'cept by goin' out on a snoop."
+
+"He can see, smell an' hear where we'd be deef, dumb an' blind," said
+Sam. "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' Russell
+by moonlight, after we git through down here?"
+
+"I've got a hunch this is goin' to be a busy night, plumb through till
+sun-up," said Mormon. "An', when I meet up with Roarin' Russell it ain't
+goin' to be jest a wrastlin match, believe me. It's goin' to be a
+free-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 of
+the 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 an
+angel on that mouth harp of yores, Sam, but you talk like a rasp. Mormon
+booms like a bull frawg."
+
+They settled down again to their watch. The Great Bear constellation
+dipped 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 into
+listening.
+
+The three stared blankly into the night, while their hands sought gun
+butts and loosened the weapons in their holsters. Out of the blackness
+came little foreign sounds that they interpreted according to their
+powers. The tiny clink of metal, the faint thud of horses' hoofs, an
+exclamation that had barely been above the speaker's breath floated up
+to them through the stillness. The glow of the lantern showed through
+the tent wall.
+
+"Two riders," mouthed Sandy so softly that Mormon and Sam swung heads to
+catch his words. "Came up the valley t'other side of the crick. Both
+crossed it above the tent. Reckon they're visitin' us. One of 'em's
+comin' this way."
+
+They crouched, breathless now, listening to the soft padded sounds that
+told of the approach of man and horse. These ceased. Still they could
+see nothing. Then there came a sharp shrill whistle, answered from the
+levels. Followed instantly the thud of galloping ponies going at top
+speed, parallel, one between the watchers and the tent as they saw the
+swift shadow shade the glow for an instant, the other between the tent
+and the creek. There was a sharp swishing as of something whipping
+brush.
+
+"Yi-yi-yippy!" The cries rang out exultant as the horses dashed by the
+tunnel. The light in the tent wavered, went out. There was a shout of
+surprise and dismay, a _twang_ like the snapping of a mighty bowstring
+and then came the whoops of the trio from the Three Star as they
+realized what the attempt had been and how it had failed.
+
+Two riders, trailing a rope, had raced down the valley hoping to sweep
+away the tent, to send its occupant sprawling, its contents scattered in
+a confusion of which advantage would be taken to chase the three off
+their claims, taken by surprise, made ridiculous.
+
+Sandy and Sam, searching for a convenient tent site, had happened upon a
+mass of outcrop, overgrown by brush. Over this they had pitched the
+tent, using the rock for table, propping their dummies about it. If
+dynamite was flung it would find something to work against. They had not
+anticipated the use of the rope to demolish the canvas any more than the
+two riders had expected to bring up against a boulder. The impact, with
+their ponies spurred, urged on by their shouts to their limit, tore the
+cinches of one saddle loose, jerked it from the horse and catapulted the
+unprepared rider over its head, flying through the air to land heavily,
+while his mount, unencumbered, frightened, went careering off leaving
+its breathless master stunned amid the sage.
+
+As the cinches had given way at one end, the line itself had parted at
+the other. The second pony had stumbled sidewise, rolling before the man
+was 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 down
+the hill, leaving Mormon and Sam to handle the other. If there had been
+assistants to the raid they had melted away, willing enough to join in a
+drive against men yanked from their tent, defenseless, but not at all
+eager 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 druv
+his neck inter his shoulders. Got his saddle, Mormon?"
+
+"Yep. Want the rope?"
+
+They trussed their captive with the lariat still snubbed to his
+saddle-horn. Down in the willows there was a flash, a report, a
+scurrying 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 I
+only took one shot to cheer him on his way. He was mountin' at the time
+an' it was a snapshot. I aimed at the seat of his pants. I w'udn't be
+surprised but what he's ridin' so't of one-sided. Who you got here? Tote
+him down-hill. I don't believe they bu'sted the lantern. We'll take a
+look at him."
+
+Sandy retrieved the lantern from the collapsed canvas and lit it. Mormon
+and Sam took the senseless man down to the creek where they attempted to
+revive him by pouring hatfuls of the icy water on his head. He was a
+black-haired chap, sallow of face, clean-shaven. His clothes were those
+of a cowman.
+
+"Looks a heap like a drowned rat," said Mormon. "It's Sol Wyatt, one of
+Plim's riders oveh to his hawss ranch. He got fired from the
+Two-Bar-Circle fo' leavin' his ridin' iron to home an' usin' anotheh
+brand. Leastwise, that's what they suspected. Old Man Penny giv' him the
+benefit of the doubt an' jest kicked him out of the corral. If he'd had
+the goods on him he'd have skinned him alive an' put his pelt on the
+bahn 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 with
+him?"
+
+"Take him up inter camp, soon's he's able to walk an' hand him over to
+Plimsoll with our compliments. They figgered they'd make us all look
+plumb ridiculous with bein' flipped out of the tent. Then they'd have
+had 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 light
+of the lantern and immediately closed them again, playing opossum. Sam
+prodded 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 right
+fo' 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 friend
+on 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's
+packin' a saddle brand I put on him." His voice was grimly humorous, he
+recognized Wyatt's obstinacy as something not without merit. "How's yore
+haid?"
+
+"Some tender."
+
+"It ain't in first-rate condition or you w'udn't be drawin' pay from
+Plimsoll. Yore saddle's here, yore hawss went west. Ef you want to leave
+the saddle till you locate the hawss, you can git it 'thout any trouble
+any 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. "Ef
+we are, why, we'll have to start the arguments all over."
+
+"I w'udn't be surprised," said the philosophic Wyatt, gingerly pressing
+his head with his fingertips, "but what there is a gen'ral impression
+'stablished by this time that you three hombres from the Three Star are
+right 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 pulls
+too much on his picket line to suit me. Ef he's got a yeller stripe on
+his belly, I'm quittin'. Some day he's goin' to git inter a hole that'll
+sure test his standard. Me, I may be a bit of a wolf, but I'm damned ef
+I 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 round
+here 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 the
+faro table he'd sabe everything went off fine an' dandy. He w'udn't
+figger 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's
+gone back on me," said Sandy. "Seemed to me I heard 'em makin' their
+getaway. 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 at
+Plimsoll's right off. It was a win-or-lose job. Pay if it was pulled
+off. Otherwise, nothin' doin'. You hombres treated me white. There's a
+lot who'd have plugged me full of lead an' death. I was on yore land. Ef
+you force me to walk into Plimsoll's Place ahead of you I ain't
+resistin' none, an' I shall sure admire to watch Plim's face when he
+sees you-all back of me."
+
+He took the trail ahead of them, hands in his pockets, his cigarette
+glowing. Behind him walked Sandy. Wyatt finished his smoke and started
+to 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 bad
+actor, but there's sure somethin' erbout the galoot I like. He ain't
+over 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 the
+other feller's gal. He ain't satisfied with what he can pick for
+himself. T'otheh feller's apple allus has a sweeter core. I w'udn't
+wondeh 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 on
+their account, fer instance?"
+
+Mormon paid no attention to the friendly gibe. As they entered the
+street of the camp, largely deserted, though there was every evidence of
+crowds forgetting time in the drinking and gambling shacks, Sandy moved
+up even with Wyatt and locked arms with him.
+
+"I ain't goin' ter make no break," said Wyatt. "Here's Plim's. Jest you
+let me go in ahead through the door. I've seen you use your guns. I
+ain't suicidin'."
+
+They allowed him to go in first, unescorted. Their plans held no further
+reprisal against Wyatt.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A FREE-FOR-ALL
+
+
+Plimsoll's place was crowded. There were more onlookers than actual
+players though the tables were fairly well patronized. Many of those who
+had seats were only cappers for the game. The majority of the men who
+had rushed to the new strike had not brought any great sums of money
+with them, or, if they had, reserved its use for speculation in claims
+rather than the slimmer chances of Plimsoll's enterprises. In a few
+days, if the camp produced from grass roots, as was expected and hoped,
+Plimsoll would gather in his harvest. A garnering in which Sandy had
+sadly interfered.
+
+Plimsoll had set up a working partnership with a man who had brought
+moonshine and bootlegged whisky to the camp, occupying the next shack to
+the gambling place. For convenience of service extra doors had been cut
+and a rough-boarded passageway erected between the two places. The fever
+of gambling provided thirsty customers for the liquor dealer, and the
+whisky blunted the wits of the gamblers and gave the dealers more than
+their customary percentage of odds in the favor of the house. It was a
+combination that worked both ways. Waiters impressed into service from
+camp followers, crudely took orders and delivered them. There were no
+mixed drinks, no scale of prices. And there was no question of license.
+The will of the majority ruled. The gold-seeking reduced things to
+primitive 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. He
+awaited the result of his play with Wyatt and the latter's companions.
+If he could make Sandy, Mormon and Sam ridiculous, he would achieve his
+end, but he hoped for bigger results. Wyatt and his fellow rider had
+been detailed to ride down the tent that had been reported occupied by
+the Three Star owners. That part of the plan had been suggested by Wyatt
+out of the sheer deviltry of his invention. Plimsoll had enlisted others
+of his following, none too fearless, to loiter in the brush and, in the
+general confusion, fire to cripple and to kill.
+
+Plimsoll had learned of the visit of the men who had come with Bill
+Brandon to investigate Plimsoll's methods of running the Waterline Horse
+Ranch. He had learned, through the leakage that always occurs in a
+cattle community, that Brandon claimed to be an old acquaintance of
+Sandy and his partners. So he had told his men who had come with him to
+the camp from the Waterline Ranch that the Three Star outfit was a
+danger to all of them, undoubtedly acting as spies for Brandon, and
+that they should be eliminated for the general good. But there was none
+of them, from Plimsoll down, who had any fancy to stand up against the
+guns of Sandy, or of Mormon and Sam, when the breaks were anywhere
+nearly even.
+
+So Plimsoll dealt stud and collected the percentage of the house,
+watching his planted players profit by their professionalism and by the
+little signs bestowed upon them by Plimsoll that tipped them off as to
+the value of the hidden cards. Plimsoll, with his ejection from
+Hereford, the advent of woman suffrage, the coming of Brandon and other
+irate horse owners, had begun to realize that his days were getting
+short in the land. He looked to the camp for a final coup. If he held
+the Casey claims and sold them, as he expected to do, to an eastern
+capitalist to whom he had telegraphed some days before, he might
+reestablish himself. Sandy's prompt arrival and subsequent events had
+crimped that plan and he fell back upon all the crooked tactics that he
+possessed in gambling. And now, if Wyatt....
+
+He was dealing the last card around when Wyatt came in and his eyes lit
+up. Then his face stiffened, the light changed to a gleam of
+malevolence. Following Wyatt were the three partners, taking open order
+as 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. The
+two last smiled and nodded to one or two acquaintances. Sandy's face was
+set in serious cast. The players at Plimsoll's table turned to see what
+caused the suspension of the game, others followed their example. The
+Three Star men were known personally to some of those in the room. The
+story of what had happened during the day had buzzed in everybody's
+ears, from Roaring Russell's discomfiture to Plimsoll's failure to hold
+the claims and the eviction notice served on him by Sandy.
+
+The phrase "you'll see me through smoke," held a grim significance that
+touched the fancy of these gold gatherers, men of the cruder types for
+the most part. The issue between Sandy and Plimsoll was the paramount
+topic, 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 other
+gamblers to provide them with excitement. Mormon's challenge of Russell
+was a sporting event that appealed to them more directly and there were
+many possessed of a rough chivalry that appreciated the heavyweight
+cowman'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 as
+referee.
+
+Chairs edged back, the standing moved for a better view-point, the room
+focussed on Plimsoll, Wyatt and the three cow-chums. Then Wyatt stepped
+aside. There was a malicious little grin on his face. Mormon's
+suggestion as to his private grudge against Plimsoll was not without
+foundation. Wyatt had been glad to find excuse for severing relations
+with the gambler. He had done his best and failed, but his failure was
+not bitter.
+
+The partners walked between the tables toward Plimsoll who sat regarding
+them balefully, his teeth just showing between his parted lips, cards in
+midair, action in a paralysis that was caused by the concentration
+forced by Sandy's even gaze, by the same sickening conviction that his
+manhood shriveled in front of Sandy and that Sandy knew it. Oaths
+against Wyatt rose automatically in his brain like bubbles in a mineral
+spring, together with the consciousness that Wyatt, if not allied
+against him, was no longer for him, that his chosen tools lacked edge.
+The placing of bets ceased, there was no sound of clicking chips, the
+roulette dealer held the wheel, expectant, dealer and case-keeper at the
+faro bank halted their manipulations, the presiding genius of the craps
+layout picked up the dice. Tragedy hovered, the shadow of its wing was
+on the dirt floor of the rude Temple of Chance.
+
+"The chaps you sent up to move yore tent an' truck didn't make a good
+job of it, Plimsoll," drawled Sandy. "I reckon they warn't the right
+so't of help. Ef you-all are aimin' to take that stuff erlong with you
+I'd recommend you 'tend to it yorese'f. It's gettin' erlong to'ards
+sun-up, fast as a clock can tick."
+
+Silence held. Sandy stood non-committal, at ease. His conversation with
+Plimsoll might have been of the friendliest nature gauged by his
+attitude. His hands were on his hips. Back of him, slightly turning
+toward the crowd, were Mormon and Sam, smilingly surveying the room. But
+not one there but knew that, faster than the ticking of a clock, guns
+might gleam and spurt fire and lead in case of trouble. It was all
+being done ethically enough. They did not know exactly what the entrance
+of Wyatt meant, but Sandy's talk gave them a hint and his poise was
+correct, without swagger, without intent to start general ruction. It
+was 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 statement
+and a light one, but it passed the situation for the moment. His eyes
+shifted to Wyatt, shining with hate, the whites blood-flecked by
+suppressed passion.
+
+Sandy pulled out a gunmetal watch.
+
+"I make it half afteh one. 'Bout three hours to sunrise, Plimsoll. I'll
+be round later." He turned his back on the gambler and sauntered toward
+the door. Before the general restraint broke Mormon put up his hand.
+
+"I figger Roarin' Russell ain't in the room," he said. "Ef he happens
+erlong, 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 general
+reaction.
+
+"Good for you!" A dozen phrases of commendation chimed and jangled. A
+few 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. "A
+gamblin' parlor where I ain't welcome to stay or play makes no hit with
+me. I'll help you-all find Russell."
+
+The search was not an easy one. Russell had been seen freely in the
+makeshift saloons and other places on both sides of the street. It
+seemed, from what they could glean and put together, that he had stopped
+drinking when he had arrived at a certain point in his boasting and had
+announced his intention of sobering up before he "took the bloody,
+hog-bellied cow-puncher apart, providin' the latter showed." This suited
+Mormon, who wanted fairly to whip a live opponent, not fight a
+staggering drunkard. But they could not find him. They had several
+volunteer 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 to
+Simpson's. If he's gone to bed we'll rout him out. Won't be the first
+time he turned out to cook me a meal. A shot of that Rocky Mountain
+grapejuice 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 as
+well filled as it had been the first time they entered it. In the first
+seethe of the gold excitement no one seemed to get sleepy, while
+appetites developed. Word had preceded them that Mormon Peters was
+looking for Roaring Russell and their entrance caused more than a ripple
+of 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 a
+hammerlock 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 same
+Roarin' Russell has been tellin' the camp what a rip-snortin',
+limb-loosenin', strong-armed galoot he is, an' some of 'em have
+swallered it. They ain't seen you in action, Mormon, an' I have. You'll
+jest natcherly chaw him inter hash. I'm bettin' there won't be enough of
+him left to stuff a Chili pepper after you git through."
+
+"I ain't as limber as I was, Alf," said Mormon deprecatingly. "Make my
+steak 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 while
+ago who seemed to be sort of keepin' tabs on him. That young assayer
+Russell started to bulldoze when Sandy took a hand. Said he'd be in
+ag'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 waiter
+brought over drinks of the Rocky Mountain grapejuice with the
+information 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 the
+table, setting out the battered cutlery and tin plates that Simpson
+provided. "They was offerin' two to one on Roarin' Russell a little
+while ago," he volunteered. "I think I'll take up a piece of their
+money."
+
+"This ain't a prize-fight, it's a privut quarrel," said Mormon as he
+smelled the fiery stuff in the glass, sipped it and then swallowed it in
+one gulp. "That's prime stuff."
+
+"You'll have one hell of a time keepin' it privut, mister," said the
+waiter. "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 to
+watch out for Russell's pals, though; they ain't the gentlest bunch in
+the 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 a
+gun."
+
+A call from another of the makeshift tables claimed his attention.
+Simpson came hurrying with the meat, biscuits and coffee. He sat down
+with them, offering more drinks which they refused.
+
+"Slack right now," he said, "but I sure have done a whale of a business
+to-day. If this keeps up I don't want no claims. They're tellin' me you
+give Plimsoll till sun-up to git out of camp, Sandy. I don't figger
+there'll be any argyment. He's yeller as the yolk of a rotten aig. Hell
+w'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 they
+used to be. This ain't the frontier any more and a few bad men can't run
+a strike to suit themselves. If the camp's no good it'll peter out like
+it did afore; if it amounts to anything, we'll have a police station on
+one 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 in
+this county. The wimmin are ag'in' him. An' I tell you, gents, we
+hombres 'll have to watch our steps or they'll be takin' our vote away
+from us next thing you know. It's a lucky thing for us that men is in
+the 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," he
+announced. "He's been drinking black coffee to sober up on. He's got
+some of his own sort with him. I think they're nearly ready to come
+up-street. He knows you are in camp and looking for him."
+
+"Then we'd better be shackin' erlong," said Mormon, mopping up gravy
+with half a biscuit. "I w'udn't want to keep him waitin'."
+
+Outside, it was apparent that the whole camp was waiting for the
+appearance of the two principals in an event that was not to be allowed
+to be dealt with purely as a personal encounter. The waiter's estimate
+was a fair one. The moon had risen, sailing round and fair and mild of
+beam from behind the eastern hills, making pallid by comparison the
+artificial flares. The one street was packed with men, not all of whom
+were sober. The crowd thickened every moment from outlets of the
+gambling shacks and saloons. All other business and pleasure was
+forgotten with the swift word passing to say that the cowman who had
+slapped the bully in the face and challenged him that morning to a
+catch-as-catch-can, free-for-all contest, was now in Alf Simpson's Chuck
+House 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 delight
+the hearts of frontiersmen. And they warmed to it. All day there had
+been rumors busy of the clash, of the matters involved. Garbled versions
+of the truth ran excitement up to hot-blood heat. The town had stayed up
+for developments. Bets had been made on Plimsoll's backing down at
+sunrise; on the cowman, Mormon; on the bully, Russell.
+
+The affair with Plimsoll at sun-up was likely to be short and sharp. Men
+who knew the three from the Three Star Ranch spread their opinions. The
+prime event was the scrap. Russell was, or had been, a professional
+wrestler and held fame as a rough-and-tumble fighter. Mormon had once
+beaten all comers for the Cow Belt. The spectators swarmed like bees and
+buzzed 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 toward
+the bridge over Flivver Creek, escorting the three partners and
+Westlake, Simpson and his help with them. More were milling up-street
+from Su Sing's place, Russell in their midst. Where the two factions
+met, the principals kept apart by the crowd, a broad-shouldered giant
+with 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 a
+crowd at a fair.
+
+"Gents all," bellowed the big man. "There's been some tall talkin' done
+to-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, without
+recourse to gun, knife or slungshot. Roarin' Russell, champeen wrastler,
+allows he can lick any man in camp. Mormon Peters, champeen holder of
+the 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 two
+principals an' none of our damned business."
+
+The crowd roared in approval of the speaker's style and the force of his
+breezy delivery. He had touched their chivalry in thus delicately
+alluding to the episode of the insult and apology to the only woman in
+camp.
+
+"Therefore," he went on, and the word slipped round that he was Lem
+Pardee, wealthy rancher and ex-representative of the state, "such an
+affair appealin' to every red-blooded male among us, it behooves us to
+see it brought off in due form, fair an' square to both parties, in a
+bare-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' room
+for all on both sides. The moon graces the occasion an' provides the
+proper illumination. I move you that a referee be appointed to discuss
+fightin' rules with Roarin' Russell an' Mormon Peters, to settle all
+side 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. He
+accepted 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 by
+name but selected from his judgment of men, and his choices met with
+general approval.
+
+"The principals will choose their own seconds," he said. "Not more than
+three to each man, to act only in that capacity and in no way to
+interfere. That's all."
+
+In two factions the crowd moved down the slant of the street, turned
+aside at the bridge and, as Pardee indicated the level space on the nigh
+side of the creek that trickled down the gulch like quicksilver in the
+moonlight, ranged themselves about the natural arena while the committee
+established the side lines and the referee conferred with Mormon,
+Russell and their seconds in the open. Sandy and Sam appointed
+themselves corner men for Mormon, and Sandy asked Westlake to make the
+third. A roulette dealer from Plimsoll's and a bartender ranged
+themselves alongside Russell, together with Plimsoll himself. Pardee
+eyed the group.
+
+"There's bad blood between you two," he said to Plimsoll and Sandy. "I
+understand 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 the
+rough-and-ready stage, but there's enough of us who've got together to
+see it's goin' to be run decent an' regular. We're goin' to establish
+fair play and order, from now on. We don't expect to run no man's
+affairs so long's they don't interfere with the general welfare of the
+camp, but, if there's any dirty work pulled off, the man that spills the
+dirt is goin' to be interviewed pronto. Things are goin' to be run
+clean. 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. You
+two 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, I
+don't know nothin' about Queensbury rules an', though the camp seems to
+have 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 to
+man, or I lick him. An' a lickin' don't mean puttin' down shoulders on a
+mat. If a man goes down, t'other lets him git up, if he can. Bar
+kickin', bitin', gougin' an' dirty work, an' to hell with yore seconds
+an' yore rounds. This ain't no exhibition. It's a fight!"
+
+He spoke loudly enough for most of the crowd to hear, and they cheered
+him 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' get
+this over with. It won't take long."
+
+He was a formidable-looking adversary. In the moonlight certain signs of
+puffiness, of dissipation, did not show, save for rolls of fat about
+shoulders and paunch. He was powerfully built, his chest matted with
+black hair, his forearms rough with it. Taller than Mormon, he had all
+the 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 a
+stake, if he's agreeable. Loser leaves the camp."
+
+"When he's able to walk. You slapped my face this morning. This evens
+it."
+
+Russell lashed out suddenly, his hand open, striking with the heel of
+his palm for Mormon's jaw. Mormon sprang back, warding off, but it was
+Pardee who struck aside Russell's blow and sent him reeling back with a
+powerful shove.
+
+"Strip down," he said to Mormon. "Both of you keep back of your lines
+till I give the word. Sabe?" He scored two lines in the dirt with the
+toe 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 allowed
+ten 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 far
+stouter than Russell. His bald pate, with its reddish fringe of hair,
+looked grotesque under the moon. The bulge of his stomach seemed a
+strong handicap in agility and wind. Yet his flesh was hard and, where
+the tan ended on neck and forearms, it held a glisten that caused the
+knowing ones to nod approvingly. There was strength in his back, big
+muscles shifted on his shoulders and his arms were bigger than
+Russell's, if shorter, corded with pack of sinew and muscle. As he toed
+his line, swaying from side to side, arms apart, the left a little
+forward, he moved with a lightness strange to his usual tread. Russell
+crouched a little, his long arms hanging low, knees bent. The two lines
+were about six feet apart.
+
+They faced each other in a silence of held breath on all sides. Pardee
+stood 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 seemed
+about to clinch, to test their prowess as wrestlers. Murmurs went up
+from back of Mormon where his fanciers had ranged themselves. "Russell's
+got too many tricks for him," men told each other and then gasped.
+
+Mormon had landed, light as a dancing master, despite his bulk, had
+stooped, turned in a flash with his right hand clamped about the right
+wrist of Russell, bowing his back, heaving with all his might.
+
+Russell, shifting at the last second from a clutch, seeing Mormon
+charging, swung a vicious uppercut. He made the mistake of
+underestimating Mormon, thinking him slow-witted. He found his wrist in
+a vise, his arm twisted, bent down across the thick ridge of the
+cowman's shoulder, the powerful heave of Mormon's back. His own impetus
+served against him. Mormon shifted grips, he cupped Russell's elbow with
+his right palm and crowded all his energy into one dynamic effort of
+pull and hoist. Russell went over his head in a Flying Mare as the crowd
+stood up and yelled.
+
+Surprised off his feet, Russell's experience served him in good stead as
+they left the ground. Mormon's trick had scored, but it was an old one
+and had its counter-move. As he landed, legs flexed, he twisted, grabbed
+Mormon's arm with his free one and jerked him forward, hunching a
+shoulder under the cowman's stomach. The pair of them rolled together on
+the ground, struggling and clubbing, while the spectators shouted
+themselves hoarse and smote each other great blows. Pardee, stepping
+warily, watched the writhing pair.
+
+Russell, wiser at this game, contrived leverage, twisting Mormon, and
+pinned his arms in a scissors grip while he battered at his face and
+Mormon writhed to get away from the reach of those long arms. The soft
+dust clouded about them and their grunts came out from it as they
+struggled. Once, with Mormon striving to open the leg grip, jerking away
+from the flailing blows, they rolled perilously near a clump of prickly
+pear on the verge of their little arena and a universal cry of warning
+went up.
+
+The two heard nothing of it in their hammer and tongs affair, the
+superheated blood, stoked by passion, surging through their veins.
+
+Mormon felt the pressure of Russell's thigh-muscles closing
+relentlessly, clamping down on his chest, shutting off oxygen. His
+energy waned, his limbs grew heavy, nerveless, his brain clogged and
+dulled. He set his chin well down into his neck to save his jaw, but his
+right cheek was pounded, one eye closing. It was only a matter of
+moments before he must relax and then Russell would pin him down with
+one arm and send in the final smashing blow. He felt himself
+suffocating, sinking--the noise of roaring waters dinned in his ears.
+
+He lay on his back, Russell on his side, one leg below, one leg above
+Mormon's body, bending at the hips in his efforts to reach the cowman's
+jaw. He bent a fraction too much, the scissors grip shifted
+imperceptibly and the message of that weakening of the chain flashed to
+Mormon's hazy brain. With every muscle taut in one supreme convulsion he
+managed to twist sidewise, back to Russell, opening the grip that now
+compressed shoulders instead of chest and back. He got a breath of air,
+dust-laden but blessed. His chest expanded, strength flowed in, he
+forced his arms apart, rolling over on Russell, crushing him into the
+soft earth with his weight. Another wriggling twist and he faced his
+man, bringing his mighty back into play to break clear. He got a forearm
+across Russell's Adam's apple, regardless of the blows that smashed into
+his face. He hammered home one jolt hard to the jaw and, as Russell's
+body grew limp, dragged himself from the relaxing hold and crouched on
+hands and knees, wheezing, spent, gulping air to his flattened lower
+lungs that refused to function.
+
+Now he could hear the shouting of the crowd, a clatter of yells. He saw
+Russell's head move, his eyes opening in the moonlight. Mechanically
+Mormon stood up, swaying, bruised, one eye useless. Pardee began
+counting over Russell, according to the ruling he had made.
+
+Russell rolled over on his face. It looked as if he was not going to try
+to get up. This was not how Mormon had wanted the fight to end, in a
+technical knockout, with his man beginning to come back and he not
+allowed to finish him.
+
+Pardee had put in the clause, "Man down allowed ten seconds, with the
+other on his feet," merely to make a better, longer fight of it from the
+spectator's standpoint. It was supposed to be the sporting thing to do,
+but Mormon, blood-flushed, brain-dull, had no thought of ethics at that
+moment. Russell was lifting himself to knees and elbows, crouching as
+Mormon had done, watching his opponent, listening to the count. He was
+going to get up. He _was_ up at nine, stooping, groggy, his long arms
+hanging low, and a shout went up from his backers as Pardee stepped
+aside.
+
+Russell began to back away, to describe a half-circle, right forearm
+across his chest, left arm extended, both in slight motion. Mormon stood
+like a baited bear, slowly revolving to face Russell, wary of a feint to
+draw 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." "Cut
+him to ribbons. Blind him first."
+
+The man in the crowd was right. Mormon knew little of boxing, but he
+knew enough to throw a cushion of sturdy arm across his jaw, the left
+elbow crooked, nose buried in it, eyes--one eye--indomitable above it.
+And the blunted elbow like a ram, as he ducked and Russell's straight
+right slid over his bald pate. He was far faster, lighter on his feet
+than Russell dreamed. The bully still underestimated his man, but woke
+to vivid and just appraisal as Mormon's elbow smashed against his
+collar-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 a
+clinch. Mormon's arms were about him, underneath, binding him with hoops
+of steel, compressing. He lost his footing, began to rise and he
+back-heeled in an outside click. They both went down together side by
+side in a dog-fall. Mormon loosed his arms as he rolled atop, got
+astride of Russell, strove to gather and control the arms that thrashed
+and smote.
+
+Something jagged crushed against Mormon's temple. It seemed as if the
+skull split open and a jagged, red-hot probe searched through his brain.
+He threw up his head in agony, his chin exposed, but instinct still
+awake to fling out both hands, catch the oncoming blow, his fingers
+clamping deep about the wrist above the hand that held the rock--some
+ore fragment tossed away by an old-timer--that Russell had found in the
+dirt, and used in unfair, murderous intent.
+
+The maddening pain of first impact died to a throb as the blood poured
+down, seeming to leave his brain clear, cold with a rage that responded
+to a deep disgust of the bully who was now at his mercy. For, with the
+rage came absolute conviction that this was the end of the fight.
+
+He screwed unmercifully, flesh and sinews and the small bones of the
+wrist, until Russell shrieked through his swollen mouth at the anguish
+of it and dropped the rock. Pardee, hovering near, seeing all, picked
+it up and slipped it into his pocket as Mormon pinned down Russell's arm
+with his left knee and swung left and right in sledge-hammer blows to
+the jaw of the face that tried in vain to dodge the knockout. As if a
+galvanic current that had simulated life had suddenly been shut off,
+Roaring Russell's body lost all energy, it seemed to flatten, lay
+without a quiver.
+
+Mormon got on his feet and stood to one side while Pardee counted off
+the seconds that were only a grim parody. Russell's brain was
+short-circuited. There was not even a tremor of his eyelids. Pardee
+knelt, 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, while
+Sandy, Sam and Westlake ramparted Mormon from enthusiastic admirers and
+pushed down to the creek where he washed his hurts with the stinging icy
+water and stiffly put on his clothes.
+
+"Knew he was licked and figured he might get away with it," declared
+Pardee. "Lucky it didn't split his head open." Murmurs gathered force
+against the bully's methods.
+
+"Cut out the lynching talk, boys," cried Pardee. "The man's been beaten
+up. 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 broke
+through to Mormon, being assisted into his coat by Sandy. "How are you
+standing up, old bearcat?" asked the referee. "I thought he had you
+nipped once but you walloped him."
+
+"Me? I'm jest about standin' up, an' that's all," said Mormon, gingerly
+feeling certain places on his face. "I sure thought it was my brains
+oozin' when he swiped me with that rock. But my bone's pritty solid in
+the head, I reckon. I don't mind tellin' you-all I'm feelin' a good deal
+like a bass drum at the end of a long parade, but I believe it's all on
+the 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, his
+hand 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't
+plumb forgit about any chance of her showin' up."
+
+"Here's where you git called a hero," said Sam. "She knows what you've
+been fightin' erbout. More'n that she's been in the crowd for the last
+five minnits of the scrap. That right, Westlake?"
+
+"Yes. I saw her come into the crowd with young Ed. She wants to thank
+you, 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 row
+down here, an' she sent me to see what it was. When I didn't hurry back
+she trailed me. Great snakes, Mormon, but you sure whaled him!"
+
+"Huh!" Mormon said nothing but that mystic monosyllable until they
+reached the place where Miranda Bailey stood apart from the crowd who
+deferentially gave her room, whispering her supposed share in the recent
+event. She did not look much like the heroine of a romance, neither did
+Mormon resemble a hero. Her somewhat worn but wholesome face was set in
+forbidding lines, but Westlake and Sandy fancied they saw the ghost of a
+twinkle in her eyes. She greeted Mormon as if he had been a disgraced
+schoolboy.
+
+"What have you been fightin' about?" she demanded.
+
+But, like Russell, she underestimated Mormon. His one working eye was
+innocent 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 up
+that eye. I sh'ud think a man of yore age 'ud have more sense than
+fightin' 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 ridicklus
+reason."
+
+"I didn't think the reason ridicklus," said Mormon, and the spinster's
+lips 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 remedies
+in the background. "Come up to my place."
+
+There may have been some thought of trade from the many who would want
+to see the victor at close range. Mormon hesitated, all slowly moving
+toward the bridge. Men were staring toward the mesa whence came a
+high-powered car, rushing at high speed, magnificently driven, taking
+curve and pitch and level with superb judgment. Its lights flamed out on
+the night. It turned and came on, stopping on the bridge, blocked by the
+crowd that made slow opening for it. The driver, in chauffeur's livery,
+sat immobile, controlling the car, his worldly-wise, blas� face like a
+mask. Two men were in the tonneau. One of them leaned forward, looking
+at the crowd, a square-jawed man, clean-shaven but for the bristle of a
+silver mustache beneath an aggressive nose, above a firm hard mouth and
+determined 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 as
+plainly as eastern product, but his manner was subordinate though his
+face that, alone of the three, seemed to hold a measure of fearful
+wonder at the turbulent throng of men, was shrewd enough.
+
+"I'm looking for a man named Plimsoll," said the first of these two, his
+voice an indication that he was accustomed to a quick answer. "He wired
+me about some claims. Where'll I find him?" He made no question
+concerning the crowd, his eyes passed casually over Mormon's damaged
+countenance, over the procession that bore Russell, sack-fashion. Here
+was a man who, at any hour of the twenty-four, was primed for business
+and for profit.
+
+Yet he could not fail but see that his question charged the crowd with
+some emotion he could not fathom. The night was spent, it was getting
+close to dawn. The issue between Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll, crowded
+aside for the moment, was now paramount. Some craned for sight of the
+two-gun man, others glanced toward the eastern sky. The stars seemed to
+be losing their brilliance, the golden moon turning silver, the high
+horizon, jagged with mountain crests, appeared to be gaining form and a
+third dimension.
+
+"You'll likely find him at his place," answered a miner. "Up-street on
+the 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 the
+street. One or two of the bolder got on the running boards unchecked.
+The easterner who was looking for Plimsoll took in the situation as
+something beyond his present range, accepting it. Sandy turned to
+Mormon.
+
+"You better see Miss Mirandy up to her claim," he said, his voice casual
+enough. Mormon started an appeal but it died unvoiced. The spinster knew
+nothing of the clash impending between Sandy and the gambler, neither
+did her nephew, who, the excitement of the fight over, yawned and went
+off with his aunt and Mormon.
+
+"I'll bring you up that chunk of meat, Mormon," whispered Sam. "An' I'll
+bring you somethin' stronger, same time."
+
+"Don't bring it all on yore breath," Mormon whispered back. "If I hear
+any shootin' I'll come back lopin'."
+
+"There won't be any shootin'," said Sam. "You go soak that eye of yores
+in Mirandy Bailey's sage tea. Me 'n' Sandy, we'll handle Plimsoll." Then
+Sam broke clear from Mormon and hurried after Sandy and Westlake.
+
+Sandy walked up the street without hurry and, as they had made way from
+the car, men gave him space. The nearer he got to Plimsoll's place the
+more room they allowed him. They melted away from the car on all sides,
+leaving it clearest between the machine and the entrance to the gambling
+shack. The chauffeur preserved his bored look and carved attitude. His
+face was lined with lack of sleep and the strain of driving at high
+speed over unknown mountain roads, powdered gray with dust. He seemed
+almost an automaton. The man with the square face looked alertly about
+him at the crowd, giving place to the lean tall man walking leisurely up
+the street, high lights touching the metal of the two guns that hung in
+holsters well to the front of his hips. Sandy's face was serene, but
+there was no mistaking the fact that the star performer of the moment
+had come upon the stage. Five paces back of him strolled Sam, his eyes
+dancing with the excitement that did not show in Sandy's steel-gray
+orbs. 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 appeared
+between his eyebrows and he half rose in his seat. Then the door of the
+cabin 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 cards
+until he knew himself beaten. He had been hoping for the arrival of this
+man. He represented capital, the development of the camp into a mining
+town, the movement of money, the boom of quick sales. With his
+backing--once the camp understood what it meant to all of them--he might
+turn the tables on Sandy Bourke. The protection of Capital was powerful.
+
+He came out licking his lips nervously, with a swift survey that took in
+the setting of the stage prepared for his entrance. His eyes, shifting
+from the big machine, as if drawn by something beyond his will, focused
+on the figure of Sandy, easy but sinister in its capacity to avoid all
+melodrama. 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 the
+shadows, pale but visible. The lights of the machine changed from yellow
+to pale lemon, the flares outside the cabins, the illumination of the
+windows altered. High up, a tiny fleck of cloud caught the fire of the
+as yet unseen sun, rolling on to dawn behind the range. Things seemed
+flat, lacking full definition, lacking shadow. In the east the sky
+showed gray behind the dark purple crests between which mists were
+trailing. Men shivered, half from cold, half from tension and lack of
+sleep.
+
+"Plimsoll," said Sandy. "That peak oveh on Sawtooth Range is goin' to
+catch the light first. I'll call it sun-up when the sun looks oveh the
+mesa."
+
+Plimsoll bared his teeth in a fox-grin. Sandy stood with his hands by
+his sides, covering him with his eyes. Plimsoll looked at the hands that
+he knew could move swifter than he could follow, he looked at the car
+with Keith gazing from him to Sandy, he sensed the waiting strain of all
+the men, waiting to see Sandy shoot--if he did not go, to see him
+crumple up in the dust, and--he looked at the peak on Sawtooth and his
+face grayed as the granite suddenly flushed with rose. His will melted,
+he turned and went inside his cabin. No one followed him, there was no
+one 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, had
+been at the door since midnight. He mounted, dug spurs into the beast's
+flanks and went galloping madly up the slope that rose from the street
+gulch leading down to the main gulch of Flivver Creek. He was
+shortcutting for the mesa road, hate in his heart, his blood, his brain;
+poisoning hate that turned all his secretions to gall. His plans for
+wealth had been blocked by a man he dared not face. Before Sandy Bourke
+his spirit flinched as a leaf shrinks and curls from flame. The forced
+acknowledgment of it was an acid aggravation. He raked his horse's
+flanks with his rowels and the spirited brute, pick of all Plimsoll's
+horse 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 once
+evil and futile, a venom that was bound to spread until the infection
+mastered him, body and mind and soul, steeped them in a devil's brew
+that permitted of no other thought but what was dominated by the mad
+desire to get even.
+
+Some one caught sight of the galloping horse and rider lunging along in
+a cloud of dust that showed golden as the sun rose and looked over the
+mesa. He raised a shout that was joined in by the rest, that reached the
+flying Plimsoll as the view-halloo reaches the fox making for its
+earth.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+CASEY TOWN
+
+
+The man named Keith called to Sandy Bourke who, for the moment, still
+stood alone, now rolling a cigarette. He was the only man in the close
+vicinity 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 appeared
+struggling to invest with humor, "exactly what is the idea of this
+theatrical, 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 go
+at that, if you like. Li'l' western drama entitled _To Be Shot at
+Sunrise_."
+
+The crowd began to gather closer, curious to find out the reason for the
+swift 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've
+come all the way from New York to do business with him, driven the last
+two hundred miles in this car, I'd be obliged if you would tell me just
+what was the matter, Mr.----?"
+
+"Bourke. Sandy Bourke."
+
+The stranger had managed to muffle down his chagrin and resentment at
+the outcome of his trip. Of necessity he was a judge of men and it did
+not take him long to place Sandy. Keith was an adept at adapting himself
+to his environment.
+
+"Sorry to have upset things fo' you," went on Sandy, "but this was a
+personal matteh between myse'f an' Plimsoll that had to be settled
+pronto an' permanent. I don't reckon how you've lost a heap, said
+Plimsoll bein' a crook."
+
+"My name's Keith, Wilson Keith," said the other. "I don't know that that
+means much to you as I judge you generally belong to the range rather
+than the mining camp, but there may be a few in the crowd who know me. I
+am a mining promoter. Plimsoll had agreed to sell me his interest in
+certain claims which showed well in assay reports. They alone were
+insufficient to interest me. When he wired me the news of the general
+strike, the prospect of development opened and I came on. You seem to
+have 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 own
+those 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 through
+here 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 Plimsoll
+tried 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 had
+none 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 same
+bein' my legal ward."
+
+"Ah!" Wilson Keith's eyes grew keen and cold. "Have you any interest in
+them 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 the
+promoter and held them for a second or two.
+
+The thought passed through Keith's mind that Sandy's interest, and that
+of his partners, might have been obtained from the girl under false
+pretenses, but he was very far from a fool and, among the things he saw
+in Sandy's eyes, it was clearly written that here was a man who was both
+absolutely 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 bed
+late?"
+
+The remark raised a laugh in the crowd, now milling good-naturedly about
+the machine.
+
+"Want to buy any more claims?" asked a voice.
+
+"I might. I've looked over the ground once, I may as well admit, and
+I've had an expert report upon it. I'd like to have a talk with all of
+you after I've had some coffee. This is a camp where it will take a
+great deal of money, of labor and of time to develop it, whether you try
+to drill and blast yourselves, or pool your interests and install
+machinery. 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 to
+their coffee. The crowd once more had sleep discounted by excitement.
+Keith had shrewdly said just enough. The seed that he had planted in the
+suggestion that they pool interests fell in such rich ground that it
+began sprouting immediately.
+
+Sandy introduced Sam as his partner, Westlake as a mining engineer and
+assayer. Keith gave Westlake a shrewd appraising glance, and a nod.
+
+"I'm too sleepy myse'f to talk business," said Sandy. "My two pardners
+are 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 to
+his 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 as
+much emotion as a hopper taking in grain. Keith talked matters over with
+Blake, not because he valued his secretary's opinion, able as he was in
+his appointed duties, but because it helped Keith to clarify conditions
+in his own mind.
+
+"There were only a few old-timers in the crowd, Blake," he said. "The
+rest of them will want to be going back to wherever and whatever they
+came from as soon as they find this is not a placer proposition. A heap
+of people heard of a gold rush and think it's always a Tom Tiddler's
+Ground, like washing out the rich sands of Nome. They'll be glad to sell
+and take shares for cash."
+
+"Ought to change the name of the camp," suggested Blake. "Dynamite is
+known as an exploded prospect."
+
+"Thought of that," said Keith. "This is damned good coffee. I'll have
+another cup.... How about Casey Town, after the original discoverer who
+always believed in the place, but lacked the money for development and
+wouldn't take in a partner? Picturesque and good stuff for the
+prospectuses. You might send off some stuff about that, Blake, work in
+this Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll affair and find out what this all-night
+racket was about. Good, lively publicity stuff we can use again later
+on. 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 his
+methods, did not interrupt him. Keith was planning a campaign, figuring
+out 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 the
+arrival 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, looking
+at where Mormon snored beneath blankets, "I reckon we better all foller
+his example. If that man Keith wants to buy my claims I'm willin' to
+sell. Milkin' is more in my line than minin', I've decided. I had a fool
+idea we'd pick up nuggets, top of the ground. From what Mr. Westlake
+tells me, you got to put out a lot of money before you even find out
+whether you're goin' to see the color of gold."
+
+"Let's hold a pow-wow before we turn in," said Sandy. "Westlake, what do
+you know about Keith? Anything?"
+
+"I've heard of him. I imagine he started out as a promoter rather than a
+developer. He has made some lucky strikes. There is no doubt but that
+he can float this proposition on a large scale, induce others to put
+money into it. The least likely-looking properties he'll put on the
+market 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 that
+will be a sound one. You see, Miss Bailey, not every porphyry dyke is
+going to have a gold lining."
+
+"Do you figger it w'ud pay best to sell him outright or let him form a
+company?" 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's
+opinion on anything he wants to buy. He's tipped his hand already in
+showin' how far an' fast he came here. Probably had Plimsoll tied up on
+an 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 best
+side of the gulch. The indications are in sight there. This side the
+exposed reef may have been ground down below the sylvanite. There are
+glacial signs all around here. I would say sell these for cash, holding
+out on price until Keith refuses to offer more. He'll come back for a
+final bid. But let him organize with your claims."
+
+"The Molly Casey Mine? With fifty-one per cent. of the shares, if we
+can't get more?"
+
+"He'll squeal like a pig before he grants that," said Westlake. "But
+he'll have to come through to your terms. Those claims are the big bet
+of this camp, and he knows it."
+
+It would have surprised Keith had he known how accurately the young
+engineer he had glanced at and dismissed as almost an amateur at the
+game, followed the trend of his scheming. There is not much variation in
+the methods of Mining Promotion, and Westlake was an observer and a
+conserver 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 the
+fat job, Westlake. I'm dawg-tired. Sam, let's you an' me shack over to
+our 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 drawn
+and 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 his
+plans 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 could
+get the girl to vote apart from the three partners or he might split
+them some way or another. But, wisely, he did not count on this. And he
+took up the task of exploitation with zest, Blake, primed with material
+and notes gathered on the spot, a ready and expert assistant.
+
+When Wilson Keith made up his mind there was money in a plan--money for
+Wilson 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 for
+which he could pat himself upon the back and tell himself how much
+cleverer he was than the public, swimming up to his golden-baited hooks
+like so many fish. Thornton, expert mining engineer, believed the
+prospects 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 itself
+to exploitation.
+
+Blake, nosing here and listening there, while Keith satisfied himself as
+to the legality of Sandy's guardianship of Molly and the powers that had
+been granted him to look after all her interests, assuring himself of
+the speciousness of Plimsoll's claim for grubstake interest. Blake,
+weaving fact into fiction, compiled the romance of Molly Casey, daughter
+of the wandering prospector, Patrick Casey; her father's trail-chum by
+mountain and desert; the death of Casey, the rescue of Molly, the strike
+at Dynamite.
+
+Much about Sandy's part in it all Blake did not use. He learned little
+and said nothing of Plimsoll's attempt to get the girl under his
+control, of the wild ride across the county line. Blake's general
+canniness concentrated wherever his personal interests were concerned
+and he had made up his mind that Sandy Bourke was a man whom it would
+not pay to offend. He might never see the story in print, then again he
+might, and Blake, very likely, would return to Casey Town once in a
+while with Keith.
+
+But it was a good story. A Sunday feature story if he could strengthen
+it a little. If the mine made the girl a millionairess it would carry
+the yarn as sheer news, but Blake wanted the story to help to carry the
+mine, to bring in the money from the outside to exploit Casey Town and
+the Keith holdings.
+
+Keith had the capital and was willing enough to put it into developing
+the Molly Mine if necessary, but it was a business principle of his
+never 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 this
+took money. His wife took more, his son, just out of college, took all
+that he could get. Mrs. Keith seemed to regard her husband's
+bank-account much as the wife of a farmer might regard the spring in the
+meadow. With the extravagance of the post-war period, the advance in
+prices, the amounts she spent were staggering even to Keith, who set no
+limits on his own ability to make money. To suggest retrenchment would
+not merely have had small effect upon his wife, but any curtailment
+would infallibly hurt the standing of the Keith investments. New York
+was full of people with money to invest. Profiteering, easy-come money,
+a lot of it. Easy-go money, too, when the profiteers, still dazzled by
+their 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--to
+his home where he dazzled them, fogged them in an atmosphere where they
+were ill at ease though striving to cover it; Keith, drawing them aside
+when the time was ripe, would tell them of their shrewdness, confess a
+liking, almost an admiration for them--and let them in on the ground
+floor.
+
+There were the many who could not be touched personally and, for these,
+Blake prepared the literature and laid his schemes for real newspaper
+publicity. Submitting them to Keith, the latter approved. Mrs. Keith was
+to look Molly up at her school, take her into the Keith home on
+vacations, introduce her into the social whirl. The right newspapermen
+would see her, meet her, get the story from Blake of her romantic
+childhood, with photographs of the Western Heiress in the Park on
+Horseback. There would be drawings by staff artists of the way she and
+her father appeared wandering through the desert, discovering the
+claims, 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 best
+paragraphs, tied up with views of Casey Town, with engineers' reports,
+with semi-scientific stuff about sylvanite, a masterpiece of romance and
+fiction, peppered with fact. The whole to be titled _White Gold_.
+
+Advertisements, headed _White Gold_, offering the shares. Personal
+letters to those on the carefully selected lists of _Preferred
+Investors_. Offices of the Casey Town Mining Company with alluring
+specimens behind glass cases, with models of mining machinery and of
+sections of mines, framed maps and drawings, blue-prints, a chunk of
+sylvanite ore in a railed-off enclosure with the legend of its marvelous
+value. Many, most, of these lures, had done service in previous
+enticements of Keith, but they still held good. They were a good deal
+like the fake mermaids, the skulls and odds and ends in the window of a
+palmist, all bait, of better quality, more deftly arranged and
+displayed, 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 Keith
+approved of it. That the partners of the Three Star as fifty-one per
+cent, owners, or Molly Casey herself with them, should be consulted or
+informed, never entered his head.
+
+Of course there was always a chance of the investors realizing heavily
+if Casey Town turned up big production. Keith hoped it would. Provided
+he made all the money he wanted, he was always willing to have others
+get hold of some, especially when he would be regarded by them as the
+benefactor who had given them the golden opportunity. He would reap the
+major harvest, and success would open up the way for other
+fields--perhaps in oil. Keith had some associates who rather scoffed at
+his gold-mining promotion as out-of-date. Oil was quicker, more in the
+public eye. Every time the price of gasoline or kerosene went up the
+American automobile-owning public thought of oil, they were primed
+perpetually toward its possibilities.
+
+But Keith was still in gold. He knew all the technique of that branch of
+speculation and Blake's campaign was carried out most successfully. Mrs.
+Keith descended overwhelmingly upon Molly at her school, chauffeur and
+footman on the driving seat of her luxurious sedan; gasped a little when
+she saw that Molly was a beauty, could be made an unusual one with the
+right dressing, the right setting.
+
+Her brain, which was keen enough in business matters, told her that she
+could improve her husband's program of using Molly as an attraction to
+bring 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 in
+love with Molly, the heiress. She wrote to the Three Star Ranch, to
+Sandy Bourke, guardian of Molly Casey, without Molly's knowledge. Sandy
+read 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 almost
+amounted to genius. The hints of Molly's unhappiness so cleverly
+suggested, the mother suggestion, the need of companionship and advice
+from an older woman, Molly's intolerance of conventionalities, all went
+home; though it was some time before the trio entirely absorbed the
+meaning of the glossy phrases and glib vocabulary. The letter passed
+about in silence after Sandy had read it, Sam and Mormon plowing through
+the maze of the fashionable script.
+
+"Reckon she's right," said Mormon. "Molly's different. She had a mighty
+hard time of it along with her old man, compared to what them
+soft-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 ways
+w'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 it
+must be tough to be herded inter a corral where you got to learn all
+over ag'in how to handle yore feet an' hands, not to mention forks. This
+Keith woman's spotted Molly ain't easy at school. The other gals like
+her, but they ain't her style. She's range bred an' free. Those other
+fillies have been brought up in loose boxes. They probably don't mean to
+hurt her feelin's none, but I 'low they snicker once in a while if Molly
+forgets the right sasshay. An' Molly's proud as they make 'em. Sounds
+good 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 a
+pritty fine woman to think of takin' Molly into her own home. I reckon
+Molly 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 a
+glance at his partners that was half shamefaced. "Why not git her
+opinion? Takes a woman to understand a woman. She'd sabe this letter a
+heap 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, did
+ye, Mormon?" asked Sam.
+
+"Never did."
+
+"That's too bad."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Gen'ral principles." Sam said no more but took out his harmonica, ever
+in one hip pocket, and crooned into it. A jiggly-jazz edition of
+_Mendelssohn's Wedding March_ strained through the curtains of Sam's
+drooping mustache.
+
+"Speakin' wide, the weddin' cake of matrimony has been mostly mildewed
+for me," said Mormon reflectively, "but there was one thing about my
+last wife I sure admired. Uncommon thing in woman an' missin' in some
+men."
+
+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 can
+do 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 to
+tackle. I used to wonder why they allus put frostin' on weddin' cake. I
+reckon 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. Nature
+give 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 walking
+toward the cottonwood grove with Grit at his heels.
+
+"He thinks a heap of Molly," opined Sam. "I reckon he sure hates to
+lose her, if he is woman-shy. 'Course Molly was jest a kid. But I don't
+fancy she'll take the back-trail once she gits mixed up with the Keith
+outfit."
+
+"I ain't so plumb sure of that," returned Mormon. "Molly's bo'n an' bred
+with 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't
+forgettin' the water-hole."
+
+Sam glanced at Mormon curiously. It wasn't often Mormon showed any touch
+of what Sam characterized as poetical.
+
+Sandy, under the cottonwoods where the spring bubbled, so near the old
+prospector's grave that perhaps the old-miner lying there could, in his
+new affinities with Nature, hear its flow, was thinking much the same
+thing Mormon had expressed, hoping it might be true, chiding himself
+lest 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. A
+railing outlined the grave, and the turf within it was kept short and
+green. Sandy squatted down and rolled a cigarette, smoking it as he sat
+cross-legged. Grit, as was his custom, leaped the railing lightly and
+lay down above the dust of his dead master, head couched on paws, turned
+a little sidewise, his grave eyes surveying Sandy.
+
+"Miss her, ol' son? So do I. Mebbe she'll come back to see us-all. She
+sure did seem to belong."
+
+Memories of Molly flickered across the screen of his mind: Molly beside
+her father by the broken wagon, climbing to get the cactus blossom for
+his cairn; Molly at the grave; Molly giving him the gold piece; the wild
+ride across the pass and the race for the train and a recollection that
+was freshest of all, one he had not mentioned to his partners; the touch
+of Molly's lips on his as he had bade her good-by. The kiss had not been
+that of a child, there had been a magic in it that had thrilled some
+chord in Sandy that still responded to that remembrance. He never dwelt
+on it long, it brought a vague reaction always, stirred that strange
+instinct of his that had branded him as woman-shy, kept him clean. Part
+of it was intuitive desire for freedom of will and action, as the wild
+horse shies at even the shadow of a halter that may mean bondage,
+however pleasant. Part of it was reverence for woman, deep-seated, a
+hazy, never analyzed feeling that this belief might be disappointed.
+
+Miranda, alone in the flivver, a new car of her own, bought with money
+paid by Keith for her claim, was at the ranch-house when Sandy returned.
+Miranda and young Ed Bailey, accepting Westlake's advice, had sold for
+cash, getting fifteen thousand dollars to divide between them, refusing
+more glittering offers of stock. It was a windfall well worth their
+endeavor and they were amply satisfied. Young Ed had promptly gone to
+Agricultural College, putting in part of his money to buy new stock and
+implements for his father's ranch, in which he now held a half
+partnership. Miranda, Mormon and Sam were talking about this when Sandy
+came up.
+
+"It sure made a man of young Ed overnight," said the spinster. "He
+thought it out all by himse'f an' nigh surprised us off our feet. He was
+sort of ganglin', more ways than one, an' we feared the money 'ud go to
+his head. Which it did, as a matter of fact, but it was a tonic, 'stead
+of actin' like an intoxicant. We're plumb proud of him.
+
+"Mr. Westlake was over day before yesterday," she went on. "Goin' on
+through 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 is
+boomin' up to Casey Town. There's been some good strikes, one in the
+claim nex' but one to ours. Keith's goin' to start things whirlin', I
+reckon."
+
+"Mebbe he'll see Molly," suggested Sam. "Though of course she ain't to
+Keith'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 lap
+for a few moments.
+
+"Want my opinion on it?" she asked finally.
+
+"Yes," said Sandy. "If the mines are goin' to produce big she'll likely
+be rich. She went east to git culchured up. Seems like the school idea
+might not have been the best, after all."
+
+"I don't know. I don't rightly git the motive back of this writin'. It
+ain'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 pay
+well for bein' taken up. I don't mean in money but, if Molly didn't have
+a show of bein' rich, an' warn't pritty, which she is, I ain't certain
+Mrs. Keith 'ud be so eager. I guess it's all right but, somehow, it
+don't hit me as plumb sincere. Still ... I reckon my opinion is like
+that gilt hawss top of Ed's barn," she ended with a smile. "It was set
+up too light, I reckon, an' it was allus shiftin', north, south, east
+an' west, when you c'udn't feel a breath of wind on the level. I ain't
+got a thing to pin it to, but I feel there's something back of it, like
+a 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. Keith
+lives up to that half-promise of hers an' make it a condition she brings
+Molly out here inside of six months. That'll give time for a fair trial
+an' you can see right then fo' yoreself how it's workin'. Long's she
+goin' to have teachers she can't lose much."
+
+"That's a plumb fine idee," said Mormon, looking triumphantly at his
+partners.
+
+It ran with Sandy's own wishes and he subscribed to it. Sam endorsed it
+as well, and a letter was sent east that night, containing the proviso
+of Molly's return and another that Molly should bear all her own
+expenses of tuition and living. All this to hang upon Molly's own desire
+to 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. One
+page was devoted to her anticipations of coming back to visit Three
+Star:
+
+     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 do
+a hawss, on'y not so much, but I'm a hell-singed son of a horned-toad if
+I'd ever kiss one."
+
+"It's two to one you don't have to," said Mormon. "If you're a sport
+you'll do as Molly asks an' draw cards fo' the privilege. It's a
+sure-fire cinch she'll never give you one of them salutes she hints at
+when she comes home ef she knows you backed out. Wait till I git the
+cards."
+
+It was plain to Sandy that Sam and Mormon, despite Sam's protest, took
+Molly's pleasantry in earnest and he made no comment as Mormon deftly
+shuffled 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 sight
+of Mormon's card.
+
+"Hold on, Molly said 'High man out.' That's Sandy. You an' me got to
+draw again. Ain't that so, Sandy?"
+
+"Sure is," said Sandy gravely. "You hollered too soon, Sam. Prob'ly
+crabbed yore luck."
+
+Both chose their cards and drew them to the edge of the table, face
+down, 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 that
+brought water to their eyes and nearly sent Mormon into convulsions. Sam
+surveyed 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 it
+to a livin' soul, outside of Molly, I'll plumb scalp, skin an' silence
+both of you. _Kiss a dawg!_ Hell's delight!"
+
+They started to follow him, still weak with laughter, but he threatened
+them with his gun and they fell back in mock alarm while Sam went round
+back of the corral and they heard him whistling for Grit. When he
+reappeared, straddling along on his bowed legs, his good humor had
+returned.
+
+"How's he like it?" asked Mormon.
+
+Sam grinned at him.
+
+"You bald-headed ol' badger, you, he acted plumb like yore wives must
+have, when I salutes him on the snoot. Licks my nose first an' then
+curls up his tongue an' licks off his own. Wipes out all trace of the
+oskylation 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 I
+figger out that I was just handin' it on fo' Molly, an' that she owes me
+one, whether she decides to salute you two galoots or not."
+
+Molly's letters were prime events at the Three Star. She wrote every
+week telling of life at the Keiths'. Miranda made up the quartet to read
+them. 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, kind
+words for the elder Keiths. "Don't think I've changed," she said. "I'm
+the same Molly underneath even if I have been revamped and decorated."
+
+The famous _White Gold_ prospectuses and advertisements duly followed
+the 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 sent
+Keith's stocks soaring high. The porphyry dyke at the Molly Mine began
+to yield rich results almost from the first and dividends were paid in
+such quantities as to stagger the Three Star outfit who saw themselves
+in a fair way to become rich. All over the barren hills, where the first
+futile shafts had been driven and abandoned, buildings sprang up like
+mushrooms, housing machinery, sending up plumes of white smoke that
+tokened the underground energies. The Keith properties were being
+developed with much show of outlay, prices jumping at every report from
+the Molly Mine or other successful developments. None of the investors
+in these Keith undertakings knew that he owned forty-nine per cent of
+the shares of the Molly and of none other, save for the space between
+issuing them and selling them.
+
+The three partners held consultation as to their disposal of the checks
+that were sent them.
+
+"Molly, she's gettin' the same amount we're splittin' both ways," said
+Sam, "but somehow it don't seem right to me the way we come in. It was
+her dad's mine. He found it. All we did was to find her--an' Grit done
+that. The dawg ought to have a gold collar an' we might accept a gold
+plated 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. "Now
+she's bein' shown how to spend it. It ain't that she'd kick, but some
+might think we'd taken advantage of her. Darn me if I don't feel
+thataway myse'f."
+
+"I see it this way," said Sandy. "I've done a heap of thinkin' over the
+matter. I don't believe that Molly has changed--still she might be
+influenced by folks who w'ud look at it that she made the deal when she
+was a minor an' we c'udn't enfo'ce it. Bein' her guardeen, I'm
+responsible fo' what she makes an' what she loses. Jim Redding fixed up
+things in that line He an' Ba'bara Redding understand it all but others
+mightn't. I'm plumb sure that if we-all didn't take the money Molly 'ud
+pull out her picket-pin an' say we wasn't playin' fair an' square with
+her. It was a deal an', at the time, I had no mo' idee the mines w'ud
+pan out than I have that Sam's laigs'll grow straight. I figger we can
+do this. We can use the money, keepin' account of it, puttin' it into
+stock an' improvements that'll pay fo' themselves long befo' Molly comes
+of age an' my guardeen papers play out. That way we'll have the benefit
+of the capital an' keep it ready to turn over to her if she ever needs
+it. I don't believe she'll ever take one red cent of it. It was a gamble
+with her an' she's a thoroughbred sport. To my mind, she'd sooner be
+slapped 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 it
+handy."
+
+"Figger she's goin' to marry that young Keith? She writes a heap of
+Donald's this an' Donald doin' that. I'd like to take a slant at him. I
+sure 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 money
+in the family. Mirandy's allus 'spicioned a motive to that invite."
+
+"Shucks! She asked her befo' the mine made a showin'. An' every dollar
+Molly 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 now
+unpopular profession, since suffrage ruled, and stayed close to his
+horse ranch. It lay alone, and few visited it save Plimsoll's own
+associates. Rumors drifted concerning Plimsoll's remarkable herd
+increase of saleable horses but, unless proof of actual operation was
+forthcoming, there was small chance of pinning anything down in the way
+of illegal work. There was always the excuse of having rounded up a
+bunch of broom-tail wild horses to account for growing numbers, and, if
+he stole or not, Plimsoll left the horses of his own county alone. No
+neighbor was injured and though stories of wild happenings at the horse
+ranch were current it was considered nobody's business. Wyatt once,
+staggering out of some blind pig in Hereford, still existent despite the
+suffrage sweeping, babbled in maudlin drunkenness of his determination
+to get even with Plimsoll for stealing his sweetheart. For Wyatt, for
+the sake of the girl, had gone back to Plimsoll's employ. The new
+sheriff 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 grand
+shoot-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 the
+listeners. "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 first
+chance he gets. I spoke to him about what he's been firing off from his
+mouth the night before an' he shuts up like a clam. 'I was foolish
+drunk,' he says, but there was a look in his eyes that was nasty. If
+Plim's wise he'll get rid of Wyatt. He knows too much an' he's liable to
+tip it off."
+
+"Wyatt an' Plim's both of 'em side-swipers," returned the other. "They'd
+throw 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 holding
+Plimsoll. 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 for
+the head of the management, whether young or old, male or
+female--carried out his long cherished plans for additional
+water-supply, for alfalfa planting, for registered bulls and high-grade
+cows. Now that there was money in sight the success of the ranch was
+assured. He studied hard, he got in touch with the state experimental
+developments, he subscribed for magazines that told of cattle breeding,
+he sent soils for analysis and young Ed, coming home from his first
+term, found, somewhat to his chagrin, that Sandy was far ahead of him in
+both the theory and practise of ranching.
+
+The days multiplied into weeks and the weeks into months. Sandy received
+one letter from Brandon that seemed to presage another visit across the
+line. 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 now
+fitted 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 it
+up 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 moments
+gentlin' a hawss fo' her an' pickin' wild flowers, until Mirandy Bailey
+persuades her the climate is too chilly. But I'll bet Molly c'ud handle
+that 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 had
+changed a good deal. They held responsibilities, they owned a home and
+they lived there. None of them, since they were children, had ever known
+the close companionship of a young girl. Mormon's matrimonial adventures
+had been foredoomed shipwrecks on the sands of time, his wives marital
+pirates preying on his good nature and earnings. Molly had leavened
+their existences in a way that two of them hardly suspected and the
+yeast of affection was still working. Each hung to the hope that she
+might return to the ranch again to stay and each felt that hope was a
+faint 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 Town
+properties, that he was traveling in a private car with his son, with
+Molly and her governess-companion, and that the two latter would get off
+at Hereford for a visit to the Three Star, Sandy went about with a
+whistle, Sam breathed sanguine melodies through the harmonica and Mormon
+beamed 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 regrets
+that her physicians did not think the journey would be best for her to
+undertake in the present state of her health, which meant that she
+feared possible discomforts en route and imagined the ranch as a place
+where one was fed only on beans, sourdough bread, bull meat and
+indifferent 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 the
+matter 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 that
+means thin-blooded or underfed. My sister's niece by marriage was that
+way till they fed her cod-liver oil an' scraped beef. 'Pears to me as if
+all the companions an' governesses was that kind of folk. I suppose they
+hire out cheaper account of not bein' overstrong."
+
+"You can search me," answered Mormon. "Ask Sandy, he's browsin' through
+the dikshunary reg'lar these days. Gettin' so it's hard to sabe half he
+tells 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. "I
+can't bear 'em."
+
+"That's the legal meaning," said Sandy. "I reckon this is
+it--submissive."
+
+"Halter-broke. That's more likely. That's the kind that Keith party w'ud
+pick. I ain't ever seen her nor don't hope nor expect to, but that's the
+kind she'd pick. No backbone. Molly'll twist her round her little
+finger. Wonder how old she is?"
+
+"The word you meant was anemic, Miss Mirandy," said Sandy, turning a
+leaf in the dictionary. "They sound about the same."
+
+"There's too many words anyway," she replied. "Folks don't use mo'n a
+hundredth part of 'em an' git along first-rate. I don't see why they
+print 'em." Miranda did not show to the best advantage during the rest
+of her visit. She snubbed Mormon severely when he offered to get water
+for her car. "I've fetched an' carried for myself long enough not to
+want to be waited on," she said. "An' I don't need water anyway." She
+drove off and had to bail from an irrigating ditch before she was
+half-way to her destination. Whereupon she took herself to task.
+
+"Miranda Bailey, there's no fool like an old fool," she said aloud, with
+sage-brush and timid prairie dogs for audience. "What you want to do is
+to keep sweet. Now git on." The final adjuration was to her car, to
+which she always spoke exactly as if it was a horse.
+
+"What do you suppose made her so cantankerous?" Mormon inquired after
+she had driven round the corral. "Reckon you got her sore bawlin' her
+out about usin' the wrong word, Sandy. A woman's sensitive about them
+things."
+
+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' lost
+to all sense of touch or motion," he shouted. "Remember what I said
+about the stenographer? Mirandy's jealous of the Nicholson woman. Plumb
+jealous! You better wear blinders while she's here, Mormon. If she's a
+good-looker, Gawd help you! Mirandy won't."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+EAST AND WEST
+
+
+When Miranda Bailey heard the news she announced her determination of
+coming over to the Three Star to prepare for the visitors.
+
+"I reckon my reputation'll stand it," she said, "seein' I'm older than
+two of you an' the third is still a married man. That spineless
+governess'll be writin' back to the Keith woman about everything she
+sees, eats, sits or sleeps on. Pedro's cookin' is enough to give any
+easterner dyspepsy. The whole house wants reddin' up, it ain't been
+swept proper fo' a year."
+
+Abashed, the partners gave her full sway. They lived on the porch in
+their spare waking moments, they ate cold victuals, and the lives of
+Pedro and Joe were made miserable. But the ranch-house was scoured from
+top to bottom. Miranda's car brought over curtains for the windows,
+flowers for the window-sills, odds and ends that made the place look
+homely, cheerful, inviting. Pedro was given lessons at the stove that he
+at first took sulkily but, being praised and his wages raised, took
+pride 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 bring
+them over from time to time. He can make a pie an' biscuit an' he can
+broil meat. I've taught him to mash his pertaters with milk 'stead of
+water an' to put butter in his hot cakes. I'm stayin' over till supper
+ter-morrer to see everything has a good staht."
+
+"She's stayin' over to git a good look at the Nicholson party," Sam said
+to Mormon. "All this ain't jest for Molly."
+
+"There's nothin' between Miss Mirandy an' myse'f," replied Mormon with
+dignity. "She's a wonderful housekeeper."
+
+"She sure is. Me, I'm so I'm afeard to come into my own house, it's so
+golderned clean. If that third wife of yor'n...."
+
+The long-suffering Mormon turned upon his partner. They were seated on
+the broad top rail of the breaking corral, waiting the call to supper.
+Mormon clutched Sam by his collar and jerked him off the rail, catching
+the slack cloth of his pants at the seat, holding him firmly gripped and
+bending him across his padded lap. Despite Sam's kicks and squirms, he
+paddled him unmercifully and then dropped him sprawling into the corral.
+
+"I ain't done that to you, Sam Manning," he said sternly, "fo' five-six
+years. An' you've got too all-fired fresh. Nex' time I'll do it in front
+of Mirandy, you ornery, bow-laiged, hornin'-in son of a lizard."
+
+Sam said nothing. His face, as he stooped somewhat painfully, was fiery
+red. 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 bough
+of the tree that made the heavy stake. He fumbled with this while Mormon
+shook with laughter like a great jelly. The next moment the lariat came
+flying, circling, settled down over Mormon's head, over his body and
+arms. Sam, working like a jumping-jack, took a quick turn, flung a coil
+about Mormon's legs and in a few seconds, had him trussed helplessly to
+the rail.
+
+"Paddle me, you overgrown buzzard, will you? There you roost till
+Mirandy comes to look for you."
+
+Mormon pleaded and Sam pretended to be inflexible. At last they came to
+a capitulation. Mormon promised to keep his hands off Sam, and the
+latter 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 into
+sight and grunted his message.
+
+"Grub piled. Squaw she say hurry."
+
+For the life of him Sam could not resist a side glance of mirthful
+suggestion at Miranda's tendency to issue orders. Mormon did not notice
+it.
+
+"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 we
+goin' to manage it?"
+
+"Mormon c'ud take the Nicholson party on his lap, if she ain't too
+finicky," suggested Sam. This was hewing close to the line, and Mormon
+glared at him while the spinster sniffed.
+
+"Molly'll ride in with me," said Sandy. "I'm goin' over early on Pronto
+an' 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 a
+real 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 own
+private 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 to
+his statements. He used them on this occasion. The argument dropped. In
+a way Sandy was making the matter a test of Molly. If she was as anxious
+as she wrote to "fork a bronco," if she understood Sandy and he her, she
+would feel that he would be waiting with her mount for her to return to
+the ranch western fashion. If not, it meant that she was out of the
+chrysalis and had become, not the busy bee that belongs to the mesquite
+and the sage, but a gaudier, less responsible flutterer among eastern
+flower-beds.
+
+The bay with the white blaze had been groomed by Sandy until his hide
+was glossy and rich as polished mahogany, while the blaze on his nose
+shone like a plate of silver. His dark mane and tail had been braided
+and combed until it crinkled proudly, the light shone from his curves
+as he moved, reflecting the sky in the high-lights. Hoofs had been oiled
+and Sandy had attended to his shoeing. The bay had been up for a month
+and fed until he was almost pampered, save that Sandy took the excess
+pepper out of him every morning.
+
+A new saddle came from Cheyenne, most famous of all cities for making of
+saddles that are tailor-made, the leather carved cunningly into
+arabesques of cactus design, bossed and rimmed here and there with
+silver, the pattern carried over into the tapideros that hooded the
+stirrups, even into the bridle. It was a masterpiece of art craft, that
+saddle, "made for a lady to ride astride," and it cost Sandy an even
+quarter 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 and
+complained. They too had gifts for the homecomer, but Sandy's outshone
+them 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 the
+occasion of the bath at the time of suffering it, went bounding on pads
+of rubber, leaping up, tearing ahead and back, a shuttling streak of
+gold and silver.
+
+Miranda's caravan started an hour later, she driving, Mormon and Sam in
+the back, each dressed in his best, minus chaparejos and spurs, but
+otherwise most typically the cowboy and therefore out of place--and
+feeling it--as they sat stiffly in the leatherette-lined tonneau.
+Miranda was in starched linen, destitute of all ornament, a dark red
+ribbon at her throat the only touch of color, looking extremely
+efficient and, as Sam whispered to Mormon, "a bit stand-offish." He
+wanted to add, "'count of the Nicholson party," but dared not.
+
+The train rolled in majestically, the private car gleaming with varnish
+and polished glass and brass, with a white-coated darky flashing white
+teeth on the platform as the fussy local engine took the detached luxury
+to the side-track designated for its Hereford location. There,
+forewarned by the agent, much of Hereford assembled to witness the
+arrival of the magnate who had helped to place them more definitely on
+the map and increased their revenues as supply depot for Casey Town. The
+flivver was parked and Miranda, Mormon and Sam made one group a little
+ahead of the others, recognized by the crowd as privileged. Sandy sat
+Pronto, talking to the restive bay, proudly conscious of its new
+trappings and the remarks of the onlookers.
+
+If Wilson Keith, clad in tweeds tailored on Fifth Avenue, a little
+portly, square-faced, confident, a trifle condescending, typified the
+East, Sandy was the West. A good horse is the incarnation of symmetry,
+grace and power. Sandy, erect in the saddle, lean and keen, matched all
+of Pronto's fitness. Man and mount both eminently belonged to the land,
+shimmering with sage, far-stretching to the mountains, a land that
+demanded 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 the
+good lines of his mouth belied obstinacy. He wore the regalia of his
+cow-punching holidays, soft-collared shirt of blue, silk bandanna of
+dark weave in lieu of tie, leather gauntlets, leather chaps, fringed and
+buttoned with leather and trimmed with disk of silver, silver spurs on
+his high-heeled boots, trousers of dark gray stripe, a quirt with the
+handle plaited in black and white diamonds of horsehair dangling from
+one wrist, and the blue Colts in the twin holsters. He could not avoid
+being picturesque, yet there was nothing of the masquerader, the
+moving-picture cowboy. He held the eye, even of Hereford, but only
+because they liked to gaze upon a good man on a good horse. His body
+responded to every shift of Pronto, jigging impatiently, showing off,
+pretending to be afraid of the panting locomotive, body shining like
+metal of bronze and aluminum, his nostrils pink as the inside of a
+shell, ears twitching, rider and mount one in every movement. Grit stood
+with plumy tail erect and waving gently, ears up, red tongue playing
+between white teeth, his eyes like jewels; braced on his feet, tiptoe on
+his pads, watching the parking of the private car with now and then a
+glance of inquiry at Sandy.
+
+Keith stood by the railing of his platform, the darky ready with the
+dismounting stool. He surveyed the crowd affably, with the poise of a
+successful candidate assured of welcome, waving his hand in demi-salute
+to Sandy, Sam and Mormon, lifting his hat graciously to Miranda Bailey.
+The man and the car emanated prosperity. Yet, for all the booming of
+Casey Town, the finding of pay-ore, the sale of shares, Keith's present
+financial status was not all that he trusted it might be within a short
+time. It was part of the technique of his profession to assume a mask
+and manner of financial success, and of late he had worn these until at
+times they jaded him, but they were well designed, well worn, and no one
+doubted but that Wilson Keith was a man of ready millions.
+
+Keith was essentially a gambler. He knew that those who bought his
+shares were largely tinctured with the same spirit that exists, more or
+less, in almost every man. They were amateurs and Keith the
+professional, that was the main difference. The average man likes to
+believe himself lucky. Keith was no exception. He knew the prevalence of
+the trait and traded upon it. Also he knew the gold mining game from
+prospect to prospectus and possible profit. But the expert faro-dealer,
+after his trick is over, is apt to take his wages to the roulette wheel
+of 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 to
+invest heavily. He was beginning to have a vague fear of not being so
+certain as he would have wished as to which end of the line he had
+taken, that of the baited hook, or the end that was attached to the reel
+that automatically plays the fish.
+
+He sold gold and he was buying oil. More, he was sinking wells, infected
+with the fever of the game, whereas, with his own mines, he was cool
+with the poise of the physician who takes count of a pulse. Others,
+partners with him in new enterprises in the petroleum field, were making
+sudden fortunes. His turn had not come yet, but they assured him that
+his ventures promised even more than those that had enriched them.
+Faster than gold came out of Casey Town, Keith used it in Oklahoma and
+Texas. He had come west to view his resources, to strain them to the
+utmost, to overlook the ground with the eye of the past-master of
+promotion, who could conjure up visions of wealth from the barest
+indication of pay-ore, trusting to find inspiration for further
+flotation on his return to New York, his market-place, "fresh from the
+field of operations."
+
+The engine uncoupled and panted off, leaving the car at rest on the
+spur-track. The fox-faced secretary came out, held the door open. Some
+one followed Molly Casey. Sandy surmised it must be Donald Keith, but he
+had sight for nothing except the slender figure whose radiant face,
+between a Panama hat and a dustcoat of pongee silk, shone straight at
+him. It was Molly, but a glorified Molly, woman not girl. The freckles
+had gone, the snub nose had become defined, the eyes of Irish blue
+seemed to have deepened in hue back of their smudgy lashes. The wide
+mouth was the same, scarlet and soft as cactus blossom, smiling, opening
+in a glad cry....
+
+"Sandy!" Her arms went out toward him in greeting over the brass
+railing. Then Grit, catapulting from ground to platform, with frantic
+yaps of welcome, fairly bowled over the darky with his mounting block
+and bounded up into Molly's embrace. There was confusion on the platform
+for a moment with Grit as the nucleus. Another person had come out,
+evidently Miss Nicholson. She was neither undernourished nor thin, she
+was medium-sized and her bones were well covered. She had the general
+appearance of a white rabbit and the manners of a maternally intentioned
+but none too efficient hen. "Amenable" described her in one word. The
+darky was bringing out kitbags and suit-cases, piling them on the
+ground. 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 the
+smaller baggage.
+
+Keith descended first, Molly darted by his extended hand and ran
+straight to Sandy, who had dismounted.
+
+"I'm going to hug you, and Mormon and Sam, as soon as we get home to the
+ranch," 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 come
+over him, fighting with his knowledge of the child who had changed into
+a 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 and
+riding boots, a white stock about the slender, rounded neck. She gave
+one hand to Mormon, the other to Sam, gazing at her in admiration that
+was radiant and goggle-eyed.
+
+"You're losing weight, Mormon," she said. "I believe you must be in
+love."
+
+"I allus was, with you," gallantried Mormon.
+
+"You stand aside, you human chuckawalla!" said Sam. "Miss Molly, you
+sure look good to sore eyes. An' I'm sure happy you're in my debt, if
+you 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' I
+hadn't received."
+
+Molly laughed at him reassuringly. Sandy, looking down at her, saw her
+eyes crinkle at the corners in the old way. Keith and his son joined
+them, coming from the car, the Amenable Nicholson hovering behind
+ingratiatingly.
+
+"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 him
+without his guessing it.
+
+"Glad to see you out west," said Mormon. "We'd sure admire to have you
+visit us fo' a spell."
+
+"I was hoping for a bid," said young Keith. "Thanks. The car is here, or
+will be within an hour or two. Father shipped it ahead. Sims wired us it
+was at the junction. He will drive it over for us to go on to Casey Town
+as soon as he overhauls it. Then I'll run in from the mines, as soon as
+Dad can spare me."
+
+"Donald has to get acquainted with a real mining property," said Keith
+affably. "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 in
+my car till the machine comes. Er"--he looked around, and Miss Nicholson
+fluttered up--"this is Molly's companion, Miss Nicholson. She goes with
+you to the ranch. How...?"
+
+Sandy indicated the flivver and introduced Miranda Bailey, who had been
+directing the stowage of the grips and the proper subordination of the
+porter, who had not seemed appreciative of the flivver.
+
+Molly held out a gloved hand for the reins of the fretful Blaze. Young
+Keith advanced with the proffer of a palm of her mounting. She shook her
+head at him.
+
+"Blaze wouldn't know what you were trying to do, Don," she said. She
+turned the stirrup, set in her foot, grasped mane and horn and raised
+herself lightly, holding her body close to the bay's withers for a
+second as he whirled, then lifting to the saddle, firm-seated, with a
+laugh for Blaze's plungings.
+
+"I see they didn't unteach you ridin' back east," said Mormon
+admiringly.
+
+The pair rode out of the crowd that opened for them, with whispered
+comments upon Molly's appearance, or rather, her reappearance. There
+were few stings in the remarks; the girl's spontaneous gaiety, her
+absolute unconsciousness of effort or cause, her evident delight in her
+return and reunion with the Three Star partners, disarmed all criticism
+of her costume. The Amenable Nicholson clambered into the flivver beside
+Miranda Bailey. Sam, Mormon and the grips packed the tonneau, and Keith
+and 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 all
+constituted a first-class reception committee to meet the illustrious,
+the energetic, good-fellow-well-met promoter and engineer of other
+people's fortunes.
+
+Some of them were invited into the car for a private talk. It is certain
+that cigars were handed round and it was hinted that some private stock
+had found its way upon the car. When, three hours later, the big machine
+with Sims the chauffeur, imperturbable as ever, at the wheel, departed
+with the promoter and his heir, the name of Keith was, for a time at
+least, a household word in Hereford.
+
+There was not much spoken between Molly and Sandy on the way back to the
+ranch. She seemed content to breathe in deep the herb-scented air and
+gaze at the mountains.
+
+Sandy, riding a little to one side, a little back of her, so that he
+could 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 by
+him, 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, he
+and a woman who was all the world to him. Even the dog, leaping beside
+them as they loped, ranging when the pinto and the bay broke to a
+breathing walk, belonged in that picture. It was, he told himself, as if
+a 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 her
+father's death. He could recall the tone of the words at will.
+
+"The damned road jest slid out from under. He didn't have a
+hell-chance!"
+
+Molly, who had put arms about his neck and kissed him good-by when she
+went to school--how long ago that seemed--and said, "Sandy, I don't want
+to go, but I'll be game."
+
+Game! Sandy looked at the supple strength of her, so subtly knit in
+curves of graciousness, alert and upright in the new saddle, Panama hat
+in one hand, the better to get the wind full in her face, her cheeks
+flushed with the caress of it, the thick brown braids fluffing here and
+there;--she was the essence of gameness. He had quoted _Lasca_ to her
+once--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 her
+eyes, "Yo're sure a white man. I'll git even with you some time if I
+work 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 life
+opening up before her to wider horizons than would have been hers if she
+had 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 m�l�e 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, burning
+like a lamp in the heart of a man. It was for this, he knew, that he had
+been woman-shy, that he had cherished his own thought of womanhood as
+something so rare a thought might tarnish it. First love, shorn of boy
+fallacies, strong, irresistible, protective, passionate. He closed his
+eyes and, for the first time in his life, touched leather, gripping the
+horn of his saddle as if he would squeeze it to a pulp.
+
+Game and dainty, tender, true, a girl-woman, partner--what a partner she
+would make, western-bred...!
+
+He checked himself there. She was western born but, what had the
+transplanting done? Would she ever now be satisfied with western ways?
+She would come to him, Sandy knew that. Whatever he asked her she would
+not refuse. But would that be fair to her? And he did not want her to
+come 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 early
+years, she was still young in Sandy's eyes.
+
+It seemed no time since he had taken her from her saddle and carried
+her, a tired heartsore child, in his arms. She must have a fair chance
+to see if the East, with all it could offer her of amusement and
+interest, would not outbid the claims of the West. He must wait and
+watch and hold himself in hand though his love and his knowledge of it
+thrilled through him, charging him as if with an electric current that
+strove to close all gaps between him and Molly, struggling ever, in mind
+and body, to complete the circle.
+
+Molly reined up Blaze and turned in her saddle toward him, her eyes
+sparkling, the color of lupines damp with the dew of dawn. Their eyes
+met, the glance held, welded. For a moment the circuit was formed,
+polarity effected. For a moment Sandy looked deep and then Molly's eyes
+hazed with tenderness, with a yearning that made Sandy's heart
+constrict, that warned him his emotions were getting beyond control, his
+own eyes betraying him. He summoned his will. His face hardened to the
+effort, his eyes steeled. Molly's face flushed rose, from the line of
+her white linen riding stock up to her hair, then it paled, her eyes
+seemed to hold surprise, then hurt. Their expression changed, Sandy
+could not read it now as long lashes veiled them. He spoke with an
+effort, 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 of
+mischief, the old Molly looking out. "If you want to find that out, just
+you watch my smoke," she said, and set her heels sharply to the flanks
+of her mount. The astonished Blaze responded with a snort and a leap and
+cut loose his speed, Sandy after them on the pinto.
+
+They got to the ranch ahead of the flivver by a scant margin. Miranda
+Bailey inducted Molly and her chaperon governess into the quarters she
+had helped prepare for them, Molly giving little cries of delight at the
+improvements she saw down-stairs. Miranda came down first and joined the
+partners.
+
+"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 affected
+none an' her speech an' manners is sure fine. That gel's natcherally got
+a 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. I
+reckon she does fine in teachin' Molly some things, but she'd be plumb
+wasted out West. She never saw a churn an' she'd likely die of thirst
+before she'd ever learn how to milk a cow. She's like the rest of 'em
+back East, I imagine, goes fine so long as folks can be hired to do
+everything fo' you. I'll say she never washed out anything bigger than a
+hankychif or cooked a thing larger'n an egg. An' she c'udn't boss a sick
+lizard. But she's easy to git along with, I suppose."
+
+There was a certain complacency about the spinster's summing up of the
+Amenable Nicholson that made Sam wink covertly at Sandy, watching Mormon
+at the same time. Sam was convinced that, despite the handicap of a
+third wife, present whereabouts unknown, Miranda had made up her mind to
+marry Mormon and regarded all other women as possible rivals.
+
+"That Donald is a good-lookin' lad," went on Miranda. "It must take him
+an awful waste of time to fix his clothes every time he puts 'em on. I
+don't know how smart he is inside, but he's got some of them
+movin'-picture heroes beat on appearance. I'm wonderin' what Molly
+thinks 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 we
+got cash for our claims. Keith's too slick an' smooth an' smilin' to
+suit me. So long as he had lots he'd give you some to help the game
+erlong 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 a
+heap of thinkin' on it, it's the way I feel. Some apples sets my teeth
+on aidge before I know it, some victuals riles my stomach jest to
+mention 'em. I never c'ud abear castor-ile, jest the mention of it makes
+me squirmy. Keith affects me that way, on'y in my mind, well as in the
+pit of my stomach."
+
+It was a lengthy diatribe from Miranda Bailey, accustomed as they were
+to hear her state opinions freely. The trio at Three Star had
+universally come to respect her decisions and also her intuitions and
+none of them had felt especially cordial toward Keith as a man, though
+they 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 different
+east an' west of the Mississippi. The man in New York is sure a heap
+different from the man in Denver or San Francisco or Phoenix. Out here
+we 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 be
+some job. I don't cotton to Keith myse'f, because he ain't my kind of a
+hombre. He don't talk my talk, or think my line of thought, any mo' than
+he wears the same clothes or does the same work. Give him a cow pony or
+strand me alongside one of them stock-market tickers an' we'd both look
+foolish. I'm playin' him as square till I find he ain't. Ef he tries to
+flamjigger Molly out of anything that's comin' to her by rights, why, I
+reckon that's one time the West an' East is goin' to meet--an' mebbe lap
+over 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 got
+you 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 riding
+clothes into a gown that looked simple enough to Sandy, though he sensed
+there were touches about it that differentiated it from anything turned
+out locally. With the dress she looked more womanly, older, than in the
+boyish breeches. Miss Nicholson had made some changes also, but she had
+a chameleon-like faculty of blending with the background that preserved
+her alike from being criticized or conspicuous. As she shook hands with
+Miranda the two presented marked contrasts. Miranda was
+twentieth-century-western, of equal rights and equal enterprise; Miss
+Nicholson mid-Victorian, with no more use for a vote than for one of
+Sandy's guns. Yet likable.
+
+"I'm going to Daddy's grave," said Molly, when Miranda had flivvered
+off. "I wish the three of you would come there to me in about ten
+minutes. Miss Nicholson, everybody's at home here. Please do anything
+you want to, nothing you don't want to. She rides, Sandy. And rides
+well. Can you get up a horse for her to-morrow?"
+
+Miss Nicholson's face flushed, the suggestion of a high-light came into
+her 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 divided
+skirts, 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 Sam
+gallantly. "You've got pluck, marm--I mean, miss--an' once you've forked
+a saddle, you'll never ride otherwise."
+
+Miss Nicholson gasped at Sam's metaphor and Mormon kicked him on the
+shin.
+
+"What's the idea?" he demanded after Molly had gone out and Miss
+Nicholson had ensconced herself on the veranda with a book.
+
+"You're plumb indelicut. You ought to be ashamed of yorese'f. You got to
+be careful round females, Sam Mannin', with yore expressions. Speshully
+one like this Nicholson party. She's a lady."
+
+"Who in hell said she ain't?" demanded Sam. "Me--I guess I know how to
+treat a lady, well as the nex' man. I don't notice you ever made a grand
+success of it with yore three-strikes-an'-out."
+
+Mormon disdained to reply. They went outside and, at the end of the ten
+minutes, walked together toward the cottonwoods. Grit was lying on the
+grave, and they saw Molly kneeling by the little railing. They advanced
+silently over the turf and stood in a group about her with their hats
+off and their heads bowed. Grit made no move and Molly did not look up
+for two or three minutes. Then she greeted them with a smile. There were
+no 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 am
+to be back. I have met lots of people, of all sorts and kinds, but not
+one 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 place
+you gave him and made for him under the trees, close to the running
+water. I was only a girl--a kiddie--when I went away. I think I am a
+great deal older now, perhaps, than other girls of my age. And I realize
+all you have done for me. The only thing is, I don't know how to begin
+to 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 enormous
+mustache. Then she came to Sandy, taller than the others, his face
+grave, under control, the eagerness smothered in his eyes, desire
+checked by reverence for the pure affection of the offered salute. He
+fancied 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 heart
+was pounding against the slight touch of her slenderness that was
+manifest with womanhood. His arms ached with the restraint he set upon
+them, despite the presence of Mormon and Sam.
+
+Grit surveyed the gift of thanks gravely, as a ceremony, as some ancient
+lineaged noble might have looked upon the bestowal of sacrament and
+accolade for honorably deserved knighthood. Perhaps it was that and the
+dog knew it. To Sandy, the little space about the grave, where the great
+cottonwoods waved overhead like banners, their trunks like pillars, the
+dappled carpet of the turf, with the sweet air blowing through the
+clearing and peeps of blue above through the boughs, was like a
+sanctuary. That the two others, men of rough life and free habit, yet of
+clean 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 I
+bought 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 what
+we 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 the
+place. An' we sure have been lucky with everythin'. I'll say you're a
+mascot."
+
+"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 had
+won the stake that had started her east. "Now show me all the
+improvements. We'll get Kate Nicholson. She's a first-class scout if you
+ever get her out of the shell she crawled into a long time ago when her
+folks suddenly lost everything they had. If we had a piano, Sam, she'd
+play the soul out of your body. Wait until she gets at the harmonium
+to-night. You and she will have to play duets, Sam, you on the
+three-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. You
+are all magicians. You took me out of the desert, you have made life
+beautiful for me. Don't dispel the illusion, Soda-Water Sam. I'd rather
+hear 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 were
+those 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 a
+good 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 find
+many hours for holiday-making. The ranch ran well on its own routine,
+and Molly was a princess to be entertained. Kate Nicholson emerged from
+her chrysalis and became almost a butterfly rather than the pale gray
+moth they had fancied her. Even Miranda revised her opinion. The
+Nicholsons, it came out, had been a family of some consequence and a
+fair degree of riches in South Carolina before an unfortunate
+speculation had taken everything. Kate Nicholson, left alone soon
+afterward, had assumed the role of governess or companion with more or
+less success and drifted on, submerged in the families who had used her
+services until Keith had secured her for the post with Molly when things
+had seemed particularly black. Now, riding with Molly, with Sam and
+Sandy for escorts, over the open range or up into the ca�ons, on
+picnics, the years slid off from her. She acquired color with the
+capacity for enjoyment, she developed a quaint gift of jest and she
+proved a natural horsewoman. Molly coaxed her into different modes of
+hair dressing and little touches of color. She laughed understandingly
+and talked spontaneously. Evenings, when they would return to the
+disconsolate Mormon, who bewailed openly his lack of saddle ease, they
+found, two nights out of three, Miranda Bailey, self-charioted in her
+flivver with offerings of cake and doughnuts to supplement Pedro's still
+uncertain efforts.
+
+Molly chuckled once to Sandy.
+
+"Miranda's a dear," she said. "I wish she'd marry Mormon. But Kate
+Nicholson is a far better cook than she is. Only she won't do anything
+for fear of hurting Miranda's feelings."
+
+Yet the governess did cook on occasion, trout that they caught in the
+mountain streams, and camp biscuits and fragrant coffee when they made
+excursion, so deft a presiding genius of the camp-fire that Sam declared
+she belonged to Sageland.
+
+"I love it," she answered, sleeves tucked to the elbow, stooping over
+the fire, her face full of color, tucking a vagrant wisp of hair into
+place.
+
+"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 and
+golf. The people you met at the Keiths'. Clothes, pritty dresses,
+dancin'."
+
+"I love dancing," she said. "But not always the way they dance. Tennis
+and golf are poky compared to riding Blaze. I like pretty things, but
+I'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 never
+satisfied, 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 good
+to be back--good."
+
+She stopped talking, gazing into the fire. The nights at Three Star were
+crisp. It was as if cold was jealous of the land that the sun wooed so
+ardently and rushed upon it the moment the latter sank behind the hills.
+Sandy looked at her hungrily, wishing she would elect to sit there
+always, mistress of the hearth and of him.
+
+"Young Keith'll be over soon, I reckon," he said presently. "He said
+he'd come. Like him, Molly?"
+
+It was not jealousy prompted the suggestion, but Sandy had more than
+once contrasted himself with the youngster and his easy manners, his
+undeniably good looks, his youth, wondering how close he was to Molly's
+moods 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's
+partly spoiled, I'm afraid. He'd have been a lot nicer if he had been
+brought up on a ranch. I've told him so."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Life's quieter out here, Sandy. It's bigger somehow. Donald only
+pleases 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 their
+own ways and none of them do anything together. He's been nice to
+me--Donald. So have Mr. and Mrs. Keith."
+
+Sandy had no effort imagining Donald being nice to Molly, contrasted
+with 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 ride
+one, to see a round-up. Why, Sandy, they think life is wonderful out
+here. And it is."
+
+He wondered how much of her enthusiasm was lasting, how much came of the
+affectionate gratitude she showed them constantly, how much she thought
+of the swifter life she was going back to presently at the end of the
+month--with one week gone out of the four. He wrestled with the
+temptation to ask her not to go back, or to have Miss Nicholson remain
+on the ranch to complete the education that was steadily widening--as he
+saw it--the gap between them.
+
+Sandy was not ignorant. His speech was mostly dialect, born of
+environment. He wrote correctly enough, aided by the dictionary he had
+acquired. He had business capacity, executive ability, strong manhood.
+He read increasingly, his mind was plastic. But these things he
+belittled. And he was her guardian. Though he knew he might win her
+promise to stay easily enough, he did not wish to exercise his
+authority. It might be misunderstood, even by Molly herself, later. He
+could not force his hand in this vital matter, as he handled other
+things. And yet....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sam had stopped playing, Kate Nicholson was weaving chords in music
+unknown to those who listened, save that it seemed to speak some common
+language that had been forgotten since childhood. The fire shifted,
+there was silence in the big room. Mormon sat shading his face, Miranda
+Bailey beside him, her knitting idle. Sam lounged in a shady corner near
+the harmonium. Grit lay asleep. It was infinitely peaceful.
+
+There was the sound of a motor outside, the honk of a horn. The door
+opened and a man came in, gazing uncertainly about him in the
+half-light--Westlake.
+
+"This is the Three Star, isn't it?" he asked, evidently puzzled at the
+group.
+
+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' Miss
+Nicholson, Mr. Westlake. They both know something about you. Come to
+stay, I hope."
+
+His voice was cordial as he gripped Westlake's hand, though the
+remembrance of what Sam had said at the mining camp leaped up within
+him. Westlake and Molly! Here was a man who might mate with her, might
+suit her wonderfully well. Upstanding, educated, no lightweight
+pleasure-seeker, as he estimated Donald Keith. Here was a complication
+in his dreams of happiness that he had lost sight of. He saw the two
+appraising each other and approving.
+
+"If you can put up with me, for a bit," said Westlake. "I've come partly
+on business, Bourke. I've left Casey Town."
+
+He seemed to speak with some embarrassment, glancing toward Molly. Sandy
+sensed 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 machine
+started.
+
+"Quit Keith?" asked Sandy.
+
+"Yes, we had a misunderstanding. About my staying here, Bourke. It may
+be a bit awkward. Young Donald Keith intends coming over. I am sure he
+doesn't know a thing about his father's business affairs. But I have a
+strong hunch that Keith himself will be along later to offset any talk
+he thinks I may have with you. He'll figure I've come here. He doesn't
+know all that I have found out, at that. If it's likely to embarrass you
+or your guests in the least I'll go on to Denver to-morrow. I'm headed
+that way. I've got a South American proposition in view. Wired them
+yesterday 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 Keith
+himse'f. Yo're my guest an' we'll keep you's long we can hold you in the
+corral. As fo' Molly, you don't know her. If it come to a show-down
+between you an' Keith, with you in the right, there ain't any question
+as to where she'd horn in."
+
+"I had no idea Miss Casey would be like--what she is," said Westlake, as
+Miranda 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 reckon
+you 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, Mormon
+watching 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 the
+top rail, ranch-fashion. Westlake stood before them.
+
+"Practically all the gold found in Casey Town comes from the main gulch
+where the creek runs. The gulch was once non-existent. It is likely
+there was a hill there. Its nub was a porphyry cap, the rest of it was
+composed of layers of porphyry and valueless rock dipping downward,
+nested like saucers in the synclinal layers. Ice and water wore off the
+nub and leveled the hill, then gouged out the gulch. They ground away,
+in my belief, all the porphyry that held gold except the portions now
+lying either side of the gulch. That gold was distributed far down the
+creek, carried by glacier and stream. Casey found indications and worked
+up to where he believed he had struck the mother vein. He did strike it
+but 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 left
+only one carries it and that is the reef that outcrops here and there
+both sides of the gulch. This isn't theory. All strikes have been made
+in this top layer. Where they have sunk through to a lower porphyry
+stratum they have found only indications where they found anything at
+all. But the strikes were rich because sylvanite is one of the richest
+of all gold ores. They look big and they encourage further development
+and--what is more to the point--further investment. Some of the strikes
+have been on the Keith Group properties. They have boosted the stock of
+all of them.
+
+"I have been developing these group projects. The value of group
+promotion, to the promoter, is, that as long as one claim shows promise,
+the shares keep selling. The public loves to gamble. Keith came back
+this trip and proposed to purchase a lot of claims that are nothing but
+plain rock, surface dirt and sage-brush. They are not even on the main
+gulch. He can buy them for almost nothing. But he does not propose to
+sell them for that. He was going to start another group. He ordered me
+to 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 attend
+strictly to mine. I told him I understood mine and that it included some
+personal honor. I was hot. I suggested that wildcat development was not
+my business. He called me a quixotic young fool among other things, and
+I 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 been
+fairly started and I have been only consulting engineer for the Molly.
+I've been busy on preliminary work. The engineer he brought from New
+York has been in actual charge. That was all right. I'm comparatively a
+kid. But I know what is going on generally in Casey Town. There have
+been no more strikes, for one thing; the discoveries have all been in
+the one layer and they are gradually working out.
+
+"Keith would rather develop a good property than a bad one. He has
+established himself, has a future to look to. He carries his investing
+clients from one proposition to another. He never has to risk his own
+money 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 been
+fooling with oil stocks. His mail's full of it. And I believe he's been
+bitten 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 palm
+of his left hand for emphasis. "This comes from information I can rely
+on, from logical deductions of my own, from actual observation of
+conditions. Yesterday they closed up the stopes in the Molly. Boarded
+'em over. This was done without consulting me. The superintendent talked
+some rot about not wishing over-production and pushing development. I
+heard of it after I had walked out of Keith's office, resigned, or
+fired. You can't issue an order like that without miners talking. I know
+most of them.
+
+"Now then--there's no gold left back of the boarding in those
+stopes--practically none! The Molly is played out, picked like a walnut
+of its meat! If they do develop down to the second porphyry level they
+won't find anything to pay for the work. They have taken all the
+sylvanite out of your mine and _Keith is trying to cover up that fact_."
+
+Westlake stopped and eyed them. They took it differently. Mormon softly
+whistled. Sam slid out his harmonica, cuddled in beneath his mustache
+and played a little of the _Cowboy's Lament_. Sandy's eyes closed
+slightly. They glittered like gray metal in the moonlight.
+
+"Keith can't help the mine peterin' out," he said. "Jest why is he
+hidin' it? So's he can sell new shares an' keep the price up of the old
+ones. So's he can unload?"
+
+"Plain enough. Now the Molly Mine stock isn't on the market. It is all
+owned, as I understand, by Miss Casey and you three holding the
+controlling interest, Keith the rest. It's been paying dividends from
+the start. Keith will try to unload."
+
+"He'll have to do it on the quiet or it 'ud have the same effect as if
+the 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 take
+it he can't dump 'em in a hurry. That's why he's boardin' the stopes. If
+he don't trail over here in a day or so I'll shack over to Casey Town
+fo' 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 one
+thing she is game. We've got a good deal out of the mine an' it's all
+come so far from the sale of gold to the mint, I take it. We don't
+dabble in stocks. We're ahead. If the mine's gone bu'st she's done
+nicely by us, at that."
+
+Back of Sandy's talk thoughts formed in his brain that held a good deal
+of 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. Her
+relations with the Keiths would be broken. She had not spent all her
+share of the dividends. Keith held some portion of this. Just how much
+Sandy did not know. He had not held Keith to strict accountings, he had
+trusted him to bank the funds. That Molly had a banking-account, he
+knew. It might mean her staying west. The principal used on the Three
+Star was intact and would be turned over to her, if they could make her
+accept it, but it began to look as if Molly might remain, all things
+considered.
+
+"I figger you're right about Keith trailin' over here to see if you've
+showed," Sandy went on. "That's the way I'd play him. As you say, he's
+got to git rid of his shares quietly an' he can't do it in a rush. I
+don'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' we
+break 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 pasear
+over 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 on
+the trip because his father holds the purse strings. He's a good deal of
+a cub, at present. I mean he don't show much inclination to use his
+brains. He's having a good time on easy money. He doesn't know the
+difference between an adit and an air-drill. Doesn't want to. Makes a
+show of interest, naturally, to stand in with his old man, but he puts
+in a good deal of time scooting round the hills in that big car of
+theirs, 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. It
+was not my province. He's a likable kid in many ways but he's just a
+kid."
+
+"'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 much
+pedigree. So long's the blood's pure, names don't amount to shucks. Now
+tell us some about that South American berth of yours, Westlake."
+
+Westlake rather marveled at the ease with which Sandy and his chums
+dismissed a matter that meant a material loss of money to them, but he
+had seen the light in Sandy's eyes and he knew his capacity for action
+when the moment arrived. The four sat up late, talking of mining in
+various ways and places.
+
+"This Westlake hombre'll go a long ways," summed up Sam to Sandy after
+Westlake had turned in and Mormon had yawned himself off to bed. "He
+sure knows a heap, he don't brag, he's on the square an' he ain't afraid
+of 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 potenshul
+millionaire any longer, just plain ranchman. You can go to sleep 'thout
+worryin' how yo're goin' to spend yore dividends."
+
+"That so't of worry won't tuhn my ha'r gray," retorted Sam, "though I
+wish you'd talk plain United States an' forgit the dikshunary. What I'm
+worryin' about is Molly."
+
+"So'm I, Sam," said Sandy. "Good night."
+
+That Westlake won approval from Molly, and also from Kate Nicholson, was
+patent before breakfast was over the next morning. A buyer came out from
+Hereford demanding Sandy's attention and he stayed at the ranch while
+the three and Sam went off saddleback. Westlake had expressed a desire
+to see the ranch and Molly had volunteered to display her own renewed
+knowledge of it. The buyer looked at the Three Star stock with expert
+eyes and made bids that were highly satisfactory.
+
+"Better beef, better prices, that's the modern slogan," he said at the
+noon meal with Sandy and Mormon. "I see you believe in it. You can
+establish a brand for the Three Star steers, Mr. Bourke, just as readily
+as 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 not
+far 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 in
+Chicago to look up some horses for him and I had heard of Plimsoll
+before, not over-favorably. I understand he is a horse-dealer rather
+than a breeder. And that he is not fussy over brands."
+
+"He's got a big herd," said Sandy non-committally. "Claims to round up
+slick-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 at
+one of his men named Wyatt, I believe, and started to run him off the
+ranch. There were sides taken and shots fired."
+
+"News to me," said Sandy. He was not especially interested in Waterline
+happenings so long as Plimsoll remained set. The buyer left and the rest
+of the day went slowly.
+
+When the quartet returned, Molly and Westlake were obviously more than
+mere acquaintances. Sandy felt out of the running though Molly held him
+in the conversation. Kate Nicholson unconsciously intensified his mood.
+
+"They make a wonderful pair, don't they?" she said to him. "Both
+Western, 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. "The
+operator phoned us to see if any one was coming over. Said you left word
+you were at the Three Star. Here it is. When you goin' to have your
+phone 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 an
+apology, was opening. The engineer read it and passed it to Molly. Sandy
+saw her face glow.
+
+"That's fine!" she exclaimed. "But it means you've got to go. I'm sorry
+for that."
+
+The relief that Sandy felt, and dismissed as selfish, was marred by the
+cordial understanding that had sprung up between the two. He wondered if
+they had discovered a real attachment for each other. Such things could
+happen in a flash. His view was apt to be jaundiced, but he did not
+realize 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 on
+immediately. It means a lot to me. Everything," he added, with a smile
+that Molly returned.
+
+"You'll write?" she said. "You promised."
+
+Kate Nicholson looked at Sandy with arching eyebrows. She too appeared
+to 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 curiosity
+to be lively, though he thought her tact would appreciate the situation
+with regard to Molly. "I've got some of my own," she continued. "There's
+been trouble out to Jim Plimsoll's. He shot at Wyatt or Wyatt at him, I
+don't know which rightly. But there was sides taken an' a gen'ral
+rumpus. Several of his men quit or was run off the place. It's been a
+reg'lar scandal. Called the place the Waterline. Whiskyline w'ud have
+suited 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. "You
+sendin' one, Westlake?"
+
+"If you'll take it, Miss Bailey."
+
+"Glad to."
+
+Westlake and Molly were both standing. They moved toward the door and
+out 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 to
+attend to some refreshments. She had gradually taken over supervision of
+Pedro and the results had justified Molly's praise of her qualifications
+as 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 from
+the start. What are you goin' to do about Molly? You ain't told her
+yet?"
+
+"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 belongs
+out west where she was born an' brought up. I hope she stays," she added
+with a shrewd glance at Sandy that startled him into a suspicion that
+Miranda had guessed his secret.
+
+Kate Nicholson returned and the talk changed. Westlake and Molly
+remained outside until the food was served. Then there was music.
+Through the evening the pair talked together, confidentially, apart from
+the rest. Miranda departed at last with the telegrams. Molly lingered as
+good nights were said.
+
+"I've got something to tell you, Sandy," she said. "It's private, for
+the present," she added with a glance toward Westlake.
+
+Sandy sat down by the fire with a sinking qualm. Molly perched herself
+on 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 think
+he's a fine chap. I sure wish him all the luck in the world." He fancied
+his 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, but
+gazed into the dying fire. He saw himself sitting there, lonely,
+woman-shy once more, through the long stretch of years, with a letter
+coming once in a while from far-off places telling of a happiness that
+he 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 was
+saying. "And he had to talk it over with some one. He told me about it
+first this morning and then the telegram came."
+
+"Talkin' about what?"
+
+"His sweetheart. Now he can marry her with this opportunity. She may
+sail 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 dying
+fire leaped up and the room lightened. It died down again, but Sandy sat
+there, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+DEHORNED
+
+
+Miranda Bailey had offered to come in for Westlake with her car, but the
+train 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 back
+in 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 tell
+Sam and Mormon, Westlake? They'll sure be tickled."
+
+"I'd like them to know. And we'll come, when we can. Maybe we'll find
+you coupled by that time, Sandy. All three of you. And I hope we'll find
+Molly here."
+
+"I hope so." Sandy fancied the last sentence more than casual.
+
+"You can rely upon my information being correct," were Westlake's last
+words, spoken aside before he climbed into the buckboard and Molly
+flirted 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 job
+that 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 annoyed
+when I told him I had just seen him off on the train. They all came from
+Casey Town in the big car. Has there been any trouble between Mr. Keith
+and Mr. Westlake?"
+
+"The South American offer is a better chance than Casey Town," answered
+Sandy. "Mr. Keith may have been annoyed about that. His boy's along, you
+say? Is he comin' oveh to the ranch?"
+
+"Yes. He wanted to come with me, to drive me out in the car, but I had
+the buckboard and I'd rather drive horses any day. So he'll be out a
+little later to take up your invitation. Mr. Keith has some business in
+Hereford. He and Mr. Blake will stay on their private car. He told me to
+tell you he would be out to-morrow to see you. Oh, here's a telegram for
+you."
+
+"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 fingers
+worked as fast as Sandy's with buckles, coiling traces and looping
+reins. She led the team off to the drinking trough and fed each an
+apple, with Sandy looking at her, registering the picture that made such
+strong appeal.
+
+"Goin' to take Donald Keith out fo' a real ride on a real hawss?" he
+asked 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 was
+sunshine 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 get
+to any picnic, either. He'll have to 'tend to the hawsses."
+
+The Keith touring car arrived in mid-afternoon with young Keith at the
+wheel, the chauffeur beside him, grips in the tonneau. Donald Keith
+jumped out, affable, a little inclined to condescension at first toward
+everything connected with the ranch, including Kate Nicholson. The
+imperturbable driver left with the car. Young Keith's snobbery wore off
+as he inspected the corrals and the stock with eager interest and the
+riders with a certain measure of awe, which he transferred to Sandy on
+learning that he had broken two colts that morning.
+
+"If they're broken, I must be all apart," he said, watching them plunge
+wildly about the corral at the sight of visitors. "I'd hate to try to
+ride one of them in Central Park. If I could stick on I'd be pinched for
+endangering 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 the
+morning held. His generosity of feeling toward Keith's boy did not
+lessen when he saw how much the elder of the two Molly appeared. The
+youngster 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 the
+forenoon, I imagine. I know he's figuring on getting back to Casey Town
+to-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 did
+not ameliorate his attitude toward the visit of Keith Senior.
+
+That worthy arrived after lunch had been cleared the next day. Kate
+Nicholson busied herself to wait deferentially upon him and his
+secretary, the fox-faced Blake. Keith was brisk and brusk, breathing
+prosperity.
+
+"I was detained in Hereford, Bourke," he said. "I haven't much time for
+anything but a flying visit. I promised Mrs. Keith I'd come over the
+first opportunity, and I wanted to see you. Donald's out with Molly, you
+say. I'll leave him with you on your invitation and pick him up when we
+go back east. That will be in about a week. Sooner than I expected. I'd
+like to spare a day to look over the ranch. I've heard fine things about
+it."
+
+"Thanks," drawled Sandy laconically. "Glad to have a talk with you. Sam,
+Mr. Blake might like to see the hawsses gentled that came up this
+mo'nin'."
+
+Keith raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Leaving Blake, Sandy led
+Keith to his office, rolled a cigarette, offered a chair to his visitor
+and smoked, waiting for the latter to open the talk.
+
+"There are some papers for you to examine, as Molly's guardian," said
+Keith. "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 it
+that reminded the promoter of the first time he had seen it. His own
+changed to a mask, expressionless, save for his eyes, holding suspicion
+that changed to aggressiveness. But the latter did not show in his voice
+which 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 you
+recommended him."
+
+"He figgers he has a better job," answered Sandy.
+
+"I'm glad he thinks so. He is young and lacks experience. His opinion
+clashed with that of my engineer-in-charge, an expert of high standing.
+Westlake was hot-headed and would not brook being overruled. There is no
+doubt 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 on
+his opinion."
+
+"I didn't imagine you knew much about mining, Bourke." Keith looked at
+his watch. "I'll really have to be going as soon as you have looked over
+those papers. Hadn't we better call Blake?"
+
+Sandy looked out of the window. He saw Miranda Bailey's flivver halting
+by the big car, Mormon walking toward her, and wondered what had brought
+her over. So far he had not got the opening he wanted, unless he took up
+defense of Westlake more forcibly to introduce the matter. He was
+inclined to suggest a trip for himself to Casey Town to inspect the mine
+in company with Keith that night, but the coming of Brandon hampered
+him. He wanted to be on hand for that. Then he saw Mormon leave Miranda
+and 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 was
+not entirely clear and he did not like the general atmosphere of the
+office. He scented antagonism in this rancher who called him Keith
+without the prefix. It was all right for him to omit it, but.... He took
+out 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 was
+showing Blake around. Miranda handed Sandy a long envelope.
+
+"Hen Collins had an accident last night," she said. "Blew a tire on the
+bridge by our place an' smashed through the railin'. Bu'sted a rib or
+two an' was knocked out. We took him in. I'm sorry for Hen but it sure
+was a lucky accident. You see, Keith told him to keep quiet but Hen was
+grateful 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 be
+lookin'. 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'll
+start to the beginnin'. When Keith arrived on this trip he held quite a
+reception in his private car. Ed was there with the rest. He invited
+them up fo' cigars. Talked big about Casey Town an' gen'ally patted
+himself on the back. Said it was too bad all the stock of the Molly
+wasn't held in locally, but of co'se the pore promoter had to have
+somethin' fo' his money. He was real affable. Ben Creel asked him if he
+didn'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 how
+many he saw or jest what he said, but this is what he told Hen. After
+he'd got Hen to lead up to it, mind you. That Casey Town was boomin' big
+an' that his own holdin's was nettin' him a heap. That he liked Hen
+fine 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 of
+the Molly Mine at par. Hen was to say nothin' about it because, says
+Keith, if it got out he was sellin' stock, it would send down the price
+of the shares an' hurt Casey Town in general, Hereford some, an' you-all
+at the Three Star in partickler. I reckon he was plausible enough. Hen
+was sure tickled. He w'udn't have said a word about it on'y Ed picks
+these shares up out of the bed of the crick an' give them to Hen afteh
+he'd been fixed up.
+
+"Ed went nosin' around Hereford this mo'nin'. He got eight men--their
+names is inside the envelope--Creel one of 'em--to admit they'd bought
+some shares. Mighty glad they was to have 'em. Ed didn't tell 'em
+anything different, but he come scootin' home at noon an' I borrowed
+Hen's certificut, seein' he was asleep. An' here it is."
+
+"Mirandy," said Sandy, "I'll let Mormon tell you what we all think of
+you. You've sure dealt me an ace. Mormon, help Sam ride herd on the
+secretary. 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 the
+envelope.
+
+"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 him
+a dividend and he's like a girl eating candy. You had one just fourteen
+weeks ago."
+
+Sandy nodded.
+
+"I was askin' you about the _next_," he said, his voice still drawling
+but 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 eyes
+had narrowed. He watched Sandy like a card player who begins to think
+his 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 to
+pay dividends according to the immediate production, however. It is
+better, as a rule, to average it, generally to develop the mine as a
+whole 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 fool
+talk from that cub, Westlake. I know my business. You've got some stock
+in the mine, twenty-five per cent. I've put money and brains into it and
+I'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'll
+jest ask you a question on behalf of myse'f an' partners' twenty-five
+per 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 I
+fired for lack of common sense, experience and recognition of his
+superiors. Westlake is a hot-head and I suppose he has some idea of
+trying to get even with me by belittling me in your eyes and running
+down 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. How
+about 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 the
+envelope and slapped it smartly on the desk. Keith whitened, flushed
+again, recovered himself.
+
+"If I was not friendly to you, Bourke, I should take that as a direct
+insult. I can understand that you believe in Westlake and take stock in
+what he told you. But he is a discharged employee. He has every
+reason...."
+
+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't
+hanker to insult a man but--I don't believe you. An' here's this stock
+you 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 and
+sometimes he is pushed for ready money."
+
+"I reckon that's the reason," said Sandy dryly. "Well, you've got to git
+it some other way. You've got to buy these stocks back, Keith. I control
+the big end of the stock in the Molly. If I have to go to the bother of
+gittin' an expert of my own, an' goin' to Casey Town to look back of
+those 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 business
+sellin' chances to folks who like to buy 'em, but you can't sell
+Herefo'd folks paper when they think they're buyin' gold. I won't bunco
+my neighbors an' I ain't goin' to 'low you to do it with any proposition
+I'm interested in. You'll give me the money you got fo' the shares with
+a list of the men you sold 'em to an' I'll tell 'em the Molly is pinched
+out--as it is."
+
+"You must be crazy, man! They wouldn't believe you. If you went round
+with a statement like that you'd lose every cent of your own and your
+ward'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 Molly
+an' you'll see where she stands. We don't do business out west the way
+you do. We don't rob our friends or even try an' run a razoo on
+strangehs. I reckon the folks'll believe me. If they don't I'll give 'em
+stock of ours, share fo' share, to convince 'em until it's known the
+Molly has flivvered."
+
+"You'll ruin the whole camp."
+
+"Not to my mind. They'll git out what gold's left The Molly'll shut
+down. I'll git you to give me a statement 'long with the money an' the
+list fo' me to check up, sayin' you've jest had news the vein has
+petered out sudden--like it has. That's lettin' you down easy. They'll
+think 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 them
+rotten stock, you an' yore private car might suffer consid'rable damage
+befo' 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 sure
+advise you to come across."
+
+Keith looked into the face of Sandy and, briefly, into his eyes, hard as
+steel. He made one more attempt.
+
+"Let's talk common sense, Bourke. You're quixotic. The Molly is
+capitalized for a quarter of a million dollars. The stock can be sold at
+par if it's done quietly. I can dispose of it for you. There is no
+certainty that the mine will not produce richly when we strike through
+the second level of porphyry. There are plenty of people willing to buy
+shares on that chance after the showing already made. I tried to say
+just now that you have no right to throw away your ward's money, and you
+are 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 paper
+to 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 my
+partners, neitheh will Molly Casey. She's a western gel. Above all, I
+won't gold-brick my friends. I know the mine is petered out. You won't
+call 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 it
+an', we won't sell the dirt. No mo' w'ud Pat Casey, lyin' out there by
+the spring, if he was alive."
+
+"Suppose I refuse?" asked Keith, his square face obstinate. "I've done
+nothing outside the law."
+
+"To hell with that kind of law! We make laws of our own out here once in
+a 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 boy
+visit 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 been
+mixed up in it either, from what I hear. You don't dare...."
+
+Keith stopped abruptly. Sandy had not moved, but his eyes, from
+resembling orbs of chilled steel, seemed suddenly to throw off the blaze
+and 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, or
+we can tell the Herefo'd folk what you've tried to hand to them. Yo're
+apt to look like a buzzard that's fallen into a tar barrel after they
+git through with you, Keith. Trouble with you is that you've been
+bullin' the market an' havin' it yore own way too long. Now you see a
+b'ar on the horizon, you don't like the view.
+
+"When we bring up stock fo' shipment we sometimes have trouble with the
+longhorns. 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 out
+who 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 with
+Creel of the Herefo'd National. Then you can come back an' git yore
+boy."
+
+"I don't remember the names. Blake took the record of them," said Keith
+sullenly.
+
+"Then we'll have him in."
+
+Sandy went to the door and hailed Sam and Mormon. They came to the
+office escorting Blake, whose fox-face moved from side to side with
+furtive 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, licked
+his 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 had
+to peel the shirt off of him in strips." He took the secretary by one
+elbow, Mormon by the other, both grinning behind his back as he shook
+with 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 get
+this over with since you are determined to throw away your own and your
+partners' good money, to say nothing of the girl's. She could bring suit
+against 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're
+startin' fo' Herefo'd right off. You an' me can go over those accounts
+of Molly's same time we attend to the other business, Keith."
+
+They went outside, Blake looking anxious and a trifle bewildered, Keith
+throwing away his cigar and lighting a new one, his face sullen with the
+rage he dammed. Kate Nicholson and Miranda Bailey were on the
+ranch-house veranda.
+
+"Could I ask you to mail these letters, Mr. Keith? Two of Molly's and
+one 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 the
+ground.
+
+"To hell with you!" he shouted, his face empurpled. "You're fired!" All
+of his polish stripped from him like peeling veneer, he appeared merely
+a coarse bully.
+
+Sam came up the veranda in two jumps and a final leap that left him with
+his hands entwined in Keith's coat collar. He whirled that astounded
+person half around and slammed him up against the wall of the
+ranch-house, rumpled, gasping, with trembling hands that lifted before
+the menace of Sam's gun.
+
+"I oughter shoot the tongue out of you befo' I put a slug through yore
+head," said Sam, standing in front of the promoter, tense as a jaguar
+couched for a spring, his eyes glittering, his voice packed with venom.
+"You git down on yo' knees, you ring-tailed skunk, an' apologize to
+this lady. Crook yo' knees, you stinkin' polecat, an' crawl. I'll make
+you lick her shoes. Down with you or I'll send you straight to
+judgment!"
+
+"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 off
+lickin' yo' shoes, he might spile the leather. But he'll git them
+letters 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 right
+where you are, Kate. Let him come to you."
+
+Sam fired a shot and the promoter jumped galvanically as the bullet tore
+through the planking of the ranch-house between his trembling knees.
+
+"I regret, Miss Nicholson," he commenced huskily, "that I let my temper
+get the better of me. I was greatly upset. In the matter of your
+services 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 a
+rattler," said Sam. "She never did work fo' you. It was Molly's money
+paid 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 has
+never before been championed, conscious of the fact that he had blurted
+out her Christian name and disclosed the secret of that touch of
+intimacy between them, Sam grew crimson through his tan. Kate
+Nicholson's face was rosy; both were embarrassed.
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Manning," she said. "Please let him get up, and put away
+your pistol."
+
+"Git up," said Sam, "an' go pick up them letters."
+
+Keith, humiliated before his secretary and his chauffeur, the latter
+gazing wooden-faced but making no attempt at interference, gathered up
+the envelopes and presented them, with a bow, to the governess. He had
+recovered 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 Sam
+aside 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 work
+to keep my hands off him. I've a notion he'll trail better now. If
+Brandon arrives befo' we git back, look out fo' him. Mormon'll help you
+entertain."
+
+"Seguro," replied Sam. "Look at Keith. He looks like a rattler with his
+fangs pulled. I'll bet he c'ud spit bilin' vitriol right now."
+
+"His cud ain't jest what he most fancies, this minute," said Sandy
+dryly. "Sorter bitter to chew an' hard to swaller. Sammy," Sandy's voice
+changed to affection, his eyes twinkled, "I didn't sabe you an' Miss
+Nicholson was so well acquainted."
+
+Sam looked his partner in the eyes and used almost the same words for
+which 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 a
+bargain, shot out his underlip when Keith, with Sandy in attendance,
+tendered him the money for all shares of the Molly Mine sold in
+Hereford, including his own.
+
+"You say the mine has petered out?" he asked Keith, with palpable
+suspicion. Keith glanced swiftly at Sandy sitting across the table from
+him in the little directors' room back of the bank proper. Sandy sat
+sphinx-like. As if by accident, his hands were on his hips, the fingers
+resting on his gun butts. Keith did not actually fear gunplay, but he
+was not sure of what Sandy might do. Sam's bullet, that had undoubtedly
+been sped in grim earnest, had unnerved him. Sandy Bourke held the
+winning hand.
+
+"That is the news from my superintendent," said Keith. "I wish I could
+doubt it. Under the circumstances, consulting with Mr. Bourke, who
+represents the majority stock, we concluded there was no other action
+for us to take but to recall the shares although the money had actually
+passed. Naturally, in the refunding, which I leave entirely to you, it
+would be wiser not to precipitate a general panic and to treat the
+matter with all possible secrecy."
+
+"Humph!" Keith's suavity did not appear entirely to smooth down Creel's
+chagrin at losing what he had considered a good thing. He smelt a mouse
+somewhere. "There are only two reasons for repurchasing such stock," he
+said crisply. "The course you take is rarely honorable and suggests
+great credit. The second reason would be a strike of rich ore rather
+than a failure."
+
+"I will guarantee the failure, Creel," said Sandy. "If, at any time, a
+strike is made in the Molly, I shall be glad to transfer to you
+personally the same amount of shares from my own holdin's. I'll put that
+in writin', if you prefer it."
+
+"No," said Creel, "it ain't necessary." He glumly made the retransfer.
+Sandy vis�ed Keith's accounts and took Keith's check for the balance,
+placing it to a personal account for Molly. The check was on the
+Hereford Bank and it practically exhausted Keith's local resources.
+
+As they left the bank a cowboy rode up on a flea-bitten roan that was
+lathered with sweat, sadly roweled and leg-weary. Astride of it was
+Wyatt, riding automatically his eyes wide-opened, red-rimmed, owlish
+with lack of sleep and overmuch bad liquor. Afoot he could hardly have
+navigated, in the saddle he seemed comparatively sober. He spurred over
+to 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 to
+hiccough. "This here is one hell of a town, Bourke! They've took away my
+guns an' told me to be good, they're sellin' doughnuts an' buttermilk
+down to Regan's old joint, popcorn an' sody-water over to Pap
+Gleason's! Me, I tote my own licker an' they don't take that off 'n my
+hip. 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 with
+one hand, his alcohol-varnished eyes boring into Sandy's with the fixity
+of 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 see
+the eyes stickin' out of his head an' his tongue stickin' out of his
+lyin' 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 to
+hell!" he cried. "Watch my smoke!" He withdrew his hand and galloped up
+the street as Keith's car started.
+
+The powerful engine made nothing of the few miles between Hereford and
+the Three Star and it was only mid-afternoon when they arrived. Molly
+and Donald Keith were still absent, there was no sign of Brandon. Sandy
+fancied that any wait would not be especially congenial to Keith, but
+the promoter was firm in his determination to take away his son from the
+ranch. While his resentment could find no outlet, it was plain that he
+and 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 open
+choice--there was money enough left, aside from the capital used on the
+Three Star, to send her back east for a completion of education. Or to
+pay Miss Nicholson for remaining as educator. He surmised that Sam would
+persuade Kate Nicholson to stay in any event. Molly, returned, appeared
+so much the woman, that the question of further schooling seemed
+superfluous to Sandy. He felt that it would to her, especially after he
+had told her all that had occurred since morning. That she would approve
+he had no doubt. Molly was true blue as her eyes. Altogether, Sandy
+considered 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 the
+ranch and its people. The afternoon wore on with the sun dropping
+gradually toward the last quarter of the day's march. At four o'clock
+one of the Three Star riders came in at a gallop, carrying double.
+Behind him, clinging tight, was Donald Keith, woebegone, almost
+exhausted, his trim riding clothes snagged and soiled, his shining
+puttees scuffed and scratched. He staggered as he slid out of the saddle
+and clung to the cantle, head sunk on arms until Sandy took him by the
+arm. 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' Bitter
+Flats but he wanted the ranch," said the cowboy to Sandy, ignoring
+Keith. "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 his
+endurance. Sandy strode with him to the car and laid him on the
+cushions.
+
+"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 a
+silver flask. He unscrewed the top and poured some liquor into it. It
+was Scotch whisky of a pre-war vintage. The aroma of the stuff dissolved
+in the rare air, vaguely scenting it. The nose of the wooden-faced
+chauffeur wrinkled. Sandy raised the boy's head and lifted the whisky to
+his pallid lips, gray as his face where the flesh matched the powdery
+alkali that covered it.
+
+"Pinch his nose," he said to Keith. "He's breathin' regular. Stroke his
+throat soon as I git the stuff back of his teeth. So. Now then."
+
+The cordial trickled down and Donald's eyes opened. Almost immediately
+color came back into his cheeks and lips and he tried to sit up. Sandy
+helped 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 when
+he raised the lids again.
+
+"Whisky got me going," he said. "I'd have given a whole lot for that
+flask 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. She
+did 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 ca�on where Molly said
+there used to be beavers."
+
+"Beaver Dam Ca�on," 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 looked
+at 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. Then
+they 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 back
+of us and I turned to look. Two more men were coming up behind. They had
+rifles. So did the man with Plimsoll. He had a pistol under his vest. We
+couldn't go back very well and I could see from the way Plimsoll grinned
+that he was going to be nasty. Molly spurred Blaze on and cut at
+Plimsoll with her quirt. He grabbed her hand with his left. Grit sprang
+up 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 a
+tenderfoot, knew he would have been small use on such an occasion, but
+the thought of Grit rising to the rescue, falling back shot, brought the
+taunt.
+
+"The two men behind told me to throw up my hands," said young Keith, his
+face 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 it
+round her arms. I had the muzzle of a rifle poked into my ribs. They
+made 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. They
+told me if I looked back they'd shoot my damned head off." Donald's eyes
+were filled with tears of self-pity and the remembrance of his helpless
+rage. "They kept firing at me until I'd passed the stream. I hid in the
+willows, but I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see the men who
+had been firing at me.
+
+"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't rescue Molly without a horse. I
+only had a revolver against their rifles and I'm not much of a shot. I
+tried to get back here but it was hard to find the way. I knew it was
+east but the sun was high and I wasn't sure which way the shadows lay. I
+was 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. Kate
+Nicholson met him as he entered. "Has anything happened to Molly?" she
+gasped.
+
+"That's what I'm goin' to find out," Sandy answered. "Mormon, git me my
+cartridge 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 they
+don't show, you can bring erlong our own boys soon's they come in. But
+I'm hittin' this alone."
+
+As he spoke he rummaged in a drawer and brought out the first-aid kit he
+always 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. They
+got a place over there somewhere they call the Hideout. It's where they
+hide their hawsses when they want 'em out of sight an' I reckon it's
+hard 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 to
+spoil 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' out
+of the country an' I'm trailin' him clean through hell if I have to. Ef
+he's harmed Molly I'll stake him out with a green hide wrapped round him
+an' his eyelids sliced off. I'll sit in the shade an' watch him frizzle
+an' 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'll
+leave sign plain fo' you to foller from Willer Crick. They must have
+crossed at the ford below the big bend."
+
+He left the room and they saw him covering the ground in a wolf trot to
+where Sam, astride his own favorite mount, held Pronto ready saddled.
+They saw Sam's protest, Sandy's vigorous overruling of it, and then
+Sandy was up-saddle and away at a brisk lope with Sam gazing after him
+disconsolately. 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 it
+is--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 an
+overgrown child that Kate Nicholson felt constrained to laugh despite
+the seriousness of the situation. "Me, I been punchin' cows, ridin' a
+hawss fo' a livin' fo' nigh thirty years," said Mormon. "I ain't what
+you'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 no
+mo'--not faster 'n a walk or further than two mile', fo' fear of
+breakin' 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'll
+stay to home. I'm goin' to give away my guns an' learn milkin'. Sandy's
+got 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'n
+Sandy. 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 the
+range, 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've
+done 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' fear
+of hurtin' my feelin's though even Sam 'ud be some handicap to Sandy on
+this trip of scoutin'.
+
+"Sam can't take cover extra good, though he shoots middlin'. Sandy, he
+shoots 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 of
+his cronies. Mebbe one or two mo' chucked in fo' good measure. What of
+it? Yeller, all of 'em, yeller as the belly of a Gila River pizen
+lizard. On'y way the odds 'ud be even w'ud be fo' them to git the drop
+on Sandy an' it can't be done. He's got his fightin' face on an' that
+means hands an' heart an' eyes an' brain an' every inch of him lined up
+to 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' none
+erbout 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 Nicholson
+fled, a little reassured by Mormon's eulogy, anxious to talk it over
+with Sam.
+
+Sandy, his eyes like the mica flakes that show in gray granite, his
+humorous mouth a stern line, little bunches of muscles at the junction
+of 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 mesa
+that he had marked as the short-cut to the spot described by Donald
+Keith. Through gray sage and ferny mesquite Pronto moved, elastic of
+every sinew, springy of pastern, without fret or fuss though he had not
+been ridden for two days. Even as the man fitted the saddle,
+counterbalanced every supple movement of his steed, so Sandy's will
+dominated that of Pronto, making his mood his master's, telling him the
+occasion 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 I
+figger 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 rider
+will and, if the pinto could not understand, he listened with pricked
+ears.
+
+"Grit must have been hurt pritty bad, I'm afraid. Still he might have
+trailed her 'stead of comin' back. Sun's gettin' to'ards the no'th."
+
+He glanced at the luminary, slowly descending. "But the moon's up
+already an' she's full." He looked to where a wan plate of battered
+silver hung in the east. "We got some luck on our side, Pronto, after
+all.
+
+"Wonder who the three were with Plimsoll? They've gone to the Hideout
+an' we got to find it, li'l' hawss. Some job, I reckon. But Plimsoll's
+goin' to be mighty sorry fo' himse'f befo' long."
+
+As they neared the foot-hills of the range he lapsed to silence. He was
+taking chances, crossing country this fashion. He knew it fairly well,
+and he guessed at what lay behind the visible contours from the
+experience of years. Deep barrancas might crop up in their path, massed
+thickets of cactus that had to be ridden around for loss of time. The
+mesa, looking like a solid block of rock at a distance, was, he knew
+well, broken into tortuous ravines and ca�ons, eroded into wild thrusts
+of the mother rock, its central part eaten away by time and weather.
+
+Part of the Three Star range, shared by two ranches, ran over the
+southern part of the mesa and it was close to its boundary fence that
+Sandy was heading. Then came the range of Plimsoll's Waterline, a rough
+country, unknown to Sandy, with scant food for many cattle, but sweet
+grass enough for a horse herd and containing pockets where the
+slicktails sometimes came.
+
+Sandy struck the first rise. He was now a crucible filled with glowing
+white fury. Thoughts of what Plimsoll might achieve in insult and injury
+to Molly could not be kept out of his mind and they but added fuel. It
+was not Sandy Bourke of the Three Bar, riding his favorite pinto, but a
+desperate man on a horse infected with the same grim determination, a
+man with a face that, despite the fiery heat within, blazing from his
+eyes, would have chilled the blood of any meeting him.
+
+He did not spare Pronto nor did Pronto attempt to spare himself, going
+at the task set before him with all the superb coordination of muscle
+and tendon and bone that he possessed. They slid down the sides of
+ravines that were almost as steep as a wall, the pinto squatting on its
+tail; they climbed the opposing banks with the surety of a mountain
+goat, a rush, a scramble of well-placed hooves, a play of fetlocks;
+then, with a heave of spreading ribs and hammer-strokes of a gallant
+heart under Sandy's lean thighs, they were over the top and away, with
+Sandy's eyes searching the land for the shortest, most practical way.
+
+The place it had taken Molly and young Keith nearly three hours to reach
+in leisurely fashion, Sandy gained in one, splashing through the
+shallows of Willow Creek at the ford below the big bend and giving
+Pronto the chance to cool his fetlocks and rinse out his mouth in the
+cold water.
+
+Ahead lay the chimney ravine that led around into Beaver Dam Lake, in
+which Molly and the boy had been attacked. Sandy viewed the chaparral,
+the trees that covered the lesser slopes, the stark cliffs above. Part
+of this lay in the Waterline territory. The chances that Plimsoll had
+left some one on guard were not to be slighted. But he rode on down the
+narrow trail. Once in a while he broke a branch and left it swinging as
+a 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 on
+remounts. Perhaps Brandon had come? Sandy wasted little time on surmise.
+
+The tracks of Molly's Blaze and the horse Donald had been riding were
+plain as print to Sandy. He even noticed the slot of Grit's pads here
+and there in softer soil. He had picked them up at the coming-out place
+of the ford. Two more sets of hoofs came out of the chaparral and from
+there on the sign was badly broken. But Sandy knew the story and the
+interpretation was sufficient.
+
+The shadows were getting longer, half the eastern side of the ravine was
+in shadow that steadily crept down as if to obliterate the telltale
+imprints. The moon was slowly brightening. Sandy's eyes, burning
+steadily, were untroubled by doubt.
+
+The place of the struggle was plain. The brush was trampled. To one side
+of the trail there was a clot of blood, almost black, with flies buzzing
+attention to it. It must have come from Grit. He caught sight of another
+fleck of it on some leaves where Grit had raced into the brush out of
+the way of the crippling fire.
+
+"I'll score one fo' you, Grit, while I'm about it," muttered Sandy as he
+dismounted and carefully surveyed the sign. He even picked up Donald's
+returning 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 wise
+head.
+
+"Hit the back-trail fo' home, li'l' hawss," he said. "If I need me a
+mount to git back I'll borrow one. I got to go belly-trailin' pritty
+soon."
+
+He gave the pinto a cautious slap on the flank and Pronto started off
+down the trail. So far Sandy believed he had not been seen. If he had, a
+rifle-shot would have been the first warning. With the experience of a
+man who has seen shooting before, he had chanced a miss, knowing the
+odds on his side. It was twenty to one Plimsoll and his men had hurried
+off to the Hideout.
+
+A buzzard hung in the early evening sky, circling high and then suddenly
+dropping in a swoop.
+
+"Looks like Grit's cashed in," thought Sandy. "That bird was a late
+comer, at that."
+
+But it was not Grit.
+
+The ravine curved, forked. One way led to Beaver Dam Lake, the other
+rifted deep through rocky outcrop, leading to the Waterline Range. The
+boundary fence crossed it. Two posts had been broken out, the wire
+flattened. Through the gap led the sign that Sandy followed. He carried
+his rifle with him and he moved cautiously but swiftly through the half
+light, for the cleft was in shadow. The walls lowered, the incline
+ended, became a decline, leading down. The clouds were assembling for
+sunset overhead, the moon just topped the eastern cliffs, beginning to
+send 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 the
+key to the puzzle. Did it mean a quarrel between Plimsoll's men?
+Altogether he figured there had been a dozen horses over the ground. It
+was only a swift guess but he knew it close to the mark. Had Plimsoll
+been joined or attacked? And...?
+
+His practised eyes, roving here and there, saw still more cartridge
+shells. Walking cat-footed, he made no sound but suddenly three buzzards
+rose on heavy wings and he went swiftly to where they had been
+squatting. A dead man lay up against the cliff, a saddle blanket thrown
+over his face. This had held off the carrion birds. The body was limp
+and still warm, it had been a corpse only a short time. Sandy took off
+the blanket.
+
+It was Wyatt! Wyatt, whom he had seen not much more than four hours
+before, riding on the main street in Hereford, threatening vengeance on
+Plimsoll. A bullet had made a small hole in his skull by the right
+temple 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 the
+trouble between Plimsoll and Wyatt, had brewed steadily. It had been a
+reckless crowd at the horse ranch, practically outlaws by their actions
+though not yet so adjudged, yet knowing their tenure of immunity was
+growing short. There had collected, besides Plimsoll's riders, Butch
+Parsons, Hahn's and others of Plimsoll's following who had been forced
+from their livelihood as gamblers. They still hung together, waiting for
+Plimsoll to make a clean-up of his horses and move to places where they
+were less discredited.
+
+Meantime they made their own crude liquors and drank them freely. They
+gambled and caroused late. There were some women at the ranch. There was
+little 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 one
+appeared eager to buy in quantity. Ready cash was short. There were
+frequent quarrels; through it all there worked the leaven of Wyatt's
+jealousy, fermenting steadily. There were men among them who had fought
+with gunplay and who had killed but, as they were cheats, so they were
+cravens, 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 a
+matter between Wyatt and Plimsoll. Sides were taken and the weaker
+driven from the ranch. Preparations were made for departure. The
+frightened women fled back to Hereford.
+
+"It's a rotten mess," declared Butch Parsons. "Wyatt or one of the
+others'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 right
+it would have ended it. Now we've got to clear out."
+
+"There isn't two hundred dollars of real money in the crowd," said
+Plimsoll. "If Taylor had taken the herd...."
+
+"He was afraid to touch it. We'll go south. That's my plan. You can find
+a buyer in Tucson. Put the horses in the Hideout. Leave one or two to
+look out for 'em an' turn 'em over later. We can arrange for a delivery
+if 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 Hahn
+smoothly. "We can settle who's to stay later. There's grub in the
+Hideout and a safe place to lay low if anything goes wrong. They'll have
+a fine time proving up the horses are stolen. We've got to take a
+chance. Butch is right. We can't take them with us. There's a good
+chance of a sale in Tucson. Meantime we've got to figure on Wyatt. He'll
+likely try to get in touch with that Brandon outfit."
+
+"Or that chap who said he was from Phoenix," put in Butch. "You made a
+misplay, there, Plimsoll. That chap was a ringer."
+
+"You talk like a fool," retorted Plimsoll. "He sold us the bunch cheap
+enough. 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 Hideout
+and talk it out there. This place ain't safe."
+
+Within an hour the herd, already corralled for the chance of a quick
+sale, was being driven to the glen known as the Hideout, a little
+mountain park with water and good feed where Plimsoll placed the horses
+that his men drove off from far-away ranches, or Plimsoll bought from
+other horse dealers of his own sort, keeping them there until their
+brands were doctored and possible pursuit died down. There were two
+entrances to the Hideout, one through a narrow gut almost blocked by a
+fallen boulder, with only a passage wide enough to let through horse and
+rider single file, a way that could be easily barricaded or masked so
+that none would suspect any opening in the cliff. The second led by a
+winding way through a desolate region, over rock that left no sign and
+wound by twists and turns that none but the initiated could follow. The
+place, accidentally discovered, was perfect for its purpose.
+
+There were some horses now in the Hideout, the lot purchased from the
+man from Phoenix, whom Butch suspected. But Parsons was of a suspicious
+disposition and the rest had overruled him, though the purchase had
+taken most of the cash at their disposal, until they could make the sale
+that had fallen through at the last minute. There was feed enough for
+the entire herd for a month. There was a cabin in a side gully of the
+park, near the blocked entrance, the whole place was honeycombed with
+caves, in the towering sidewalls and underground.
+
+Five of the nine left of the Waterline outfit drove the herd. Hahn and
+Parsons could both ride, but they were not experts at handling horses.
+They chose to go with Plimsoll and the outfit-cook, while the rest took
+the long way round to the other way in. The four lingered to give the
+rest a start. There was some liquor left and this they started to
+dispose of. At noon the cook got a farewell meal and they mounted.
+
+"I hate leaving the country without evening up some way with the Bourke
+outfit," said Plimsoll. "Damn him and the rest of them, they broke the
+luck 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. "Then
+you'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 with
+Butch might shatter. Butch was a bully, but Plimsoll respected his
+shooting. And Hahn sided with him. The cook did not count.
+
+Plimsoll carried with him a fine pair of binoculars and, as they rode
+leisurely on and reached a vantage-point, he swept the tumbled horizon
+for signs of any strange riders. It was the caution of habit as much as
+actual fear of a raid. There were no Hereford County horses in his herd
+save those he had bred himself and he did not think Wyatt or the others
+who had left the outfit would be able to stir up sentiment against him
+in Hereford. It would take time to get in touch with Brandon. But they
+made it a point to be sure that no casual rider noticed them on the way
+to the Hideout, or coming from it.
+
+At times Plimsoll rode aside from the trail to a ridge crest for wider
+vision. At last, coming up the pass of Willow Creek, he sighted Molly
+and Donald with Grit trotting beside them. It was the dog that confirmed
+his first surmise. He had heard that Molly had returned, but he had not
+dared a visit to the Three Star. Who the rider with her was he did not
+care. 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 face
+twisted to an ugly smile. He had a flask in his hip pocket and he
+swigged 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 told
+them of his discovery. "We'll wait for them along the trail. We'll send
+the 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, and
+the prospect of hatching the revenge over which he had brooded so long
+took 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 a
+quarter interest and a little better in the Molly Mine. The Three Star
+owns 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 young
+Keith. We won't monkey with him. He'll do to tell what happened. But
+we'll take the girl along and we'll send back word of how much we want
+to let her go. After I'm through with her. She may not go back the same
+as she came, but they won't know that and they'll pay enough to set us
+up and to hell with the herd."
+
+Parsons and Hahn looked at each other, greed rising in their eyes. They
+had no love for the partners of the Three Star nor for Molly Casey. A
+big 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 to
+show 'em the way. Bourke'll guess where she is."
+
+"Let him. Wyatt don't know about the caves, does he? We can take her
+some other place to-morrow. We won't say anything now to the kid about a
+ransom. We'll mail a letter after we fix details. But we'll take the
+girl into the Hideout now. That tenderfoot'll be lucky if he drifts back
+to the Three Star by nightfall afoot. We'll be out of the place long
+before that. And we'll put her where they can't find her till they come
+through. 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'll
+be at the other end. We'll keep Cookie with us--for the present. No need
+for the boys to know about it. We can manage that all right. Three
+ways, 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. All
+right, 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 share
+of brains, those he had had never been developed beyond the ordinary.
+Hahn was a good faro dealer. There his intelligence specialized and
+ended. Plimsoll was the master-mind of his crowd; they appreciated and
+acknowledged his capacity for details. That he had been unsuccessful of
+late they set down to his lack of nerve, dissipated in his encounter
+with Sandy. Their present lack of cash, the doubtfulness of being able
+to 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's
+good 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 which
+he had brooded until it became a part of his consciousness, and the
+liquor still stirring potently within him, he felt that his ascendancy
+had become reestablished, "Keith--the old man--is too big a fish to
+monkey with. Got too many pulls and connections. He'd have the whole
+country out and the trick played up big in every dinky newspaper. That's
+part of his business--publicity. We've got one fish--or will have--no
+sense straining the net. We don't want the kid. Let him string along
+back best way he can. We'll get all the start we need. What else would
+you do with him?"
+
+"Stow him away somewhere and send a tip where they can find him in a day
+or 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 get
+lost--we'll take his horse--and that won't be our fault. He may make
+Three Star late this afternoon. I wish I could be with him when he tells
+what he knows. Time they locate the Hideout, we'll be miles away through
+the south end and they'll have one hell of a time trailing us over the
+rocks. The boys weren't over-keen about staying with the herd and they
+can vamose. We'll tell them it's best to scatter for a bit and name a
+meeting-place. The horses can stay in the park. If we put this deal over
+right we don't need to bother about horse-trading. We can get clean out
+of the country with a big stake, go down to South America and start up a
+place. 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 one
+they're making for Beaver Dam Lake--on a picnic."
+
+He laughed and the two laughed with him as he went for his survey and
+returned, announcing that the girl and her escort were entering the
+ravine at the other end. They rode through the trees toward them. Molly
+and Donald came on so leisurely that Plimsoll feared they might have
+turned back and, with Butch, he risked a look down the trail, sighting
+them.
+
+"They didn't recognize us," he said. "We've got to take Cookie into
+this. You and Butch ride on through the trees a ways, Hahn, till you get
+back of them. Then we'll get 'em between us. I'll wise Cookie up to what
+we are doing."
+
+It was more than doubtful whether the three ever intended for a second
+to allow Cookie to share in the ransom money, but Plimsoll easily
+persuaded him that he would be a partner, adding that it would be
+foolish to let all the riders into the pot.
+
+"She's Molly Casey of the Casey Mine," he told him. "Sandy Bourke's her
+guardian. 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. He
+raised no objections and the trap was set and sprung.
+
+"You go ahead, Cookie, and open up the gate," said Plimsoll. Hahn and
+Butch 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 cabin
+and get some grub ready. There's plenty there. Spread yourself. We'll
+be along in a little while. That was a nice job of roping you did. I
+won'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 about
+her upper body from shoulders to waist, constricting her arms, fastened
+where she could not reach it by a hitch, sat on Blaze, looking with
+steady contempt at Plimsoll, who held her bridle rein. He regarded her
+with sleek complacency and then his eyes slowly traveled over her
+rounded 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 make
+the woman, but it takes a proper figure to set them off. And you've got
+all 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 I
+wasn't afraid I might lose you. You are quite precious."
+
+She looked through him as if he had been a sheet of glass. From her
+first sight of him, back in childhood, she had known instinctively the
+man was evil. But she was not afraid. The blood that ran in her veins
+was pure and bore in its crimson flood the sturdy heritage of pioneers
+who had outfaced dangers of death and torture and shame. She was all
+westerner. The blood was fighting blood. She felt it urged in her pulses
+while her brain bade her bide her time. Rage mounted as she faced the
+possible issues of this capture, the flaunting dismissal of young Keith.
+
+Plimsoll must be either very sure of his ground or desperate, she
+fancied. Both, perhaps. Molly had come into contact with life in the raw
+long before she went east. Education had not made a prude of her nor
+tainted her clean purity. She faced the fact and, for the time, she
+ignored the man. She had even time to think of young Donald turned
+tenderfooted into the mountains, to wonder whether he would be able to
+find his way back or get lost in the ranges. She heard the laughter that
+followed the rifle-shots and surmised that they were having their idea
+of a joke with the lad.
+
+If he got back--then Sandy would come after her. She was very sure of
+Sandy 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 scorn
+showed in her eyes and bit through his assumption of ease as acid bites
+through skin, eating its way on. He burned to wipe out his own
+trickeries, his cowardice, his failures, to wreak a vile satisfaction on
+this 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 the
+clarity of prevision to see the strength of character that had been in
+the prospector's child, even as he had never suspected her unfolding to
+beauty. 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 was
+not playing this deal alone. While they might allow him some personal
+license, to them the girl represented so much money. Plimsoll's
+reprisals were only partly theirs, they would not permit him to balk
+them of their share. There is Berserker madness latent in every one that
+breaks out sometimes in the child that torments a kitten and ends by
+torturing it, maiming--killing. There had been nothing in what stood for
+Plimsoll's manhood to change such instinct, to restrain it where he held
+the will and power. But here he had to go carefully.
+
+He cut short Butch's boast of the way they had scared young Keith. Both
+Hahn and Parsons felt a coil of embarrassment at the silence, almost the
+serenity, of their captive. They had expected her to act far
+differently, to rage, threaten, cry out. She almost abashed them.
+
+"See if you can round up that damned dog, Butch," said Plimsoll. "I
+plugged him but we want to be sure he don't get away. He might help
+Keith'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 him
+hard, Plim. Plenty blood on the leaves."
+
+Molly bit her lips and paled a little, but turned away her head so that
+they could not see. She winked back the tears that came to her thought
+of Grit helpless, panting, bleeding.
+
+They rode on up the rocky ravine that gradually closed in on either side
+with the rock walls set with cactus here and there, carved into great
+masses superimposed upon one another for a hundred feet. Presently they
+turned aside from the stony trail that left no record of hooves, and,
+Plimsoll in the lead, Molly next, walked their horses over a precarious
+ledge that zigzagged back and forth up to where a notch in the cliff had
+been nearly filled by a titanic boulder. To one side appeared a narrow
+opening, unseen from below by the curve of the great rock, just wide
+enough to admit horse and rider. A few feet in, they halted, and
+Plimsoll turned in his saddle while the other three men dismounted and
+carefully adjusted several rock fragments in the opening, piling them
+with a swift care that showed familiarity with their task, so placing
+them that they appeared as if a part of the wall. Butch clambered to the
+top 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 him
+my glasses."
+
+Parson took them and climbed up to where a dead tree stood like a
+skeleton in a crotch of the rocks. It screened him from observation
+perfectly by outer approach.
+
+"I can see Keith's kid," he said with a chuckle when he came down. "He's
+through the creek and he don't know which way to start. Looks as if he
+meant to follow down the creek."
+
+"He'll not go far that way," commented Plimsoll. "Mount up. Cookie's
+getting grub and I'm getting hungry. He'll have to cook for the boys
+after we're through. They'll be showing up after a bit."
+
+Below them, Molly saw the hidden park that lay so snugly back of the
+barrier walls. It was an irregular oval that appeared to curve at the
+far end. Gulches reached back, occasionally thick with timber that grew
+in clumps among the rocks and on the ledges, dotting the green grass of
+the floor. She caught the sparkle of a little cascade, the gleam of a
+streamlet. The cliffs were terraced and battlemented in red and white
+and gray. Their facades showed fantasies of weather sculpture that
+looked like ruined castles and cathedrals with cave mouths for
+entrances. Here and there a monolith of stone stood up out from the main
+cliff, spiring for a hundred feet or more. The grass was starred with
+flowers. Some horses were grazing a little distance away and stood at
+gaze, 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 the
+general level and the branch they took led into a side gulch where a log
+cabin stood, smoke coming from its chimney. Plimsoll took the rein of
+Blaze again and they broke into a canter. At the cabin Plimsoll took
+Molly from the saddle and carried her into the rude interior. There he
+set her on a chair. Cookie was busy at a stove frying ham and eggs, with
+coffee simmering.
+
+"You'd better sit up and eat nicely, my dear," said Plimsoll as he
+unbound her. "You'll have to sooner or later, you know. No sense in
+being stubborn."
+
+She said nothing but he saw a gleam in her eyes as she glanced toward
+the table where Hahn was setting out plates and cutlery.
+
+"You'll eat with a fork, Molly," said Plimsoll. "Those steel knives are
+too handy for you. There's a nasty look in those blue eyes of yours that
+will have to be tamed--have to be tamed," he repeated as he took a
+demijohn from a corner and poured out a liquor that sent the reek of its
+raw 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 that
+Cookie placed before them, talking louder, growing flushed with the
+crude whisky, while Molly sat facing the door, striving to catch
+something that might help, might give some clue. But the talk was all of
+the brawl at the Waterline with contemptuous mention of Wyatt and the
+rest. They seemed by common consent to ignore her once she had refused
+the food.
+
+This attitude weakened her resistance though she strove against it. She
+had nerved herself to meet action. Now she seemed to count for little
+more than a bundle, of more or less value, that, having been secured,
+could wait its time for utility. Yet, before she had telescoped her
+vision to extend through and beyond Plimsoll, she had seen devils
+looking from his eyes, smug devils, but none the less menacing, risen
+from the man's own private hell pit.
+
+Plimsoll looked at his watch.
+
+"The horses should be showing up pretty soon," he said and rose, a
+little 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 south
+end. Get 'em to turn the horses loose. And get them out of the place as
+soon 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 now
+at 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 none
+the less evil.
+
+"How long do you want us to give you, Plim?" asked the dealer. "No sense
+in our sticking round here that I can see."
+
+"We've got to get the boys out of the way, haven't we? Keep your eyes
+peeled on Cookie," Plimsoll said in a lower voice as the ranch chef went
+out of the door with his arms piled with provisions. "He might take a
+notion to talk too much. We had to let him in, but he don't have to stay
+in. Soon as the boys are away you come back and we'll go out again this
+end, if all is clear."
+
+"Where are you going to stow her?" asked Hahn "Leave her here in Split
+Rock Cave?"
+
+The callous reference to her as if she was something inanimate chilled
+Molly. If only she had a gun! She had laughed at Donald's tenderfoot
+insistence upon carrying the one he had brought west as a part of his
+outfit and had never attempted to use. The cook's too well thrown rope
+would have probably thwarted any move of hers if she had had a weapon.
+Her fingers crept up toward her throat touching a slender chain upon
+which, 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, even
+now, 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's
+safe. We'll make Windy Gulch to-night and stay there. It's as good a
+place as I know. One of us can ride over the mountain to Redding and
+mail 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 close
+after the pair of blackguards and braced herself. The issue was at hand.
+
+Plimsoll slid a bolt on the door, brought over one of the makeshift
+chairs and placed it in front of Molly, seating himself. His
+alcohol-laden breath reached her nauseatingly and she turned her head
+aside. As if a trigger had been released Plimsoll's face became inflamed
+with a passionate fury. The veins on face and neck swelled and writhed
+like little blue snakes, his eyes congested.
+
+"Damn you!" he said. "Don't you turn your head away from me. I'll train
+you to better manners before I'm through with you. You'll be jumping to
+do what you think I want you to before long. You'll be begging me for
+favors. 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 to
+leash the devils that had broken loose in his brain.
+
+"Just what do you want?" she asked, and her voice seemed not to belong
+to her as she uttered the words that showed no tremor.
+
+"You! Not for love, my beauty! Because you are good to look at--yes. But
+I'll take my time. I'll sip at the dish, my dear. I've got a big score
+to 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. He
+staggered slightly and fumbled the chair as he sat down again. Molly
+watched him intently. If only he got sufficiently drunk. Before the rest
+came back. Perhaps she could get his own gun? Plimsoll laid a familiar
+finger on her knee and instantly loathing showed in her eyes. He
+laughed.
+
+"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 I
+know just how it treats me, sabe? Now then.
+
+"Your guardian angel Sandy chiseled me out of my share in the Molly Mine
+belongin' 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 a
+dead man's agreement. Four-flushing Sandy Bourke...."
+
+Molly suddenly slipped back into the primitive. Something seemed to
+click and the refinement she had learned and used so far fell like a
+cloak that is dropped for freedom in battle. With the malignment of
+Sandy and her father she was Molly Casey, daughter of a Desert Rat, once
+more.
+
+"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 off
+the claim and gave you until sun-up to sneak out of town. I've heard how
+you were afraid to look at him through the smoke but went galloping off
+while the whole camp laughed at you. Sandy a four-flusher! A coyote'll
+fight when it's cornered, but you...."
+
+She had heard the whole story from Keith. It was a favorite tale of the
+promoter's. He used it as publicity across his dinner table. It gave the
+right touch of adventure to Casey Town. Plimsoll grew slowly livid.
+
+"Heard all about it, did you?" he said slowly. "Then you know some of
+the score. And I can wipe off what I owe Sandy Bourke through you. And
+there are more items. There was the first time we met. I haven't
+forgotten that. There was the kiss you said you tried to bite out after
+you'd burned the doll I gave you. You told about that the next time I
+kissed 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 crawl
+on his purpling skin, and she kept her eyes on them though her mental
+vision was on the holster beneath his vest. She deliberately taunted him
+to provoke him to an uncalculated move. Molly knew her own litheness,
+her strength. If she could get inside his arms, if even to endure a
+moment of his beastly embrace and could get a grip on the gun?
+
+But there was something in Plimsoll that delighted in playing with a
+victim he felt sure of. It soothed his broken vanity.
+
+"So," he said, "I'm going to get even with Sandy and with Mormon and
+that bow-legged fool Sam Manning who call you the Mascot of the Three
+Star, all at once; while I get even with you. And get what should have
+been mine at the same time. We'll have you tucked away while we mail the
+letter that will bring your ransom. Never mind the details of handling
+the money. I'll attend to that. But we'll bleed you dry. The price of
+all your stock and that of the three suckers at the Three Star at
+par--and all they can borrow on the ranch--that will be the price for
+you, my lady. With three days to deliver in."
+
+"You talk like a crazy man, or a drunken one. They can't sell the stock
+in 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 you
+alive."
+
+Plimsoll shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes flickered and, for a
+second, his cowardly soul shrank.
+
+"I'll look out for that," he said. "If you are delivered back to them as
+damaged goods they'll never know it till you tell them. Maybe you won't
+be over-anxious to do that." His eyes grew moody, his manner sullen. He
+was passing into another alcoholic phase. Molly sensed imminent danger.
+
+"I'll take those kisses now," he cried and lunged for her, catching her
+about the waist as she rose from the chair. "And more to boot," he added
+thickly as he drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingers
+twining in her hair, twisting her face forward, upward. She had both
+arms inside of his, her hands on his chest. With all her strength she
+strained 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 left
+it on the table. His breath sickened her. She got her arm clear and
+struck him viciously on the mouth, breaking the lips against his teeth.
+Fighting like a cave-woman, she scored his cheek with nails that dug
+deep from the corner of his eyelid and brought the blood. As he shifted
+his hold she wrenched loose, leaving strands of brown hair in his
+fingers, and jumped for the door. In her spring she saw, too late, the
+pistol on the table. She drew the bolt, half opening the door before he
+caught 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 waist
+was torn away. Maddened at her resistance he struck back. Once he got
+her about the throat, but her fingers were at his face, tearing at his
+eyes and he had to beat her off. The girl fought with all the sublimated
+despair of attacked womanhood, the man like a gorilla. The struggle was
+unequal, with more than forty pounds in favor of Plimsoll though, if
+Molly had possessed the puniest of weapons, she might have won. He held
+her at last, close to him, one arm wrapped about her, his right hand
+forcing 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 were
+futile, she had only her teeth left and she was going to try those. But
+she knew her strength sapped, knew in another moment or two she would be
+at 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 appeared
+with blazing eyes, with a neck-ruff flaring high. White teeth showed as
+red gums bared in hate and, forgetting the wounded leg that had held him
+back, Grit hurled himself in a staggering but magnificent leap. He could
+not reach Plimsoll's throat, he had lost much of his momentum through
+the damaged leg, he lacked power from loss of blood, but fury gave him
+strength for the spring that brought his teeth within reach of
+Plimsoll's right wrist, exposed; the cuff half-way up the forearm.
+Grit's teeth slashed like chisels, ripping through flesh, tendon and
+artery, sending jets of blood spurting before Plimsoll, with a yell of
+surprise 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 blindly
+for the gun on the table behind him. He found the barrel and brought the
+heavy butt down with a crash on Grit's head, back of the ear. The dog
+dropped 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, crumpled
+unconscious in the corner, he sought for more liquor, found it and
+poured himself a big jorum, gulping it down while the blood dripped
+heavily from the bandage. He was soggy with shock and fatigue, the
+strong 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 as
+they rose in the leap, the crimson glare in his eyes. To all intents the
+dog was mad. It had been lying wounded in the sun. Only madness could
+have given it strength to track so far. What if it meant
+lockjaw--hydrophobia? Through his dulled brain ran like a black thread
+the impression that he could feel the virus stealing through his veins,
+stiffening his body. How long did the damned thing take. And the
+horrible ending! He had seen a man die of it once, bitten by a mad
+collie, the same breed as the brute under the table. He had done for
+him, anyway.
+
+Water--that was the test! There was water that Cookie had brought in for
+coffee, half a bucket, by the stove. He felt a sudden repugnance toward
+it. The slashed veins in his wrists burned and throbbed as if they were
+oozing molten lead instead of blood. And he was growing weak. If he
+didn't get a tourniquet fixed he might bleed to death. But what was the
+use?
+
+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 door
+swung wide. Cookie rushed in, his face muddy with alarm.
+
+"The show's gone wrong," he cried to Plimsoll, who stared at him
+half-comprehending. "For Gawd's sake what's happened here? Gimme a
+drink." 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 scragged
+the gel?" He thrust the bottle at Plimsoll who drank, senses rallying
+by the urge of danger that emanated from the cook like the sweaty stench
+of a frightened animal.
+
+"Brandon's gang has come back," said Cookie. "It's the damndest streak
+of luck. They must have fell in with Wyatt or some of his pals. They
+must have been to the ranch. They cut off the boys and the horses over
+by 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 his
+feet.
+
+"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 they
+saw him. He's gone out ag'in through the south end. Case they've got
+some one who does know the way in, he'll side-track by Spur Rock an' git
+through the pass at Nipple Peaks. It's hard goin', but we can make it
+unless we can git out this end. Hahn an' Butch has gone up to the
+lookout to.... Hear that?"
+
+_That_ was a single rifle-shot, followed by two others, the last almost
+as one.
+
+"Hell!" cried Plimsoll, "they've got us this end. It's Wyatt. Just my
+damned luck for him to meet up with Brandon."
+
+"Butch says it was the deal with that chap from Phoenix. He allus
+spotted him for a crooked one. They've planted hawsses on us to prove
+up. And Wyatt has been in touch with Brandon ever sense you took his
+gel away from him. Come on, I'm goin'."
+
+He ran outside and Plimsoll followed to the door, lethargy leaving him
+in the face of disaster though he could not think fast or clearly. Hahn
+came clattering over the rocks on his horse, his face chalky white. He
+was reeling in his saddle, the horse spraddling, wild-eyed, almost out
+of control. Cookie jumped for its bridle as Hahn slumped sidewise in the
+saddle, clutched for the horn, missed it and was falling when Plimsoll
+caught him and helped him to the wall of the cabin where he leaned
+weakly. 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 and
+went galloping down the valley to the south.
+
+Plimsoll sent curses after him, reaching for his own pistol before he
+remembered it was inside, dragging Hahn's half out of its holster and
+then quitting as the fleeing cook tangented and disappeared behind some
+timber.
+
+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 about
+Hahn and helped him into the cabin. Molly was stirring and Plimsoll
+scowled blackly at her. He gave Hahn a drink.
+
+"Brace up," he said, "what happened? I know about Reynolds. I mean at
+the 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 here
+under the collar-bone. I reckon they touched the lung. I never saw such
+shooting. But Butch got Wyatt."
+
+"Tell it straight," demanded Plimsoll. "How many of 'em? What did they
+do?"
+
+"We no more than made the lookout," said Hahn, "before six men came
+riding along, heeled for trouble. One of them was the black-bearded guy
+from California who was here with that Brandon, first time they came
+nosing around. And another was Wyatt, God blast his rotten soul in hell
+for a twisting hound! Wyatt was just starting to point 'em out the
+entrance 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 on
+the 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--the
+bullet goes plumb through the tree and knocks Butch down. Went through
+both hips. He falls against me and I show in the open, sliding on that
+damned slippery boulder, sliding inside and out of range, but they got
+me.
+
+"They'll be through any minute, Plim. They'll go careful until they find
+there's no one firing back at them, then it won't take 'em long to
+figure out the way in. You can't tell how much Wyatt told 'em on the way
+up. They've got me. I can't ride. My lungs are filling up. Butch is
+paralyzed--if he ain't dead. A hell of a wind-up! You can make it out
+the way Reynolds did. None of the gang that left with Wyatt knows about
+the side-trail by Spur Rock. But you'd better beat it. Me, I've turned
+my last card. The case is empty!"
+
+His head fell forward on to his arms. A trickle of scarlet came from the
+corner of his mouth. Plimsoll looked at him calculatingly. Hahn could
+not ride. But he wouldn't die for a while. To leave him here where the
+raiders would find him might mean a confession wrung from him that would
+tell of the getaway trail by Spur Rock and Nipple Peaks. He shook Hahn
+by the sound shoulder.
+
+"Brace up," he said. "You can hide in Split Rock Cave. I'm going to put
+the girl in there. Take another drink. Pick up some grub. There's water
+in 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." He
+weakly collected the bottle, some scraps of food.
+
+Plimsoll stooped over Molly, coming out of her faint, and gagged her
+with her own scarf as her eyes opened and looked at him. He took off her
+belt and strapped her arms behind her back. Then, despite his wounded
+wrist, 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 anchoring
+it! Blaze and Plimsoll's black were nipping grass in the little corral
+where they had been placed. Blaze whinnied at the sight, or the scent,
+of his mistress. Plimsoll passed the corral and went through a grove of
+quaking asps close to the wall of the side-gulch, keeping to the rock as
+much as possible. He turned into a cleft, stopping at a rock whose
+almost flat surface was level with his feet, a great mass of granite
+that some freak of weathering or convulsion of earthquake had split
+almost 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 the
+tough fibers, bracing with his knees. Down some ten feet in the crack he
+looked up, his ghastly face pallid in the shadow, with an attempt at a
+grin.
+
+"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 her
+nurse you. Do anything you damn please with her!"
+
+Hahn dropped out of sight. Plimsoll did not wait but picked Molly up
+from where he had deposited her, a helpless bundle, on the rock.
+
+"The bottom's soft down there," he said. "Sand. It ain't more than
+fifteen feet. Down you go, you hellcat! They'll have a fine time
+locating you. And you've got a dying man for company. He'll be a dead
+one before morning."
+
+He lowered her, feet down, released her and watched her disappear. He
+swung about and ran back to the corral, his hurt arm throbbing with his
+exertion. He had entertained a brief thought of hiding in the cave
+himself, but the fear of madness from the bite had not left him, the
+suggestion of it coming on in an underground cavern sickened him with
+horror. He craved the open. He flung himself into the saddle of the
+black horse, once leader of a slick-ear herd of wild mustangs,
+magnificent for speed and symmetry, worthy a better master, and galloped
+out of the corral, out of the side-ravine, into the open park. The rough
+towel about his arm was becoming soaked. Every jump of the black horse
+seemed to increase the bleeding. The spurt of fictitious energy that had
+carried him through since the arrival of Cookie was dying away. But he
+was on a mount that none could match, he was going on a trail that was
+hard to follow, practically unknown. Unless he was headed off, he could
+break through. At Nipple Peaks he could rest, attend to his wound.
+
+A shout, a bullet whistling past that nicked the stallion's ear and sent
+him plunging and bucking, warned him that his enemies had found the way
+in and were after him. He did not look back, but bent forward in his
+saddle and sunk the spurs into the black's flanks. The half-tamed
+mustang's indignant bounds spoiled the aim of the marksmen, and, though
+the steel-nosed missiles hummed like bees about them, they gained the
+shelter of the same trees that had covered Cookie. Belly almost to
+ground, the black swept over the cropped turf at racing speed, the drum
+of his hooves like distant thunder, crest high, crimson-satin nostrils
+flaring, mad at the sting of the red notch in his ear.
+
+Round the elbow of the Hideout, with Brandon's men distanced, into the
+gorge at the south end. A wild scramble up a steep slope and the way to
+Spur Rock was clear. Plimsoll smiled grimly. "Damn them, I'll beat them
+yet!" For a second he was silhouetted against a skyline, then he plunged
+down. Fresh droppings told him that Reynolds had won clear. He was safe
+from 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 was
+an echo, he fancied, it must be an echo, flung back from the mountain
+walls ahead. But it could mean nothing else than a view-halloo. Some one
+had glimpsed him disappearing beyond the ridge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MOLLY MINE
+
+
+Sandy, replacing the blanket on Wyatt's face, examined his guns and
+started climbing up to the big boulder. He could not see the rocks
+displaced by Brandon's men from below, but he picked up the bloody
+imprint of Grit's pad, with other smears of blood less distinctly
+marked. Soon he discovered the narrow opening and proceeded cautiously.
+The moon was quite bright now and the daylight almost vanished. Only the
+afterglow still flamed in the eastern sky back of the violet cliffs. The
+touch of night chill was already threatening, great stars were
+assembling court about the moon.
+
+To Sandy's right was perpendicular rock, to his left the curve of the
+blocking boulder with the skeleton tree topping it, withered in the
+cleft that had first nourished, then denied it nourishment. It gleamed
+silver gray, attracting his attention. As he gazed his sharp ears caught
+the tiny crack of a brittle branch. Instantly he dropped to all fours as
+a spurt of flame showed from the tree and a bullet whined over him, to
+smack against the rock and fall flattened.
+
+Sandy did not move. He knew that, to the man firing, his fall might have
+seemed a hit, that he had beaten the missile by the space of a wink. He
+heard more broken boughs, as if his assailant were clumsily, assuredly,
+clambering out of ambush, and he shifted silently into position, rifle
+set down, both guns ready. There came a strange thrashing sound, a groan
+of 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 bullet
+had ranged through both hips, shattering them. The spine must have been
+injured. There were puddles of blood that told the injury was some hours
+old. Butch had lain there paralyzed, passed by Brandon's men as dead,
+lingering like the traditional snake until sunset to see and recognize
+Sandy coming through the gap, to use his last remnant of life to pull
+trigger 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, plain
+as it was on every side. He found the side-gulch, saw the cabin, saw
+Hahn's saddled horse grazing free, Blaze in the corral, the cabin door
+open with the moon streaming in. He had pieced out the puzzle to his own
+satisfaction. Brandon and his men had arrived and, in Hereford, they had
+run across Wyatt, procuring horses there and saving themselves the trip
+to the Three Star. Butch's body was evidence that they had not been
+unsuccessful, Wyatt's that the fight had not been all one-sided, the
+surprise not perfect. And, if Plimsoll had been warned, what had become
+of Molly?
+
+He got an answer that made his heart stand still, then pound in a rush
+of action. On the floor, in the beam of the moon, lay the luck-piece, a
+few links of gold chain attached to the coin. Stooping for it, he
+brushed a strand of brown hair. Then he saw Grit's body beneath the
+table. Fury boiled in him, chilled to icy wrath and determination. He
+put away the coin and hauled out the dog's body into the moonlight. It
+was limber and still warm. Sandy rose from his squat and swiftly
+examined the cabin. He discovered a lantern with oil in it, which he
+lit. The condition of the fire, corroborating other signs, told him that
+the fighting was long over with, the issue passed on. He had no fear of
+interruption. Before very long Sam and the Three Star riders would be
+along. The sight of Blaze suggested that Molly was not far away. If she
+had gone, by force, or her own free will, the probability was that her
+own mount and saddle would have been requisitioned.
+
+Sandy's capacity for reading sign was almost without limit. He was
+better at it than an Indian because he had equally good observation and
+better judgment. But, to find Molly, with the ground about the cabin cut
+by arriving and departing feet and hooves, with Blaze in the corral,
+was a miracle that called for more than eyesight and deduction. If he
+could revive Grit...?
+
+He found water warm in a kettle; he had the first-aid kit with its
+bandages, 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, the
+blood marks where Plimsoll's veins had sprinkled and Grit had stained
+the floor. He found, too, a button of horn with a fragment of black and
+white check, torn from Molly's riding coat in the struggle. Sandy's
+anger crystallized into one ambition beyond the finding of Molly, and
+that was to kill Plimsoll, if possible with his hands. He pictured the
+struggle between the gambler and the girl, desperate on one side, brutal
+on the other and, whether the stake had been won or lost, he resolved
+that Plimsoll should die for that attack.
+
+Now his hope hung on Grit. He squatted on the floor by the lantern, a
+gun handy in case of need. He took the collie's head on his lap and
+examined the blow made by the butt of Plimsoll's gun. It had laid bare
+the bone but he did not think it either splintered or fractured. Grit's
+tongue lolled out from between his teeth and his muzzle was dry, yet
+Sandy fancied breath still passed the nostrils and that there was a
+faint beat of heart beneath the heavy draggled coat, matted with the
+blood that had drained life from him. Sandy knew that dog or wolf or
+coyote will lie in a torpor after being badly wounded and often recover
+slowly, waking from the recuperating sleep revitalized. But, if he
+could bring Grit back, he must make fresh demands on him.
+
+He washed the wound on the head and poured iodine into it. He did the
+same with the hole in the leg, cleansing it from the dried blood and
+hair. It had stopped bleeding. He disinfected it, stitched it, closed
+it, bound it with adhesive tape and strengthened it with a bandage
+adjusted as expertly as any surgeon could have done. He pried open the
+jaws with but little resistance and let the tongue slip back before he
+poured in a measure of Scotch and water between the canine and incisor
+teeth. He tilted Grit's limp head, shut off his muzzle, stroked his
+throat and let the restorative trickle into the gullet. For a moment
+there was no response, then Grit coughed, choked, swallowed. Sandy
+repeated the dose with less water. It went down naturally. Almost
+immediately he felt the heart stroke strengthen. Grit sneezed, opened
+his eyes and feebly thumped his tail as he licked Sandy's hand.
+
+"Grit, ol' pardner," said Sandy seriously, the dog's head between his
+hands, "yo're sure mussed up a heap an' I hate to do it, but I got to
+call on you, son. Mebbe it won't be such a long trick, but I can't git
+by without yore nose, Grit. It's worth more'n all I've got. An' I know
+yo'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, but
+Sandy prevented him until the third dose was administered. Then he
+carried 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 to
+stand, looking eagerly at Sandy, commencing to snuff the air. Sandy let
+him smell the coin, the strand of hair, the piece of cloth and, with his
+keenest sense stimulated with the perfume that stood to Grit for love,
+the dog wrinkled his nose and cast around. But he led direct to Blaze
+and 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 got
+to cast about." He picked up the dog again, puzzled, and looked about
+him in the gulch, suffused with moonlight. "There sh'ud be soft dirt
+under those asps, let's give a look-see there."
+
+They had not gone five feet into the trees before man and dog made a
+simultaneous discovery. For Sandy it was a heel-mark left by Plimsoll,
+treading heavily under his burden, a slight depression enough, but plain
+to Sandy. Grit began to struggle in his arms. Molly's hair or body must
+have brushed against lower boughs at the same height that Sandy carried
+the 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 the
+heel-print. Grit uttered a low growl deep back in his throat, his ruff
+lifted. Hatred replaced love, but the two odors and emotions were
+inextricably 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. Where
+Plimsoll had laid her down Grit halted and raised his head, his tongue
+playing in and out of his jaws in his triumphant excitement, his eyes
+luminous, his tail waving like the plume of a knight. Sandy gently
+patted him, pressed him down to a crouch.
+
+"Down charge, Grit," he whispered in his ear. "You've got it. You stay
+here." 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 the
+split, holding on to the vine, looking straight into Grit's lambent
+eyes.
+
+"Stay here, son," he said softly, and Grit licked the face now on a
+level with his own. "I'll be back."
+
+Sandy doubted whether he would find Plimsoll in this rock hollow, or any
+one 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. It
+made little difference. There was, to him, the certainty that Molly was
+there and there was no other way of finding out or getting to her. He
+had adventured more dangerous chances than this.
+
+He felt his legs dangle into space and his hands found a curving loop in
+the vine trunk that sagged slightly under his weight. Extended at full
+length, his toes touched bottom. Letting go, he dropped lightly and
+stood in blackness, the crevice above him showing a strip of azure
+light. Sandy listened, wishing for Grit. He might be able to get him
+down, now that he knew the depth of the descent.
+
+There was only the sound of dripping water. He had a vague sense of
+empty spaces all about him. He ventured a match, holding it at arm's
+length in his left hand, flicking friction with his nail, an old trick.
+The match caught and began to blaze instantly in the still air. Low
+down, and to the right, there showed a stab of flame, the roar of an
+exploding cartridge, the reek of high-powered gas seemed to fill the
+cavern. The bullet passed through Sandy's coat sleeve. If he had held
+the match in front of him he would have been shot through heart or
+lungs. His right-hand gun barked from his hip, straight for where the
+flame had showed, then to right of it, to left, above, his left-hand gun
+joining in the merciless probe. No second shot came in answer.
+
+Sandy lit another match. Its flare showed him a sandy floor, slightly
+sloping, moist in one place, a charred stick almost at his feet. It was
+a pine knot, half burned, and he lighted it easily, advancing toward the
+spot where he had flung the shots he knew had silenced whoever had fired
+at the first match. He found Hahn, crumpled up, shot through the right
+arm and a thigh, besides the other wound in his shoulder. There was not
+much 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 up
+at him and essayed a grin.
+
+"Yo're game all right, Hahn," said Sandy. "You ain't the man I was
+lookin' 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 a
+prohibition 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. I
+thought you one of Brandon's gang. They got Butch and me an' they're
+chasin' 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 left
+me here--with the girl--but the case is empty and the bank's
+bu'sted--cashing--in--time and no chips."
+
+He was wandering in his mind, speaking without control, but Sandy's
+mouth tightened at the mention of Nipple Peaks, relaxed again on the
+word "girl." He gave Hahn the last few drops of whisky.
+
+"Where in hell'd you get that?" asked the dealer weakly, coughed
+violently, collapsed, shuddered, writhed a little and was still before
+he could answer Sandy's eager question about Molly.
+
+He found her without much searching, rolled down a little slope beyond
+the crevice. Under the light of the torch her eyes looked up at him. Her
+hair was in disorder, her raiment torn, her slender body wound about by
+the lariat rope, her mouth and chin hidden by the tightly drawn
+bandanna, but her gaze, reflecting the flare of the pine knot, held so
+much of welcome, of faith, of pride and courage, all sourced in
+something deeper, far more wonderful, moving beneath the surface like a
+well spring, that Sandy's heart swelled with glad emotion, knowing she
+was unharmed, knowing that his coming was no surprise, however welcome.
+
+He found himself trembling as he untied her bonds and took away the gag
+from the mouth that lifted to his. She snuggled into his arms and, as
+the torch sputtered out, leaving them in the darkness, save for the
+luminous beams that stole down from where Grit whimpered in joyous
+impatience, 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 to
+his 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 the
+edge of it. He rose easily, still holding her and lifted her high to
+where she could reach the vine, swinging up after her, Grit dancing a
+three-legged reel of joy as they came up into the free air and the
+moonlight.
+
+Blaze greeted them in the corral. Molly mounted, and Sandy set Grit on
+the 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 meet
+up 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 meeting
+anybody." She had taken off Sandy's Stetson and she ran fingers through
+his hair, thrilling him to the intimacy of the caress. But, if there was
+any 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, I
+aim to head him off an' settle the account."
+
+"Sandy." There was a plea in her voice that plucked at his heart
+strings. "Don't spoil to-night. Please!"
+
+"That ain't Molly Casey talkin'," said Sandy. "That's somethin' you must
+have 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 in
+Blaze. 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 to
+Three Star where yore daddy lies an' know he was there in his grave
+while I let that coyote go loose. I found the luck-piece on the floor of
+the cabin, Molly, with a lock of yore hair he must have tore out, a
+button an' a bit of yore dress he nigh tore off you. I was in hell when
+I thought of you fightin' him off an' if I have to wade through it
+knee-deep in flamin' sulphur I'm goin' to find that snake an' make sure
+he quits trailin'. Why, it's my job, Molly. What w'ud you think of me if
+I 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 rocks
+about them.
+
+"I'm afraid," she said.
+
+"Afraid?"
+
+"I know. I never was before. But...." She broke off, leaned swiftly down
+from 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 was
+Goldie that Sandy rode under the stars toward Nipple Peaks. He was
+alone, refusing any company of Sam or the riders. Molly's last kiss had
+been the key that turned in the lock of his heart and opened up to
+reality the garden of his dreams where the two of them would walk
+together, work together all their days. It could have meant nothing
+else. And she had been afraid--for him. Plimsoll living was a blot upon
+the fair page of happiness. Though Molly, thank God, had come through
+unharmed, to Sandy the touch of Plimsoll was a defilement that could
+only be wiped out by his death.
+
+Nipple Peaks he knew by sight, two high mounds of bare granite above the
+timber-line, barring the way to a jumbled country of peaks and ravines
+and cross ca�ons among which lay Plimsoll's Hideout. Spur Rock he knew
+only 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 to
+the Hideout and attempted to follow a rock trail by moonlight, despite
+its brilliance, would have been sheer folly. Plimsoll had from three to
+four hours' start, he figured. And he calculated that, with luck, with
+common luck and justice, he would pick him up before he reached the base
+of the mountain, before he got into the timber. If not, sooner or later
+he 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 Peaks
+gleaming above the black pines across the valley, with Elk River
+gleaming in the middle, he realized that he had said nothing to Molly of
+Keith, 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 as
+if the rest of the world had been fenced off from them and their own
+intimate affairs.
+
+He compressed his knees and the mare answered in a lope that stretched
+into a gallop, fast and faster as she reached the levels and sped toward
+Elk River. Sandy was not going to waste time looking for a ford. The
+mare could swim. The moon, sloping down toward the west, still above the
+range, helped by the big white stars, made the valley bright almost as
+day. He scanned the mountain toward the peaks, passed over the dark
+impenetrable pines, surveyed the stretch of gently rising ground between
+the Elk and the trees and shifted his guns in their scabbards. His rifle
+he had left with Sam. Either Plimsoll had not passed the peaks, was in
+the woods, or he had come and gone. Something told Sandy this last had
+not occurred. Travel beyond the peaks must have been hard and slow and
+roundabout for Plimsoll while he had tangented fast for the cut-off.
+
+The mare took the cold river water about her fetlocks with a little
+shiver, wading in to the girths, sliding to a deep pool where she had to
+swim a few strokes before she found gravel under her hoofs and scrambled
+out. Suddenly, while Sandy hesitated how best to arrange his patrol, a
+horse came floundering out of the pines less than a quarter of a mile
+away, a black horse, shining with sweat, tired to its limit, staggering
+in its stride, the rider hunched in the saddle more like a sack of meal
+than a man.
+
+Before Sandy could turn the mare toward them three riders burst from the
+trees like bolts from a crossbow, spurring their mounts, the two in the
+lead swinging lariats. They divided, one to either side of the
+foundering black stallion, one at the rear, gaining, angling in. The
+ropes slithered out, the loops seemed to hang like suspended rings of
+wire for a second before they settled down, fair and true, about the
+neck and shoulders of the black's rider. They tightened, the lariats
+snubbed to the saddle horns, the horses sliding with flattened pasterns.
+The black lunging on, pitched forward as it was relieved of a sudden
+weight and its rider jerked hideously from the saddle, hands clawing at
+the ropes that choked his gullet, wrenching, sinking deep, shutting off
+air and light with a horrid taste of blood and the noise of thundering
+waters.
+
+The ropers wheeled their mounts and galloped back toward the woods, the
+limp body of their victim dragging, bouncing over the ground. The third
+rode 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 minute
+too late."
+
+Brandon glanced curiously at Sandy, caught by the grim note in his
+voice. 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 tree
+with a card on his chest presenting him to Hereford County, with our
+compliments. As it is, Bourke, I'd be relieved if you'd keep out of this
+entirely. Even forgetting you'd met us. We're within our rights, but
+we've done some cleaning up to-night that we might have to explain if we
+stayed too long in the state. We got the goods on Plimsoll; one of his
+men whose girl Plimsoll had stolen helped us to pin them on him. We met
+him at Hereford. I'm going to send the facts and proofs to your
+authorities. They may not approve of lynch law these days, but they
+wouldn't act--and we did. I don't fancy they'll bother us any. He wasn't
+worth 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 black
+first. He gave us a hard chase, but we were too many for him and rounded
+him up."
+
+They found the black stallion stretched out on the turf with its neck
+curiously twisted. Tired out, it had fallen clumsily and broken the
+vertebrae. It was quite dead. Both men looked at it silently, with a
+mental tribute to a good horse.
+
+The body of Plimsoll lay at the foot of a big pine. The loops were still
+tight about his neck. One of the ropes had been tossed over a bough. The
+two men had dismounted. They nodded to Sandy as he came up with Brandon.
+He had seen them before on their first unsuccessful trip to the
+Waterline. They were horse-owners, responsible men, who considered they
+had administered justice, who felt no more qualms concerning the dead
+man 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 hit
+the trail home to-night. Bourke wants to identify the body, boys."
+
+Sandy looked down at the contorted, blackened face, and his
+disappointment at having been forestalled, sedimented down. The
+gambler's features had not been made placid by death; they still held
+much of the horror of the last moments of that relentless chase, his
+horse failing under him, foreknowledge of sudden death and then the
+whistling ropes, the jerk into eternity...! It was a thing to be
+forgotten, 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. I
+found him hangin' to a tree. Good night, hombres." He left them standing
+about their quarry and turned the willing mare toward home. Peace
+settled down on him under the stars that were fading, the moon below the
+hills when he rode into the home corral.
+
+A figure was perched upon the fence, waiting. It was Molly, and she
+leaped down almost into his arms as he sprang from the mare. In the gray
+dawn her face seemed drawn and weary. There were the blue shadows under
+the eyes that he remembered seeing there the time they had ridden over
+the Pass of the Goats. She came close to him, her hands up against his
+chest.
+
+"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 my
+hands, now, Sandy."
+
+He swept her up to him, kissing her mouth and eyes, the eager pressure
+of her lips returning all with full measure. A streak of rose glowed in
+the 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 had
+gone 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 the
+corral and were under the big cottonwoods by Patrick Casey's grave. "Do
+I?"
+
+"I don't reckon you can, even if you wanted to," answered Sandy. "I
+forgot to tell you, Molly, that you're bu'sted, so far's the mine is
+concerned. 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 wanted
+most was my happiness--and I've got that." She turned to Sandy. The big
+bell of the ranch boomed brassily. Molly put her hand in Sandy's. "It
+may be most unromantic, Sandy dear," she said, "but I'm hungry. Let's go
+in to breakfast."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE VERY END
+
+
+There was a council held later that day, that was almost a council of
+war. Sandy was in the chair, Mormon and Sam present, Molly the indignant
+speaker-in-chief.
+
+"I'm very much ashamed of all of you," she said. "An agreement is an
+agreement, 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't
+spent all of it, Sandy tells me.
+
+"I've got to accept Sandy's share of it, I suppose, because it goes with
+Sandy. As for you, Sam Manning, you'll need your third when you marry
+Kate 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 a
+rough-hided cuss like me."
+
+"You ask her, Sammy. Mormon, I suppose you'll have to hang fire until
+you find out about that third wife. I hope the fourth time will be the
+charm. It will if you marry Miranda Bailey."
+
+"You're sure talkin' like a matrimonial boorow, Molly," said Mormon. "I
+sure think a sight of Mirandy. She's different from my first three. They
+all married me, fo' me to look out fo' them. If Mirandy can be persuaded
+to take me it's becos she is willin' to look after me. She 'lows I need
+it," 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't
+of insurance policy. I've allus been sort of unbalanced in my leanin's
+to'ards the sex, you see. An' it sure acted as a prop an' a defense so
+fur."
+
+"Then the meeting is closed," said Molly. "I accept your apologies and
+you 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 Honor� 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 Honor� 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 Honor� 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             |
+    +-----------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIMROCK TRAIL ***
+
+***** This file should be named 28638-8.txt or 28638-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/3/28638/
+
+Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Barbara Kosker and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/28638-8.zip b/28638-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d4be3df
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-8.zip
diff --git a/28638-h.zip b/28638-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2fbe994
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-h.zip
diff --git a/28638-h/28638-h.htm b/28638-h/28638-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc3b216
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-h/28638-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,12284 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+    p {  margin-top: .5em;
+         text-align: justify;
+         margin-bottom: .5em;
+         text-indent: 1em;
+         }
+    h1   {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    h2 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* centered and coloured */
+         }
+    h3 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* centered and coloured */
+         }
+    h4 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    hr { width: 33%;
+         margin-top: 1em;
+         margin-bottom: 1em;
+       }
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+    a  {text-decoration: none} /* no lines under links */
+    div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */
+    div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */
+
+    .cen      {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} /* centering paragraphs */
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 95%;} /* small caps, smaller font size */
+    .noin     {text-indent: 0em;} /* no indenting */
+    .blockquot  {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} /* block indent */
+    .block2   {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} /* block indent */
+    .right    {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} /* right aligning paragraphs */
+    .img      {text-align: center; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} /* centering images */
+    .imgr     {float: right; padding: 1em; text-align: center;} /* floating image to the right of the paragraph */
+    .tdr      {text-align: right;} /* right align cell */
+    .tdrp     {text-align: right; padding-right: 1em;} /* right align with padding */
+    .tdl      {text-align: left;}  /* left align cell */
+    .tr       {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 1em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} /* transcriber's notes */
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+               /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+               position: absolute; right: 2%;
+               font-size: 75%;
+               text-align: right;
+               text-indent: 0em;
+               font-style: normal;
+               font-weight: normal;
+               font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers */
+
+    .poem             {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span        {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em;}
+    .poem span.i3     {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i5     {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i6     {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i8     {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+    </style>
+   </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Rimrock Trail
+
+Author: J. Allan Dunn
+
+Release Date: April 29, 2009 [EBook #28638]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIMROCK TRAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Barbara Kosker and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="block2">
+<p class="noin" style="font-size: 150%;"><b>Rimrock<br />
+Trail</b></p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="imgr" style="width: 35%;">
+<a href="images/titledeco.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/titledeco.jpg" width="95%" alt="title decoration" /></a><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img" style="clear: both;">
+<a href="images/frontis.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/frontis.jpg" width="55%" alt="The girl drooped" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">The girl drooped, tired from the long climb</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<h1>RIMROCK TRAIL</h1>
+<br />
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>By J. ALLAN DUNN</h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<br />
+<h4><span class="smcap">Author of</span><br /><i>"A Man to His Mate," etc.</i></h4>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/deco.jpg" width="10%" alt="Publisher's Mark" /><br />
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+
+<h4>A. L. BURT COMPANY<br />
+Publishers &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; New York</h4>
+
+<h5>Published by arrangement with The Bobbs-Merrill Company<br />
+Printed in U. S. A.</h5>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Copyright 1921</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Doubleday, Page &amp; Company</span></h4>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Copyright 1922</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">J. Allan Dunn</span></h4>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<h5><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></h5>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Arthur Sullivant Hoffman</span></h3>
+
+<p class="cen">To his loyal friendship, his sincerity and the caustic<br />
+but kindly criticism which has made my stuff printable.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr  />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="60%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents">
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp" style="font-size: 90%;">CHAPTER</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdr" style="font-size: 90%;">PAGE</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp" width="10%">I</td>
+  <td class="tdl" width="80%"><span class="smcap">Grit</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr" width="10%"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">II</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Casey</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">III</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Molly</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">IV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sandy Calls the Turn</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">V</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Bed of the Creek</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">VI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Paso Cabras</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">VII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Bolsa Gap</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">VIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Pass of the Goats</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">IX</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Caroca</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">X</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sandy Returns</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Pay Dirt</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">White Gold</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Rope Breaks</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Free-for-All</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Casey Town</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XVI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">East and West</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XVII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Westlake Brings News</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XVIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Dehorned</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XIX</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Hideout</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XX</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Molly Mine</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XXI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The End of the Rope</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdrp">XXII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Very End</span></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_396">396</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<div class="block2">
+<p class="noin" style="font-size: 150%;">Rimrock<br />
+Trail</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="imgr" style="width: 35%;">
+<a href="images/titledeco.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/titledeco.jpg" width="95%" alt="title decoration" /></a><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<hr style="clear: both;" /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h1>Rimrock Trail</h1>
+<br />
+
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h2>GRIT</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Mormon" Peters carefully shifted his weighty bulk in the chair that he
+dared not tilt, gazing dreamily at the saw-toothed mountains shimmering
+in the distance, sniffing luxuriously the scent of sage.</p>
+
+<p>"They oughter spell Arizona with three 'C's,'" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" asked Sandy Bourke, wiping the superfluous oil from the revolver
+he was meticulously cleaning.</p>
+
+<p>"'Count of Climate, Cactus, Cattle&mdash;an' Coyotes."</p>
+
+<p>"Makin' four, 'stead of three," said the managing partner of the Three
+Star Ranch.</p>
+
+<p>Came a grunt from "Soda-Water" Sam as he put down his harmonica on which
+he had been playing <i>The Cowboy's Lament</i>, with variations.</p>
+
+<p>"Huh! You got no more eddication than a horn-toad, an' less common
+sense. You don't spell Arizony with a 'C.' You can't. 'Cordin' to yore
+argymint you should spell Africa with a 'Z' 'cause they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>raise zebras
+there, 'stead of mustangs. Might make it two 'R's,' 'count of rim-rock
+an'&mdash;an' revolvers."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon snorted.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a hell of a name for a man born in Maricopa County to call a
+gun. <i>Revolver!</i> You 'mind me of the Boston perfesser who come to
+Arizona tryin' to prove the Cliff Dwellers was one of the Lost Tribes of
+Israel. He blows in with an introduction to the Double U, where I was
+workin'. 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's
+share of victuals tryin', I reckon, to put some flesh on to his bones.
+An' he calls the lunch a <i>col-lay-shun</i>! Later, he asks the waitress
+down to the Rodeo Eatin' House, while he's waitin' for his train, for a
+serve-yet. A <i>serve-yet</i>! That's what he calls a napkin. You must have
+been eddicated in Boston, Sam, though it's the first time I ever
+suspected you of book learnin'."</p>
+
+<p>It was Sunday afternoon on the Three Star rancheria. The riders, all the
+hands&mdash;with the exception of Pedro, the Mexican cocinero, indifferent to
+most things, including his cooking; and Joe, his half-breed helper,&mdash;had
+departed, clad in their best shirts, vests, trousers, Stetsons and
+bandannas of silk, some seeking a poker game on a neighboring rancho,
+some bent on courting. Pedro and Joe lay, faces down, under the shade of
+the trees about the tenaya, the stone cistern into which water was
+pumped by the windmills that worked in the fitful breezes.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>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 lighter
+matters. One year before they had pooled their savings and Sandy Bourke,
+youngest of the three and the most aggressive, coolest and swiftest of
+action, had gloriously bucked the faro tiger and won enough to buy the
+Three Star Ranch and certain rights of free range. The purchase had not
+included the brand of the late owner. Originally the holding had been
+called the Two-Bar-P. As certain cattlemen were not wanting who had a
+knack of appropriating calves and changing the brands of steers, Sandy
+had been glad enough, in his capacity of business manager, to change the
+name 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.</p>
+
+<p>There had been lengthy argument concerning the new name. Three Star, so
+Soda-Water Sam&mdash;whose nickname was satirical&mdash;opined, smacked of the
+saloon rather than the ranch, but it was finally decided on and the
+branding-irons duly made.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy Bourke had dark brown hair, inclined to be curly, a tendency he
+offset by frequent clipping of his thatch. The sobriquet of "Sandy"
+referred to his grit. He was broad-shouldered, tall and lean, weighing a
+hundred and seventy pounds of well-strung frame. His eyes were gray and
+the lids <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>sun-puckered; his deeply tanned skin showed the freckles on
+face and hands as faint inlays; his long limber legs were slightly
+bowed.</p>
+
+<p>Not so the curve of Soda-Water Sam's legs. You could pass a small keg
+between the latter's knees without interference. Otherwise, Sam, whose
+last name was Manning, was mainly distinguished by his enormous drooping
+mustache, suggesting the horns of a Texas steer, inverted.</p>
+
+<p>As for Mormon, disillusioned hero of three matrimonial adventures,
+woman-soft where Sandy was woman-shy, he was high-stomached, too stout
+for saddle-ease to himself or mount, sun-rouged where his partners were
+burned brown. His pate was bald save for a tonsure-fringe of
+grizzle-red.</p>
+
+<p>All three were first-rate cattlemen, their enterprise bade fair for
+success, hampered only by the lack of capital, occasioned by Sandy's
+preference for modern methods as evidenced by thoroughbred bulls,
+high-grading of his steers, the steadily growing patches of alfalfa and
+the spreading network of irrigation ditches.</p>
+
+<p>Business exhausted, ending with an often expressed desire for a woman
+cook who could also perform a few household chores, tagged with a last
+attempt to persuade Mormon to marry some comfortable person who would
+act in that capacity, they had reverted to the good-humored chaff that
+always marked their talks together.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon, with stubby fingers wonderfully deft, was plaiting horsehair
+about a stick of hardwood to form <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>the handle of a quirt, Sandy
+overhauling his two Colts and Sam furnishing orchestra on his harmonica.
+Now he put it to his lips, unable to find a sufficiently crushing retort
+to Mormon's diatribe against words of more than one syllable, breathing
+out the burden of "My Bonnie lies over the Ocean."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon, in a husky, yet musical bass, supplied the cowboy's version of
+the words.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Last night, as I lay in the per-rair-ree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gazed at the stars in the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wondered if ever a cowboy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could drift to that sweet by-an'-by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Roll on, roll on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Roll on, li'l' dogies, roll&mdash;&mdash;"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>He broke off suddenly, staring at the fringe of the waving mesquite.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at that ornery coyote!" he said. "Got his nerve with him, the
+mangy calf-eater, comin' up to the ranch thataway."</p>
+
+<p>Sam put down his harmonica.</p>
+
+<p>"My Winchester's jest inside the door," he said. "But he'd scoot if I
+moved. Slip in a shell, Sandy, mebbe you kin git him in a minute."</p>
+
+<p>"Yo're sheddin' yore skin, Sam. Got horn over yore eyes. Mormon, you
+need glasses fo' yore old age. That ain't a coyote, it's a dawg,"
+pronounced Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>The creature left the cover of the mesquite and came slowly but
+determinedly toward the ranch-house, past the corral and cook shack; its
+daring proclaiming <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>it anything but a cowardly, foot-hill coyote. Its
+coat was whitish gray. Its brush was down, almost trailing, its muzzle
+drooped, it went lamely on all four legs and occasionally limped on
+three.</p>
+
+<p>"Collie!" proclaimed Sandy. "Pore devil's plumb tuckered out."</p>
+
+<p>"Sheepdawg!" affirmed Sam, disgust in his voice. "Hell of a gall to come
+round a cattle ranch."</p>
+
+<p>The gray-white dog came on, dry tongue lolling, observant of the men,
+glancing toward the tenaya where it smelled the slumbering Pedro and
+Joe. It halted twenty feet from the porch, one paw up, as Sandy bent
+forward and called to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, you dawg. Come in, ol' feller. Mormon, take that hair out of
+that pan of water an' set it where he can see it."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon shifted the pan in which he had been soaking the horsehair for
+easier plaiting and the dog sniffed at it, watching Sandy closely with
+eyes that were dim from thirst and weariness. Sandy patted his knee
+encouragingly, 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 the
+alkali dust that covered its coat, the collie released its hold and
+collapsed on one side, panting, utterly exhausted, with glazing eyes
+that held appeal.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy reached for the pan, squatting down, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>chucked some water from
+the palm of his hand into the open jaws, upon the swollen tongue. The
+dog licked his hand, whined again, tried to stand up, failed, succeeded
+with the aid of friendly fingers in its ruff and eagerly lapped a few
+mouthfuls.</p>
+
+<p>Again it seized the tassel and pulled, looking up into Sandy's face
+imploringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Somethin' wrong," said the manager of the Three Star. "Tryin' to tell
+us about it. All right, ol' feller, you drink some more wateh. Let me
+look at that paw." He gently took the foot that clawed at his chaps and
+examined it. The pad was worn to the quick, bleeding. "Come out of the
+Bad Lands," he said, looking toward the range. "Through Pyramid Pass,
+likely."</p>
+
+<p>"Some derned sheepman gone crazy an' shot his-self," grumbled Sam.
+"Somethin' bound to spile a quiet afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Not many sheep over that way," said Mormon. "No range."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy rolled the dog on his side and found the other pads in the same
+condition. Running his fingers beneath the ruff, scratching gently in
+sign of friendship, he discovered a leather collar with a brass tag,
+rudely engraved, the lettering worn but legible.</p>
+
+<p class="cen">GRIT. &nbsp;&nbsp; Prop. P. Casey.</p>
+
+<p>"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 us
+to him. You'll <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>have to hoof it till we cut fair trail. Sam, fetch me
+some adhesive, will you? An' then saddle up; Pronto fo' me, a hawss fo'
+yoreself an' rope a spare mount."</p>
+
+<p>"What for? The spare?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know for sure. May have to bring him back."</p>
+
+<p>"A sheepman to Three Star! I'd as soon have a sick rattler around.
+Mormon, yo're elected to nurse him."</p>
+
+<p>Sam went into the house for the medical tape, then to the corral. Sandy
+bathed the raw pads softly, cut patches of the tape with his knife, put
+them on the abrasions, held them there for the warmth of his palm to set
+them. Grit licked at his hands whenever they were in reach, his
+brightening eyes full of understanding, shifting to watch Sam striding
+to the corral.</p>
+
+<p>"One thing about a sheepman is allus good," said Mormon. "His dawg.
+Reckon you aim on me tendin' the ranch, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come if you want to."</p>
+
+<p>"Two's plenty, I reckon. I do more ridin' through the week than I care
+for nowadays. I'll stick to the chair."</p>
+
+<p>"Prod up Pedro to git some hot water ready. Keep a kittle b'ilin'. No
+tellin' what time we'll git back," said Sandy. "I'll take along some
+grub an' the medicine kit. Have to spare some of that whisky Sam's got
+stowed away."</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' to waste booze at fifteen bucks a quart on a sheepman?" grumbled
+Mormon.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>"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 a
+confidential tone, "you-all have got to git grub an' wateh inside yore
+ribs. Savvy? I'm goin' to rustle some hash fo' you. You stay as you are,
+son."</p>
+
+<p>He pressed the dog on its side once more, in the shade, and went into
+the house. Mormon followed him. Grit watched them disappear, gave a
+little whine of impatience, accepted the situation philosophically as he
+listened to sounds from the corral that told him of horses being caught,
+and drooped his head on the dirt, lying relaxed, eyes closed, gaining
+strength against the return trip.</p>
+
+<p>Sam rode to the porch on his roan, Sandy's pinto and a gray mare
+leading, and "tied them to the ground" with trailing reins as Sandy came
+out bearing a pan of food, a package and a leather case. Mormon showed
+at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Where'd you hide yore bottle, Sam?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Where you can't find it, you holler-legged galoot. Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fill up a flask to take along, Sam," said Sandy. "Here, Grit, climb
+outside of this chuck."</p>
+
+<p>He coaxed the collie to eat the food from his hand while Sam brought the
+whisky.</p>
+
+<p>"Load my guns, Mormon," he requested.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon did it without comment. The two blued Colts were as much a part
+of Sandy's working outfit as his belt, or the bridle of his horse. Sam
+buckled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>on his own cartridge belt, holster and pistol, fixed his spurs,
+tied the package of food to his saddle, filled two canteens and did the
+same with them. Sandy-offered the pan of water to Grit who drank in
+businesslike fashion, assured of the success of his mission. He stood up
+squarely on his legs, eased by the plastering. They were only tired now.</p>
+
+<p>He shook himself vigorously, sending out the dust with which he was
+powdered in all directions, making Mormon sneeze. He stretched his
+muzzle toward the mountains, threw it up and barked for the first time.
+As Sandy and Sam mounted, the latter leading the gray mare, Grit ran
+ahead of them and came back to make certain they were following. Then he
+headed for the spot in the mesquite whence he had emerged, marking the
+opening 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.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon watched them well into the mesquite before he put back the hair
+in the water the dog had left and went on with his plaiting: As he
+handled the pliant horsehairs he talked aloud, range fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"On'y sheepman I ever knowed worth trubblin' about was a woman. Used ter
+knit while she watched the woollies. Knit me a sweater&mdash;plumb useless
+waste of time an' yarn. If I'd taken it I'd have had to take her along
+with it. Wimmen is sure persistent. Seems like I must look like a dogie
+to most of 'em. They're allus wantin' to marry me an' mother me. I sure
+hope this one don't turn out to be a she-herder. 'P' might stand fer
+Polly."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h2>CASEY</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>The two men followed the dog across the flats, through mesquite, through
+scattered sage and greasewood, mounting gradually through chaparral to
+barren slopes set with strange twisted shapes of cactus. When it became
+apparent that Sandy's hazard had hit the mark, as they entered the
+defile that made entrance for Pyramid Pass, the only path across the
+Cumbre Range to the Bad Lands beyond, Sandy reined in, coaxed up Grit,
+resentful, almost suspicious of any halt, lifting the collie to the
+saddle in front of him. Grit protested and the pinto plunged, but
+Sandy's persistence, the soothe of his steady voice, persuaded the dog
+at last to accommodate itself as best it could, helped by Sandy's one
+arm, sometimes with two as Sandy, riding with knees welded to Pronto's
+withers, dropping reins over the saddle horn, left the rest to the
+horse.</p>
+
+<p>"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 was
+right,&mdash;he wore his pads out crossin' the lava beds, though what in time
+any hombre who ain't plumb loco is trapesin' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>round there for, beats me.
+There is some grazin' on top of the Cumbre mesa, enough for a small
+herd, but the other side is jest plain hell with the lights out, one big
+slice of desert thirty mile' wide."</p>
+
+<p>"Minin' camp over that way, ain't there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Was. There's a lava bed strip of six-seven miles at the end of the
+pass, then comes a bu'sted mesa, all box ca&ntilde;on an' rim-rock, shot with
+caves, nothin' greener than cactus an' not much of that. There's a
+twenty per cent. grade wagon road, or there was, for it warn't
+engineered none too careful, that run over to the mines. I was over
+there 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 couple
+hundred shafts an' tunnels leadin' to nothin'. Reckon this P. Casey is a
+prospector, Sam. One of them half crazy old-timers, nosin' round tryin'
+to pick up lost leads. One of the 'riginal crowd that called the dump
+Hopeful, like enough. Desert Rat. Them fellers is born with hope an'
+it's the last thing to leave 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Hope's a good hawss," said Sam. "But it sure needs Luck fo' a runnin'
+mate."</p>
+
+<p>"You said it." Sandy relapsed into silence.</p>
+
+<p>At the far end of the pass the dog struggled to get down. They looked
+out upon a stretch of desolation. Sandy had called it six or seven
+miles. It might have been two or twenty. The deceit of rarefied air was
+intensified by the dazzle of the merciless sun beating <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>down on powdered
+alkali, on snaky flows of weathered lava, on mock lakes that sparkled
+and dissolved in mirage. The broken mesa, across which ran the road to
+the deserted mining camp, mysteriously changed form before their eyes;
+unsubstantial masses in pastel lights and shades of saffron, mauve and
+rose. Over all was the hard vault of the sky-like polished turquoise.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll let him give us a lead," said Sandy, "soon as we hit the lava. We
+can foller his trail that fur. Sit tight, son." Grit whined but subsided
+under the restraining hands.</p>
+
+<p>"How about a drink 'fore we tackle that?" asked Sam, nodding at the
+shimmering view.</p>
+
+<p>"Better hold off for a while." Sandy took the lead, bending from the
+saddle, reading the trail that Grit's paws had left in the alkali and
+sand. Cactus reared its spiny stems or sprawled over the ground more
+like strange water-growths that had survived the emptying of an inland
+sea than vegetation of the land. Once the dog's tracks led aside to a
+scummy puddle, saucered by alkali, dotted with the spoor of desert
+animals that drank the bitter water in extremity. Then it ran straight
+to a wide reef of lava. Sandy set down the collie. Grit ran fast across
+the pitted surface, ahead of the horses, waiting for them to cross the
+lava. They had hard work to get him to come to hand again, but he gave
+in at last to the knowledge that they would not go on otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>"Sand's too hot fo' yore pads, dawg," said Sandy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>"Raise the mischief
+with that tape. Shack erlong, Pronto. Give you a slice of Pedro's
+dried-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 went
+silently on at a steady walking gait. Talk in the saddle with men who
+make range-riding a business comes only in spurts.</p>
+
+<p>"Never see a prospector with a dawg afore," said Sam at last. "An' that
+a sheep dawg."</p>
+
+<p>"Dawg 'ud be apt to tucker out in desert travel," agreed Sandy. "Mean
+one more mouth fo' water."</p>
+
+<p>He, like Sam, speculated on the kind of man P. Casey&mdash;if it was Casey
+they were after&mdash;might be. If not a sheepman or a prospector, a third
+probability made him an outlaw, a man with a price on his head, hiding
+in the wilds from punishment. It sufficed to them that he was a man whom
+a dog loved enough to bear a call to help his master.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly, the mesa ahead took on more definite shape. The shadows resolved
+themselves into ravines and ca&ntilde;ons. They entered a gorge filled with
+boulders and rounded rocks, over which the sure-footed ponies made
+clattering, slippery progress. Here and there the gaunt skeleton of a
+tree, white as if lime-washed, showed that once cottonwoods had
+flourished before the devouring desert had claimed the territory. The
+cactus was all prickly pear, the gray-green flesh of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>flat leaves
+starred with brilliant blossom. Along one side of the ca&ntilde;on, mounting
+zigzag, showed the remains of a road, broken down by landslip and the
+furious rush of cloud-burst waters.</p>
+
+<p>Making this, finding it free of wagon sign or horse tracks, Sandy picked
+up Grit's trail once again. The collie wriggled, shot up its muzzle,
+whined, licked Sandy's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Nigh there," suggested Sam. Sandy nodded and let the dog get down. Grit
+raced off, nose high, streaking around a curve. When they reached it he
+was out of sight. The road had been built up in places on the outer edge
+with stones, dry-piled. They had fallen away, the grade following, so
+that sometimes all that was left for passage was a ledge along which the
+horses sidled carefully in single file, stirrups brushing the inside
+bank. The zigzags ended, the ca&ntilde;on narrowed, deepened. Sandy looked down
+to the dry bed of it four hundred feet below. The road rose at a steep
+pitch, cliff to the right, precipice to the left, stretching on and up
+to the summit of the pass.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Pronto shied violently, tried to bolt up the cliff, scrambling
+goatwise for twenty feet to stand shivering and snorting. Sandy's
+balance was automatic, the muscles of his knees clamped for grip, he
+gave the pinto its head, trusting to it to establish footing. He saw
+Sam's roan dancing in the trail, the led mare plunging, dust rising all
+about them. Left-handed, a Colt flashed out of Sandy's holster, barked
+twice, the echoes tossing between the ca&ntilde;on walls. In <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>the road a
+rattlesnake writhed, headless, its body, thicker than a man's wrist,
+checkered in dirty gray and chocolate diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>"Git down there, you hysteric son of a gun," he said to the horse. "It's
+all over." The pinto hesitated, shifted unwilling hoofs, squatted on its
+haunches and, tail sweeping the dirt, tobogganed down to the road,
+jumping catwise the moment it was reached, away from the squirming
+terror. Sandy forced him back, leaned far down, tucked the barrel of the
+gun under the snake's body and hurled it looping into the gorge. Sam got
+his roan and the mare under control as the dust subsided.</p>
+
+<p>"More'n a dozen buttons," said Sandy. "Listen!"</p>
+
+<p>Grit, unseen, ahead, was barking in staccato volleys. There was another
+sound, a faint shout, unmistakably; human. The men looked at each other
+with eyebrows raised.</p>
+
+<p>"That ain't no man's voice," said Sam. "That's a gal." He looked
+quizzically at Sandy, knowing his chum's inhibition.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy was woman-shy. Men met his level glance, fairly, with swift
+certainty that here stood a man, four-square; or shiftily, according to
+their ease of conscience, knowing his breed. Sandy was a two-gun man but
+he 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 save
+in self-defense and upon the side of law and right and order. Among men
+his poise was secure but, in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>woman's presence, Sandy Bourke's tongue
+was tied save in emergency, his wits tangled. Whatever he privately felt
+of the attraction of the opposite sex, the proximity of a girl produced
+an embarrassment he hated but could not help. He had seen admiration,
+desire for closer acquaintance, in many a fair face but such invitation
+affected him as the sight of a circling loop affects a horse in a
+remuda.</p>
+
+<p>He gave Sam no chance for banter. Action was forward and it always
+straightened out the short-circuitings of Sandy's mental reflexes toward
+womankind. 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 nigh
+side of the road. Grit came out from behind it, barked, whirled and
+seemingly dived into the ca&ntilde;on. Coming up with the mare, Sam found Sandy
+dismounted, waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p>What had happened was plain to both of them. The rotten, hastily made
+road collapsed under the lurch of a wagon jolting over outcrop uncovered
+by the rains. Scored dirt where frantic hoofs had pawed in vain, tire
+marks that ended in side scrapes and vanished.</p>
+
+<p>Sam got off the roan, the tired horses standing still, snuffing the
+marks of trouble. Far down the slope Grit gave tongue. The cliff
+shouldered out and they could see nothing from the broken road. How any
+one could have hurtled over the precipice and be still able to call for
+help without the aid of some miracle was an enigma. They listened for
+another shout but, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>save for the barking of the dog, there was silence
+in the grim gorge. In the sky, two buzzards wheeled.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy poured a scant measure of water from his canteen into the
+punched-in crown of his Stetson, after he had knocked out the dust. Sam
+did the same, giving each horse a mouth-rinse and a swallow of tepid
+water so they would stand more contentedly. Each took a swift swig from
+the containers. Sandy untied the package of food and the leather
+medicine kit, Sam slapped his hip to be sure of his whisky flask. Aided
+by their high heels, digging them in the unstable dirt, they worked down
+the cliff, rounding the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>A wide ledge of outcrop jutted out from the ca&ntilde;on wall jagged into
+battlements. Piled there was a wagon, on its side, the canvas tilt
+sagged in, its hoops broken. A white horse, emaciated, little more than
+buzzard meat when alive, lay with its legs stiff in the air, neck
+flattened and head limp. A broken pole, with splintered ends, crossed
+the 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 the
+wagon. Sandy caught a glimpse of a huddled body beyond her. Grit sat on
+his haunches, head toward the road, thrown back at each bark. Sandy
+reached the ledge first. The girl did not turn her head, though his
+descent was noisy. He touched her gently on the shoulder, telling
+himself that she was "just a kid."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>She looked up, her face lined where tears had laned down through the
+mask of dust. Now she was past crying. Her eyes met Sandy's pitifully,
+holding neither surprise nor hope.</p>
+
+<p>"He's dead." She seemed to be stating a fact long accepted.</p>
+
+<p>"He's dead. An' he made me jump. You come too late, mister."</p>
+
+<p>The man lay stretched out, head and shoulders hidden, his gaunt body
+dressed in jeans, once blue, long since washed and sun-faded to the
+green of turquoise matrix. The boots were rusty, patched. The wagon-bed,
+toppling sidewise, had crashed down on his chest. Rock partly supported
+the weight of it. Sandy picked up a gnarled hand, scarred, calloused and
+shrunken, the hand of an old prospector.</p>
+
+<p>"Yore dad?" he asked, kneeling by the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." She stood up, slight and straight, with limbs and body just
+curving into womanhood. "The hawsses was tuckered out," she said, "or
+Dad c'ud have made it. They didn't have no strength left, 'thout food or
+water. The damned road jest slid out from under. Dad made me jump. I
+figgered 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 a
+hell-chance." As she spoke them the oaths were merely emphasis. She
+talked as had her father.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Got an ax with the outfit?" he asked. Then turning to Sam as the girl
+went round to the back of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>fallen wagon and fumbled about through
+the rear opening of the canvas tilt: "Man's alive, Sam. Caught a flirt
+of the pulse. Have to pry up the wagon. Git that bu'sted end of the
+tongue."</p>
+
+<p>The girl handed an ax to Sandy mutely, watching them as Sandy pried
+loose the part of the tongue still bolted to the wagon, getting it clear
+of the horses.</p>
+
+<p>"Think you can drag out yore dad by the laigs when we lift the body of
+the wagon?" he asked her. "May not be able to hold it more'n a few
+seconds. May slip on us, the levers is pritty short."</p>
+
+<p>She stooped, taking hold of a wrinkled boot in each hand, back of the
+heel. A tear splashed down on one of them and she shook the salt water
+from her eyes impatiently as if she had faced tragedy before and knew it
+must be looked at calmly.</p>
+
+<p>The two men adjusted the boulders they had set for fulcrums and shoved
+down on the stout pieces of ash, their muscles bunching, the veins
+standing out corded on their arms. Grit ran from one to the other with
+eager little whines, sensing what was being attempted, eager to help.
+The wagon-bed creaked, lifted a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," grunted Sandy, "snake him out."</p>
+
+<p>The girl tugged, stepping backward, her pliant strength equal to the
+dead 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 in
+and licked the quiet features as Sam and Sandy eased down the wagon.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>"Whisky, Sam."</p>
+
+<p>The girl sat cross-legged, her father's head in her lap, one hand
+smoothing his forehead while the other felt under his vest and shirt,
+above his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"He ain't gone yit," she announced.</p>
+
+<p>The old miner's teeth were tight clenched, but there were gaps in them
+through which the whisky Sandy administered trickled.</p>
+
+<p>"Daddy! Daddy!"</p>
+
+<p>It might have been the tender agony of the cry to which Patrick Casey's
+dulling brain responded, sending the message of his will along the
+nerves to transmit a final summons. His body twitched, he choked,
+swallowed, opened gray eyes, filmy with death, brightening with
+intelligence as he saw his daughter bending over him, the face of Sandy
+above her shoulder. The gray eyes interrogated Sandy's long and
+earnestly until the light began to fade out of them and the wrinkled
+lids shuttered down.</p>
+
+<p>Another swallow of the raw spirits and they opened flutteringly again.
+The lips moved soundlessly. Then, while one hand groped waveringly
+upward to rest upon his daughter's head, Sandy, bending low, caught
+three syllables, repeated over and over, desperately, mere ghosts of
+words, taxing cruelly the last breath of the wheezing lungs beneath the
+battered ribs, the final spurt of the spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Molly&mdash;mines!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll look out for that, pardner," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>The eyelids fluttered, the old hands fell away, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>jaw relaxed,
+serenity came to the lined face, and no little dignity. For the first
+time the girl gave way, lying prone, sobbing out her grief while the two
+cowmen looked aside. The bay horse began to groan and writhe.</p>
+
+<p>"Got to kill that cavallo," said Sam in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute." The girl had quieted, was kneeling with clasped hands,
+lips moving silently. Prayer, such as it was, over, she rose, her fists
+tight closed, striving to control her quivering chin&mdash;doing it. She
+looked up as the shadow of a buzzard was flung against the cliff by the
+slanting sun.</p>
+
+<p>"We got to bury him, 'count of them damn buzzards."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll tend to that," said Sandy. "Ef you-all 'll take the dawg on up to
+the hawsses...."</p>
+
+<p>"No! I helped to bury Jim Clancy, out in the desert, I'm goin' to help
+bury Dad. It's goin' to be lonesome out here&mdash;" She twisted her mouth,
+setting teeth into the lower lip sharply as she gazed at the desolate
+cliffs, the birds swinging their tireless, expectant circles in the
+throat of the gorge.</p>
+
+<p>"Dad allus figgered he'd die somewheres in the desert. 'Lowed it 'ud be
+his luck. He wanted to be put within the sound of runnin' water&mdash;he's
+gone so often 'thout it. But&mdash;" She shrugged her thin shoulders
+resignedly, the inheritance of the prospector's philosophy strong within
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, miss," said Sandy, while Sam crawled into the wagon in search
+of the dead miner's pick and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>shovel that now, instead of uncovering
+riches, would dig his grave, "how old air you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fifteen. My name's Margaret&mdash;Molly for short&mdash;same as my Ma. She's been
+dead for twelve years."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Miss Molly, suppose you-all come on to the Three Star fo' a spell
+with my two pardners an' me? You do that an' mebbe we can fix yore
+daddy's idee about runnin' water. We'd come back an' git him an' we'll
+make a place fo' him under our big cottonwoods below the big spring. I
+w'udn't wonder but what he c'ud hear the water gugglin' plain as it runs
+down the overflow to the alfalfa patches."</p>
+
+<p>Molly Casey gazed at him with such a sudden glow of gratitude in her
+eyes that Sandy felt embarrassed. He had been comforting a girl, a
+boyish girl, and here a woman looked at him, with understanding.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo're sure a white man," she said. "I'll git even with you some time if
+I work the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don't
+amount to a damn 'thout somethin' back of 'em. I'll come through."</p>
+
+<p>She put out her roughened little hand, man-fashion, and Sandy took it as
+Sam emerged from the wagon with the tools. The bay mare groaned and gave
+a shrill cry, horribly human. Sam drew his gun, putting down pick and
+shovel.</p>
+
+<p>"Got any water you c'ud spare?" asked the girl. Sandy handed her his
+canteen.</p>
+
+<p>"Use it all," he said. "Soon's it's dark, it'll cool off. We'll git
+through all right."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>He picked up the tools and moved toward Sam as the bay collapsed to the
+merciful bullet. The girl washed away as best she could the stains of
+blood and travel from the dead face while Sandy sounded with the pick
+for soil deep enough for a temporary grave.</p>
+
+<p>The body would have to lie on the ledge over night, nothing but burial
+could save it from marauding coyotes, though the wagon might have
+baffled the buzzards. The two set to work digging a shallow trench down
+to bedrock, rolling up loose boulders for a cairn. The whirring chorus
+of the cicadas drummed an elfin requiem. Now and then there came the
+chink of bit, or hoof on rock, from the waiting horses in the broken
+road. The sun was low, horizontal rays piercing the flood of violet haze
+in the ca&ntilde;on. Across the gorge the cliff, above the wash of shadow,
+glowed saffron; a light wind wailed down the bore. Lizards flirted in
+and out of the crevices as the miner was laid in his temporary grave,
+the girl dry-eyed again.</p>
+
+<p>She had brought a little work box from the wagon, of mahogany studded
+with disks of pearl in brass mountings. Out of this she produced a
+handkerchief of soft China silk brocade, its white turned yellow with
+age. This she spread over her father's features, showing strangely
+distinct in the failing light.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want the dirt pressin' on his face," she said.</p>
+
+<p>From the dead man's clothes Sandy and Sam had taken the few personal
+belongings, from the inner pocket of the vest some papers that Sandy
+knew for location claims.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>"Want to take some duds erlong to the ranch?" he asked Molly. "We can
+bring in the rest of the stuff later. Got to shack erlong, it's gittin'
+dark. Brought an extry hawss with us. Can you ride?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some. I ain't had much chance."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know how the mare'll stand yore skirt. If she won't Pinto'll pack
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll fix that." She clambered into the wagon. Before she came out with
+her bundle they piled the cairn, a mask of broken rim-rock heavy enough
+to foil the scratching of coyotes.</p>
+
+<p>It looked to Sandy as if the girl had changed into a boy. The slender
+figure, silhouetted against the afterglow, softly pulsing masses of
+fiery cloud above the top of the mesa, was dressed in jean overalls, a
+wide-rimmed hat hiding length of hair.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I can fool that hawss of yores now," she said. "I gen'ally
+dress thisaway 'cept when we expect to go nigh the settlements or a
+ranch 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 where
+he was headin' for when I sent him off after help, but you come
+instead."</p>
+
+<p>"I was wonderin' how he come to make the ranch," said Sandy. "You see
+we-all bought the Two-Bar-P, though I never figgered old Samson 'ud ever
+own a sheepdawg. He might give one away fast enough."</p>
+
+<p>"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 tenderfoot
+when <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>he come, an' when he left, 'count bein' sick. Samson didn't want
+to 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?"</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute," she cried and disappeared, sliding and leaping down
+like a goat, reappearing with her hat half filled with crimson
+silk-petaled cactus blooms, scattering them at the head of the cairn.</p>
+
+<p>"Seemed like there jest had to be flowers," she said as, with Grit
+nosing close to his mistress, they mounted to the road. The gray mare
+made no bother and soon they were riding down toward the strip of Bad
+Lands. Sandy let the collie go afoot for the time.</p>
+
+<p>The glory of the range departed, the cliffs turned slate color, then
+black, while a host of stars marshaled and burned without flicker. The
+wind moaned through the trough of the ca&ntilde;on as they rode out on the
+plain. Up somewhere in the darkness the buzzards came circling down, to
+settle on the ledge beside the carcasses of the two horses.</p>
+
+<p>It was close to midnight when they reached the home ranch, riding past
+the outbuildings, the bunk-house of the men where a light twinkled, the
+cook shack, the corrals, up to the main house. There they alighted. All
+about cottonwoods rustled in the dark, the air was sweet and cool, not
+far from frost. Molly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>Casey shivered as she moved stiffly in her
+saddle. Sandy lifted her from the saddle and carried her up the steps,
+across the porch, kicking open the door of the living-room where the
+embers of a fire glowed. There was no other light in the big room, but
+there was sufficient to show the great form of Mormon, stowed at ease in
+a chair, asleep and snoring.</p>
+
+<p>Sam struck a match and lit a lamp. He struck Mormon mightily between his
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Gawd!" gasped the heavyweight partner. "I been asleep. But there's a
+kittle of hot water, Sandy. Where's the&mdash;what in time are you totin'? A
+gel or a boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 up
+to the Three Star for a bit."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon, a little sheepish at the suddenly developing age of the girl as
+she shook hands with him, recovered himself and beamed at her. "Yo're
+sure welcome," he said. "Boss hired you? Cowgirl or cook?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy noticed the girl's lips quiver and he slipped an arm about her
+shoulders. He was not woman-shy with this girl who needed help, and who
+seemed a boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you take no notice of him an' his kiddin'," he said. "We'll make
+him rustle some grub fo' all of us an' then we-all 'll turn in. I'll
+show you yore room. Up the stairs an' the last door on the right. Here's
+some matches. There's a lamp on the bureau up there. Give you a call
+when supper's ready."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>He led her to the door and gave her a friendly little shove, guessing
+that she wanted to be alone.</p>
+
+<p>"The kid's lost her father, lost most everything 'cept her dawg," he
+said to Mormon. "Thought we might adopt her, sort of, then I thought
+mebbe we'd hire her&mdash;for mascot."</p>
+
+<p>"Lost her daddy? An' me hornin' in an' tryin' to kid her! I ain't got
+the sense of a drowned gopher, sometimes," said Mormon contritely.</p>
+
+<p>"She's game, plumb through, ain't she, Sam? Stands right up to trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"You bet. Mormon, open up a can of greengages, will ye? I reckon she's
+got a sweet tooth, same as me."</p>
+
+<p>Molly Casey was not through standing up to trouble. They coaxed her to
+eat and she managed to make a meal that satisfied them. Then she got up
+to go to her room, with Grit nuzzling close to her, her fingers in his
+ruff, twisting nervously at the strands of hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you reckon," she asked the three partners, "that Dad knows he fooled
+me when he told me to jump? If I'd known he c'udn't git clear I'd have
+stuck&mdash;same as he would if I was caught. Do you reckon he knows
+that&mdash;now?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd be surprised if he didn't," said Sandy gravely. "You did what he
+wanted, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"If I'd been on the outside, he w'udn't have jumped, no matter how much
+I 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?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>"With the sun, soon's the big bell rings," said Sandy. "Good night."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at them gravely and went out.</p>
+
+<p>"Botherin' about playin' square in jumpin'," said Sandy. "That gel is
+square on all twelve eidges. Sam, slide out an' muzzle that bell. She'll
+likely cry herself to sleep after a bit but she'll need all the sleep
+she can git. No sense in wakin' her up at sun-up."</p>
+
+<p>"How'd you come to know so much about gels?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Me? I don't know the first thing about 'em," protested Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"No more'n any man," put in Sam. "'Cept it's Mormon. He's sure had the
+experience."</p>
+
+<p>"Experience," said Mormon, with a yawn, "may teach a man somethin' about
+mules 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-sixteen
+above. Blowin' hot an' cold, rangin' from a balmy breeze through a rain
+shower or a thunder-storm, up to a snortin' tornado. Average number of
+workin' days, about one hundred an' fifty. Them's statistics. It ain't
+so hard to set down what a woman's done at the end of a year, if you got
+a good mem'ry, but tryin' to guess what she is goin' to do has got the
+weather man backed off inter a corner an' squealin' for help. They ain't
+all like Kansas. My first resembled it, the second was sorter
+tropic&mdash;she run off with a rainmaker an' I hear she's been divorced
+three times since then. Mebbe that's an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>exaggeration. My third must
+have been born someways nigh the no'th pole. W'en she got mad she'd
+freeze the blood in yore veins.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, that feller in the po'try who says, 'I learned about wimmen
+from 'er,' was braggin'. Now, this gel of Casey's 'pears like what her
+dad 'ud call a good prospect, but you can't tell. Fool's gold is bright
+enough but you can't change it to the real stuff no matter how you
+polish it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ever see the sour-milk batter Pedro fixes fo' hot cakes?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure I have. What's that got to do with it?" demanded Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"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 of
+the man from New Jersey who come out west to buy a ranch. A hawss
+throwed him five times hand-runnin'. He ropes a steer that happens to
+run into the bum loop he was swingin' an' it snakes him out'n the
+saddle. A pesky cow chases him when he was afoot, a couple calves gits a
+rope twisted round his stummick an' lastly a mule kicks him into a bunch
+of cactus. Whereupon he remarks, 'I don't figger I was calculated for
+runnin' a cattle ranch,' sells out an' goes back to herdin' muskeeters
+in New Jersey.</p>
+
+<p>"Mormon, you warn't calculated to handle wimmen. This li'l' gel is game
+as they make 'em, an' I reckon she's right sweet if she on'y gits a
+chance. Leastwise, I see several signs of pay dirt this afternoon an'
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>evenin' as I reckon Sandy done the same. She's been trailin' her dad all
+over hell an' creation, talkin' like him, swearin' like him, actin' like
+him. Never see nothin' different. All she needs is a chance."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the idee in pickin' on me?" asked Mormon aggrievedly. "She's as
+welcome as grass in spring. They ain't no one got a bigger heart than me
+fo' kids."</p>
+
+<p>"No one got a bigger heart, mebbe," said Sam caustically. "Nor none a
+smaller brain. All engine an' no gasoline in the tank!"</p>
+
+<p>"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 first
+place, they'd have been worked if they was; second place, they're over
+to Dynamite an' the sharps say Dynamite's a flivver. All she has in
+sight is the dawg. Some dawg! Comes in from the desert an' takes us out
+to her an' Pat Casey&mdash;him dyin'. Ef it hadn't been fo' the dawg, she'd
+have stayed there, to my notion. Got some sort of idee she'd deserted
+ship ef she hadn't stuck till it was too late fo' her to crawl out of
+that slit in the mesa. She's fifteen an' she's got sense. I figger we
+better turn in right now an' hold a pow-wow with the gel ter-morrer."</p>
+
+<p>"Second the motion," said Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Third it," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>And the Three Musketeers of the Range went off to bed.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h2>MOLLY</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Molly came down next morning in the faded blue gingham. Sandy marked how
+worn it was and marked an item in his mind&mdash;clothes. He smiled at her
+with 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 any
+of his woman-shyness. He did not realize how close she was to womanhood,
+seeing only how much she must have missed of real girlhood.</p>
+
+<p>Molly had a snubby nose, a wide mouth, Irish eyes of blue that were far
+apart and crystal clear, freckles and a lot of brown hair that she wore
+in a long braid wound twice about her well-shaped head. She was a
+combination of curves and angles, of well-rounded neck and arms and legs
+with collar-bones and hips over-apparent, immature but not awkward.</p>
+
+<p>None of the three partners observed these things in detail. All of them
+noted that her eyes were steady, friendly, trusting, and that when she
+smiled at them it was like the flash of water in a tree-shady pond, when
+a trout leaps. Grit, entering with her, divided his attentions among the
+men, shoving a moist nose at last into Sandy's palm and lying down
+obedient, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>his tail thumping amicably, as Sandy examined the tape
+protectors.</p>
+
+<p>"You lie round the ranch for a day or so," he told the collie, "an'
+you'll be as good as new."</p>
+
+<p>"Fo' a sheepdawg," said Mormon, "he sure shapes fine."</p>
+
+<p>Molly's eyes flashed. "He don't <i>know</i> he's a sheepdawg," she protested.
+"He's never even seen one, 'less it was a mountain sheep, 'way up
+against the skyline. Samson liked him. Don't you like him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I like him fine," Mormon answered hurriedly. "Fine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ef you-all didn't, we c'ud shack on somewheres. I c'ud git work down to
+the settlemints, I reckon. I don't aim to put you out any. I've been
+thinkin' erbout that. 'Less you should happen to want a woman to run the
+house. I don't know much about housekeepin' but I c'ud l'arn. It's a
+woman's job, chasin' dirt. I can cook&mdash;some. Dad used to say my
+camp-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&mdash;someway."</p>
+
+<p>There was a touch of fire to her independence, a chip on the shoulder of
+her pride the three partners recognized and respected.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, Molly Casey,"&mdash;Sandy used exactly the same tone and manner he
+would have taken with a boy&mdash;"that's yore way of lookin' at it. Then
+there's our side. You figger yore dad was a pritty good miner, I
+reckon?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>"He sure knew rock. Every one 'lowed that. They was always more'n one
+wantin' to grubstake him but he'd never take it. Figgered he didn't want
+to split any strike he might make an' figgered he w'udn't take no man's
+money 'less he was dead sure of payin' him back. Dad was a good miner."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. Now, yore dad believes in them claims. The last two words he
+says was 'Molly' and 'mines.' I give him my word then and there, like he
+would have to me, to watch out for yore interests. My word is my
+pardners' word. I'm willin' to gamble those claims of his'll pan out
+some day. Until they do, ef you-all 'll stay on at the Three Star, stop
+Mormon stompin' in from the corral with dirty boots, ride herd on Sam
+an' me the same way, mebbe cook us up some of them biscuits once in a
+while, why, it'll be fine! Then there's yore schoolin'. Yore dad 'ud
+wish 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."</p>
+
+<p>She opened her eyes wide. "But I don't cuss when I say 'em. An' I don't
+use 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'."</p>
+
+<p>"But you got to have it," said Mormon earnestly. "S'pose them claims pan
+out way rich and you git all-fired wealthy? Bein' a gel, you sabe
+clothes, di'monds, silks, satins an' feather fuss. You'll want to learn
+the pianner. You'll want to know what to git an' how to wear it. Won't
+want folks laffin' at you like they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>laffed at Sam, time he won fo'
+hundred dollars shootin' craps an' went to Galveston where a smart Alec
+of a clerk sells him a spiketail coat, wash vest an' black pants with
+braid on the seams.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam, he don't know how to wear 'em, or when. His laigs sure looked
+prominent 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 was
+young, lyin' out nights in the rain 'thout a tarp'. That suit set back
+Sam a heap of money an' it ain't no mo' use to him than an extry shell
+to a terrapin."</p>
+
+<p>He grinned at Molly with his face creased into good humor that could not
+be resisted. She laughed as Sam joined in, but the determination of her
+rounded chin returned after the merriment had passed.</p>
+
+<p>"If you did that&mdash;took my Daddy's place," she said, "why, we'd be
+pardners, same as him an' me was. When the claims pan out, half of it'll
+have to be yores. I won't stay no other way."</p>
+
+<p>The glances of the three partners exchanged a mutual conclusion, a
+mutual approval.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+Three 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 the
+money starts comin' in. Sabe?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't sabe the eddication part of it," she answered. "Jest what does
+that mean? I don't want to go to school with a lot of kids who'll laf at
+me."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>"You don't have to. As pardners," Sandy went on earnestly, "I don't mind
+tellin' 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 of
+the 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'll
+learn 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 them
+schools in the East where they make a speshulty of western heiresses.
+How's that sound?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sounds fine. On'y, you've picked up Dad's hand to gamble with. Mebbe it
+ain't yore game, nor the one you'd choose to play if it wasn't forced on
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Sister," said Sam, "yo're skinnin' yore hides too close. Sandy 'ud
+gamble on which way a horn-toad'll spit. It's meat an' drink to him. We
+won this ranch on a gamble&mdash;him playin'. He gambles as he breathes. An'
+whatever hand he plays, me an' Mormon backs. Why, if we win on this
+minin' deal, we're way ahead of the game, seein' we don't put up
+anythin' in cold collateral. It's a sure-fire cinch."</p>
+
+<p>"Sam says it," backed Sandy. "One good gamble!"</p>
+
+<p>Molly's eyes had lightened for a moment, losing their gloom of grief
+they had held since the shadow of the circling buzzards in the gorge had
+darkened them. She fumbled at the waistband of her one-piece gown,
+working at it with her fingers, producing a golden eagle which she
+handed to Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"That's my luck-piece," she said. "Dad give it to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>me one time he
+cleaned up good on a placer claim. Nex' time you gamble, will you play
+that&mdash;for me? Half an' half on the winnin's. I sure need some clothes."</p>
+
+<p>The glint of the born gambler's superstition showed in Sandy's eyes as
+he took the ten dollars.</p>
+
+<p>"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 back
+much 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 be
+back till dark. No one about but Mormon, Pedro the cook, an' Joe. Rest
+up all you can. I'm goin' to bring yore dad in to runnin' water."</p>
+
+<p>Tears welled in Molly's eyes as she thanked him. Again Sandy saw the
+girlish frankness change to the gratefulness of a woman's spirit,
+looking out at him between her lids. It made him a little uneasy. The
+men went out together, walking toward the corral.</p>
+
+<p>"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 'cept
+him, 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 the
+cottonwoods an' below the spring. Right where that li'l' knoll makes the
+overflow curve 'ud be a good spot. Use up them extry boards we got for
+the bunk-house. Git Joe to help you. No sense in lettin' the gel see
+you, of course."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>"Nice occupation fo' a sunny day," grumbled Mormon, but, as the
+buckboard drove off, he was busy planing boards in the blacksmith's
+shop, with the door closed against intrusion.</p>
+
+<p>Mid-afternoon found him with the coffin completed. He rounded up the
+half-breed to help him dig the grave, first locating Molly in a hammock
+he had slung for her in the shade of the trees by the cistern. He had
+furnished her with his pet literature, an enormous mail-order catalogue
+from a Chicago firm. It was on the ground, the breeze ruffling the
+illustrated pages, lifting some stray wisps of hair on the girl's neck
+as she lay, fast asleep, relaxed in the wide canvas hammock, her face
+checkered by the shifting leaves between her and the sun.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon could move as softly as a cat, for all his bulk. There was turf
+about the cistern, he had made no sound arriving, but he tiptoed off,
+his kindly mouth rounded into an O of silence, his weather crinkled eyes
+half-closed.</p>
+
+<p>"She's jest a baby," he said, half aloud, as he passed beyond the trees
+to where Joe waited with pick and spade.</p>
+
+<p>The soil was soft and clear from stone. An hour sufficed to sink a shaft
+for Pat Casey's last bed. Mormon carefully adjusted the headboard he had
+fashioned from a thick plank, to be carved later when the lettering was
+decided upon. This done he buckled on the belt he had discarded, from
+which his holster and revolver swung. Sandy carried two guns, his
+partners <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>one, habits of earlier, more stirring days, toting them as
+inevitably as they wore spurs, though there was little occasion to use
+them on the Three Star, save to put a hurt animal out of misery, or kill
+a rattlesnake.</p>
+
+<p>Moisture streamed from Mormon's face, patched his clothes as the heat
+and his exertions temporarily melted some of his superfluous adiposity.
+Joe, his mahogany face stolid as a wooden carving, rolled a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>"I sure hate to see a nameless grave," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Si, Se&ntilde;or," Joe's amiability agreed.</p>
+
+<p>"You go git a dipper. I'm drier'n Dry Crick. Fetch it full from the
+spring." The half-breed ambled off. Mormon wiped his face with his
+bandanna. Suddenly his big body stiffened. He heard Molly's voice from
+the cistern, frightened, then storming in anger. Mormon ran at a
+sprinter's gait from the cottonwoods, along a side of the corral,
+through the trees bordering the cistern. The girl was out of the
+hammock, facing a man in riding breeches and puttees, his face concealed
+for 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 Mormon
+recognized him for Jim Plimsoll, owner of the Good Luck Pool Parlors, in
+the little cattle town of Hereford, where faro, roulette, chuckaluck and
+craps 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.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll jumped for the girl, caught her by one arm <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>roughly. She
+struggled fiercely, silently, striking at him with her free fist.
+Mormon's gun flashed from its sheath as he shouted at the man. Plimsoll
+wheeled, releasing Molly. His dark face was livid with rage, a pistol
+gleamed as he plucked it from beneath the waistband of his riding
+breeches. The turf spatted between his feet as Mormon fired.</p>
+
+<p>"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 figger
+yo'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 a
+thing of menace that seemed to be alive, snaky.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep still," he ordered, walking toward the pair, his gun covering
+Plimsoll, the cheery blue of his eyes changed to the color of ice in the
+shade, the pupils mere pin-pricks. Molly glanced at him once, fingers
+caressing her bruised arm.</p>
+
+<p>"He kissed me while I was asleep, the damned skunk!" she flared. "I'd
+sooner hev rattlesnake-pizen on my lips!" She stopped rubbing the arm to
+scrub fiercely at her mouth with the back of her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't the first time I've kissed you," said Plimsoll. "Yore dad
+didn't stop me from doin' it. I didn't notice you scratching like a
+wildcat either. Where's your dad? And where do you come in on this deal
+between old friends?" he demanded of Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Her dad's dead," said Mormon simply. "Molly is stayin' fo' a spell at
+the Three Star. Sandy Bourke, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>Sam Manning an' me is lookin' out fo'
+her, an' we aim to do a good job of it. Sabe?"</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll's thin-lipped mouth sneered with his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Gone in for baby-farming, have you, or robbing the cradle? Who's
+playing the king in this deal? I&mdash;&mdash;" The leer suddenly vanished from
+his face, the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Mormon's gun was slowly
+coming up level with his heart, steady as Mormon's gaze, finger
+compressing the trigger.</p>
+
+<p>"The law reckons you a man&mdash;so fur," said Mormon. "Yore pals 'ud pack a
+jury to hang me fo' shootin' the dirty heart out of you, but&mdash;ef you
+ever let out a foul word or a look about that gel, I'll take my chance
+of their bein' enough white men round here to 'quit me. There ought to
+be a bounty on yore scalp an' ears. You hear me, Jim Plimsoll, I'm
+talkin' straight. Now git, head yore hawss fo' the short trail to
+Hereford an' keep travelin'. Pronto!"</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll's pony was standing under the trees and the gambler turned and,
+with an attempted laugh, swaggered toward it.</p>
+
+<p>The threat to his personal safety, his desire to fling a sneer at
+Mormon, seemed to have halted any correlation of the statement
+concerning the death of the girl's father until now.</p>
+
+<p>"If that's true about your dad," he said, "I'm sorry. How did he die?"</p>
+
+<p>Sensing the hypocrisy of the shift to sympathy, the girl took a step
+forward. Mormon's pupils contracted again; his finger itched to press
+the trigger it touched.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>"It's none of yore business," said the girl. "You git."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll's eyes shifted to Mormon's big body, stiffening to the crouch
+that prefaced shooting. He faced toward the trees again, flinging his
+last words over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"None of my business? I don't agree with you there, you little
+hell-weasel. Your father and me had more than one deal together. You and
+I may have to do business together yet, Molly mine!"</p>
+
+<p>Molly's teeth showed between her parted lips, her fingers were hooked.
+Mormon anticipated her indignant leap. His gun spurted fire, the
+expensive Stetson broadrim seemed lifted from Plimsoll's hair by an
+invisible hand. With the report it sailed forward, side-slipped, landed
+on its rim, perforated by a steel-nosed thirty-eight caliber bullet.</p>
+
+<p>"I give you last warnin'," roared Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll sprang ahead like a racer at the starter's shot, snatched at
+his hat, missed it, let it lie as he ran on to his horse, mounted and
+went galloping off. Mormon holstered his gun and swung about to Molly,
+standing with crimson cheeks, blazing eyes and a young bosom turbulent
+with emotions.</p>
+
+<p>"I wisht you'd killed him. I wisht you'd killed him!" she cried. "I
+wisht I had a gun&mdash;or a knife! I hate him&mdash;hate him&mdash;<i>hate him</i>! When he
+says he was ever in a deal with Dad, he lies. Dad stood for him and that
+was all. He purtended to be awful strong for Dad, purtended to be fond
+of me, jest to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>swarm 'round Dad, for some reason. Brought me a doll
+once. 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' Dad
+seemed to think I owed it him for the doll. I nigh bit my lip off
+afterward. I wisht yore first shot had been higher, or yore second
+lower, Peters."</p>
+
+<p>"Call me Uncle Mormon, Molly. I had all I c'ud do not to make it plumb
+center, 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 Uncle
+Mormon, with Sam an' Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>Patting Molly's shoulder, Mormon smiled at her with his irresistible
+grin, and she reflected it faintly as she tucked in the remnants of her
+torn sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the on'y dress I got till Sandy Bourke wins me some money," she
+said. "You sure are quick, Uncle Mormon, when you git inter action. An'
+you can shoot some."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I coil up tight, between times, like a spring. Used to be
+pritty 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, right
+an' left, 'thout you ever see his hands move. I ain't so bad, Sam's
+better, but we had to throw a lot of lead in practise. Sandy shoots like
+he 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."</p>
+
+<p>His arm around her shoulder, purposely chatting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>away, Mormon led Molly
+toward 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 buckboard
+was on its way with its funeral freight.</p>
+
+<p>The body of the old prospector was lowered into the grave with the last
+of the daylight. The raw scar of the grave was covered with turfs Mormon
+ordered cut by the half-breed. Molly Casey walked away alone, her head
+high, the corner of her lower lip caught under her teeth, eyes winking
+back the tears. It was the headboard that had forced her struggle for
+composure. Mormon had marked on it, with the heavy lead of a carpenter's
+pencil.</p>
+
+<p class="cen noin">PATRICK CASEY<br />
+lies here<br />
+where the grass grows<br />
+and the water runs. He<br />
+looked for gold in the desert<br />
+and found death.<br />
+Buried June 10,<br />
+1920</p>
+
+<p>"Ef that suits you," he told Molly, "they's a chap over to Hereford
+who's a wolf on carvin'. My letterin's punk. When yore mines pay you
+c'ud have it in stone."</p>
+
+<p>"You-all are awful good to me," was all she could trust herself to say.
+Each of the Three Musketeers <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>of the Range felt a tug to take her in his
+arms and comfort her. Instead they looked at one another, as men of
+their breed do. Sam pulled at his mustache. Mormon rubbed the top of his
+bald head and Sandy rolled a cigarette and smoked it silently.</p>
+
+<p>Molly ate no supper that night. Before dawn Sandy thought he heard the
+door of her room open and soft footfalls stealing down the stairs. When
+he went later to the spring he found the grave covered with the wild
+blooms that the girl had picked in the dewy dawn.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h2>SANDY CALLS THE TURN</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>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, brought
+rumors of a new strike at Dynamite. Neither of the partners paid much
+attention to a report so often revived by rumor and as swiftly dying out
+again. But the man said that Plimsoll had stated that he expected to go
+over to the mining camp in the interests of claims located by Patrick
+Casey in which he had a half-interest, by reason of having grubstaked
+the prospector.</p>
+
+<p>"There's the thorn under <i>that</i> saddle," said Sandy to Mormon. "That's
+what Jim Plimsoll meant by his 'deal.' I don't believe he'd stir up
+things unless he was fairly sure there was something doin' oveh to
+Dynamite. He may be wrong but he usually tries to bet safe."</p>
+
+<p>"Molly's father located Dynamite, didn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"So she tells me. Hopeful, as he called it. Seems he picked up some rich
+float. This float was where a dyke of porphyry comes up to the surface
+an' got weathered away down to the pay ore. Leastwise, this was her
+dad's theory. He told her everything he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>thought as they shacked erlong
+together, I reckon, an' she remembers it. He figgers this sylvanite lies
+under this porphyry reef, sabe? Porphyry snakes underground, sometimes
+fifty feet thick, sometimes twice that, an' hard as steel. Matter of
+luck 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 boom
+atop of the rush. They don't an' Hopeful becomes Hopeless. Me, I got
+fo'-five chances to grubstake in that time, but I'm broke. I reckon
+Casey'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. One
+of the ol' Desert Rats that does the locatin' fo' some one else to git
+the money.</p>
+
+<p>"Molly ses her dad never grubstaked. She don't lie an' she was close to
+the old man. Mo' like pardners than dad an' daughter. Plimsoll smells
+somethin'. Figgers there's somethin' in the rumor an' stahts this talk
+of bein' pardners with Casey 'cause there's a strike. Me, I'm goin' to
+take a pasear to town soon an' I'll have a li'l' conversation with Jim
+the Gambolier."</p>
+
+<p>"Count me in on that," said Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Me too," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't all three leave the ranch to once," demurred Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>The half-breed came sleepily round the corner of the ranch-house and
+struck at the gong for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>breakfast call. The vibrations flooded the
+air with wave after wave of barbaric sound and Joe pounded, with
+awakening delight in the savage noise and rhythm, until Sandy, after
+yelling uselessly, threw a rock at him and hit him between the
+shoulders, whereupon the light died out of his face and he shuffled
+away.</p>
+
+<p>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 a
+theatrical setting, a slate-purple in color. To the west, the sharp
+crests were luminous with a halo that stole down them, staining them
+rose. 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 of
+the 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 array
+of viands provided by Pedro, who waited himself on the three partners
+and the girl, at the ranch-house. The smell of bacon and hot coffee
+spiced the air. Sam, twisting his mustache, led the way.</p>
+
+<p>"Smells like somethin' in the line of new bread to me," he said. "Bread
+or&mdash;it ain't <i>biscuits</i>, Molly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure is." Molly came in with a plate piled high with biscuits that were
+evidently the present pride of her heart. "Made a-plenty," she
+announced. "Had to wrastle Pedro away from the stove an' I ain't quite
+on to that oven yet, but they look good, don't they?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>"They sure do," said Sandy, taking one to break and butter it. The
+eagerness with which his jaws clamped down upon it died into a
+meditative chewing as of a cow uncertain about the quality of her cud.
+He swallowed, took a deep swig of coffee and deliberately went on with
+his biscuit. Mormon and Sam solemnly followed his example while Molly
+beamed at them.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't <i>say</i> they're good?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Too busy eating," said Sandy. And winked at Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Molly caught the wink, took a biscuit, buttered it, bit into it.</p>
+
+<p>Camp-bread and biscuits, eaten in the open, garnished with the
+wilderness sauce that creates appetite, eaten piping hot, are mighty
+palatable though the dough is mixed with water and shortening is
+lacking. As a camp cook, Molly was a success. Confused with Pedro's
+offer of lard and a stove that was complicated compared to her Dutch
+kettle, the result was a bitter failure that she acknowledged as soon as
+her teeth met through the deceptive crust.</p>
+
+<p>Molly was slow to tears and quick to wrath. She picked up the plate of
+biscuits and marched out with them, her back very straight. In the
+kitchen the three partners heard first the smash of crockery, then the
+bang of a pan, a staccato volley of words. She came in again,
+empty-handed, eyes blazing.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no bread. Pedro's makin' hot cakes." Then, as they looked at
+her solemnly: "You think you're damned smart, don't you, tryin' to fool
+me, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>purtendin' they was good when they'd pizen the chickens? I hate
+folks who <i>act</i> lies, same as them that speaks 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"I've tasted worse," said Mormon. "Honest I have, Molly. My first wife
+put too much saleratus an' salt in at first but, after a bit, she was a
+wonder&mdash;as a cook."</p>
+
+<p>Molly, as always, melted to his grin.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't got no mo' manners than a chuckawaller," she said penitently.
+"Sandy, would you bring me a cook-book in from town?"</p>
+
+<p>"Got one somewheres around."</p>
+
+<p>"No we ain't. Mormon used the leaves for shavin'," said Sam. "Last
+winter. W'udn't use his derned ol' catalogue."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll git one," said Sandy. "Here's the hot cakes."</p>
+
+<p>They devoured the savory stacks, spread with butter and sage-honey, in
+comparative silence. There came the noise of the riders going off for
+the day's duties laid out by Sam, acting foreman for the month. Sandy
+got up and went to the window, turning in mock dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"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&mdash;an' you, Sam," he added sharply, "you'll stick around
+till she goes. Sabe? I don't aim to be talked to death an' then pickled
+by her vinegar, like I was las' time she come oveh."</p>
+
+<p>A tinny machine, in need of paint, short of oil, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>braked squeakingly as
+a horn squawked and the auto halted by the porch steps. Young Ed Bailey
+slung one leg over another disproportionate limb, glanced at the
+windows, rolled a cigarette and lit it. His aunt, tall, gaunt, clad in
+starched dress and starched sunbonnet, with a rigidity of spine and
+feature that helped the fancy that these also had been starched,
+descended, strode across the porch and entered the living-room, her
+bright eyes darting all about, needling Molly, taking in every detail.</p>
+
+<p>"Out lookin' fo' a stray," she announced. "Red-an'-white heifer we had
+up to the house for milkin'. Got rambuncterous an' loped off. Had one
+horn crumpled. Rawhide halter, ef she ain't got rid of it. You ain't
+seen her, hev you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No m'm, we ain't. No strange heifer round the Three Star that answers
+that description." Sam winked at Molly, who was flushing under the
+inspection of Miranda Bailey, maiden sister of the neighbor owner of the
+Double-Dumbbell Ranch. He fancied the missing milker an excuse if not an
+actual invention to furnish opportunity for a visit to the Three Star,
+an inspection of Molly Casey and subsequent gossip. "You-all air up to
+date," he said, "ridin' herd in a flivver."</p>
+
+<p>"I see a piece in the paper the other day," she said, "about men playin'
+a game with autos 'stead of hawsses&mdash;polo it was called&mdash;an' another
+piece about cowboys cuttin' out an' ropin' from autos. Hawsses is
+passin'. Science is replacin' of 'em."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>"Reckon they'll last my time," drawled Sandy. "I hear they aim to roll
+food up in pills an' do us cattlemen out of a livin'. But I ain't
+worryin'. Me, I prefers steaks&mdash;somethin' I can set my teeth in. I
+reckon 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 to
+skip out an' tend to them chickens, hop to it."</p>
+
+<p>Molly caught the suggestion that was more than a hint and started for
+the door. The woman checked her with a question.</p>
+
+<p>"How old air you, Molly Casey?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl turned, her eyes blank, her manner charged with indifference
+that unbent to be polite.</p>
+
+<p>"Fifteen." And she went out.</p>
+
+<p>"H'm," said Miranda Bailey, "fifteen. Worse'n I imagined."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy's eyebrows went up. The breath that carried his words might have
+come from a refrigerator.</p>
+
+<p>"You goin' back in the flivver?" he asked, "or was you aimin' to keep
+a-lookin' fo' that red-an'-white heifer?"</p>
+
+<p>Miranda sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin', soon's as I've said somethin' in the way of a word of advice
+an' warnin', seein' as how I happened this way. It's a woman's matter or
+I wouldn't meddle. But, what with talk goin' round Hereford in
+settin'-rooms, in restyrongs, in kitchens, as well as in dance-halls an'
+gamblin' hells where they sell moonshine, it's time it was carried to
+you which is most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>concerned, I take it, for the good of the child, not
+to mention yore own repitashuns."</p>
+
+<p>"Where was it <i>you</i> heard it, ma'am?" asked Sam politely.</p>
+
+<p>"Where you never would, Mister Soda-Water Sam-u-el Manning," she
+flashed. "In the parlor of the Baptis' Church. I ain't much time an' I
+ain't goin' to waste it to mince matters. Here's a gel, a'most a woman,
+livin' with you three bachelor men."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been married," ventured Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"So I understand. Where's yore wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"One of 'em's dead, one of 'em's divorced an' I don't rightly sabe where
+the third is, nor I ain't losin' weight concernin' that neither."</p>
+
+<p>"More shame to you. You're one of these women-haters, I s'pose?"</p>
+
+<p>"No m'm, I ain't. That's been my trouble. I admire the sex but I've been
+a bad picker. I'm jest a woman-dodger."</p>
+
+<p>Miranda's sniff turned into a snort.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't heard nothin' much ag'in' you men, I'll say that," she
+conceded. "I reckon you-all think I've jest come hornin' in on what
+ain't my affair. Mebbe that's so. If you've figgered this out same way I
+have, tell me an' I'll admit I'm jest an extry an' beg yore pardons."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Bailey," said Sandy, his manner changed to courtesy, "I believe
+you've come here to do us a service&mdash;an' Molly likewise. So fur's I sabe
+there's been some remahks passed concernin' her stayin' here <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>'thout a
+chaperon, so to speak. Any one that 'ud staht that sort of talk is a
+blood relation to a centipede an' mebbe I can give a guess as to who it
+is. I reckon I can persuade him to quit."</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe, but you can't stop what's started any more'n a horn-toad can
+stop a landslide, Sandy Bourke. You can't kill scandal with gunplay. The
+gel's too young, in one way, an' not young enough in another, to be
+stayin' on at the Three Star. You oughter have sense enough to know
+that. 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."</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>The flivver horn squawked outside. Miranda pointed her finger at Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"There's chores waitin' fo' me. I didn't come off at daylight jest to be
+spyin', whatever you men may think. You either got to git a grown woman
+here or send the gel away, fo' her own good, 'fore the talk gits so
+it'll shadder her life. I ain't married. I don't expect to be, but I
+aimed to be, once, 'cept for a dirty bit of gossip that started in my
+home town 'thout a word of truth in it. Now, I've said my say, you-all
+talk it over."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy went to the door with her, helped her into the machine. It
+shudderingly gathered itself together and wheezed off; he came back with
+his face serious.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>"She's right," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Mormon," said Sam, "it's up to you. Advertise fo' Number Three to come
+back&mdash;all is forgiven&mdash;or git you a divo'ce, it's plumb easy oveh in the
+nex' state&mdash;an' pick a good one this time."</p>
+
+<p>"We got to send her away," said Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' into Herefo'd
+to-night. I aim to git a cook-book, interview Jim Plimsoll an' then
+bu'st his bank. One of you come erlong. Match fo' it."</p>
+
+<p>"Bu'st the bank what with?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy produced the ten-dollar luck-piece and held it up.</p>
+
+<p>"This. Mormon, choose yore side."</p>
+
+<p>"Heads."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy flipped the coin. It fell with a golden ring on the floor.
+"Tails," said Sandy inspecting it. "You come, Sam. Staht afteh noon. Oil
+up yore gun."</p>
+
+<p>"I knowed I'd lose," said Mormon dolefully. "Dang my luck anyway."</p>
+
+<p>It was a little after seven o'clock when Sandy and Sam walked out of the
+Cactus Restaurant, leaving their ponies hitched to the rail in front.
+They strolled down the main street of Hereford across the railroad
+tracks to where the "Brisket," as the cowboys styled the little town's
+tenderloin, huddled its collection of shacks, with their false fronts
+faced to the dusty street and their rear entrances, still cumbered with
+cases of empty bottles and idle kegs, turned to the almost dry bed of
+the creek. The signs of ante-prohibition days, blistered and faded, were
+still in place. Light showed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>in windows where fly-specked useless
+licenses were displayed. Back of the bars a melancholy array of
+soda-water advertised lack of interest in soft drinks. The front rooms
+held no loungers, but the click of chips and murmurs of talk came from
+behind closed doors.</p>
+
+<p>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 ends
+were tied down to the fringe ornaments of his chaps. Sam stroked his
+ropey mustache and eased the gun at his hip. Sandy pushed open the door
+and 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 a
+rickety table and chair noisily on the uneven floor. The inner door
+swung silently as at a signal and Jim Plimsoll came out. He stiffened a
+little at the sight of the Three Star men and then grinned at Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"How was the last bottle, Soda-Water?" he asked. "You didn't have to
+change your name with Prohibition, did you? Nor your habits."</p>
+
+<p>"Main thing that's changed is the quality of yore booze&mdash;an' the price,
+neither fo' the better," said Sam carelessly.</p>
+
+<p>"We ain't drinkin' ter-night, Jim," said Sandy. "Dropped in to hev a
+li'l' talk with you an' then take a buck at the tiger."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll's eyes glittered.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>"Said talk bein' private," continued Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll threw a glance at the man who had been posted for lookout and
+he left with a curious gaze that took in Sandy's guns.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry I was away from the ranch, time you called," said Sandy, sitting
+with 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?"</p>
+
+<p>"That any of your business?"</p>
+
+<p>"I aim to make it my business," replied Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the two men fought a pitched battle with their eyes. It was
+a warfare that Sandy Bourke was an expert in. The steel of his glance
+often saved him the lead in his cartridges. Jim Plimsoll was no fool to
+wage uneven contest. He fancied he would have the advantage over Sandy
+later, if the pair really meant to play faro&mdash;in his place.</p>
+
+<p>"I grubstaked him for the Hopeful-Dynamite discovery," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Got any papeh showin' that? Witnessed."</p>
+
+<p>"You know as well as I do that papers ain't often drawn on grubstaking
+contracts. A man's word is considered good."</p>
+
+<p>"Pat Casey's would have been, I reckon," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got witnesses."</p>
+
+<p>"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' her
+livin' at Three Star. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>look to you to contradict that so't of gossip,
+Plimsoll, from now on."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll flushed angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Who in hell do you think you are?" he demanded. "Who appointed you
+censor to any man's speech?"</p>
+
+<p>"A <i>man's</i> speech don't have to be censored, Plimsoll. An' I reckon you
+know who I am."</p>
+
+<p>"You come here looking for trouble, with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never hunt trouble, Jim. If I can't help buttin' into it, like a man
+might ride into a rattlesnake in the mesquite, I aim to handle it. Ef I
+ever got into real trouble, an' it resembled you, I'd make you climb so
+fast, Plimsoll, you'd wish you had horns on yore knees an' eyebrows."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll forced a laugh. "Fair warning, Sandy. I never raise a fuss with
+a two-gun man. It ain't healthy. You've got me wrong in this matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Glad to hear it. Then there won't be no argyment. Game open?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wide. An' a little hundred-proof stuff to take the alkali out of your
+throats. How about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't drink when I'm playin'. I aim to break the bank ter-night. I'm
+feelin' lucky. Brought my mascot erlong."</p>
+
+<p>"Meaning Sam here?"</p>
+
+<p>All three laughed for a mutual clearance of the situation. Sandy had
+said what he wanted and knew that Plimsoll interpreted it correctly.
+They went into the back room amicably after Plimsoll had recalled his
+lookout.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>There was little to indicate the passing of the Volstead Act in the Good
+Luck Pool Room, where the tables had long ago been taken out, though the
+cue racks still stood in place. The place was foul with smoke and reeked
+with the fumes of expensive but indifferently distilled liquor.
+Hereford&mdash;the "brisket" end of it&mdash;had never been fussy about mixed
+drinks. Redeye was, and continued to be, the favorite. A faro and a
+roulette game, with a craps table, made up the equipment, outside of
+half a dozen small tables given over to stud and draw poker.</p>
+
+<p>Some fifty men were present, most of them playing. Many of them nodded
+at Sandy and Sam as they walked over to the faro layout and stood
+looking 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 in
+a low tone to the man seated next to him. The first interest of their
+entrance soon died out. The dealer at faro went on imperturbably sliding
+card after card out of the case, the case-keeper fingered the buttons on
+the wires of his abacus and the players shifted their chips about the
+layout or nervously shuffled them between the fingers of one hand.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy knew the dealer for Sim Hahn, a man whose livelihood lay in the
+dexterity of his slim well-kept fingers and his ability to reckon the
+bets; swiftly to drag in or pay out losings and winnings without an
+error. His face was without a wrinkle, clean-shaven, every slick black
+hair in place, the flesh wax-like. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>held a record&mdash;whispered, not
+attested&mdash;of having more than once beaten a protesting gambler to the
+draw 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 be
+made. His eyes met Sandy's and he nodded. Three men named the order of
+the last three cards. None of them guessed the right one of the six ways
+in which they might have appeared. Hahn took in, paid out, shuffled the
+cards for a new deal. Sam nudged Sandy, speaking out of the corner of
+his mouth words that no one else could catch.</p>
+
+<p>"The hombre Plimsoll's talkin' to is 'Butch' Parsons. He's the killer
+Brady hired over to the M-Bar-M to chase off the nesters."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy said nothing, did not move. As the play began he turned and looked
+at the "killer" who had been named "Butch," after he had shot two heads
+of families that had preempted land on the range that Brady claimed as
+part of his holding. Whatever the justice of that claim, it was
+generally understood that Butch had killed in cold blood, Brady's
+political pull smothering prosecution and inquiry. Butch had a hawkish
+nose and an outcurving chin. He was practically bald. Reddish eyebrows
+straggled sparsely above pale blue eyes, the color of cheap graniteware.
+His lips were thin and pallid, making a hard line of his mouth. He
+packed a gun, well back of him, as he sat at the game. Meeting Sandy's
+lightly passing gaze, Butch sent out a puff of smoke from his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>half-finished cigar. The pale eyes pointed the action, it might have
+been a challenge, even a covert insult. Sandy ignored it, devoting his
+attention to the case-keeper.</p>
+
+<p>The jacks came out early, three of them losing, showing second on the
+turn. A dozen bets went down on the fourth jack to win. Sandy placed the
+luck-piece on the card, reached for a "copper" marker, and played it to
+lose.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+side of the case, leaving the winning card, a nine, exposed. Sandy alone
+had won. The luck-piece had proved its merit.</p>
+
+<p>In twenty minutes Sam borrowed a stack from Sandy's steadily
+accumulating winnings and departed for the craps table. He wanted
+quicker action than faro gave him. Luck flirted with him, never entirely
+deserting him. And Sandy won until the news of his luck spread through
+the room. The gamblers began to get the hunch that the Three Star man
+was going to break the bank. Not all at the faro layout attempted to
+follow his bets. Plimsoll's roll had never yet been very badly crimped.
+With the peculiar paradox of their kind, while they told each other that
+Plimsoll's game was square, they held the secret conviction that Hahn's
+fingers would manipulate the case in an emergency so that the house
+would win. And they waited <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>feverishly for the time to come when such a
+show-down would arrive.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy did not have many chips in front of him, but there were five small
+oblongs of blue, markers representing five hundred dollars apiece. Hahn
+laid 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 the
+last turn of the deal again. Every player and onlooker knew what the
+three cards were&mdash;a queen, a five and a deuce. The checking-board showed
+that the queen had lost twice and won once, the five had won three times
+and the deuce had won twice and lost once. Most of the players shifted
+their bets accordingly, the queen to win, the five and deuce to lose.
+Hahn still waited.</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' to call th' turn?"</p>
+
+<p>All eyes shifted to Sandy. No one else was going to try to name that
+combination. If the order of the three cards were named correctly the
+bank would pay four to one. If Sandy staked all on his call he would win
+over ten thousand dollars. Plimsoll would have to open his safe. Hahn
+did not have that amount in his cash drawer.</p>
+
+<p>The rest&mdash;save Sam, now close behind Sandy, with ninety dollars winnings
+cashed-in&mdash;watched Sandy enviously and curiously. Hahn was a wonder. The
+case might be crooked, the spring eccentric. Plimsoll himself was
+looking on. Butch Parsons stood beside him for a second and then
+strolled into the front room. Another man followed him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>Sandy shoved the markers across the board, followed by his chips.
+Apparently aimlessly, he hitched at his belt and the two Colts with
+their tied-down holsters swung a little to the front, their handles just
+touching his hips.</p>
+
+<p>"Deuce&mdash;queen&mdash;five, I'm bettin'," he said. "<i>An' deal 'em slow.</i>" His
+voice drawled and his eyes lifted to Hahn's and rested there.</p>
+
+<p>Hahn had been mechanically chewing gum most of the evening. Now his
+cheek muscles bulged more plainly and the end of his tongue showed for a
+second between his lips. His right hand dropped and he drew out a deuce.
+Eyes shifted from Sandy to Plimsoll, to Hahn. Little beads of moisture
+oozed out on the dealer's forehead. Plimsoll's black brows met. Sandy's
+face was placid. Breaths were indrawn as Hahn paid out and raked in on
+the card, his left hand covering the top of the case.</p>
+
+<p>The atmosphere was charged with intensity. Plimsoll's dark eyes were
+boring through the dealer's lowered lids.</p>
+
+<p>"Move yo' fingehs, dealer, an' reveal royalty," drawled Sandy. "The
+queen wins!" His hands were on his hips, fingers touching the butts of
+his guns, his eyes burned. For all its drag there was a ring to his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>Hahn shot one swift look at him and removed his hand. The queen showed.
+The room gasped. Plimsoll clapped Sandy on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"You did it," he said. "Broke the bank when you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>called that turn.
+Game's closed and the drinks on the house. How'll you have it?"</p>
+
+<p>The crowd made way as Plimsoll walked across to his safe, twirled the
+combination, opened the doors and took out a stack of bills.</p>
+
+<p>"Bills from a century up," said Sandy. "The odds and ends in gold&mdash;for
+the drinks."</p>
+
+<p>The excitement was dying down. The man from the Three Star had won and
+had been paid. Plimsoll's game was square. A few, reading the slight
+signs of Hahn's nervousness, still held some doubts, but the games were
+closing. The drinks were brought. Two men lounged out into the front
+room after they had tossed theirs down. Sandy slipped the folded bills
+into the breast pocket of his shirt in a compact package.</p>
+
+<p>"See who went out?" asked Sam in his side whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"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, Sam
+close behind him, into the front room. It was empty. The short end of
+Sandy's winnings still provided liquor. For a moment they were alone.
+Plimsoll had not followed them. Sandy swiftly socketed the bolt on the
+inside of the front door, turned the key and slid that into his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"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 bet
+what I got in my pocket Butch is huggin' the boards to one side of this
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>shack. I got too much money on me to be a good insurance risk."</p>
+
+<p>Sam chuckled. Plimsoll met them just inside the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Makin' a short cut," said Sandy. "Good night."</p>
+
+<p>As the pair went out at the rear, Plimsoll jumped into the front room.
+Sam, closing the back door behind them noiselessly, heard the gambler
+cursing at the bolted door. Silently as a cat, he covered the short
+distance between the house and the arroyo of the creek and disappeared,
+merged in its shadow. Sandy joined him and they made their way swiftly
+along the bottom, climbing the bank where the railroad bridge crossed
+it, striking off for the main street, lit by sputtery arc-lamps, making
+for their ponies, still standing patiently outside the all-night
+restaurant.</p>
+
+<p>"No sense in runnin' our heads into a flyin' noose," said Sandy.
+"Plimsoll owns the sheriff. Married his sister. We'd be wrong whatever
+stahted. They'd frisk me of my roll an' we'd never see it ag'in, less we
+made a runnin' fight of it. Wondeh how much eddication costs nowadays,
+Sam? What you laffin' at?"</p>
+
+<p>"Butch an' the rest of Plimsoll's gunmen holdin' up the shack, waitin'
+fo' us to come out, while Plim is huntin' that key."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't laff too hard till we git home," said Sandy. "It's eleven miles
+to the Three Star."</p>
+
+<p>They mounted, swung their horses and loped off toward the bridge across
+the creek. There were two spans, one built since the advent of
+automobiles, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>other ancient, little used. They headed for the
+latter. Passing the end of the street they saw nothing out of the
+ordinary. The door of the "Good Luck" was open, shown by a square of
+light. A group stood outside. Sandy and Sam rode off, the ponies' hoofs
+silent in the soft thick dust; moving shadows in the twilight, merging
+with the dark.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h2>IN THE BED OF THE CREEK</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>The old bridge, utilized only by wheels with metal tires these days, and
+by riders, opened a short-cut to the road leading to the Three Star, a
+way hardly to be distinguished from the plain. Sandy was minded to get
+back to the ranch as soon as possible with his winnings. Five thousand
+for Molly, five thousand for the Three Star, that was the agreement, the
+custom, and he knew the girl's breed well enough to have no hesitation
+in making the split as he would with a man. The next thing to do was to
+pick out a school for her. There Sandy was at a loss. He mulled it over
+as he rode, his outer senses playing sentinels to his consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>He had deliberately avoided trouble for reasons he considered quite
+sufficient, but annoyance pricked him that he had been forced to slide
+out the back way from Plimsoll's, for all the odds against him. If it
+had been his own money&mdash;a sudden flash of future responsibilities as
+Molly Casey's guardian illumined his thought&mdash;if the luck-piece had not
+been hers, the play for her future welfare, he would have set his own
+marvelous coordination against Butch and the others in a shooting match,
+as he had done other times, in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>other places. Sam, he knew, was
+wondering a little at their strategic retreat.</p>
+
+<p>But the old days were going, law and order were beginning to supersede
+the old methods of every man to his own judgment and action. Hereford
+had a sheriff who was not above suspicion, but the majority of the
+people had little use for him and this term of office would be his last.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy could not quite gauge Plimsoll's actions in tamely paying over the
+winnings and he looked and listened, noting every movement of Pronto
+moving free-muscled beneath him, for some sign of alarm&mdash;perhaps a
+rifle-shot out of the mesquite. They were not the best of targets, Sam
+and he, riding fast in the thick dusk under the stars. The road was
+almost invisible, the plain unsubstantial, though the far-off mountain
+ranges showed plainly cut, with a curious trick of seeming always to
+shift back as the observer advanced. Little winds blew in their faces,
+cool and sweet from the desert, charged with spice of sage.</p>
+
+<p>The ponies struck the loosened planks of the bridge clop-clop, springing
+forward into a gallop as their riders touched heels to flanks. The pinto
+was the quicker to get into his stride. Just past the center of the
+bridge Sam saw Sandy's mount jump like a startled cat into the air. He
+saw Sandy pliant in his seat; marked against the starry sky. Then came a
+spurt of red flame from the far bank&mdash;to the right&mdash;another&mdash;and
+another&mdash;from the left. A bullet hummed by him and his own horse slid
+stiff-legged, plowing the planks, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>hind feet flat from hoof-points to
+fetlocks as the pony whirled away from the yawning gap in the bridge,
+where boards had been pried away in the preparation, of the ambush.</p>
+
+<p>Helpless for the moment until he got his bearings and his pony gained
+solid footing, Sam automatically whipped out his gun, cursing as he saw
+Sandy slide from the saddle, clutch at the rim of the gap, drop down to
+the bed of the creek, while Pronto, frantic at the loss of his master,
+leaped the opening and fled with clatter of hoof and swinging stirrup
+into the desert.</p>
+
+<p>Sam, wild with rage at the thought of Sandy shot, scrambling in bloody
+sand below him, flung himself from the roan as more bullets whined,
+whupping into the planks. One seared his upper arm, another struck the
+saddle tree as he vaulted off, slapping the roan on the flanks, yelling
+at it as it gathered, leaped the gap and followed Pronto.</p>
+
+<p>"You damned, cowardly, murderin' pack of lousy coyotes!" swore Sam
+mechanically, as he knelt on the edge of the gap and tried to pierce the
+blackness, listening fearfully for a groan. He had not fired back. There
+was nothing to fire at but clumps of blurred growth. The shots had been
+too sudden, the shying of the horses too confusing for location.</p>
+
+<p>He kneeled over the rim of the last plank, turned, caught with his
+hands, revolver thrust back into its holster, swung, dropped. A hand
+closed about his ankle, pulled him down sprawling on the soft sand.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>"I'm O. K.," whispered Sandy, and Sam's heart leaped. "Only plugged the
+rim of my hat. I faked a fall to fool 'em. Snake erlong down the crick
+bed. Here's where we git even." Sam knew that ring in his partner's
+voice, low though it was, and his blood tingled. The high crumbly banks
+of the creek, gouged out by winter rains and cloud-bursts, were set with
+brush. Immediately above the bridge were the stripped trunks of
+cottonwoods, stranded in a flood. Peering through the boughs, they saw
+stooping figures running along the bank. A man called from the lower
+side of the bridge, a shot was fired harmlessly. The hunters in view
+raced back.</p>
+
+<p>"Think they saw us," whispered Sandy. "They'll hear from us, right
+soon." He led the way back, crossing to the town side beneath the
+bridge, keeping half-way up the bank, close under the stringers of the
+bridge, crawling between bushes on his belly, Sam with him. Now they
+could see no gunmen but occasionally they caught a whisper, the slight
+sound of moving brush.</p>
+
+<p>There was only a trickle of water in the bed of the creek. Here and
+there were small bars of bleached shingle and larger boulders. Sandy
+found a stone imbedded in the bank, loosened it, squatted on his
+haunches and passed it to Sam, taking a gun in each hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Chuck it into that sunflower patch," he said with his mouth close to
+Sam's ear. "Then fire at the flashes." Sam pitched the stone through the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>darkness. It fell with a rustle, chinked against a rock. Instantly
+there came a fusillade from the opposite bank, four streaks of fire, the
+bullets cutting through the dried stalks, the marksmen evidently hunting
+in couples.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, crouching, pulled triggers and the shots rattled out as if fired
+from an automatic. Beside him, Sam's gun barked. Each fired three times,
+Sandy shooting two-handed, flinging six bullets with instinctive aim
+while the bed of the creek echoed to the roar of the guns and the air
+hung heavy with the reek of exploded gases. Then they rushed for the top
+of the bank, wriggling behind the cover of bushes, lying prone for the
+next chance.</p>
+
+<p>One yell and a stream of curses came from across the arroyo. Two
+indistinct figures bent above a third, lifted it, hurrying back toward a
+clump of willows. The fourth man trailed the others, his oaths
+smothered, running beside the two bearers, his hand held curiously in
+front of him, dimly seen.</p>
+
+<p>"They're through. That's enough," said Sandy. "We ain't killers."</p>
+
+<p>"Got two of 'em," said Sam. "Good shootin', Sandy! I reckon I missed
+clean. I fired to the left."</p>
+
+<p>"The man who's down is Butch," said Sandy. "I'd know his figger in a
+coal shaft. I've a hunch the other was Hahn. Hit him somewheres in the
+hand; spile his dealin' fo' a while. Let's git out of this. They've
+quit."</p>
+
+<p>"Wonder if Plimsoll was with 'em. How about the hawsses? Can you whistle
+Pronto back?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>"Reckon so."</p>
+
+<p>They walked toward the bridge and crossed it, passing the gap on the
+side timbers. Plimsoll's men had departed with their casualties. Sandy
+whistled shrilly through his teeth. After a minute he repeated the call.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure hate to hoof it to the ranch," said Sam. "Mebbe the shots
+stampeded 'em. Better not try to borrow hawsses in town, I figger."</p>
+
+<p>"No. Pronto ain't fur. Yore roan'll stick with him. That pinto of mine
+is half human. I've sent him ahead before. Ef I'd yelled 'Home' he'd
+have gone. Shots w'udn't have scared him. Made him stand by&mdash;like
+Molly."</p>
+
+<p>"Got yore money safe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yep."</p>
+
+<p>There came a sound of pounding hoofs. Then that of others, coming from
+the town.</p>
+
+<p>"Better load up, Sam," said Sandy grimly, "we ain't out of this yet.
+That'll be Jim Plimsoll's brother-in-law, likely."</p>
+
+<p>"Here come our ponies."</p>
+
+<p>As yet they could see nothing advancing, but a horse whinnied from the
+plain lying between them and the Three Star road.</p>
+
+<p>"Pronto," said Sandy, shoving cartridges into his guns.</p>
+
+<p>A body of mounted men had come out from town and ridden fast upon the
+bridge. The foremost stopped with an exclamation at the missing boards.
+All <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>wheeled in some confusion and slid their horses down into the
+arroyo to scramble up the bank again and spur for Sam and Sandy just as
+the pinto and the roan, curveted up to their masters. The two cowmen
+leaped for their seats, Sandy temporarily sheathing one gun. They faced
+the townsmen who formed a half-circle about them.</p>
+
+<p>"You, Sandy Bourke an' Sam Manning, stick up yore hands!"</p>
+
+<p>"You got good eyesight," returned Sandy. "What's the idee? Ef you shoot,
+don't miss, I'm holdin' tol'able close ter-night."</p>
+
+<p>His tone was almost good-humored, tolerant, full of confidence.</p>
+
+<p>"You was shootin' in town limits. May have killed some one. Ag'in' the
+law to shoot inside the Herefo'd line. I'm goin' to take you in."</p>
+
+<p>"You air?" Sandy's drawl was charged with mockery. "How about the
+Herefo'd men who stahted the fireworks? Ef you want our guns, Sheriff,
+come an' take 'em. First come, first served."</p>
+
+<p>There was no forward movement. A man swore as his horse began to dance.</p>
+
+<p>"You go back an' tell Jim Plimsoll to do his own dirty wo'k, if he's got
+any guts left fo' tryin'. Me, I'm goin' home."</p>
+
+<p>The sheriff and his hastily gathered band of irregular deputies, working
+in the interests of Plimsoll, knew, with sufficient intimacy to endow
+them with caution, the general record of Sandy Bourke and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>Soda-Water
+Sam. None of them wanted to risk a shot&mdash;and miss. Sandy would not. Even
+a fatal wound might not prevent him taking toll. Sam was almost as
+dangerous. They were politicians rather than fighting men, every one of
+them. And they were tolerably certain that Plimsoll had ambushed the two
+from the Three Star. His methods were akin to their own. The sheriff
+blustered.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't through with you yit, Sandy Bourke. I know where to find you."</p>
+
+<p>"You-all are goin' to have a mighty hard time findin' yo'se'f afteh
+election, Sheriff, as it is. The cowmen ain't crazy about you. They
+might take a notion to escort you out of the county limits."</p>
+
+<p>"You're inside the town line. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I won't be in two minutes. Git out of our road," said Sandy, his voice
+freezing in sudden contempt. He roweled Pronto and, with Sam even in the
+jump, they galloped through the half-ring without opposition. Horses
+were neck-reined aside to let them pass. The wind sang by them as they
+tangented off from the road. A shot or two announced the attempt of some
+to save their own faces, but no bullets came near the pair. The
+fusillade was sheer bravado.</p>
+
+<p>Pronto and the roan went at full speed, bellies low to the plain that
+streamed past, the manes whipping the hands of their riders, springing
+on sinews of whalebone through soapweed and mesquite, spurning the soil
+with drumming hoofs, night-seeing, danger-dodging, jumping the little
+gullies, reveling in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>rush. Sandy and Sam sat slightly forward,
+loose-seated, thigh-muscles and knees feeling the withers rather than
+pressing them, balancing their own limber bodies to every movement of
+the flying ponies.</p>
+
+<p>A late moon climbed out of the east and scudded up the sky, silvering
+the distant peaks. For almost a mile they rode at top speed, then they
+settled down to a lope that ate up the miles&mdash;a walk at the end of
+three&mdash;then lope and walk again, until the giant cottonwoods of the
+Three Star rose from the plain, leaves shimmering in the moonlight, the
+ranch buildings blocked in purple pin-pointed with orange&mdash;the
+pin-points enlarging, resolving into two lighted windows as they passed
+shack and barn and rode into the home corral at last, to unsaddle, wipe
+down the horses and dismiss them for the time with a smack on their
+lathery flanks, knowing they would be too wise to overdrink at the
+trough, promising them grain later.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon tiptoed heavily out on the creaking porch with a husky, "Hush!"</p>
+
+<p>"What fo'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Molly's asleep. 'Sisted on waitin' up for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we're here, ain't we?" demanded Sam. "Me, I got a scrape in my
+arm an' some son of a wolf spiled my saddle. Sandy, he sorter evened up
+fo' it."</p>
+
+<p>"Bleedin'?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Nope. Tied my bandanner round it. Cold air fixed it. Shucks, it ain't
+nuthin'! Sandy's got a green kale plaster fo' it. Come to think of it, I
+got ninety bucks myse'f."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>"You won?"</p>
+
+<p>"Did we win? Wait till we show you."</p>
+
+<p>Molly met them as they went in, her eyes wide open, all sleep banished.</p>
+
+<p>"Was it a luck-piece?" she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy produced the package of bills, divided it, shoved over part.</p>
+
+<p>"Your half," he said. "Five thousand bucks. Bu'sted the bank. An' here's
+the 'riginal bet." He showed the gold eagle, put it into her palm.</p>
+
+<p>"Served me, now you take it," he said. "I'll git you a chain fo' it.
+It's sure a mascot&mdash;same as you are&mdash;the Mascot of the Three Star."</p>
+
+<p>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 the
+bandanna.</p>
+
+<p>"There's been shootin'," she said. "You're hit. Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"More of a miss than a hit," replied Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Molly turned to Sandy. Anxiety, affection, something stronger that
+stirred him deeply, showed now in her gaze.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i> hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't hardly muss a ha'r of my head. Jest a li'l' excitement."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me all about it."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy gave her a condensed and somewhat expurgated account to which she
+listened with her face aglow.</p>
+
+<p>"I wisht I'd been there to see it," she said as he finished.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>"It warn't jest the time nor place fo' a young lady," said Sandy. "Main
+p'int is we got the money for yo' eddication, like we planned."</p>
+
+<p>The light faded from her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Air you so dead set for me to go away?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"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 is
+yore dad an' paht yore maw. Sabe? They handed you on down an', if you
+make the most of yo'se'f, you make the most of them. Me, I've allus been
+trubbled with the saddle-itch an' I've wanted the out-of-doors. A chap
+writ a poem that hits me once. It stahts in,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I want free life an' I want free air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' I sigh fo' the canter afteh the cattle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The crack of whips like shots in battle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The melly of horns an' hoofs an' heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wars an' wrangles an' scatters an' spreads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The green beneath an' the blue above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' dash an' danger an' life....<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Somethin' like that. I mayn't have got it jest right, but that's <i>me</i>.
+The chap that wrote that might have writ pahts of it jest fo' me. He
+sure knew what he was writin' erbout. It's called <i>In Texas, Down by the
+Rio Grande</i>. I've been there. Arizony ain't much differunt."</p>
+
+<p>"It's called <i>Lasca</i>," put in Sam. "I seen it in the movies. Had the
+po'try strung all through it. It was a love story. This Lasca, she&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>Mormon put a heavy foot over Sam's and he subsided.</p>
+
+<p>"So you see I lost out on a heap," said Sandy. "An' I'm a man. I can git
+erlong with less. But fo' a gel, learnin's a grand thing. An' there's
+the big cities, an' theaters, fine clothes an' fine manners. Like livin'
+in another world."</p>
+
+<p>"Where they wear suits like Sam's spiketail," said Mormon. "I mind me
+when I was to Chicago with a train of steers one time, the tall
+buildin's was higher than ca&ntilde;on cliffs. On'y full breath I drawed was
+down 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 my
+tongue back down my throat an' choke me."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's hornin' in now?" asked Sam. "Go on, Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"But," said Molly, wide-eyed, "that's the life <i>I</i> like. I mean out
+here. I don't want to be different."</p>
+
+<p>"Shucks," said Sandy. "You won't be. Jest polished up. Skin slicked up,
+hair fixed to the style, nails trimmed an' shined. Culchured. Inside
+you'll be yore real self. You can't take the gold out of a bit of ore
+any more than you can change iron pyrites inter the reel stuff. But, if
+the gold's goin' to be put into proper circulation, it's got to be
+refined. Sabe?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't refined, I reckon," said Molly with a sigh. "I don't know as I
+want to be. I can allus come back, can't I?"</p>
+
+<p>"You sure can."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>"An' there's Dad. He's where he wanted to be. I w'udn't want to go away
+from him."</p>
+
+<p>"He'd want you to make this trip, sure," said Sandy. "An' that settles
+it. You go off to bed an' dream on it. We got to figger out where you go
+an' that'll take some time an' thinkin'. I'm some tired myse'f. I've
+been out of trainin' lately fo' excitement. Sam, I'm goin' to soak that
+place on yore arm with iodine. Good night, Molly."</p>
+
+<p>She got up immediately, went to Mormon and to Sam and gravely shook
+hands, thanking them.</p>
+
+<p>"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 from
+the room, with Grit leaping after her. Sandy's bronzed face glowed like
+reflecting copper.</p>
+
+<p>"Some folks git all the luck," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"There you go," bantered Sam, stripping his arm for the iodine. "You
+been married three times, reg'lar magnet fo' the wimmin, an' you grudge
+Sandy pay fo' what he done. Me, I helped, but I ain't grudgin' him.
+Though I sure envy him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you helped an' left me to home to count fingers."</p>
+
+<p>"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 be
+a five-ringed circus all to yorese'f an' have all the fun. Ef that stuff
+heals like it smahts, Sandy, I'll say I'm cured now."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>"It don't amount to much, Sam," said Sandy. "Yore flesh allus closed up
+quick. What you goin' to do with yore ninety dollars?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought of buyin' me a new saddle. Mine's spiled. Couldn't trust that
+tree 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."</p>
+
+<p>So, bantering one another, they bunked in.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h2>PASO CABRAS</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>They did not make butter on the Three Star.</p>
+
+<p>Since the arrival of Molly an unwilling and refractory cow had been
+brought in from the range and half forced, half coaxed to give the fresh
+milk that Mormon insisted the girl needed. Until then evaporated milk
+had suited all hands. But butter&mdash;to go with hot cakes and
+sage-honey&mdash;was an imperative need for the riders. Riders demanded the
+best quality in the "found" part of their wages and the three partners
+supplied it. The butter came over weekly from the Bailey ranch to be
+kept under the spring cover for cooling. Usually the gangling young Ed
+Bailey brought it over in the crotchety flivver. When Sandy saw the
+sparsely fleshed figure of Miranda Bailey seated by the driver he winced
+in spirit. This second visitation looked like mere curiosity and gossip
+and offset the opinion he had begun to form of the spinster&mdash;that she
+was sound underneath her angularities and mannerisms.</p>
+
+<p>It was twilight. The three partners and Molly were on the ranch-house
+porch after supper, and there was no escape. Sam slid his harmonica into
+his pocket silently and Mormon groaned aloud as the rattlebang <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>car
+chugged up and was braked, shaking all over until the engine was shut
+off. Ed Bailey crossed his legs and rolled his cigarette. No one at the
+Three Star had ever seen him alight from the car, Mormon insisted he ate
+and slept in it. Miranda nodded at the three partners, who rose as she
+came up the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"You sure need some new clothes, child," she said to Molly. "You got to
+have 'em. I heard you was shot," she went on to Sam. "That sling ain't
+right. You should have it fixed so yore wrist is higher'n yore elbow.
+Who's tendin' it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's healin' fine," said Sam. "I'm pure-blooded an' my flesh allus
+heals quick."</p>
+
+<p>Miranda sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon prohibition helps some," she retorted. "Now then, I come on
+business. Sandy Bourke, you ain't any of you the legal guardian of that
+child, air you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothin' illegal in what we're doin', I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't ask you that. You-all ain't got papers?"</p>
+
+<p>With the question she wriggled her eyebrows, shifted her glance and
+generally twisted her features in what Sandy interpreted plainly enough
+as a suggestion that Molly should be eliminated from the talk. He did
+not agree with the spinster. It was Molly's prime affair and he knew
+that she would resent being treated too childishly in regard to her own
+concerns. Sandy had gentled too many high-spirited fillies and colts not
+to have found out that methods that apply to well-bred quadrupeds are
+generally coefficient with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>humans. He shook his head slightly at Miss
+Bailey's signaling.</p>
+
+<p>"Jest what's the idea?" he asked. "Some one figgerin' on makin' her stay
+at the Three Star unpleasant? Fur as jest gossip is concerned, it don't
+have any weight with none of us an' there ain't no sense in mentionin'
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"'Pears you ain't givin' me over an' above credit for sense," said
+Miranda, a bit grimly. "This ain't gossip. Ef you're bound the gel is to
+sit in with her elders I'll go right ahead. I got a lot of chores to do
+yet, deliverin' butter, an' the car's actin' up uncertain. Here 'tis. I
+got it direct from my brother who's heard the talk that's goin' round.
+You've run foul of Jim Plimsoll&mdash;or he foul of you, which is more
+likely. Plimsoll an' Eke Jordan, the sheriff, are like two peas in a
+pod. The sheriff's got the inside of local politicks, so fur. When we
+wimmen git to votin' this fall things is goin' to be different. Right
+now, he's in. He an' the courts of this county are all striped the same
+way. Reg'lar zebras. Penitentiary pattern 'ud match their skins. Mebbe
+some of 'em ought to be wearin' it.</p>
+
+<p>"Now for the meat of the nut. They're figgerin' on gettin' control of
+the gel away from you-all. They'll use argymints for the general public
+that she's too young to be keepin' house for three unmarried men,
+leastwise three men who ain't livin' with their wives." She looked
+pointedly at Mormon. "They'll rouse up opinion enough for a change.
+They'd like <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>to app'int a guardian of their own kidney. Mebbe we can
+block that if one of us comes out an' offers to take her. I'd be glad
+to, for one, an' do the right thing by her."</p>
+
+<p>Molly walked over to Sandy's chair and stood behind it, her eyes
+widening, her breath beginning to come quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"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 out
+owners, lookin' up assessment work an' so on. Talk of a boom. I reckon
+Plimsoll'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&mdash;an'
+they're figgerin' on Plimsoll, he claimin' to be her father's
+partner&mdash;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 what
+they're over here ter-morrer with a court order. An' you can't fight the
+courts 's long as they're in authority, the way you fought Jim
+Plimsoll."</p>
+
+<p>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 is
+a damned liar. You won't let 'em take me?" She turned to Sandy, her arms
+stretched in appeal.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>"No, Molly, I won't. Will we, boys?"</p>
+
+<p>"You can bet everything you got an' ever hope to own we won't," said
+Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"That goes for me," echoed Mormon, but he scratched his fringe of hair
+in some perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>"Talk don't beat an order of the court," said Miranda Bailey. "Mebbe I
+seem sort of vinegary to you, child, but I'm not a bad sort. My brother
+Ed has got somethin' to say in this community an' I'm likely to control
+a few votes this fall myself. I figger if you came home with me to-day
+we c'ud manage to git you placed with us. There's been tattle about you
+stoppin' here. You're fifteen&mdash;an'...."</p>
+
+<p>"Some folks is jest plumb rotten," flared Molly. "I'm no kid. I ... <i>oh,
+if</i> Dad was alive!"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy stood up and slid an arm about her shaking shoulders. She wheeled
+and buried her head on his shoulder, sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>"We're powerful obliged to you, Miss Bailey, for what you told us," said
+Sandy. "I'm right sure you'd give Molly a fine home, but we got other
+plans an' we aim to carry 'em out. Plimsoll's a skunk an' I'll block his
+game about the mines ef they amount to anything. Molly's goin' east for
+her eddication. She's got plenty money to git the best that's goin' an'
+she's goin' to have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you better git her 'cross the county line before many hours are
+over." Miranda Bailey recognized something better than mere decision in
+Sandy's voice, she was not the leading suffragist of the county <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>for
+lack 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. A
+woman needs a woman's company." At the diplomatic concession to her
+maturity Molly gave the spinster a mollified glance. Miss Bailey climbed
+into the machine.</p>
+
+<p>"You aim on takin' her out of the county to the railroad ter-morrer?"
+she asked. "What school is she goin' to?"</p>
+
+<p>"We ain't settled all the details," said Sandy. "But we'll do that all
+right. We'll git ready soon's we can. Meantime, we'll keep our eyes
+peeled ter-morrer against any order from Hereford."</p>
+
+<p>"Want to use this car? I'll bring it over early. Ed can drive it."</p>
+
+<p>The gangling youth for the first time showed an intelligent interest in
+anything outside of his cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>"Fo' time's sake, aunt," he said, "'twouldn't be no manner of good if it
+come down to a runnin' chase. Nearest depot's fifty mile' across the
+county line. Racin' this car ag'in' the sheriff's 'ud be like matchin' a
+flea ag'in' a grasshopper. Dern it, she's balked ag'in." He wrestled
+with the crank, conquered it and the machine shivered like a hunting dog
+while his aunt adjusted spark and gas. She nodded to him to start and
+they moved off, Miranda waving a farewell as she called out, "Good
+luck!"</p>
+
+<p>"Some sport!" announced Sam. "That's the kind of woman you sh'ud have
+married, Mormon."</p>
+
+<p>Molly, excited now, demanded audience.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>"When do we start?" she asked eagerly. "Will you wait till they come out
+from Hereford?"</p>
+
+<p>"I got to think out things a bit, Molly," said Sandy. "I figger we'll
+git a start on 'em, ef you can git ready. In the mornin'."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got much to take."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll buy you an outfit."</p>
+
+<p>"Horseback?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy looked at her with puckered eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't tell you what I ain't sure of myse'f," he drawled. "One thing is
+sure, you got to tuhn in an' git a good rest. Ef we slide out it won't
+be all a pleasure trip. I reckon Plimsoll means business. An' he's sure
+got the county machinery behind him right now."</p>
+
+<p>"I can take Grit?"</p>
+
+<p>"W'udn't want to leave us somethin' to remember you by?" asked Sandy.
+"Somethin' to help make sure you'll come back?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd allus come back, to visit Dad," she said. "But Grit...? I don't
+want to leave Grit."</p>
+
+<p>"It 'ud be a hard trip fo' him this way, Molly. I ain't sure about the
+regulations at them schools. I reckon the best way w'ud be fo' you to
+make arrangements fo' him to come on afteh you git there."</p>
+
+<p>Molly regarded Sandy soberly, her fingers twining through the dog's
+mane.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd be good to him&mdash;same as you air to me? Oh, I'm jest plumb mean to
+ask you that. I know you w'ud. He's goin' to be jest as lonesome as me
+for a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>bit, ain't you, Grit? He allus slep' with me, cuddlin' up,
+an'&mdash;&mdash;" She gulped, straightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Good night," she said. "Come, Grit."</p>
+
+<p>The three men sat silent for a moment or two after she left.</p>
+
+<p>"She's sure a stem-winder," said Mormon presently. "How you goin' to fix
+to git her away, Sandy? Plimsoll'll be hotter'n a bug on a hot griddle."</p>
+
+<p>"I got a plan warmin' up," said Sandy. "Nearest to the county line is
+west through the Cabezas Range. Only two gaps, Paso Cabras, an' the
+Bolsa."</p>
+
+<p>"But the Bolsa...." started Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy checked him.</p>
+
+<p>"I know. Listen! I aim to git to the railroad an' then me an' Molly'll
+make for New Mexico."</p>
+
+<p>"Huh!"</p>
+
+<p>"You guessed it, Mormon. For the Pecos River an' Boville an' the Redding
+Ranch. I reckon Barbara Redding'll handle the thing. She'll git Molly
+her outfit an' she'll know all about the right schools."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon brought his hand down on Sam's thigh with a sounding whack.</p>
+
+<p>"Dern me, ef he ain't the wise ol' son of a gun," he cried delightedly.
+"Sure!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's the thing," assented Sam, rubbing himself, "but you don't have to
+break my laig over it. Sandy, you sure use yo' brains."</p>
+
+<p>Barbara Redding, once Barbara Barton of the celebrated Curly O, was a
+bright star in the mutual firmament of the Three Star partners. They had
+all worked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>together on the Curly O in the old days. Sandy had been
+foreman there. Once he had rescued Barbara Barton from horse rustlers
+with a grudge against her father and once again he had rendered her even
+greater service when members of the same crowd kidnapped her
+two-year-old son whom Barbara Redding had brought on a visit to his
+grandfather. Sandy had trailed alone and brought in the "li'l' son of a
+gun," as he styled the youngster. There was little that Barbara Redding
+and her husband, wealthy rancher, would not do for Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"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. See
+what you all think of it."</p>
+
+<p>Subdued guffaws rose from the porch in through the open window of the
+room where Molly Casey lay wide awake, the dog beside her. Presently she
+heard the martial strains of Sam's harmonica, cuddled under his big
+mustache, played one-handed. He was playing an air that he had dedicated
+to Sandy. Vaguely it comforted her.</p>
+
+<p>"They're <i>good</i>," she said to Grit. "An' they've figgered out something
+or they w'udn't be actin' thataway. You an' me got to be game."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy smoked his cigarette and Mormon lolled in his chair, while Sam
+breathed out his melody into the night that was very still and very
+quiet, with the great white stars burning rayless. The tune swelled
+triumphantly.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Behold El Capitan,</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Notice his misanthropic stare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Look at his independent air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And match him if you can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is the champion beyond compare.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>It was a tribute to the strategy of Sandy Bourke, the D'Artagnan of the
+Three Musketeers of the Range, whereof Mormon was surely Porthos, if Sam
+was hard to recognize as Aramis. "One for all and all for one" was their
+motto, and neither Mormon nor Sam doubted for an instant that Sandy
+would win. Sandy, smoking cigarette after cigarette, was not so sure but
+equally complacent.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, breakfast over before the sun was well above the peaks,
+while desert birds were still rising, twittering shrill welcome to the
+dawn, Sandy went about humming snatches of cowboy songs just above his
+breath as he oversaw the arrangements for the exodus that was to be; not
+so much a flight, as a deliberately calculated laying of a trail for the
+pursuit. So might an old dog fox, sure of his speed and wisdom, trot
+leisurely across a field in full sight of the pack. Sandy had no
+intention of waiting until the lawhounds arrived, he needed a start
+against the handicap of high-powered cars. He was in high humor as the
+buckboard was greased, a team of buckskins given a special feed and a
+rub-down, and various articles gathered for transportation. Among these
+were a spool of barbed wire and a dozen fence posts.</p>
+
+<p class="noin">
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"I'm a rollickin', rovin' son of a gun</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Of a roamin' gambolier;"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>sang Sandy, lights dancing in his gray eyes. Sandy was not old&mdash;a little
+short of thirty&mdash;but he was generally mature, suggesting deliberation of
+mind 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.</p>
+
+<p>His spirit was infectious. Four riders, jumping to his orders, tossed
+badinage among one another like a ball. Mormon and Sam, seated on the
+top rail of the corral fence, openly admired their partner.</p>
+
+<p>"Like old times, Mormon?" suggested Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure is. I reckon we'll have some fun 'fore the day's out. Sandy can
+cert'nly scheme out the scenarios."</p>
+
+<p>"The what?"</p>
+
+<p>"The scenarios," repeated Mormon loftily. "I got that out of a moving
+pitcher magazine down to Hereford. It's the word fo' the plot of the
+story. Sabe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Huh! I reckon them movin' pitcher shooters 'ud have to move some to git
+all that's movin' this trip. Got yore gun oiled up, Mormon? Here's
+Molly."</p>
+
+<p>Molly came out on the porch carrying a small grip packed with her few
+belongings, Grit beside her. Sandy nodded to her, busy giving
+instructions to two riders. Mormon and Sam waved and she went over to
+them, swinging up to the rail beside them.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim," said Sandy, "I want you should ride out to'ards Hereford an' hide
+out atop of Bald Butte. You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>don't need to stay there any later than
+noon. Take a flash-glass with you. If any of the sheriff's crowd comes
+erlong, any one who looks like he might be servin' papers, sabe, you
+flash in a message. Make it a five-flash fo' anything suspicious, a
+three-flash fo' any one shackin' this way, even if you figger they're
+plumb harmless."</p>
+
+<p>"Seguro, Miguel." With the slang phrase, Jim, an upstanding young chap,
+despite his horse-bowed legs, walked over to the bunk-house for
+flash-mirror and gun, came back to his already caught-up and saddled
+horse, 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 over
+cantle and went streaming off for the Bald Butte in a cloud of dust.
+Sandy called to Buck Perches, oldest of his riders, whose exposed skin
+matched the leather of his saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"Buck, ef any visitors arrives while we're gone, you entertain 'em same
+as 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's
+got a seal to the bottom of it. We won't be to home. You'll be the only
+one to home 'cept Pedro an' Joe. They've got their instructions to know
+nothin'. They ain't supposed to know nothin'. You&mdash;you've stayed to the
+ranch to do some fixin' of yore saddle. Started, but come back when yore
+cinch bu'sted. Sabe? All the rest of the riders is on the range 'tendin'
+business. When they left, an' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>when you left with 'em, me an' Mormon an'
+Sam, with Miss Molly, was all here. So you supposed. Don't let 'em think
+yo're planted to feed 'em info'mation."</p>
+
+<p>Buck nodded, solemn as an image, his dark eyes twinkling a little.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm real pleasant to the sheriff an' sort of indifferent to this here
+Plimsoll person?" he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"Let 'em size up the thing fo' themselves. They'll find Pronto in the
+corral, also Sam's roan, which they know is our usual mounts. If they
+don't sabe the buckboard's gone, which they probably will, knowin' this
+outfit 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 ten
+o'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."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll sure do that. I sabe the play."</p>
+
+<p>"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?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't said good-by to Dad, or Grit," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy nodded. "Reckon you'd like to do that alone. Suppose you take Grit
+with you to the spring an' then leave him up in yore room."</p>
+
+<p>"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 of
+sleep but she had fought the thing out with herself and she was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>going
+to be game. She gave Sandy her grip and walked off toward the
+cottonwoods. Grit nosed along in her shadow, his muzzle touching her
+skirt.</p>
+
+<p>It was a big load for the buckboard with Mormon and Sam in the back seat
+crowded by the piled-up baggage, with Sandy driving and Molly beside
+him, flushed a little with growing excitement. But the buckskins were
+sinewed with whalebone and used to desert work. They surged forward at
+the word, tightening the tugs in an eager leap and settled down to a
+fast trot, out across the prairie. The riders, with the exception of
+Buck, and Jim, who was already close to the butte, which was midway
+between the ranch and Hereford, loped off, two and two, to their work,
+not to return until sun-down.</p>
+
+<p>It was still cool, the dust rose about them in eddies as they crossed
+the slowly descending slope of the sink that presently mounted again
+toward the far-off range. There was no apparent road, but Sandy chose a
+compass course between the sage for the first few miles, then skirted
+the mesquite. Sam leaned forward once when the buckskins had been pulled
+down to a walk and spoke to Molly.</p>
+
+<p>"See that notch in the range?" he asked, "oveh to the no'th, where the
+shadder's blue. That's Paso Cabras, the Pass of the Goats. Some says
+it's named 'cause the cliffs is fair lousy with goats, some 'cause on'y
+a goat can make the climb. County line's five mile' out on the plain
+beyond the pass. Railroad two mo', at Caroca."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>"Are we goin' through the pass?" she asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll tell you this much, Molly. If we sh'ud decide to go that way
+an' strike the pass afore the sheriff catches up with us, he'll have to
+foller afoot or go clean round the mesa. The Goat's Pass ain't no place
+fo' an automobeel, nor an airyplane neither. Don't believe there's a
+level spot wider'n five foot or bigger than that much square."</p>
+
+<p>Either Mormon or Sam sat always with neck twisted, watching for a
+flash-signal from the butte that stood up clearly in the crystal
+atmosphere, sometimes distorted, changing hue from chocolate to indigo,
+never seeming to get any farther away, just as the mesa range never
+seemed to get any closer. Sometimes Molly relieved them as lookout, but
+hour after hour passed without sign.</p>
+
+<p>Close to noon they reached a watering hole, with water none too cool or
+sweet, but still welcome. There the buckskins were unhitched, rubbed
+down and, after they had cooled off, given water and grain. Save for
+sweat marks, they showed little sign of the grueling trip through the
+soft dirt. A strip of lava, half a mile of ancient flow, lay between
+them and the long up-slope of the desert to the mesa. As they ate lunch
+in the shadow of some barrel cactus, Sandy suddenly gave a grunt of
+satisfaction, pointing with outstretched forefinger to the butte. Five
+flashes had flickered up. They were repeated. Jim had signaled a
+suspicious party on their way to Three Star. The sheriff was out with
+his papers.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>"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? They
+ought to be showin' up. I told 'em noon."</p>
+
+<p>"On time," announced Sam. The two riders who had last talked with Sandy
+rode out of a straggling thicket of cactus and skirted the lava flow.
+Each led a spare horse, unsaddled.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h2>BOLSA GAP</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Sheriff Jordan had a high-powered car purchased, not so much from the
+fees of his office as with his perquisites, a word covering a wide range
+of possibilities, all of which the sheriff made the most of. He was
+proud of his car and proud of his ability to run it anywhere at
+record-breaking speed. It carried an extra water container that could be
+mounted on the running board for desert work, an extra gasoline and oil
+supply, there were always extra tires strapped on, extra spark plugs
+handy and his batteries were always well charged.</p>
+
+<p>"I aim to make her efficient," said Jordan, "bein' she represents my
+office. That's me. If I needed me an airyplane, I'd get me one to hunt
+the outlaws out of cover, an' I'd run it myself, an' run it right.
+That's me, Bill Jordan!"</p>
+
+<p>Boaster though he was, there was little doubt as to Jordan's efficiency
+or his courage. He brought in the criminals he went out to get, some
+alive, some dead; prosecuted the first with zeal and collected the
+rewards with alacrity. The trouble was that he did <i>not</i> always go out
+after certain individuals, who were outside the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>law, as interpreted by
+the people, but inside it, as protected by the political ring to which
+Jordan, with other prominent officials, belonged.</p>
+
+<p>Jordan had taken up his brother-in-law's grievance with the greater zest
+since he had a half-interest in Plimsoll's Good Luck Pool Parlors, a
+share that had cost him good money. On top of that had come Sandy's
+flouting of him on the bridge in front of the sheriff's own followers.
+He had to save his face, politically as well as personally.</p>
+
+<p>To secure papers bringing Molly Casey within the jurisdiction of the
+court was not a difficult matter, but it was not so easy to get them at
+an early hour, since court was not in session and the judge none too
+eager to arise of a morning. But Jordan knew nothing of the visit of
+Miranda Bailey to the Three Star and he pressed matters with no special
+expedition, though he characteristically wasted no time.</p>
+
+<p>Armed with the necessary warrant, backed by an assurance that, unless
+some extraordinary howl went up, the girl would be given into the
+custody of Jim Plimsoll as guardian, by virtue of his claim to
+partnership with her father, the sheriff, Plimsoll and two others, all
+three deputized for the occasion, started the car from Hereford at a
+quarter of twelve, after an early lunch. They passed the butte where Jim
+lay prone atop without noticing the flashes he shot into the sky. At a
+few minutes after twelve they reached Three Star where Buck, seated on
+the porch, his saddle astride a sawhorse, stitched away at a cinch.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>Buck played his part well, allowing Jordan to ferret out information to
+his own satisfaction. It appeared plain that all three partners had
+taken flight with the girl in the buckboard. Sandy's pinto and Sam's
+roan were in the corral. Jordan overlooked one thing, the counting of
+saddles, though that would not have been an easy determination.</p>
+
+<p>"Some one tipped this thing off," he said sternly to Buck. "Who was it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Meanin' this visit's offishul?" asked Buck. "What's it fo', Sheriff?
+Moonshine or hawss stealin'?" He spoke in a jesting note, his weathered
+face impassive as the shell of a walnut, but Plimsoll scowled, noting
+the turn of Buck's bland countenance in his direction for the first
+time. It was whispered that the brands on Plimsoll's horse ranch were
+not those usually known in the county, nor even in the counties
+adjoining. There were rumors, smothered by Plimsoll's stand with the
+authorities, of bands of horses, driven by strangers, arriving
+wearied&mdash;and always by night&mdash;at his corrals.</p>
+
+<p>"It don't matter&mdash;to you&mdash;what it's for," answered Jordan. "I'll
+overhaul 'em an' bring 'em back. Crossin' the county line won't do 'em
+any good with this warrant. Ef they try hide-out tactics or put up a
+scrap, it'll be kidnappin' an' that's a penal offense."</p>
+
+<p>Buck whistled.</p>
+
+<p>"Thought you wasn't goin' to let me know," he said. "It's the gel."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's been here to tip it off?" asked Jordan.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>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 of
+the tobacco.</p>
+
+<p>"Search me," he drawled. "Me, I don't stay up to the house."</p>
+
+<p>Jordan, temporarily discomfited but still confident of bringing back his
+quarry, marked the trail of the buckboard in the alkali soil, noted the
+hoof-prints of the diverging riders and nodded with the semi-smile and
+half closed-eyes of conscious superiority. He had already elicited
+apparently reluctant information from Pedro as to the four passengers in
+the buckboard. Buck had been more reticent. To the sheriff Buck's
+reticence betokened desire to cover the fugitives. He fancied that
+Pedro's testimony was the result of Jordan's own cleverness in
+cross-questioning. Joe resorted to "no sabes."</p>
+
+<p>"You 'tendin' ranch?" Jordan asked Buck, at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Yep. Till I git fresh orders."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll bring you back those orders, also yore bosses, before sun-down."</p>
+
+<p>Buck permitted himself his first grin.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to go some," he said. "Goin' to bring 'em back in irons?
+Figgerin' on abduction?"</p>
+
+<p>Jordan gave no hint of how Buck's shaft might have targeted his
+intentions, but climbed into the car and started it. The powerful
+machine went lunging through the soft dirt, following the blurry trail
+of the buckboard's iron tires, throwing up dust as a fast launch churns
+spray.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>After leaving the Three Star all semblance of road vanished. The
+alkaline soil was almost as fine as flour, and deep. This and the fear
+of losing the trail kept the machine down to a limit that would have
+been 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 and
+Jordan stopped, replenished, reoiled. Reaching the lava strip where the
+buckboard had halted for water and the noon meal, they found the trail
+skirting the flow toward the south. The main mass of the mesa, broken up
+into gorges, gaps, stairway cliffs, marked by purple shadows, scanty in
+the early afternoon but gradually widening, was about fifteen miles
+away. Jordan braked his car. He ignored the water in the spring. His
+spare supply was still ample and was distilled, not alkaline.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to one of his deputies.</p>
+
+<p>"Which way do you figger they're headin', Phil?" he asked. "Is there a
+cut or a pass through the mesa?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 I
+know 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 usually
+know where they are headin'. Trail's plain."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure is." But Jordan scratched his head a trifle doubtfully. If Sandy
+Bourke and his chums had been tipped off, this trail was a little too
+plain to be true. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>Presently, as the machine plowed on south, they
+struck a patch of desert where the rock surfaced out and showed no trace
+of hoof or tire. Jordan stopped the car and the four got out, casting
+around, expecting that this outcropping had been used as a device to
+throw off the pursuit. Fairly fresh horse droppings showed that the
+buckboard had held to its course and, the rock passed, the trail showed
+plain again, curving in toward the broken wall of the mesa, leading
+toward a cleft that was plainly distinguishable.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Bolsa Boquete," announced the deputy named Phil. "I never went
+through it."</p>
+
+<p>"What's it mean&mdash;the name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Boquete's gap. Bolsa's money&mdash;not jest the same as dinero. It's the
+word they have on the bank winders down in Mexico. Exchange."</p>
+
+<p>"Money Gap? That don't tell us a thing," said Jordan. "But I'll bet my
+star they've gone through it all right. We ought to be not much more'n
+an hour behind them."</p>
+
+<p>"They're on about us getting the papers," said Plimsoll. He had not said
+much on the trip so far. "Too much talk nowadays. You can't whisper in a
+dugout but what the news is all over the county inside of twenty
+minutes. Bourke sabes that getting the girl out of the county won't do
+any good; he aims to get her out of the state and any Arizona court or
+sheriff jurisdiction. He's the brains of the outfit. We've got to get
+her, Jordan."</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't tellin' me a thing I don't know, Jim. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>But there's one thing
+you <i>can</i> tell me. Is that tip you got about Dynamite a sure one?"</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll, sitting beside Jordan, flashed him a look of contempt.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I'm chasing this girl because I'm stuck on her? One of the
+party with this eastern crowd dropped into my place and talked. Showed
+some samples and I had a good look at them. He happened to leave a bit
+or two behind and I had them assayed. Here is where I get back the money
+I put up to grubstake Casey."</p>
+
+<p>Jordan gave him a grin of derision.</p>
+
+<p>"You an' yore grubstake," he jeered.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll said nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>As they neared the gap, translated by Phil in the unconsciousness that
+Bolsa had two meanings in Spanish, Jordan slowed up.</p>
+
+<p>"No shootin' in this deal," he warned. "Come to a show-down, Bourke
+won't buck the law soon's we show papers. So long's he ain't been
+notified the court is makin' a ward of the girl they ain't done nothin'
+wrong. But&mdash;if he resists, that's different."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't goin' to be awful anxious to start shootin'," said Phil. "They
+done some pretty shootin' at the bridge that time. Sandy Bourke's a
+two-handed lead flinger an' Soda-Water Sam's no slouch. Neither's
+Mormon. Me, I'll be peaceable 'less it's forced on me otherwise."</p>
+
+<p>They entered the split in the mesa. The cliffs shimmered in the heat,
+their outlines fuzzy. Branched and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>pillared cactus showed in gray-green
+reptilian growths. The soft earth, through which here and there the
+volcanic cores of the range were thrust, seemed as if it could supply
+the paint shops of a nation with almost any hue desired, ready for
+mixing with oil or water. Waves of heat beat between the walls of the
+cleft. The floor was fairly smooth, swept clean by occasional
+cloud-bursts, save for the skeleton of a tree and another of a too-far
+wandering steer, both blanched white as the alkali-crusted boulders. It
+was nearly level going and the car pounded along, all the occupants
+looking for trail sign. The mesa corridor, nowhere more than thirty feet
+wide, twisted and snaked, three hundred feet of sheer wall on either
+side topped by sloping cliffs mounting far higher toward the actual top
+of the mesa.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep an eye peeled for rain, Phil," said Jordan, "I'd sure hate to get
+caught in here with a cloud-burst."</p>
+
+<p>"Right," answered Phil. "I c'ud see better if I had a drink. Plimsoll,
+you got somethin' on the hip, ain't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll produced a bottle and the four of them drank the fiery
+unrectified, unstamped liquor. Ahead was an abrupt turn. Jordan slowed.
+Making the curve, a fence stretched across the gorge, reaching from wall
+to wall, a four-strand barrier of barbed-wire, strung on patent steel
+posts. Jordan braked with emergency. The sight of such a fence in such a
+place was as unexpected as the sun-dried carcass of a steer <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>would be on
+Broadway. Plimsoll and Jordan cursed, the former in pure anger, the
+latter with some appreciation of the stratagem for delay.</p>
+
+<p>"We can tear it down quicker'n they fixed it," he said. "I've got a pair
+of nippers in the tool kit. They can't have driven in those posts deep.
+Come on."</p>
+
+<p>A voice floated down to them.</p>
+
+<p>"You leave that fence alone, gents. <i>If</i> you please. I went to a heap of
+trouble puttin' up that fence. It's <i>my</i> fence."</p>
+
+<p>They looked up, to see Mormon seated on the top of a great boulder that
+had land-slipped from the cliff into the gorge. From thirty feet above
+them he looked down, amiably enough, though there was a glint of blued
+metal in his right hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Jim Plimsoll," he went on. "I ain't seen you-all fo' quite a
+while. You fellers out fo' a picnic?"</p>
+
+<p>Jordan advanced to the foot of the rock, producing his papers.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a bench warrant here to bring into court for the appointment of
+a proper guardian, the child Molly Casey, she being a minor and without
+natural or legal protectors. I've got yore name on these papers, Mormon
+Peters, 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 yore
+actions. You put up that gun an' come down here an' help to pull down
+this fence, illegally erected on property not yore own. Otherwise you're
+subject to arrest."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>"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 begin
+with. Nor she ain't been here. An' I don't sabe no obstruction of the
+law by settin' up a fence in a mesa ca&ntilde;on to round up broom-tails."</p>
+
+<p>One of the deputies snickered.</p>
+
+<p>"Broom-tails?" cried Jordan. "That's too thin. There's no mustangs
+hangin' round a mesa like this, 'thout feed or water." He flushed
+angrily. He was short-tempered and he was certain the fence was a ruse
+to gain time, with Mormon left behind to parley. It all seemed to point
+to Sandy Bourke making for the railroad.</p>
+
+<p>"You never kin tell about wild hawsses, or even branded ones," said
+Mormon pleasantly. "Ask Plimsoll. He picks 'em up in all sorts of
+places."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll cursed. Mormon still held his gun conspicuously, and he
+restrained his own impulse to draw. Jordan wheeled on the gambler.</p>
+
+<p>"You keep out o' this, Jim Plimsoll," he said. "I'm runnin' this end of
+it. He's talkin' against time. You come down an' help remove this
+fence," 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 my
+warrant."</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't on a public highway neither," retorted Mormon. "But I'll come
+down. Don't you go to clippin' those wires an' destroyin' what <i>is</i> my
+property." He slid down the rock and commenced to unbend the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>metal
+straps that held the wire in place. Jordan and one of his men followed
+suit with pliers from the motor kit. The job took several minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll come along with us," said Jordan. "You lied about the girl
+comin' this way. I've a notion to take you in for that. But I reckon you
+can go back in the buckboard with yore partners."</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon I'll travel in the buckboard, when you catch up with it," said
+Mormon. "But I'll come erlong with you fo' a spell&mdash;of my own free will.
+I don't see no harm in takin' the gel visitin' anyway," he concluded as
+he took an extra seat in the tonneau.</p>
+
+<p>Jordan made no answer but started the engine. The gorge began to narrow
+perceptibly, its floor slanted upward and the machine labored with a
+mixture that constantly needed more air. The way zigzagged for half a
+mile 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 it
+mounted to a sharp turn. Leaning against a post stood Soda-Water Sam,
+smoking a cigarette, his gun holster hitched forward, the butt of the
+weapon close to one hand. Jordan and his men leaped out as the car
+stopped, Mormon following more slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Afternoon, hombres all," said Sam. "Joy-ridin'?"</p>
+
+<p>Jordan wasted no more explanations.</p>
+
+<p>"You take down this fence," he fairly shouted.</p>
+
+<p>"What fo'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ask yore partner."</p>
+
+<p>"Sheriff claims we're cumberin' the landscape with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>our li'l' corral,
+Sam," said Mormon. "He's got a paper that gives him right of way, he
+says. Seen anything of Molly Casey?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not for quite a spell. Go easy with them wires, Sheriff. Price of
+wire's riz considerable."</p>
+
+<p>The second barrier down and the car through, Jordan ordered Sam to get
+in the car.</p>
+
+<p>"Jump, or I'll put the cuffs on you," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+buckboard. It's round the bend. I was jest goin' to hitch up."</p>
+
+<p>Jordan glared unbelievingly, yet Sam's words carried conviction.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo're sure goin' to have trouble turnin' yore car right here," Sam went
+on 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 Bolsa
+Boquete. Bolsa means purse, Sheriff, one of them knitted purse nets.
+Good name for it. Look for yo'self, if you don't believe me."</p>
+
+<p>Jordan and Plimsoll strode on up the pitch. Mormon followed, Sam stayed
+with the two deputies. Around the bend stood the buckboard with the
+buckskins in a patch of shadow under a scoop in the ending wall that
+turned the so-called pass to a box ca&ntilde;on.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you the gel warn't erlong," said Mormon. "She and Sandy was with
+us fo' a spell. But they're goin' visitin' an' they shifted to saddle
+way back, out there by the spring beside the lava strip."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>Mormon's bland smile masked a sterner intent than showed in his eyes.
+Jordan, furious at being outwitted, dared not provoke open combat. He
+had nothing on which to make arrest of the two Three Star partners and
+he was far from sure of his ability to do so under any circumstances.
+Mormon hitched up the buckskins, but followed the sheriff and the
+scowling, silent Plimsoll back to the car.</p>
+
+<p>"See that notch, way over to the no'th?" said Mormon, bent on exploiting
+the 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 the
+on'y pass over the mesa. If Sandy had knowed you wanted him he might
+have waited. Why didn't you phone? Ninety mile' around the mesa, nearest
+way, an' it must be all of five o'clock now, by the sun."</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, puzzled by the change in the sheriff's face. Chagrin had
+given place to exultation.</p>
+
+<p>"Catch the seven o'clock train at Caroca?" said Jordan. "Thanks for the
+information, Mormon. That schedule was changed last week when they
+pulled off two trains on the main line. The train leaves at nine-thirty
+an', if I can't make ninety miles in four hours an' a half, I'll make
+you a present of my car. Stand back, both of you. No monkey business
+with my tires. Cover 'em, boys. The law's on my side, you two gabbing
+word-shooters."</p>
+
+<p>He handled the car wonderfully, backing and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>turning her, and, while
+Mormon and Sam stood powerless, the former crestfallen, the latter
+sardonically gazing at his partner, the machine went tilting, snorting
+down the gorge.</p>
+
+<p>"You sure spilled the beans, Mormon," said Sam finally. "I'd have
+thought them three wives of yores 'ud have taught you the vally of
+silence."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't got a damned word to say, Sam. But I'd be obliged if you'd kick
+me&mdash;good. Use yore heels, I see you got yore spurs on."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h2>THE PASS OF THE GOATS</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>In the throat of the gorge the sun shone red on the tawny cliffs. The
+trail, a scant four feet wide at its best, with crumbled, weathered
+margin, crept along the face of the cliff above a deep ca&ntilde;on where the
+night shadows had already gathered in a purple flood, slowly rising as
+the rays of the setting sun shifted upward, not yet staining the summit.</p>
+
+<p>It was close to seven o'clock. Sandy's lean face was anxious. The girl
+drooped in her seat tired from the long climb, not yet inured to the
+saddle. The horses traveled gamely, sure-footed but obviously losing
+endurance. Every little while they stopped of their own accord, their
+flanks heaving painfully in the altitude.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy had only once crossed the Pass of the Goats and that was years
+before. There had been washouts since then. Several times they were
+forced to dismount and lead the nervous beasts, Sandy doing the coaxing,
+helping Molly over the difficult places. He rode a mare named Goldie and
+the girl a bay with a white blaze that Sandy had chosen for the mountain
+work and which had been brought to them at the lava strip.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>The mare halted, neck stretched out, turning it to look inquiringly at
+her master. A sharp incline lay ahead, the path little better than one
+made by the goats for which the pass was named. Behind, Molly's mount
+followed suit, blowing at the dust. Sandy patted the mare's neck and
+dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>"It's late, ain't it?" asked Molly. "Will we miss that train?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 added
+admiringly, "you must be clean tuckered out."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head with an attempt at a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be glad when we start goin' down, fer a change," she admitted,
+looking into the gloomy trough of the ca&ntilde;on through which the night wind
+soughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tighten up yore cinches," said Sandy. "Worst of the climb's jest
+ahead. Then we start to drop down t'other side. You don't have to git
+off. Trail's bound to be better once we git atop the mesa and start
+down. Mesa's right narrer, as I remember. T'other side's away from the
+weather. There's a ca&ntilde;on with oak trees an' a stream of water." He
+tugged at the leathers, his knee against the bay's ribs as she grunted.</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't much furtheh to go, li'l' hawss," he chatted on. "Downhill
+all the way soon an' then a drink to wash out yore mouth an' the best
+feed in Caroca fo' the pair of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Gits dark mighty quick up here," said the girl.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>A great cloud was ballooning above them, like a dirigible that had lost
+buoyancy and was bumping along the mesa ridge. Its belly was black, its
+western side ruddy in the sunset. Sandy viewed it apprehensively. In
+superficial survey the mesa seemed much like the stranded carcass of a
+mastodonic creature left behind when the waters departed from these
+inland seas. A hard skeleton of igneous rock, with clayey soil for
+flesh, riven and seamed and pitted, crumbling and dusty in the sun, ever
+disintegrating with wind and water and frost. Under a rain the trail was
+slimy as a whale's back. The cloud was soggy with moisture. Bursting, it
+would send torrents roaring down every ravine, wash out weathered masses
+of earth, sweep all before it as it gathered forces and rushed out on
+the desert, leaving the main ca&ntilde;ons carved a little richer, the surface
+of the soil on the sink a little deeper, against the time when men
+should control these storm waters or bring the precious fluid up from
+underground reservoirs and make the desert blossom like the rose.</p>
+
+<p>Where Molly and Sandy rode they were exposed to the first drench of a
+cloud-burst. Deeper in the pass, where the flood would be confined,
+their chance for escape would be infinitesimal. Even on the heights it
+would be precarious unless they could cross the remainder of the
+up-trail before the inevitable downpour.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy examined his own cinch and tightened it before he mounted. And he
+whispered something in the mare's ear that caused her to lip his
+sleeve.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>"Let yore hawss have his own way, Molly," he said. "I'm lettin' Goldie
+do the pickin' fo' the lead. Ready?"</p>
+
+<p>It was growing cold in the deepening twilight, the belt of sunshine was
+rapidly climbing toward the topmost palisades with the purple shadows in
+the gorge mounting, twisting and eddying in skeins of mist, twining up
+toward them. One spire ahead glowed golden. The cloud drifted down upon
+it, glooming and glowing on its sunset side. The crag pierced it, ripped
+it as it glided along, like the knife of a diver in the belly of a
+shark. A cold wind blew from the riven mass. Then came the hiss of
+descending waters. There was neither thunder nor lightning, only the
+steady rush of the rain that glazed the slippery trail, hid the opposing
+cliff from sight, sheeting it with dull silver, pounding, pitting,
+beating at them as they plodded doggedly on, almost blinded, trusting to
+the instinct of their horses.</p>
+
+<p>Through the steady patter began to sound the savage voice of torrents
+falling over cliffs, rapids rising and surging in deep gorges. The
+wetness and the cold sapped Molly's vitality. She shivered, her flesh
+seemed sodden, her hands and wrists began to puff and she saw their
+flesh was purple in the fading light. She rode with hands on the saddle
+horn, her head bowed, water streaming from the rim of her Stetson, the
+thud of the rain on her tired shoulders heavy as shot. The bay slipped,
+lurched, scrambled frantically for footing, hind feet skidding in the
+clay, haunches gathering desperately, heaving beneath her to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>effort
+that brought him back to the trail. She saw Sandy ahead, dimly, like a
+sheeted ghost, twisted in his saddle, watching her. From the hips down
+he was a part of the mare he rode, from waist up he was in such
+exquisite balance while keeping his individuality apart from the horse
+that, despite her present misery and a presentiment of coming evil that
+was beginning to encompass her, Molly realized what a magnificent rider
+he was, and clung to his strength and skill, sensing the comforting
+power of his manhood.</p>
+
+<p>To her right was the cliff, slimy with water, the trail so narrow that
+now and then her elbow dug into the soft stuff. To the left was
+blackness out of which mists ascended, writhing, like steamy vapors, the
+rain pelting into the gulf, far, far below; the thunder of augmenting
+waters. Masses of broken cloud swept on above their heads, purple and
+crimson and orange as they streamed across the summit like the tattered
+banners of a routed army. The light rayed upward at an acute angle. In a
+few moments it would be dark. But they were close to the top. The mare
+already stood on a level ledge of side-jutting rock, a horizontal
+protuberance that marked the extreme height of the Pass of the Goats,
+from which one could look down into the ca&ntilde;on of the oaks and the
+unfailing stream.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy heard a cry from Molly and saw, through the curtain of the falling
+rain, the wide-flared nostrils of her horse, its eyes protruding as the
+brute, with the ground slopping away beneath him, slid slowly down
+toward the gulf, the girl, her weight flung <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>forward on the withers, her
+face white as paper, turning to him mutely for help. It was a bad
+moment. Sandy and his mount stood upon an island in a shifting sea. The
+whole cliff seemed working and crawling, slithering down.</p>
+
+<p>He had no space to turn in, no chance to whirl his lariat, even for a
+side throw. There was no time to spin a loop. But his hand detached the
+rope, flying fingers found the free end as he pivoted in the saddle,
+thighs welded to the mare.</p>
+
+<p>"Take a turn about the horn!" he shouted. "Hang to the end yo'se'f!" He
+sent the line jerking back, whistling as it streaked across the girl's
+shoulders. She clutched for it, with plenty of slack, snubbed it about
+the saddle horn, clung to the end, made a bight of it about her body.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy spoke to the mare.</p>
+
+<p>"Steady, li'l' lady, steady!" The rope was about his own horn; he
+thanked God that he had examined the cinches of Molly's saddle. The bay
+was cat-footed; with the help of the mare Sandy believed he could dig
+and scrape and climb to safety. It was the decision of a split-second
+and he did not dare risk dragging the girl from the saddle past the
+struggling horse.</p>
+
+<p>He felt Goldie stiffen beneath him, braced against the strain she knew
+was coming. The taut lariat hummed, it bruised into Sandy's thigh.
+Behind, the bay snorted, struggling gallantly. They were poised on the
+brink of death for a moment, two&mdash;three&mdash;and then the mare began to move
+slowly forward, neck <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>curved, ears cocked to her master's urging, while
+the bay sloshed through the treacherous muck, found foothold, lost it,
+made a frantic leap, another, and landed trembling on the ledge. Sandy
+leaped from his saddle and caught Molly, sliding from her seat in sheer
+exhaustion and the revulsion of terror, clinging closely to him.</p>
+
+<p>"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 down
+inter the ca&ntilde;on a ways an' then we'll light a fire an' warm up a bit,
+'fore we go on."</p>
+
+<p>She found her feet and cleared from his hold, gasping for recovery of
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm all right," she said. "I was scared an' yet I knew you'd pull me
+out. I'm plumb shamed of myself. Jest like a damned gel to act that
+way."</p>
+
+<p>"Shucks! You wasn't half as scared as the bay. Wonder did he strain
+himself?" He passed clever hands over the bay's legs, talking to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo're all right, ol' surelegs. Right as rain." Goldie, the mare, stood
+stock-still with trailing lariat, watching them intelligently in the
+dusk that was growing quickly luminous as star after star shone through
+the flying wrack. A clean, strong wind blew through the throat of the
+pass. Sandy recoiled his lariat, gave Molly a hand to her foot to lift
+her to her saddle, mounted himself and they rode slowly down. The trail
+was in better shape this side, though half an inch of water still topped
+it. The turmoil of running <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>waters far below burdened the night, but the
+danger from the storm was over.</p>
+
+<p>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 town
+they were aiming for whose livery stable was, in the march of the times,
+divided between horses and machines. There he expected to put up the
+horses until they could be returned to Three Star, and there he figured
+on hiring a car and a driver if, as he anticipated, there were no more
+trains that night. He believed that Mormon and Sam had delayed the
+sheriff. Probably the latter had given up the chase, but there was no
+telling. Jordan's best attribute was his pertinacity. They should lose
+no time in getting out of the state.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h2>CAROCA</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>As Sandy had promised, there was a wide-bottomed ca&ntilde;on where great oaks
+grew on the flats beside the unfailing stream. The trees were only vast
+shapes in the starlight, the long grass was wet and clinging, the creek
+spouted and tore along as Sandy led the way on the mare to a shelving
+bench, a place where he had camped once long before and, with his
+out-of-doors-man's craft, never forgotten. Molly was tired almost to
+insensibility as to what might be going on, soaked and chilled to
+limpness. Sandy got her out of the saddle and into a shallow cave in a
+sandy bank. The next thing she knew a fire was leaping and sending light
+and warmth into her nook.</p>
+
+<p>She heard Sandy talking to his mare. Between the range rider and his
+mount there is always an understanding born of loneliness, close
+companionship and mutual appreciation. Sandy was certain that his ponies
+understood most of what he said, and they were very sure that Sandy
+understood them thoroughly.</p>
+
+<p>"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' the
+bay, an' we'll dry out these blankets a bit. Can't let you stay long <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>or
+we'll git all stiffened up, but Chuck Goodwin, down to Caroca, he knows
+hawses an' he's a pal of mine. He'll fix you with a hot mash an', after
+that, anything on the menu from alfalfy to sugar. The pair of you. You
+bay, 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 you
+are!"</p>
+
+<p>Molly listened drowsily to the affection in his voice. It was nice to be
+spoken to that way, she thought. Nice to be looked after. Her dad had
+been fond of her, but his words had lacked the silk, the caress that
+savored the strength, as it did with Sandy. She snuggled into the warm
+heat-reflecting sand like a rabbit in its burrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Eat this, Molly, an' we got to be on our way." Sandy was handing her a
+cupful of hot savory stew, made for the trip, warmed up hastily, the
+best kind of a meal after their strenuous experience, though Sandy
+bemoaned its quality.</p>
+
+<p>"Figgered you an' me 'ud eat on the Pullman ter-night," he said. "But
+this snack'll do us no harm. We'll git a cup of coffee in Caroca if
+there's a chance."</p>
+
+<p>She gulped the reviving food gratefully, strength coming back with the
+fuel that gave both warmth and motive power. Soon they were jogging on
+down the wide trough of the ca&ntilde;on 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 slopes
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>receding, its great bulk dim mass, the twin notches that marked the
+Pass of the Goats hardly discernible against the sky. They crossed a
+white road, unfenced but evidently a main source of travel though now
+deserted.</p>
+
+<p>"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 we
+missed the train. Sleepy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some," she admitted.</p>
+
+<p>"Me too," lied Sandy companionably.</p>
+
+<p>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. Molly
+had listened silently. Only once she had spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you marry her 'stead of that Redding?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy laughed, whole-heartedly.</p>
+
+<p>"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' me
+settled down to the ranch. Never had time enough in one place to fool
+round the gels."</p>
+
+<p>"Sam says yo're woman-shy?" queried Molly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe I am. But it ain't the way a dawg is gun-shy. Must be the
+horrible example Mormon's set up."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you like wimmen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure do. Admire 'em pow'ful. Never met the one I'd want to tie to,
+that's all, Molly."</p>
+
+<p>"None of 'em pritty enough?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>"Pritty? Shucks! Looks don't count so all-fired much. The woman I most
+admired was the wife of ol' Pete Holden, a desert prospector an'
+drifter, like yore dad, Molly. She was old an' tough an' wiry, like he
+was. I don't figger she'd ever have taken a blue ribbon in a beauty
+contest, but she was like first-grade linoleum, the pattern wore clean
+through an' the stuff was top quality. She'd drifted with Pete over most
+of Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Arizony, Nevada and paht of New
+Mexico 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 hold
+out on him was once in the Ca&ntilde;on Pintada when he woke up in the night
+and saw her pourin' water out of her canteen into his. Nothin' pritty
+about Kate Holden, but she was full woman-size from foot callus to gray
+ha'r, back to back with Pete all the time she wasn't standin' side of
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"She warn't eddicated?" asked Molly.</p>
+
+<p>"She was. Some thought it funny, for Pete was no scholar. I've listened
+with him, more'n once when she'd tell us things about plants and
+insects, or about the stars, things we'd never dreamed of. They say she
+c'ud play the pianny an' she sure c'ud sing. Ask Sam about that. But
+Pete was her man an' she was his woman, so they trailed fine together."</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said Molly. "She loved him."</p>
+
+<p>There was a peculiar quality to the tone of the girl's voice. It was not
+the first time that Sandy had noticed it, lately wondering a little, not
+realizing that his own <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>observation was a recognition based upon
+response. Now he figured that the low softness of her speech was due to
+her tired condition and a little wave of tenderness swept him, blent
+with admiration of her pluck. Saddle-racked, nerve-tried, she had never
+murmured, never mentioned the trials of the trail.</p>
+
+<p>They entered the little town, once a cattle station, now renamed in
+musical Spanish, Caroca,&mdash;A Caress&mdash;a spot where fruits were grown and
+shipped and flowers bloomed the year round wherever the water caressed
+the earth. Sandy rode the mare into the livery where the last skirmish
+between hoof and rim, iron and rubber tire was being fought, and called
+for "Chuck" Goodwin.</p>
+
+<p>A stout man came out, not so heavy, not so big as Mormon, but sheathed
+in flesh with the armor of ease and good living. He peered up at Sandy,
+then let out a shout.</p>
+
+<p>"You long-legged, ornery, freckle-faced, gun-packin' galoot, Sandy
+Bourke! Light off'n that cayuse, you an' yore lady friend. Where in time
+did you-all drop from?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 he
+is agent."</p>
+
+<p>"Got a few oats left fo' yore hawsses, Sandy. Miss, won't you come
+inside the office? Where you bound, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>"We was aimin' to catch the seven o'clock train east, makin' fo' New
+Mexico 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 we
+quit hurryin' an' loafed in. Chuck, have you got a machine you c'ud rent
+us, with a driver?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 Miss
+Barbara, or Mrs. Barbara as she is now. But&mdash;" He looked at the wall
+clock. "It's a quarter of ten. Yore train's been altered to suit main
+line schedules. She don't come through till nine-thirty an' she's
+gen'ally late makin' the grade. I ain't heard her whistle yet. I
+wouldn't wonder but what you can make it. Not that I'm aimin' none to
+hurry you."</p>
+
+<p>The ex-blacksmith reached for the telephone and got his connection.</p>
+
+<p>"Runnin' twenty minutes late," he announced. "Hop in my car an' we'll
+jest about make her. She don't do much more'n hesitate at Caroca when
+she's behind time."</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll take good care of the hawsses, Chuck?" he said. "I'll probably
+be back for 'em myse'f in three-fo' days."</p>
+
+<p>"Seguro." Goodwin stepped on his starter and the flywheel whirred to
+sputtering explosions. Another <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>car came limping down the street, flat
+on both rims of one side, its paint plastered with mud, one light out,
+the other dimmed with mire. The driver called to Goodwin.</p>
+
+<p>"Which way to the depot?"</p>
+
+<p>Goodwin, his hand on the lever, foot on the clutch, was astounded to
+hear Sandy hissing out.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell 'em. Scoot ahead full speed." Then, over his shoulder to the
+girl, "Crouch down there, Molly." Goodwin was still a man of action and
+he knew Sandy Bourke of old. Out came the pedal, the gears engaged and
+the car shot ahead, beneath a swinging arc light. Sandy's hat-rim did
+not sufficiently shade his face or Molly's action had not been swift
+enough. There came a yell and a string of curses from the crippled car
+which backed and turned and followed, its torn treads flapping.</p>
+
+<p>Goodwin asked no questions of Sandy. If the latter wanted ever to tell
+him 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 dodged
+around corners recklessly. A red lantern showed ahead in the middle of
+the road. They crashed through a light obstruction of boards and
+trestles, overturning the lantern and plowed on over rough stones.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm mayor," said Goodwin with a grin. "Breakin' my own rules but I
+figger that broken stone'll bother 'em some. We'll chance it."</p>
+
+<p>They lunged through, regardless of tires and, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>behind them, the pursuing
+car rattled, lurched, skidded. A third tire blew out and as Goodwin
+swung a corner with two wheels in the air the sheriff's machine smashed
+viciously across the sidewalk, poking its crumpling radiator into a
+cottonwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Brazen bulls!" shouted Goodwin. "There she blows! You got to run."</p>
+
+<p>The depot was ahead, to one side of the road-crossing. The train, its
+clanging bell slowing for the stop, ground to a halt, the conductor
+swinging from a platform to glance at the "clear" board. He waved
+"ahead" as Sandy and Molly raced up and clambered to the platform from
+which the trainman had dropped off. Now the latter remounted while the
+train restarted, gathered speed.</p>
+
+<p>"Where to?" he asked Sandy, surveying the pair of them curiously.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy did not answer. He was watching four running figures coming down
+the street. A star flashed on the breast of one of them, a star dulled
+with mud. Goodwin had disappeared. Jordan pulled up, Plimsoll close
+behind him, and the depot building shut off Sandy's view.</p>
+
+<p>"Where to?" asked the conductor again. "Got reservations?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bound for Boville, New Mexico. On the El Paso and Southwestern. What's
+the charges? No reservations, but we rode fifty mile' across the mesa to
+make the train."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy produced his roll and at the same time he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>grinned in the light of
+the conductor's lantern. And Sandy's smile was worth much more than
+ordinary currency. It stamped him bona-fide, certified his character.
+The conductor's profession made him apt at such endorsements.</p>
+
+<p>"We take you to Phoenix," he said. "Change there for El Paso. I can give
+you a spare upper for the lady."</p>
+
+<p>Molly, all eyes, tired though they were, was staring at the Pullman
+Afro-American, flashing eyes and teeth and buttons at her and even more
+at Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Fine!" said Sandy. "Smoker's good enough fo' me. He's got a bed for
+you, Molly. See you in the morning."</p>
+
+<p>He waited, countenancing her while she climbed the short ladder to the
+already curtained berth. Molly's system might be aquiver with wonder but
+she never showed loss of wits or poise. She might have traveled so a
+hundred times. Back of the curtain she curled up half-undressed but,
+even as Sandy registered to himself with a low chuckle: "She never
+turned a hair or shied."</p>
+
+<p>He found the smoking-room empty and rolled cigarettes. Presently the
+conductor came in to go over his batch of tickets and accounts.</p>
+
+<p>"Cattle?" he asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. Three Star Ranch, nigh to Hereford."</p>
+
+<p>"Business good these days? Beef's high enough in the city."</p>
+
+<p>"It's fair in the main," answered Sandy. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>"Sometimes we seem right happy
+an' prosperous an' then ag'in," he added with a twinkle in his eyes,
+"we're jest a jump ahead of the sheriff."</p>
+
+<p>"Boss," said the porter to the conductor, later, "Ah reckon that's a bad
+man fo' suah. Carryin' two of them six-guns. You figgah he's elopin' wiv
+that gal?"</p>
+
+<p>The conductor surveyed his aide disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>"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?"</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h2>SANDY RETURNS</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Eight days passed before Sandy came riding back on Goldie, leading the
+bay, reaching the Three Star at the end of sunset. Mormon was in his
+chair with the one letter that Sandy had written on his lap. It was
+almost too dark to read it. Mormon's eyes were beginning to fail him at
+anything short of long distance but he knew the contents by heart, yet
+he liked to keep the letter near him as a dog loves a favorite bone long
+after all the nourishment from it has been absorbed. Mormon was still
+penitent. 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 to
+so close a chance, neither did Sam forget occasionally to remind him of
+his lapse of tongue.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy pulled in the mare beyond the corral. He could hear the sound of
+Sam's harmonica and pictured him with the instrument cuddled up under
+his great mustache. Sam was playing <i>The Girl I Left Behind Me</i> and he
+managed to breathe a good deal of pathos into the primitive mouth organ.</p>
+
+<p>"It's sure good to be home, Goldie," said Sandy. The mare whinnied. The
+bay nickered. Answers <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>came back from the corral. Pronto, Sandy's first
+string horse, came trotting cross the corral, head up.</p>
+
+<p>"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-morrer
+together." Then he let out a mighty, "Hello, the house!"</p>
+
+<p>Sam's lilt ceased abruptly. The riders came hurrying. Sam appeared, with
+Mormon 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.</p>
+
+<p>"Lemme go," said Sandy. "I'm hungry as a spring b'ar. Where's Pedro?
+Pedro, I'm hungry&mdash;<i>muy hambriento</i>. <i>Despachese Vd. Pronto!
+Huevos&mdash;seis huevos&mdash;fritos! Frijoles! Jamon! Cafe! Panecilos! Todo el
+rancho! Pronto!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Si, se&ntilde;or, inmediatamente.</i>" 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!</p>
+
+<p>His two partners watched him eat, plying him with food and then with
+question after question about the trip, about Barbara Redding and about
+Molly's going to school. Mormon made abject apology for talking too much
+and Sandy told how close a shave it had been.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't cotton to playin' jack-rabbit to Plimsoll and Jordan's
+coyotes," said Sandy. "Speshully Plimsoll, who's at the bottom of the
+whole thing. Nex' time he may not have the law backin' him, an' I won't
+have to run. How's the sheriff?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>"Sort of tamed. They've been kiddin' him a mite. Seems he done some
+boastin' 'fore he started. His car's laid up fo' repairs. Jordan's
+layin' low. Miss Bailey, she's at the head of the Wimmen's League to
+gen'ally clean up politics an' the town, one to the same time. I figger
+the first thing their broom's goin' to locate'll be either Jordan or
+Plimsoll. They're sure goin' into all the dark corners an' under the
+furniture. She's a hustler an' she's thorough, is Mirandy Bailey."</p>
+
+<p>"Where'd you learn all this, Mormon? Over to Herefo'd?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Pears Miss Bailey's took a great interest&mdash;in Molly," said Sam, with a
+grin. "She's been over here twice to see if there was news. Mormon
+entertained her. He seems to be the fav'rite. Beats all how one man'll
+charm the fair sect, like honey'll bring flies, while another ain't ever
+bothered."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon changed the trend of the conversation by demanding to know about
+the school.</p>
+
+<p>"Molly's got an outfit Barbara Redding bought her," said Sandy. "Trunk
+an' leather grip, all kinds of do-dads. School costs fifteen hundred
+bucks a year. The rest of Molly's money is banked. Barbara picked out a
+school in Pennsylvania she said was the best. Here's an advertisement of
+it."</p>
+
+<p>He handed the magazine leaf to Sam who read over the items with Mormon
+looking over his shoulder, forming the words with his lips. Sam read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>CORONA COLLEGE</p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
+
+<p>"<i>Developing School for Girls. Development of well poised
+personality through intellectual, moral, social and physical
+trainin'.</i></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Extensive Campus</i>&mdash;(whatever that is)&mdash;<i>Elective
+Academic</i>&mdash;(Sufferin' Cows!)&mdash;<i>Domestic Science, Household
+Economics, Expression, Supervised Athletics.</i></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Horseback Riding</i>&mdash;(Huh, I never see an eastener yet who
+c'ud ride)&mdash;<i>Swimming, basketball, country tramping, dancing,
+military drill.</i>"</p></div>
+
+<p>Sam made heavy going of many of the words that left him in the dark as
+to their meaning. Sandy tried to elucidate, repeating the explanations
+Barbara Redding had given him.</p>
+
+<p>"Campus is the College Field, Sam," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Then why in time don't they say so? Ain't they goin' to teach her to
+talk 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' to
+find time to eat an' sleep."</p>
+
+<p>"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 coax
+him, Sandy. Set around an' howled like a sick coyote fo' fo'-five
+days&mdash;mostly nights. If the gel balks at all that line of stuff I'll
+stand back of her to quit an' come back to Three Star."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>"An' have Jordan git her away an' put her under Plimsoll's
+guardeenship?"</p>
+
+<p>"He c'udn't do that. Mirandy Bailey 'ud block him."</p>
+
+<p>"He c'udn't do anything," said Sandy. "I got myse'f app'inted legal
+guardeen to Molly while we was in Santa Rosa, one day Barbara an' Molly
+was shoppin'. John Redding's lawyer fixed it up."</p>
+
+<p>The months passed without especial incident at the Three Star. Sandy
+purchased a Champion Hereford bull for the herd out of the ranch share
+of the faro winnings. Other improvements were added, and the three
+partners seemed on the fair way to prosperity. Sandy's theory that
+better bred and better fed beef, bringing better prices, would pay,
+began to demonstrate itself slowly, though it would take three years
+before the get of the thoroughbred stock was ready for marketing.</p>
+
+<p>Occasional letters came from Molly. Homesickness and unhappiness showed
+between the lines of the first epistles, despite her evident efforts to
+conceal them. Her ways were not the ways of the other girls who were
+<i>developing a well poised personality through intellectual, moral,
+social and physical training</i>. She apparently formed no friendships and
+it seemed that none were invited from her.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"But I'm going to stick with it till I get same as the
+rest&mdash;on the outside, anyway," she wrote. "I don't know how
+some of them work inside. It ain't like me. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>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&mdash;I got into awful trouble for spilling my language one
+time&mdash;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."</p></div>
+
+<p>"If she's happy, I'm a Gila lizard," said Mormon. "What's the sense of
+havin' her miserable fo' the sake of a li'l' book learnin'. She's
+gettin' to spell so I can't make out what she's writin' about."</p>
+
+<p>At last Molly wrote that she had made the basketball team and won honors
+and favors. She gained laurels for Corona in swimming and tennis, and
+life went more merrily. Mormon looked up tennis outfits in his mail
+catalogue and sent for a book on the game, which he soon abandoned.</p>
+
+<p>"You have to learn a foreign langwidge before you start to play," he
+said. "Leastwise a code. The langwidge ain't what you'd expect them to
+be handin' out in a young lady's college. All erbout deuce an' love. I'd
+a notion we'd fix up the game fo' her so she'd c'ud keep it up but I
+dunno. It sure ain't a fat man's game. It's a human grasshopper's."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h2>PAY DIRT</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>In September there was a killing in the Good Luck Pool Room, the murder
+of a stranger whose friends made such an investigation, backed by the
+real law-and-order element of Hereford, that the exposure brought about
+forfeiture of all licenses and a strict shutting down on gambling and
+illicit liquor. Plimsoll left Hereford for his horse ranch, deprived of
+the sheriff's official countenance, and Jordan began to worry about
+election.</p>
+
+<p>One evening in early October a little body of riders came to the Three
+Star, all strangers to the county, men whose faces were grim, who
+cracked no jokes, whose greetings were barely more than civil. They were
+well armed and they acted like men of a single purpose.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the Three Star, ain't it?" asked the leader of a cowboy, who
+nodded silently, taking in the appearance of the visitors.</p>
+
+<p>"Bourke, Peters and Manning?"</p>
+
+<p>"One and all," answered the Three Star rider. "Find 'em at chuck, I
+reckon. You-all are jest in time. If you aim to stay overnight I'll tend
+yore hawsses an' put 'em in the corral."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>"You seem hospitable here."</p>
+
+<p>The tone was half sarcastic.</p>
+
+<p>"Rule of the ranch," replied Buck. "Folks arrivin' after sun-down, the
+same bein' strangers, is expected to pass the night, if they're in no
+hurry."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy personally backed the invitation a moment later and steaks were
+being pan-fried as the men dismounted and lounged on the porch, awaiting
+their 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 tip
+the mental scale, the crowd grew more familiar and welded with supper,
+exchanged anecdotes with digestion, to get confidential over the
+tobacco.</p>
+
+<p>"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 what
+they say of you in Herefo'd. Also, by that last reckonin', I ain't
+figgerin' you as any speshul pal of the man we're tryin' to round up. I
+reckon you know who we mean. Jim Plimsoll, who owns what he calls the
+Waterline Hawss Ranch, sixteen miles east of you, more or less; an' who
+gits 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 I
+can figger most of his mares must have fo' foals a year.</p>
+
+<p>"Some of us are from this state&mdash;Mojave County&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>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 Mojave
+City an' Topock. Most of 'em have been sold or passed on. All of 'em
+have been faked an' doctored more or less. Talk points to Plimsoll, so
+do some facts, but not enough. An' this Plimsoll has got some mighty
+close friends where they do the most good. You'd have to prove a damn
+sight more than we got to even sight a blank warrant."</p>
+
+<p>"You been over to his ranch?" asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Jest come from there. He's slick an' cool, is Plimsoll. We was supposed
+to 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, it
+ain'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 the
+finest brand-faker I've met up with. He suspicioned what we was after
+an' we didn't see all he had. But we're goin' to git him yet an', when
+we do, there won't be any more hawss-stealin' an' fakin' in Coconino
+County, Arizona. Hawss-stealin' was a hangin' matter when I first come
+west an' I reckon there's some feels the same way now. Speshully when
+the courts back up a man like Plimsoll. Lead's cheaper than rope, but
+somehow it ain't so convincin'."</p>
+
+<p>Brandon changed the subject after he had spoken, but it was plain that
+he and his companions had not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>given up the matter; clear also that they
+were sure of Plimsoll's guilt and laying plans to trap him. They stayed
+until the next morning and departed.</p>
+
+<p>"That man Brandon's got some trick up his sleeve to trap Plimsoll," said
+Sam, watching them ride off. "He ain't quite got it fixed up yet to suit
+himself but it's a good un."</p>
+
+<p>"He's got brains," commented Sandy, rubbing Grit's ears. The collie had
+picked up since Sandy's return, sensing some connection with his
+mistress closer than that of Mormon and Sam. He would feed only from
+Sandy's hand and attached himself to the latter almost as permanently as
+his shadow. "So has Jim Plimsoll. I ain't hankerin' fo' another man to
+clean him up befo' I get my own chance. But that bunch sure mean
+business."</p>
+
+<p>The incident was forgotten as the round-up days grew near, with frosty
+mornings when the mountains looked as flat as if they had been profiled
+from cardboard and stuck up along the horizon&mdash;until the lifting sun
+modeled them with shadows&mdash;with sweltering noons tapering slowly off to
+cool nights while horses raced after the flying cattle, driving and
+cutting out, and so to the corral brandings, where the three partners
+found their increase better than they had anticipated.</p>
+
+<p>Molly was not to come home at Christmas after all. She formed a
+friendship, the first close one she had made, and Barbara Redding
+advised that the invitation extended by this new acquaintance to spend
+the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>holidays be accepted. There had been plans of a Christmas tree and
+a celebration, but the gifts were boxed and sent off. Others arrived
+from the East in exchange, a collar for Grit, a cigarette case for
+Sandy, a necktie for Mormon and a three-decked harmonica for Sam. There
+was a picture too, not so much of a girl but a young woman, a somewhat
+wistful look in her eyes, but a firm-lipped, resolute-chinned young
+woman for all that, who smiled out at them frankly and confidently. It
+was signed</p>
+
+<p class="cen noin">A Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year<br />
+from the Mascotte of the * * *</p>
+
+<p class="right smcap"><span style="padding-right: 10em;">Molly.</span></p>
+
+<p>"I dunno about the merry Christmas," said Mormon. "We're prosperous
+enough, short of bein' profiteers. Molly's gettin' to be a good-looker,
+ain't she? Goin' to git it framed, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p>Snows fell, the temperature ranged down far below zero at times, winter
+gave reluctant place to spring until the last moment when it turned and
+fled and, far into the desert, myriads of flower-blooms sprang up
+overnight while everywhere the cactus gleamed in silken blooms in yellow
+and crimson.</p>
+
+<p>One April night the Bailey flivver came charging up to Three Star,
+smothering itself in a cloud of dust that had not settled before there
+sprang out of it Miranda Bailey and the lanky Ed, temporarily charged
+with a tremendous activity. The cause of young Ed's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>galvanism was so
+strong that he actually won from his aunt as bearer of the news.</p>
+
+<p>"Gold!" he cried. "They've struck pay dirt at Dynamite! Chunks of
+sylvanite that sweat gold in the fire. Assay thirty thousand dollars a
+ton. Whole streaks of it. Vein's twelve foot wide. The whole town's
+stampedin' by way of White Cliff Ca&ntilde;on. I'm goin'. Got a pick an' shovel
+in the car. Aunt Mirandy, she was bound we'd come this way. Mebbe we can
+pack you all in. But you got to hurry or they'll swarm over Dynamite
+like flies on a chunk o' liver!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's true," backed Miss Bailey. "Folks over to Hereford have gone
+crazy. 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 'em
+sent away an' assayed. They turned out to be the big stuff. 'Course you
+can'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 those
+claims of Molly's first thing. That's one reason I made Ed come this
+way. Thought you might like to come erlong, on'y he took the words out
+of my mouth."</p>
+
+<p>"You goin'?" asked Mormon. There were two red splotches in Miranda's
+cheeks, a glitter in her eyes that suggested she had not escaped the
+gold fever.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure am," she answered. "Ed Bailey Senior, he 'lows there's no sense in
+chasin' gold underground. Says he likes to see his prospects growin' up
+under his own eyes an' gazin' on his own land. I'm the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>adventurous one
+of the Bailey fam'ly, though you mightn't guess it to look at me," she
+said with a twitch of her lips. "Me an' young Ed here. He takes after
+me. 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&mdash;gits mighty monotonous.
+Bein' a woman, you're more tied than a man. I tried to work my extry
+energy out in politics but it all come my way too easy.</p>
+
+<p>"Plimsoll ain't got much love for me. He figgers I lost him his license
+an' his brother-in-law sheriff his badge. He's right. I did. I figgered
+you'd not be anxious to let him have his own way about Molly's claims
+an' I 'lowed I'd like to be along an' see the excitement. Me an' Ed
+here'll stake off suthin' for ourselves. I'd jest as soon git some easy
+money as the rest of 'em. If I do I'll buy another car. This thing"&mdash;she
+surveyed the panting flivver contemptuously&mdash;"is nigh worn out and it's
+jest a tin kittle on wheels. Biles if you leave it out in the sun."</p>
+
+<p>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, voiced
+his opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Marm," he said, "you're a dyed-in-the-wool sport an' I'd admire to
+trail with you. But that kittle, as you call it, 'll sure bu'st its
+cinches with we-all ridin' it. I'm no jockeyweight, fo' one."</p>
+
+<p>"It'll stand up. We've got to make time. I was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>wonderin' if we c'ud
+make it by the old road, where you found Molly? It's shorter than White
+Cliff Ca&ntilde;on an' we've lost time comin' out here."</p>
+
+<p>Sam shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"No'm, c'udn't be done. There ain't no road. Las' winter 'ud finish what
+was left of it an' there was spots this side of where we found Casey
+where a wagon c'udn't have passed. We just made it with the buckbo'd.
+Ask Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, coming up, endorsed Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"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 his
+partners balked resolutely.</p>
+
+<p>"We've got some food," said Miranda. "You might fetch along some canned
+stuff if you've any handy. Ed, you sure you got plenty ile, gas an'
+water? Better look her all over."</p>
+
+<p>With orders to Buck, with some provisions, ammunition and a few tools,
+the hurried start was made. Mormon clambered to the front seat beside
+young Ed, Miranda Bailey sat between Sandy and Sam. Whatever lack of
+energy the lank Ed Junior displayed on his feet, he eliminated as a
+driver. The springs creaked, chirpings arose from various parts of the
+car as it ran, but he coaxed the engine, performed miracles at bad
+places in the road, nursed the insufficient radiator surface and kept
+the "kittle" at a simmer.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>He judged grades, rushed them, conquered them, sometimes at a crawl,
+slid and skipped and jumped down slopes, negotiated curves on two wheels
+and brought them triumphantly through White Cliff Ca&ntilde;on, over the
+malpais belt, up and across a mesa and so to the far brink of it an hour
+before dawn without puncture, without a broken leaf in the springs, with
+shock absorbers still on duty and the cylinders performing full service.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>"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 a
+minute. Here's some cold biscuits we can warm up on that radiator. It's
+nigh as good as a stove."</p>
+
+<p>The trio watched interestedly the capable way in which she got together
+the meal, adding sugar and evaporated milk to her coffee. Sam picked up
+the tin of solid alcohol after it had cooled off.</p>
+
+<p>"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'."</p>
+
+<p>"And you called Soda-Water Sam," said Miranda Bailey.</p>
+
+<p>"That title was give me in derision," replied Sam. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>"Me, I don't
+hesitate to say I like my licker. Likewise I can do 'thout it. They
+claim that I used to leave nothin' but the sody-water inter a saloon
+once I'd entered it. Which same is a calummy. Gittin' light in the east,
+ain't it, folks?"</p>
+
+<p>Coffee-comforted, they made the down-road as the sun rose above the rim
+of the eastern range, so jagged it seemed trying to claw back the
+mounting sun. Ever in view below them lay the intermountain valley in
+which the camp had been located. Its floor was jumbled with hard-cored
+hills. There was little greenery. A few cottonwoods, fewer willows along
+the deep bed of a scanty stream. Under the sunrise the whole scene was
+theatrical with vivid light and shade. The crumpled ground, the
+deep-ridged hills, all seemed unreal, made up of papier-m&acirc;ch&eacute;, crudely
+modeled and painted, garish, unfinished. The effect was enhanced by the
+appearance of the one main street of the camp and the few scattering
+cabins on the hills, the ancient dumps in front of the lateral shafts
+where the weathered timbers sagged.</p>
+
+<p>There were a few tents, some wagons and picketed horses, and there were
+a great many machines parked at will. But, from the height, it all
+looked like the miniature scene of a panoramic model, the houses
+cardboard, the horses and wagons toys of tin. The horses were the only
+moving objects, no smoke curled yet from the chimneys.</p>
+
+<p>Here and there unbroken glass in the windows flung back the sun. A door
+opened and a midget in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>shirtsleeves came out, stretching arms, palpably
+yawning. Suddenly smoke jetted from a tumbled chimney, other puffs
+followed and steady vapors mounted. Ant-like men emerged from every
+house, gathered in little knots, busied themselves with the horses,
+hurried back to breakfasts. Faint sounds came up to the travelers.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+hotel, with the high front. Furniture all in it an' in the cabins. Most
+of the fixtures left in the saloons, an' there was a plenty of them. Two
+hotels, five restyronts, seven gamblin' houses, twenty-two saloons an'
+the rest sleepin' cabins. That was Dynamite. When they git it dusted off
+and started up it'll run ortermatic."</p>
+
+<p>"Cuttin' out the saloons," said Miranda.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not so sure of that," said Mormon, turning in his seat. "You-all
+want to remember, ma'am, that this is an unco'porated town an' that's
+there's allus a shortage of law an' order for a whiles wherever there's
+a strike, gold, oil or whatever 'tis. Eighty per cent. of the rush is a
+hard-shelled lot an' erlong with 'em is a smaller bunch that thrives
+best 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?"</p>
+
+<p>"Meanin'?" snapped Miranda Bailey. But there was a gleam in her eye that
+showed of a compliment accepted.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>"Meanin'," said Mormon "that, ef you'll take it 'thout offense, you-all
+air plumb up-to-date. When wimmen took up the ballot I figger they
+wasn't on'y ready fo' equal rights, they knew how to git 'em. 'Side from
+the shootin' end of it, I'd say you was as well equipped as any man to
+look out fo' yore own interests."</p>
+
+<p>"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 it
+ain't flyin'. Ed, what you stoppin' fer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Blamed if they ain't a puncture," said Ed as he put on the brakes. "We
+got a spare tire but 'twon't do to spile this 'un. We got to git back
+some time. Might not be able to buy a spare round here. I got to fix
+this."</p>
+
+<p>"Fix it when you git down," said his aunt. "Put on the spare. I'm kinder
+nervous 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."</p>
+
+<p>The spare was soon adjusted and they rolled down to the valley and over
+the dusty road to the camp. Before they reached the main street a car
+passed them from behind with a rush, driver and passengers reckless,
+whooping as they rode, one man waving a bottle, another firing his gun
+into the air.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the kind that'll figger to run Dynamite fo' a while," said
+Sandy. "I'll bet there ain't twenty old-timers in the camp&mdash;real miners,
+I mean."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>The street was alive with changing groups, merging, breaking up to
+listen 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 in
+their chaps, who had left the range for the chance of sudden wealth, to
+storekeepers from Hereford and other towns. Excitement reigned, no one
+was normal. Bottles passed freely. Among the crowd moved shifty-eyed men
+who had come to speculate. There were gamblers, plain bullies,
+swaggerers, with here and there a bearded miner, gray of hair and faded
+blue of eye, either moving steadily through the throng or held up by a
+little crowd to whom he declaimed with the right of experience. Some, it
+seemed certain, must be on their claims, but the bulk of the men who
+filled the street of the resurrected town, were those who prey upon the
+work and luck of others, camp-followers of the Army of Good Fortune.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon's pronouncement that the town, after its long desertion, had
+automatically refunctioned, was not far wrong. Rudely lettered signs
+proclaimed where meals could be bought and boldly announced gambling.</p>
+
+<p class="cen">
+KENO&mdash;CHUCKALUCK AND STUD<br />
+CRAPS AND DRAW POKER<br />
+THE OLD RELIABLE FARO BANK<br />
+J. PLIMSOLL, PROP.</p>
+
+<p>read Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"He's here, lookin' fo' easy money, both ends an' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>the middle," he
+drawled. "W'udn't wonder but what we'd rub up ag'in' him 'fo' we leave."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll want to go right through to Molly's claims, I suppose," said
+Miranda Bailey. "Do you know where they are?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can soon find the location," replied Sandy. "But there ain't any
+extry hurry. They've been recorded. They'll keep. We'll git us some real
+hot grub at one of these restyronts an' listen a bit to the news. Find
+out where is the most likely place fo' you an' yore nevvy to locate."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you afraid Plimsoll or some one'll have jumped those claims?"
+asked the spinster.</p>
+
+<p>"W'udn't be surprised. But there's allus two ways to jump, Miss Mirandy.
+In an' <i>out</i>. Let's try Cal Simpson's Place. I knew him when he was
+runnin' a chuck-wagon. He's sure some cook if it's him."</p>
+
+<p>They pressed through the crowded street to the sign. Next door to the
+cabin that Simpson had preempted on the first-come-first-served order
+that prevailed, was one of the olden saloons. Through door and window
+they could see the crowded bar with bottles and tin mugs upon the
+ancient slab of wood. Over the door the inscription:</p>
+
+<p class="cen">
+ROCKY MOUNTAIN GRAPEJUICE<br />
+MULE BRAND<br />
+TWO KICKS FOR ONE BUCK</p>
+
+<p>Some looked curiously at Miranda Bailey, but the sight of her escort
+checked any familiarity. Covered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>with dust from their ride, guns on
+hip, the three musketeers did not encourage persiflage at the expense of
+their outfit and they passed unchallenged into the eating-house where a
+stubby man with a big paunch shouted greetings at Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"You ornery son of a gun! <i>An'</i> Mormon. This yore last, Mormon. No? I
+beg 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'll
+you have, folks? I've got steak an' po'k an' beans. Drove over some
+beef. More comin' ter-morrer. I'll have a real mennoo by the end of the
+week. Steak? Seguro! Biscuits an' coffee."</p>
+
+<p>He shouted orders to a helper and hurried off to pan-broil the steaks.
+To the order he added some fried potatoes.</p>
+
+<p>"They ain't on the bill-of-fare," he said. "Try 'em, marm. Hope you
+strike it lucky, Sandy. Damn few&mdash;beggin' yore pahdon, miss&mdash;damn few of
+this crowd ever had a blister on their hands. It ain't like the old days
+when the sourdoughs made a strike. They worked their own shafts. This
+bunch specklates on 'em. A claim'll change hands twenty times between
+now an' ter-morrer night.</p>
+
+<p>"Rush is over fo' the mornin'. I'll sit in with you, if you don't mind.
+I got my steak in that pan."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the indications?" asked Sandy, after Simpson had rejoined them.</p>
+
+<p>"Big. Look here. White gold!" He pulled out a piece of tin white mineral
+with a brilliant metallic <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>luster, sparkling with curious crystals.
+"Sylvanite&mdash;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 in
+Colorado. He comes from the Boulder School of Mines. He's a kid, but I
+w'udn't wonder but he knows what he's talkin' about. Some calls it
+telluride. But it's gold, all right, an' there's a big vein of it close
+to the surface on the knoll east side of Flivver Crick."</p>
+
+<p>They passed the heavy mineral from hand to hand, examining it with eager
+curiosity. Simpson rambled on.</p>
+
+<p>"Over five hundred in camp an' more comin' all the time. The rush ain't
+started yet. Goin' to be an old-time boom, sure. Bound to make money ef
+you don't hold on too long. Peg you out a claim or two 'long that east
+bank, 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.</p>
+
+<p>"This man Plimsoll aims to make him a fortune," he continued. "He's got
+a 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 tell
+you, Sandy, the sheriff ought to be on the job on the start of a rush
+like this. But he's t'other end of the county, they tell me, an' likely
+he won't hear of it for three-four days. And by that time she may have
+blew up ag'in," he closed pessimistically. "Blew up once, did Dynamite.
+This may be jest a flash in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>pan, a grass-root outcrop. That's the
+way she started when old man Casey drifted in an' his burro kicked up
+pay-ore. Damn&mdash;dern&mdash;few of this crowd'll ever stop to run shaft or
+tunnel. Though this young assayin' feller talks big about folds an'
+uplifts, synclines an' anticlines. Claims the po'phyry is syncline. You
+got to catch it where the fold is shaller or else dig half-way to China.
+You still in the cow business, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p>So he chatted until fresh customers came in and claimed his skill and
+steaks. Miranda Bailey and her companions finished the meal and started
+out.</p>
+
+<p>The Casey claims were on the east side of the creek, Sandy knew. The old
+prospector's lore, or instinct, had been unfailing. It remained to see
+if his marks and monuments had been respected. Molly had said that the
+assessment work had been done, and she had so described the place in a
+narrow terrace of the hill that Sandy felt sure of finding them without
+trouble.</p>
+
+<p>He pointed out a sign over the door of a shack ahead, white lettered on
+black oil cloth:</p>
+
+<p class="cen">
+CLAY WESTLAKE.<br />
+ASSAYER&mdash;SURVEYOR AND<br />
+MINING ENGINEER.</p>
+
+<p>A knot of men were milling about the place.</p>
+
+<p>"Doin' a trade already," said Sam. "Must have brung that sign erlong
+with him. Smart, fo' a youngster. Simpson said he was a kid. How 'bout
+seein' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>him befo' Miss Bailey an' Ed here stake their claims? I'm aimin'
+to mark out one fo' me, same time."</p>
+
+<p>"Also me," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>Guffaws suddenly rose from the little crowd by the assayer's sign. A
+deep voice boomed out in bullying tone, followed by silence, then more
+laughs. Sandy leaned to Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"You keep her an' young Ed back," he said. "Trouble here, I figger."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon nodded, stepping ahead, blocking Miranda's progress in apparently
+aimless and clumsy fashion while Sandy, his hands dropping to his gun
+butts, lifting the weapons slightly and, releasing them into the
+holsters once again, lengthened his stride, walking cat-footed, on the
+soles of his feet, as he always did when he scented trouble. Sam, easing
+his own gun, lightly touched his lips with the tip of his tongue and
+followed Sandy with eyes that widened and brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Bullyin' the kid, I reckon," he said to Sandy as they went. Sandy did
+not need to nod before they reached the half-ring that had formed about
+a young chap in khaki shirt, riding breeches and puttees, whose fair
+hair was curly above a face tanned, and resolute enough. Yet he was
+clearly nervous at the jibes of the crowd and the actions of the man who
+faced him, heavy of body, long of arm, heavy of jowl; a deep-chested,
+broad-shouldered individual whose head, cropped close, tapering in a
+rounded cone from his bushy eyebrows, helped largely to give him the
+aspect <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>of a professional wrestler, or a heavyweight prizefighter. He
+carried a big blued Colt revolver, and the way he spun the weapon on the
+trigger guard showed familiarity with the weapon.</p>
+
+<p>The young assayer had no holster to his belt, seemingly no gun. His
+clean shaven jaws were clamped tight so that the muscles lumped here and
+there, and he fronted the unsympathetic crowd and the jeering bully with
+a courage that was partly born of desperation.</p>
+
+<p>"Mining engineer!" read the bully. "Smart, ain't he, for a curly-headed
+kid! Engineer? Peanut butcher 'ud suit better. Looks like a movie
+pitcher actor, don't he? Mebbe he's a vodeville performer. I'll bet he
+is, at that. What's yore speshulty, kid? Singin' or dancin'. Or both."</p>
+
+<p>He flung a shot from the gun into the ground between the young man's
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Show us a few steps, you powder-faced dood! Mebbe we'll let you stay in
+camp if you amuse us."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy and Sam had elbowed their way lightly through the ring and the
+former turned to the man beside whom he happened to stand.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the idea?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"The young 'un good as told Roarin' Russell he didn't know what he was
+talkin' about. Chap asked the kid's opinion on a bit of ore an' he give
+it. It didn't suit Russell."</p>
+
+<p>"It didn't, eh? Now, that's too bad," drawled Sandy. The other looked at
+him curiously. Sandy's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>drawl was often provocative. Russell's gun
+barked again.</p>
+
+<p>"Dance, damn ye! An' sing at the same time; blast you for a buttin' in
+tenderfoot! Won't, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>The victim, game but despairing, flung a look of appeal about him. To
+give in meant to become the laughing-stock of the camp, to have its
+ribaldry 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, the
+gleam in his eyes was that of the killer, a man half insane from
+alcohol.</p>
+
+<p>"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...."</p>
+
+<p>The first syllable of the intended volley of foulness was barely out
+when Sandy, stepping forward, touched the bully on the shoulder. Russell
+whirled as a bear whirls, gun lifting.</p>
+
+<p>"Lady back here in the crowd," said Sandy quietly.</p>
+
+<p>For a second Russell gasped and stared and, as he stared, the cold hard
+look 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 hand
+though its muzzle was tilted skyward. The crowd, thickening, waited his
+next move. He had been stopped in his baiting. He saw no woman back of
+the big bulk of Mormon, keeping Miranda well away, not seeing what was
+going forward.</p>
+
+<p>"To hell with the lady!" shouted Russell. At his back was only the
+unarmed assayer. This lean <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>cold-eyed interferer was a hardy fool who
+needed a lesson. He swept down his gun, thumb to hammer. Two guns grew
+like 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 the
+stranger had beaten him to the drop and fire. He felt the fan of the
+wing of death on his brow. His gun flew out of his fingers, wrenched
+away 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.</p>
+
+<p>"Back up to that door, you! Back up!" Sandy's voice was almost
+conversational 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 friendly
+fashion by one elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't shoot <i>yore</i> knuckles off," said Sandy, "pervidin' you keep
+yore fingers wide apaht, an' don't wiggle 'em. Spread 'em out against
+the wood, bully man!"</p>
+
+<p>His face whitening from the ebb of blood to his cowardly heart, Roarin'
+Russell opened his fingers wide, judging implicit obedience his greatest
+safety. Sandy did not move position, he hardly seemed to move wrist or
+finger as his guns spat fire, left and right, eight shots blending,
+eight bullets smashing their way through the door between the "V's" of
+the bully's fingers while the crowd held their breath for the
+exhibition.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>Sandy quickly reloaded, quickly but without obvious haste. He did not
+return the guns to their holsters and he paid no attention to the
+admiring comments of the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is he? Two-gun man! They say his name's Sandy Bourke."</p>
+
+<p>"You-all interfered with a friend of mine," said Sandy. "It ain't a
+healthy trick. An' you ain't apologized to the lady. I don't know how
+Westlake feels about it, but you've sure got to apologize to the lady."</p>
+
+<p>The assayer, bewildered at Sandy's assumption of friendship, waved his
+hand deprecatingly. Russell's eyes rolled from side to side toward his
+still elevated hands.</p>
+
+<p>"You can lower 'em if you can't talk with 'em up," said Sandy. "I'm
+waitin' fo' that apology, but I'm in a bit of a hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't see no woman," mumbled the bully, crestfallen.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you there <i>was</i> one," said Sandy. "I don't lie, even to
+strangers. You're sorry you swore, ain't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're quicker'n I am on the draw with yore two guns," retorted the
+goaded Russell. "I c'ud lick you one-handed 'thout guns&mdash;or any man in
+this crowd," he blustered in an attempt to halt his departing prestige.</p>
+
+<p>"You-all had a gun in yore hand when we stahted in," said Sandy equably.
+"You're sorry you swore&mdash;<i>ain't</i> you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>The repeated words, backed by the cold gaze, the ready guns, were
+merciless as probes.</p>
+
+<p>"I apologizes to the lady," growled Russell.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, that's fine," said Sandy. "Fine! Westlake, will you come erlong
+with me fo' a spell?"</p>
+
+<p>He made his way through the opening group. Sam followed with the assayer
+who now began to realize that Sandy's interference had established a
+friendship that would continue protective. They met Mormon, almost
+purple in the face from suppressed feelings. Young Ed Bailey eyed Sandy
+with awe and new respect. Miranda Bailey's attempt to learn exactly what
+had happened was thwarted by Sandy's presentation of Westlake. During
+the introduction Mormon slipped away. Roaring Russell was endeavoring to
+readjust his swagger when the stout cowboy met him.</p>
+
+<p>"I was with the lady," said Mormon. "Consequent I c'udn't git here
+sooner. You said you c'ud lick any one in the camp one-handed, guns
+barred. Now I don't like the way you apologized, sabe? It warn't willin'
+enough, nor elegant enough, nor spontaneous enough. Ter-night, after I
+git through showin' the lady around the diggin's, I'll meet you where
+you say for fun, money or marbles, an' argy with you barehanded.
+Thisaway."</p>
+
+<p>He slapped Russell on the cheek. The bully roared and the crowd stepped
+back. Mormon, with the surprising alertness he showed in action, for all
+his bulk and weight, sprang back, poised for strike or clutch. Miranda
+Bailey came with a rush and stepped between <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>the two men. Russell
+foresaw a laugh at his expense and curbed himself, the sooner for his
+new-found consideration for Sandy's gunplay.</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to be ashamed of yoreselves, both of you," exclaimed the
+spinster. "I'll have no one fightin' over me. I can take care of
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, m'm, I reckon you can. I reckon we are ashamed," said Mormon
+meekly, as the crowd roared in laughter that died away before the evenly
+swung gaze of Sandy, backed by Sam. Russell slipped off and the men
+dispersed. Miranda addressed Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll not have you fighting with that hulkin' brute on my account," she
+said. "Do you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>Mormon gulped. He seemed summoning his courage, gripping it with both
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Marm," he said desperately, "you can't stop me."</p>
+
+<p>The spinster gasped, met his eyes, flushed and turned away. Sam nudged
+Mormon with elbow to ribs.</p>
+
+<p>"You dog-gone ol' desperado," he said in a whisper. "I didn't think you
+had it in you. That the way you treated the first three?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it ain't," said Mormon, mopping his forehead. "And she ain't the
+same kind they was, neither. Come on, or we'll lose 'em."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h2>WHITE GOLD</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"It was mighty decent of you to take me under your protection," said the
+young engineer to Sandy. He made hard going of the last word but shot it
+out with a snap that left his jaw advanced. Sandy told himself that he
+liked the clean-cut, well-set-up Westlake.</p>
+
+<p>"Shucks," he answered, "I reckon you w'udn't have much trubble
+protectin' yo'self, providin' terms was any way nigh even. That Roarin'
+Russell throwed down on you, figgerin' you packed no gun, seein' there
+was none in sight.</p>
+
+<p>"I sabe that kind of hombre. Since he was knee-high he's always had an
+aidge on most folks, 'count of his size an' weight. But that ain't
+enough, 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' a
+man who figgers he ain't equal to tacklin' another 'thout he knows he's
+got 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 be
+a bull an' b'ar affair&mdash;an' Mormon'll do the tossin'."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>Westlake looked somewhat dubiously at Mormon's girth.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't jedge a man by the size of his waistband," said Sandy. "Mormon's
+fooled mo'n one. He's hog fat, to look at, but if you was to skin him
+you'd find mighty li'l' fat an' a heap of muscle. Got flesh like an
+Injunrubber ball, has Mormon. Minute Roarin' Russell finds he ain't got
+a walkover he'll begin to quit. That sort does, ninety-nine out of a
+hundred. The yaller jest natcher'ly oozes out of 'em. How'd your fuss
+come to staht?"</p>
+
+<p>"A man was showing Russell and some others a piece of quartz picked up
+round here. It had nothing in it but some mica and galena, but Russell
+had given it as his opinion that it was the gold-bearing rock of the
+region. I told them I thought they would find that in the porphyry and
+Russell asked me what the hell I knew about it? That's how it started. I
+don't know how it would have finished if you hadn't taken a hand and
+said I was a friend of yours. That saved my face. I came to the strike
+because I thought there would be a chance of getting in on the ground
+floor in new diggings and I hated to be driven out of it by having to
+dance for a bully and a bully's crowd. I don't know that I <i>would</i> have
+danced. It's hard to weigh the odds when a gun has been fired at you,
+but I figured he wouldn't shoot to kill."</p>
+
+<p>"Might have crippled you," said Sandy. "If I'd been you I'd have
+danced."</p>
+
+<p>"You would?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>"I sure would. No sense in argy'in' with a gun an' a boozy bluffer at
+the other end of it. He'd put up his bluff an', feelin' sure you c'udn't
+hurt him, he'd have carried it through. Any time a man has the drop on
+me I raise my hands&mdash;or my feet, 'cordin' to orders. I've spent a deal
+of time practisin' so it's hahd to beat me to the draw. Trouble was, ef
+you-all don't mind my sayin' so, you horned in. You give out information
+gratis. You had yore sign up fo' minin' engineer. Chahge fo' what you
+know, son, an' yo' customers'll be grateful. Give 'em a slug o' gold
+free an' they'll chuck it at a perairie dawg befo' they've gone fifty
+yards."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know anything about mining, Mr. Bourke?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sandy is my name to my friends. A cowman with a mister to the front of
+his name seems to me like a hawss with an extry bridle. No, sir, I
+don't. Do you?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy's eyes twinkled as he put the quiz. Westlake laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+gold in a certain region, but he couldn't guarantee that there would be
+any. Experience counts a lot, of course, but I do know something about
+sylvanite, or white gold. I've seen its big field over in Boulder and
+Teller Counties, Colorado. They call it graphic gold, sometimes, because
+the crystals are very frequently set <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>up in twins and branch off so that
+they look like written characters. The crystals are monoclinic and occur
+in porphyry almost exclusively. It is a mixture of gold and silver
+telluride and it's also called tellurium. Named after Transylvania where
+it was first found. There's some in Australia."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm much obliged," said Sandy. "I've learned a heap."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake looked at him suspiciously, but Sandy's face was grave as that
+of the sphinx.</p>
+
+<p>"The porphyry dykes here are in syncline," the engineer went on. "They
+dip toward each other from both sides of the valley and form loops or
+folds. If you imagine an onion sliced in half you catch the idea. Call
+every other layer porphyry, with rock and other dirt between. The bottom
+of a loop may be deep down or it may be missing altogether, ground away
+when the valley was gouged out by a glacier. There may be other loops
+beneath it. Some portions of the loops come to the surface on the
+hillside and you can guess at their dip. But&mdash;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 go
+down deep sinking through the hard porphyry for nothing. Science says
+that the tellurium crystals are in the porphyry dykes and that these
+dykes lie in syncline, perhaps two or three, nested one under the
+other."</p>
+
+<p>"Gosh," ejaculated Miranda Bailey. "It sure sounds like a lottery to me.
+I wonder c'ud we hire <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>you to p'int out a likely place for us to
+locate?" They had left the one street by this time and were making their
+way slowly along the western slope of the valley. Men worked at creaky
+and shaky old windlasses or appeared and disappeared at the mouths of
+lateral shafts, repairing the ancient timbers, wheeling out rubbish.
+Once or twice they heard the dull boom of a shot where dynamite was
+trying to split the rock and uncover a lead. On several of the claims
+were groups, the members of which made no pretense at mining, but lolled
+about, playing cards or pitching dollars at a mark. These were
+speculators, holding to sell. Stakes with papers in clefts, piles of
+stones at the corners, showed the boundaries of the claims.</p>
+
+<p>"If you think my judgment is any good," said Westlake, "you're welcome
+to it. I could be more certain of helping you when it comes to assaying
+or developing a mine. Are you-all taking up claims? Do you want to align
+them, or do you want to pool interests and locate here and there where
+the chances look good?"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Bailey an' her nephew are goin' to take a chance," said Sandy. "Me
+an' my two partners are lookin' for claims located by the man who first
+discovered the camp. They can't get away an' we'll see Miss Mirandy
+settled first."</p>
+
+<p>"Me, I aim to take up a claim," said Mormon. "So does Sam."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's goin' to work it?" asked Sandy. "You-all forget that we agreed
+when we went into the ranchin' business together not to go into
+speculations on the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>side 'thout mutual consent. From what I can make
+out 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 look
+after with our interest in 'em, an' I've a hunch that's goin' to occupy
+all 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?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is a sort of bouncer, or capper for that gambling joint run by
+Plimsoll."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy nodded. "I ain't surprised. Plimsoll's figgerin' that he'll get a
+big 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."</p>
+
+<p>"This Casey," said Westlake, "who made the original strike, did he take
+out much?"</p>
+
+<p>"As I understand it," replied Sandy, "he hits the porphyry where it's
+shaller, or worn off, like you said. An' he finds rich pay stuff right
+away, 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' he
+kept faith in the camp, on'y he realized it 'ud take a heap of money to
+develop, meanin' to dig through the porphyry, I suppose. Now they've
+found some mo' of that float ore that the first crowd overlooked. Reckon
+that'll peter out too, after a while. But capital may come in on this
+second staht. Some eastern folk were lookin' over the place a while
+back. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>Took samples an' Plimsoll got wise to what they amounted to."</p>
+
+<p>"And he hasn't taken up any claims?" said Westlake. "Despite his
+gambling investment, I should have thought he would."</p>
+
+<p>"He's got an interest in one or two, I fancy, or thinks he has," said
+Sandy dryly.</p>
+
+<p>Westlake halted and took a small steel hammer from his pocket with which
+he struck off a fragment of rock protruding from the ground. The
+cleavage showed purple. He walked slowly along for some fifty feet,
+kicking the soil with his foot, breaking off other samples to which he
+put his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"Taste good?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Not bad, if you're looking for mineral. They've got a distinct flavor
+all their own, but I wetted them to show the color up more plainly. Here
+is the outcrop of a syncline reef. It may carry gold and it may not, but
+it'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 out
+again 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 the
+rim-rock that outlines the auriferous deposit."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, glancing across the valley to where the engineer pointed, nodded
+his head. "Your judgment goes with Casey's," he said. "Right across from
+here is where he located his claims, I take it. How about it, Mormon?
+Fits the description to a T."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>"Sure does," assented Mormon. "Thar's the notched boulder half-way up
+the 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 the
+same vein, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all Greek to me," said the spinster. "How do we locate? I've come
+this 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 through
+worse 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?"</p>
+
+<p>The three partners left Miranda and the engineer measuring off and
+setting up their monuments at the corners of the claim. Young Bailey
+started for the faithful flivver. They started directly down the
+sidehill, making for the valley, in silence, like men with business
+ahead of them that called for action rather than words.</p>
+
+<p>"Figger that tent is on them claims of Molly's and our'n?" asked Sam, as
+they paused before they tackled the eastern slope. "Looked like it was
+to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Me too," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"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's
+other witnesses to that. Plimsoll'll use some of them to swear that he
+grubstaked Casey. They'll be some of his own crowd. No doubt Plimsoll
+got the location of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>claims from the old records an' these buckaroo
+pals of his, who are roostin' on said location, knew jest where to go
+an' stahted out well in front with their outfit. I don't reckon we'll
+find 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 his
+pay-roll."</p>
+
+<p>"Shucks, it don't make no difference whose pay-roll they're on," said
+Mormon. "They're claim-jumpers an', like you said, Sandy, a jump can be
+made two ways. Let's go look 'em over."</p>
+
+<p>The tent was pitched on the hillside where the grade was too steep to
+permit of level ground enough for more than the actual floor space. The
+brown duck erection strained at the guy ropes of its upper side where
+the stakes had been driven deep into the soil. The chimney of a small
+stove came through the top of the cloth, guarded by a metal ring.
+Outside were boxes, saddles, an ax, kettles and pans, a portable grill
+and other camping equipment. The tent flaps were open and showed cots on
+which blankets and clothing were roughly spread. On two of these beds
+men sprawled asleep. Five others were seated on boxes about a boulder
+that looked like porphyry outcrop. Its surface was flat enough to serve
+as a table. The five were playing poker. One was bearded and seemed the
+old-time miner. All boasted stubble on their chins, two wore mustaches.
+One was bald. Their clothes varied, from the miner's faded blue
+overalls, high boots and flannel shirt, to soiled khaki and laced
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>prospector's footwear. One thing they all had in common, cartridge
+belts and guns, in plain view. Taken together they were not a
+prepossessing lot, playing their game in silence, looking up with a
+scowl and movements toward gun butts at the visitors. Two burros cropped
+at the scanty herbage above the tent. A demijohn stood between two of
+the box seats.</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen that tent afore," whispered Sam to Sandy. The latter nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Campin' out, gents?" he asked amiably.</p>
+
+<p>"No, we ain't. These claims are preempted. Trespassers ain't welcome.
+You're invited to move on."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a new name fo' it," said Sandy pleasantly. "New to me.
+Preempted."</p>
+
+<p>"What in hell are you driving at?" asked the other. "This is private
+property."</p>
+
+<p>"Property of Jim Plimsoll?"</p>
+
+<p>"None of yore damned business."</p>
+
+<p>There was a movement in the tent. One of the men got up from his cot and
+stood yawning in the entrance, one hand on the pole. The other snored
+on. Sandy, with Mormon and Sam, stood just above the group on the narrow
+bench that furnished the floor for the tent. They had little doubt that
+the jumpers knew who they were, though they recognized none of them by
+sight. There was a hesitancy toward action that might have been born out
+of respect to Sandy's two guns or a foreknowledge of his reputation in
+handling them, aside from the armament of his partners. Sandy's hands
+rested lightly on his hips, his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>thumbs hooked in his belt, fingers
+grazing the butts of his guns. There was a smile on his lips but none in
+his eyes. His tone and manner were easy.</p>
+
+<p>"Saw his stencil on the tent," he said. "J. P. in a diamond. Same brand
+he uses fo' his hawsses. Or mebbe you found it."</p>
+
+<p>His drawling voice held a taunt that brought angry flushes of color to
+the faces of the men opposing him, yet they made no definite movement
+toward attack. It seemed patent that Sandy Bourke was testing them.
+Trouble was in the air, two kinds of it: on the one side hesitant
+belligerency; on the other&mdash;cool nonchalance. Sandy, with his smiling
+lips and unsmiling eyes, stood lightly poised as a dancing master.
+Mormon and Sam were tenser, crouched a little from the hips, elbows away
+from their sides, hands with fingers apart, ready to close on gun butts,
+standing as boxers stand or distance-runners set on their marks.</p>
+
+<p>The man who stood in the tent door kicked at his sleeping companion and
+roused 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 readiness
+and an assurance that shows in their eyes, on their lips, vibrates from
+their compacted alliance, the measure is one of will, rather than
+physical and merely numerical superiority, and the balance beam quivers
+undecidedly. The bearded miner, with the rest, looked shiftily toward
+the man who had done the speaking, the bald-headed one, whose khaki and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>nail-studded boots were belied by the softness and puffiness of his
+flesh, the sags and wrinkles beneath his eyes and under his double
+chins. He had little gray-green orbs that glittered uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm giving you men two minutes to clear out of here," he said. "No
+two-gunned cow-puncher can throw any bluff round here, if that's what
+you're trying to do."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy laughed joyously. The smile was in his eyes now.</p>
+
+<p>"If I figger a man's throwin' a bluff," he said, "I usually figger to
+call him, not to chew about it. Me, I pack two guns fo' a reason. Once
+in a while I shoot off all the ca'tridges from one an' then I don't have
+to reload. Now, <i>I'm</i> talkin'. These claims are duly registered in the
+name of Patrick Casey, his heirs an' assigns. Here's the papers. The
+assessment work is all done. Pat's daughter owns 'em now. We're
+representin' her. An' I'm servin' you notice to quit. We'll take the
+same two minutes you was talkin' of. They must be nigh up now, though I
+didn't see you lookin' at yo' watch. I'm lookin' at my Ingersoll an' I
+give 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 with
+hands skilful and steady. Back of him Sam and Mormon stood like dogs on
+point, watchful, unmoving, but instinct with suppressed motion.</p>
+
+<p>"The girl may be his heir," said the bald-headed man, "but Plimsoll is
+assignee. Plimsoll staked him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>an' these claims are half his. The girl
+can put in her share to the title later, if they amount to anything. She
+ain't of age."</p>
+
+<p>"So J. P. was hirin' you to do his dirty work," said Sandy, his voice
+cold 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 stuff
+with you or send back fo' it. Now, git off this property."</p>
+
+<p>If a man can make movements with his hands so swiftly that they are
+covered in less than a tenth of a second, ordinary human sight can not
+register them. He has achieved the magician's slogan&mdash;<i>the quickness of
+the hand deceives the eye</i>. It takes natural aptitude and long practise,
+whether one is juggling gilded balls or blued-steel revolvers. Sandy
+could, with a circling movement of his wrists, draw his guns from their
+holsters and bring them to bear directly upon the target to which his
+eyes shifted. Glance, twist of wrist, arrest of motion, pressure of
+finger, all coordinated. One moment his hands were empty, his glance
+carelessly contemptuous, the veriest movement of a split-second
+stop-watch and the gun in his right hand spat fire, the gun in his left
+swung in an arc that menaced the five card players.</p>
+
+<p>The other two were struggling beneath the crumpled folds of a collapsed
+tent, wriggling frantically like the stage hands who simulate waves by
+crawling beneath painted canvas. Sandy had shattered the pegs that held
+up the upper corners of the tent on the slope, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>had cut the cords of the
+remaining guys on that side and the structure had swayed and collapsed.</p>
+
+<p>Sam and Mormon had lined up now with Sandy. There was no mistaking their
+intention to use their guns. But the exhibition had been quite
+sufficient. With one accord the five raised their hands shoulder high
+and began to shuffle down the hill, regardless of their equipment,
+which, having been paid for by Plimsoll, they regarded as of much less
+value than the necessity for departure.</p>
+
+<p>"Come out of that," commanded Sandy to the two wrigglers. "Git a move
+on."</p>
+
+<p>The faces that appeared were ludicrous in their expressions of dismay
+and appeal. Their owners came out like dogs from a kennel who expect to
+be kicked as they emerge. One of them had taken off his boots for better
+sleeping and he hobbled uneasily in his socks.</p>
+
+<p>"Take along yore booze," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>The bootless one looked furtively at the demijohn, still like a wary cur
+who snatches at and bolts with a stray bone. Then the pair set off at a
+jog trot after the rest.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," said Sam, "if that was good whisky?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy looked at him reproachfully. "Sody-Water," he said, "I'm plumb
+disappointed in you an' yore cravin'. Smell it an' see."</p>
+
+<p>His gun exploded. The man with the demijohn gave a curious hop, skip and
+jump. The demijohn jerked in his hand but seemed intact. The bullet,
+smashing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>through the wickerwork, had shattered the container but the
+tough willow twigs preserved the shape. Two more shots and there was a
+tinkle of broken glass. The last bullet had clipped the neck. It was too
+close shooting for the sockless one and the whisky was dripping fast
+through the weave, bringing a reek of crude liquor to Sam's twitching
+nostrils. The claim-jumper dropped what was left of his burden and went
+hopping on, acquiring stone bruises with every leap.</p>
+
+<p>"Scattered like a bunch of coyotes," said Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure did," agreed Sandy. "Minute they stahted talkin', 'stead of
+shootin', I knew they was ready to stampede. They'll beat it to Plimsoll
+an' we'll see jest how much sand he's got in his craw."</p>
+
+<p>"Not enough to keep him from skiddin' on a downgrade," said Mormon.
+"Sandy, that's cruelty to animals, sendin' that hombre off 'thout his
+boots after you took away his licker. I've got tender feet myse'f as
+well as a soft heart. Help me with this tent a minute, Sam."</p>
+
+<p>Together they raised the fallen canvas enough to discover the boots,
+which Mormon hurled down-hill after the limping one, who was far in the
+rear of his companions. He turned at Mormon's shout and he stopped,
+fearful at the act of kindness, crawled up the slope and retrieved his
+footwear, pulled them on and scurried off.</p>
+
+<p>A distant shout reached them from the other side of the gulch. By
+position, rather than actual recognition, Sandy guessed the figure that
+of Westlake. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>firing must have sounded only a little louder than
+cork poppings, but evidently the engineer had sized up the retreating
+men and the collapsed tent. Sandy waved to him in assurance that all was
+well and the other waved back in understanding.</p>
+
+<p>"Think Plim'll show?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Got to&mdash;or quit," said Sandy. "That bunch of jumpers he got together'll
+spill the beans unless he makes some play. It's plumb evident he wants
+these partickler claims. I don't believe he's hirin' men just to make us
+peevish. 'Sides, he didn't know fo' sure we were comin'. Might have
+figgered we'd trail the news of the rush, but I'll bet a sack of Durham
+against a pinch o' dirt that he's fairly sure that old man Patrick Casey
+picked him some first-class locations. We got one card that'll upset him
+considerable, my bein' the legal guardeen of Molly."</p>
+
+<p>"A heap he cares fo' legal or not legal," said Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"That's jest what he <i>will</i> do, now he ain't standin' in with the crowd
+that hands out the law, Sam. He might try to make it a show-down right
+here an' drive us out of the camp or leave us tucked away stiff in some
+prospect hole. But there's a lot of decent material drifted in an' it
+w'udn't be hard to beat him to that play an' organize a camp committee
+fo' the regulation of law an' order till such time as the camp proves
+itself an' is established. Once big capital gits stahted in here the
+law'll be workin' right along hand in hand with the development. Let's
+take a pasear an' look at Casey's workings."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>Patrick Casey had run in a tunnel from the face of his discovery.
+Weathered porphyry float showed on the dump whose size suggested greater
+depth to the tunnel than they had expected. Its mouth had been closed by
+timbers fitting closely into the frame of the horizontal shaft, forming,
+not so much a door, as a barricade, that had been firmly spiked to heavy
+timbers. This had been recently dismantled and then replaced, as recent
+marks on the weathered lumber showed. Sandy looked at these places
+closely, frowning as he gave his verdict.</p>
+
+<p>"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. Like
+as not it was that bunch of easterners. They'd figger the camp was
+abandoned an' consider themselves justified as philanthropists into
+bu'stin' open anything that looked good&mdash;like this tunnel. A man w'udn't
+go 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 the
+capitalist, if he found somethin' that looked good, 'ud hunt up the
+owner in the registry an' make him an offer. But it w'udn't be a half
+interest in the mine. He'd say he was thinkin' of developin' half a mile
+away 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 if
+this warn't the mine they sampled which Plimsoll finds out is the real
+stuff an' clamps on."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Mormon, "we'll have a chance to ask <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>him in a minute. He's
+comin' 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 look
+over an' above pleased the way things are breakin'. Looks as amiable as
+a timber wolf with his tail in a b'ar trap."</p>
+
+<p>The three partners met the jumpers, now headed by Plimsoll, on the
+border of the claims. The gambler's face was livid. He had boasted and
+lashed himself into a bullying confidence that he knew was inadequate to
+meet the situation he could not avoid. Hatred of the men who had balked
+him more than once served him better.</p>
+
+<p>"You four-flushers get off this ground," he blustered. "You're claiming
+to represent Molly Casey's rights after you've kidnaped the girl and
+sent her out of the state. It won't get you anywhere or anything. I've
+got a half interest in these claims and I've plenty of witnesses to
+prove it."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe yore witnesses are half as vallyble as they might have
+been before politics shifted in Herefo'd County," said Sandy. "You ain't
+got 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'inted
+guardeen to Casey's daughter Molly an' I'm here to represent her
+interests, likewise mine. I've got my guardianship papers right with
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"A hell of a lot of good they'll do you in this camp," sneered Plimsoll.
+"Representin' <i>her</i> interests. I'll say you are, an' your own along with
+'em." A laugh <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>from his followers heartened him. "If the camp ever hears
+the yarn of your running off with the girl and now, with her tucked
+away, coming back to clean up, I've a notion they'd show you
+four-flushers where you've sat in to the wrong game. Why...."</p>
+
+<p>Something in Sandy's face stopped him. It became suddenly devoid of all
+expression, became a thing of stone out of which blazed two gray eyes
+and a voice issued from lips that barely moved.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a notion, too, Plimsoll. A notion that it 'ud be a good day's
+work to shoot you fo' a foul-mouthed, lyin', stealin' crook! You sure
+ain'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've
+called me a fo'-flusher twice, an' the on'y way to prove a fo'-flush is
+to call fo' a show-down. I'm doin' it."</p>
+
+<p>The words came cold and even, backed by a grim earnestness that
+imprinted itself on the lesser manhood of the jumpers as a finger leaves
+its print in clay. They shifted back a little from Plimsoll, circling
+out as they might have moved away from a man marked by pestilence. He
+stood trying to outface Sandy, to keep his eyes steady. His lips were
+tight closed, still he could not help but open his mouth to a quickened
+breathing, to touch the lips with a furtive tongue that found the skin
+peeling in tiny feverish strips.</p>
+
+<p>"You pack yore gun under yore coat flap," said Sandy. "I don't know how
+quick you can draw but I aim to find out."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>He handed one of his own guns to Mormon, announcing his action lest
+Plimsoll might mistake it.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then," he went on, "I once told you I looked to you to stop any
+gossip 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 to
+you can draw. I'm givin' you the aidge on me. If you don't take that
+aidge, Jim Plimsoll, I'm givin' you till sun-up ter-morrer mornin' to
+git plumb out of camp. An' to keep driftin'."</p>
+
+<p>Deliberately Sandy took tobacco sack and papers from the pocket of his
+shirt, his fingers functioning automatically, precisely, his eyes never
+shifting from Plimsoll's face, measuring by feel the amount of tobacco
+shaken into the little trough of brown paper. While he rolled the
+cigarette the sack swung from his teeth by its string.</p>
+
+<p>The group gazed at him fascinated. Plimsoll's face beaded with tiny
+drops 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&mdash;or paralysis. For
+the look in the steel gray eyes of Sandy Bourke, half mocking, all
+confident, spurred the doubts that surged through the gambler's
+chance-calculating mind, while he knew that every atom of hesitation
+lessened his chances.</p>
+
+<p>His own hands were close to his chest. His right <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>had but a few inches
+to dart, to drag the automatic from its smooth holster. Sandy's hands
+were high above his belt, rolling the cigarette. They had four times as
+far to go. But Plimsoll knew that if anything went wrong with his
+performance, if he failed to kill outright, that nothing would go wrong
+with Sandy's shooting. The mention of Butch and Sim Hahn did not compose
+him. He had had the stage all set that time and Butch had been shot
+down, Sim Hahn's capacities as a crooked dealer had been spoiled for
+ever. But&mdash;if he did not take his chance and, failing it, did not leave
+camp....</p>
+
+<p>He felt cold. The temperature of his own conceit, the mercury of the
+regard of his bullies, was falling steadily. The nervous sweat was no
+longer confined to his face. The palms of his hands were moist,
+slippery....</p>
+
+<p>"Gimme a match, Sam." Sandy's voice came to Plimsoll across a gulf that
+could 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 his
+face as Sandy flung away the burnt stick and turned on his heel. Murder
+stirred dully in Plimsoll's brain at the sneers he surmised rather than
+read on the faces of his followers. His defeat was also theirs. But the
+moment had gone. He knew he lacked the nerve. Sandy knew it and had
+turned his back on him.</p>
+
+<p>His prestige was gone. His boon companions would talk about it. Mormon
+gave Sandy back his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>second gun and Sandy slid it into the holster. He
+exhaled the last puff of his cigarette before he spoke again to
+Plimsoll.</p>
+
+<p>"Sun-up, ter-morrer. You can send fo' yore stuff here any time you've a
+mind to. Fo' a gamblin' man, Plimsoll, you're a damned pore judge of a
+hand."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll strode off down the hill alone. The men who had come with him
+hesitated and then crossed the gulch. They had severed connections with
+the J. P. brand for the time, at least. The three partners walked back
+toward the tunnel.</p>
+
+<p>"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 been
+at it, an' the wind an' weather had finished the job till there warn't
+much mo'n hide an' some scattered bones. Mebbe a li'l' hair. But that
+carkiss sure held mo' guts than Jim Plimsoll packs."</p>
+
+<p>"He ain't through," said Mormon. "You didn't ought to give him till
+sun-up, Sandy. Sun-down 'ud have been better. He's a mangy coyote, but
+he's got brains an' he'll addle 'em figgerin' out some way to git even."</p>
+
+<p>"I w'udn't wonder," answered Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' to do a li'l'
+figgerin' too."</p>
+
+<p>"We got to stay on the claims," said Sam. "If they happened to think of
+it 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."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>He spoke as dispassionately as if he had been discussing a display of
+harmless fireworks. Sandy answered in the same tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it likely, Sam. Camp knows, or will know, what's been
+happenin'. If dynamite was thrown they'd sabe who did it an' I don't
+believe the crowd 'ud stand for it. Jest the same it 'ud sure surprise
+me if we didn't git some sort of a shivaree pahty afteh nightfall. I
+w'udn't wonder if Jim Plimsoll forgets to send fo' that tent an' stuff
+of his. Hope he does."</p>
+
+<p>"What do we want with it?" demanded Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>Sam and Mormon both looked at him curiously, but Sandy's face was
+sphinx-like and they refrained from useless questioning.</p>
+
+<p>"Here comes young Ed," announced Sandy as they gained the tunnel. "He's
+totin' somethin' that looks to me as if it might be grub."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't offend me none ef it is," said Mormon. "I'm hungrier'n a spring
+b'ar an' all our stuff's oveh with Mirandy Bailey."</p>
+
+<p>"She's sure one thoughtful lady," said Sam. "What you got, Ed?" he
+queried as the gangling youth came up.</p>
+
+<p>"Beans, camp-bread an' coffee. Aunt Mirandy, she 'lowed you-all might
+not 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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>gleaming
+with interest. "We heard somethin' that sounded like shots an' Mr.
+Westlake saw the first bunch go away. He said you waved to him it was
+all right. Aunt, she 'lowed you c'ud look out fo' yourselves. Then the
+second bunch come erlong."</p>
+
+<p>"Jest wishin' us luck, son," said Sandy. "How's everything with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I bet it warn't good luck they was wishin'," grinned Ed, squatting down
+on his haunches and rolling a cigarette. "We're gettin' on fine. Got
+some dandy claims, I reckon. One for maw an' one fo' father, right
+alongside Aunt Mirandy's an' mine. It 'ud be great if we sh'ud all
+strike it rich, to once, w'udn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Great!" agreed Sandy, munching beans with gusto. "Don't you think you
+ought to be gettin' back, 'case some one might take a notion to them
+claims 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 business
+to attend to."</p>
+
+<p>Young Ed straightened.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll look out for her all right," he said. "But you don't know Aunt
+Mirandy over well or you'd know she can do her own protectin'. You bet
+she can. 'Sides, the men who've got claims nigh us come over an' told
+her they'd see she wasn't interfered with none. Said they'd heard some
+bully had sworn at her an' the real miners in camp warn't goin' to stand
+anything like that. Nor no claim-jumpin'. They're goin' to organize,
+they say. Git up a Vigilance Committee."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"Figger he'll go?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"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 camp
+here fo' a bit an' sit tight. I'd do the same, if I was you, Ed, spite
+of yore friends. I don't doubt fo' a minute but what yore aunt is plumb
+capable of lookin' out for herself, but you see, she's a woman an' yo're
+a man, an' it's you folks'll be lookin' to."</p>
+
+<p>The lad flushed with pride under the hand that Sandy set in chummy
+fashion on his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do that," he said, and, picking up the emptied utensils he had
+brought he started off down and across the gulch.</p>
+
+<p>"No sense in encouragin' him to hang around us," said Sandy. "There's
+apt to be fireworks round here most any time between now an' ter-morrer
+mo'nin'. Plimsoll'll shack erlong about sun-up&mdash;providin' he ain't able
+to 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 the
+tent."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't aim fo' us to sleep in it, do you?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't believe we'd rest well if we tackled it. But it mightn't be a bad
+scheme if we give the gen'ral idee that we <i>are</i> sleepin' in it. I put a
+lantern in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>car when we stahted. Fetch that erlong too, will you,
+Mormon?"</p>
+
+<p>It was late afternoon before Mormon reappeared, bearing a camp outfit,
+part of which was carried by Westlake. Sandy and Sam had repitched the
+tent on fairly level ground of the valley bottom. The claim boundaries
+ran to within fifty yards of the little creek named Flivver and the
+tent-pins were set almost on the border-line. The ground was sparsely
+covered with scrub grass, shrubs and willows, the space about the tent
+clear of anything higher than clumps of bushes and sage.</p>
+
+<p>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 low
+harmonies through his mouth organ, appeared perfectly satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>"Why on the flat?" asked Mormon. "There's a heap of cover round here
+where they might snake up afteh dahk an' sling anythin' they minded to
+at us, from lead to giant powdeh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Wal," drawled Sandy, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "it's handy
+to watch, fo' one thing, an' yore right about that coveh, Mormon. That's
+why we chose it. Sam an' me had a heap of trouble pickin' out this
+place. Finally we found jest what we wanted, didn't we, Sam?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure did."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon set down his load and took off his hat to scratch his head
+perplexedly. Then his face lightened as he looked up-hill.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>"You figger on settin' the lantern in here afteh dahk," he said. "An'
+watchin' the fun from the tunnel."</p>
+
+<p>"Pritty close, Mormon. Come inside, you an' Westlake, an' I'll show you
+suthin'."</p>
+
+<p>They followed him into the tent and came out again laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"No matteh what happens," said Sandy, "an' I'm hopin' fo' the worst, it
+ain't our tent. You been up to the main street this afternoon,
+Westlake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. There's a lot of talk loose about the trouble between you and
+Plimsoll's crowd. Factions for both sides and a lot of onlookers who are
+neutral and just waiting for the excitement. I saw Roaring Russell but
+he 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 have
+been a champion wrestler at one time."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say so," said Mormon. "Me, I was the champeen wrastler of the
+Cow Belt, one time. Had the belt to prove it till I lost it at draw
+poker. I've got hawg fat sence then, but I don't believe I've softened
+any. 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 a
+spell. I'll make fire an' git supper if you want to take Westlake up to
+the tunnel."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake carefully inspected the tunnel, the float and the contents of
+the dump.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't wonder if Casey was running this as a drift to follow a good
+lead," he pronounced. "It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>looks better to me than any part of the camp
+I've inspected. I'll assay these samples for you, if you've no
+objection. I've got a lot of orders back at my shack already. My
+customers told me that they'd put a flea in Russell's ear that the camp
+assayer was not to be interfered with, so there is some value in an
+education, you see."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy nodded. "You pack a gun?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I've got one, but I don't carry it. My practise with firearms has
+been with larger calibers."</p>
+
+<p>"War?" asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I was in the artillery. Is there anything else I can do? Get you
+some supplies? I'm coming back to have supper with Miss Bailey and her
+nephew."</p>
+
+<p>"Not a thing," said Sandy. "Much obliged." He watched the engineer swing
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a good man for you," he said to Sam. "Well set up and able to
+handle himself. I like his ways first-rate."</p>
+
+<p>"Me, too," said Sam. "He'd make a good match fo' Molly, when she comes
+back with her eddication, w'udn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy stopped in his stride suddenly, so that Sam halted and regarded
+him curiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Twist yo' foot?" he asked. "High heels is all right fo' stirrups but
+they're tough on hill climbin'."</p>
+
+<p>"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 it
+gits dusk enough to light the lantern."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h2>A ROPE BREAKS</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>The lantern, turned down, dimly illumined the tent and revealed the
+figures of three men seated about some sort of rough table. The flap was
+drawn and fastened. Occasionally a figure moved slightly. No passer-by
+would have guessed that the three partners were ensconced in the black
+mouth of the tunnel, ramparted by the dump heap, watching for
+developments they were fairly sure would start with darkness. Every
+little while Sandy twitched a line that was attached to a clumsy but
+effective rocker he had contrived beneath one of the dummies they had
+built from the stuff that Plimsoll had not reclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't want to work the blamed thing too much," he said. "Might bu'st
+it. It's on'y the one figger but I'll be derned if it don't look
+natcherul."</p>
+
+<p>After which they all relapsed into silence, restrained from smoking for
+fear of a telltale spark or casual fragrance carried by the wind. It was
+a dark night, the hillsides stood blurry against a blue-black sky in
+which the stars glittered like metal points but failed to shed much
+light. Later, much later, toward morning, a moon would rise.</p>
+
+<p>Here and there on the slopes bright spots or glows <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>of fire marked the
+occupied claim-sites. From the camp itself there came a murmur that
+sometimes swelled louder under the dull flare that hung over the lower
+end of the valley; reflection and diffusion from the gasoline lights and
+acetylene flares used by the owners of the eating-houses, the bars and
+gambling shacks, all open for business during miners' hours, which meant
+two shifts, of night and day.</p>
+
+<p>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; marking
+time by the sidereal clock of the heavens, each with a variant emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon shifted his position more frequently than the others. None of
+them was especially comfortable, but Mormon wanted to keep as limber as
+possible, he was afraid of stiffening up, thinking always of his
+challenge to Roaring Russell. Slow to anger, Mormon, when his rage
+mounted was slow of statement. What he said he meant. The insult to
+Miranda Bailey while under his escort chafed him as a saddle chafes a
+galled horse. It had to be wiped out at the earliest moment and,
+singularly enough, the spinster was not particularly prominent in the
+matter. It was not a personal question; the insult had been offered to
+womanhood, and Mormon was ever its champion and its victim.</p>
+
+<p>Sam, cut off from tobacco and melody, bunkered down with his back
+against a frame timber and looked at the tall lean figure of Sandy
+silhouetted against the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>stars, wondering why Sandy had stopped so
+abruptly when the names of Westlake and Molly Casey had been coupled. It
+wasn't like Sandy to move or halt without definite purpose, Sam
+reasoned. "I suppose he figgers Molly too much of a kid," he told
+himself. "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 were
+wealthy. 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 not
+go. That Sandy might have felt a tinge of jealousy toward young Westlake
+was furthest from his conjectures.</p>
+
+<p>As for Sandy, he had lost his mental orientation. Something had
+happened, something was happening within him and he could not tell the
+process nor name it. He was as a man who goes out into the darkness amid
+rooms and passages with which he considers himself familiar and
+suddenly&mdash;there comes a door where should be space, or space where there
+should be a window&mdash;and he is lost, his senses betray him, for the
+moment he is completely fogged, all bearings lost, possessed with the
+blankness that accompanies the flight of self-confidence.</p>
+
+<p>He could see very plainly in mental vision the picture that Molly had
+sent to the Three Star, now framed and given the place of honor on the
+table of the ranch-house living-room. The picture of a girl in whose
+eyes the fleeting look of womanhood, that Sandy had now and then seen
+there and which had thrilled him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>so strangely, had become permanent.
+That she was something so vital she could not be dismissed from the life
+of the Three Star, from his own life, by sending her to school whence
+she would return almost a stranger, by making her an heiress, Sandy
+recognized. He had deliberately given her his hand to help her out of
+the rut in which he had found her and now, with the swift series of
+tableaux 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 of
+his own from which there was no up-lifting?</p>
+
+<p>To Sandy, Westlake seemed little more than a likable lad, placing him at
+about twenty-three or four. He felt immeasurably older, harder, though
+there were not more than six years between them&mdash;seven at the most. Even
+that made him almost twice the age of Molly. With this twist of his
+reverie 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 had
+his affection shifted with the changing of Molly to womanhood?</p>
+
+<p>Sandy Bourke, knight of the roving heel, had never attempted to find
+solution for his attitude toward women. It was neither wariness nor
+antipathy. His life, drifting from rancho to rancho, sometimes
+consorting with the rougher side of men careless of conventions, had
+been, in the main, not unlike the life of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>a hermit, with long periods
+when he rode alone under sun and stars with only his horse for company.</p>
+
+<p>There were months of this and then came swiftly moving periods of
+relaxation in a cattle town where men unleashed the repressions and let
+pent-up energies and appetites have full sway. Sandy loved card chances
+where his own skill might back what luck the pasteboards brought him in
+the deal. Drinking bouts, the company of the women with whom many of his
+fellows consorted, never appealed to him. His reservations found outlet
+in gambling or in the acceptance of some job where the danger risks ran
+high, where success and self-safety hung upon his coolness, his keen
+sense, his courage and his skill with horse and lariat and gun. A life
+as apart as a sailor's, more lonely, for he was often companionless for
+months.</p>
+
+<p>So far he had never felt lack of anything, least of all lately, with the
+two men he liked best in active partnership with him, with a maturing
+interest in the development of his ranch and his grade of cattle by
+modern methods. But, to have Molly not come back, or, returning, to have
+her wooed and won, entirely absorbed by some one like Westlake, struck
+him with a sense of impending loss that amounted to a real pain,
+difficult of self-diagnosis. Westlake was worthy enough. A good mate for
+Molly, climbing up the ladder of education and culture to stand where
+the engineer, well-bred, well-mannered, now stood, the two of them to go
+on together....</p>
+
+<p>"Shucks!" muttered Sandy. "And he ain't even <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>seen her picture. I must
+have been chewin' loco weed."</p>
+
+<p>"What say?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin' to take a li'l' look-see," said Sandy. "I reckon they're
+tryin' to git warmed up an' decide on what they'll do round here. No
+tellin' how long they may take or what kind of deviltry that camp booze
+may work 'em up to. I'm pritty certain no one saw us sneak out of the
+tent afteh dahk."</p>
+
+<p>If they had been seen no attempt might be made to dislodge them from the
+claims. Sandy did not believe such effort would turn out to be a
+shooting match,&mdash;unless the defenders started it,&mdash;but something more
+underhanded. The flinging of a dynamite stick, if the throwers felt
+certain of not being caught, was a possibility if enough crude whisky
+had been absorbed. In all probability the crowd of ousted men were
+making themselves conspicuous in the camp during the earlier hours of
+the evening in view of a needed alibi. Nothing might happen until
+midnight and the long vigil was not comfortable. Sandy vanished from the
+tunnel mouth, sinking to the ground, instantly indistinguishable even to
+Sam and Mormon. There was nothing to tell whether he had gone up-hill or
+down. The momentary cessation of the cicadas' chorus was the only
+warning that a human was abroad.</p>
+
+<p>"Have a chaw?" Mormon whispered presently, after he had changed his
+pose.</p>
+
+<p>Sam took the plug tobacco and bit into it gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>"I sure hate stickin' around, waitin'," he said under his breath. "Allus
+makes me plumb nerv'us."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>"Same here," answered Mormon. "Reckon it's that way with most men. Sandy
+don't show it, 'cept by goin' out on a snoop."</p>
+
+<p>"He can see, smell an' hear where we'd be deef, dumb an' blind," said
+Sam. "Wonder what time it is? We've been here all of two hours already
+'cordin' to them stars."</p>
+
+<p>"What time does the moon rise?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"'Bout half past three or so. You figgerin' on wrastlin' Roarin' Russell
+by moonlight, after we git through down here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a hunch this is goin' to be a busy night, plumb through till
+sun-up," said Mormon. "An', when I meet up with Roarin' Russell it ain't
+goin' to be jest a wrastlin match, believe me. It's goin' to be a
+free-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."</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"I can hear you two gossipin' old wimmin gabbin' clear up to the top of
+the hill an' down to the crick," added a third voice as Sandy glided in,
+materializing from the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"Anythin' doin'?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"No, an' there won't be long as you air yo' voices. You play like an
+angel on that mouth harp of yores, Sam, but you talk like a rasp. Mormon
+booms like a bull frawg."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>They settled down again to their watch. The Great Bear constellation
+dipped down, scooping into the darkness beyond the opposing hill.</p>
+
+<p>"Pritty close to midnight," said Sam at last. "What's the ..."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy's grip on his arm checked him, all senses centering into
+listening.</p>
+
+<p>The three stared blankly into the night, while their hands sought gun
+butts and loosened the weapons in their holsters. Out of the blackness
+came little foreign sounds that they interpreted according to their
+powers. The tiny clink of metal, the faint thud of horses' hoofs, an
+exclamation that had barely been above the speaker's breath floated up
+to them through the stillness. The glow of the lantern showed through
+the tent wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Two riders," mouthed Sandy so softly that Mormon and Sam swung heads to
+catch his words. "Came up the valley t'other side of the crick. Both
+crossed it above the tent. Reckon they're visitin' us. One of 'em's
+comin' this way."</p>
+
+<p>They crouched, breathless now, listening to the soft padded sounds that
+told of the approach of man and horse. These ceased. Still they could
+see nothing. Then there came a sharp shrill whistle, answered from the
+levels. Followed instantly the thud of galloping ponies going at top
+speed, parallel, one between the watchers and the tent as they saw the
+swift shadow shade the glow for an instant, the other between the tent
+and the creek. There was a sharp swishing as of something whipping
+brush.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>"Yi-yi-yippy!" The cries rang out exultant as the horses dashed by the
+tunnel. The light in the tent wavered, went out. There was a shout of
+surprise and dismay, a <i>twang</i> like the snapping of a mighty bowstring
+and then came the whoops of the trio from the Three Star as they
+realized what the attempt had been and how it had failed.</p>
+
+<p>Two riders, trailing a rope, had raced down the valley hoping to sweep
+away the tent, to send its occupant sprawling, its contents scattered in
+a confusion of which advantage would be taken to chase the three off
+their claims, taken by surprise, made ridiculous.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy and Sam, searching for a convenient tent site, had happened upon a
+mass of outcrop, overgrown by brush. Over this they had pitched the
+tent, using the rock for table, propping their dummies about it. If
+dynamite was flung it would find something to work against. They had not
+anticipated the use of the rope to demolish the canvas any more than the
+two riders had expected to bring up against a boulder. The impact, with
+their ponies spurred, urged on by their shouts to their limit, tore the
+cinches of one saddle loose, jerked it from the horse and catapulted the
+unprepared rider over its head, flying through the air to land heavily,
+while his mount, unencumbered, frightened, went careering off leaving
+its breathless master stunned amid the sage.</p>
+
+<p>As the cinches had given way at one end, the line itself had parted at
+the other. The second pony had stumbled sidewise, rolling before the man
+was free <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>from the saddle. They could hear it thrashing in the willows,
+the rider cursing as he tried to remount while Sandy ran cat-footed down
+the hill, leaving Mormon and Sam to handle the other. If there had been
+assistants to the raid they had melted away, willing enough to join in a
+drive against men yanked from their tent, defenseless, but not at all
+eager to face the guns of those same men on the alert, the aggressive.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon and Sam found their man groaning and limp.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't believe he's bu'sted anything," announced Sam, "'less he's druv
+his neck inter his shoulders. Got his saddle, Mormon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yep. Want the rope?"</p>
+
+<p>They trussed their captive with the lariat still snubbed to his
+saddle-horn. Down in the willows there was a flash, a report, a
+scurrying flight punctuated by an oath almost as vivid as the shot.
+Sandy came up the hill toward them.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss him?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"It was sure dahk," said Sandy, "and I hated to plug the hawss. So I
+only took one shot to cheer him on his way. He was mountin' at the time
+an' it was a snapshot. I aimed at the seat of his pants. I w'udn't be
+surprised but what he's ridin' so't of one-sided. Who you got here? Tote
+him down-hill. I don't believe they bu'sted the lantern. We'll take a
+look at him."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy retrieved the lantern from the collapsed canvas and lit it. Mormon
+and Sam took the senseless man down to the creek where they attempted to
+revive <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>him by pouring hatfuls of the icy water on his head. He was a
+black-haired chap, sallow of face, clean-shaven. His clothes were those
+of a cowman.</p>
+
+<p>"Looks a heap like a drowned rat," said Mormon. "It's Sol Wyatt, one of
+Plim's riders oveh to his hawss ranch. He got fired from the
+Two-Bar-Circle fo' leavin' his ridin' iron to home an' usin' anotheh
+brand. Leastwise, that's what they suspected. Old Man Penny giv' him the
+benefit of the doubt an' jest kicked him out of the corral. If he'd had
+the goods on him he'd have skinned him alive an' put his pelt on the
+bahn do' fo' a warnin'."</p>
+
+<p>"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 with
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Take him up inter camp, soon's he's able to walk an' hand him over to
+Plimsoll with our compliments. They figgered they'd make us all look
+plumb ridiculous with bein' flipped out of the tent. Then they'd have
+had 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."</p>
+
+<p>Wyatt opened a pair of shifty black eyes to consciousness and the light
+of the lantern and immediately closed them again, playing opossum. Sam
+prodded him gently in the ribs.</p>
+
+<p>"Wake up, Sol," he said. "Come back to earth, you sky-salutin'
+circus-rider. You sure looped the loops 'fore you lit. Serves you right
+fo' usin' a one-cinch saddle. Git up!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>Wyatt gasped and sat up, grinning foolishly.</p>
+
+<p>"What happened?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothin'," answered Sandy. "Jest nothin'. Who was your buckaroo friend
+on the otheh end of the rope?"</p>
+
+<p>"I dunno. Never saw him before to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Pal of Jim Plimsoll?"</p>
+
+<p>"I dunno. Nobuddy I know. Nobuddy you know, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll know him likely next time I run across him," said Sandy. "He's
+packin' a saddle brand I put on him." His voice was grimly humorous, he
+recognized Wyatt's obstinacy as something not without merit. "How's yore
+haid?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some tender."</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't in first-rate condition or you w'udn't be drawin' pay from
+Plimsoll. Yore saddle's here, yore hawss went west. Ef you want to leave
+the saddle till you locate the hawss, you can git it 'thout any trouble
+any time you come fo' it. Or you can pack it with you now. We're goin'
+up to camp."</p>
+
+<p>"Figger it's safe to leave yore claims now?" asked Wyatt cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't figger we'll be jumped ag'in befo' mornin'," replied Sandy. "Ef
+we are, why, we'll have to start the arguments all over."</p>
+
+<p>"I w'udn't be surprised," said the philosophic Wyatt, gingerly pressing
+his head with his fingertips, "but what there is a gen'ral impression
+'stablished by this time that you three hombres from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>Three Star are
+right obstinate about considerin' this yore property."</p>
+
+<p>"You leavin' camp with Plimsoll in the mornin'?" Mormon asked casually.</p>
+
+<p>"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 pulls
+too much on his picket line to suit me. Ef he's got a yeller stripe on
+his belly, I'm quittin'. Some day he's goin' to git inter a hole that'll
+sure test his standard. Me, I may be a bit of a wolf, but I'm damned ef
+I 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 round
+here somewheres."</p>
+
+<p>"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?"</p>
+
+<p>Wyatt grinned in the lantern light.</p>
+
+<p>"Ef we trailed inter his place an' made a bet on the red over to the
+faro table he'd sabe everything went off fine an' dandy. He w'udn't
+figger we'd show at all if it didn't come off. An' we w'udn't have."</p>
+
+<p>"There was one or two mo' staked out in the brush, 'less my hearin's
+gone back on me," said Sandy. "Seemed to me I heard 'em makin' their
+getaway. I suppose you don't know their names, either?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I sure don't. An' I don't imagine they'll be showin' up at
+Plimsoll's right off. It was a win-or-lose job. Pay if it was pulled
+off. Otherwise, nothin' doin'. You hombres treated me white. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>There's a
+lot who'd have plugged me full of lead an' death. I was on yore land. Ef
+you force me to walk into Plimsoll's Place ahead of you I ain't
+resistin' none, an' I shall sure admire to watch Plim's face when he
+sees you-all back of me."</p>
+
+<p>He took the trail ahead of them, hands in his pockets, his cigarette
+glowing. Behind him walked Sandy. Wyatt finished his smoke and started
+to hum a tune.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh, I'm wild an' woolly an' full of fleas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm hard to curry below the knees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm a wild he-wolf from Cripple Crick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' this is my night to howl.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I ain't got a friend but my hawss an' gun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The last kin shoot an' the first kin run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I'm a rovin' son-of-a-gun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' this is my night to howl."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"He's a cool sort of a cuss," said Sam to Mormon. "I reckon he's a bad
+actor, but there's sure somethin' erbout the galoot I like. He ain't
+over fond of Plimsoll, that's a sure thing, if he is workin' fo' him.
+Wonder why?"</p>
+
+<p>"They tell me," replied Mormon, "thet Plimsoll's apt to be fond of the
+other feller's gal. He ain't satisfied with what he can pick for
+himself. T'otheh feller's apple allus has a sweeter core. I w'udn't
+wondeh but what that was the trouble. Plim ain't got any mo' respect fo'
+wimmen than hell has fo' fryin' souls."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>"Uh-huh! He w'udn't go round pickin' a scrap with Roarin' Russell on
+their account, fer instance?"</p>
+
+<p>Mormon paid no attention to the friendly gibe. As they entered the
+street of the camp, largely deserted, though there was every evidence of
+crowds forgetting time in the drinking and gambling shacks, Sandy moved
+up even with Wyatt and locked arms with him.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't goin' ter make no break," said Wyatt. "Here's Plim's. Jest you
+let me go in ahead through the door. I've seen you use your guns. I
+ain't suicidin'."</p>
+
+<p>They allowed him to go in first, unescorted. Their plans held no further
+reprisal against Wyatt.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h2>A FREE-FOR-ALL</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Plimsoll's place was crowded. There were more onlookers than actual
+players though the tables were fairly well patronized. Many of those who
+had seats were only cappers for the game. The majority of the men who
+had rushed to the new strike had not brought any great sums of money
+with them, or, if they had, reserved its use for speculation in claims
+rather than the slimmer chances of Plimsoll's enterprises. In a few
+days, if the camp produced from grass roots, as was expected and hoped,
+Plimsoll would gather in his harvest. A garnering in which Sandy had
+sadly interfered.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll had set up a working partnership with a man who had brought
+moonshine and bootlegged whisky to the camp, occupying the next shack to
+the gambling place. For convenience of service extra doors had been cut
+and a rough-boarded passageway erected between the two places. The fever
+of gambling provided thirsty customers for the liquor dealer, and the
+whisky blunted the wits of the gamblers and gave the dealers more than
+their customary percentage of odds in the favor of the house. It was a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>combination that worked both ways. Waiters impressed into service from
+camp followers, crudely took orders and delivered them. There were no
+mixed drinks, no scale of prices. And there was no question of license.
+The will of the majority ruled. The gold-seeking reduced things to
+primitive methods, men to primitive manners.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll himself presided over the stud-poker table, dealing the game.
+He showed nothing of the nervousness that crawled beneath his skin. He
+awaited the result of his play with Wyatt and the latter's companions.
+If he could make Sandy, Mormon and Sam ridiculous, he would achieve his
+end, but he hoped for bigger results. Wyatt and his fellow rider had
+been detailed to ride down the tent that had been reported occupied by
+the Three Star owners. That part of the plan had been suggested by Wyatt
+out of the sheer deviltry of his invention. Plimsoll had enlisted others
+of his following, none too fearless, to loiter in the brush and, in the
+general confusion, fire to cripple and to kill.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll had learned of the visit of the men who had come with Bill
+Brandon to investigate Plimsoll's methods of running the Waterline Horse
+Ranch. He had learned, through the leakage that always occurs in a
+cattle community, that Brandon claimed to be an old acquaintance of
+Sandy and his partners. So he had told his men who had come with him to
+the camp from the Waterline Ranch that the Three Star outfit was a
+danger to all of them, undoubtedly acting as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>spies for Brandon, and
+that they should be eliminated for the general good. But there was none
+of them, from Plimsoll down, who had any fancy to stand up against the
+guns of Sandy, or of Mormon and Sam, when the breaks were anywhere
+nearly even.</p>
+
+<p>So Plimsoll dealt stud and collected the percentage of the house,
+watching his planted players profit by their professionalism and by the
+little signs bestowed upon them by Plimsoll that tipped them off as to
+the value of the hidden cards. Plimsoll, with his ejection from
+Hereford, the advent of woman suffrage, the coming of Brandon and other
+irate horse owners, had begun to realize that his days were getting
+short in the land. He looked to the camp for a final coup. If he held
+the Casey claims and sold them, as he expected to do, to an eastern
+capitalist to whom he had telegraphed some days before, he might
+reestablish himself. Sandy's prompt arrival and subsequent events had
+crimped that plan and he fell back upon all the crooked tactics that he
+possessed in gambling. And now, if Wyatt....</p>
+
+<p>He was dealing the last card around when Wyatt came in and his eyes lit
+up. Then his face stiffened, the light changed to a gleam of
+malevolence. Following Wyatt were the three partners, taking open order
+as 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. The
+two last smiled and nodded to one or two acquaintances. Sandy's face was
+set in serious cast. The players at Plimsoll's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>table turned to see what
+caused the suspension of the game, others followed their example. The
+Three Star men were known personally to some of those in the room. The
+story of what had happened during the day had buzzed in everybody's
+ears, from Roaring Russell's discomfiture to Plimsoll's failure to hold
+the claims and the eviction notice served on him by Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>The phrase "you'll see me through smoke," held a grim significance that
+touched the fancy of these gold gatherers, men of the cruder types for
+the most part. The issue between Sandy and Plimsoll was the paramount
+topic, 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 other
+gamblers to provide them with excitement. Mormon's challenge of Russell
+was a sporting event that appealed to them more directly and there were
+many possessed of a rough chivalry that appreciated the heavyweight
+cowman'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 as
+referee.</p>
+
+<p>Chairs edged back, the standing moved for a better view-point, the room
+focussed on Plimsoll, Wyatt and the three cow-chums. Then Wyatt stepped
+aside. There was a malicious little grin on his face. Mormon's
+suggestion as to his private grudge against Plimsoll was not without
+foundation. Wyatt had been glad to find excuse for severing relations
+with the gambler. He had done his best and failed, but his failure was
+not bitter.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>The partners walked between the tables toward Plimsoll who sat regarding
+them balefully, his teeth just showing between his parted lips, cards in
+midair, action in a paralysis that was caused by the concentration
+forced by Sandy's even gaze, by the same sickening conviction that his
+manhood shriveled in front of Sandy and that Sandy knew it. Oaths
+against Wyatt rose automatically in his brain like bubbles in a mineral
+spring, together with the consciousness that Wyatt, if not allied
+against him, was no longer for him, that his chosen tools lacked edge.
+The placing of bets ceased, there was no sound of clicking chips, the
+roulette dealer held the wheel, expectant, dealer and case-keeper at the
+faro bank halted their manipulations, the presiding genius of the craps
+layout picked up the dice. Tragedy hovered, the shadow of its wing was
+on the dirt floor of the rude Temple of Chance.</p>
+
+<p>"The chaps you sent up to move yore tent an' truck didn't make a good
+job of it, Plimsoll," drawled Sandy. "I reckon they warn't the right
+so't of help. Ef you-all are aimin' to take that stuff erlong with you
+I'd recommend you 'tend to it yorese'f. It's gettin' erlong to'ards
+sun-up, fast as a clock can tick."</p>
+
+<p>Silence held. Sandy stood non-committal, at ease. His conversation with
+Plimsoll might have been of the friendliest nature gauged by his
+attitude. His hands were on his hips. Back of him, slightly turning
+toward the crowd, were Mormon and Sam, smilingly surveying the room. But
+not one there but knew that, faster than the ticking of a clock, guns
+might gleam <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>and spurt fire and lead in case of trouble. It was all
+being done ethically enough. They did not know exactly what the entrance
+of Wyatt meant, but Sandy's talk gave them a hint and his poise was
+correct, without swagger, without intent to start general ruction. It
+was up to Plimsoll.</p>
+
+<p>"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 statement
+and a light one, but it passed the situation for the moment. His eyes
+shifted to Wyatt, shining with hate, the whites blood-flecked by
+suppressed passion.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy pulled out a gunmetal watch.</p>
+
+<p>"I make it half afteh one. 'Bout three hours to sunrise, Plimsoll. I'll
+be round later." He turned his back on the gambler and sauntered toward
+the door. Before the general restraint broke Mormon put up his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I figger Roarin' Russell ain't in the room," he said. "Ef he happens
+erlong, some of you might tell him I was lookin' fo' him. An' I'm goin'
+to keep on lookin'," he added.</p>
+
+<p>There was a laugh that swelled into a roar of approval in the general
+reaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Good for you!" A dozen phrases of commendation chimed and jangled. A
+few followed the three out into the street, among them, Wyatt.</p>
+
+<p>"I got a hunch it ain't extry healthy fo' me in there," he said. "A
+gamblin' parlor where I ain't welcome to stay or play makes no hit with
+me. I'll help you-all find Russell."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>The search was not an easy one. Russell had been seen freely in the
+makeshift saloons and other places on both sides of the street. It
+seemed, from what they could glean and put together, that he had stopped
+drinking when he had arrived at a certain point in his boasting and had
+announced his intention of sobering up before he "took the bloody,
+hog-bellied cow-puncher apart, providin' the latter showed." This suited
+Mormon, who wanted fairly to whip a live opponent, not fight a
+staggering drunkard. But they could not find him. They had several
+volunteer assistants who proved useless. Sam began to yawn.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't sleepy, I'm hungry," he said. "Let's go get us a steak oveh to
+Simpson's. If he's gone to bed we'll rout him out. Won't be the first
+time he turned out to cook me a meal. A shot of that Rocky Mountain
+grapejuice 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."</p>
+
+<p>Simpson was awake and dressed and on the job. His place was almost as
+well filled as it had been the first time they entered it. In the first
+seethe of the gold excitement no one seemed to get sleepy, while
+appetites developed. Word had preceded them that Mormon Peters was
+looking for Roaring Russell and their entrance caused more than a ripple
+of interest. Simpson came bustling forward to serve them.</p>
+
+<p>"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 a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>hammerlock 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 same
+Roarin' Russell has been tellin' the camp what a rip-snortin',
+limb-loosenin', strong-armed galoot he is, an' some of 'em have
+swallered it. They ain't seen you in action, Mormon, an' I have. You'll
+jest natcherly chaw him inter hash. I'm bettin' there won't be enough of
+him left to stuff a Chili pepper after you git through."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't as limber as I was, Alf," said Mormon deprecatingly. "Make my
+steak thick, will you? Have you seen anything of the Roarin' gent?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not personal. He don't eat here. There was a friend of yores in a while
+ago who seemed to be sort of keepin' tabs on him. That young assayer
+Russell started to bulldoze when Sandy took a hand. Said he'd be in
+ag'in later. 'Peared to think you was bound to show before mornin'."</p>
+
+<p>Simpson went to the back of his shack and started the steaks. A waiter
+brought over drinks of the Rocky Mountain grapejuice with the
+information that they were "on the house."</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't the hooch we're sellin'," he said. "This is private stock,
+hundred proof." He eyed Mormon professionally as he hung about the
+table, setting out the battered cutlery and tin plates that Simpson
+provided. "They was offerin' two to one on Roarin' Russell a little
+while ago," he volunteered. "I think I'll take up a piece of their
+money."</p>
+
+<p>"This ain't a prize-fight, it's a privut quarrel," said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>Mormon as he
+smelled the fiery stuff in the glass, sipped it and then swallowed it in
+one gulp. "That's prime stuff."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have one hell of a time keepin' it privut, mister," said the
+waiter. "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 to
+watch out for Russell's pals, though; they ain't the gentlest bunch in
+the 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 a
+gun."</p>
+
+<p>A call from another of the makeshift tables claimed his attention.
+Simpson came hurrying with the meat, biscuits and coffee. He sat down
+with them, offering more drinks which they refused.</p>
+
+<p>"Slack right now," he said, "but I sure have done a whale of a business
+to-day. If this keeps up I don't want no claims. They're tellin' me you
+give Plimsoll till sun-up to git out of camp, Sandy. I don't figger
+there'll be any argyment. He's yeller as the yolk of a rotten aig. Hell
+w'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 they
+used to be. This ain't the frontier any more and a few bad men can't run
+a strike to suit themselves. If the camp's no good it'll peter out like
+it did afore; if it amounts to anything, we'll have a police station on
+one end of this street, a fire station at t'other an' streetcars runnin'
+down the middle, inside of a month. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>Plimsoll's gettin' a bum name in
+this county. The wimmin are ag'in' him. An' I tell you, gents, we
+hombres 'll have to watch our steps or they'll be takin' our vote away
+from us next thing you know. It's a lucky thing for us that men is in
+the majority in this section. Here's yore friend now."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake came through the door, looked round, saw them and came over.</p>
+
+<p>"Russell is down at the Chinaman's eating shack by the bridge," he
+announced. "He's been drinking black coffee to sober up on. He's got
+some of his own sort with him. I think they're nearly ready to come
+up-street. He knows you are in camp and looking for him."</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'd better be shackin' erlong," said Mormon, mopping up gravy
+with half a biscuit. "I w'udn't want to keep him waitin'."</p>
+
+<p>Outside, it was apparent that the whole camp was waiting for the
+appearance of the two principals in an event that was not to be allowed
+to be dealt with purely as a personal encounter. The waiter's estimate
+was a fair one. The moon had risen, sailing round and fair and mild of
+beam from behind the eastern hills, making pallid by comparison the
+artificial flares. The one street was packed with men, not all of whom
+were sober. The crowd thickened every moment from outlets of the
+gambling shacks and saloons. All other business and pleasure was
+forgotten with the swift word passing to say that the cowman who had
+slapped the bully in the face and challenged him that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>morning to a
+catch-as-catch-can, free-for-all contest, was now in Alf Simpson's Chuck
+House while his opponent, in the cold range of enforced, semi-sobriety,
+was in Su Sing's Hashery, the pair about to emerge.</p>
+
+<p>This was to be better than any gunplay, a gladiatorial combat to delight
+the hearts of frontiersmen. And they warmed to it. All day there had
+been rumors busy of the clash, of the matters involved. Garbled versions
+of the truth ran excitement up to hot-blood heat. The town had stayed up
+for developments. Bets had been made on Plimsoll's backing down at
+sunrise; on the cowman, Mormon; on the bully, Russell.</p>
+
+<p>The affair with Plimsoll at sun-up was likely to be short and sharp. Men
+who knew the three from the Three Star Ranch spread their opinions. The
+prime event was the scrap. Russell was, or had been, a professional
+wrestler and held fame as a rough-and-tumble fighter. Mormon had once
+beaten all comers for the Cow Belt. The spectators swarmed like bees and
+buzzed 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 toward
+the bridge over Flivver Creek, escorting the three partners and
+Westlake, Simpson and his help with them. More were milling up-street
+from Su Sing's place, Russell in their midst. Where the two factions
+met, the principals kept apart by the crowd, a broad-shouldered giant
+with the voice of a bull and a beard that crimped low on his chest,
+harangued the multitude <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>from a wagon-box. They halted to listen, like a
+crowd at a fair.</p>
+
+<p>"Gents all," bellowed the big man. "There's been some tall talkin' done
+to-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, without
+recourse to gun, knife or slungshot. Roarin' Russell, champeen wrastler,
+allows he can lick any man in camp. Mormon Peters, champeen holder of
+the 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 two
+principals an' none of our damned business."</p>
+
+<p>The crowd roared in approval of the speaker's style and the force of his
+breezy delivery. He had touched their chivalry in thus delicately
+alluding to the episode of the insult and apology to the only woman in
+camp.</p>
+
+<p>"Therefore," he went on, and the word slipped round that he was Lem
+Pardee, wealthy rancher and ex-representative of the state, "such an
+affair appealin' to every red-blooded male among us, it behooves us to
+see it brought off in due form, fair an' square to both parties, in a
+bare-fisted settlement&mdash;an' may the best man win."</p>
+
+<p>More howls went up, dying as he held up his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"There's level ground below the bridge with free seats an' standin' room
+for all on both sides. The moon graces the occasion an' provides the
+proper illumination. I move you that a referee be appointed to discuss
+fightin' rules with Roarin' Russell an' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>Mormon Peters, to settle all
+side 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."</p>
+
+<p>Shouts that drowned all others nominated Pardee as chief official. He
+accepted 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 by
+name but selected from his judgment of men, and his choices met with
+general approval.</p>
+
+<p>"The principals will choose their own seconds," he said. "Not more than
+three to each man, to act only in that capacity and in no way to
+interfere. That's all."</p>
+
+<p>In two factions the crowd moved down the slant of the street, turned
+aside at the bridge and, as Pardee indicated the level space on the nigh
+side of the creek that trickled down the gulch like quicksilver in the
+moonlight, ranged themselves about the natural arena while the committee
+established the side lines and the referee conferred with Mormon,
+Russell and their seconds in the open. Sandy and Sam appointed
+themselves corner men for Mormon, and Sandy asked Westlake to make the
+third. A roulette dealer from Plimsoll's and a bartender ranged
+themselves alongside Russell, together with Plimsoll himself. Pardee
+eyed the group.</p>
+
+<p>"There's bad blood between you two," he said to Plimsoll and Sandy. "I
+understand you've got your own grudges. You'd better keep clear of this.
+And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>I'm tellin' you both this," he added. "This camp is in the
+rough-and-ready stage, but there's enough of us who've got together to
+see it's goin' to be run decent an' regular. We're goin' to establish
+fair play and order, from now on. We don't expect to run no man's
+affairs so long's they don't interfere with the general welfare of the
+camp, but, if there's any dirty work pulled off, the man that spills the
+dirt is goin' to be interviewed pronto. Things are goin' to be run
+clean. We ain't goin' to give this camp a bad name at the start."</p>
+
+<p>"Suits me," said Sandy. "My blood's runnin' cool enough, Pardee."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not talkin' personal, 'cept so far as this bout is concerned. You
+two had better stay out of it."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy stepped back and Plimsoll, after a few whispered words to Russell,
+followed suit.</p>
+
+<p>"You men want another second apiece?" asked Pardee. "Or are two enough?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Roarin' gent," said Mormon, "made his brags an' I took it up. Me, I
+don't know nothin' about Queensbury rules an', though the camp seems to
+have 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 to
+man, or I lick him. An' a lickin' don't mean puttin' down shoulders on a
+mat. If a man goes down, t'other lets him git up, if he can. Bar
+kickin', bitin', gougin' an' dirty work, an' to hell with yore seconds
+an' yore rounds. This ain't no exhibition. It's a fight!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>He spoke loudly enough for most of the crowd to hear, and they cheered
+him till the hills echoed.</p>
+
+<p>"That suit you, Russell?" asked Pardee sharply.</p>
+
+<p>Russell, stripping to the waist, belting himself, stood forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Suits me," he said. "Suit me better to cut out all this talk an' get
+this over with. It won't take long."</p>
+
+<p>He was a formidable-looking adversary. In the moonlight certain signs of
+puffiness, of dissipation, did not show, save for rolls of fat about
+shoulders and paunch. He was powerfully built, his chest matted with
+black hair, his forearms rough with it. Taller than Mormon, he had all
+the advantage of reach. He sneered openly at his opponent.</p>
+
+<p>"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 a
+stake, if he's agreeable. Loser leaves the camp."</p>
+
+<p>"When he's able to walk. You slapped my face this morning. This evens
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Russell lashed out suddenly, his hand open, striking with the heel of
+his palm for Mormon's jaw. Mormon sprang back, warding off, but it was
+Pardee who struck aside Russell's blow and sent him reeling back with a
+powerful shove.</p>
+
+<p>"Strip down," he said to Mormon. "Both of you keep back of your lines
+till I give the word. Sabe?" He scored two lines in the dirt with the
+toe of his shoe and waved them behind the marks.</p>
+
+<p>"No rounds to this affairs," he called to the crowd. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>"Fair fightin',
+foul holds and punches barred. Everything else goes. Man down allowed
+ten seconds. That's my ruling," he added to the two men.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon looked clumsy as a bear as he waited for the word. He was far
+stouter than Russell. His bald pate, with its reddish fringe of hair,
+looked grotesque under the moon. The bulge of his stomach seemed a
+strong handicap in agility and wind. Yet his flesh was hard and, where
+the tan ended on neck and forearms, it held a glisten that caused the
+knowing ones to nod approvingly. There was strength in his back, big
+muscles shifted on his shoulders and his arms were bigger than
+Russell's, if shorter, corded with pack of sinew and muscle. As he toed
+his line, swaying from side to side, arms apart, the left a little
+forward, he moved with a lightness strange to his usual tread. Russell
+crouched a little, his long arms hanging low, knees bent. The two lines
+were about six feet apart.</p>
+
+<p>They faced each other in a silence of held breath on all sides. Pardee
+stood to one side, equally between them. His arm went up.</p>
+
+<p>"Ready?" he asked. "Let her go!"</p>
+
+<p>A great sigh went up as the two fighters leaped forward. Both seemed
+about to clinch, to test their prowess as wrestlers. Murmurs went up
+from back of Mormon where his fanciers had ranged themselves. "Russell's
+got too many tricks for him," men told each other and then gasped.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon had landed, light as a dancing master, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>despite his bulk, had
+stooped, turned in a flash with his right hand clamped about the right
+wrist of Russell, bowing his back, heaving with all his might.</p>
+
+<p>Russell, shifting at the last second from a clutch, seeing Mormon
+charging, swung a vicious uppercut. He made the mistake of
+underestimating Mormon, thinking him slow-witted. He found his wrist in
+a vise, his arm twisted, bent down across the thick ridge of the
+cowman's shoulder, the powerful heave of Mormon's back. His own impetus
+served against him. Mormon shifted grips, he cupped Russell's elbow with
+his right palm and crowded all his energy into one dynamic effort of
+pull and hoist. Russell went over his head in a Flying Mare as the crowd
+stood up and yelled.</p>
+
+<p>Surprised off his feet, Russell's experience served him in good stead as
+they left the ground. Mormon's trick had scored, but it was an old one
+and had its counter-move. As he landed, legs flexed, he twisted, grabbed
+Mormon's arm with his free one and jerked him forward, hunching a
+shoulder under the cowman's stomach. The pair of them rolled together on
+the ground, struggling and clubbing, while the spectators shouted
+themselves hoarse and smote each other great blows. Pardee, stepping
+warily, watched the writhing pair.</p>
+
+<p>Russell, wiser at this game, contrived leverage, twisting Mormon, and
+pinned his arms in a scissors grip while he battered at his face and
+Mormon writhed to get away from the reach of those long arms. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>soft
+dust clouded about them and their grunts came out from it as they
+struggled. Once, with Mormon striving to open the leg grip, jerking away
+from the flailing blows, they rolled perilously near a clump of prickly
+pear on the verge of their little arena and a universal cry of warning
+went up.</p>
+
+<p>The two heard nothing of it in their hammer and tongs affair, the
+superheated blood, stoked by passion, surging through their veins.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon felt the pressure of Russell's thigh-muscles closing
+relentlessly, clamping down on his chest, shutting off oxygen. His
+energy waned, his limbs grew heavy, nerveless, his brain clogged and
+dulled. He set his chin well down into his neck to save his jaw, but his
+right cheek was pounded, one eye closing. It was only a matter of
+moments before he must relax and then Russell would pin him down with
+one arm and send in the final smashing blow. He felt himself
+suffocating, sinking&mdash;the noise of roaring waters dinned in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>He lay on his back, Russell on his side, one leg below, one leg above
+Mormon's body, bending at the hips in his efforts to reach the cowman's
+jaw. He bent a fraction too much, the scissors grip shifted
+imperceptibly and the message of that weakening of the chain flashed to
+Mormon's hazy brain. With every muscle taut in one supreme convulsion he
+managed to twist sidewise, back to Russell, opening the grip that now
+compressed shoulders instead of chest and back. He got a breath of air,
+dust-laden but blessed. His <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>chest expanded, strength flowed in, he
+forced his arms apart, rolling over on Russell, crushing him into the
+soft earth with his weight. Another wriggling twist and he faced his
+man, bringing his mighty back into play to break clear. He got a forearm
+across Russell's Adam's apple, regardless of the blows that smashed into
+his face. He hammered home one jolt hard to the jaw and, as Russell's
+body grew limp, dragged himself from the relaxing hold and crouched on
+hands and knees, wheezing, spent, gulping air to his flattened lower
+lungs that refused to function.</p>
+
+<p>Now he could hear the shouting of the crowd, a clatter of yells. He saw
+Russell's head move, his eyes opening in the moonlight. Mechanically
+Mormon stood up, swaying, bruised, one eye useless. Pardee began
+counting over Russell, according to the ruling he had made.</p>
+
+<p>Russell rolled over on his face. It looked as if he was not going to try
+to get up. This was not how Mormon had wanted the fight to end, in a
+technical knockout, with his man beginning to come back and he not
+allowed to finish him.</p>
+
+<p>Pardee had put in the clause, "Man down allowed ten seconds, with the
+other on his feet," merely to make a better, longer fight of it from the
+spectator's standpoint. It was supposed to be the sporting thing to do,
+but Mormon, blood-flushed, brain-dull, had no thought of ethics at that
+moment. Russell was lifting himself to knees and elbows, crouching as
+Mormon had done, watching his opponent, listening to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>count. He was
+going to get up. He <i>was</i> up at nine, stooping, groggy, his long arms
+hanging low, and a shout went up from his backers as Pardee stepped
+aside.</p>
+
+<p>Russell began to back away, to describe a half-circle, right forearm
+across his chest, left arm extended, both in slight motion. Mormon stood
+like a baited bear, slowly revolving to face Russell, wary of a feint to
+draw 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.</p>
+
+<p>The ring of spectators was almost silent now, leaning forward, watching.
+Little jerky sentences passed between them.</p>
+
+<p>"Russell's goin' to box." "He can beat the cowman at that game." "Cut
+him to ribbons. Blind him first."</p>
+
+<p>The man in the crowd was right. Mormon knew little of boxing, but he
+knew enough to throw a cushion of sturdy arm across his jaw, the left
+elbow crooked, nose buried in it, eyes&mdash;one eye&mdash;indomitable above it.
+And the blunted elbow like a ram, as he ducked and Russell's straight
+right slid over his bald pate. He was far faster, lighter on his feet
+than Russell dreamed. The bully still underestimated his man, but woke
+to vivid and just appraisal as Mormon's elbow smashed against his
+collar-bone, left forearm clubbing his nose, starting spurts of blood,
+right fist <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>coming up like a piston in short-armed, jolting upper-cuts.</p>
+
+<p>Desperately Russell clutched, failed; held, clung, half tumbling into a
+clinch. Mormon's arms were about him, underneath, binding him with hoops
+of steel, compressing. He lost his footing, began to rise and he
+back-heeled in an outside click. They both went down together side by
+side in a dog-fall. Mormon loosed his arms as he rolled atop, got
+astride of Russell, strove to gather and control the arms that thrashed
+and smote.</p>
+
+<p>Something jagged crushed against Mormon's temple. It seemed as if the
+skull split open and a jagged, red-hot probe searched through his brain.
+He threw up his head in agony, his chin exposed, but instinct still
+awake to fling out both hands, catch the oncoming blow, his fingers
+clamping deep about the wrist above the hand that held the rock&mdash;some
+ore fragment tossed away by an old-timer&mdash;that Russell had found in the
+dirt, and used in unfair, murderous intent.</p>
+
+<p>The maddening pain of first impact died to a throb as the blood poured
+down, seeming to leave his brain clear, cold with a rage that responded
+to a deep disgust of the bully who was now at his mercy. For, with the
+rage came absolute conviction that this was the end of the fight.</p>
+
+<p>He screwed unmercifully, flesh and sinews and the small bones of the
+wrist, until Russell shrieked through his swollen mouth at the anguish
+of it and dropped the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>rock. Pardee, hovering near, seeing all, picked
+it up and slipped it into his pocket as Mormon pinned down Russell's arm
+with his left knee and swung left and right in sledge-hammer blows to
+the jaw of the face that tried in vain to dodge the knockout. As if a
+galvanic current that had simulated life had suddenly been shut off,
+Roaring Russell's body lost all energy, it seemed to flatten, lay
+without a quiver.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon got on his feet and stood to one side while Pardee counted off
+the seconds that were only a grim parody. Russell's brain was
+short-circuited. There was not even a tremor of his eyelids. Pardee
+knelt, felt pulse and heart. Then he beckoned to the loser's seconds.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and get your man," he told them. "He's through for this evening."</p>
+
+<p>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, while
+Sandy, Sam and Westlake ramparted Mormon from enthusiastic admirers and
+pushed down to the creek where he washed his hurts with the stinging icy
+water and stiffly put on his clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"Knew he was licked and figured he might get away with it," declared
+Pardee. "Lucky it didn't split his head open." Murmurs gathered force
+against the bully's methods.</p>
+
+<p>"Cut out the lynching talk, boys," cried Pardee. "The man's been beaten
+up. I wouldn't wonder if his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>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 broke
+through to Mormon, being assisted into his coat by Sandy. "How are you
+standing up, old bearcat?" asked the referee. "I thought he had you
+nipped once but you walloped him."</p>
+
+<p>"Me? I'm jest about standin' up, an' that's all," said Mormon, gingerly
+feeling certain places on his face. "I sure thought it was my brains
+oozin' when he swiped me with that rock. But my bone's pritty solid in
+the head, I reckon. I don't mind tellin' you-all I'm feelin' a good deal
+like a bass drum at the end of a long parade, but I believe it's all on
+the outside. And I ain't entered for any beauty show&mdash;at present."</p>
+
+<p>"Eleven minutes of straight fighting by the watch," said a man.</p>
+
+<p>Mormon looked at him humorously, and one-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>"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, his
+hand outstretched. Then it dropped and a blank look came over his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's git out of this," he murmured to Sandy. "Dern me if I didn't
+plumb forgit about any chance of her showin' up."</p>
+
+<p>"Here's where you git called a hero," said Sam. "She knows what you've
+been fightin' erbout. More'n that she's been in the crowd for the last
+five minnits of the scrap. That right, Westlake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I saw her come into the crowd with young Ed. She wants to thank
+you, Mormon. No use dodging it."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>Young Ed was maneuverin' through to their side.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt wants to see you," he announced with a grin. "We heard the row
+down here, an' she sent me to see what it was. When I didn't hurry back
+she trailed me. Great snakes, Mormon, but you sure whaled him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Huh!" Mormon said nothing but that mystic monosyllable until they
+reached the place where Miranda Bailey stood apart from the crowd who
+deferentially gave her room, whispering her supposed share in the recent
+event. She did not look much like the heroine of a romance, neither did
+Mormon resemble a hero. Her somewhat worn but wholesome face was set in
+forbidding lines, but Westlake and Sandy fancied they saw the ghost of a
+twinkle in her eyes. She greeted Mormon as if he had been a disgraced
+schoolboy.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you been fightin' about?" she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>But, like Russell, she underestimated Mormon. His one working eye was
+innocent of all guile as he looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Fightin' fo'? Jest fo' the fun of it, marm."</p>
+
+<p>She surveyed him grimly and then her features softened.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon yo're too tough to get hurt much," she said. "I can fix up
+that eye. I sh'ud think a man of yore age 'ud have more sense than
+fightin' 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 ridicklus
+reason."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>"I didn't think the reason ridicklus," said Mormon, and the spinster's
+lips twitched.</p>
+
+<p>"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 remedies
+in the background. "Come up to my place."</p>
+
+<p>There may have been some thought of trade from the many who would want
+to see the victor at close range. Mormon hesitated, all slowly moving
+toward the bridge. Men were staring toward the mesa whence came a
+high-powered car, rushing at high speed, magnificently driven, taking
+curve and pitch and level with superb judgment. Its lights flamed out on
+the night. It turned and came on, stopping on the bridge, blocked by the
+crowd that made slow opening for it. The driver, in chauffeur's livery,
+sat immobile, controlling the car, his worldly-wise, blas&eacute; face like a
+mask. Two men were in the tonneau. One of them leaned forward, looking
+at the crowd, a square-jawed man, clean-shaven but for the bristle of a
+silver mustache beneath an aggressive nose, above a firm hard mouth and
+determined 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 as
+plainly as eastern product, but his manner was subordinate though his
+face that, alone of the three, seemed to hold a measure of fearful
+wonder at the turbulent throng of men, was shrewd enough.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm looking for a man named Plimsoll," said the first of these two, his
+voice an indication that he was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>accustomed to a quick answer. "He wired
+me about some claims. Where'll I find him?" He made no question
+concerning the crowd, his eyes passed casually over Mormon's damaged
+countenance, over the procession that bore Russell, sack-fashion. Here
+was a man who, at any hour of the twenty-four, was primed for business
+and for profit.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he could not fail but see that his question charged the crowd with
+some emotion he could not fathom. The night was spent, it was getting
+close to dawn. The issue between Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll, crowded
+aside for the moment, was now paramount. Some craned for sight of the
+two-gun man, others glanced toward the eastern sky. The stars seemed to
+be losing their brilliance, the golden moon turning silver, the high
+horizon, jagged with mountain crests, appeared to be gaining form and a
+third dimension.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll likely find him at his place," answered a miner. "Up-street on
+the left. Name's outside."</p>
+
+<p>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 the
+street. One or two of the bolder got on the running boards unchecked.
+The easterner who was looking for Plimsoll took in the situation as
+something beyond his present range, accepting it. Sandy turned to
+Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"You better see Miss Mirandy up to her claim," he said, his voice casual
+enough. Mormon started an appeal but it died unvoiced. The spinster knew
+nothing of the clash impending between Sandy and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>gambler, neither
+did her nephew, who, the excitement of the fight over, yawned and went
+off with his aunt and Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll bring you up that chunk of meat, Mormon," whispered Sam. "An' I'll
+bring you somethin' stronger, same time."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't bring it all on yore breath," Mormon whispered back. "If I hear
+any shootin' I'll come back lopin'."</p>
+
+<p>"There won't be any shootin'," said Sam. "You go soak that eye of yores
+in Mirandy Bailey's sage tea. Me 'n' Sandy, we'll handle Plimsoll." Then
+Sam broke clear from Mormon and hurried after Sandy and Westlake.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy walked up the street without hurry and, as they had made way from
+the car, men gave him space. The nearer he got to Plimsoll's place the
+more room they allowed him. They melted away from the car on all sides,
+leaving it clearest between the machine and the entrance to the gambling
+shack. The chauffeur preserved his bored look and carved attitude. His
+face was lined with lack of sleep and the strain of driving at high
+speed over unknown mountain roads, powdered gray with dust. He seemed
+almost an automaton. The man with the square face looked alertly about
+him at the crowd, giving place to the lean tall man walking leisurely up
+the street, high lights touching the metal of the two guns that hung in
+holsters well to the front of his hips. Sandy's face was serene, but
+there was no mistaking the fact that the star <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>performer of the moment
+had come upon the stage. Five paces back of him strolled Sam, his eyes
+dancing with the excitement that did not show in Sandy's steel-gray
+orbs. Westlake followed to one side, by the advice of Sam.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger saw that Sandy walked lightly, on the balls of his feet,
+with a springy tread. He appraised his face, frown-lines appeared
+between his eyebrows and he half rose in his seat. Then the door of the
+cabin opened and the man who had volunteered to find Plimsoll emerged.</p>
+
+<p>"He's comin' right along," he announced.</p>
+
+<p>It was Plimsoll's way&mdash;the professional gambler's way&mdash;to play his cards
+until he knew himself beaten. He had been hoping for the arrival of this
+man. He represented capital, the development of the camp into a mining
+town, the movement of money, the boom of quick sales. With his
+backing&mdash;once the camp understood what it meant to all of them&mdash;he might
+turn the tables on Sandy Bourke. The protection of Capital was powerful.</p>
+
+<p>He came out licking his lips nervously, with a swift survey that took in
+the setting of the stage prepared for his entrance. His eyes, shifting
+from the big machine, as if drawn by something beyond his will, focused
+on the figure of Sandy, easy but sinister in its capacity to avoid all
+melodrama. Half-way between door and car he halted.</p>
+
+<p>"Plimsoll?" said the stranger. "I am Keith."</p>
+
+<p>The light was perceptibly changing. Faces of men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>came out of the
+shadows, pale but visible. The lights of the machine changed from yellow
+to pale lemon, the flares outside the cabins, the illumination of the
+windows altered. High up, a tiny fleck of cloud caught the fire of the
+as yet unseen sun, rolling on to dawn behind the range. Things seemed
+flat, lacking full definition, lacking shadow. In the east the sky
+showed gray behind the dark purple crests between which mists were
+trailing. Men shivered, half from cold, half from tension and lack of
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Plimsoll," said Sandy. "That peak oveh on Sawtooth Range is goin' to
+catch the light first. I'll call it sun-up when the sun looks oveh the
+mesa."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll bared his teeth in a fox-grin. Sandy stood with his hands by
+his sides, covering him with his eyes. Plimsoll looked at the hands that
+he knew could move swifter than he could follow, he looked at the car
+with Keith gazing from him to Sandy, he sensed the waiting strain of all
+the men, waiting to see Sandy shoot&mdash;if he did not go, to see him
+crumple up in the dust, and&mdash;he looked at the peak on Sawtooth and his
+face grayed as the granite suddenly flushed with rose. His will melted,
+he turned and went inside his cabin. No one followed him, there was no
+one 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, had
+been at the door since midnight. He mounted, dug spurs into the beast's
+flanks and went galloping <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>madly up the slope that rose from the street
+gulch leading down to the main gulch of Flivver Creek. He was
+shortcutting for the mesa road, hate in his heart, his blood, his brain;
+poisoning hate that turned all his secretions to gall. His plans for
+wealth had been blocked by a man he dared not face. Before Sandy Bourke
+his spirit flinched as a leaf shrinks and curls from flame. The forced
+acknowledgment of it was an acid aggravation. He raked his horse's
+flanks with his rowels and the spirited brute, pick of all Plimsoll's
+horse 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 once
+evil and futile, a venom that was bound to spread until the infection
+mastered him, body and mind and soul, steeped them in a devil's brew
+that permitted of no other thought but what was dominated by the mad
+desire to get even.</p>
+
+<p>Some one caught sight of the galloping horse and rider lunging along in
+a cloud of dust that showed golden as the sun rose and looked over the
+mesa. He raised a shout that was joined in by the rest, that reached the
+flying Plimsoll as the view-halloo reaches the fox making for its
+earth.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h2>CASEY TOWN</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>The man named Keith called to Sandy Bourke who, for the moment, still
+stood alone, now rolling a cigarette. He was the only man in the close
+vicinity of the car and he turned at the sound of Keith's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"You-all talkin' to me?" he inquired mildly.</p>
+
+<p>"I would like to know," said Keith in a manner which he appeared
+struggling to invest with humor, "exactly what is the idea of this
+theatrical, moving-picture episode?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy smiled back at him.</p>
+
+<p>"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 go
+at that, if you like. Li'l' western drama entitled <i>To Be Shot at
+Sunrise</i>."</p>
+
+<p>The crowd began to gather closer, curious to find out the reason for the
+swift advent of the car, the desire to see Plimsoll.</p>
+
+<p>"You were ready to shoot at Plimsoll?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was ready. I didn't figger there was goin' to be much shootin'."</p>
+
+<p>"It looks to me as if you've driven the man out of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>camp and, as I've
+come all the way from New York to do business with him, driven the last
+two hundred miles in this car, I'd be obliged if you would tell me just
+what was the matter, Mr.&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bourke. Sandy Bourke."</p>
+
+<p>The stranger had managed to muffle down his chagrin and resentment at
+the outcome of his trip. Of necessity he was a judge of men and it did
+not take him long to place Sandy. Keith was an adept at adapting himself
+to his environment.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry to have upset things fo' you," went on Sandy, "but this was a
+personal matteh between myse'f an' Plimsoll that had to be settled
+pronto an' permanent. I don't reckon how you've lost a heap, said
+Plimsoll bein' a crook."</p>
+
+<p>"My name's Keith, Wilson Keith," said the other. "I don't know that that
+means much to you as I judge you generally belong to the range rather
+than the mining camp, but there may be a few in the crowd who know me. I
+am a mining promoter. Plimsoll had agreed to sell me his interest in
+certain claims which showed well in assay reports. They alone were
+insufficient to interest me. When he wired me the news of the general
+strike, the prospect of development opened and I came on. You seem to
+have blocked the deal. However, I suppose Plimsoll can be located later.
+Have you any idea where he might be found?"</p>
+
+<p>"It w'udn't do you one mite of good," said Sandy. "Plimsoll didn't own
+those claims. Didn't have an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>interest in 'em. Tried to jump 'em, an'
+did the jumpin' himse'f. I've got an idea you might have been through
+here 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 Plimsoll
+tried 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 had
+none 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 same
+bein' my legal ward."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" Wilson Keith's eyes grew keen and cold. "Have you any interest in
+them yourself, Mr. Bourke?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+promoter and held them for a second or two.</p>
+
+<p>The thought passed through Keith's mind that Sandy's interest, and that
+of his partners, might have been obtained from the girl under false
+pretenses, but he was very far from a fool and, among the things he saw
+in Sandy's eyes, it was clearly written that here was a man who was both
+absolutely fearless and absolutely honest. He had not seen many such.</p>
+
+<p>"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 bed
+late?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>The remark raised a laugh in the crowd, now milling good-naturedly about
+the machine.</p>
+
+<p>"Want to buy any more claims?" asked a voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I might. I've looked over the ground once, I may as well admit, and
+I've had an expert report upon it. I'd like to have a talk with all of
+you after I've had some coffee. This is a camp where it will take a
+great deal of money, of labor and of time to develop it, whether you try
+to drill and blast yourselves, or pool your interests and install
+machinery. Did you say which was the best place to eat, Mr. Bourke?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy recommended Simpson's and pointed it out. Keith, the man with him,
+his secretary, and the chauffeur, got out and walked stiff-legged to
+their coffee. The crowd once more had sleep discounted by excitement.
+Keith had shrewdly said just enough. The seed that he had planted in the
+suggestion that they pool interests fell in such rich ground that it
+began sprouting immediately.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy introduced Sam as his partner, Westlake as a mining engineer and
+assayer. Keith gave Westlake a shrewd appraising glance, and a nod.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm too sleepy myse'f to talk business," said Sandy. "My two pardners
+are 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."</p>
+
+<p>Keith stood for a moment in the door of Simpson's, looking after Sandy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>"A fairly slick article, the man with the two guns, Blake," he said to
+his secretary. "But he's straight."</p>
+
+<p>"And mighty hard to bend," added Blake with a yawn.</p>
+
+<p>The chauffeur ate apart, devouring enormous quantities of food with as
+much emotion as a hopper taking in grain. Keith talked matters over with
+Blake, not because he valued his secretary's opinion, able as he was in
+his appointed duties, but because it helped Keith to clarify conditions
+in his own mind.</p>
+
+<p>"There were only a few old-timers in the crowd, Blake," he said. "The
+rest of them will want to be going back to wherever and whatever they
+came from as soon as they find this is not a placer proposition. A heap
+of people heard of a gold rush and think it's always a Tom Tiddler's
+Ground, like washing out the rich sands of Nome. They'll be glad to sell
+and take shares for cash."</p>
+
+<p>"Ought to change the name of the camp," suggested Blake. "Dynamite is
+known as an exploded prospect."</p>
+
+<p>"Thought of that," said Keith. "This is damned good coffee. I'll have
+another cup.... How about Casey Town, after the original discoverer who
+always believed in the place, but lacked the money for development and
+wouldn't take in a partner? Picturesque and good stuff for the
+prospectuses. You might send off some stuff about that, Blake, work in
+this Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll affair and find out what this all-night
+racket was about. Good, lively publicity stuff <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>we can use again later
+on. Romance of Casey's daughter. Wonder where she is?"</p>
+
+<p>He lapsed into silence, swallowing his third cup of coffee in gulps.
+Blake, who admired his employer's successes, whatever he thought of his
+methods, did not interrupt him. Keith was planning a campaign, figuring
+out the best bait for gulls.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy and his companions found Mormon asleep on the Bailey claims.
+Miranda brewed coffee, and they told her the news of Plimsoll and the
+arrival of Keith.</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"An' him the least risk," remarked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Since the excitement is temp'rarily over," said Miranda dryly, looking
+at where Mormon snored beneath blankets, "I reckon we better all foller
+his example. If that man Keith wants to buy my claims I'm willin' to
+sell. Milkin' is more in my line than minin', I've decided. I had a fool
+idea we'd pick up nuggets, top of the ground. From what Mr. Westlake
+tells me, you got to put out a lot of money before you even find out
+whether you're goin' to see the color of gold."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's hold a pow-wow before we turn in," said Sandy. "Westlake, what do
+you know about Keith? Anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've heard of him. I imagine he started out as a promoter rather than a
+developer. He has made some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>lucky strikes. There is no doubt but that
+he can float this proposition on a large scale, induce others to put
+money into it. The least likely-looking properties he'll put on the
+market 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 that
+will be a sound one. You see, Miss Bailey, not every porphyry dyke is
+going to have a gold lining."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you figger it w'ud pay best to sell him outright or let him form a
+company?" asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"For your claims, or these of Miss Bailey and her nephew?"</p>
+
+<p>"All of 'em. Didn't you say they were all on the same syncline?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. You really want to go by my opinion? I am not too experienced."</p>
+
+<p>"You know a darn sight mo' about it than we do. I'm not takin' Keith's
+opinion on anything he wants to buy. He's tipped his hand already in
+showin' how far an' fast he came here. Probably had Plimsoll tied up on
+an option or he w'udn't have said 's much as he did."</p>
+
+<p>"Then&mdash;there is no doubt in my mind that Patrick Casey picked the best
+side of the gulch. The indications are in sight there. This side the
+exposed reef may have been ground down below the sylvanite. There are
+glacial signs all around here. I would say sell these for cash, holding
+out on price until Keith refuses to offer more. He'll come back for a
+final bid. But let him organize with your claims."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>"The Molly Casey Mine? With fifty-one per cent. of the shares, if we
+can't get more?"</p>
+
+<p>"He'll squeal like a pig before he grants that," said Westlake. "But
+he'll have to come through to your terms. Those claims are the big bet
+of this camp, and he knows it."</p>
+
+<p>It would have surprised Keith had he known how accurately the young
+engineer he had glanced at and dismissed as almost an amateur at the
+game, followed the trend of his scheming. There is not much variation in
+the methods of Mining Promotion, and Westlake was an observer and a
+conserver of the pith of what he had seen.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+fat job, Westlake. I'm dawg-tired. Sam, let's you an' me shack over to
+our claims. We'll leave Mormon where he is till he gits his sleep out,
+if you've no objection, marm?"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Sandy, Sam and Mormon returned to the Three Star with the papers drawn
+and 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 his
+plans for the full development of the claims he had acquired.</p>
+
+<p>While he lacked the controlling interest, there was always, he fancied,
+a chance of division between the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>four who held control. Either he could
+get the girl to vote apart from the three partners or he might split
+them some way or another. But, wisely, he did not count on this. And he
+took up the task of exploitation with zest, Blake, primed with material
+and notes gathered on the spot, a ready and expert assistant.</p>
+
+<p>When Wilson Keith made up his mind there was money in a plan&mdash;money for
+Wilson Keith&mdash;he lost no time in planning and carrying out all details.
+He loved the excitement of the gamble, he loved to evolve some play for
+which he could pat himself upon the back and tell himself how much
+cleverer he was than the public, swimming up to his golden-baited hooks
+like so many fish. Thornton, expert mining engineer, believed the
+prospects 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 itself
+to exploitation.</p>
+
+<p>Blake, nosing here and listening there, while Keith satisfied himself as
+to the legality of Sandy's guardianship of Molly and the powers that had
+been granted him to look after all her interests, assuring himself of
+the speciousness of Plimsoll's claim for grubstake interest. Blake,
+weaving fact into fiction, compiled the romance of Molly Casey, daughter
+of the wandering prospector, Patrick Casey; her father's trail-chum by
+mountain and desert; the death of Casey, the rescue of Molly, the strike
+at Dynamite.</p>
+
+<p>Much about Sandy's part in it all Blake did not use. He learned little
+and said nothing of Plimsoll's attempt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>to get the girl under his
+control, of the wild ride across the county line. Blake's general
+canniness concentrated wherever his personal interests were concerned
+and he had made up his mind that Sandy Bourke was a man whom it would
+not pay to offend. He might never see the story in print, then again he
+might, and Blake, very likely, would return to Casey Town once in a
+while with Keith.</p>
+
+<p>But it was a good story. A Sunday feature story if he could strengthen
+it a little. If the mine made the girl a millionairess it would carry
+the yarn as sheer news, but Blake wanted the story to help to carry the
+mine, to bring in the money from the outside to exploit Casey Town and
+the Keith holdings.</p>
+
+<p>Keith had the capital and was willing enough to put it into developing
+the Molly Mine if necessary, but it was a business principle of his
+never 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.</p>
+
+<p>He had turned his eyes toward oil of late, scenting quick turns and this
+took money. His wife took more, his son, just out of college, took all
+that he could get. Mrs. Keith seemed to regard her husband's
+bank-account much as the wife of a farmer might regard the spring in the
+meadow. With the extravagance of the post-war period, the advance in
+prices, the amounts she spent were staggering even to Keith, who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>set no
+limits on his own ability to make money. To suggest retrenchment would
+not merely have had small effect upon his wife, but any curtailment
+would infallibly hurt the standing of the Keith investments. New York
+was full of people with money to invest. Profiteering, easy-come money,
+a lot of it. Easy-go money, too, when the profiteers, still dazzled by
+their riches, totally unconscious of real values, would meet Keith,
+thinking their money an open sesame to equality with such financiers.</p>
+
+<p>Then Keith entertained them, taking them to his clubs&mdash;not his best&mdash;to
+his home where he dazzled them, fogged them in an atmosphere where they
+were ill at ease though striving to cover it; Keith, drawing them aside
+when the time was ripe, would tell them of their shrewdness, confess a
+liking, almost an admiration for them&mdash;and let them in on the ground
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>There were the many who could not be touched personally and, for these,
+Blake prepared the literature and laid his schemes for real newspaper
+publicity. Submitting them to Keith, the latter approved. Mrs. Keith was
+to look Molly up at her school, take her into the Keith home on
+vacations, introduce her into the social whirl. The right newspapermen
+would see her, meet her, get the story from Blake of her romantic
+childhood, with photographs of the Western Heiress in the Park on
+Horseback. There would be drawings by staff artists of the way she and
+her father appeared wandering through the desert, discovering the
+claims, her father's grave, anything to round out the human <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>interest.
+Moreover, she could be introduced to the right people, that was Mrs.
+Keith's end of it.</p>
+
+<p>Then would come the prospectuses with these extracts of the best
+paragraphs, tied up with views of Casey Town, with engineers' reports,
+with semi-scientific stuff about sylvanite, a masterpiece of romance and
+fiction, peppered with fact. The whole to be titled <i>White Gold</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Advertisements, headed <i>White Gold</i>, offering the shares. Personal
+letters to those on the carefully selected lists of <i>Preferred
+Investors</i>. Offices of the Casey Town Mining Company with alluring
+specimens behind glass cases, with models of mining machinery and of
+sections of mines, framed maps and drawings, blue-prints, a chunk of
+sylvanite ore in a railed-off enclosure with the legend of its marvelous
+value. Many, most, of these lures, had done service in previous
+enticements of Keith, but they still held good. They were a good deal
+like the fake mermaids, the skulls and odds and ends in the window of a
+palmist, all bait, of better quality, more deftly arranged and
+displayed, part of the fakir's kit, bait for goldfish. Also brass rails,
+fine rugs, mahogany furniture, a ticker, busy and pretty stenographers.</p>
+
+<p>Blake submitted his clever campaign, worthy of better things, and Keith
+approved of it. That the partners of the Three Star as fifty-one per
+cent, owners, or Molly Casey herself with them, should be consulted or
+informed, never entered his head.</p>
+
+<p>Of course there was always a chance of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>investors realizing heavily
+if Casey Town turned up big production. Keith hoped it would. Provided
+he made all the money he wanted, he was always willing to have others
+get hold of some, especially when he would be regarded by them as the
+benefactor who had given them the golden opportunity. He would reap the
+major harvest, and success would open up the way for other
+fields&mdash;perhaps in oil. Keith had some associates who rather scoffed at
+his gold-mining promotion as out-of-date. Oil was quicker, more in the
+public eye. Every time the price of gasoline or kerosene went up the
+American automobile-owning public thought of oil, they were primed
+perpetually toward its possibilities.</p>
+
+<p>But Keith was still in gold. He knew all the technique of that branch of
+speculation and Blake's campaign was carried out most successfully. Mrs.
+Keith descended overwhelmingly upon Molly at her school, chauffeur and
+footman on the driving seat of her luxurious sedan; gasped a little when
+she saw that Molly was a beauty, could be made an unusual one with the
+right dressing, the right setting.</p>
+
+<p>Her brain, which was keen enough in business matters, told her that she
+could improve her husband's program of using Molly as an attraction to
+bring investors to the Keith residence. It might be a good thing&mdash;Mrs.
+Keith was quick at dealing with the future&mdash;if her son, Donald, fell in
+love with Molly, the heiress. She wrote to the Three Star Ranch, to
+Sandy Bourke, guardian of Molly Casey, without Molly's knowledge. Sandy
+read the letter aloud to his partners.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Bourke</span>:</p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
+
+<p>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,&mdash;that only a
+woman can understand and appreciate.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>Let me hear from you soon. If my health and other matters
+permit, I must try to come out with Molly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>before very long.
+Mr. Keith has seen this letter and approves of my suggestion
+to have Molly with us.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span style="padding-right: 10em;">Most sincerely yours,</span><br />
+<span class="right smcap" style="padding-right: 5em;">Elizabeth Vernon Keith.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was a clever letter. There were several touches about it that almost
+amounted to genius. The hints of Molly's unhappiness so cleverly
+suggested, the mother suggestion, the need of companionship and advice
+from an older woman, Molly's intolerance of conventionalities, all went
+home; though it was some time before the trio entirely absorbed the
+meaning of the glossy phrases and glib vocabulary. The letter passed
+about in silence after Sandy had read it, Sam and Mormon plowing through
+the maze of the fashionable script.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon she's right," said Mormon. "Molly's different. She had a mighty
+hard time of it along with her old man, compared to what them
+soft-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 ways
+w'udn't be her'n, most of the time. How 'bout it, Sam?"</p>
+
+<p>"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 it
+must be tough to be herded inter a corral where you got to learn all
+over ag'in how to handle yore feet an' hands, not to mention forks. This
+Keith woman's spotted Molly ain't easy at school. The other gals like
+her, but they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>ain't her style. She's range bred an' free. Those other
+fillies have been brought up in loose boxes. They probably don't mean to
+hurt her feelin's none, but I 'low they snicker once in a while if Molly
+forgets the right sasshay. An' Molly's proud as they make 'em. Sounds
+good to me. What you think, Sandy? It's up to you as her guardeen."</p>
+
+<p>"It sure sounds good," said Sandy. "Seems like this Mrs. Keith must be a
+pritty fine woman to think of takin' Molly into her own home. I reckon
+Molly 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."</p>
+
+<p>"Mirandy ain't brought over the butter yet," put in Mormon, with a
+glance at his partners that was half shamefaced. "Why not git her
+opinion? Takes a woman to understand a woman. She'd sabe this letter a
+heap bettern' we c'ud."</p>
+
+<p>Sam winked covertly at Sandy and shoved his tongue in his cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good idea, Mormon," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Never did find out jest what happened to that last wife of your'n, did
+ye, Mormon?" asked Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Never did."</p>
+
+<p>"That's too bad."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Gen'ral principles." Sam said no more but took out his harmonica, ever
+in one hip pocket, and crooned into it. A jiggly-jazz edition of
+<i>Mendelssohn's Wedding March</i> strained through the curtains of Sam's
+drooping mustache.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>"Speakin' wide, the weddin' cake of matrimony has been mostly mildewed
+for me," said Mormon reflectively, "but there was one thing about my
+last wife I sure admired. Uncommon thing in woman an' missin' in some
+men."</p>
+
+<p>Sam, eager for chaffing, fell.</p>
+
+<p>"What was that, Mormon? I heerd she was a good cook."</p>
+
+<p>"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 can
+do that. Sandy's one of the few. I can't call another to mind jest now."</p>
+
+<p>Sam grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"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 to
+tackle. I used to wonder why they allus put frostin' on weddin' cake. I
+reckon it's a warnin'&mdash;or else sarcasm."</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"That the way it was with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yep. I've allus had an affinity fo' the sex. I ain't like Sandy. Nature
+give him an instinct ag'in' 'em, as pardners. He was bo'n lucky."</p>
+
+<p>But Sandy had gone out. Sam and Mormon trailed him and saw him walking
+toward the cottonwood grove with Grit at his heels.</p>
+
+<p>"He thinks a heap of Molly," opined Sam. "I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>reckon he sure hates to
+lose her, if he is woman-shy. 'Course Molly was jest a kid. But I don't
+fancy she'll take the back-trail once she gits mixed up with the Keith
+outfit."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't so plumb sure of that," returned Mormon. "Molly's bo'n an' bred
+with 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't
+forgettin' the water-hole."</p>
+
+<p>Sam glanced at Mormon curiously. It wasn't often Mormon showed any touch
+of what Sam characterized as poetical.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, under the cottonwoods where the spring bubbled, so near the old
+prospector's grave that perhaps the old-miner lying there could, in his
+new affinities with Nature, hear its flow, was thinking much the same
+thing Mormon had expressed, hoping it might be true, chiding himself
+lest the thought be selfish.</p>
+
+<p>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. A
+railing outlined the grave, and the turf within it was kept short and
+green. Sandy squatted down and rolled a cigarette, smoking it as he sat
+cross-legged. Grit, as was his custom, leaped the railing lightly and
+lay down above the dust of his dead master, head couched on paws, turned
+a little sidewise, his grave eyes surveying Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss her, ol' son? So do I. Mebbe she'll come back to see us-all. She
+sure did seem to belong."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>Memories of Molly flickered across the screen of his mind: Molly beside
+her father by the broken wagon, climbing to get the cactus blossom for
+his cairn; Molly at the grave; Molly giving him the gold piece; the wild
+ride across the pass and the race for the train and a recollection that
+was freshest of all, one he had not mentioned to his partners; the touch
+of Molly's lips on his as he had bade her good-by. The kiss had not been
+that of a child, there had been a magic in it that had thrilled some
+chord in Sandy that still responded to that remembrance. He never dwelt
+on it long, it brought a vague reaction always, stirred that strange
+instinct of his that had branded him as woman-shy, kept him clean. Part
+of it was intuitive desire for freedom of will and action, as the wild
+horse shies at even the shadow of a halter that may mean bondage,
+however pleasant. Part of it was reverence for woman, deep-seated, a
+hazy, never analyzed feeling that this belief might be disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>Miranda, alone in the flivver, a new car of her own, bought with money
+paid by Keith for her claim, was at the ranch-house when Sandy returned.
+Miranda and young Ed Bailey, accepting Westlake's advice, had sold for
+cash, getting fifteen thousand dollars to divide between them, refusing
+more glittering offers of stock. It was a windfall well worth their
+endeavor and they were amply satisfied. Young Ed had promptly gone to
+Agricultural College, putting in part of his money to buy new stock and
+implements for his father's ranch, in which he now held a half
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>partnership. Miranda, Mormon and Sam were talking about this when Sandy
+came up.</p>
+
+<p>"It sure made a man of young Ed overnight," said the spinster. "He
+thought it out all by himse'f an' nigh surprised us off our feet. He was
+sort of ganglin', more ways than one, an' we feared the money 'ud go to
+his head. Which it did, as a matter of fact, but it was a tonic, 'stead
+of actin' like an intoxicant. We're plumb proud of him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Westlake was over day before yesterday," she went on. "Goin' on
+through 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 is
+boomin' up to Casey Town. There's been some good strikes, one in the
+claim nex' but one to ours. Keith's goin' to start things whirlin', I
+reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe he'll see Molly," suggested Sam. "Though of course she ain't to
+Keith's house yet."</p>
+
+<p>"How's that?" asked the spinster eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"We are waitin' fo' Sandy to show you the letter," said Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Miranda read the letter through twice, folded it and held it in her lap
+for a few moments.</p>
+
+<p>"Want my opinion on it?" she asked finally.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sandy. "If the mines are goin' to produce big she'll likely
+be rich. She went east to git culchured up. Seems like the school idea
+might not have been the best, after all."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>"I don't know. I don't rightly git the motive back of this writin'. It
+ain'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 pay
+well for bein' taken up. I don't mean in money but, if Molly didn't have
+a show of bein' rich, an' warn't pritty, which she is, I ain't certain
+Mrs. Keith 'ud be so eager. I guess it's all right but, somehow, it
+don't hit me as plumb sincere. Still ... I reckon my opinion is like
+that gilt hawss top of Ed's barn," she ended with a smile. "It was set
+up too light, I reckon, an' it was allus shiftin', north, south, east
+an' west, when you c'udn't feel a breath of wind on the level. I ain't
+got a thing to pin it to, but I feel there's something back of it, like
+a person's rheumatic spot'll ache when rain's comin'."</p>
+
+<p>"You'd vote ag'in' it?" asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"No-o. I w'udn't."</p>
+
+<p>"I figgered on puttin' it up to Molly."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good idee. An', as her guardeen, I'd suggest that Mrs. Keith
+lives up to that half-promise of hers an' make it a condition she brings
+Molly out here inside of six months. That'll give time for a fair trial
+an' you can see right then fo' yoreself how it's workin'. Long's she
+goin' to have teachers she can't lose much."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a plumb fine idee," said Mormon, looking triumphantly at his
+partners.</p>
+
+<p>It ran with Sandy's own wishes and he subscribed to it. Sam endorsed it
+as well, and a letter was sent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>east that night, containing the proviso
+of Molly's return and another that Molly should bear all her own
+expenses of tuition and living. All this to hang upon Molly's own desire
+to make the change.</p>
+
+<p>When Molly's letter came there appeared no doubt as to her willingness.
+She admitted that she had been sometimes "lonesome" at the school. One
+page was devoted to her anticipations of coming back to visit Three
+Star:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>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&mdash;for
+me. It is a very nice nose. High man out.<br />
+
+Lovingly, <span class="smcap">Molly.</span></p>
+
+<p>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. &nbsp;&nbsp; M.</p></div>
+
+<p>"I'll kiss no dawg," declared Sam. "I like a dawg first-rate, like I do
+a hawss, on'y not so much, but I'm a hell-singed son of a horned-toad if
+I'd ever kiss one."</p>
+
+<p>"It's two to one you don't have to," said Mormon. "If you're a sport
+you'll do as Molly asks an' draw cards fo' the privilege. It's a
+sure-fire cinch she'll never give you one of them salutes she hints at
+when she comes home ef she knows you backed out. Wait till I git the
+cards."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>It was plain to Sandy that Sam and Mormon, despite Sam's protest, took
+Molly's pleasantry in earnest and he made no comment as Mormon deftly
+shuffled 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 sight
+of Mormon's card.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold on, Molly said 'High man out.' That's Sandy. You an' me got to
+draw again. Ain't that so, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure is," said Sandy gravely. "You hollered too soon, Sam. Prob'ly
+crabbed yore luck."</p>
+
+<p>Both chose their cards and drew them to the edge of the table, face
+down, taking a peep at the index corners.</p>
+
+<p>"Bet you ten dollars I got you beat," said Mormon cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>Sam turned up his card disgustedly. It was the deuce of spades.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, hell!" he exclaimed. "Now I got to kiss a dawg!"</p>
+
+<p>At his voice and face Mormon and Sandy bent double with laughter that
+brought water to their eyes and nearly sent Mormon into convulsions. Sam
+surveyed them with gloomy contempt.</p>
+
+<p>"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 it
+to a livin' soul, outside of Molly, I'll plumb scalp, skin an' silence
+both of you. <i>Kiss a dawg!</i> Hell's delight!"</p>
+
+<p>They started to follow him, still weak with laughter, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>but he threatened
+them with his gun and they fell back in mock alarm while Sam went round
+back of the corral and they heard him whistling for Grit. When he
+reappeared, straddling along on his bowed legs, his good humor had
+returned.</p>
+
+<p>"How's he like it?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>Sam grinned at him.</p>
+
+<p>"You bald-headed ol' badger, you, he acted plumb like yore wives must
+have, when I salutes him on the snoot. Licks my nose first an' then
+curls up his tongue an' licks off his own. Wipes out all trace of the
+oskylation pronto an' thorough. Most unappreciative animile I ever see."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you straight out that none of my wives ever acted thataway,"
+started Mormon, and the laugh swung at his expense.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mind the operation so much," Sam confided to them, "when I
+figger out that I was just handin' it on fo' Molly, an' that she owes me
+one, whether she decides to salute you two galoots or not."</p>
+
+<p>Molly's letters were prime events at the Three Star. She wrote every
+week telling of life at the Keiths'. Miranda made up the quartet to read
+them. Molly wrote:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p>
+
+<p>I go automobiling a good deal, with Mrs. Keith and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>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.</p></div>
+
+<p>There was more talk of dinners and dances, of receptions and theaters,
+with mention of Donald Keith here and there, chat of new clothes, kind
+words for the elder Keiths. "Don't think I've changed," she said. "I'm
+the same Molly underneath even if I have been revamped and decorated."</p>
+
+<p>The famous <i>White Gold</i> prospectuses and advertisements duly followed
+the 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 sent
+Keith's stocks soaring high. The porphyry dyke at the Molly Mine began
+to yield rich results almost from the first and dividends were paid in
+such quantities as to stagger the Three Star outfit who saw themselves
+in a fair way to become rich. All over the barren hills, where the first
+futile shafts had been driven and abandoned, buildings sprang up like
+mushrooms, housing machinery, sending up plumes of white smoke that
+tokened the underground energies. The Keith properties were being
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>developed with much show of outlay, prices jumping at every report from
+the Molly Mine or other successful developments. None of the investors
+in these Keith undertakings knew that he owned forty-nine per cent of
+the shares of the Molly and of none other, save for the space between
+issuing them and selling them.</p>
+
+<p>The three partners held consultation as to their disposal of the checks
+that were sent them.</p>
+
+<p>"Molly, she's gettin' the same amount we're splittin' both ways," said
+Sam, "but somehow it don't seem right to me the way we come in. It was
+her dad's mine. He found it. All we did was to find her&mdash;an' Grit done
+that. The dawg ought to have a gold collar an' we might accept a gold
+plated collar-button, apiece, that's the way it sizes up to me."</p>
+
+<p>"The gal w'udn't promise to go to school 'less we shared even-Steven,"
+said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"She didn't know how much money she c'ud use then," demurred Sam. "Now
+she's bein' shown how to spend it. It ain't that she'd kick, but some
+might think we'd taken advantage of her. Darn me if I don't feel
+thataway myse'f."</p>
+
+<p>"I see it this way," said Sandy. "I've done a heap of thinkin' over the
+matter. I don't believe that Molly has changed&mdash;still she might be
+influenced by folks who w'ud look at it that she made the deal when she
+was a minor an' we c'udn't enfo'ce it. Bein' her guardeen, I'm
+responsible fo' what she makes an' what she loses. Jim Redding fixed up
+things in that line. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>He an' Ba'bara Redding understand it all but others
+mightn't. I'm plumb sure that if we-all didn't take the money Molly 'ud
+pull out her picket-pin an' say we wasn't playin' fair an' square with
+her. It was a deal an', at the time, I had no mo' idee the mines w'ud
+pan out than I have that Sam's laigs'll grow straight. I figger we can
+do this. We can use the money, keepin' account of it, puttin' it into
+stock an' improvements that'll pay fo' themselves long befo' Molly comes
+of age an' my guardeen papers play out. That way we'll have the benefit
+of the capital an' keep it ready to turn over to her if she ever needs
+it. I don't believe she'll ever take one red cent of it. It was a gamble
+with her an' she's a thoroughbred sport. To my mind, she'd sooner be
+slapped 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 it
+handy."</p>
+
+<p>"Figger she's goin' to marry that young Keith? She writes a heap of
+Donald's this an' Donald doin' that. I'd like to take a slant at him. I
+sure hate to think of Molly hitchin' up with a tenderfoot."</p>
+
+<p>"What put that in yore head?" Sam asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Mirandy was wonderin' whether Ma Keith 'ud like to keep Molly's money
+in the family. Mirandy's allus 'spicioned a motive to that invite."</p>
+
+<p>"Shucks! She asked her befo' the mine made a showin'. An' every dollar
+Molly 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."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>"'Count me in," said Mormon. And so the affair was settled.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Of Plimsoll little was heard. The gambler had deserted that now
+unpopular profession, since suffrage ruled, and stayed close to his
+horse ranch. It lay alone, and few visited it save Plimsoll's own
+associates. Rumors drifted concerning Plimsoll's remarkable herd
+increase of saleable horses but, unless proof of actual operation was
+forthcoming, there was small chance of pinning anything down in the way
+of illegal work. There was always the excuse of having rounded up a
+bunch of broom-tail wild horses to account for growing numbers, and, if
+he stole or not, Plimsoll left the horses of his own county alone. No
+neighbor was injured and though stories of wild happenings at the horse
+ranch were current it was considered nobody's business. Wyatt once,
+staggering out of some blind pig in Hereford, still existent despite the
+suffrage sweeping, babbled in maudlin drunkenness of his determination
+to get even with Plimsoll for stealing his sweetheart. For Wyatt, for
+the sake of the girl, had gone back to Plimsoll's employ. The new
+sheriff took Wyatt's guns away and locked him up overnight in the
+"cooler," letting him go in the morning, soberer and more silent.</p>
+
+<p>"But," said the sheriff to his cronies, "some day there'll be one grand
+shoot-up an' carry-out at Plimsoll's. Wyatt's sore clean through."</p>
+
+<p>"He ain't got the sand in his craw to make a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>killing," said one of the
+listeners. "Sandy Bourke backed him off the map to Casey Town."</p>
+
+<p>"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 first
+chance he gets. I spoke to him about what he's been firing off from his
+mouth the night before an' he shuts up like a clam. 'I was foolish
+drunk,' he says, but there was a look in his eyes that was nasty. If
+Plim's wise he'll get rid of Wyatt. He knows too much an' he's liable to
+tip it off."</p>
+
+<p>"Wyatt an' Plim's both of 'em side-swipers," returned the other. "They'd
+throw 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."</p>
+
+<p>"He ain't had the chance he's lookin' for. That's all that's holding
+Plimsoll. Same way with Wyatt. Two buzzards of a feather, they are."</p>
+
+<p>Thoughts of Plimsoll and his revenges did not bother Sandy's head. The
+"old man" of the Three Star&mdash;bearing the cowman's inevitable title for
+the head of the management, whether young or old, male or
+female&mdash;carried out his long cherished plans for additional
+water-supply, for alfalfa planting, for registered bulls and high-grade
+cows. Now that there was money in sight the success of the ranch was
+assured. He studied hard, he got in touch with the state experimental
+developments, he subscribed for magazines <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>that told of cattle breeding,
+he sent soils for analysis and young Ed, coming home from his first
+term, found, somewhat to his chagrin, that Sandy was far ahead of him in
+both the theory and practise of ranching.</p>
+
+<p>The days multiplied into weeks and the weeks into months. Sandy received
+one letter from Brandon that seemed to presage another visit across the
+line. It was terse, characteristic of the man.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">My Dear Bourke</span>:</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>If it springs and catches him you'll probably see us over
+your way again&mdash;after we have concluded our business with J.
+P. There are some of us old-timers&mdash;and I believe you are of
+our way of thinking or I would not write asking you to do
+this favor for me&mdash;who look at horse-stealing just as it used
+to be looked at&mdash;and dealt with. To be plain, we have been
+losing a lot of valuable animals and we are all considerably
+"riled."</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span style="padding-right: 10em;">Sincerely yours,</span><br />
+<span class="smcap" style="padding-right: 5em;">W. J. Brandon.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>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 <i>always</i> pays.</p></div>
+
+<p>Sandy filed the letter. There was a room in the ranch-house that was now
+fitted 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 it
+up for the time being after talking it over.</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not import one of them stenographers?" suggested Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," jeered Sam. "Why not? Then you c'ud put in yore spare moments
+gentlin' a hawss fo' her an' pickin' wild flowers, until Mirandy Bailey
+persuades her the climate is too chilly. But I'll bet Molly c'ud handle
+that end of it prime, if she was back."</p>
+
+<p>"I w'udn't wonder," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>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 had
+changed a good deal. They held responsibilities, they owned a home and
+they lived there. None of them, since they were children, had ever known
+the close companionship of a young girl. Mormon's matrimonial adventures
+had been foredoomed shipwrecks on the sands of time, his wives marital
+pirates preying on his good nature and earnings. Molly had leavened
+their existences in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>a way that two of them hardly suspected and the
+yeast of affection was still working. Each hung to the hope that she
+might return to the ranch again to stay and each felt that hope was a
+faint one.</p>
+
+<p>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 Town
+properties, that he was traveling in a private car with his son, with
+Molly and her governess-companion, and that the two latter would get off
+at Hereford for a visit to the Three Star, Sandy went about with a
+whistle, Sam breathed sanguine melodies through the harmonica and Mormon
+beamed all over. The illumination was apparent. Sam told him he looked
+"all lit up, like a Chinee lantern" and Mormon beamed the more.</p>
+
+<p>Molly's letter was primed with delight. Mrs. Keith's contained regrets
+that her physicians did not think the journey would be best for her to
+undertake in the present state of her health, which meant that she
+feared possible discomforts en route and imagined the ranch as a place
+where one was fed only on beans, sourdough bread, bull meat and
+indifferent coffee.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"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."</p></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>Miranda Bailey sniffed at this letter openly.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope they ain't spiled the child," she said. "I wonder what's the
+matter with the Nicholson teacher woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" asked Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"She says she's amenable. I ain't sure of the word, but I believe that
+means thin-blooded or underfed. My sister's niece by marriage was that
+way till they fed her cod-liver oil an' scraped beef. 'Pears to me as if
+all the companions an' governesses was that kind of folk. I suppose they
+hire out cheaper account of not bein' overstrong."</p>
+
+<p>"You can search me," answered Mormon. "Ask Sandy, he's browsin' through
+the dikshunary reg'lar these days. Gettin' so it's hard to sabe half he
+tells you."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy had to look up the word. "Liable to make answer," he read out.</p>
+
+<p>"One of the snippy kind, back-talkin' an' peevish," said Miranda. "I
+can't bear 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the legal meaning," said Sandy. "I reckon this is
+it&mdash;submissive."</p>
+
+<p>"Halter-broke. That's more likely. That's the kind that Keith party w'ud
+pick. I ain't ever seen her nor don't hope nor expect to, but that's the
+kind she'd pick. No backbone. Molly'll twist her round her little
+finger. Wonder how old she is?"</p>
+
+<p>"The word you meant was anemic, Miss Mirandy," said Sandy, turning a
+leaf in the dictionary. "They sound about the same."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>"There's too many words anyway," she replied. "Folks don't use mo'n a
+hundredth part of 'em an' git along first-rate. I don't see why they
+print 'em." Miranda did not show to the best advantage during the rest
+of her visit. She snubbed Mormon severely when he offered to get water
+for her car. "I've fetched an' carried for myself long enough not to
+want to be waited on," she said. "An' I don't need water anyway." She
+drove off and had to bail from an irrigating ditch before she was
+half-way to her destination. Whereupon she took herself to task.</p>
+
+<p>"Miranda Bailey, there's no fool like an old fool," she said aloud, with
+sage-brush and timid prairie dogs for audience. "What you want to do is
+to keep sweet. Now git on." The final adjuration was to her car, to
+which she always spoke exactly as if it was a horse.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you suppose made her so cantankerous?" Mormon inquired after
+she had driven round the corral. "Reckon you got her sore bawlin' her
+out about usin' the wrong word, Sandy. A woman's sensitive about them
+things."</p>
+
+<p>Sam smote Mormon between the shoulders before Sandy could make answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Fo' a man who's had yore experience, you're deef, blind, dumb an' lost
+to all sense of touch or motion," he shouted. "Remember what I said
+about the stenographer? Mirandy's jealous of the Nicholson woman. Plumb
+jealous! You better wear blinders while she's here, Mormon. If she's a
+good-looker, Gawd help you! Mirandy won't."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h2>EAST AND WEST</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>When Miranda Bailey heard the news she announced her determination of
+coming over to the Three Star to prepare for the visitors.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon my reputation'll stand it," she said, "seein' I'm older than
+two of you an' the third is still a married man. That spineless
+governess'll be writin' back to the Keith woman about everything she
+sees, eats, sits or sleeps on. Pedro's cookin' is enough to give any
+easterner dyspepsy. The whole house wants reddin' up, it ain't been
+swept proper fo' a year."</p>
+
+<p>Abashed, the partners gave her full sway. They lived on the porch in
+their spare waking moments, they ate cold victuals, and the lives of
+Pedro and Joe were made miserable. But the ranch-house was scoured from
+top to bottom. Miranda's car brought over curtains for the windows,
+flowers for the window-sills, odds and ends that made the place look
+homely, cheerful, inviting. Pedro was given lessons at the stove that he
+at first took sulkily but, being praised and his wages raised, took
+pride in.</p>
+
+<p>"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 bring
+them over from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>time to time. He can make a pie an' biscuit an' he can
+broil meat. I've taught him to mash his pertaters with milk 'stead of
+water an' to put butter in his hot cakes. I'm stayin' over till supper
+ter-morrer to see everything has a good staht."</p>
+
+<p>"She's stayin' over to git a good look at the Nicholson party," Sam said
+to Mormon. "All this ain't jest for Molly."</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothin' between Miss Mirandy an' myse'f," replied Mormon with
+dignity. "She's a wonderful housekeeper."</p>
+
+<p>"She sure is. Me, I'm so I'm afeard to come into my own house, it's so
+golderned clean. If that third wife of yor'n...."</p>
+
+<p>The long-suffering Mormon turned upon his partner. They were seated on
+the broad top rail of the breaking corral, waiting the call to supper.
+Mormon clutched Sam by his collar and jerked him off the rail, catching
+the slack cloth of his pants at the seat, holding him firmly gripped and
+bending him across his padded lap. Despite Sam's kicks and squirms, he
+paddled him unmercifully and then dropped him sprawling into the corral.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't done that to you, Sam Manning," he said sternly, "fo' five-six
+years. An' you've got too all-fired fresh. Nex' time I'll do it in front
+of Mirandy, you ornery, bow-laiged, hornin'-in son of a lizard."</p>
+
+<p>Sam said nothing. His face, as he stooped somewhat painfully, was fiery
+red. He took hold of a post to help himself up, pretending disability.
+On the post <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>a horsehair lariat hung from the snub of a lopped-off bough
+of the tree that made the heavy stake. He fumbled with this while Mormon
+shook with laughter like a great jelly. The next moment the lariat came
+flying, circling, settled down over Mormon's head, over his body and
+arms. Sam, working like a jumping-jack, took a quick turn, flung a coil
+about Mormon's legs and in a few seconds, had him trussed helplessly to
+the rail.</p>
+
+<p>"Paddle me, you overgrown buzzard, will you? There you roost till
+Mirandy comes to look for you."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon pleaded and Sam pretended to be inflexible. At last they came to
+a capitulation. Mormon promised to keep his hands off Sam, and the
+latter vowed he would gibe no more about Mormon's matrimonial affairs,
+past, present or future.</p>
+
+<p>"An' don't <i>look</i> nothin', neither," added Mormon as Joe glided into
+sight and grunted his message.</p>
+
+<p>"Grub piled. Squaw she say hurry."</p>
+
+<p>For the life of him Sam could not resist a side glance of mirthful
+suggestion at Miranda's tendency to issue orders. Mormon did not notice
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"There's room for five&mdash;supposed to be&mdash;in my car," said Miranda. "An'
+there's four of us an' six to come back. The other car's in use. How we
+goin' to manage it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mormon c'ud take the Nicholson party on his lap, if she ain't too
+finicky," suggested Sam. This was hewing close to the line, and Mormon
+glared at him while the spinster sniffed.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>"Molly'll ride in with me," said Sandy. "I'm goin' over early on Pronto
+an' take the white blazed bay along that Molly rode over the Goats'
+Pass."</p>
+
+<p>"Ride in?"</p>
+
+<p>"She wrote she was jest waitin' fo' the minute she c'ud climb into a
+real saddle, astride a range-bred hawss," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"She won't be dressed for it, travelin' on the train," said Mirandy.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a hunch she will," Sandy answered simply. "They got their own
+private car. If she ain't, why, Sam can ride the bay back. But me an'
+Pronto, the bay an' Grit are goin' thataway."</p>
+
+<p>There were certain tones of Sandy's voice that gave absolute finality to
+his statements. He used them on this occasion. The argument dropped. In
+a way Sandy was making the matter a test of Molly. If she was as anxious
+as she wrote to "fork a bronco," if she understood Sandy and he her, she
+would feel that he would be waiting with her mount for her to return to
+the ranch western fashion. If not, it meant that she was out of the
+chrysalis and had become, not the busy bee that belongs to the mesquite
+and the sage, but a gaudier, less responsible flutterer among eastern
+flower-beds.</p>
+
+<p>The bay with the white blaze had been groomed by Sandy until his hide
+was glossy and rich as polished mahogany, while the blaze on his nose
+shone like a plate of silver. His dark mane and tail had been braided
+and combed until it crinkled proudly, the light <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>shone from his curves
+as he moved, reflecting the sky in the high-lights. Hoofs had been oiled
+and Sandy had attended to his shoeing. The bay had been up for a month
+and fed until he was almost pampered, save that Sandy took the excess
+pepper out of him every morning.</p>
+
+<p>A new saddle came from Cheyenne, most famous of all cities for making of
+saddles that are tailor-made, the leather carved cunningly into
+arabesques of cactus design, bossed and rimmed here and there with
+silver, the pattern carried over into the tapideros that hooded the
+stirrups, even into the bridle. It was a masterpiece of art craft, that
+saddle, "made for a lady to ride astride," and it cost Sandy an even
+quarter of a thousand dollars.</p>
+
+<p>Sam and Mormon knew of the grooming of the horse but, when the saddle,
+cinched above a Navajo blanket, smote their vision, they blinked and
+complained. They too had gifts for the homecomer, but Sandy's outshone
+them as a newly minted five-dollar gold piece does a silver coin.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+occasion of the bath at the time of suffering it, went bounding on pads
+of rubber, leaping up, tearing ahead and back, a shuttling streak of
+gold and silver.</p>
+
+<p>Miranda's caravan started an hour later, she driving, Mormon and Sam in
+the back, each dressed in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>best, minus chaparejos and spurs, but
+otherwise most typically the cowboy and therefore out of place&mdash;and
+feeling it&mdash;as they sat stiffly in the leatherette-lined tonneau.
+Miranda was in starched linen, destitute of all ornament, a dark red
+ribbon at her throat the only touch of color, looking extremely
+efficient and, as Sam whispered to Mormon, "a bit stand-offish." He
+wanted to add, "'count of the Nicholson party," but dared not.</p>
+
+<p>The train rolled in majestically, the private car gleaming with varnish
+and polished glass and brass, with a white-coated darky flashing white
+teeth on the platform as the fussy local engine took the detached luxury
+to the side-track designated for its Hereford location. There,
+forewarned by the agent, much of Hereford assembled to witness the
+arrival of the magnate who had helped to place them more definitely on
+the map and increased their revenues as supply depot for Casey Town. The
+flivver was parked and Miranda, Mormon and Sam made one group a little
+ahead of the others, recognized by the crowd as privileged. Sandy sat
+Pronto, talking to the restive bay, proudly conscious of its new
+trappings and the remarks of the onlookers.</p>
+
+<p>If Wilson Keith, clad in tweeds tailored on Fifth Avenue, a little
+portly, square-faced, confident, a trifle condescending, typified the
+East, Sandy was the West. A good horse is the incarnation of symmetry,
+grace and power. Sandy, erect in the saddle, lean and keen, matched all
+of Pronto's fitness. Man and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>mount both eminently belonged to the land,
+shimmering with sage, far-stretching to the mountains, a land that
+demanded and bred such a combination.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy's clean-shaven face was sharp with obstacles faced and overcome,
+his eyes held clean fine spirit, his jaw showed determination and the
+good lines of his mouth belied obstinacy. He wore the regalia of his
+cow-punching holidays, soft-collared shirt of blue, silk bandanna of
+dark weave in lieu of tie, leather gauntlets, leather chaps, fringed and
+buttoned with leather and trimmed with disk of silver, silver spurs on
+his high-heeled boots, trousers of dark gray stripe, a quirt with the
+handle plaited in black and white diamonds of horsehair dangling from
+one wrist, and the blue Colts in the twin holsters. He could not avoid
+being picturesque, yet there was nothing of the masquerader, the
+moving-picture cowboy. He held the eye, even of Hereford, but only
+because they liked to gaze upon a good man on a good horse. His body
+responded to every shift of Pronto, jigging impatiently, showing off,
+pretending to be afraid of the panting locomotive, body shining like
+metal of bronze and aluminum, his nostrils pink as the inside of a
+shell, ears twitching, rider and mount one in every movement. Grit stood
+with plumy tail erect and waving gently, ears up, red tongue playing
+between white teeth, his eyes like jewels; braced on his feet, tiptoe on
+his pads, watching the parking of the private car with now and then a
+glance of inquiry at Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>Keith stood by the railing of his platform, the darky <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>ready with the
+dismounting stool. He surveyed the crowd affably, with the poise of a
+successful candidate assured of welcome, waving his hand in demi-salute
+to Sandy, Sam and Mormon, lifting his hat graciously to Miranda Bailey.
+The man and the car emanated prosperity. Yet, for all the booming of
+Casey Town, the finding of pay-ore, the sale of shares, Keith's present
+financial status was not all that he trusted it might be within a short
+time. It was part of the technique of his profession to assume a mask
+and manner of financial success, and of late he had worn these until at
+times they jaded him, but they were well designed, well worn, and no one
+doubted but that Wilson Keith was a man of ready millions.</p>
+
+<p>Keith was essentially a gambler. He knew that those who bought his
+shares were largely tinctured with the same spirit that exists, more or
+less, in almost every man. They were amateurs and Keith the
+professional, that was the main difference. The average man likes to
+believe himself lucky. Keith was no exception. He knew the prevalence of
+the trait and traded upon it. Also he knew the gold mining game from
+prospect to prospectus and possible profit. But the expert faro-dealer,
+after his trick is over, is apt to take his wages to the roulette wheel
+of an opposition house and buck a game that his experience tells him is,
+like his own, run with the percentages against the player.</p>
+
+<p>Keith had dallied with oil, had speculated, plunged, been persuaded to
+invest heavily. He was beginning <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>to have a vague fear of not being so
+certain as he would have wished as to which end of the line he had
+taken, that of the baited hook, or the end that was attached to the reel
+that automatically plays the fish.</p>
+
+<p>He sold gold and he was buying oil. More, he was sinking wells, infected
+with the fever of the game, whereas, with his own mines, he was cool
+with the poise of the physician who takes count of a pulse. Others,
+partners with him in new enterprises in the petroleum field, were making
+sudden fortunes. His turn had not come yet, but they assured him that
+his ventures promised even more than those that had enriched them.
+Faster than gold came out of Casey Town, Keith used it in Oklahoma and
+Texas. He had come west to view his resources, to strain them to the
+utmost, to overlook the ground with the eye of the past-master of
+promotion, who could conjure up visions of wealth from the barest
+indication of pay-ore, trusting to find inspiration for further
+flotation on his return to New York, his market-place, "fresh from the
+field of operations."</p>
+
+<p>The engine uncoupled and panted off, leaving the car at rest on the
+spur-track. The fox-faced secretary came out, held the door open. Some
+one followed Molly Casey. Sandy surmised it must be Donald Keith, but he
+had sight for nothing except the slender figure whose radiant face,
+between a Panama hat and a dustcoat of pongee silk, shone straight at
+him. It was Molly, but a glorified Molly, woman not girl. The freckles
+had gone, the snub nose had become <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>defined, the eyes of Irish blue
+seemed to have deepened in hue back of their smudgy lashes. The wide
+mouth was the same, scarlet and soft as cactus blossom, smiling, opening
+in a glad cry....</p>
+
+<p>"Sandy!" Her arms went out toward him in greeting over the brass
+railing. Then Grit, catapulting from ground to platform, with frantic
+yaps of welcome, fairly bowled over the darky with his mounting block
+and bounded up into Molly's embrace. There was confusion on the platform
+for a moment with Grit as the nucleus. Another person had come out,
+evidently Miss Nicholson. She was neither undernourished nor thin, she
+was medium-sized and her bones were well covered. She had the general
+appearance of a white rabbit and the manners of a maternally intentioned
+but none too efficient hen. "Amenable" described her in one word. The
+darky was bringing out kitbags and suit-cases, piling them on the
+ground. Sam tackled him and showed him the flivver.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a cupple of trunks," said the porter.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll come back for them," Sam told him and helped him pile in the
+smaller baggage.</p>
+
+<p>Keith descended first, Molly darted by his extended hand and ran
+straight to Sandy, who had dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to hug you, and Mormon and Sam, as soon as we get home to the
+ranch," 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?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>"Took a chance," said Sandy. "Do you?" The old woman-shyness had come
+over him, fighting with his knowledge of the child who had changed into
+a woman. And the pongee duster deceived him.</p>
+
+<p>"Do I? Didn't I write you I was aching to fork a saddle? Look!"</p>
+
+<p>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 and
+riding boots, a white stock about the slender, rounded neck. She gave
+one hand to Mormon, the other to Sam, gazing at her in admiration that
+was radiant and goggle-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>"You're losing weight, Mormon," she said. "I believe you must be in
+love."</p>
+
+<p>"I allus was, with you," gallantried Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"You stand aside, you human chuckawalla!" said Sam. "Miss Molly, you
+sure look good to sore eyes. An' I'm sure happy you're in my debt, if
+you ain't grown up too fur to pay yore dues."</p>
+
+<p>"I always pay my debts, Sam. What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was me kissed the dawg," said Sam. "I give the animile somethin' I
+hadn't received."</p>
+
+<p>Molly laughed at him reassuringly. Sandy, looking down at her, saw her
+eyes crinkle at the corners in the old way. Keith and his son joined
+them, coming from the car, the Amenable Nicholson hovering behind
+ingratiatingly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>"Glad to see you, Bourke," he said. "And you, Manning. You too, Peters.
+Meet my son, Donald."</p>
+
+<p>The three partners shook hands gravely with the boy, appraising him
+without his guessing it.</p>
+
+<p>"Glad to see you out west," said Mormon. "We'd sure admire to have you
+visit us fo' a spell."</p>
+
+<p>"I was hoping for a bid," said young Keith. "Thanks. The car is here, or
+will be within an hour or two. Father shipped it ahead. Sims wired us it
+was at the junction. He will drive it over for us to go on to Casey Town
+as soon as he overhauls it. Then I'll run in from the mines, as soon as
+Dad can spare me."</p>
+
+<p>"Donald has to get acquainted with a real mining property," said Keith
+affably. "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 in
+my car till the machine comes. Er"&mdash;he looked around, and Miss Nicholson
+fluttered up&mdash;"this is Molly's companion, Miss Nicholson. She goes with
+you to the ranch. How...?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy indicated the flivver and introduced Miranda Bailey, who had been
+directing the stowage of the grips and the proper subordination of the
+porter, who had not seemed appreciative of the flivver.</p>
+
+<p>Molly held out a gloved hand for the reins of the fretful Blaze. Young
+Keith advanced with the proffer of a palm of her mounting. She shook her
+head at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Blaze wouldn't know what you were trying to do, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>Don," she said. She
+turned the stirrup, set in her foot, grasped mane and horn and raised
+herself lightly, holding her body close to the bay's withers for a
+second as he whirled, then lifting to the saddle, firm-seated, with a
+laugh for Blaze's plungings.</p>
+
+<p>"I see they didn't unteach you ridin' back east," said Mormon
+admiringly.</p>
+
+<p>The pair rode out of the crowd that opened for them, with whispered
+comments upon Molly's appearance, or rather, her reappearance. There
+were few stings in the remarks; the girl's spontaneous gaiety, her
+absolute unconsciousness of effort or cause, her evident delight in her
+return and reunion with the Three Star partners, disarmed all criticism
+of her costume. The Amenable Nicholson clambered into the flivver beside
+Miranda Bailey. Sam, Mormon and the grips packed the tonneau, and Keith
+and his son were left standing by the private car.</p>
+
+<p>Keith was soon surrounded with a crowd, making himself popular,
+flattering them until they finally went away convinced that they had all
+constituted a first-class reception committee to meet the illustrious,
+the energetic, good-fellow-well-met promoter and engineer of other
+people's fortunes.</p>
+
+<p>Some of them were invited into the car for a private talk. It is certain
+that cigars were handed round and it was hinted that some private stock
+had found its way upon the car. When, three hours later, the big machine
+with Sims the chauffeur, imperturbable as ever, at the wheel, departed
+with the promoter and his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>heir, the name of Keith was, for a time at
+least, a household word in Hereford.</p>
+
+<p>There was not much spoken between Molly and Sandy on the way back to the
+ranch. She seemed content to breathe in deep the herb-scented air and
+gaze at the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, riding a little to one side, a little back of her, so that he
+could 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 by
+him, 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, he
+and a woman who was all the world to him. Even the dog, leaping beside
+them as they loped, ranging when the pinto and the bay broke to a
+breathing walk, belonged in that picture. It was, he told himself, as if
+a boy had long cherished an illustration seen in a book and, suddenly,
+the beloved picture had become real and he a part of it.</p>
+
+<p>This was Molly, the girl, who had sworn when she told them of her
+father's death. He could recall the tone of the words at will.</p>
+
+<p>"The damned road jest slid out from under. He didn't have a
+hell-chance!"</p>
+
+<p>Molly, who had put arms about his neck and kissed him good-by when she
+went to school&mdash;how long ago that seemed&mdash;and said, "Sandy, I don't want
+to go, but I'll be game."</p>
+
+<p>Game! Sandy looked at the supple strength of her, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>so subtly knit in
+curves of graciousness, alert and upright in the new saddle, Panama hat
+in one hand, the better to get the wind full in her face, her cheeks
+flushed with the caress of it, the thick brown braids fluffing here and
+there;&mdash;she was the essence of gameness. He had quoted <i>Lasca</i> to her
+once&mdash;a line or two. More came to him now.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To ride with me and forever ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From San Saba's shore to Valacca's tide.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Molly, who had told him, the first time the woman-look had come into her
+eyes, "Yo're sure a white man. I'll git even with you some time if I
+work 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."</p>
+
+<p>That Molly, and yet another Molly, swiftly maturing, with all life
+opening up before her to wider horizons than would have been hers if she
+had stayed back west.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I want free life and I want free air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I sigh for the canter after the cattle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crack of whips like shots in battle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The m&ecirc;l&eacute;e of horns and hoofs and heads.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Pronto's hoofs beat out the cantering rhythm of the poem.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That wars and wrangles and scatters and spreads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The green beneath and the blue above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dash and danger and life and&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>He had stopped the quotation there before. Now he finished the stanza,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">&mdash;&mdash;and life and love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Lasca!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>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, burning
+like a lamp in the heart of a man. It was for this, he knew, that he had
+been woman-shy, that he had cherished his own thought of womanhood as
+something so rare a thought might tarnish it. First love, shorn of boy
+fallacies, strong, irresistible, protective, passionate. He closed his
+eyes and, for the first time in his life, touched leather, gripping the
+horn of his saddle as if he would squeeze it to a pulp.</p>
+
+<p>Game and dainty, tender, true, a girl-woman, partner&mdash;what a partner she
+would make, western-bred...!</p>
+
+<p>He checked himself there. She was western born but, what had the
+transplanting done? Would she ever now be satisfied with western ways?
+She would come to him, Sandy knew that. Whatever he asked her she would
+not refuse. But would that be fair to her? And he did not want her to
+come 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 early
+years, she was still young in Sandy's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed no time since he had taken her from her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>saddle and carried
+her, a tired heartsore child, in his arms. She must have a fair chance
+to see if the East, with all it could offer her of amusement and
+interest, would not outbid the claims of the West. He must wait and
+watch and hold himself in hand though his love and his knowledge of it
+thrilled through him, charging him as if with an electric current that
+strove to close all gaps between him and Molly, struggling ever, in mind
+and body, to complete the circle.</p>
+
+<p>Molly reined up Blaze and turned in her saddle toward him, her eyes
+sparkling, the color of lupines damp with the dew of dawn. Their eyes
+met, the glance held, welded. For a moment the circuit was formed,
+polarity effected. For a moment Sandy looked deep and then Molly's eyes
+hazed with tenderness, with a yearning that made Sandy's heart
+constrict, that warned him his emotions were getting beyond control, his
+own eyes betraying him. He summoned his will. His face hardened to the
+effort, his eyes steeled. Molly's face flushed rose, from the line of
+her white linen riding stock up to her hair, then it paled, her eyes
+seemed to hold surprise, then hurt. Their expression changed, Sandy
+could not read it now as long lashes veiled them. He spoke with an
+effort, his voice sounded strange to himself, phonographic.</p>
+
+<p>"How's the saddle?" he heard himself asking.</p>
+
+<p>"It's wonderful. I'm not going to begin to thank you for it, now,
+Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"Glad to be back?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head at him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>"No words for that, Sandy." Her eyes crinkled at him, with a hint of
+mischief, the old Molly looking out. "If you want to find that out, just
+you watch my smoke," she said, and set her heels sharply to the flanks
+of her mount. The astonished Blaze responded with a snort and a leap and
+cut loose his speed, Sandy after them on the pinto.</p>
+
+<p>They got to the ranch ahead of the flivver by a scant margin. Miranda
+Bailey inducted Molly and her chaperon governess into the quarters she
+had helped prepare for them, Molly giving little cries of delight at the
+improvements she saw down-stairs. Miranda came down first and joined the
+partners.</p>
+
+<p>"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 affected
+none an' her speech an' manners is sure fine. That gel's natcherally got
+a grand disposition.</p>
+
+<p>"The Nicholson person&mdash;her first name is Clarice&mdash;is well-meanin'
+enough. She ain't shif'less, but she ain't what you'd call practical. I
+reckon she does fine in teachin' Molly some things, but she'd be plumb
+wasted out West. She never saw a churn an' she'd likely die of thirst
+before she'd ever learn how to milk a cow. She's like the rest of 'em
+back East, I imagine, goes fine so long as folks can be hired to do
+everything fo' you. I'll say she never washed out anything bigger than a
+hankychif or cooked a thing larger'n an egg. An' she c'udn't boss a sick
+lizard. But she's easy to git along with, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>There was a certain complacency about the spinster's summing up of the
+Amenable Nicholson that made Sam wink covertly at Sandy, watching Mormon
+at the same time. Sam was convinced that, despite the handicap of a
+third wife, present whereabouts unknown, Miranda had made up her mind to
+marry Mormon and regarded all other women as possible rivals.</p>
+
+<p>"That Donald is a good-lookin' lad," went on Miranda. "It must take him
+an awful waste of time to fix his clothes every time he puts 'em on. I
+don't know how smart he is inside, but he's got some of them
+movin'-picture heroes beat on appearance. I'm wonderin' what Molly
+thinks 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 we
+got cash for our claims. Keith's too slick an' smooth an' smilin' to
+suit me. So long as he had lots he'd give you some to help the game
+erlong 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 a
+heap of thinkin' on it, it's the way I feel. Some apples sets my teeth
+on aidge before I know it, some victuals riles my stomach jest to
+mention 'em. I never c'ud abear castor-ile, jest the mention of it makes
+me squirmy. Keith affects me that way, on'y in my mind, well as in the
+pit of my stomach."</p>
+
+<p>It was a lengthy diatribe from Miranda Bailey, accustomed as they were
+to hear her state opinions <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>freely. The trio at Three Star had
+universally come to respect her decisions and also her intuitions and
+none of them had felt especially cordial toward Keith as a man, though
+they considered him good in his profession.</p>
+
+<p>"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 different
+east an' west of the Mississippi. The man in New York is sure a heap
+different from the man in Denver or San Francisco or Phoenix. Out here
+we 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&mdash;which is apt to be
+some job. I don't cotton to Keith myse'f, because he ain't my kind of a
+hombre. He don't talk my talk, or think my line of thought, any mo' than
+he wears the same clothes or does the same work. Give him a cow pony or
+strand me alongside one of them stock-market tickers an' we'd both look
+foolish. I'm playin' him as square till I find he ain't. Ef he tries to
+flamjigger Molly out of anything that's comin' to her by rights, why, I
+reckon that's one time the West an' East is goin' to meet&mdash;an' mebbe lap
+over a bit. So fur, he's put money in our pockets. Here's Molly...."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin' home," said Miranda, as the girl entered the room. "I've got
+you started an' I'll run over once in a while to see how Pedro is makin'
+out."</p>
+
+<p>She said good-by to Molly, who had swiftly changed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>out of her riding
+clothes into a gown that looked simple enough to Sandy, though he sensed
+there were touches about it that differentiated it from anything turned
+out locally. With the dress she looked more womanly, older, than in the
+boyish breeches. Miss Nicholson had made some changes also, but she had
+a chameleon-like faculty of blending with the background that preserved
+her alike from being criticized or conspicuous. As she shook hands with
+Miranda the two presented marked contrasts. Miranda was
+twentieth-century-western, of equal rights and equal enterprise; Miss
+Nicholson mid-Victorian, with no more use for a vote than for one of
+Sandy's guns. Yet likable.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to Daddy's grave," said Molly, when Miranda had flivvered
+off. "I wish the three of you would come there to me in about ten
+minutes. Miss Nicholson, everybody's at home here. Please do anything
+you want to, nothing you don't want to. She rides, Sandy. And rides
+well. Can you get up a horse for her to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Nicholson's face flushed, the suggestion of a high-light came into
+her mild eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I used to ride a good deal," she said. "But I have no saddle, no habit,
+and I am afraid&mdash;" She hesitated looking at them in embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>"Nicky, dear, you must learn to ride western fashion. With divided
+skirts, if you like. We can get you a khaki outfit in Hereford."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to try it," said Miss Nicholson, her face still flaming,
+the high-light quite apparent.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>"Up to you, Sam," said Sandy. "I sh'ud think the blue roan w'ud suit."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have her gentled to a divvy-skirt this time ter-morrer," said Sam
+gallantly. "You've got pluck, marm&mdash;I mean, miss&mdash;an' once you've forked
+a saddle, you'll never ride otherwise."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Nicholson gasped at Sam's metaphor and Mormon kicked him on the
+shin.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the idea?" he demanded after Molly had gone out and Miss
+Nicholson had ensconced herself on the veranda with a book.</p>
+
+<p>"You're plumb indelicut. You ought to be ashamed of yorese'f. You got to
+be careful round females, Sam Mannin', with yore expressions. Speshully
+one like this Nicholson party. She's a lady."</p>
+
+<p>"Who in hell said she ain't?" demanded Sam. "Me&mdash;I guess I know how to
+treat a lady, well as the nex' man. I don't notice you ever made a grand
+success of it with yore three-strikes-an'-out."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon disdained to reply. They went outside and, at the end of the ten
+minutes, walked together toward the cottonwoods. Grit was lying on the
+grave, and they saw Molly kneeling by the little railing. They advanced
+silently over the turf and stood in a group about her with their hats
+off and their heads bowed. Grit made no move and Molly did not look up
+for two or three minutes. Then she greeted them with a smile. There were
+no tear-signs on her face though her eyes were moist.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to thank you all," she said, "and to tell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>you how glad I am
+to be back. I have met lots of people, of all sorts and kinds, but not
+one 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 place
+you gave him and made for him under the trees, close to the running
+water. I was only a girl&mdash;a kiddie&mdash;when I went away. I think I am a
+great deal older now, perhaps, than other girls of my age. And I realize
+all you have done for me. The only thing is, I don't know how to begin
+to thank you."</p>
+
+<p>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 enormous
+mustache. Then she came to Sandy, taller than the others, his face
+grave, under control, the eagerness smothered in his eyes, desire
+checked by reverence for the pure affection of the offered salute. He
+fancied 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 heart
+was pounding against the slight touch of her slenderness that was
+manifest with womanhood. His arms ached with the restraint he set upon
+them, despite the presence of Mormon and Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Grit surveyed the gift of thanks gravely, as a ceremony, as some ancient
+lineaged noble might have looked upon the bestowal of sacrament and
+accolade for honorably deserved knighthood. Perhaps it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>that and the
+dog knew it. To Sandy, the little space about the grave, where the great
+cottonwoods waved overhead like banners, their trunks like pillars, the
+dappled carpet of the turf, with the sweet air blowing through the
+clearing and peeps of blue above through the boughs, was like a
+sanctuary. That the two others, men of rough life and free habit, yet of
+clean thought and decent custom, were touched with the same sensation,
+their eyes attested.</p>
+
+<p>"I've brought some things for you," said Molly. "Just presents that I
+bought in shops. But I wanted to thank you out here where Daddy lies."
+She sought their glances, searching to see if they understood,
+satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>"We're sure glad to git back the Mascot of the Three Star," said Mormon.</p>
+
+<p>"An' the sooner you git through bein' eddicated an' come back fo' keeps,
+the better," amended Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy said nothing but smiled at her and Molly smiled back again.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you have been my mascot rather than me yours," she demurred.</p>
+
+<p>"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 what
+we 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 the
+place. An' we sure have been lucky with everythin'. I'll say you're a
+mascot."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>"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 had
+won the stake that had started her east. "Now show me all the
+improvements. We'll get Kate Nicholson. She's a first-class scout if you
+ever get her out of the shell she crawled into a long time ago when her
+folks suddenly lost everything they had. If we had a piano, Sam, she'd
+play the soul out of your body. Wait until she gets at the harmonium
+to-night. You and she will have to play duets, Sam, you on the
+three-decked harmonica I got for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, shucks!" protested Sam? "I'm no musician."</p>
+
+<p>"You are," she said gaily. "You are my Three Wise Men of the West. You
+are all magicians. You took me out of the desert, you have made life
+beautiful for me. Don't dispel the illusion, Soda-Water Sam. I'd rather
+hear you play <i>El Capitan</i> than listen to the Philharmonic Orchestra."</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever that is," answered Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Molly's words were light but her eyes were frankly wet now and so were
+those of the three men.</p>
+
+<p>"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.</p>
+
+<p>"Some day!" speculated Mormon as they went to the ranch-house. He got a
+good deal into those two words, for all three of them.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h2>WESTLAKE BRINGS NEWS</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>In the week that followed the partners of the Three Star managed to find
+many hours for holiday-making. The ranch ran well on its own routine,
+and Molly was a princess to be entertained. Kate Nicholson emerged from
+her chrysalis and became almost a butterfly rather than the pale gray
+moth they had fancied her. Even Miranda revised her opinion. The
+Nicholsons, it came out, had been a family of some consequence and a
+fair degree of riches in South Carolina before an unfortunate
+speculation had taken everything. Kate Nicholson, left alone soon
+afterward, had assumed the role of governess or companion with more or
+less success and drifted on, submerged in the families who had used her
+services until Keith had secured her for the post with Molly when things
+had seemed particularly black. Now, riding with Molly, with Sam and
+Sandy for escorts, over the open range or up into the ca&ntilde;ons, on
+picnics, the years slid off from her. She acquired color with the
+capacity for enjoyment, she developed a quaint gift of jest and she
+proved a natural horsewoman. Molly coaxed her into different modes of
+hair dressing and little touches of color. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>laughed understandingly
+and talked spontaneously. Evenings, when they would return to the
+disconsolate Mormon, who bewailed openly his lack of saddle ease, they
+found, two nights out of three, Miranda Bailey, self-charioted in her
+flivver with offerings of cake and doughnuts to supplement Pedro's still
+uncertain efforts.</p>
+
+<p>Molly chuckled once to Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Miranda's a dear," she said. "I wish she'd marry Mormon. But Kate
+Nicholson is a far better cook than she is. Only she won't do anything
+for fear of hurting Miranda's feelings."</p>
+
+<p>Yet the governess did cook on occasion, trout that they caught in the
+mountain streams, and camp biscuits and fragrant coffee when they made
+excursion, so deft a presiding genius of the camp-fire that Sam declared
+she belonged to Sageland.</p>
+
+<p>"I love it," she answered, sleeves tucked to the elbow, stooping over
+the fire, her face full of color, tucking a vagrant wisp of hair into
+place.</p>
+
+<p>"Not much like the East, is it, Molly?" Sandy would ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit. Lots better."</p>
+
+<p>"You must miss a lot."</p>
+
+<p>"What, for instance, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Real music, for one thing. Concerts, theaters. Your sports. Tennis and
+golf. The people you met at the Keiths'. Clothes, pritty dresses,
+dancin'."</p>
+
+<p>"I love dancing," she said. "But not always the way they dance. Tennis
+and golf are poky compared <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>to riding Blaze. I like pretty things, but
+I'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 never
+satisfied, 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 good
+to be back&mdash;good."</p>
+
+<p>She stopped talking, gazing into the fire. The nights at Three Star were
+crisp. It was as if cold was jealous of the land that the sun wooed so
+ardently and rushed upon it the moment the latter sank behind the hills.
+Sandy looked at her hungrily, wishing she would elect to sit there
+always, mistress of the hearth and of him.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Keith'll be over soon, I reckon," he said presently. "He said
+he'd come. Like him, Molly?"</p>
+
+<p>It was not jealousy prompted the suggestion, but Sandy had more than
+once contrasted himself with the youngster and his easy manners, his
+undeniably good looks, his youth, wondering how close he was to Molly's
+moods and ideals, making him typical of the East as against the West.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a nice boy," she said. "He has always had things his own way. He's
+partly spoiled, I'm afraid. He'd have been a lot nicer if he had been
+brought up on a ranch. I've told him so."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Life's quieter out here, Sandy. It's bigger somehow. Donald only
+pleases himself. He&mdash;they don't seem to have real families out East,
+Sandy. I don't <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>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 their
+own ways and none of them do anything together. He's been nice to
+me&mdash;Donald. So have Mr. and Mrs. Keith."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy had no effort imagining Donald being nice to Molly, contrasted
+with the other girls who just amused themselves.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd cut a pore figger at tennis, I reckon," he said. "Or golf."</p>
+
+<p>"So would Donald breaking a bronco," she laughed. "He's keen to ride
+one, to see a round-up. Why, Sandy, they think life is wonderful out
+here. And it is."</p>
+
+<p>He wondered how much of her enthusiasm was lasting, how much came of the
+affectionate gratitude she showed them constantly, how much she thought
+of the swifter life she was going back to presently at the end of the
+month&mdash;with one week gone out of the four. He wrestled with the
+temptation to ask her not to go back, or to have Miss Nicholson remain
+on the ranch to complete the education that was steadily widening&mdash;as he
+saw it&mdash;the gap between them.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy was not ignorant. His speech was mostly dialect, born of
+environment. He wrote correctly enough, aided by the dictionary he had
+acquired. He had business capacity, executive ability, strong manhood.
+He read increasingly, his mind was plastic. But these things he
+belittled. And he was her guardian. Though he knew he might win her
+promise <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>to stay easily enough, he did not wish to exercise his
+authority. It might be misunderstood, even by Molly herself, later. He
+could not force his hand in this vital matter, as he handled other
+things. And yet....</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Sam had stopped playing, Kate Nicholson was weaving chords in music
+unknown to those who listened, save that it seemed to speak some common
+language that had been forgotten since childhood. The fire shifted,
+there was silence in the big room. Mormon sat shading his face, Miranda
+Bailey beside him, her knitting idle. Sam lounged in a shady corner near
+the harmonium. Grit lay asleep. It was infinitely peaceful.</p>
+
+<p>There was the sound of a motor outside, the honk of a horn. The door
+opened and a man came in, gazing uncertainly about him in the
+half-light&mdash;Westlake.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the Three Star, isn't it?" he asked, evidently puzzled at the
+group.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy lit the big lamp as they all rose, Grit nosing the engineer,
+accepting him.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure is," he said. "You know Miss Bailey, Westlake? Miss Keith an' Miss
+Nicholson, Mr. Westlake. They both know something about you. Come to
+stay, I hope."</p>
+
+<p>His voice was cordial as he gripped Westlake's hand, though the
+remembrance of what Sam had said at the mining camp leaped up within
+him. Westlake and Molly! Here was a man who might mate with her, might
+suit her wonderfully well. Upstanding, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>educated, no lightweight
+pleasure-seeker, as he estimated Donald Keith. Here was a complication
+in his dreams of happiness that he had lost sight of. He saw the two
+appraising each other and approving.</p>
+
+<p>"If you can put up with me, for a bit," said Westlake. "I've come partly
+on business, Bourke. I've left Casey Town."</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to speak with some embarrassment, glancing toward Molly. Sandy
+sensed that something had happened with his relations with Keith.</p>
+
+<p>"You're more than welcome," he said. "Any one with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I came over with a machine from the garage at Hereford," he said.
+"I'll get my things and send him back."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy went outside with him and helped him with his grips. The machine
+started.</p>
+
+<p>"Quit Keith?" asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we had a misunderstanding. About my staying here, Bourke. It may
+be a bit awkward. Young Donald Keith intends coming over. I am sure he
+doesn't know a thing about his father's business affairs. But I have a
+strong hunch that Keith himself will be along later to offset any talk
+he thinks I may have with you. He'll figure I've come here. He doesn't
+know all that I have found out, at that. If it's likely to embarrass you
+or your guests in the least I'll go on to Denver to-morrow. I'm headed
+that way. I've got a South American proposition in view. Wired them
+yesterday and may hear at any minute."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>"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 Keith
+himse'f. Yo're my guest an' we'll keep you's long we can hold you in the
+corral. As fo' Molly, you don't know her. If it come to a show-down
+between you an' Keith, with you in the right, there ain't any question
+as to where she'd horn in."</p>
+
+<p>"I had no idea Miss Casey would be like&mdash;what she is," said Westlake, as
+Miranda Bailey, Mormon in attendance, came out of the house.</p>
+
+<p>"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 reckon
+you sure gave me good advice when you said to take cash fo' my claims."</p>
+
+<p>She climbed into the machine which Mormon cranked. It moved off, Mormon
+watching it. Then Sam came out and joined them.</p>
+
+<p>"Gels gone to bed," he announced. "What's Keith doin' up to Casey Town,
+Westlake?"</p>
+
+<p>"It won't take long to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>The four walked over to the corral and the three partners climbed on the
+top rail, ranch-fashion. Westlake stood before them.</p>
+
+<p>"Practically all the gold found in Casey Town comes from the main gulch
+where the creek runs. The gulch was once non-existent. It is likely
+there was a hill there. Its nub was a porphyry cap, the rest of it was
+composed of layers of porphyry and valueless rock <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>dipping downward,
+nested like saucers in the synclinal layers. Ice and water wore off the
+nub and leveled the hill, then gouged out the gulch. They ground away,
+in my belief, all the porphyry that held gold except the portions now
+lying either side of the gulch. That gold was distributed far down the
+creek, carried by glacier and stream. Casey found indications and worked
+up to where he believed he had struck the mother vein. He did strike it
+but it had been worn down like the blade of an old knife.</p>
+
+<p>"It was the top layers that held the richest ore. Of those that are left
+only one carries it and that is the reef that outcrops here and there
+both sides of the gulch. This isn't theory. All strikes have been made
+in this top layer. Where they have sunk through to a lower porphyry
+stratum they have found only indications where they found anything at
+all. But the strikes were rich because sylvanite is one of the richest
+of all gold ores. They look big and they encourage further development
+and&mdash;what is more to the point&mdash;further investment. Some of the strikes
+have been on the Keith Group properties. They have boosted the stock of
+all of them.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been developing these group projects. The value of group
+promotion, to the promoter, is, that as long as one claim shows promise,
+the shares keep selling. The public loves to gamble. Keith came back
+this trip and proposed to purchase a lot of claims that are nothing but
+plain rock, surface dirt and sage-brush. They are not even on the main
+gulch. He can buy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>them for almost nothing. But he does not propose to
+sell them for that. He was going to start another group. He ordered me
+to make the preliminary surveys. Later I was to plan development work,
+to make a showing for his prospectus.</p>
+
+<p>"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.</p>
+
+<p>"Keith said he understood his business and suggested I should attend
+strictly to mine. I told him I understood mine and that it included some
+personal honor. I was hot. I suggested that wildcat development was not
+my business. He called me a quixotic young fool among other things, and
+I may have called him a robber. I'm not sure. Anyway, I quit.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Keith's kept me off from the properties as soon as they have been
+fairly started and I have been only consulting engineer for the Molly.
+I've been busy on preliminary work. The engineer he brought from New
+York has been in actual charge. That was all right. I'm comparatively a
+kid. But I know what is going on generally in Casey Town. There have
+been no more strikes, for one thing; the discoveries have all been in
+the one layer and they are gradually working out.</p>
+
+<p>"Keith would rather develop a good property than a bad one. He has
+established himself, has a future to look to. He carries his investing
+clients from one proposition to another. He never has to risk his own
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>money and he has been lucky. He has made money&mdash;lots of it. Now then,
+why does he start wildcatting?"</p>
+
+<p>"Must need money," suggested Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"That's my idea. I believe he's been stung somewhere. I know he's been
+fooling with oil stocks. His mail's full of it. And I believe he's been
+bitten by the other fellow's game instead of sticking to his own."</p>
+
+<p>"It's been done befo'."</p>
+
+<p>"But that isn't all." Westlake brought down his right fist into the palm
+of his left hand for emphasis. "This comes from information I can rely
+on, from logical deductions of my own, from actual observation of
+conditions. Yesterday they closed up the stopes in the Molly. Boarded
+'em over. This was done without consulting me. The superintendent talked
+some rot about not wishing over-production and pushing development. I
+heard of it after I had walked out of Keith's office, resigned, or
+fired. You can't issue an order like that without miners talking. I know
+most of them.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then&mdash;there's no gold left back of the boarding in those
+stopes&mdash;practically none! The Molly is played out, picked like a walnut
+of its meat! If they do develop down to the second porphyry level they
+won't find anything to pay for the work. They have taken all the
+sylvanite out of your mine and <i>Keith is trying to cover up that fact</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake stopped and eyed them. They took it differently. Mormon softly
+whistled. Sam slid out his harmonica, cuddled in beneath his mustache
+and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>played a little of the <i>Cowboy's Lament</i>. Sandy's eyes closed
+slightly. They glittered like gray metal in the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>"Keith can't help the mine peterin' out," he said. "Jest why is he
+hidin' it? So's he can sell new shares an' keep the price up of the old
+ones. So's he can unload?"</p>
+
+<p>"Plain enough. Now the Molly Mine stock isn't on the market. It is all
+owned, as I understand, by Miss Casey and you three holding the
+controlling interest, Keith the rest. It's been paying dividends from
+the start. Keith will try to unload."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll have to do it on the quiet or it 'ud have the same effect as if
+the news came out about the mine," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"True. He may try to sell it to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Not likely. He doesn't expect us to have the money. We haven't. I take
+it he can't dump 'em in a hurry. That's why he's boardin' the stopes. If
+he don't trail over here in a day or so I'll shack over to Casey Town
+fo' 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."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake nodded. He understood that quiet drawl of Sandy's. If the li'l'
+chat came off, Keith would not enjoy himself, he fancied.</p>
+
+<p>"The question is what move to make an' when to make it. If Molly is one
+thing she is game. We've got a good deal out of the mine an' it's all
+come so far <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>from the sale of gold to the mint, I take it. We don't
+dabble in stocks. We're ahead. If the mine's gone bu'st she's done
+nicely by us, at that."</p>
+
+<p>Back of Sandy's talk thoughts formed in his brain that held a good deal
+of 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. Her
+relations with the Keiths would be broken. She had not spent all her
+share of the dividends. Keith held some portion of this. Just how much
+Sandy did not know. He had not held Keith to strict accountings, he had
+trusted him to bank the funds. That Molly had a banking-account, he
+knew. It might mean her staying west. The principal used on the Three
+Star was intact and would be turned over to her, if they could make her
+accept it, but it began to look as if Molly might remain, all things
+considered.</p>
+
+<p>"I figger you're right about Keith trailin' over here to see if you've
+showed," Sandy went on. "That's the way I'd play him. As you say, he's
+got to git rid of his shares quietly an' he can't do it in a rush. I
+don'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' we
+break 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 pasear
+over to Casey Town an' have a li'l' chat with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Keith sabe his father's play?" asked Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"No." Westlake spoke decidedly. "He's not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>interested in mining. He's on
+the trip because his father holds the purse strings. He's a good deal of
+a cub, at present. I mean he don't show much inclination to use his
+brains. He's having a good time on easy money. He doesn't know the
+difference between an adit and an air-drill. Doesn't want to. Makes a
+show of interest, naturally, to stand in with his old man, but he puts
+in a good deal of time scooting round the hills in that big car of
+theirs, 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. It
+was not my province. He's a likable kid in many ways but he's just a
+kid."</p>
+
+<p>"'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' <i>well</i>
+bred. I've known a heap of folks mighty well bred who didn't have much
+pedigree. So long's the blood's pure, names don't amount to shucks. Now
+tell us some about that South American berth of yours, Westlake."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake rather marveled at the ease with which Sandy and his chums
+dismissed a matter that meant a material loss of money to them, but he
+had seen the light in Sandy's eyes and he knew his capacity for action
+when the moment arrived. The four sat up late, talking of mining in
+various ways and places.</p>
+
+<p>"This Westlake hombre'll go a long ways," summed up Sam to Sandy after
+Westlake had turned in and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>Mormon had yawned himself off to bed. "He
+sure knows a heap, he don't brag, he's on the square an' he ain't afraid
+of work."</p>
+
+<p>"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 potenshul
+millionaire any longer, just plain ranchman. You can go to sleep 'thout
+worryin' how yo're goin' to spend yore dividends."</p>
+
+<p>"That so't of worry won't tuhn my ha'r gray," retorted Sam, "though I
+wish you'd talk plain United States an' forgit the dikshunary. What I'm
+worryin' about is Molly."</p>
+
+<p>"So'm I, Sam," said Sandy. "Good night."</p>
+
+<p>That Westlake won approval from Molly, and also from Kate Nicholson, was
+patent before breakfast was over the next morning. A buyer came out from
+Hereford demanding Sandy's attention and he stayed at the ranch while
+the three and Sam went off saddleback. Westlake had expressed a desire
+to see the ranch and Molly had volunteered to display her own renewed
+knowledge of it. The buyer looked at the Three Star stock with expert
+eyes and made bids that were highly satisfactory.</p>
+
+<p>"Better beef, better prices, that's the modern slogan," he said at the
+noon meal with Sandy and Mormon. "I see you believe in it. You can
+establish a brand for the Three Star steers, Mr. Bourke, just as readily
+as any producer of staple goods, and you can command your own market.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>"I heard some talk in Hereford this morning of trouble at one ranch not
+far 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 in
+Chicago to look up some horses for him and I had heard of Plimsoll
+before, not over-favorably. I understand he is a horse-dealer rather
+than a breeder. And that he is not fussy over brands."</p>
+
+<p>"He's got a big herd," said Sandy non-committally. "Claims to round up
+slick-ears."</p>
+
+<p>"Slick-ears?"</p>
+
+<p>"Same as broom-tails&mdash;wild hawsses. What was the trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"General row among the crowd, far as I could make out. Plimsoll shot at
+one of his men named Wyatt, I believe, and started to run him off the
+ranch. There were sides taken and shots fired."</p>
+
+<p>"News to me," said Sandy. He was not especially interested in Waterline
+happenings so long as Plimsoll remained set. The buyer left and the rest
+of the day went slowly.</p>
+
+<p>When the quartet returned, Molly and Westlake were obviously more than
+mere acquaintances. Sandy felt out of the running though Molly held him
+in the conversation. Kate Nicholson unconsciously intensified his mood.</p>
+
+<p>"They make a wonderful pair, don't they?" she said to him. "Both
+Western, full of life and mutual interest."</p>
+
+<p>Miranda Bailey, driving over, created a welcome diversion.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>"I've brought a telegram out for you, Mr. Westlake," she said. "The
+operator phoned us to see if any one was coming over. Said you left word
+you were at the Three Star. Here it is. When you goin' to have your
+phone put into the ranch, Sandy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Company promised to finish the party line next month," answered Sandy.
+"Held up for poles."</p>
+
+<p>He answered with his eyes on the yellow envelope that Westlake, with an
+apology, was opening. The engineer read it and passed it to Molly. Sandy
+saw her face glow.</p>
+
+<p>"That's fine!" she exclaimed. "But it means you've got to go. I'm sorry
+for that."</p>
+
+<p>The relief that Sandy felt, and dismissed as selfish, was marred by the
+cordial understanding that had sprung up between the two. He wondered if
+they had discovered a real attachment for each other. Such things could
+happen in a flash. His view was apt to be jaundiced, but he did not
+realize that.</p>
+
+<p>"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 on
+immediately. It means a lot to me. Everything," he added, with a smile
+that Molly returned.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll write?" she said. "You promised."</p>
+
+<p>Kate Nicholson looked at Sandy with arching eyebrows. She too appeared
+to scent romance, to approve of it. Miranda broke in.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure glad it's good news," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy fancied she was about to ask about Keith. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>knew her curiosity
+to be lively, though he thought her tact would appreciate the situation
+with regard to Molly. "I've got some of my own," she continued. "There's
+been trouble out to Jim Plimsoll's. He shot at Wyatt or Wyatt at him, I
+don't know which rightly. But there was sides taken an' a gen'ral
+rumpus. Several of his men quit or was run off the place. It's been a
+reg'lar scandal. Called the place the Waterline. Whiskyline w'ud have
+suited it better, I reckon. Plimsoll's aimin' to sell out, Ed heard.
+It'll be a good riddance."</p>
+
+<p>"Whoever buys the stock is takin' a long chance," said Mormon. "Aimin'
+to sell, is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have a telegram fo' you to take back, Mirandy," said Sandy. "You
+sendin' one, Westlake?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll take it, Miss Bailey."</p>
+
+<p>"Glad to."</p>
+
+<p>Westlake and Molly were both standing. They moved toward the door and
+out to the moonlit veranda together.</p>
+
+<p>"They seem to hit it off well, that pair," said Miranda.</p>
+
+<p>Kate Nicholson murmured something about the kitchen and left the room to
+attend to some refreshments. She had gradually taken over supervision of
+Pedro and the results had justified Molly's praise of her qualifications
+as a housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>"Now tell me about Keith," demanded Miranda. "What's he been up to?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy told her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>"I ain't a mite surprised. That Westlake acts white. I liked him from
+the start. What are you goin' to do about Molly? You ain't told her
+yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"No use spoilin' her holiday befo' we have to," said Sandy. "I'm goin'
+to talk with Keith first."</p>
+
+<p>"It'll be a good thing in a way, mebbe," said Miranda. "Molly belongs
+out west where she was born an' brought up. I hope she stays," she added
+with a shrewd glance at Sandy that startled him into a suspicion that
+Miranda had guessed his secret.</p>
+
+<p>Kate Nicholson returned and the talk changed. Westlake and Molly
+remained outside until the food was served. Then there was music.
+Through the evening the pair talked together, confidentially, apart from
+the rest. Miranda departed at last with the telegrams. Molly lingered as
+good nights were said.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got something to tell you, Sandy," she said. "It's private, for
+the present," she added with a glance toward Westlake.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy sat down by the fire with a sinking qualm. Molly perched herself
+on the arm of his chair, silent for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a love story, Sandy," she said presently.</p>
+
+<p>"Westlake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He wanted me to tell you before he went. He's very fond of you,
+Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he?" Sandy spoke slowly, rousing himself with an effort. "I think
+he's a fine chap. I sure wish him all the luck in the world." He fancied
+his voice sounded flat.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>"I suppose you wondered why we were so chummy all the evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I wondered a li'l' about that." Sandy did not look at her, but
+gazed into the dying fire. He saw himself sitting there, lonely,
+woman-shy once more, through the long stretch of years, with a letter
+coming once in a while from far-off places telling of a happiness that
+he had hoped for and yet had known could not be for him; Sandy Bourke,
+cow-puncher, two-gun man, rancher, growing old.</p>
+
+<p>"I was the first girl he had seen for a long while, you see," Molly was
+saying. "And he had to talk it over with some one. He told me about it
+first this morning and then the telegram came."</p>
+
+<p>"Talkin' about what?"</p>
+
+<p>"His sweetheart. Now he can marry her with this opportunity. She may
+sail with him. Isn't it fine? He showed me her picture."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the best news I've heard fo' a long time," answered Sandy soberly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sleepy," said Molly. "Good night, Sandy, dear."</p>
+
+<p>She put her lips to his tanned cheek and left him in a maze. The dying
+fire leaped up and the room lightened. It died down again, but Sandy sat
+there, smoking cigarette after cigarette.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h2>DEHORNED</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Miranda Bailey had offered to come in for Westlake with her car, but the
+train 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 back
+in his eyes. He gave Westlake a grip of the hand that made him wince.</p>
+
+<p>"Bring her out to the Three Star sometime," he told him. "Mind if I tell
+Sam and Mormon, Westlake? They'll sure be tickled."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like them to know. And we'll come, when we can. Maybe we'll find
+you coupled by that time, Sandy. All three of you. And I hope we'll find
+Molly here."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so." Sandy fancied the last sentence more than casual.</p>
+
+<p>"You can rely upon my information being correct," were Westlake's last
+words, spoken aside before he climbed into the buckboard and Molly
+flirted the reins over the backs of the team shooting off at top speed.</p>
+
+<p>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 job
+that morning to the "old man."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>Molly came back a little before noon, her eyes wide with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"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 annoyed
+when I told him I had just seen him off on the train. They all came from
+Casey Town in the big car. Has there been any trouble between Mr. Keith
+and Mr. Westlake?"</p>
+
+<p>"The South American offer is a better chance than Casey Town," answered
+Sandy. "Mr. Keith may have been annoyed about that. His boy's along, you
+say? Is he comin' oveh to the ranch?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He wanted to come with me, to drive me out in the car, but I had
+the buckboard and I'd rather drive horses any day. So he'll be out a
+little later to take up your invitation. Mr. Keith has some business in
+Hereford. He and Mr. Blake will stay on their private car. He told me to
+tell you he would be out to-morrow to see you. Oh, here's a telegram for
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks." Sandy tucked the envelope in his pocket. "Hop out, Molly, an'
+I'll put up the team."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll help you. I haven't forgotten how to unhitch." Her nimble fingers
+worked as fast as Sandy's with buckles, coiling traces and looping
+reins. She led the team off to the drinking trough and fed each an
+apple, with Sandy looking at her, registering the picture that made such
+strong appeal.</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' to take Donald Keith out fo' a real ride on a real hawss?" he
+asked her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>"Yes. To-morrow. He's keen to go. You'll come. And Sam and Kate?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a hunch I'm goin' to be busy ter-morrer. Keith's comin', fo'
+one thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I forgot. I wish you could come." The passing shadow on her face was
+sunshine to Sandy. Molly went into the house and he opened the telegram.
+It was from Brandon, as he expected.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Thanks. Coming immediately. Was starting anyway. That trap
+worked. May need horses for eight. Will you arrange?</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap" style="padding-right: 8em;">Brandon</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>"It sure looks like a busy day ter-morrer," Sandy said half aloud.
+"Keith and Brandon&mdash;which means roundin' up Jim Plimsoll. Sam don't get
+to any picnic, either. He'll have to 'tend to the hawsses."</p>
+
+<p>The Keith touring car arrived in mid-afternoon with young Keith at the
+wheel, the chauffeur beside him, grips in the tonneau. Donald Keith
+jumped out, affable, a little inclined to condescension at first toward
+everything connected with the ranch, including Kate Nicholson. The
+imperturbable driver left with the car. Young Keith's snobbery wore off
+as he inspected the corrals and the stock with eager interest and the
+riders with a certain measure of awe, which he transferred to Sandy on
+learning that he had broken two colts that morning.</p>
+
+<p>"If they're broken, I must be all apart," he said, watching them plunge
+wildly about the corral at the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>sight of visitors. "I'd hate to try to
+ride one of them in Central Park. If I could stick on I'd be pinched for
+endangering the public. Wish I could have seen you bu'st them."</p>
+
+<p>"There'll be mo' of it befo' you leave," said Sandy. His mood of the
+morning held. His generosity of feeling toward Keith's boy did not
+lessen when he saw how much the elder of the two Molly appeared. The
+youngster was spoiled, probably selfish, but he was distinctly likable.</p>
+
+<p>"Know what time yore father expects to be out?" Sandy asked him, later.</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't say. He's got some business to attend to. Some time in the
+forenoon, I imagine. I know he's figuring on getting back to Casey Town
+to-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 did
+not ameliorate his attitude toward the visit of Keith Senior.</p>
+
+<p>That worthy arrived after lunch had been cleared the next day. Kate
+Nicholson busied herself to wait deferentially upon him and his
+secretary, the fox-faced Blake. Keith was brisk and brusk, breathing
+prosperity.</p>
+
+<p>"I was detained in Hereford, Bourke," he said. "I haven't much time for
+anything but a flying visit. I promised Mrs. Keith I'd come over the
+first opportunity, and I wanted to see you. Donald's out with Molly, you
+say. I'll leave him with you on your invitation and pick him up when we
+go back east. That <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>will be in about a week. Sooner than I expected. I'd
+like to spare a day to look over the ranch. I've heard fine things about
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks," drawled Sandy laconically. "Glad to have a talk with you. Sam,
+Mr. Blake might like to see the hawsses gentled that came up this
+mo'nin'."</p>
+
+<p>Keith raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Leaving Blake, Sandy led
+Keith to his office, rolled a cigarette, offered a chair to his visitor
+and smoked, waiting for the latter to open the talk.</p>
+
+<p>"There are some papers for you to examine, as Molly's guardian," said
+Keith. "But Blake has them."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll take them up later. Anythin' else?"</p>
+
+<p>Keith looked sharply at Sandy's face. There was a certain grimness to it
+that reminded the promoter of the first time he had seen it. His own
+changed to a mask, expressionless, save for his eyes, holding suspicion
+that changed to aggressiveness. But the latter did not show in his voice
+which was smooth and ingratiating.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing of great importance. I hear Westlake has been over here,
+Bourke. We had a misunderstanding. Sorry to lose him, since you
+recommended him."</p>
+
+<p>"He figgers he has a better job," answered Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad he thinks so. He is young and lacks experience. His opinion
+clashed with that of my engineer-in-charge, an expert of high standing.
+Westlake was hot-headed and would not brook being overruled. There is no
+doubt but that he was mistaken. He is a valuable man, under a superior,
+but he is intolerant."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>"He didn't strike me that way," said Sandy. "Me, I set a good deal on
+his opinion."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't imagine you knew much about mining, Bourke." Keith looked at
+his watch. "I'll really have to be going as soon as you have looked over
+those papers. Hadn't we better call Blake?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy looked out of the window. He saw Miranda Bailey's flivver halting
+by the big car, Mormon walking toward her, and wondered what had brought
+her over. So far he had not got the opening he wanted, unless he took up
+defense of Westlake more forcibly to introduce the matter. He was
+inclined to suggest a trip for himself to Casey Town to inspect the mine
+in company with Keith that night, but the coming of Brandon hampered
+him. He wanted to be on hand for that. Then he saw Mormon leave Miranda
+and come toward the office, bowling along at top speed.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me a minute, Keith," he said. "My partner wants to see me."</p>
+
+<p>Keith's face wore a scowl as Sandy stepped outside. His conscience was
+not entirely clear and he did not like the general atmosphere of the
+office. He scented antagonism in this rancher who called him Keith
+without the prefix. It was all right for him to omit it, but.... He took
+out a cigar, bit off the end savagely and lit it.</p>
+
+<p>"Mirandy wants to see you," panted Mormon. "She's found out somethin'
+about Keith that sure shows his play. He's been discardin'!"</p>
+
+<p>The Keith chauffeur had wandered off to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>corrals where Sam was
+showing Blake around. Miranda handed Sandy a long envelope.</p>
+
+<p>"Hen Collins had an accident last night," she said. "Blew a tire on the
+bridge by our place an' smashed through the railin'. Bu'sted a rib or
+two an' was knocked out. We took him in. I'm sorry for Hen but it sure
+was a lucky accident. You see, Keith told him to keep quiet but Hen was
+grateful 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 be
+lookin'. I reckon you'll want to spring it on him sudden."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," said Sandy. "Spring what?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm flustered," admitted Miranda. "I usually talk straight. Now I'll
+start to the beginnin'. When Keith arrived on this trip he held quite a
+reception in his private car. Ed was there with the rest. He invited
+them up fo' cigars. Talked big about Casey Town an' gen'ally patted
+himself on the back. Said it was too bad all the stock of the Molly
+wasn't held in locally, but of co'se the pore promoter had to have
+somethin' fo' his money. He was real affable. Ben Creel asked him if he
+didn't want to sell some of his Molly stock an' they all laffed.</p>
+
+<p>"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 how
+many he saw or jest what he said, but this is what he told Hen. After
+he'd got Hen to lead up to it, mind you. That Casey Town was boomin' big
+an' that his own holdin's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>was nettin' him a heap. That he liked Hen
+fine 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 of
+the Molly Mine at par. Hen was to say nothin' about it because, says
+Keith, if it got out he was sellin' stock, it would send down the price
+of the shares an' hurt Casey Town in general, Hereford some, an' you-all
+at the Three Star in partickler. I reckon he was plausible enough. Hen
+was sure tickled. He w'udn't have said a word about it on'y Ed picks
+these shares up out of the bed of the crick an' give them to Hen afteh
+he'd been fixed up.</p>
+
+<p>"Ed went nosin' around Hereford this mo'nin'. He got eight men&mdash;their
+names is inside the envelope&mdash;Creel one of 'em&mdash;to admit they'd bought
+some shares. Mighty glad they was to have 'em. Ed didn't tell 'em
+anything different, but he come scootin' home at noon an' I borrowed
+Hen's certificut, seein' he was asleep. An' here it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Mirandy," said Sandy, "I'll let Mormon tell you what we all think of
+you. You've sure dealt me an ace. Mormon, help Sam ride herd on the
+secretary. I'll be callin' you in after a bit. You'll stay, Mirandy?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go visit with Kate Nicholson. I'm beginnin' to like her real well.
+Molly away?"</p>
+
+<p>Sandy left Mormon to tell her and returned to the office. Keith eyed the
+envelope.</p>
+
+<p>"Blake coming?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet. When do we get another dividend from the Molly, Keith?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>Keith laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"You're as bad as all the others," he said. "Sell a man stock, give him
+a dividend and he's like a girl eating candy. You had one just fourteen
+weeks ago."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I was askin' you about the <i>next</i>," he said, his voice still drawling
+but with a finer edge to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Needing some ready money?"</p>
+
+<p>"How about the dividend?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that depends upon the output." Keith's voice purred but his eyes
+had narrowed. He watched Sandy like a card player who begins to think
+his 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 to
+pay dividends according to the immediate production, however. It is
+better, as a rule, to average it, generally to develop the mine as a
+whole rather than work the first rich veins."</p>
+
+<p>"That why you boarded up the stopes?"</p>
+
+<p>Keith's face grew dark. The veins twitched at his temples.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Bourke," he blustered. "You've been listening to some fool
+talk from that cub, Westlake. I know my business. You've got some stock
+in the mine, twenty-five per cent. I've put money and brains into it and
+I've got forty-nine per cent. Molly...."</p>
+
+<p>"If you <i>had</i> fo'ty-nine per cent. I wouldn't be worryin' so much."</p>
+
+<p>"What the devil do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I took you fo' a betteh gambler than to git mad," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>said Sandy. "I'll
+jest ask you a question on behalf of myse'f an' partners' twenty-five
+per cent., an' Molly's twenty-six, me bein' her guardian. Plump an'
+plain, is the Molly pinched out?"</p>
+
+<p>Keith hesitated, struggled to control himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Save me a trip over to Casey Town, mebbe," Sandy added.</p>
+
+<p>"I got mad just now, Bourke, because of the interference of a man I
+fired for lack of common sense, experience and recognition of his
+superiors. Westlake is a hot-head and I suppose he has some idea of
+trying to get even with me by belittling me in your eyes and running
+down my management. I think I have shown my interests allied with yours.
+Mrs. Keith and I."</p>
+
+<p>"She don't come into this. You didn't answer my question, Keith. How
+about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a damned falsehood."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why are you sellin' your stock?"</p>
+
+<p>The words came like bullets as Sandy whipped the certificate out of the
+envelope and slapped it smartly on the desk. Keith whitened, flushed
+again, recovered himself.</p>
+
+<p>"If I was not friendly to you, Bourke, I should take that as a direct
+insult. I can understand that you believe in Westlake and take stock in
+what he told you. But he is a discharged employee. He has every
+reason...."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy held up his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a friend of mine," he said. "Keith, I may <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>not know the minin'
+game&mdash;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't
+hanker to insult a man but&mdash;I don't believe you. An' here's this stock
+you sold. I've got the names of more you sold it to. Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"A man in my position," said Keith slowly, "swings many big deals and
+sometimes he is pushed for ready money."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon that's the reason," said Sandy dryly. "Well, you've got to git
+it some other way. You've got to buy these stocks back, Keith. I control
+the big end of the stock in the Molly. If I have to go to the bother of
+gittin' an expert of my own, an' goin' to Casey Town to look back of
+those stopes, you're goin' to be sorry fo' it."</p>
+
+<p>"I have a right to sell my stock."</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't goin' to exercise that right, Keith. You may make a business
+sellin' chances to folks who like to buy 'em, but you can't sell
+Herefo'd folks paper when they think they're buyin' gold. I won't bunco
+my neighbors an' I ain't goin' to 'low you to do it with any proposition
+I'm interested in. You'll give me the money you got fo' the shares with
+a list of the men you sold 'em to an' I'll tell 'em the Molly is pinched
+out&mdash;as it is."</p>
+
+<p>"You must be crazy, man! They wouldn't believe <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>you. If you went round
+with a statement like that you'd lose every cent of your own and your
+ward's. You have no right...."</p>
+
+<p>"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 Molly
+an' you'll see where she stands. We don't do business out west the way
+you do. We don't rob our friends or even try an' run a razoo on
+strangehs. I reckon the folks'll believe me. If they don't I'll give 'em
+stock of ours, share fo' share, to convince 'em until it's known the
+Molly has flivvered."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll ruin the whole camp."</p>
+
+<p>"Not to my mind. They'll git out what gold's left The Molly'll shut
+down. I'll git you to give me a statement 'long with the money an' the
+list fo' me to check up, sayin' you've jest had news the vein has
+petered out sudden&mdash;like it has. That's lettin' you down easy. They'll
+think 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 them
+rotten stock, you an' yore private car might suffer consid'rable damage
+befo' 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 sure
+advise you to come across."</p>
+
+<p>Keith looked into the face of Sandy and, briefly, into his eyes, hard as
+steel. He made one more attempt.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>"Let's talk common sense, Bourke. You're quixotic. The Molly is
+capitalized for a quarter of a million dollars. The stock can be sold at
+par if it's done quietly. I can dispose of it for you. There is no
+certainty that the mine will not produce richly when we strike through
+the second level of porphyry. There are plenty of people willing to buy
+shares on that chance after the showing already made. I tried to say
+just now that you have no right to throw away your ward's money, and you
+are a fool to throw away your own. People buy stock as a gamble."</p>
+
+<p>"No sense in you talkin' any mo' that way, Keith. Mebbe you sell paper
+to 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 my
+partners, neitheh will Molly Casey. She's a western gel. Above all, I
+won't gold-brick my friends. I know the mine is petered out. You won't
+call 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 it
+an', we won't sell the dirt. No mo' w'ud Pat Casey, lyin' out there by
+the spring, if he was alive."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose I refuse?" asked Keith, his square face obstinate. "I've done
+nothing outside the law."</p>
+
+<p>"To hell with that kind of law! We make laws of our own out here once in
+a 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 boy
+visit with us till you do."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>The promoter's face twisted uglily and he lost control of himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Kidnapping? A western method of justice. Not the first time you've been
+mixed up in it either, from what I hear. You don't dare...."</p>
+
+<p>Keith stopped abruptly. Sandy had not moved, but his eyes, from
+resembling orbs of chilled steel, seemed suddenly to throw off the blaze
+and heat of the molten metal.</p>
+
+<p>"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, or
+we can tell the Herefo'd folk what you've tried to hand to them. Yo're
+apt to look like a buzzard that's fallen into a tar barrel after they
+git through with you, Keith. Trouble with you is that you've been
+bullin' the market an' havin' it yore own way too long. Now you see a
+b'ar on the horizon, you don't like the view.</p>
+
+<p>"When we bring up stock fo' shipment we sometimes have trouble with the
+longhorns. 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 out
+who 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 with
+Creel of the Herefo'd National. Then you can come back an' git yore
+boy."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>"I don't remember the names. Blake took the record of them," said Keith
+sullenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll have him in."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy went to the door and hailed Sam and Mormon. They came to the
+office escorting Blake, whose fox-face moved from side to side with
+furtive eyes as if he smelled a trap.</p>
+
+<p>"We want the list of the folks you unloaded Molly stock to," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>Blake looked at his employer who sat glowering at his cigar end, licked
+his lips and said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak up," said Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"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 had
+to peel the shirt off of him in strips." He took the secretary by one
+elbow, Mormon by the other, both grinning behind his back as he shook
+with a sudden palsy in the belief that they meant their threat.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell him, you damned fool!" grunted Keith.</p>
+
+<p>"The stubs are in the car at Hereford depot," said Blake. "In the safe."</p>
+
+<p>"Money there too? I suppose you cashed the checks?"</p>
+
+<p>"I deposited them to my own account," said Keith. "Come on, let's get
+this over with since you are determined to throw away your own and your
+partners' good money, to say nothing of the girl's. She could bring suit
+against you, Bourke, with a good chance of winning."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>He glanced hopefully at Mormon and Sam. They kept on grinning.</p>
+
+<p>"Round up that chauffeur, Sam, will you?" asked. Sandy. "Tell him we're
+startin' fo' Herefo'd right off. You an' me can go over those accounts
+of Molly's same time we attend to the other business, Keith."</p>
+
+<p>They went outside, Blake looking anxious and a trifle bewildered, Keith
+throwing away his cigar and lighting a new one, his face sullen with the
+rage he dammed. Kate Nicholson and Miranda Bailey were on the
+ranch-house veranda.</p>
+
+<p>"Could I ask you to mail these letters, Mr. Keith? Two of Molly's and
+one 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 the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>"To hell with you!" he shouted, his face empurpled. "You're fired!" All
+of his polish stripped from him like peeling veneer, he appeared merely
+a coarse bully.</p>
+
+<p>Sam came up the veranda in two jumps and a final leap that left him with
+his hands entwined in Keith's coat collar. He whirled that astounded
+person half around and slammed him up against the wall of the
+ranch-house, rumpled, gasping, with trembling hands that lifted before
+the menace of Sam's gun.</p>
+
+<p>"I oughter shoot the tongue out of you befo' I put a slug through yore
+head," said Sam, standing in front of the promoter, tense as a jaguar
+couched for a spring, his eyes glittering, his voice packed with venom.
+"You git down on yo' knees, you ring-tailed skunk, an' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>apologize to
+this lady. Crook yo' knees, you stinkin' polecat, an' crawl. I'll make
+you lick her shoes. Down with you or I'll send you straight to
+judgment!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Sam, Mr. Manning&mdash;it isn't necessary," protested Kate Nicholson.
+"Please...."</p>
+
+<p>Sam looked at her cold-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my party," he said. "It'll do him good. I'll let him off
+lickin' yo' shoes, he might spile the leather. But he'll git them
+letters 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 right
+where you are, Kate. Let him come to you."</p>
+
+<p>Sam fired a shot and the promoter jumped galvanically as the bullet tore
+through the planking of the ranch-house between his trembling knees.</p>
+
+<p>"I regret, Miss Nicholson," he commenced huskily, "that I let my temper
+get the better of me. I was greatly upset. In the matter of your
+services I was&mdash;er&mdash;doubtless hasty. It can be arranged."</p>
+
+<p>He shrank at the tap of Sam's gun on his shoulder, wilting to his knees.</p>
+
+<p>"She w'udn't work fo' you fo' the time it takes a rabbit to dodge a
+rattler," said Sam. "She never did work fo' you. It was Molly's money
+paid her. Kate's goin' to stay right here as long as she chooses an'
+I...."</p>
+
+<p>Catching Kate Nicholson's gaze, the admiring look of a woman who has
+never before been championed, conscious of the fact that he had blurted
+out her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>Christian name and disclosed the secret of that touch of
+intimacy between them, Sam grew crimson through his tan. Kate
+Nicholson's face was rosy; both were embarrassed.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Mr. Manning," she said. "Please let him get up, and put away
+your pistol."</p>
+
+<p>"Git up," said Sam, "an' go pick up them letters."</p>
+
+<p>Keith, humiliated before his secretary and his chauffeur, the latter
+gazing wooden-faced but making no attempt at interference, gathered up
+the envelopes and presented them, with a bow, to the governess. He had
+recovered partial poise and his face was pale as wax, his eyes evil.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll mail them, Miss Nicholson," said Sandy. "Let's go." He took Sam
+aside 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 work
+to keep my hands off him. I've a notion he'll trail better now. If
+Brandon arrives befo' we git back, look out fo' him. Mormon'll help you
+entertain."</p>
+
+<p>"Seguro," replied Sam. "Look at Keith. He looks like a rattler with his
+fangs pulled. I'll bet he c'ud spit bilin' vitriol right now."</p>
+
+<p>"His cud ain't jest what he most fancies, this minute," said Sandy
+dryly. "Sorter bitter to chew an' hard to swaller. Sammy," Sandy's voice
+changed to affection, his eyes twinkled, "I didn't sabe you an' Miss
+Nicholson was so well acquainted."</p>
+
+<p>Sam looked his partner in the eyes and used almost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>the same words for
+which he had just tamed Keith. But he said them with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"You go plumb to hell!"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Creel, president of the Hereford National Bank, a banker keen at a
+bargain, shot out his underlip when Keith, with Sandy in attendance,
+tendered him the money for all shares of the Molly Mine sold in
+Hereford, including his own.</p>
+
+<p>"You say the mine has petered out?" he asked Keith, with palpable
+suspicion. Keith glanced swiftly at Sandy sitting across the table from
+him in the little directors' room back of the bank proper. Sandy sat
+sphinx-like. As if by accident, his hands were on his hips, the fingers
+resting on his gun butts. Keith did not actually fear gunplay, but he
+was not sure of what Sandy might do. Sam's bullet, that had undoubtedly
+been sped in grim earnest, had unnerved him. Sandy Bourke held the
+winning hand.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the news from my superintendent," said Keith. "I wish I could
+doubt it. Under the circumstances, consulting with Mr. Bourke, who
+represents the majority stock, we concluded there was no other action
+for us to take but to recall the shares although the money had actually
+passed. Naturally, in the refunding, which I leave entirely to you, it
+would be wiser not to precipitate a general panic and to treat the
+matter with all possible secrecy."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!" Keith's suavity did not appear entirely to smooth down Creel's
+chagrin at losing what he had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>considered a good thing. He smelt a mouse
+somewhere. "There are only two reasons for repurchasing such stock," he
+said crisply. "The course you take is rarely honorable and suggests
+great credit. The second reason would be a strike of rich ore rather
+than a failure."</p>
+
+<p>"I will guarantee the failure, Creel," said Sandy. "If, at any time, a
+strike is made in the Molly, I shall be glad to transfer to you
+personally the same amount of shares from my own holdin's. I'll put that
+in writin', if you prefer it."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Creel, "it ain't necessary." He glumly made the retransfer.
+Sandy vis&eacute;ed Keith's accounts and took Keith's check for the balance,
+placing it to a personal account for Molly. The check was on the
+Hereford Bank and it practically exhausted Keith's local resources.</p>
+
+<p>As they left the bank a cowboy rode up on a flea-bitten roan that was
+lathered with sweat, sadly roweled and leg-weary. Astride of it was
+Wyatt, riding automatically his eyes wide-opened, red-rimmed, owlish
+with lack of sleep and overmuch bad liquor. Afoot he could hardly have
+navigated, in the saddle he seemed comparatively sober. He spurred over
+to the big machine as Sandy and Keith got in to return to the ranch,
+sweeping his sombrero low in an ironical bow.</p>
+
+<p>"Evenin', gents," he greeted them, his voice husky, inclined to
+hiccough. "This here is one hell of a town, Bourke! They've took away my
+guns an' told me to be good, they're sellin' doughnuts an' buttermilk
+down <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>to Regan's old joint, popcorn an' sody-water over to Pap
+Gleason's! Me, I tote my own licker an' they don't take that off 'n my
+hip. You don't want a good man out to the Three Star, Bourke?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw a real good man the shape you're in, Wyatt. Sober up an'
+I'll talk to you."</p>
+
+<p>Wyatt leaned from the saddle and held on to the side of the machine with
+one hand, his alcohol-varnished eyes boring into Sandy's with the fixity
+of drink-madness.</p>
+
+<p>"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 see
+the eyes stickin' out of his head an' his tongue stickin' out of his
+lyin' 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 to
+hell!" he cried. "Watch my smoke!" He withdrew his hand and galloped up
+the street as Keith's car started.</p>
+
+<p>The powerful engine made nothing of the few miles between Hereford and
+the Three Star and it was only mid-afternoon when they arrived. Molly
+and Donald Keith were still absent, there was no sign of Brandon. Sandy
+fancied that any wait would not be especially congenial to Keith, but
+the promoter was firm in his determination to take away his son from the
+ranch. While his resentment could find no outlet, it was plain that he
+and his were through with any one connected with the Three Star brand.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>Acting without any thought of this, save as it simmered subconsciously,
+Sandy rejoiced that Molly would now stay. He intended to give her open
+choice&mdash;there was money enough left, aside from the capital used on the
+Three Star, to send her back east for a completion of education. Or to
+pay Miss Nicholson for remaining as educator. He surmised that Sam would
+persuade Kate Nicholson to stay in any event. Molly, returned, appeared
+so much the woman, that the question of further schooling seemed
+superfluous to Sandy. He felt that it would to her, especially after he
+had told her all that had occurred since morning. That she would approve
+he had no doubt. Molly was true blue as her eyes. Altogether, Sandy
+considered the petering out of the Molly Mine far from being a disaster.
+And, if Molly stayed west&mdash;for keeps&mdash;?</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Keith stayed in his car, smoking, ignoring the very existence of the
+ranch and its people. The afternoon wore on with the sun dropping
+gradually toward the last quarter of the day's march. At four o'clock
+one of the Three Star riders came in at a gallop, carrying double.
+Behind him, clinging tight, was Donald Keith, woebegone, almost
+exhausted, his trim riding clothes snagged and soiled, his shining
+puttees scuffed and scratched. He staggered as he slid out of the saddle
+and clung to the cantle, head sunk on arms until Sandy took him by the
+arm. Keith sprang from his car and came over. Sam and Mormon hurried up.</p>
+
+<p>"What's this?" demanded Keith angrily, suspicion rife in his voice.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>"I picked him up three mile' back, hoofin' it. He was headin' fo' Bitter
+Flats but he wanted the ranch," said the cowboy to Sandy, ignoring
+Keith. "We burned wind an' leather comin' in, seein' Jim Plimsoll an'
+some of his gang have made off with Miss Molly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where'd this happen?" demanded Sandy. "Sam, go git Pronto fo' me an'
+saddle up."</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>Donald Keith sagged suddenly and Sandy picked the lad up in his arms.
+Weariness and fright, thirst, the changed altitude, had overtoiled his
+endurance. Sandy strode with him to the car and laid him on the
+cushions.</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>Keith bent, opened a shallow drawer beneath the seat and produced a
+silver flask. He unscrewed the top and poured some liquor into it. It
+was Scotch whisky of a pre-war vintage. The aroma of the stuff dissolved
+in the rare air, vaguely scenting it. The nose of the wooden-faced
+chauffeur wrinkled. Sandy raised the boy's head and lifted the whisky to
+his pallid lips, gray as his face where the flesh matched the powdery
+alkali that covered it.</p>
+
+<p>"Pinch his nose," he said to Keith. "He's breathin' regular. Stroke his
+throat soon as I git the stuff back of his teeth. So. Now then."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>The cordial trickled down and Donald's eyes opened. Almost immediately
+color came back into his cheeks and lips and he tried to sit up. Sandy
+helped him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sonny," he said. "Tell us about it. How'd this happen an' where?
+An' when, if you can place that?"</p>
+
+<p>Donald nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Just a second," he whispered and closed his eyes. They were bright when
+he raised the lids again.</p>
+
+<p>"Whisky got me going," he said. "I'd have given a whole lot for that
+flask two or three hours ago, Dad."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind the whisky, where did you leave Molly?" demanded Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know just where. I wasn't noticing just which way we rode. She
+did the leading. I don't know how I ever got back."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't she tell you where you were makin' fo'?"</p>
+
+<p>"She didn't name it. It was a little lake in some ca&ntilde;on where Molly said
+there used to be beavers."</p>
+
+<p>"Beaver Dam Ca&ntilde;on," said Sandy exultantly. "You left here 'bout seven.
+How fast did you trail?"</p>
+
+<p>"We walked the horses most of the time. It was all up-hill. And I looked
+at my watch a little before it happened. It was a quarter of eleven.
+Molly said we'd be there by noon."</p>
+
+<p>"Where were you then? What kind of a place? Near water?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'd just crossed a stream."</p>
+
+<p>"Willer Crick, runs out of Beaver Dam Lake. You c'udn't foller that up,
+'count of the falls. Now, jest what happened?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>"We saw some men ahead of us. Molly wondered who they could be. Then
+they 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."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Plimsoll!"</p>
+
+<p>"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 back
+of us and I turned to look. Two more men were coming up behind. They had
+rifles. So did the man with Plimsoll. He had a pistol under his vest. We
+couldn't go back very well and I could see from the way Plimsoll grinned
+that he was going to be nasty. Molly spurred Blaze on and cut at
+Plimsoll with her quirt. He grabbed her hand with his left. Grit sprang
+up at him and he got out his gun from the shoulder sling and shot him."</p>
+
+<p>"Shot the dawg? Hit him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in the leg. He fired at him again, but Grit got into the brush."</p>
+
+<p>"Jest what were you doin' all the time?" Sandy knew the lad was a
+tenderfoot, knew he would have been small use on such an occasion, but
+the thought of Grit rising to the rescue, falling back shot, brought the
+taunt.</p>
+
+<p>"The two men behind told me to throw up my hands," said young Keith, his
+face reddening. "What could I do?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>"Nothin', son. You c'udn't have done a thing. Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"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 it
+round her arms. I had the muzzle of a rifle poked into my ribs. They
+made 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. They
+told me if I looked back they'd shoot my damned head off." Donald's eyes
+were filled with tears of self-pity and the remembrance of his helpless
+rage. "They kept firing at me until I'd passed the stream. I hid in the
+willows, but I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see the men who
+had been firing at me.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't rescue Molly without a horse. I
+only had a revolver against their rifles and I'm not much of a shot. I
+tried to get back here but it was hard to find the way. I knew it was
+east but the sun was high and I wasn't sure which way the shadows lay. I
+was all in when your man found me."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, my son. Keith, I'm goin' to borrow that flask of yores.
+Might need it."</p>
+
+<p>He jumped from the car, flask in hand, and ran to the ranch-house. Kate
+Nicholson met him as he entered. "Has anything happened to Molly?" she
+gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I'm goin' to find out," Sandy answered. "Mormon, git me my
+cartridge belt an' some extry shells fo' my rifle."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>"I got to go git me my hawss," demurred Mormon who had followed him in.
+"Becos' I'm goin' on this trail."</p>
+
+<p>"You can come erlong with Sam when the Brandon outfit shows. Or, if they
+don't show, you can bring erlong our own boys soon's they come in. But
+I'm hittin' this alone."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke he rummaged in a drawer and brought out the first-aid kit he
+always kept handy.</p>
+
+<p>"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. They
+got a place over there somewhere they call the Hideout. It's where they
+hide their hawsses when they want 'em out of sight an' I reckon it's
+hard to find. I c'ud keep within' sight of you till you start cuttin'
+sign, Sandy, an' then catch up."</p>
+
+<p>"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 to
+spoil 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' out
+of the country an' I'm trailin' him clean through hell if I have to. Ef
+he's harmed Molly I'll stake him out with a green hide wrapped round him
+an' his eyelids sliced off. I'll <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>sit in the shade an' watch him frizzle
+an' 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'll
+leave sign plain fo' you to foller from Willer Crick. They must have
+crossed at the ford below the big bend."</p>
+
+<p>He left the room and they saw him covering the ground in a wolf trot to
+where Sam, astride his own favorite mount, held Pronto ready saddled.
+They saw Sam's protest, Sandy's vigorous overruling of it, and then
+Sandy was up-saddle and away at a brisk lope with Sam gazing after him
+disconsolately. Keith's car was turning for the trip to Hereford,
+spurning the dust of the Three Star Ranch forever&mdash;and not lamented.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't it jest plumb hell&mdash;beggin' yore pardon, marm&mdash;but that's what it
+is&mdash;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 an
+overgrown child that Kate Nicholson felt constrained to laugh despite
+the seriousness of the situation. "Me, I been punchin' cows, ridin' a
+hawss fo' a livin' fo' nigh thirty years," said Mormon. "I ain't what
+you'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 no
+mo'&mdash;not faster 'n a walk or further than two mile', fo' fear of
+breakin' his back. So I git left home to sit in a damn rockin' chair!
+Hell and damnation!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to follow him, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>"That was jest Sandy's way of lettin' me down easy. Sam'll go, but I'll
+stay to home. I'm goin' to give away my guns an' learn milkin'. Sandy's
+got 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'n
+Sandy. 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 the
+range, 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've
+done 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' fear
+of hurtin' my feelin's though even Sam 'ud be some handicap to Sandy on
+this trip of scoutin'.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam can't take cover extra good, though he shoots middlin'. Sandy, he
+shoots like lightnin' fast an' straight."</p>
+
+<p>"But there are four against him, at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Fo' what?" asked Mormon with a look of scorn. "Plimsoll an' three of
+his cronies. Mebbe one or two mo' chucked in fo' good measure. What of
+it? Yeller, all of 'em, yeller as the belly of a Gila River pizen
+lizard. On'y way the odds 'ud be even w'ud be fo' them to git the drop
+on Sandy an' it can't be done. He's got his fightin' face on an' that
+means hands an' heart an' eyes an' brain an' every inch of him lined up
+to win. Sandy fights with his head an' he's got the heart to back it.
+Hell's bells, marm, beggin' yo' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>pardon ag'in, I ain't worryin' none
+erbout Sandy! I ain't seen him lose out yet. I'm cussin' about
+<i>me</i>&mdash;warmin' an armchair an' waddlin' round like a fall hawg."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon slammed his hat on the floor and jumped on it and Miss Nicholson
+fled, a little reassured by Mormon's eulogy, anxious to talk it over
+with Sam.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, his eyes like the mica flakes that show in gray granite, his
+humorous mouth a stern line, little bunches of muscles at the junction
+of 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 mesa
+that he had marked as the short-cut to the spot described by Donald
+Keith. Through gray sage and ferny mesquite Pronto moved, elastic of
+every sinew, springy of pastern, without fret or fuss though he had not
+been ridden for two days. Even as the man fitted the saddle,
+counterbalanced every supple movement of his steed, so Sandy's will
+dominated that of Pronto, making his mood his master's, telling him the
+occasion was one for best efforts with no place for wasted energy.</p>
+
+<p>"We're goin' to cross a hard country, li'l' hawss," said Sandy. "But I
+figger we can make it. Got to make it, Pronto. An' we're sure goin' to.
+Doin' it fo' her."</p>
+
+<p>Every now and then he talked his thoughts aloud, as the lonely rider
+will and, if the pinto could not understand, he listened with pricked
+ears.</p>
+
+<p>"Grit must have been hurt pritty bad, I'm afraid. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>Still he might have
+trailed her 'stead of comin' back. Sun's gettin' to'ards the no'th."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at the luminary, slowly descending. "But the moon's up
+already an' she's full." He looked to where a wan plate of battered
+silver hung in the east. "We got some luck on our side, Pronto, after
+all.</p>
+
+<p>"Wonder who the three were with Plimsoll? They've gone to the Hideout
+an' we got to find it, li'l' hawss. Some job, I reckon. But Plimsoll's
+goin' to be mighty sorry fo' himse'f befo' long."</p>
+
+<p>As they neared the foot-hills of the range he lapsed to silence. He was
+taking chances, crossing country this fashion. He knew it fairly well,
+and he guessed at what lay behind the visible contours from the
+experience of years. Deep barrancas might crop up in their path, massed
+thickets of cactus that had to be ridden around for loss of time. The
+mesa, looking like a solid block of rock at a distance, was, he knew
+well, broken into tortuous ravines and ca&ntilde;ons, eroded into wild thrusts
+of the mother rock, its central part eaten away by time and weather.</p>
+
+<p>Part of the Three Star range, shared by two ranches, ran over the
+southern part of the mesa and it was close to its boundary fence that
+Sandy was heading. Then came the range of Plimsoll's Waterline, a rough
+country, unknown to Sandy, with scant food for many cattle, but sweet
+grass enough for a horse herd and containing pockets where the
+slicktails sometimes came.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>Sandy struck the first rise. He was now a crucible filled with glowing
+white fury. Thoughts of what Plimsoll might achieve in insult and injury
+to Molly could not be kept out of his mind and they but added fuel. It
+was not Sandy Bourke of the Three Bar, riding his favorite pinto, but a
+desperate man on a horse infected with the same grim determination, a
+man with a face that, despite the fiery heat within, blazing from his
+eyes, would have chilled the blood of any meeting him.</p>
+
+<p>He did not spare Pronto nor did Pronto attempt to spare himself, going
+at the task set before him with all the superb coordination of muscle
+and tendon and bone that he possessed. They slid down the sides of
+ravines that were almost as steep as a wall, the pinto squatting on its
+tail; they climbed the opposing banks with the surety of a mountain
+goat, a rush, a scramble of well-placed hooves, a play of fetlocks;
+then, with a heave of spreading ribs and hammer-strokes of a gallant
+heart under Sandy's lean thighs, they were over the top and away, with
+Sandy's eyes searching the land for the shortest, most practical way.</p>
+
+<p>The place it had taken Molly and young Keith nearly three hours to reach
+in leisurely fashion, Sandy gained in one, splashing through the
+shallows of Willow Creek at the ford below the big bend and giving
+Pronto the chance to cool his fetlocks and rinse out his mouth in the
+cold water.</p>
+
+<p>Ahead lay the chimney ravine that led around into Beaver Dam Lake, in
+which Molly and the boy had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>been attacked. Sandy viewed the chaparral,
+the trees that covered the lesser slopes, the stark cliffs above. Part
+of this lay in the Waterline territory. The chances that Plimsoll had
+left some one on guard were not to be slighted. But he rode on down the
+narrow trail. Once in a while he broke a branch and left it swinging as
+a 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 on
+remounts. Perhaps Brandon had come? Sandy wasted little time on surmise.</p>
+
+<p>The tracks of Molly's Blaze and the horse Donald had been riding were
+plain as print to Sandy. He even noticed the slot of Grit's pads here
+and there in softer soil. He had picked them up at the coming-out place
+of the ford. Two more sets of hoofs came out of the chaparral and from
+there on the sign was badly broken. But Sandy knew the story and the
+interpretation was sufficient.</p>
+
+<p>The shadows were getting longer, half the eastern side of the ravine was
+in shadow that steadily crept down as if to obliterate the telltale
+imprints. The moon was slowly brightening. Sandy's eyes, burning
+steadily, were untroubled by doubt.</p>
+
+<p>The place of the struggle was plain. The brush was trampled. To one side
+of the trail there was a clot of blood, almost black, with flies buzzing
+attention to it. It must have come from Grit. He caught sight of another
+fleck of it on some leaves where Grit had raced into the brush out of
+the way of the crippling fire.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>"I'll score one fo' you, Grit, while I'm about it," muttered Sandy as he
+dismounted and carefully surveyed the sign. He even picked up Donald's
+returning shoemarks. Six horses had gone on, one led.</p>
+
+<p>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 wise
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit the back-trail fo' home, li'l' hawss," he said. "If I need me a
+mount to git back I'll borrow one. I got to go belly-trailin' pritty
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>He gave the pinto a cautious slap on the flank and Pronto started off
+down the trail. So far Sandy believed he had not been seen. If he had, a
+rifle-shot would have been the first warning. With the experience of a
+man who has seen shooting before, he had chanced a miss, knowing the
+odds on his side. It was twenty to one Plimsoll and his men had hurried
+off to the Hideout.</p>
+
+<p>A buzzard hung in the early evening sky, circling high and then suddenly
+dropping in a swoop.</p>
+
+<p>"Looks like Grit's cashed in," thought Sandy. "That bird was a late
+comer, at that."</p>
+
+<p>But it was not Grit.</p>
+
+<p>The ravine curved, forked. One way led to Beaver Dam Lake, the other
+rifted deep through rocky outcrop, leading to the Waterline Range. The
+boundary fence crossed it. Two posts had been broken out, the wire
+flattened. Through the gap led the sign that Sandy followed. He carried
+his rifle with him and he moved cautiously but swiftly through the half
+light, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>for the cleft was in shadow. The walls lowered, the incline
+ended, became a decline, leading down. The clouds were assembling for
+sunset overhead, the moon just topped the eastern cliffs, beginning to
+send 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 the
+key to the puzzle. Did it mean a quarrel between Plimsoll's men?
+Altogether he figured there had been a dozen horses over the ground. It
+was only a swift guess but he knew it close to the mark. Had Plimsoll
+been joined or attacked? And...?</p>
+
+<p>His practised eyes, roving here and there, saw still more cartridge
+shells. Walking cat-footed, he made no sound but suddenly three buzzards
+rose on heavy wings and he went swiftly to where they had been
+squatting. A dead man lay up against the cliff, a saddle blanket thrown
+over his face. This had held off the carrion birds. The body was limp
+and still warm, it had been a corpse only a short time. Sandy took off
+the blanket.</p>
+
+<p>It was Wyatt! Wyatt, whom he had seen not much more than four hours
+before, riding on the main street in Hereford, threatening vengeance on
+Plimsoll. A bullet had made a small hole in his skull by the right
+temple and crashed out through the back of his head in a bloody gap!</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h2>THE HIDEOUT</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>The row that had culminated at the Waterline Ranch, ending in the
+trouble between Plimsoll and Wyatt, had brewed steadily. It had been a
+reckless crowd at the horse ranch, practically outlaws by their actions
+though not yet so adjudged, yet knowing their tenure of immunity was
+growing short. There had collected, besides Plimsoll's riders, Butch
+Parsons, Hahn's and others of Plimsoll's following who had been forced
+from their livelihood as gamblers. They still hung together, waiting for
+Plimsoll to make a clean-up of his horses and move to places where they
+were less discredited.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime they made their own crude liquors and drank them freely. They
+gambled and caroused late. There were some women at the ranch. There was
+little fellowship.</p>
+
+<p>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 one
+appeared eager to buy in quantity. Ready cash was short. There were
+frequent quarrels; through it all there worked the leaven of Wyatt's
+jealousy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>fermenting steadily. There were men among them who had fought
+with gunplay and who had killed but, as they were cheats, so they were
+cravens, at heart.</p>
+
+<p>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 a
+matter between Wyatt and Plimsoll. Sides were taken and the weaker
+driven from the ranch. Preparations were made for departure. The
+frightened women fled back to Hereford.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a rotten mess," declared Butch Parsons. "Wyatt or one of the
+others'll tell all they know. You ought to have shot straighter,
+Plimsoll. Just like cuttin' our own throats to let 'em get away."</p>
+
+<p>"You did some missing on your own account," retorted Plimsoll.</p>
+
+<p>"It was the rotten booze. You started it. If you'd plugged Wyatt right
+it would have ended it. Now we've got to clear out."</p>
+
+<p>"There isn't two hundred dollars of real money in the crowd," said
+Plimsoll. "If Taylor had taken the herd...."</p>
+
+<p>"He was afraid to touch it. We'll go south. That's my plan. You can find
+a buyer in Tucson. Put the horses in the Hideout. Leave one or two to
+look out for 'em an' turn 'em over later. We can arrange for a delivery
+if we make a sale."</p>
+
+<p>"Who in hell's goin' to stay behind?" asked one of the men.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll cut cards for it."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>"Not me."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the use of fighting among ourselves again?" suggested Hahn
+smoothly. "We can settle who's to stay later. There's grub in the
+Hideout and a safe place to lay low if anything goes wrong. They'll have
+a fine time proving up the horses are stolen. We've got to take a
+chance. Butch is right. We can't take them with us. There's a good
+chance of a sale in Tucson. Meantime we've got to figure on Wyatt. He'll
+likely try to get in touch with that Brandon outfit."</p>
+
+<p>"Or that chap who said he was from Phoenix," put in Butch. "You made a
+misplay, there, Plimsoll. That chap was a ringer."</p>
+
+<p>"You talk like a fool," retorted Plimsoll. "He sold us the bunch cheap
+enough. He never raised horses he'd let go at that price. He lifted 'em,
+like he said."</p>
+
+<p>"Just the same, he didn't act like a rustler."</p>
+
+<p>"It was his first trick. Young vouched for him."</p>
+
+<p>"This ain't getting us anywhere," said Hahn. "Let's make for the Hideout
+and talk it out there. This place ain't safe."</p>
+
+<p>Within an hour the herd, already corralled for the chance of a quick
+sale, was being driven to the glen known as the Hideout, a little
+mountain park with water and good feed where Plimsoll placed the horses
+that his men drove off from far-away ranches, or Plimsoll bought from
+other horse dealers of his own sort, keeping them there until their
+brands were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>doctored and possible pursuit died down. There were two
+entrances to the Hideout, one through a narrow gut almost blocked by a
+fallen boulder, with only a passage wide enough to let through horse and
+rider single file, a way that could be easily barricaded or masked so
+that none would suspect any opening in the cliff. The second led by a
+winding way through a desolate region, over rock that left no sign and
+wound by twists and turns that none but the initiated could follow. The
+place, accidentally discovered, was perfect for its purpose.</p>
+
+<p>There were some horses now in the Hideout, the lot purchased from the
+man from Phoenix, whom Butch suspected. But Parsons was of a suspicious
+disposition and the rest had overruled him, though the purchase had
+taken most of the cash at their disposal, until they could make the sale
+that had fallen through at the last minute. There was feed enough for
+the entire herd for a month. There was a cabin in a side gully of the
+park, near the blocked entrance, the whole place was honeycombed with
+caves, in the towering sidewalls and underground.</p>
+
+<p>Five of the nine left of the Waterline outfit drove the herd. Hahn and
+Parsons could both ride, but they were not experts at handling horses.
+They chose to go with Plimsoll and the outfit-cook, while the rest took
+the long way round to the other way in. The four lingered to give the
+rest a start. There was some liquor left and this they started to
+dispose of. At noon the cook got a farewell meal and they mounted.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>"I hate leaving the country without evening up some way with the Bourke
+outfit," said Plimsoll. "Damn him and the rest of them, they broke the
+luck for us. As for the girl, if...?"</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm coming back some time," said Plimsoll with a string of oaths. "Then
+you'll see something besides talk."</p>
+
+<p>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 with
+Butch might shatter. Butch was a bully, but Plimsoll respected his
+shooting. And Hahn sided with him. The cook did not count.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll carried with him a fine pair of binoculars and, as they rode
+leisurely on and reached a vantage-point, he swept the tumbled horizon
+for signs of any strange riders. It was the caution of habit as much as
+actual fear of a raid. There were no Hereford County horses in his herd
+save those he had bred himself and he did not think Wyatt or the others
+who had left the outfit would be able to stir up sentiment against him
+in Hereford. It would take time to get in touch with Brandon. But they
+made it a point to be sure that no casual rider noticed them on the way
+to the Hideout, or coming from it.</p>
+
+<p>At times Plimsoll rode aside from the trail to a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>ridge crest for wider
+vision. At last, coming up the pass of Willow Creek, he sighted Molly
+and Donald with Grit trotting beside them. It was the dog that confirmed
+his first surmise. He had heard that Molly had returned, but he had not
+dared a visit to the Three Star. Who the rider with her was he did not
+care. 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 face
+twisted to an ugly smile. He had a flask in his hip pocket and he
+swigged at it before he rode to catch up with Parsons and Hahn.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll show you if I do nothing but talk," he said to Butch after he told
+them of his discovery. "We'll wait for them along the trail. We'll send
+the chap with her back afoot."</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it?" The drink had given Plimsoll some of his old swagger, and
+the prospect of hatching the revenge over which he had brooded so long
+took 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&mdash;maybe more. She's got a
+quarter interest and a little better in the Molly Mine. The Three Star
+owns 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 young
+Keith. We won't monkey with him. He'll do <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>to tell what happened. But
+we'll take the girl along and we'll send back word of how much we want
+to let her go. After I'm through with her. She may not go back the same
+as she came, but they won't know that and they'll pay enough to set us
+up and to hell with the herd."</p>
+
+<p>Parsons and Hahn looked at each other, greed rising in their eyes. They
+had no love for the partners of the Three Star nor for Molly Casey. A
+big ransom was possible if it was handled right.</p>
+
+<p>"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 to
+show 'em the way. Bourke'll guess where she is."</p>
+
+<p>"Let him. Wyatt don't know about the caves, does he? We can take her
+some other place to-morrow. We won't say anything now to the kid about a
+ransom. We'll mail a letter after we fix details. But we'll take the
+girl into the Hideout now. That tenderfoot'll be lucky if he drifts back
+to the Three Star by nightfall afoot. We'll be out of the place long
+before that. And we'll put her where they can't find her till they come
+through. I'm running this."</p>
+
+<p>The cook had ridden on ahead. Now he was waiting for them, looking back.
+Parsons shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"How do we split?" asked Hahn.</p>
+
+<p>"Three ways," said Plimsoll. "We'll take her to the cabin. The rest'll
+be at the other end. We'll keep Cookie with us&mdash;for the present. No need
+for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>boys to know about it. We can manage that all right. Three
+ways, and I handle the girl."</p>
+
+<p>Butch Parson grinned at him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you'd lost all your nerve, Jim, but I guess I was wrong. All
+right, it goes as it lays. You handle the lady. You ought to know how.
+Now then, how'll we bring it off?"</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll talked glibly, convincingly. Butch Parsons had no extra share
+of brains, those he had had never been developed beyond the ordinary.
+Hahn was a good faro dealer. There his intelligence specialized and
+ended. Plimsoll was the master-mind of his crowd; they appreciated and
+acknowledged his capacity for details. That he had been unsuccessful of
+late they set down to his lack of nerve, dissipated in his encounter
+with Sandy. Their present lack of cash, the doubtfulness of being able
+to sell and deliver the horses, made ransom a glittering possibility.
+Hahn had some objections, but Plimsoll overruled them plausibly enough.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see the sense of letting the kid go," questioned Hahn. "He's
+good for a big split as well as the girl."</p>
+
+<p>"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 which
+he had brooded until it became a part of his consciousness, and the
+liquor still stirring potently within him, he felt that his ascendancy
+had become reestablished, "Keith&mdash;the old man&mdash;is too big a fish to
+monkey <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>with. Got too many pulls and connections. He'd have the whole
+country out and the trick played up big in every dinky newspaper. That's
+part of his business&mdash;publicity. We've got one fish&mdash;or will have&mdash;no
+sense straining the net. We don't want the kid. Let him string along
+back best way he can. We'll get all the start we need. What else would
+you do with him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stow him away somewhere and send a tip where they can find him in a day
+or two."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll shot a look of contempt at Butch, making the proposal.</p>
+
+<p>"You and Hahn make a good team," he said. "No. One's enough. He may get
+lost&mdash;we'll take his horse&mdash;and that won't be our fault. He may make
+Three Star late this afternoon. I wish I could be with him when he tells
+what he knows. Time they locate the Hideout, we'll be miles away through
+the south end and they'll have one hell of a time trailing us over the
+rocks. The boys weren't over-keen about staying with the herd and they
+can vamose. We'll tell them it's best to scatter for a bit and name a
+meeting-place. The horses can stay in the park. If we put this deal over
+right we don't need to bother about horse-trading. We can get clean out
+of the country with a big stake, go down to South America and start up a
+place. 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 one
+they're making for Beaver Dam Lake&mdash;on a picnic."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span>He laughed and the two laughed with him as he went for his survey and
+returned, announcing that the girl and her escort were entering the
+ravine at the other end. They rode through the trees toward them. Molly
+and Donald came on so leisurely that Plimsoll feared they might have
+turned back and, with Butch, he risked a look down the trail, sighting
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"They didn't recognize us," he said. "We've got to take Cookie into
+this. You and Butch ride on through the trees a ways, Hahn, till you get
+back of them. Then we'll get 'em between us. I'll wise Cookie up to what
+we are doing."</p>
+
+<p>It was more than doubtful whether the three ever intended for a second
+to allow Cookie to share in the ransom money, but Plimsoll easily
+persuaded him that he would be a partner, adding that it would be
+foolish to let all the riders into the pot.</p>
+
+<p>"She's Molly Casey of the Casey Mine," he told him. "Sandy Bourke's her
+guardian. 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."</p>
+
+<p>Cookie was a willing rascal and a natural adept at the double-cross. He
+raised no objections and the trap was set and sprung.</p>
+
+<p>"You go ahead, Cookie, and open up the gate," said Plimsoll. Hahn and
+Butch 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 cabin
+and get some grub ready. There's plenty there. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>Spread yourself. We'll
+be along in a little while. That was a nice job of roping you did. I
+won't forget it."</p>
+
+<p>"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."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll scowled at him and he rode off. Molly, the lariat twisted about
+her upper body from shoulders to waist, constricting her arms, fastened
+where she could not reach it by a hitch, sat on Blaze, looking with
+steady contempt at Plimsoll, who held her bridle rein. He regarded her
+with sleek complacency and then his eyes slowly traveled over her
+rounded figure, accented by her riding toggery.</p>
+
+<p>"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 make
+the woman, but it takes a proper figure to set them off. And you've got
+all of that."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going to tell you&mdash;yet. It depends upon circumstances, my dear.
+We'll all have a little chat after lunch. I'd take that rope off if I
+wasn't afraid I might lose you. You are quite precious."</p>
+
+<p>She looked through him as if he had been a sheet of glass. From her
+first sight of him, back in childhood, she had known instinctively the
+man was evil. But she was not afraid. The blood that ran in her veins
+was pure and bore in its crimson flood the sturdy heritage of pioneers
+who had outfaced dangers of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span>death and torture and shame. She was all
+westerner. The blood was fighting blood. She felt it urged in her pulses
+while her brain bade her bide her time. Rage mounted as she faced the
+possible issues of this capture, the flaunting dismissal of young Keith.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll must be either very sure of his ground or desperate, she
+fancied. Both, perhaps. Molly had come into contact with life in the raw
+long before she went east. Education had not made a prude of her nor
+tainted her clean purity. She faced the fact and, for the time, she
+ignored the man. She had even time to think of young Donald turned
+tenderfooted into the mountains, to wonder whether he would be able to
+find his way back or get lost in the ranges. She heard the laughter that
+followed the rifle-shots and surmised that they were having their idea
+of a joke with the lad.</p>
+
+<p>If he got back&mdash;then Sandy would come after her. She was very sure of
+Sandy and that he would find her. Until he did she must use her wits.</p>
+
+<p>And Grit, gallant Grit, wounded and lying in the chaparral!</p>
+
+<p>Though she still gazed through Plimsoll rather than at him, the scorn
+showed in her eyes and bit through his assumption of ease as acid bites
+through skin, eating its way on. He burned to wipe out his own
+trickeries, his cowardice, his failures, to wreak a vile satisfaction on
+this 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 the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>clarity of prevision to see the strength of character that had been in
+the prospector's child, even as he had never suspected her unfolding to
+beauty. It roused the vandal in him&mdash;he longed to break her, mar her.</p>
+
+<p>The return of Butch and Hahn brought him back to the fact that he was
+not playing this deal alone. While they might allow him some personal
+license, to them the girl represented so much money. Plimsoll's
+reprisals were only partly theirs, they would not permit him to balk
+them of their share. There is Berserker madness latent in every one that
+breaks out sometimes in the child that torments a kitten and ends by
+torturing it, maiming&mdash;killing. There had been nothing in what stood for
+Plimsoll's manhood to change such instinct, to restrain it where he held
+the will and power. But here he had to go carefully.</p>
+
+<p>He cut short Butch's boast of the way they had scared young Keith. Both
+Hahn and Parsons felt a coil of embarrassment at the silence, almost the
+serenity, of their captive. They had expected her to act far
+differently, to rage, threaten, cry out. She almost abashed them.</p>
+
+<p>"See if you can round up that damned dog, Butch," said Plimsoll. "I
+plugged him but we want to be sure he don't get away. He might help
+Keith's kid, for one thing. And he clamped my arm."</p>
+
+<p>Parsons rode into the chaparral until he was barred by its thickness,
+trying to stir out the dog, without success.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead, I reckon," he reported. "Crawled in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>somewheres. You hit him
+hard, Plim. Plenty blood on the leaves."</p>
+
+<p>Molly bit her lips and paled a little, but turned away her head so that
+they could not see. She winked back the tears that came to her thought
+of Grit helpless, panting, bleeding.</p>
+
+<p>They rode on up the rocky ravine that gradually closed in on either side
+with the rock walls set with cactus here and there, carved into great
+masses superimposed upon one another for a hundred feet. Presently they
+turned aside from the stony trail that left no record of hooves, and,
+Plimsoll in the lead, Molly next, walked their horses over a precarious
+ledge that zigzagged back and forth up to where a notch in the cliff had
+been nearly filled by a titanic boulder. To one side appeared a narrow
+opening, unseen from below by the curve of the great rock, just wide
+enough to admit horse and rider. A few feet in, they halted, and
+Plimsoll turned in his saddle while the other three men dismounted and
+carefully adjusted several rock fragments in the opening, piling them
+with a swift care that showed familiarity with their task, so placing
+them that they appeared as if a part of the wall. Butch clambered to the
+top of the great boulder and viewed the job from the outside.</p>
+
+<p>"First-class," he announced. "That's sure a great scheme, Plim."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on up to the tree and take a look," said Plimsoll. "Hahn, hand him
+my glasses."</p>
+
+<p>Parson took them and climbed up to where a dead <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>tree stood like a
+skeleton in a crotch of the rocks. It screened him from observation
+perfectly by outer approach.</p>
+
+<p>"I can see Keith's kid," he said with a chuckle when he came down. "He's
+through the creek and he don't know which way to start. Looks as if he
+meant to follow down the creek."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll not go far that way," commented Plimsoll. "Mount up. Cookie's
+getting grub and I'm getting hungry. He'll have to cook for the boys
+after we're through. They'll be showing up after a bit."</p>
+
+<p>Below them, Molly saw the hidden park that lay so snugly back of the
+barrier walls. It was an irregular oval that appeared to curve at the
+far end. Gulches reached back, occasionally thick with timber that grew
+in clumps among the rocks and on the ledges, dotting the green grass of
+the floor. She caught the sparkle of a little cascade, the gleam of a
+streamlet. The cliffs were terraced and battlemented in red and white
+and gray. Their facades showed fantasies of weather sculpture that
+looked like ruined castles and cathedrals with cave mouths for
+entrances. Here and there a monolith of stone stood up out from the main
+cliff, spiring for a hundred feet or more. The grass was starred with
+flowers. Some horses were grazing a little distance away and stood at
+gaze, to break and wheel and gallop away with flying manes and tails.
+There was a good deal of underbush covering the talus.</p>
+
+<p>The trail down was plainly marked. It forked after <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>they reached the
+general level and the branch they took led into a side gulch where a log
+cabin stood, smoke coming from its chimney. Plimsoll took the rein of
+Blaze again and they broke into a canter. At the cabin Plimsoll took
+Molly from the saddle and carried her into the rude interior. There he
+set her on a chair. Cookie was busy at a stove frying ham and eggs, with
+coffee simmering.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better sit up and eat nicely, my dear," said Plimsoll as he
+unbound her. "You'll have to sooner or later, you know. No sense in
+being stubborn."</p>
+
+<p>She said nothing but he saw a gleam in her eyes as she glanced toward
+the table where Hahn was setting out plates and cutlery.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll eat with a fork, Molly," said Plimsoll. "Those steel knives are
+too handy for you. There's a nasty look in those blue eyes of yours that
+will have to be tamed&mdash;have to be tamed," he repeated as he took a
+demijohn from a corner and poured out a liquor that sent the reek of its
+raw strength sickeningly through the cabin. "Here's to your health,
+Molly&mdash;Molly Mine!"</p>
+
+<p>The others laughed and drank their share before they ate the food that
+Cookie placed before them, talking louder, growing flushed with the
+crude whisky, while Molly sat facing the door, striving to catch
+something that might help, might give some clue. But the talk was all of
+the brawl at the Waterline with contemptuous mention of Wyatt and the
+rest. They seemed by common consent to ignore her once she had refused
+the food.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span>This attitude weakened her resistance though she strove against it. She
+had nerved herself to meet action. Now she seemed to count for little
+more than a bundle, of more or less value, that, having been secured,
+could wait its time for utility. Yet, before she had telescoped her
+vision to extend through and beyond Plimsoll, she had seen devils
+looking from his eyes, smug devils, but none the less menacing, risen
+from the man's own private hell pit.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll looked at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"The horses should be showing up pretty soon," he said and rose, a
+little 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 south
+end. Get 'em to turn the horses loose. And get them out of the place as
+soon as you can after they've eaten. Better take what stuff you want,
+Cookie."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you'd be jealous if we stuck around," said Butch, leering now
+at 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 none
+the less evil.</p>
+
+<p>"How long do you want us to give you, Plim?" asked the dealer. "No sense
+in our sticking round here that I can see."</p>
+
+<p>"We've got to get the boys out of the way, haven't we? Keep your eyes
+peeled on Cookie," Plimsoll said in a lower voice as the ranch chef went
+out of the door with his arms piled with provisions. "He might take <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>a
+notion to talk too much. We had to let him in, but he don't have to stay
+in. Soon as the boys are away you come back and we'll go out again this
+end, if all is clear."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going to stow her?" asked Hahn "Leave her here in Split
+Rock Cave?"</p>
+
+<p>The callous reference to her as if she was something inanimate chilled
+Molly. If only she had a gun! She had laughed at Donald's tenderfoot
+insistence upon carrying the one he had brought west as a part of his
+outfit and had never attempted to use. The cook's too well thrown rope
+would have probably thwarted any move of hers if she had had a weapon.
+Her fingers crept up toward her throat touching a slender chain upon
+which, 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, even
+now, it was a talisman that held promise. If they left her behind them,
+somehow Sandy would unearth her. But that hope died.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll stay in sight and touch," said Plimsoll. "Then we'll know she's
+safe. We'll make Windy Gulch to-night and stay there. It's as good a
+place as I know. One of us can ride over the mountain to Redding and
+mail the letter."</p>
+
+<p>Butch nodded. "Come on, Hahn," he said. "Let's leave 'em together."</p>
+
+<p>Molly cast an involuntary glance at the opening door, watched it close
+after the pair of blackguards and braced herself. The issue was at hand.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll slid a bolt on the door, brought over one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>of the makeshift
+chairs and placed it in front of Molly, seating himself. His
+alcohol-laden breath reached her nauseatingly and she turned her head
+aside. As if a trigger had been released Plimsoll's face became inflamed
+with a passionate fury. The veins on face and neck swelled and writhed
+like little blue snakes, his eyes congested.</p>
+
+<p>"Damn you!" he said. "Don't you turn your head away from me. I'll train
+you to better manners before I'm through with you. You'll be jumping to
+do what you think I want you to before long. You'll be begging me for
+favors. You may think you're too good for me now. You won't presently."</p>
+
+<p>She saw that she had gone too far in her disdain; that she must try to
+leash the devils that had broken loose in his brain.</p>
+
+<p>"Just what do you want?" she asked, and her voice seemed not to belong
+to her as she uttered the words that showed no tremor.</p>
+
+<p>"You! Not for love, my beauty! Because you are good to look at&mdash;yes. But
+I'll take my time. I'll sip at the dish, my dear. I've got a big score
+to settle and I'll do it properly. We'll go over some of the items."</p>
+
+<p>He got up and emptied a bottle that still held a generous measure. He
+staggered slightly and fumbled the chair as he sat down again. Molly
+watched him intently. If only he got sufficiently drunk. Before the rest
+came back. Perhaps she could get his own gun? Plimsoll laid a familiar
+finger on her knee and instantly loathing showed in her eyes. He
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Using that busy li'l' brain of yours, eh? Figurin' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>I'll get drunk.
+Want to play Delilah? Nothin' doin', m' dear. I made that booze and I
+know just how it treats me, sabe? Now then.</p>
+
+<p>"Your guardian angel Sandy chiseled me out of my share in the Molly Mine
+belongin' to me 'count of grubstakin' your father."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a lie."</p>
+
+<p>"That's easy to say when it nets you a fortune. Easy to go back on a
+dead man's agreement. Four-flushing Sandy Bourke...."</p>
+
+<p>Molly suddenly slipped back into the primitive. Something seemed to
+click and the refinement she had learned and used so far fell like a
+cloak that is dropped for freedom in battle. With the malignment of
+Sandy and her father she was Molly Casey, daughter of a Desert Rat, once
+more.</p>
+
+<p>"That's another damned lie," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't forgotten how to swear, have you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've heard how Sandy Bourke chased your rotten-hearted jumpers out off
+the claim and gave you until sun-up to sneak out of town. I've heard how
+you were afraid to look at him through the smoke but went galloping off
+while the whole camp laughed at you. Sandy a four-flusher! A coyote'll
+fight when it's cornered, but you...."</p>
+
+<p>She had heard the whole story from Keith. It was a favorite tale of the
+promoter's. He used it as publicity across his dinner table. It gave the
+right touch of adventure to Casey Town. Plimsoll grew slowly livid.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>"Heard all about it, did you?" he said slowly. "Then you know some of
+the score. And I can wipe off what I owe Sandy Bourke through you. And
+there are more items. There was the first time we met. I haven't
+forgotten that. There was the kiss you said you tried to bite out after
+you'd burned the doll I gave you. You told about that the next time I
+kissed you in the hammock at Three Star. You tried to rub out that kiss,
+too. Maybe the next ones will stay put."</p>
+
+<p>"That was the time Mormon manhandled you." She saw the blue snakes crawl
+on his purpling skin, and she kept her eyes on them though her mental
+vision was on the holster beneath his vest. She deliberately taunted him
+to provoke him to an uncalculated move. Molly knew her own litheness,
+her strength. If she could get inside his arms, if even to endure a
+moment of his beastly embrace and could get a grip on the gun?</p>
+
+<p>But there was something in Plimsoll that delighted in playing with a
+victim he felt sure of. It soothed his broken vanity.</p>
+
+<p>"So," he said, "I'm going to get even with Sandy and with Mormon and
+that bow-legged fool Sam Manning who call you the Mascot of the Three
+Star, all at once; while I get even with you. And get what should have
+been mine at the same time. We'll have you tucked away while we mail the
+letter that will bring your ransom. Never mind the details of handling
+the money. I'll attend to that. But we'll bleed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span>you dry. The price of
+all your stock and that of the three suckers at the Three Star at
+par&mdash;and all they can borrow on the ranch&mdash;that will be the price for
+you, my lady. With three days to deliver in."</p>
+
+<p>"You talk like a crazy man, or a drunken one. They can't sell the stock
+in 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 you
+alive."</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes flickered and, for a
+second, his cowardly soul shrank.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll look out for that," he said. "If you are delivered back to them as
+damaged goods they'll never know it till you tell them. Maybe you won't
+be over-anxious to do that." His eyes grew moody, his manner sullen. He
+was passing into another alcoholic phase. Molly sensed imminent danger.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take those kisses now," he cried and lunged for her, catching her
+about the waist as she rose from the chair. "And more to boot," he added
+thickly as he drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingers
+twining in her hair, twisting her face forward, upward. She had both
+arms inside of his, her hands on his chest. With all her strength she
+strained and pushed away, her right hand slid up to the holster,
+groping.</p>
+
+<p>The gun was not there. Plimsoll had reloaded it during the meal and left
+it on the table. His breath sickened her. She got her arm clear and
+struck him viciously on the mouth, breaking the lips against his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>teeth.
+Fighting like a cave-woman, she scored his cheek with nails that dug
+deep from the corner of his eyelid and brought the blood. As he shifted
+his hold she wrenched loose, leaving strands of brown hair in his
+fingers, and jumped for the door. In her spring she saw, too late, the
+pistol on the table. She drew the bolt, half opening the door before he
+caught her and dragged her back again.</p>
+
+<p>"You wildcat," he panted. "I'll fix you."</p>
+
+<p>Like a panther Molly fought, matching her young muscles against his,
+striking, clawing, biting. Her riding coat ripped, the neck of her waist
+was torn away. Maddened at her resistance he struck back. Once he got
+her about the throat, but her fingers were at his face, tearing at his
+eyes and he had to beat her off. The girl fought with all the sublimated
+despair of attacked womanhood, the man like a gorilla. The struggle was
+unequal, with more than forty pounds in favor of Plimsoll though, if
+Molly had possessed the puniest of weapons, she might have won. He held
+her at last, close to him, one arm wrapped about her, his right hand
+forcing 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 were
+futile, she had only her teeth left and she was going to try those. But
+she knew her strength sapped, knew in another moment or two she would be
+at the mercy of this brute who did not know the meaning of the word.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>A shadow barred the half-open door, low down. A pointed head appeared
+with blazing eyes, with a neck-ruff flaring high. White teeth showed as
+red gums bared in hate and, forgetting the wounded leg that had held him
+back, Grit hurled himself in a staggering but magnificent leap. He could
+not reach Plimsoll's throat, he had lost much of his momentum through
+the damaged leg, he lacked power from loss of blood, but fury gave him
+strength for the spring that brought his teeth within reach of
+Plimsoll's right wrist, exposed; the cuff half-way up the forearm.
+Grit's teeth slashed like chisels, ripping through flesh, tendon and
+artery, sending jets of blood spurting before Plimsoll, with a yell of
+surprise and consternation, flung Molly into a corner, dazed and weak,
+and threw up his left forearm to guard against the dog's second leap.</p>
+
+<p>It fell short. Plimsoll's right hand, scattering blood, groped blindly
+for the gun on the table behind him. He found the barrel and brought the
+heavy butt down with a crash on Grit's head, back of the ear. The dog
+dropped 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, crumpled
+unconscious in the corner, he sought for more liquor, found it and
+poured himself a big jorum, gulping it down while the blood dripped
+heavily from the bandage. He was soggy with shock and fatigue, the
+strong stuff half paralyzed his faculties and he dropped into a chair,
+gazing stupidly at his wrist.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>His imagination was a curse to him. He had seen Grit's slavering jaws as
+they rose in the leap, the crimson glare in his eyes. To all intents the
+dog was mad. It had been lying wounded in the sun. Only madness could
+have given it strength to track so far. What if it meant
+lockjaw&mdash;hydrophobia? Through his dulled brain ran like a black thread
+the impression that he could feel the virus stealing through his veins,
+stiffening his body. How long did the damned thing take. And the
+horrible ending! He had seen a man die of it once, bitten by a mad
+collie, the same breed as the brute under the table. He had done for
+him, anyway.</p>
+
+<p>Water&mdash;that was the test! There was water that Cookie had brought in for
+coffee, half a bucket, by the stove. He felt a sudden repugnance toward
+it. The slashed veins in his wrists burned and throbbed as if they were
+oozing molten lead instead of blood. And he was growing weak. If he
+didn't get a tourniquet fixed he might bleed to death. But what was the
+use?</p>
+
+<p>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 door
+swung wide. Cookie rushed in, his face muddy with alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"The show's gone wrong," he cried to Plimsoll, who stared at him
+half-comprehending. "For Gawd's sake what's happened here? Gimme a
+drink." 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 scragged
+the gel?" He thrust the bottle at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>Plimsoll who drank, senses rallying
+by the urge of danger that emanated from the cook like the sweaty stench
+of a frightened animal.</p>
+
+<p>"Brandon's gang has come back," said Cookie. "It's the damndest streak
+of luck. They must have fell in with Wyatt or some of his pals. They
+must have been to the ranch. They cut off the boys and the horses over
+by 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."</p>
+
+<p>"And led 'em straight here," said Plimsoll with a curse, getting to his
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>"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 they
+saw him. He's gone out ag'in through the south end. Case they've got
+some one who does know the way in, he'll side-track by Spur Rock an' git
+through the pass at Nipple Peaks. It's hard goin', but we can make it
+unless we can git out this end. Hahn an' Butch has gone up to the
+lookout to.... Hear that?"</p>
+
+<p><i>That</i> was a single rifle-shot, followed by two others, the last almost
+as one.</p>
+
+<p>"Hell!" cried Plimsoll, "they've got us this end. It's Wyatt. Just my
+damned luck for him to meet up with Brandon."</p>
+
+<p>"Butch says it was the deal with that chap from Phoenix. He allus
+spotted him for a crooked one. They've planted hawsses on us to prove
+up. And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span>Wyatt has been in touch with Brandon ever sense you took his
+gel away from him. Come on, I'm goin'."</p>
+
+<p>He ran outside and Plimsoll followed to the door, lethargy leaving him
+in the face of disaster though he could not think fast or clearly. Hahn
+came clattering over the rocks on his horse, his face chalky white. He
+was reeling in his saddle, the horse spraddling, wild-eyed, almost out
+of control. Cookie jumped for its bridle as Hahn slumped sidewise in the
+saddle, clutched for the horn, missed it and was falling when Plimsoll
+caught him and helped him to the wall of the cabin where he leaned
+weakly. A blotch of blood showed on his left shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Go get him a slug of whisky," Plimsoll ordered Cookie.</p>
+
+<p>But Cookie, his face twitching with fright, jumped for his own mount and
+went galloping down the valley to the south.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll sent curses after him, reaching for his own pistol before he
+remembered it was inside, dragging Hahn's half out of its holster and
+then quitting as the fleeing cook tangented and disappeared behind some
+timber.</p>
+
+<p>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 about
+Hahn and helped him into the cabin. Molly was stirring and Plimsoll
+scowled blackly at her. He gave Hahn a drink.</p>
+
+<p>"Brace up," he said, "what happened? I know about Reynolds. I mean at
+the lookout."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>Hahn finished his glass, pushed it out for another, gulped that.</p>
+
+<p>"Got to make our getaway," he said. "Butch is done for. They got me here
+under the collar-bone. I reckon they touched the lung. I never saw such
+shooting. But Butch got Wyatt."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell it straight," demanded Plimsoll. "How many of 'em? What did they
+do?"</p>
+
+<p>"We no more than made the lookout," said Hahn, "before six men came
+riding along, heeled for trouble. One of them was the black-bearded guy
+from California who was here with that Brandon, first time they came
+nosing around. And another was Wyatt, God blast his rotten soul in hell
+for a twisting hound! Wyatt was just starting to point 'em out the
+entrance 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 on
+the way up. But Blackbeard must have caught the shine of Butch's barrel.
+He fires back&mdash;they all had their rifles handy cross the pommel&mdash;the
+bullet goes plumb through the tree and knocks Butch down. Went through
+both hips. He falls against me and I show in the open, sliding on that
+damned slippery boulder, sliding inside and out of range, but they got
+me.</p>
+
+<p>"They'll be through any minute, Plim. They'll go careful until they find
+there's no one firing back at them, then it won't take 'em long to
+figure out the way in. You can't tell how much Wyatt told 'em on the way
+up. They've got me. I can't ride. My lungs are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span>filling up. Butch is
+paralyzed&mdash;if he ain't dead. A hell of a wind-up! You can make it out
+the way Reynolds did. None of the gang that left with Wyatt knows about
+the side-trail by Spur Rock. But you'd better beat it. Me, I've turned
+my last card. The case is empty!"</p>
+
+<p>His head fell forward on to his arms. A trickle of scarlet came from the
+corner of his mouth. Plimsoll looked at him calculatingly. Hahn could
+not ride. But he wouldn't die for a while. To leave him here where the
+raiders would find him might mean a confession wrung from him that would
+tell of the getaway trail by Spur Rock and Nipple Peaks. He shook Hahn
+by the sound shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Brace up," he said. "You can hide in Split Rock Cave. I'm going to put
+the girl in there. Take another drink. Pick up some grub. There's water
+in the cave. You can come out soon's the coast is clear."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll not be coming out," said Hahn huskily. "But it's a good move." He
+weakly collected the bottle, some scraps of food.</p>
+
+<p>Plimsoll stooped over Molly, coming out of her faint, and gagged her
+with her own scarf as her eyes opened and looked at him. He took off her
+belt and strapped her arms behind her back. Then, despite his wounded
+wrist, he lifted her easily enough and strode with her out of the door,
+Hahn following.</p>
+
+<p>Hahn's horse was standing there obediently with pendent reins anchoring
+it! Blaze and Plimsoll's black were nipping grass in the little corral
+where they had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span>been placed. Blaze whinnied at the sight, or the scent,
+of his mistress. Plimsoll passed the corral and went through a grove of
+quaking asps close to the wall of the side-gulch, keeping to the rock as
+much as possible. He turned into a cleft, stopping at a rock whose
+almost flat surface was level with his feet, a great mass of granite
+that some freak of weathering or convulsion of earthquake had split
+almost in half. Into the crevice a wild grape-vine had twined, and died.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you make it, Hahn?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>The dealer nodded and knelt, using his sound arm to aid himself by the
+tough fibers, bracing with his knees. Down some ten feet in the crack he
+looked up, his ghastly face pallid in the shadow, with an attempt at a
+grin.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by, Plim," he said. "Good luck! What do I do with the girl?"</p>
+
+<p>"Keep her from calling out. She's gagged but she might try it. Make her
+nurse you. Do anything you damn please with her!"</p>
+
+<p>Hahn dropped out of sight. Plimsoll did not wait but picked Molly up
+from where he had deposited her, a helpless bundle, on the rock.</p>
+
+<p>"The bottom's soft down there," he said. "Sand. It ain't more than
+fifteen feet. Down you go, you hellcat! They'll have a fine time
+locating you. And you've got a dying man for company. He'll be a dead
+one before morning."</p>
+
+<p>He lowered her, feet down, released her and watched her disappear. He
+swung about and ran back to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>corral, his hurt arm throbbing with his
+exertion. He had entertained a brief thought of hiding in the cave
+himself, but the fear of madness from the bite had not left him, the
+suggestion of it coming on in an underground cavern sickened him with
+horror. He craved the open. He flung himself into the saddle of the
+black horse, once leader of a slick-ear herd of wild mustangs,
+magnificent for speed and symmetry, worthy a better master, and galloped
+out of the corral, out of the side-ravine, into the open park. The rough
+towel about his arm was becoming soaked. Every jump of the black horse
+seemed to increase the bleeding. The spurt of fictitious energy that had
+carried him through since the arrival of Cookie was dying away. But he
+was on a mount that none could match, he was going on a trail that was
+hard to follow, practically unknown. Unless he was headed off, he could
+break through. At Nipple Peaks he could rest, attend to his wound.</p>
+
+<p>A shout, a bullet whistling past that nicked the stallion's ear and sent
+him plunging and bucking, warned him that his enemies had found the way
+in and were after him. He did not look back, but bent forward in his
+saddle and sunk the spurs into the black's flanks. The half-tamed
+mustang's indignant bounds spoiled the aim of the marksmen, and, though
+the steel-nosed missiles hummed like bees about them, they gained the
+shelter of the same trees that had covered Cookie. Belly almost to
+ground, the black swept over the cropped turf at racing speed, the drum
+of his hooves <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span>like distant thunder, crest high, crimson-satin nostrils
+flaring, mad at the sting of the red notch in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>Round the elbow of the Hideout, with Brandon's men distanced, into the
+gorge at the south end. A wild scramble up a steep slope and the way to
+Spur Rock was clear. Plimsoll smiled grimly. "Damn them, I'll beat them
+yet!" For a second he was silhouetted against a skyline, then he plunged
+down. Fresh droppings told him that Reynolds had won clear. He was safe
+from pursuit. If the wound&mdash;he should have cauterized it. But....</p>
+
+<p>He reined in for a moment. The sound of a shout rang in his ears. It was
+an echo, he fancied, it must be an echo, flung back from the mountain
+walls ahead. But it could mean nothing else than a view-halloo. Some one
+had glimpsed him disappearing beyond the ridge.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h2>MOLLY MINE</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Sandy, replacing the blanket on Wyatt's face, examined his guns and
+started climbing up to the big boulder. He could not see the rocks
+displaced by Brandon's men from below, but he picked up the bloody
+imprint of Grit's pad, with other smears of blood less distinctly
+marked. Soon he discovered the narrow opening and proceeded cautiously.
+The moon was quite bright now and the daylight almost vanished. Only the
+afterglow still flamed in the eastern sky back of the violet cliffs. The
+touch of night chill was already threatening, great stars were
+assembling court about the moon.</p>
+
+<p>To Sandy's right was perpendicular rock, to his left the curve of the
+blocking boulder with the skeleton tree topping it, withered in the
+cleft that had first nourished, then denied it nourishment. It gleamed
+silver gray, attracting his attention. As he gazed his sharp ears caught
+the tiny crack of a brittle branch. Instantly he dropped to all fours as
+a spurt of flame showed from the tree and a bullet whined over him, to
+smack against the rock and fall flattened.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy did not move. He knew that, to the man firing, his fall might have
+seemed a hit, that he had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span>beaten the missile by the space of a wink. He
+heard more broken boughs, as if his assailant were clumsily, assuredly,
+clambering out of ambush, and he shifted silently into position, rifle
+set down, both guns ready. There came a strange thrashing sound, a groan
+of 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.</p>
+
+<p>With ready gun Sandy reached him, bent, turned him on his side. A bullet
+had ranged through both hips, shattering them. The spine must have been
+injured. There were puddles of blood that told the injury was some hours
+old. Butch had lain there paralyzed, passed by Brandon's men as dead,
+lingering like the traditional snake until sunset to see and recognize
+Sandy coming through the gap, to use his last remnant of life to pull
+trigger and so to die, the injured vertebrae giving away to the effort,
+the spark of life pinched out.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy left him and returned to the gap. He could still read sign, plain
+as it was on every side. He found the side-gulch, saw the cabin, saw
+Hahn's saddled horse grazing free, Blaze in the corral, the cabin door
+open with the moon streaming in. He had pieced out the puzzle to his own
+satisfaction. Brandon and his men had arrived and, in Hereford, they had
+run <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span>across Wyatt, procuring horses there and saving themselves the trip
+to the Three Star. Butch's body was evidence that they had not been
+unsuccessful, Wyatt's that the fight had not been all one-sided, the
+surprise not perfect. And, if Plimsoll had been warned, what had become
+of Molly?</p>
+
+<p>He got an answer that made his heart stand still, then pound in a rush
+of action. On the floor, in the beam of the moon, lay the luck-piece, a
+few links of gold chain attached to the coin. Stooping for it, he
+brushed a strand of brown hair. Then he saw Grit's body beneath the
+table. Fury boiled in him, chilled to icy wrath and determination. He
+put away the coin and hauled out the dog's body into the moonlight. It
+was limber and still warm. Sandy rose from his squat and swiftly
+examined the cabin. He discovered a lantern with oil in it, which he
+lit. The condition of the fire, corroborating other signs, told him that
+the fighting was long over with, the issue passed on. He had no fear of
+interruption. Before very long Sam and the Three Star riders would be
+along. The sight of Blaze suggested that Molly was not far away. If she
+had gone, by force, or her own free will, the probability was that her
+own mount and saddle would have been requisitioned.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy's capacity for reading sign was almost without limit. He was
+better at it than an Indian because he had equally good observation and
+better judgment. But, to find Molly, with the ground about the cabin cut
+by arriving and departing feet and hooves, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span>Blaze in the corral,
+was a miracle that called for more than eyesight and deduction. If he
+could revive Grit...?</p>
+
+<p>He found water warm in a kettle; he had the first-aid kit with its
+bandages, 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, the
+blood marks where Plimsoll's veins had sprinkled and Grit had stained
+the floor. He found, too, a button of horn with a fragment of black and
+white check, torn from Molly's riding coat in the struggle. Sandy's
+anger crystallized into one ambition beyond the finding of Molly, and
+that was to kill Plimsoll, if possible with his hands. He pictured the
+struggle between the gambler and the girl, desperate on one side, brutal
+on the other and, whether the stake had been won or lost, he resolved
+that Plimsoll should die for that attack.</p>
+
+<p>Now his hope hung on Grit. He squatted on the floor by the lantern, a
+gun handy in case of need. He took the collie's head on his lap and
+examined the blow made by the butt of Plimsoll's gun. It had laid bare
+the bone but he did not think it either splintered or fractured. Grit's
+tongue lolled out from between his teeth and his muzzle was dry, yet
+Sandy fancied breath still passed the nostrils and that there was a
+faint beat of heart beneath the heavy draggled coat, matted with the
+blood that had drained life from him. Sandy knew that dog or wolf or
+coyote will lie in a torpor after being badly wounded and often recover
+slowly, waking from the recuperating sleep revitalized. But, if he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>could bring Grit back, he must make fresh demands on him.</p>
+
+<p>He washed the wound on the head and poured iodine into it. He did the
+same with the hole in the leg, cleansing it from the dried blood and
+hair. It had stopped bleeding. He disinfected it, stitched it, closed
+it, bound it with adhesive tape and strengthened it with a bandage
+adjusted as expertly as any surgeon could have done. He pried open the
+jaws with but little resistance and let the tongue slip back before he
+poured in a measure of Scotch and water between the canine and incisor
+teeth. He tilted Grit's limp head, shut off his muzzle, stroked his
+throat and let the restorative trickle into the gullet. For a moment
+there was no response, then Grit coughed, choked, swallowed. Sandy
+repeated the dose with less water. It went down naturally. Almost
+immediately he felt the heart stroke strengthen. Grit sneezed, opened
+his eyes and feebly thumped his tail as he licked Sandy's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Grit, ol' pardner," said Sandy seriously, the dog's head between his
+hands, "yo're sure mussed up a heap an' I hate to do it, but I got to
+call on you, son. Mebbe it won't be such a long trick, but I can't git
+by without yore nose, Grit. It's worth more'n all I've got. An' I know
+yo'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."</p>
+
+<p>Grit wagged his tail more vigorously and tried to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span>get on his feet, but
+Sandy prevented him until the third dose was administered. Then he
+carried 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 to
+stand, looking eagerly at Sandy, commencing to snuff the air. Sandy let
+him smell the coin, the strand of hair, the piece of cloth and, with his
+keenest sense stimulated with the perfume that stood to Grit for love,
+the dog wrinkled his nose and cast around. But he led direct to Blaze
+and stood by the horse uncertain while Blaze nosed down at him.</p>
+
+<p>"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 got
+to cast about." He picked up the dog again, puzzled, and looked about
+him in the gulch, suffused with moonlight. "There sh'ud be soft dirt
+under those asps, let's give a look-see there."</p>
+
+<p>They had not gone five feet into the trees before man and dog made a
+simultaneous discovery. For Sandy it was a heel-mark left by Plimsoll,
+treading heavily under his burden, a slight depression enough, but plain
+to Sandy. Grit began to struggle in his arms. Molly's hair or body must
+have brushed against lower boughs at the same height that Sandy carried
+the wounded Grit and the scent still clung.</p>
+
+<p>"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 the
+heel-print. Grit uttered a low growl deep back in his throat, his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span>ruff
+lifted. Hatred replaced love, but the two odors and emotions were
+inextricably 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. Where
+Plimsoll had laid her down Grit halted and raised his head, his tongue
+playing in and out of his jaws in his triumphant excitement, his eyes
+luminous, his tail waving like the plume of a knight. Sandy gently
+patted him, pressed him down to a crouch.</p>
+
+<p>"Down charge, Grit," he whispered in his ear. "You've got it. You stay
+here." 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 the
+split, holding on to the vine, looking straight into Grit's lambent
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay here, son," he said softly, and Grit licked the face now on a
+level with his own. "I'll be back."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy doubted whether he would find Plimsoll in this rock hollow, or any
+one 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. It
+made little difference. There was, to him, the certainty that Molly was
+there and there was no other way of finding out or getting to her. He
+had adventured more dangerous chances than this.</p>
+
+<p>He felt his legs dangle into space and his hands found a curving loop in
+the vine trunk that sagged slightly under his weight. Extended at full
+length, his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span>toes touched bottom. Letting go, he dropped lightly and
+stood in blackness, the crevice above him showing a strip of azure
+light. Sandy listened, wishing for Grit. He might be able to get him
+down, now that he knew the depth of the descent.</p>
+
+<p>There was only the sound of dripping water. He had a vague sense of
+empty spaces all about him. He ventured a match, holding it at arm's
+length in his left hand, flicking friction with his nail, an old trick.
+The match caught and began to blaze instantly in the still air. Low
+down, and to the right, there showed a stab of flame, the roar of an
+exploding cartridge, the reek of high-powered gas seemed to fill the
+cavern. The bullet passed through Sandy's coat sleeve. If he had held
+the match in front of him he would have been shot through heart or
+lungs. His right-hand gun barked from his hip, straight for where the
+flame had showed, then to right of it, to left, above, his left-hand gun
+joining in the merciless probe. No second shot came in answer.</p>
+
+<p>Sandy lit another match. Its flare showed him a sandy floor, slightly
+sloping, moist in one place, a charred stick almost at his feet. It was
+a pine knot, half burned, and he lighted it easily, advancing toward the
+spot where he had flung the shots he knew had silenced whoever had fired
+at the first match. He found Hahn, crumpled up, shot through the right
+arm and a thigh, besides the other wound in his shoulder. There was not
+much life in him, he had suffered a hemorrhage twice before Sandy came;
+the shock of the two bullets had brought on another.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span>Sandy turned him over, brought Keith's flask into play. Hahn looked up
+at him and essayed a grin.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo're game all right, Hahn," said Sandy. "You ain't the man I was
+lookin' fo', but you fired first. I see I wasn't the first to plug you.
+Mebbe I can fix you up a bit?"</p>
+
+<p>Hahn shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twouldn't be a mite of use," he said huskily. "I'm empty of blood as a
+prohibition 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. I
+thought you one of Brandon's gang. They got Butch and me an' they're
+chasin' Jim Plimsoll to hell and gone&mdash;over Nipple Peaks&mdash;if he beats
+'em to Spur Rock he'll fool 'em on the black&mdash;I couldn't ride&mdash;he left
+me here&mdash;with the girl&mdash;but the case is empty and the bank's
+bu'sted&mdash;cashing&mdash;in&mdash;time and no chips."</p>
+
+<p>He was wandering in his mind, speaking without control, but Sandy's
+mouth tightened at the mention of Nipple Peaks, relaxed again on the
+word "girl." He gave Hahn the last few drops of whisky.</p>
+
+<p>"Where in hell'd you get that?" asked the dealer weakly, coughed
+violently, collapsed, shuddered, writhed a little and was still before
+he could answer Sandy's eager question about Molly.</p>
+
+<p>He found her without much searching, rolled down a little slope beyond
+the crevice. Under the light of the torch her eyes looked up at him. Her
+hair was in disorder, her raiment torn, her slender body wound <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>about by
+the lariat rope, her mouth and chin hidden by the tightly drawn
+bandanna, but her gaze, reflecting the flare of the pine knot, held so
+much of welcome, of faith, of pride and courage, all sourced in
+something deeper, far more wonderful, moving beneath the surface like a
+well spring, that Sandy's heart swelled with glad emotion, knowing she
+was unharmed, knowing that his coming was no surprise, however welcome.</p>
+
+<p>He found himself trembling as he untied her bonds and took away the gag
+from the mouth that lifted to his. She snuggled into his arms and, as
+the torch sputtered out, leaving them in the darkness, save for the
+luminous beams that stole down from where Grit whimpered in joyous
+impatience, her hair showered down over both of them.</p>
+
+<p>"Sandy. I knew you'd come in time!" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>He held her close and hard for a tense moment that gave all his world to
+his embrace.</p>
+
+<p>"Molly&mdash;girl," he said brokenly, his voice broken with passion.</p>
+
+<p>Her hand crept up and a soft palm cupped about his chin. He kissed the
+edge of it. He rose easily, still holding her and lifted her high to
+where she could reach the vine, swinging up after her, Grit dancing a
+three-legged reel of joy as they came up into the free air and the
+moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>Blaze greeted them in the corral. Molly mounted, and Sandy set Grit on
+the saddle in front of her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span>"Where's Pronto?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>He told her.</p>
+
+<p>"I figger Sam an' the boys'll be erlong soon," he said. "They may meet
+up 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."</p>
+
+<p>She sensed the change in his voice, intuitively guessed but, womanlike,
+asked:</p>
+
+<p>"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 meeting
+anybody." She had taken off Sandy's Stetson and she ran fingers through
+his hair, thrilling him to the intimacy of the caress. But, if there was
+any plan in her actions, it did not deter him from his.</p>
+
+<p>"Plimsoll's makin' fo' Nipple Peaks an' he's likely to git clear. Me, I
+aim to head him off an' settle the account."</p>
+
+<p>"Sandy." There was a plea in her voice that plucked at his heart
+strings. "Don't spoil to-night. Please!"</p>
+
+<p>"That ain't Molly Casey talkin'," said Sandy. "That's somethin' you must
+have picked up back to Keith's."</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't harm me, Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"He tried to."</p>
+
+<p>Her hand slipped to his shoulder, touched his cheek. She reined in
+Blaze. Sandy stood beside her, straight and stern, his eyes implacable.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span>"He ain't fit to live," he went on. "I w'udn't be fit to go back to
+Three Star where yore daddy lies an' know he was there in his grave
+while I let that coyote go loose. I found the luck-piece on the floor of
+the cabin, Molly, with a lock of yore hair he must have tore out, a
+button an' a bit of yore dress he nigh tore off you. I was in hell when
+I thought of you fightin' him off an' if I have to wade through it
+knee-deep in flamin' sulphur I'm goin' to find that snake an' make sure
+he quits trailin'. Why, it's my job, Molly. What w'ud you think of me if
+I let him slide?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>A horse whinnied from down the ravine. Blaze answered.</p>
+
+<p>"That'll be Sam an' the boys, Molly." He cupped hands and sounded a
+"Yahoo!"</p>
+
+<p>The answer came back clear through the evening, multiplied by the rocks
+about them.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Afraid?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know. I never was before. But...." She broke off, leaned swiftly down
+from the saddle and kissed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Come back to me soon, Sandy," she said.</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h2>THE END OF THE ROPE</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Pronto had chosen his own trail and gait back to the Three Star. It was
+Goldie that Sandy rode under the stars toward Nipple Peaks. He was
+alone, refusing any company of Sam or the riders. Molly's last kiss had
+been the key that turned in the lock of his heart and opened up to
+reality the garden of his dreams where the two of them would walk
+together, work together all their days. It could have meant nothing
+else. And she had been afraid&mdash;for him. Plimsoll living was a blot upon
+the fair page of happiness. Though Molly, thank God, had come through
+unharmed, to Sandy the touch of Plimsoll was a defilement that could
+only be wiped out by his death.</p>
+
+<p>Nipple Peaks he knew by sight, two high mounds of bare granite above the
+timber-line, barring the way to a jumbled country of peaks and ravines
+and cross ca&ntilde;ons among which lay Plimsoll's Hideout. Spur Rock he knew
+only 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 to
+the Hideout and attempted to follow a rock trail by moonlight, despite
+its brilliance, would have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span>been sheer folly. Plimsoll had from three to
+four hours' start, he figured. And he calculated that, with luck, with
+common luck and justice, he would pick him up before he reached the base
+of the mountain, before he got into the timber. If not, sooner or later
+he would cut Plimsoll's sign and follow it to the end.</p>
+
+<p>As he rode over the finny ridge of Elk Mountain and saw the Nipple Peaks
+gleaming above the black pines across the valley, with Elk River
+gleaming in the middle, he realized that he had said nothing to Molly of
+Keith, 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 as
+if the rest of the world had been fenced off from them and their own
+intimate affairs.</p>
+
+<p>He compressed his knees and the mare answered in a lope that stretched
+into a gallop, fast and faster as she reached the levels and sped toward
+Elk River. Sandy was not going to waste time looking for a ford. The
+mare could swim. The moon, sloping down toward the west, still above the
+range, helped by the big white stars, made the valley bright almost as
+day. He scanned the mountain toward the peaks, passed over the dark
+impenetrable pines, surveyed the stretch of gently rising ground between
+the Elk and the trees and shifted his guns in their scabbards. His rifle
+he had left with Sam. Either Plimsoll had not passed the peaks, was in
+the woods, or he had come and gone. Something told Sandy this last had
+not occurred. Travel beyond the peaks must have been hard and slow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span>and
+roundabout for Plimsoll while he had tangented fast for the cut-off.</p>
+
+<p>The mare took the cold river water about her fetlocks with a little
+shiver, wading in to the girths, sliding to a deep pool where she had to
+swim a few strokes before she found gravel under her hoofs and scrambled
+out. Suddenly, while Sandy hesitated how best to arrange his patrol, a
+horse came floundering out of the pines less than a quarter of a mile
+away, a black horse, shining with sweat, tired to its limit, staggering
+in its stride, the rider hunched in the saddle more like a sack of meal
+than a man.</p>
+
+<p>Before Sandy could turn the mare toward them three riders burst from the
+trees like bolts from a crossbow, spurring their mounts, the two in the
+lead swinging lariats. They divided, one to either side of the
+foundering black stallion, one at the rear, gaining, angling in. The
+ropes slithered out, the loops seemed to hang like suspended rings of
+wire for a second before they settled down, fair and true, about the
+neck and shoulders of the black's rider. They tightened, the lariats
+snubbed to the saddle horns, the horses sliding with flattened pasterns.
+The black lunging on, pitched forward as it was relieved of a sudden
+weight and its rider jerked hideously from the saddle, hands clawing at
+the ropes that choked his gullet, wrenching, sinking deep, shutting off
+air and light with a horrid taste of blood and the noise of thundering
+waters.</p>
+
+<p>The ropers wheeled their mounts and galloped back toward the woods, the
+limp body of their victim <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span>dragging, bouncing over the ground. The third
+rode to meet Sandy. It was Brandon. He hailed Sandy with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"How'd you happen here this time of night, Bourke? Not looking for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I was looking for the man you've just caught. I was about a minute
+too late."</p>
+
+<p>Brandon glanced curiously at Sandy, caught by the grim note in his
+voice. But he made no comment.</p>
+
+<p>"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 tree
+with a card on his chest presenting him to Hereford County, with our
+compliments. As it is, Bourke, I'd be relieved if you'd keep out of this
+entirely. Even forgetting you'd met us. We're within our rights, but
+we've done some cleaning up to-night that we might have to explain if we
+stayed too long in the state. We got the goods on Plimsoll; one of his
+men whose girl Plimsoll had stolen helped us to pin them on him. We met
+him at Hereford. I'm going to send the facts and proofs to your
+authorities. They may not approve of lynch law these days, but they
+wouldn't act&mdash;and we did. I don't fancy they'll bother us any. He wasn't
+worth the ropes he spoiled. Just as well you kept out of the mix-up."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy said nothing. There was no need to mention Molly's adventure.</p>
+
+<p>"Want to be sure it's him?" asked Brandon. "Let's look at the black
+first. He gave us a hard chase, but we were too many for him and rounded
+him up."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span>They found the black stallion stretched out on the turf with its neck
+curiously twisted. Tired out, it had fallen clumsily and broken the
+vertebrae. It was quite dead. Both men looked at it silently, with a
+mental tribute to a good horse.</p>
+
+<p>The body of Plimsoll lay at the foot of a big pine. The loops were still
+tight about his neck. One of the ropes had been tossed over a bough. The
+two men had dismounted. They nodded to Sandy as he came up with Brandon.
+He had seen them before on their first unsuccessful trip to the
+Waterline. They were horse-owners, responsible men, who considered they
+had administered justice, who felt no more qualms concerning the dead
+man than if his body had been the carcass of a slaughtered steer.</p>
+
+<p>"Waiting for the rest of the boys to come up," said Brandon. "We'll hit
+the trail home to-night. Bourke wants to identify the body, boys."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy looked down at the contorted, blackened face, and his
+disappointment at having been forestalled, sedimented down. The
+gambler's features had not been made placid by death; they still held
+much of the horror of the last moments of that relentless chase, his
+horse failing under him, foreknowledge of sudden death and then the
+whistling ropes, the jerk into eternity...! It was a thing to be
+forgotten, a nightmare that had nothing to do with the new day ahead.</p>
+
+<p>"It's Plimsoll," said Sandy shortly. "I'm ridin' back to Three Star. I
+found him hangin' to a tree. Good night, hombres." He left them standing
+about <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span>their quarry and turned the willing mare toward home. Peace
+settled down on him under the stars that were fading, the moon below the
+hills when he rode into the home corral.</p>
+
+<p>A figure was perched upon the fence, waiting. It was Molly, and she
+leaped down almost into his arms as he sprang from the mare. In the gray
+dawn her face seemed drawn and weary. There were the blue shadows under
+the eyes that he remembered seeing there the time they had ridden over
+the Pass of the Goats. She came close to him, her hands up against his
+chest.</p>
+
+<p>"You're safe, Sandy. Safe!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was too late," he said. "Brandon's men had been ahead of me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so glad, Sandy. Your hands are clean of his blood. They are my
+hands, now, Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>He swept her up to him, kissing her mouth and eyes, the eager pressure
+of her lips returning all with full measure. A streak of rose glowed in
+the east behind the amethyst peaks. Her face reflected it like a mirror.
+The tired lines were gone as he set her down.</p>
+
+<p>"How long have you been waiting, Molly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ever since I got back. I slipped out of the house when the rest had
+gone to bed. If you hadn't come back, Sandy, I should have died."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't have to go back east," she said presently. They had left the
+corral and were under the big cottonwoods by Patrick Casey's grave. "Do
+I?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't reckon you can, even if you wanted to," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span>answered Sandy. "I
+forgot to tell you, Molly, that you're bu'sted, so far's the mine is
+concerned. Listen."</p>
+
+<p>She laughed when he finished speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"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 wanted
+most was my happiness&mdash;and I've got that." She turned to Sandy. The big
+bell of the ranch boomed brassily. Molly put her hand in Sandy's. "It
+may be most unromantic, Sandy dear," she said, "but I'm hungry. Let's go
+in to breakfast."</p>
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span>
+<br />
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<h2>THE VERY END</h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>There was a council held later that day, that was almost a council of
+war. Sandy was in the chair, Mormon and Sam present, Molly the indignant
+speaker-in-chief.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very much ashamed of all of you," she said. "An agreement is an
+agreement, 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't
+spent all of it, Sandy tells me.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got to accept Sandy's share of it, I suppose, because it goes with
+Sandy. As for you, Sam Manning, you'll need your third when you marry
+Kate Nicholson."</p>
+
+<p>Soda-Water Sam gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Marry Miss Nicholson?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. She expects you to."</p>
+
+<p>"She&mdash;Molly, it ain't no jokin' matter with me. She wouldn't look at a
+rough-hided cuss like me."</p>
+
+<p>"You ask her, Sammy. Mormon, I suppose you'll have to hang fire until
+you find out about that third wife. I hope the fourth time will be the
+charm. It will if you marry Miranda Bailey."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span>"You're sure talkin' like a matrimonial boorow, Molly," said Mormon. "I
+sure think a sight of Mirandy. She's different from my first three. They
+all married me, fo' me to look out fo' them. If Mirandy can be persuaded
+to take me it's becos she is willin' to look after me. She 'lows I need
+it," he added sheepishly. Then he chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>"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't
+of insurance policy. I've allus been sort of unbalanced in my leanin's
+to'ards the sex, you see. An' it sure acted as a prop an' a defense so
+fur."</p>
+
+<p>"Then the meeting is closed," said Molly. "I accept your apologies and
+you keep your money."</p>
+
+<p>Mormon and Sam rose. With a glance at each other that ended in a wink,
+they left the room. Molly turned to Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't give me back my luck-piece, Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"What does a mascot want with a luck-piece?"</p>
+
+<p>"She would like it made into an engagement ring, Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not a weddin' ring, Molly, Molly mine?"</p>
+
+<p class="cen">THE END</p>
+
+<br />
+<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span>
+<br />
+<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span>
+<h3>Popular Copyright Novels</h3>
+
+<p class="cen"><i>AT MODERATE PRICES</i><br />
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />
+A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<br />
+<p class="noin">
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Affinities, and Other Stories.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>After House, The.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Against the Winds.</b> By Kate Jordan.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ailsa Paige.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Also Ran.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Amateur Gentleman, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Anderson Crow, Detective.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Anna, the Adventuress.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Anne's House of Dreams.</b> By L. M. Montgomery.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Anybody But Anne.</b> By Carolyn Wells.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Are All Men Alike, and The Lost Titian.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Around Old Chester.</b> By Margaret Deland.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist.</b> By John T. McIntyre.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ashton-Kirk, Investigator.</b> By John T. McIntyre.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ashton-Kirk, Secret Agent.</b> By John T. McIntyre.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ashton-Kirk, Special Detective.</b> By John T. McIntyre.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Athalie.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Auction Block, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Aunt Jane of Kentucky.</b> By Eliza C. Hall.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Awakening of Helena Richie.</b> By Margaret Deland.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bab: a Sub-Deb.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bambi.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Barbarians.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bar 20.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bar 20 Days.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Barrier, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bars of Iron, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beasts of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beckoning Roads.</b> By Jeanne Judson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Belonging.</b> By Olive Wadsley.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beloved Traitor, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beloved Vagabond, The.</b> By Wm. J. Locke.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beltane the Smith.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Betrayal, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beulah.</b> (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Beyond the Frontier.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Big Timber.</b> By Bertrand W. Sinclair.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Black Bartlemy's Treasure.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Black Is White.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Blacksheep! Blacksheep!</b> By Meredith Nicholson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Blind Man's Eyes, The.</b> By Wm. Mac Harg and Edwin Balmer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Boardwalk, The.</b> By Margaret Widdemer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bob Hampton of Placer.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bob, Son of Battle.</b> By Alfred Olivant.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Box With Broken Seals, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Boy With Wings, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Brandon of the Engineers.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bridge of Kisses, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Broad Highway, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Broadway Bab.</b> By Johnston McCulley.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Brown Study, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Bruce of the Circle A.</b> By Harold Titus.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Buccaneer Farmer, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Buck Peters, Ranchman.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Builders, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Business of Life, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cab of the Sleeping Horse, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cabbage and Kings.</b> By O. Henry.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cabin Fever.</b> By B. M. Bower.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Calling of Dan Matthews, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cape Cod Stories.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper.</b> By James A. Cooper.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cap'n Dan's Daughter.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cap'n Erl.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cap'n Jonah's Fortune.</b> By James A. Cooper.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cap'n Warren's Wards.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Chinese Label, The.</b> By J. Frank Davis.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Christine of the Young Heart.</b> By Louise Breintenbach Clancy.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cinderella Jane.</b> By Marjorie B. Cooke.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cinema Murder, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>City of Masks, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cleek of Scotland Yard.</b> By T. W. Hanshew.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cleek's Government Cases.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Clipped Wings.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Clutch of Circumstance, The.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Coast of Adventure, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Come-Back, The.</b> By Carolyn Wells.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Coming of Cassidy, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Coming of the Law, The.</b> By Charles A. Seltzer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Comrades of Peril.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Conquest of Canaan, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Conspirators, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Contraband.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cottage of Delight, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Court of Inquiry, A.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cricket, The.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Crimson Tide, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cross Currents.</b> By Author of "Pollyanna."</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cross Pull, The.</b> By Hal. G. Evarts.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cry in the Wilderness, A.</b> By Mary E. Waller.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cry of Youth, A.</b> By Cynthia Lombardi.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Cup of Fury, The.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Curious Quest, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Danger and Other Stories.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Dark Hollow, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Dark Star, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Daughter Pays, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Day of Days, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Depot Master, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Destroying Angel, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Devil's Own, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Devil's Paw, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Disturbing Charm, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Door of Dread, The.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Dope.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Double Traitor, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Duds.</b> By Henry C. Rowland.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Empty Pockets.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Erskine Dale Pioneer.</b> By John Fox, Jr.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Everyman's Land.</b> By C. N. &amp; A. M. Williamson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Extricating Obadiah.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Eyes of the Blind, The.</b> By Arthur Somers Roche.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Eyes of the World, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Fairfax and His Pride.</b> By Marie Van Vorst.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Felix O'Day.</b> By F. Hopkinson Smith.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>54-40 or Fight.</b> By Emerson Hough.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Fighting Chance, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Fighting Fool, The.</b> By Dane Coolidge.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Fighting Shepherdess, The.</b> By Caroline Lockhart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Financier, The.</b> By Theodore Dreiser.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Find the Woman.</b> By Arthur Somers Roche.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>First Sir Percy, The.</b> By The Baroness Orczy.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Flame, The.</b> By Olive Wadsley.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>For Better, for Worse.</b> By W. B. Maxwell.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Forbidden Trail, The.</b> By Honor&egrave; Willsie.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Forfeit, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Fortieth Door, The.</b> By Mary Hastings Bradley.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Four Million, The.</b> By O. Henry.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>From Now On.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Fur Bringers, The.</b> By Hulbert Footner.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Get Your Man.</b> By Ethel and James Dorrance.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Girl in the Mirror, The.</b> By Elizabeth Jordan.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Girl of O. K. Valley, The.</b> By Robert Watson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Girl of the Blue Ridge, A.</b> By Payne Erskine.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Girl from Keller's, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Girl Philippa, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Girls at His Billet, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Glory Rides the Range.</b> By Ethel and James Dorrance.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Gloved Hand, The.</b> By Burton E. Stevenson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>God's Country and the Woman.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>God's Good Man.</b> By Marie Corelli.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Going Some.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Gold Girl, The.</b> By James B. Hendryx.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Golden Scorpion, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Golden Slipper, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Golden Woman, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Good References.</b> By E. J. Rath.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Gorgeous Girl, The.</b> By Nalbro Bartley.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Gray Angels, The.</b> By Nalbro Bartley.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Great Impersonation, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Greater Love Hath No Man.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Green Eyes of Bast, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Greyfriars Bobby.</b> By Eleanor Atkinson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Gun Brand, The.</b> By James B. Hendryx.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hand of Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Happy House.</b> By Baroness Von Hutten.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Harbor Road, The.</b> By Sara Ware Bassett.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Havoc.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Heart of the Desert, The.</b> By Honor&egrave; Willsie.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Heart of the Hills, The.</b> By John Fox, Jr.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Heart of the Sunset.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Heart of Thunder Mountain, The.</b> By Edfrid A. Bingham.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Heart of Unaga, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hidden Children, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hidden Trails.</b> By William Patterson White.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Highflyers, The.</b> By Clarence B. Kelland.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hillman, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hills of Refuge, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>His Last Bow.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>His Official Fiancee.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Honor of the Big Snows.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hopalong Cassidy.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hound from the North, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>House of the Whispering Pines, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker.</b> By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Humoresque.</b> By Fannie Hurst.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>I Conquered.</b> By Harold Titus.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Illustrious Prince, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>In Another Girl's Shoes.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Indifference of Juliet, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Inez.</b> (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Infelice.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Initials Only.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Inner Law, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Innocent.</b> By Marie Corelli.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>In Red and Gold.</b> By Samuel Merwin.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>In the Brooding Wild.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Intriguers, The.</b> By William Le Queux.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Iron Furrow, The.</b> By George C. Shedd.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Iron Trail, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Iron Woman, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ishmael.</b> (Ill.) By Mrs. Southworth.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Island of Surprise.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>I Spy.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>It Pays to Smile.</b> By Nina Wilcox Putnam.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>I've Married Marjorie.</b> By Margaret Widdemer.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Jean of the Lazy A.</b> By B. M. Bower.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Jeanne of the Marshes.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Jennie Gerhardt.</b> By Theodore Dreiser.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Johnny Nelson.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Judgment House, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Keeper of the Door, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Keith of the Border.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Kent Knowles: Quahaug.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Kingdom of the Blind, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>King Spruce.</b> By Holman Day.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Knave of Diamonds, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>La Chance Mine Mystery, The.</b> By S. Carleton.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lady Doc, The.</b> By Caroline Lockhart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Land-Girl's Love Story, A.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Land of Strong Men, The.</b> By A. M. Chisholm.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Last Straw, The.</b> By Harold Titus.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Last Trail, The.</b> By Zane Grey.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Laughing Bill Hyde.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Laughing Girl, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Law Breakers, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Law of the Gun, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.</b> By Baroness Orczy.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lifted Veil, The.</b> By Basil King.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lighted Way, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lin McLean.</b> By Owen Wister.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Little Moment of Happiness, The.</b> By Clarence Budington Kelland.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lion's Mouse, The.</b> By C. N. &amp; A. M. Williamson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lonesome Land.</b> By B. M. Bower.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lone Wolf, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lonely Stronghold, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Long Live the King.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lost Ambassador.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lost Prince, The.</b> By Frances Hodgson Burnett.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lydia of the Pines.</b> By Honor&egrave; Willsie.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Lynch Lawyers.</b> By William Patterson White.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Macaria.</b> (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Maid of the Forest, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Maid of Mirabelle, The.</b> By Eliot H. Robinson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Maid of the Whispering Hills, The.</b> By Vingie E. Roe.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Major, The.</b> By Ralph Connor.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Maker of History, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Malefactor, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man from Bar 20, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man from Bitter Roots, The.</b> By Caroline Lockhart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man from Tall Timber, The.</b> By Thomas K. Holmes.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man in the Jury Box, The.</b> By Robert Orr Chipperfield.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man-Killers, The.</b> By Dane Coolidge.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man Proposes.</b> By Eliot H. Robinson, author of "Smiles."</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man Trail, The.</b> By Henry Oyen.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Marqueray's Duel.</b> By Anthony Pryde.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mary 'Gusta.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mary Wollaston.</b> By Henry Kitchell Webster.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mason of Bar X Ranch.</b> By E. Bennett.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Master Christian, The.</b> By Marie Corelli.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Master Mummer, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Men Who Wrought, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Midnight of the Ranges.</b> By George Gilbert.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mischief Maker, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Missioner, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Miss Million's Maid.</b> By Berta Ruck.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Money Master, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Money Moon, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Moonlit Way, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>More Tish.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mountain Girl, The.</b> By Payne Erskine.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mr. Bingle.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mr. Pratt.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mr. Pratt's Patients.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mr. Wu.</b> By Louise Jordan Miln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mrs. Balfame.</b> By Gertrude Atherton.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mrs. Red Pepper.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>My Lady of the North.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>My Lady of the South.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The.</b> By Anna K. Green.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mystery of the Silver Dagger, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Mystery of the 13th Floor, The.</b> By Lee Thayer.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Nameless Man, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Ne'er-Do-Well, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Net, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>New Clarion.</b> By Will N. Harben.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Night Horseman, The.</b> By Max Brand.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Night Operator, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Night Riders, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>North of the Law.</b> By Samuel Alexander White.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>One Way Trail, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Outlaw, The.</b> By Jackson Gregory.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Owner of the Lazy D.</b> By William Patterson White.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Painted Meadows.</b> By Sophie Kerr.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Palmetto.</b> By Stella G. S. Perry.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Paradise Bend.</b> By William Patterson White.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Pardners.</b> By Rex Beach.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Parrot &amp; Co.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>Partners of the Night.</b> By Leroy Scott</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<div class="tr">
+<p class="cen"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Transcriber's Note</p>
+<br />
+
+Some inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in
+the original document has been preserved.<br />
+<br />
+Typographical errors corrected in the text:<br />
+<br />
+Page&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  61&nbsp;&nbsp;  parodox changed to paradox<br />
+Page&nbsp; 113&nbsp;&nbsp;  caress changed to carcass<br />
+Page&nbsp; 144&nbsp;&nbsp;  enchanced changed to enhanced<br />
+Page&nbsp; 158&nbsp;&nbsp;  Morman changed to Mormon<br />
+Page&nbsp; 181&nbsp;&nbsp;  Eh changed to Ed<br />
+Page&nbsp; 270&nbsp;&nbsp;  missing word "cent" added<br />
+Page&nbsp; 271&nbsp;&nbsp;  chaperajos changed to chaparejos<br />
+Page&nbsp; 295&nbsp;&nbsp;  Miss Keith should be Miss Casey<br />
+Page&nbsp; 318&nbsp;&nbsp;  Burke changed to Bourke<br />
+Page&nbsp; 325&nbsp;&nbsp;  starin' changed to startin'<br />
+Page&nbsp; 325&nbsp;&nbsp;  knes changed to knees<br />
+Page&nbsp; 339&nbsp;&nbsp;  stead changed to steed<br />
+Page&nbsp; 347&nbsp;&nbsp;  corraled changed to corralled<br />
+Page&nbsp; 372&nbsp;&nbsp;  staring changed to starting<br />
+Page&nbsp; 383&nbsp;&nbsp;  couch changed to crouch<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIMROCK TRAIL ***
+
+***** This file should be named 28638-h.htm or 28638-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/3/28638/
+
+Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Barbara Kosker and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/28638-h/images/deco.jpg b/28638-h/images/deco.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d504ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-h/images/deco.jpg
diff --git a/28638-h/images/frontis.jpg b/28638-h/images/frontis.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d15f8f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-h/images/frontis.jpg
diff --git a/28638-h/images/titledeco.jpg b/28638-h/images/titledeco.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bbf190
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638-h/images/titledeco.jpg
diff --git a/28638.txt b/28638.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..12dacdc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11970 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Rimrock Trail
+
+Author: J. Allan Dunn
+
+Release Date: April 29, 2009 [EBook #28638]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIMROCK TRAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Barbara Kosker and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  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 he
+dared not tilt, gazing dreamily at the saw-toothed mountains shimmering
+in 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 revolver
+he was meticulously cleaning.
+
+"'Count of Climate, Cactus, Cattle--an' Coyotes."
+
+"Makin' four, 'stead of three," said the managing partner of the Three
+Star Ranch.
+
+Came a grunt from "Soda-Water" Sam as he put down his harmonica on which
+he had been playing _The Cowboy's Lament_, with variations.
+
+"Huh! You got no more eddication than a horn-toad, an' less common
+sense. You don't spell Arizony with a 'C.' You can't. 'Cordin' to yore
+argymint you should spell Africa with a 'Z' 'cause they raise zebras
+there, 'stead of mustangs. Might make it two 'R's,' 'count of rim-rock
+an'--an' revolvers."
+
+Mormon snorted.
+
+"That's a hell of a name for a man born in Maricopa County to call a
+gun. _Revolver!_ You 'mind me of the Boston perfesser who come to
+Arizona tryin' to prove the Cliff Dwellers was one of the Lost Tribes of
+Israel. He blows in with an introduction to the Double U, where I was
+workin'. 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's
+share 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 waitress
+down to the Rodeo Eatin' House, while he's waitin' for his train, for a
+serve-yet. A _serve-yet_! That's what he calls a napkin. You must have
+been eddicated in Boston, Sam, though it's the first time I ever
+suspected you of book learnin'."
+
+It was Sunday afternoon on the Three Star rancheria. The riders, all the
+hands--with the exception of Pedro, the Mexican cocinero, indifferent to
+most things, including his cooking; and Joe, his half-breed helper,--had
+departed, clad in their best shirts, vests, trousers, Stetsons and
+bandannas of silk, some seeking a poker game on a neighboring rancho,
+some bent on courting. Pedro and Joe lay, faces down, under the shade of
+the trees about the tenaya, the stone cistern into which water was
+pumped 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 lighter
+matters. One year before they had pooled their savings and Sandy Bourke,
+youngest of the three and the most aggressive, coolest and swiftest of
+action, had gloriously bucked the faro tiger and won enough to buy the
+Three Star Ranch and certain rights of free range. The purchase had not
+included the brand of the late owner. Originally the holding had been
+called the Two-Bar-P. As certain cattlemen were not wanting who had a
+knack of appropriating calves and changing the brands of steers, Sandy
+had been glad enough, in his capacity of business manager, to change the
+name 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, so
+Soda-Water Sam--whose nickname was satirical--opined, smacked of the
+saloon rather than the ranch, but it was finally decided on and the
+branding-irons duly made.
+
+Sandy Bourke had dark brown hair, inclined to be curly, a tendency he
+offset by frequent clipping of his thatch. The sobriquet of "Sandy"
+referred to his grit. He was broad-shouldered, tall and lean, weighing a
+hundred and seventy pounds of well-strung frame. His eyes were gray and
+the lids sun-puckered; his deeply tanned skin showed the freckles on
+face and hands as faint inlays; his long limber legs were slightly
+bowed.
+
+Not so the curve of Soda-Water Sam's legs. You could pass a small keg
+between the latter's knees without interference. Otherwise, Sam, whose
+last name was Manning, was mainly distinguished by his enormous drooping
+mustache, 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 stout
+for saddle-ease to himself or mount, sun-rouged where his partners were
+burned brown. His pate was bald save for a tonsure-fringe of
+grizzle-red.
+
+All three were first-rate cattlemen, their enterprise bade fair for
+success, hampered only by the lack of capital, occasioned by Sandy's
+preference for modern methods as evidenced by thoroughbred bulls,
+high-grading of his steers, the steadily growing patches of alfalfa and
+the spreading network of irrigation ditches.
+
+Business exhausted, ending with an often expressed desire for a woman
+cook who could also perform a few household chores, tagged with a last
+attempt to persuade Mormon to marry some comfortable person who would
+act in that capacity, they had reverted to the good-humored chaff that
+always marked their talks together.
+
+Mormon, with stubby fingers wonderfully deft, was plaiting horsehair
+about a stick of hardwood to form the handle of a quirt, Sandy
+overhauling his two Colts and Sam furnishing orchestra on his harmonica.
+Now he put it to his lips, unable to find a sufficiently crushing retort
+to Mormon's diatribe against words of more than one syllable, breathing
+out the burden of "My Bonnie lies over the Ocean."
+
+Mormon, in a husky, yet musical bass, supplied the cowboy's version of
+the 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, the
+mangy 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 I
+moved. 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, you
+need 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 but
+determinedly toward the ranch-house, past the corral and cook shack; its
+daring proclaiming it anything but a cowardly, foot-hill coyote. Its
+coat was whitish gray. Its brush was down, almost trailing, its muzzle
+drooped, it went lamely on all four legs and occasionally limped on
+three.
+
+"Collie!" proclaimed Sandy. "Pore devil's plumb tuckered out."
+
+"Sheepdawg!" affirmed Sam, disgust in his voice. "Hell of a gall to come
+round 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 and
+Joe. It halted twenty feet from the porch, one paw up, as Sandy bent
+forward and called to it.
+
+"Come on, you dawg. Come in, ol' feller. Mormon, take that hair out of
+that pan of water an' set it where he can see it."
+
+Mormon shifted the pan in which he had been soaking the horsehair for
+easier plaiting and the dog sniffed at it, watching Sandy closely with
+eyes that were dim from thirst and weariness. Sandy patted his knee
+encouragingly, 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 the
+alkali dust that covered its coat, the collie released its hold and
+collapsed on one side, panting, utterly exhausted, with glazing eyes
+that held appeal.
+
+Sandy reached for the pan, squatting down, and chucked some water from
+the palm of his hand into the open jaws, upon the swollen tongue. The
+dog licked his hand, whined again, tried to stand up, failed, succeeded
+with the aid of friendly fingers in its ruff and eagerly lapped a few
+mouthfuls.
+
+Again it seized the tassel and pulled, looking up into Sandy's face
+imploringly.
+
+"Somethin' wrong," said the manager of the Three Star. "Tryin' to tell
+us about it. All right, ol' feller, you drink some more wateh. Let me
+look at that paw." He gently took the foot that clawed at his chaps and
+examined it. The pad was worn to the quick, bleeding. "Come out of the
+Bad 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 same
+condition. Running his fingers beneath the ruff, scratching gently in
+sign 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 us
+to him. You'll have to hoof it till we cut fair trail. Sam, fetch me
+some 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. Sandy
+bathed the raw pads softly, cut patches of the tape with his knife, put
+them on the abrasions, held them there for the warmth of his palm to set
+them. Grit licked at his hands whenever they were in reach, his
+brightening eyes full of understanding, shifting to watch Sam striding
+to 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 care
+for nowadays. I'll stick to the chair."
+
+"Prod up Pedro to git some hot water ready. Keep a kittle b'ilin'. No
+tellin' what time we'll git back," said Sandy. "I'll take along some
+grub an' the medicine kit. Have to spare some of that whisky Sam's got
+stowed away."
+
+"Goin' to waste booze at fifteen bucks a quart on a sheepman?" grumbled
+Mormon.
+
+"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 a
+confidential tone, "you-all have got to git grub an' wateh inside yore
+ribs. 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 into
+the house. Mormon followed him. Grit watched them disappear, gave a
+little whine of impatience, accepted the situation philosophically as he
+listened to sounds from the corral that told him of horses being caught,
+and drooped his head on the dirt, lying relaxed, eyes closed, gaining
+strength against the return trip.
+
+Sam rode to the porch on his roan, Sandy's pinto and a gray mare
+leading, and "tied them to the ground" with trailing reins as Sandy came
+out bearing a pan of food, a package and a leather case. Mormon showed
+at 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, climb
+outside of this chuck."
+
+He coaxed the collie to eat the food from his hand while Sam brought the
+whisky.
+
+"Load my guns, Mormon," he requested.
+
+Mormon did it without comment. The two blued Colts were as much a part
+of Sandy's working outfit as his belt, or the bridle of his horse. Sam
+buckled on his own cartridge belt, holster and pistol, fixed his spurs,
+tied the package of food to his saddle, filled two canteens and did the
+same with them. Sandy-offered the pan of water to Grit who drank in
+businesslike fashion, assured of the success of his mission. He stood up
+squarely on his legs, eased by the plastering. They were only tired now.
+
+He shook himself vigorously, sending out the dust with which he was
+powdered in all directions, making Mormon sneeze. He stretched his
+muzzle toward the mountains, threw it up and barked for the first time.
+As Sandy and Sam mounted, the latter leading the gray mare, Grit ran
+ahead of them and came back to make certain they were following. Then he
+headed for the spot in the mesquite whence he had emerged, marking the
+opening 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 hair
+in the water the dog had left and went on with his plaiting: As he
+handled the pliant horsehairs he talked aloud, range fashion.
+
+"On'y sheepman I ever knowed worth trubblin' about was a woman. Used ter
+knit while she watched the woollies. Knit me a sweater--plumb useless
+waste of time an' yarn. If I'd taken it I'd have had to take her along
+with it. Wimmen is sure persistent. Seems like I must look like a dogie
+to most of 'em. They're allus wantin' to marry me an' mother me. I sure
+hope this one don't turn out to be a she-herder. 'P' might stand fer
+Polly."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+CASEY
+
+
+The two men followed the dog across the flats, through mesquite, through
+scattered sage and greasewood, mounting gradually through chaparral to
+barren slopes set with strange twisted shapes of cactus. When it became
+apparent that Sandy's hazard had hit the mark, as they entered the
+defile that made entrance for Pyramid Pass, the only path across the
+Cumbre Range to the Bad Lands beyond, Sandy reined in, coaxed up Grit,
+resentful, almost suspicious of any halt, lifting the collie to the
+saddle in front of him. Grit protested and the pinto plunged, but
+Sandy's persistence, the soothe of his steady voice, persuaded the dog
+at last to accommodate itself as best it could, helped by Sandy's one
+arm, sometimes with two as Sandy, riding with knees welded to Pronto's
+withers, dropping reins over the saddle horn, left the rest to the
+horse.
+
+"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 was
+right,--he wore his pads out crossin' the lava beds, though what in time
+any 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 small
+herd, but the other side is jest plain hell with the lights out, one big
+slice 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 the
+pass, then comes a bu'sted mesa, all box canyon an' rim-rock, shot with
+caves, nothin' greener than cactus an' not much of that. There's a
+twenty per cent. grade wagon road, or there was, for it warn't
+engineered none too careful, that run over to the mines. I was over
+there 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 couple
+hundred shafts an' tunnels leadin' to nothin'. Reckon this P. Casey is a
+prospector, Sam. One of them half crazy old-timers, nosin' round tryin'
+to pick up lost leads. One of the 'riginal crowd that called the dump
+Hopeful, 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 looked
+out upon a stretch of desolation. Sandy had called it six or seven
+miles. It might have been two or twenty. The deceit of rarefied air was
+intensified by the dazzle of the merciless sun beating down on powdered
+alkali, on snaky flows of weathered lava, on mock lakes that sparkled
+and dissolved in mirage. The broken mesa, across which ran the road to
+the deserted mining camp, mysteriously changed form before their eyes;
+unsubstantial masses in pastel lights and shades of saffron, mauve and
+rose. 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. We
+can foller his trail that fur. Sit tight, son." Grit whined but subsided
+under the restraining hands.
+
+"How about a drink 'fore we tackle that?" asked Sam, nodding at the
+shimmering view.
+
+"Better hold off for a while." Sandy took the lead, bending from the
+saddle, reading the trail that Grit's paws had left in the alkali and
+sand. Cactus reared its spiny stems or sprawled over the ground more
+like strange water-growths that had survived the emptying of an inland
+sea than vegetation of the land. Once the dog's tracks led aside to a
+scummy puddle, saucered by alkali, dotted with the spoor of desert
+animals that drank the bitter water in extremity. Then it ran straight
+to a wide reef of lava. Sandy set down the collie. Grit ran fast across
+the pitted surface, ahead of the horses, waiting for them to cross the
+lava. They had hard work to get him to come to hand again, but he gave
+in at last to the knowledge that they would not go on otherwise.
+
+"Sand's too hot fo' yore pads, dawg," said Sandy, "Raise the mischief
+with that tape. Shack erlong, Pronto. Give you a slice of Pedro's
+dried-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 went
+silently on at a steady walking gait. Talk in the saddle with men who
+make range-riding a business comes only in spurts.
+
+"Never see a prospector with a dawg afore," said Sam at last. "An' that
+a sheep dawg."
+
+"Dawg 'ud be apt to tucker out in desert travel," agreed Sandy. "Mean
+one more mouth fo' water."
+
+He, like Sam, speculated on the kind of man P. Casey--if it was Casey
+they were after--might be. If not a sheepman or a prospector, a third
+probability made him an outlaw, a man with a price on his head, hiding
+in the wilds from punishment. It sufficed to them that he was a man whom
+a dog loved enough to bear a call to help his master.
+
+Slowly, the mesa ahead took on more definite shape. The shadows resolved
+themselves into ravines and canyons. They entered a gorge filled with
+boulders and rounded rocks, over which the sure-footed ponies made
+clattering, slippery progress. Here and there the gaunt skeleton of a
+tree, white as if lime-washed, showed that once cottonwoods had
+flourished before the devouring desert had claimed the territory. The
+cactus was all prickly pear, the gray-green flesh of the flat leaves
+starred with brilliant blossom. Along one side of the canyon, mounting
+zigzag, showed the remains of a road, broken down by landslip and the
+furious rush of cloud-burst waters.
+
+Making this, finding it free of wagon sign or horse tracks, Sandy picked
+up 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. Grit
+raced off, nose high, streaking around a curve. When they reached it he
+was out of sight. The road had been built up in places on the outer edge
+with stones, dry-piled. They had fallen away, the grade following, so
+that sometimes all that was left for passage was a ledge along which the
+horses sidled carefully in single file, stirrups brushing the inside
+bank. The zigzags ended, the canyon narrowed, deepened. Sandy looked down
+to the dry bed of it four hundred feet below. The road rose at a steep
+pitch, cliff to the right, precipice to the left, stretching on and up
+to the summit of the pass.
+
+Suddenly Pronto shied violently, tried to bolt up the cliff, scrambling
+goatwise for twenty feet to stand shivering and snorting. Sandy's
+balance was automatic, the muscles of his knees clamped for grip, he
+gave the pinto its head, trusting to it to establish footing. He saw
+Sam's roan dancing in the trail, the led mare plunging, dust rising all
+about them. Left-handed, a Colt flashed out of Sandy's holster, barked
+twice, the echoes tossing between the canyon walls. In the road a
+rattlesnake 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's
+all over." The pinto hesitated, shifted unwilling hoofs, squatted on its
+haunches and, tail sweeping the dirt, tobogganed down to the road,
+jumping catwise the moment it was reached, away from the squirming
+terror. Sandy forced him back, leaned far down, tucked the barrel of the
+gun under the snake's body and hurled it looping into the gorge. Sam got
+his 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 another
+sound, a faint shout, unmistakably; human. The men looked at each other
+with eyebrows raised.
+
+"That ain't no man's voice," said Sam. "That's a gal." He looked
+quizzically at Sandy, knowing his chum's inhibition.
+
+Sandy was woman-shy. Men met his level glance, fairly, with swift
+certainty that here stood a man, four-square; or shiftily, according to
+their ease of conscience, knowing his breed. Sandy was a two-gun man but
+he 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 save
+in self-defense and upon the side of law and right and order. Among men
+his poise was secure but, in a woman's presence, Sandy Bourke's tongue
+was tied save in emergency, his wits tangled. Whatever he privately felt
+of the attraction of the opposite sex, the proximity of a girl produced
+an embarrassment he hated but could not help. He had seen admiration,
+desire for closer acquaintance, in many a fair face but such invitation
+affected him as the sight of a circling loop affects a horse in a
+remuda.
+
+He gave Sam no chance for banter. Action was forward and it always
+straightened out the short-circuitings of Sandy's mental reflexes toward
+womankind. 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 nigh
+side of the road. Grit came out from behind it, barked, whirled and
+seemingly dived into the canyon. Coming up with the mare, Sam found Sandy
+dismounted, waiting for him.
+
+What had happened was plain to both of them. The rotten, hastily made
+road collapsed under the lurch of a wagon jolting over outcrop uncovered
+by the rains. Scored dirt where frantic hoofs had pawed in vain, tire
+marks that ended in side scrapes and vanished.
+
+Sam got off the roan, the tired horses standing still, snuffing the
+marks of trouble. Far down the slope Grit gave tongue. The cliff
+shouldered out and they could see nothing from the broken road. How any
+one could have hurtled over the precipice and be still able to call for
+help without the aid of some miracle was an enigma. They listened for
+another shout but, save for the barking of the dog, there was silence
+in the grim gorge. In the sky, two buzzards wheeled.
+
+Sandy poured a scant measure of water from his canteen into the
+punched-in crown of his Stetson, after he had knocked out the dust. Sam
+did the same, giving each horse a mouth-rinse and a swallow of tepid
+water so they would stand more contentedly. Each took a swift swig from
+the containers. Sandy untied the package of food and the leather
+medicine kit, Sam slapped his hip to be sure of his whisky flask. Aided
+by their high heels, digging them in the unstable dirt, they worked down
+the cliff, rounding the shoulder.
+
+A wide ledge of outcrop jutted out from the canyon wall jagged into
+battlements. Piled there was a wagon, on its side, the canvas tilt
+sagged in, its hoops broken. A white horse, emaciated, little more than
+buzzard meat when alive, lay with its legs stiff in the air, neck
+flattened and head limp. A broken pole, with splintered ends, crossed
+the 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 the
+wagon. Sandy caught a glimpse of a huddled body beyond her. Grit sat on
+his haunches, head toward the road, thrown back at each bark. Sandy
+reached the ledge first. The girl did not turn her head, though his
+descent was noisy. He touched her gently on the shoulder, telling
+himself that she was "just a kid."
+
+She looked up, her face lined where tears had laned down through the
+mask 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 body
+dressed in jeans, once blue, long since washed and sun-faded to the
+green of turquoise matrix. The boots were rusty, patched. The wagon-bed,
+toppling sidewise, had crashed down on his chest. Rock partly supported
+the weight of it. Sandy picked up a gnarled hand, scarred, calloused and
+shrunken, 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 just
+curving into womanhood. "The hawsses was tuckered out," she said, "or
+Dad c'ud have made it. They didn't have no strength left, 'thout food or
+water. The damned road jest slid out from under. Dad made me jump. I
+figgered 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 a
+hell-chance." As she spoke them the oaths were merely emphasis. She
+talked as had her father.
+
+Sandy nodded.
+
+"Got an ax with the outfit?" he asked. Then turning to Sam as the girl
+went round to the back of the fallen wagon and fumbled about through
+the rear opening of the canvas tilt: "Man's alive, Sam. Caught a flirt
+of the pulse. Have to pry up the wagon. Git that bu'sted end of the
+tongue."
+
+The girl handed an ax to Sandy mutely, watching them as Sandy pried
+loose the part of the tongue still bolted to the wagon, getting it clear
+of the horses.
+
+"Think you can drag out yore dad by the laigs when we lift the body of
+the wagon?" he asked her. "May not be able to hold it more'n a few
+seconds. May slip on us, the levers is pritty short."
+
+She stooped, taking hold of a wrinkled boot in each hand, back of the
+heel. A tear splashed down on one of them and she shook the salt water
+from her eyes impatiently as if she had faced tragedy before and knew it
+must be looked at calmly.
+
+The two men adjusted the boulders they had set for fulcrums and shoved
+down on the stout pieces of ash, their muscles bunching, the veins
+standing out corded on their arms. Grit ran from one to the other with
+eager 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 the
+dead 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 in
+and 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 hand
+smoothing 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 them
+through which the whisky Sandy administered trickled.
+
+"Daddy! Daddy!"
+
+It might have been the tender agony of the cry to which Patrick Casey's
+dulling brain responded, sending the message of his will along the
+nerves to transmit a final summons. His body twitched, he choked,
+swallowed, opened gray eyes, filmy with death, brightening with
+intelligence as he saw his daughter bending over him, the face of Sandy
+above her shoulder. The gray eyes interrogated Sandy's long and
+earnestly until the light began to fade out of them and the wrinkled
+lids shuttered down.
+
+Another swallow of the raw spirits and they opened flutteringly again.
+The lips moved soundlessly. Then, while one hand groped waveringly
+upward to rest upon his daughter's head, Sandy, bending low, caught
+three syllables, repeated over and over, desperately, mere ghosts of
+words, taxing cruelly the last breath of the wheezing lungs beneath the
+battered 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 first
+time the girl gave way, lying prone, sobbing out her grief while the two
+cowmen 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 fists
+tight closed, striving to control her quivering chin--doing it. She
+looked up as the shadow of a buzzard was flung against the cliff by the
+slanting 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 to
+the hawsses...."
+
+"No! I helped to bury Jim Clancy, out in the desert, I'm goin' to help
+bury 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 desolate
+cliffs, the birds swinging their tireless, expectant circles in the
+throat of the gorge.
+
+"Dad allus figgered he'd die somewheres in the desert. 'Lowed it 'ud be
+his luck. He wanted to be put within the sound of runnin' water--he's
+gone so often 'thout it. But--" She shrugged her thin shoulders
+resignedly, the inheritance of the prospector's philosophy strong within
+her.
+
+"See here, miss," said Sandy, while Sam crawled into the wagon in search
+of the dead miner's pick and shovel that now, instead of uncovering
+riches, would dig his grave, "how old air you?"
+
+"Fifteen. My name's Margaret--Molly for short--same as my Ma. She's been
+dead for twelve years."
+
+"Well, Miss Molly, suppose you-all come on to the Three Star fo' a spell
+with my two pardners an' me? You do that an' mebbe we can fix yore
+daddy's idee about runnin' water. We'd come back an' git him an' we'll
+make a place fo' him under our big cottonwoods below the big spring. I
+w'udn't wonder but what he c'ud hear the water gugglin' plain as it runs
+down the overflow to the alfalfa patches."
+
+Molly Casey gazed at him with such a sudden glow of gratitude in her
+eyes that Sandy felt embarrassed. He had been comforting a girl, a
+boyish 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 if
+I work the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don't
+amount 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 as
+Sam emerged from the wagon with the tools. The bay mare groaned and gave
+a shrill cry, horribly human. Sam drew his gun, putting down pick and
+shovel.
+
+"Got any water you c'ud spare?" asked the girl. Sandy handed her his
+canteen.
+
+"Use it all," he said. "Soon's it's dark, it'll cool off. We'll git
+through all right."
+
+He picked up the tools and moved toward Sam as the bay collapsed to the
+merciful bullet. The girl washed away as best she could the stains of
+blood and travel from the dead face while Sandy sounded with the pick
+for soil deep enough for a temporary grave.
+
+The body would have to lie on the ledge over night, nothing but burial
+could save it from marauding coyotes, though the wagon might have
+baffled the buzzards. The two set to work digging a shallow trench down
+to bedrock, rolling up loose boulders for a cairn. The whirring chorus
+of the cicadas drummed an elfin requiem. Now and then there came the
+chink of bit, or hoof on rock, from the waiting horses in the broken
+road. The sun was low, horizontal rays piercing the flood of violet haze
+in the canyon. Across the gorge the cliff, above the wash of shadow,
+glowed saffron; a light wind wailed down the bore. Lizards flirted in
+and 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 studded
+with disks of pearl in brass mountings. Out of this she produced a
+handkerchief of soft China silk brocade, its white turned yellow with
+age. This she spread over her father's features, showing strangely
+distinct 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 personal
+belongings, from the inner pocket of the vest some papers that Sandy
+knew for location claims.
+
+"Want to take some duds erlong to the ranch?" he asked Molly. "We can
+bring 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 pack
+you."
+
+"I'll fix that." She clambered into the wagon. Before she came out with
+her bundle they piled the cairn, a mask of broken rim-rock heavy enough
+to foil the scratching of coyotes.
+
+It looked to Sandy as if the girl had changed into a boy. The slender
+figure, silhouetted against the afterglow, softly pulsing masses of
+fiery cloud above the top of the mesa, was dressed in jean overalls, a
+wide-rimmed hat hiding length of hair.
+
+"I reckon I can fool that hawss of yores now," she said. "I gen'ally
+dress thisaway 'cept when we expect to go nigh the settlements or a
+ranch 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 where
+he was headin' for when I sent him off after help, but you come
+instead."
+
+"I was wonderin' how he come to make the ranch," said Sandy. "You see
+we-all bought the Two-Bar-P, though I never figgered old Samson 'ud ever
+own 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 tenderfoot
+when he come, an' when he left, 'count bein' sick. Samson didn't want
+to 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 down
+like a goat, reappearing with her hat half filled with crimson
+silk-petaled cactus blooms, scattering them at the head of the cairn.
+
+"Seemed like there jest had to be flowers," she said as, with Grit
+nosing close to his mistress, they mounted to the road. The gray mare
+made no bother and soon they were riding down toward the strip of Bad
+Lands. Sandy let the collie go afoot for the time.
+
+The glory of the range departed, the cliffs turned slate color, then
+black, while a host of stars marshaled and burned without flicker. The
+wind moaned through the trough of the canyon as they rode out on the
+plain. Up somewhere in the darkness the buzzards came circling down, to
+settle on the ledge beside the carcasses of the two horses.
+
+It was close to midnight when they reached the home ranch, riding past
+the outbuildings, the bunk-house of the men where a light twinkled, the
+cook shack, the corrals, up to the main house. There they alighted. All
+about cottonwoods rustled in the dark, the air was sweet and cool, not
+far from frost. Molly Casey shivered as she moved stiffly in her
+saddle. Sandy lifted her from the saddle and carried her up the steps,
+across the porch, kicking open the door of the living-room where the
+embers of a fire glowed. There was no other light in the big room, but
+there was sufficient to show the great form of Mormon, stowed at ease in
+a chair, asleep and snoring.
+
+Sam struck a match and lit a lamp. He struck Mormon mightily between his
+shoulders.
+
+"Gawd!" gasped the heavyweight partner. "I been asleep. But there's a
+kittle of hot water, Sandy. Where's the--what in time are you totin'? A
+gel 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 up
+to the Three Star for a bit."
+
+Mormon, a little sheepish at the suddenly developing age of the girl as
+she shook hands with him, recovered himself and beamed at her. "Yo're
+sure welcome," he said. "Boss hired you? Cowgirl or cook?"
+
+Sandy noticed the girl's lips quiver and he slipped an arm about her
+shoulders. He was not woman-shy with this girl who needed help, and who
+seemed a boy.
+
+"Don't you take no notice of him an' his kiddin'," he said. "We'll make
+him rustle some grub fo' all of us an' then we-all 'll turn in. I'll
+show you yore room. Up the stairs an' the last door on the right. Here's
+some matches. There's a lamp on the bureau up there. Give you a call
+when supper's ready."
+
+He led her to the door and gave her a friendly little shove, guessing
+that she wanted to be alone.
+
+"The kid's lost her father, lost most everything 'cept her dawg," he
+said to Mormon. "Thought we might adopt her, sort of, then I thought
+mebbe we'd hire her--for mascot."
+
+"Lost her daddy? An' me hornin' in an' tryin' to kid her! I ain't got
+the 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's
+got a sweet tooth, same as me."
+
+Molly Casey was not through standing up to trouble. They coaxed her to
+eat and she managed to make a meal that satisfied them. Then she got up
+to go to her room, with Grit nuzzling close to her, her fingers in his
+ruff, twisting nervously at the strands of hair.
+
+"Do you reckon," she asked the three partners, "that Dad knows he fooled
+me when he told me to jump? If I'd known he c'udn't git clear I'd have
+stuck--same as he would if I was caught. Do you reckon he knows
+that--now?"
+
+"I'd be surprised if he didn't," said Sandy gravely. "You did what he
+wanted, anyway."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"If I'd been on the outside, he w'udn't have jumped, no matter how much
+I 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 is
+square on all twelve eidges. Sam, slide out an' muzzle that bell. She'll
+likely cry herself to sleep after a bit but she'll need all the sleep
+she 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 the
+experience."
+
+"Experience," said Mormon, with a yawn, "may teach a man somethin' about
+mules 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-sixteen
+above. Blowin' hot an' cold, rangin' from a balmy breeze through a rain
+shower or a thunder-storm, up to a snortin' tornado. Average number of
+workin' days, about one hundred an' fifty. Them's statistics. It ain't
+so hard to set down what a woman's done at the end of a year, if you got
+a good mem'ry, but tryin' to guess what she is goin' to do has got the
+weather man backed off inter a corner an' squealin' for help. They ain't
+all like Kansas. My first resembled it, the second was sorter
+tropic--she run off with a rainmaker an' I hear she's been divorced
+three times since then. Mebbe that's an exaggeration. My third must
+have been born someways nigh the no'th pole. W'en she got mad she'd
+freeze the blood in yore veins.
+
+"No, sir, that feller in the po'try who says, 'I learned about wimmen
+from 'er,' was braggin'. Now, this gel of Casey's 'pears like what her
+dad 'ud call a good prospect, but you can't tell. Fool's gold is bright
+enough but you can't change it to the real stuff no matter how you
+polish 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 of
+the man from New Jersey who come out west to buy a ranch. A hawss
+throwed him five times hand-runnin'. He ropes a steer that happens to
+run into the bum loop he was swingin' an' it snakes him out'n the
+saddle. A pesky cow chases him when he was afoot, a couple calves gits a
+rope twisted round his stummick an' lastly a mule kicks him into a bunch
+of cactus. Whereupon he remarks, 'I don't figger I was calculated for
+runnin' a cattle ranch,' sells out an' goes back to herdin' muskeeters
+in New Jersey.
+
+"Mormon, you warn't calculated to handle wimmen. This li'l' gel is game
+as they make 'em, an' I reckon she's right sweet if she on'y gits a
+chance. 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 all
+over hell an' creation, talkin' like him, swearin' like him, actin' like
+him. Never see nothin' different. All she needs is a chance."
+
+"What's the idee in pickin' on me?" asked Mormon aggrievedly. "She's as
+welcome as grass in spring. They ain't no one got a bigger heart than me
+fo' kids."
+
+"No one got a bigger heart, mebbe," said Sam caustically. "Nor none a
+smaller 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 first
+place, they'd have been worked if they was; second place, they're over
+to Dynamite an' the sharps say Dynamite's a flivver. All she has in
+sight is the dawg. Some dawg! Comes in from the desert an' takes us out
+to her an' Pat Casey--him dyin'. Ef it hadn't been fo' the dawg, she'd
+have stayed there, to my notion. Got some sort of idee she'd deserted
+ship ef she hadn't stuck till it was too late fo' her to crawl out of
+that slit in the mesa. She's fifteen an' she's got sense. I figger we
+better 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 how
+worn it was and marked an item in his mind--clothes. He smiled at her
+with 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 any
+of 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 far
+apart and crystal clear, freckles and a lot of brown hair that she wore
+in a long braid wound twice about her well-shaped head. She was a
+combination of curves and angles, of well-rounded neck and arms and legs
+with collar-bones and hips over-apparent, immature but not awkward.
+
+None of the three partners observed these things in detail. All of them
+noted that her eyes were steady, friendly, trusting, and that when she
+smiled at them it was like the flash of water in a tree-shady pond, when
+a trout leaps. Grit, entering with her, divided his attentions among the
+men, shoving a moist nose at last into Sandy's palm and lying down
+obedient, his tail thumping amicably, as Sandy examined the tape
+protectors.
+
+"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 up
+against 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 to
+the settlemints, I reckon. I don't aim to put you out any. I've been
+thinkin' erbout that. 'Less you should happen to want a woman to run the
+house. I don't know much about housekeepin' but I c'ud l'arn. It's a
+woman's job, chasin' dirt. I can cook--some. Dad used to say my
+camp-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 of
+her pride the three partners recognized and respected.
+
+"See here, Molly Casey,"--Sandy used exactly the same tone and manner he
+would have taken with a boy--"that's yore way of lookin' at it. Then
+there's our side. You figger yore dad was a pritty good miner, I
+reckon?"
+
+"He sure knew rock. Every one 'lowed that. They was always more'n one
+wantin' to grubstake him but he'd never take it. Figgered he didn't want
+to split any strike he might make an' figgered he w'udn't take no man's
+money '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 he
+says was 'Molly' and 'mines.' I give him my word then and there, like he
+would have to me, to watch out for yore interests. My word is my
+pardners' word. I'm willin' to gamble those claims of his'll pan out
+some day. Until they do, ef you-all 'll stay on at the Three Star, stop
+Mormon stompin' in from the corral with dirty boots, ride herd on Sam
+an' me the same way, mebbe cook us up some of them biscuits once in a
+while, why, it'll be fine! Then there's yore schoolin'. Yore dad 'ud
+wish 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't
+use 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 pan
+out way rich and you git all-fired wealthy? Bein' a gel, you sabe
+clothes, di'monds, silks, satins an' feather fuss. You'll want to learn
+the pianner. You'll want to know what to git an' how to wear it. Won't
+want folks laffin' at you like they laffed at Sam, time he won fo'
+hundred dollars shootin' craps an' went to Galveston where a smart Alec
+of a clerk sells him a spiketail coat, wash vest an' black pants with
+braid on the seams.
+
+"Sam, he don't know how to wear 'em, or when. His laigs sure looked
+prominent 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 was
+young, lyin' out nights in the rain 'thout a tarp'. That suit set back
+Sam a heap of money an' it ain't no mo' use to him than an extry shell
+to a terrapin."
+
+He grinned at Molly with his face creased into good humor that could not
+be resisted. She laughed as Sam joined in, but the determination of her
+rounded chin returned after the merriment had passed.
+
+"If you did that--took my Daddy's place," she said, "why, we'd be
+pardners, same as him an' me was. When the claims pan out, half of it'll
+have to be yores. I won't stay no other way."
+
+The glances of the three partners exchanged a mutual conclusion, a
+mutual 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 the
+Three 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 the
+money starts comin' in. Sabe?"
+
+"I don't sabe the eddication part of it," she answered. "Jest what does
+that mean? I don't want to go to school with a lot of kids who'll laf at
+me."
+
+"You don't have to. As pardners," Sandy went on earnestly, "I don't mind
+tellin' 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 of
+the 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'll
+learn 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 them
+schools 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 it
+ain't yore game, nor the one you'd choose to play if it wasn't forced on
+you."
+
+"Sister," said Sam, "yo're skinnin' yore hides too close. Sandy 'ud
+gamble on which way a horn-toad'll spit. It's meat an' drink to him. We
+won 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 this
+minin' deal, we're way ahead of the game, seein' we don't put up
+anythin' 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 grief
+they had held since the shadow of the circling buzzards in the gorge had
+darkened them. She fumbled at the waistband of her one-piece gown,
+working at it with her fingers, producing a golden eagle which she
+handed to Sandy.
+
+"That's my luck-piece," she said. "Dad give it to me one time he
+cleaned up good on a placer claim. Nex' time you gamble, will you play
+that--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 as
+he 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 back
+much 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 be
+back till dark. No one about but Mormon, Pedro the cook, an' Joe. Rest
+up 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 the
+girlish frankness change to the gratefulness of a woman's spirit,
+looking out at him between her lids. It made him a little uneasy. The
+men 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 'cept
+him, 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 the
+cottonwoods an' below the spring. Right where that li'l' knoll makes the
+overflow curve 'ud be a good spot. Use up them extry boards we got for
+the bunk-house. Git Joe to help you. No sense in lettin' the gel see
+you, of course."
+
+"Nice occupation fo' a sunny day," grumbled Mormon, but, as the
+buckboard drove off, he was busy planing boards in the blacksmith's
+shop, with the door closed against intrusion.
+
+Mid-afternoon found him with the coffin completed. He rounded up the
+half-breed to help him dig the grave, first locating Molly in a hammock
+he had slung for her in the shade of the trees by the cistern. He had
+furnished her with his pet literature, an enormous mail-order catalogue
+from a Chicago firm. It was on the ground, the breeze ruffling the
+illustrated pages, lifting some stray wisps of hair on the girl's neck
+as she lay, fast asleep, relaxed in the wide canvas hammock, her face
+checkered by the shifting leaves between her and the sun.
+
+Mormon could move as softly as a cat, for all his bulk. There was turf
+about the cistern, he had made no sound arriving, but he tiptoed off,
+his kindly mouth rounded into an O of silence, his weather crinkled eyes
+half-closed.
+
+"She's jest a baby," he said, half aloud, as he passed beyond the trees
+to where Joe waited with pick and spade.
+
+The soil was soft and clear from stone. An hour sufficed to sink a shaft
+for Pat Casey's last bed. Mormon carefully adjusted the headboard he had
+fashioned from a thick plank, to be carved later when the lettering was
+decided upon. This done he buckled on the belt he had discarded, from
+which his holster and revolver swung. Sandy carried two guns, his
+partners one, habits of earlier, more stirring days, toting them as
+inevitably as they wore spurs, though there was little occasion to use
+them on the Three Star, save to put a hurt animal out of misery, or kill
+a rattlesnake.
+
+Moisture streamed from Mormon's face, patched his clothes as the heat
+and 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, Senor," Joe's amiability agreed.
+
+"You go git a dipper. I'm drier'n Dry Crick. Fetch it full from the
+spring." The half-breed ambled off. Mormon wiped his face with his
+bandanna. Suddenly his big body stiffened. He heard Molly's voice from
+the cistern, frightened, then storming in anger. Mormon ran at a
+sprinter's gait from the cottonwoods, along a side of the corral,
+through the trees bordering the cistern. The girl was out of the
+hammock, facing a man in riding breeches and puttees, his face concealed
+for 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 Mormon
+recognized him for Jim Plimsoll, owner of the Good Luck Pool Parlors, in
+the little cattle town of Hereford, where faro, roulette, chuckaluck and
+craps 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. She
+struggled fiercely, silently, striking at him with her free fist.
+Mormon's gun flashed from its sheath as he shouted at the man. Plimsoll
+wheeled, releasing Molly. His dark face was livid with rage, a pistol
+gleamed as he plucked it from beneath the waistband of his riding
+breeches. 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 figger
+yo'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 a
+thing of menace that seemed to be alive, snaky.
+
+"Keep still," he ordered, walking toward the pair, his gun covering
+Plimsoll, the cheery blue of his eyes changed to the color of ice in the
+shade, the pupils mere pin-pricks. Molly glanced at him once, fingers
+caressing her bruised arm.
+
+"He kissed me while I was asleep, the damned skunk!" she flared. "I'd
+sooner hev rattlesnake-pizen on my lips!" She stopped rubbing the arm to
+scrub fiercely at her mouth with the back of her hand.
+
+"It ain't the first time I've kissed you," said Plimsoll. "Yore dad
+didn't stop me from doin' it. I didn't notice you scratching like a
+wildcat either. Where's your dad? And where do you come in on this deal
+between old friends?" he demanded of Mormon.
+
+"Her dad's dead," said Mormon simply. "Molly is stayin' fo' a spell at
+the 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's
+playing the king in this deal? I----" The leer suddenly vanished from
+his face, the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Mormon's gun was slowly
+coming up level with his heart, steady as Mormon's gaze, finger
+compressing the trigger.
+
+"The law reckons you a man--so fur," said Mormon. "Yore pals 'ud pack a
+jury to hang me fo' shootin' the dirty heart out of you, but--ef you
+ever let out a foul word or a look about that gel, I'll take my chance
+of their bein' enough white men round here to 'quit me. There ought to
+be a bounty on yore scalp an' ears. You hear me, Jim Plimsoll, I'm
+talkin' straight. Now git, head yore hawss fo' the short trail to
+Hereford 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 at
+Mormon, seemed to have halted any correlation of the statement
+concerning 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 step
+forward. Mormon's pupils contracted again; his finger itched to press
+the 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 crouch
+that prefaced shooting. He faced toward the trees again, flinging his
+last words over his shoulder.
+
+"None of my business? I don't agree with you there, you little
+hell-weasel. Your father and me had more than one deal together. You and
+I 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, the
+expensive Stetson broadrim seemed lifted from Plimsoll's hair by an
+invisible hand. With the report it sailed forward, side-slipped, landed
+on 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 at
+his hat, missed it, let it lie as he ran on to his horse, mounted and
+went galloping off. Mormon holstered his gun and swung about to Molly,
+standing with crimson cheeks, blazing eyes and a young bosom turbulent
+with emotions.
+
+"I wisht you'd killed him. I wisht you'd killed him!" she cried. "I
+wisht I had a gun--or a knife! I hate him--hate him--_hate him_! When he
+says he was ever in a deal with Dad, he lies. Dad stood for him and that
+was all. He purtended to be awful strong for Dad, purtended to be fond
+of me, jest to swarm 'round Dad, for some reason. Brought me a doll
+once. 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' Dad
+seemed to think I owed it him for the doll. I nigh bit my lip off
+afterward. I wisht yore first shot had been higher, or yore second
+lower, Peters."
+
+"Call me Uncle Mormon, Molly. I had all I c'ud do not to make it plumb
+center, 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 Uncle
+Mormon, with Sam an' Sandy."
+
+Patting Molly's shoulder, Mormon smiled at her with his irresistible
+grin, and she reflected it faintly as she tucked in the remnants of her
+torn sleeve.
+
+"That's the on'y dress I got till Sandy Bourke wins me some money," she
+said. "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 be
+pritty 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, right
+an' left, 'thout you ever see his hands move. I ain't so bad, Sam's
+better, but we had to throw a lot of lead in practise. Sandy shoots like
+he 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 Molly
+toward 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 buckboard
+was on its way with its funeral freight.
+
+The body of the old prospector was lowered into the grave with the last
+of the daylight. The raw scar of the grave was covered with turfs Mormon
+ordered cut by the half-breed. Molly Casey walked away alone, her head
+high, the corner of her lower lip caught under her teeth, eyes winking
+back the tears. It was the headboard that had forced her struggle for
+composure. Mormon had marked on it, with the heavy lead of a carpenter's
+pencil.
+
+          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 Hereford
+who's a wolf on carvin'. My letterin's punk. When yore mines pay you
+c'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 his
+arms and comfort her. Instead they looked at one another, as men of
+their breed do. Sam pulled at his mustache. Mormon rubbed the top of his
+bald head and Sandy rolled a cigarette and smoked it silently.
+
+Molly ate no supper that night. Before dawn Sandy thought he heard the
+door of her room open and soft footfalls stealing down the stairs. When
+he went later to the spring he found the grave covered with the wild
+blooms 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, brought
+rumors of a new strike at Dynamite. Neither of the partners paid much
+attention to a report so often revived by rumor and as swiftly dying out
+again. But the man said that Plimsoll had stated that he expected to go
+over to the mining camp in the interests of claims located by Patrick
+Casey in which he had a half-interest, by reason of having grubstaked
+the prospector.
+
+"There's the thorn under _that_ saddle," said Sandy to Mormon. "That's
+what Jim Plimsoll meant by his 'deal.' I don't believe he'd stir up
+things unless he was fairly sure there was something doin' oveh to
+Dynamite. 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 rich
+float. This float was where a dyke of porphyry comes up to the surface
+an' got weathered away down to the pay ore. Leastwise, this was her
+dad's theory. He told her everything he thought as they shacked erlong
+together, I reckon, an' she remembers it. He figgers this sylvanite lies
+under this porphyry reef, sabe? Porphyry snakes underground, sometimes
+fifty feet thick, sometimes twice that, an' hard as steel. Matter of
+luck 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 boom
+atop of the rush. They don't an' Hopeful becomes Hopeless. Me, I got
+fo'-five chances to grubstake in that time, but I'm broke. I reckon
+Casey'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. One
+of the ol' Desert Rats that does the locatin' fo' some one else to git
+the money.
+
+"Molly ses her dad never grubstaked. She don't lie an' she was close to
+the old man. Mo' like pardners than dad an' daughter. Plimsoll smells
+somethin'. Figgers there's somethin' in the rumor an' stahts this talk
+of bein' pardners with Casey 'cause there's a strike. Me, I'm goin' to
+take a pasear to town soon an' I'll have a li'l' conversation with Jim
+the 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 and
+struck at the gong for the breakfast call. The vibrations flooded the
+air with wave after wave of barbaric sound and Joe pounded, with
+awakening delight in the savage noise and rhythm, until Sandy, after
+yelling uselessly, threw a rock at him and hit him between the
+shoulders, whereupon the light died out of his face and he shuffled
+away.
+
+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 a
+theatrical setting, a slate-purple in color. To the west, the sharp
+crests were luminous with a halo that stole down them, staining them
+rose. 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 of
+the 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 array
+of viands provided by Pedro, who waited himself on the three partners
+and the girl, at the ranch-house. The smell of bacon and hot coffee
+spiced the air. Sam, twisting his mustache, led the way.
+
+"Smells like somethin' in the line of new bread to me," he said. "Bread
+or--it ain't _biscuits_, Molly?"
+
+"Sure is." Molly came in with a plate piled high with biscuits that were
+evidently the present pride of her heart. "Made a-plenty," she
+announced. "Had to wrastle Pedro away from the stove an' I ain't quite
+on to that oven yet, but they look good, don't they?"
+
+"They sure do," said Sandy, taking one to break and butter it. The
+eagerness with which his jaws clamped down upon it died into a
+meditative chewing as of a cow uncertain about the quality of her cud.
+He swallowed, took a deep swig of coffee and deliberately went on with
+his biscuit. Mormon and Sam solemnly followed his example while Molly
+beamed 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 the
+wilderness sauce that creates appetite, eaten piping hot, are mighty
+palatable though the dough is mixed with water and shortening is
+lacking. As a camp cook, Molly was a success. Confused with Pedro's
+offer of lard and a stove that was complicated compared to her Dutch
+kettle, the result was a bitter failure that she acknowledged as soon as
+her teeth met through the deceptive crust.
+
+Molly was slow to tears and quick to wrath. She picked up the plate of
+biscuits and marched out with them, her back very straight. In the
+kitchen the three partners heard first the smash of crockery, then the
+bang 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 at
+her solemnly: "You think you're damned smart, don't you, tryin' to fool
+me, purtendin' they was good when they'd pizen the chickens? I hate
+folks who _act_ lies, same as them that speaks 'em."
+
+"I've tasted worse," said Mormon. "Honest I have, Molly. My first wife
+put too much saleratus an' salt in at first but, after a bit, she was a
+wonder--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. "Last
+winter. 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, in
+comparative silence. There came the noise of the riders going off for
+the day's duties laid out by Sam, acting foreman for the month. Sandy
+got 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 around
+till she goes. Sabe? I don't aim to be talked to death an' then pickled
+by her vinegar, like I was las' time she come oveh."
+
+A tinny machine, in need of paint, short of oil, braked squeakingly as
+a horn squawked and the auto halted by the porch steps. Young Ed Bailey
+slung one leg over another disproportionate limb, glanced at the
+windows, rolled a cigarette and lit it. His aunt, tall, gaunt, clad in
+starched dress and starched sunbonnet, with a rigidity of spine and
+feature that helped the fancy that these also had been starched,
+descended, strode across the porch and entered the living-room, her
+bright eyes darting all about, needling Molly, taking in every detail.
+
+"Out lookin' fo' a stray," she announced. "Red-an'-white heifer we had
+up to the house for milkin'. Got rambuncterous an' loped off. Had one
+horn crumpled. Rawhide halter, ef she ain't got rid of it. You ain't
+seen her, hev you?"
+
+"No m'm, we ain't. No strange heifer round the Three Star that answers
+that description." Sam winked at Molly, who was flushing under the
+inspection of Miranda Bailey, maiden sister of the neighbor owner of the
+Double-Dumbbell Ranch. He fancied the missing milker an excuse if not an
+actual invention to furnish opportunity for a visit to the Three Star,
+an inspection of Molly Casey and subsequent gossip. "You-all air up to
+date," 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' another
+piece about cowboys cuttin' out an' ropin' from autos. Hawsses is
+passin'. Science is replacin' of 'em."
+
+"Reckon they'll last my time," drawled Sandy. "I hear they aim to roll
+food up in pills an' do us cattlemen out of a livin'. But I ain't
+worryin'. Me, I prefers steaks--somethin' I can set my teeth in. I
+reckon 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 to
+skip out an' tend to them chickens, hop to it."
+
+Molly caught the suggestion that was more than a hint and started for
+the door. The woman checked her with a question.
+
+"How old air you, Molly Casey?"
+
+The girl turned, her eyes blank, her manner charged with indifference
+that 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 have
+come from a refrigerator.
+
+"You goin' back in the flivver?" he asked, "or was you aimin' to keep
+a-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 advice
+an' warnin', seein' as how I happened this way. It's a woman's matter or
+I wouldn't meddle. But, what with talk goin' round Hereford in
+settin'-rooms, in restyrongs, in kitchens, as well as in dance-halls an'
+gamblin' hells where they sell moonshine, it's time it was carried to
+you which is most concerned, I take it, for the good of the child, not
+to 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," she
+flashed. "In the parlor of the Baptis' Church. I ain't much time an' I
+ain'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 where
+the 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 been
+a 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," she
+conceded. "I reckon you-all think I've jest come hornin' in on what
+ain't my affair. Mebbe that's so. If you've figgered this out same way I
+have, 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 believe
+you've come here to do us a service--an' Molly likewise. So fur's I sabe
+there's been some remahks passed concernin' her stayin' here 'thout a
+chaperon, so to speak. Any one that 'ud staht that sort of talk is a
+blood relation to a centipede an' mebbe I can give a guess as to who it
+is. I reckon I can persuade him to quit."
+
+"Mebbe, but you can't stop what's started any more'n a horn-toad can
+stop a landslide, Sandy Bourke. You can't kill scandal with gunplay. The
+gel's too young, in one way, an' not young enough in another, to be
+stayin' on at the Three Star. You oughter have sense enough to know
+that. 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 be
+spyin', whatever you men may think. You either got to git a grown woman
+here or send the gel away, fo' her own good, 'fore the talk gits so
+it'll shadder her life. I ain't married. I don't expect to be, but I
+aimed to be, once, 'cept for a dirty bit of gossip that started in my
+home town 'thout a word of truth in it. Now, I've said my say, you-all
+talk it over."
+
+Sandy went to the door with her, helped her into the machine. It
+shudderingly gathered itself together and wheezed off; he came back with
+his face serious.
+
+"She's right," he said.
+
+"Mormon," said Sam, "it's up to you. Advertise fo' Number Three to come
+back--all is forgiven--or git you a divo'ce, it's plumb easy oveh in the
+nex' state--an' pick a good one this time."
+
+"We got to send her away," said Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' into Herefo'd
+to-night. I aim to git a cook-book, interview Jim Plimsoll an' then
+bu'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. Oil
+up 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 the
+Cactus Restaurant, leaving their ponies hitched to the rail in front.
+They strolled down the main street of Hereford across the railroad
+tracks to where the "Brisket," as the cowboys styled the little town's
+tenderloin, huddled its collection of shacks, with their false fronts
+faced to the dusty street and their rear entrances, still cumbered with
+cases of empty bottles and idle kegs, turned to the almost dry bed of
+the creek. The signs of ante-prohibition days, blistered and faded, were
+still in place. Light showed in windows where fly-specked useless
+licenses were displayed. Back of the bars a melancholy array of
+soda-water advertised lack of interest in soft drinks. The front rooms
+held no loungers, but the click of chips and murmurs of talk came from
+behind 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 ends
+were tied down to the fringe ornaments of his chaps. Sam stroked his
+ropey mustache and eased the gun at his hip. Sandy pushed open the door
+and 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 a
+rickety table and chair noisily on the uneven floor. The inner door
+swung silently as at a signal and Jim Plimsoll came out. He stiffened a
+little 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 to
+change 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 a
+li'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 and
+he left with a curious gaze that took in Sandy's guns.
+
+"Sorry I was away from the ranch, time you called," said Sandy, sitting
+with 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 was
+a warfare that Sandy Bourke was an expert in. The steel of his glance
+often saved him the lead in his cartridges. Jim Plimsoll was no fool to
+wage uneven contest. He fancied he would have the advantage over Sandy
+later, 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 grubstaking
+contracts. 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' her
+livin' 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 you
+censor to any man's speech?"
+
+"A _man's_ speech don't have to be censored, Plimsoll. An' I reckon you
+know 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 man
+might ride into a rattlesnake in the mesquite, I aim to handle it. Ef I
+ever got into real trouble, an' it resembled you, I'd make you climb so
+fast, Plimsoll, you'd wish you had horns on yore knees an' eyebrows."
+
+Plimsoll forced a laugh. "Fair warning, Sandy. I never raise a fuss with
+a 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 your
+throats. How about it?"
+
+"I don't drink when I'm playin'. I aim to break the bank ter-night. I'm
+feelin' lucky. Brought my mascot erlong."
+
+"Meaning Sam here?"
+
+All three laughed for a mutual clearance of the situation. Sandy had
+said what he wanted and knew that Plimsoll interpreted it correctly.
+They went into the back room amicably after Plimsoll had recalled his
+lookout.
+
+There was little to indicate the passing of the Volstead Act in the Good
+Luck Pool Room, where the tables had long ago been taken out, though the
+cue racks still stood in place. The place was foul with smoke and reeked
+with the fumes of expensive but indifferently distilled liquor.
+Hereford--the "brisket" end of it--had never been fussy about mixed
+drinks. Redeye was, and continued to be, the favorite. A faro and a
+roulette game, with a craps table, made up the equipment, outside of
+half a dozen small tables given over to stud and draw poker.
+
+Some fifty men were present, most of them playing. Many of them nodded
+at Sandy and Sam as they walked over to the faro layout and stood
+looking 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 in
+a low tone to the man seated next to him. The first interest of their
+entrance soon died out. The dealer at faro went on imperturbably sliding
+card after card out of the case, the case-keeper fingered the buttons on
+the wires of his abacus and the players shifted their chips about the
+layout or nervously shuffled them between the fingers of one hand.
+
+Sandy knew the dealer for Sim Hahn, a man whose livelihood lay in the
+dexterity of his slim well-kept fingers and his ability to reckon the
+bets; swiftly to drag in or pay out losings and winnings without an
+error. His face was without a wrinkle, clean-shaven, every slick black
+hair in place, the flesh wax-like. He held a record--whispered, not
+attested--of having more than once beaten a protesting gambler to the
+draw 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 be
+made. His eyes met Sandy's and he nodded. Three men named the order of
+the last three cards. None of them guessed the right one of the six ways
+in which they might have appeared. Hahn took in, paid out, shuffled the
+cards for a new deal. Sam nudged Sandy, speaking out of the corner of
+his mouth words that no one else could catch.
+
+"The hombre Plimsoll's talkin' to is 'Butch' Parsons. He's the killer
+Brady 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 looked
+at the "killer" who had been named "Butch," after he had shot two heads
+of families that had preempted land on the range that Brady claimed as
+part of his holding. Whatever the justice of that claim, it was
+generally understood that Butch had killed in cold blood, Brady's
+political pull smothering prosecution and inquiry. Butch had a hawkish
+nose and an outcurving chin. He was practically bald. Reddish eyebrows
+straggled sparsely above pale blue eyes, the color of cheap graniteware.
+His lips were thin and pallid, making a hard line of his mouth. He
+packed a gun, well back of him, as he sat at the game. Meeting Sandy's
+lightly passing gaze, Butch sent out a puff of smoke from his
+half-finished cigar. The pale eyes pointed the action, it might have
+been a challenge, even a covert insult. Sandy ignored it, devoting his
+attention to the case-keeper.
+
+The jacks came out early, three of them losing, showing second on the
+turn. A dozen bets went down on the fourth jack to win. Sandy placed the
+luck-piece on the card, reached for a "copper" marker, and played it to
+lose.
+
+"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 the
+side of the case, leaving the winning card, a nine, exposed. Sandy alone
+had won. The luck-piece had proved its merit.
+
+In twenty minutes Sam borrowed a stack from Sandy's steadily
+accumulating winnings and departed for the craps table. He wanted
+quicker action than faro gave him. Luck flirted with him, never entirely
+deserting him. And Sandy won until the news of his luck spread through
+the room. The gamblers began to get the hunch that the Three Star man
+was going to break the bank. Not all at the faro layout attempted to
+follow his bets. Plimsoll's roll had never yet been very badly crimped.
+With the peculiar paradox of their kind, while they told each other that
+Plimsoll's game was square, they held the secret conviction that Hahn's
+fingers would manipulate the case in an emergency so that the house
+would win. And they waited feverishly for the time to come when such a
+show-down would arrive.
+
+Sandy did not have many chips in front of him, but there were five small
+oblongs of blue, markers representing five hundred dollars apiece. Hahn
+laid 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 the
+last turn of the deal again. Every player and onlooker knew what the
+three cards were--a queen, a five and a deuce. The checking-board showed
+that the queen had lost twice and won once, the five had won three times
+and the deuce had won twice and lost once. Most of the players shifted
+their 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 that
+combination. If the order of the three cards were named correctly the
+bank would pay four to one. If Sandy staked all on his call he would win
+over ten thousand dollars. Plimsoll would have to open his safe. Hahn
+did not have that amount in his cash drawer.
+
+The rest--save Sam, now close behind Sandy, with ninety dollars winnings
+cashed-in--watched Sandy enviously and curiously. Hahn was a wonder. The
+case might be crooked, the spring eccentric. Plimsoll himself was
+looking on. Butch Parsons stood beside him for a second and then
+strolled 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 with
+their tied-down holsters swung a little to the front, their handles just
+touching his hips.
+
+"Deuce--queen--five, I'm bettin'," he said. "_An' deal 'em slow._" His
+voice drawled and his eyes lifted to Hahn's and rested there.
+
+Hahn had been mechanically chewing gum most of the evening. Now his
+cheek muscles bulged more plainly and the end of his tongue showed for a
+second between his lips. His right hand dropped and he drew out a deuce.
+Eyes shifted from Sandy to Plimsoll, to Hahn. Little beads of moisture
+oozed out on the dealer's forehead. Plimsoll's black brows met. Sandy's
+face was placid. Breaths were indrawn as Hahn paid out and raked in on
+the card, his left hand covering the top of the case.
+
+The atmosphere was charged with intensity. Plimsoll's dark eyes were
+boring through the dealer's lowered lids.
+
+"Move yo' fingehs, dealer, an' reveal royalty," drawled Sandy. "The
+queen wins!" His hands were on his hips, fingers touching the butts of
+his guns, his eyes burned. For all its drag there was a ring to his
+voice.
+
+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 the
+combination, opened the doors and took out a stack of bills.
+
+"Bills from a century up," said Sandy. "The odds and ends in gold--for
+the drinks."
+
+The excitement was dying down. The man from the Three Star had won and
+had been paid. Plimsoll's game was square. A few, reading the slight
+signs of Hahn's nervousness, still held some doubts, but the games were
+closing. The drinks were brought. Two men lounged out into the front
+room after they had tossed theirs down. Sandy slipped the folded bills
+into 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, Sam
+close behind him, into the front room. It was empty. The short end of
+Sandy's winnings still provided liquor. For a moment they were alone.
+Plimsoll had not followed them. Sandy swiftly socketed the bolt on the
+inside 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 bet
+what I got in my pocket Butch is huggin' the boards to one side of this
+shack. 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 gambler
+cursing at the bolted door. Silently as a cat, he covered the short
+distance between the house and the arroyo of the creek and disappeared,
+merged in its shadow. Sandy joined him and they made their way swiftly
+along the bottom, climbing the bank where the railroad bridge crossed
+it, striking off for the main street, lit by sputtery arc-lamps, making
+for their ponies, still standing patiently outside the all-night
+restaurant.
+
+"No sense in runnin' our heads into a flyin' noose," said Sandy.
+"Plimsoll owns the sheriff. Married his sister. We'd be wrong whatever
+stahted. They'd frisk me of my roll an' we'd never see it ag'in, less we
+made 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 miles
+to the Three Star."
+
+They mounted, swung their horses and loped off toward the bridge across
+the creek. There were two spans, one built since the advent of
+automobiles, the other ancient, little used. They headed for the
+latter. Passing the end of the street they saw nothing out of the
+ordinary. The door of the "Good Luck" was open, shown by a square of
+light. A group stood outside. Sandy and Sam rode off, the ponies' hoofs
+silent in the soft thick dust; moving shadows in the twilight, merging
+with the dark.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+IN THE BED OF THE CREEK
+
+
+The old bridge, utilized only by wheels with metal tires these days, and
+by riders, opened a short-cut to the road leading to the Three Star, a
+way hardly to be distinguished from the plain. Sandy was minded to get
+back to the ranch as soon as possible with his winnings. Five thousand
+for Molly, five thousand for the Three Star, that was the agreement, the
+custom, and he knew the girl's breed well enough to have no hesitation
+in making the split as he would with a man. The next thing to do was to
+pick out a school for her. There Sandy was at a loss. He mulled it over
+as he rode, his outer senses playing sentinels to his consciousness.
+
+He had deliberately avoided trouble for reasons he considered quite
+sufficient, but annoyance pricked him that he had been forced to slide
+out the back way from Plimsoll's, for all the odds against him. If it
+had been his own money--a sudden flash of future responsibilities as
+Molly Casey's guardian illumined his thought--if the luck-piece had not
+been hers, the play for her future welfare, he would have set his own
+marvelous coordination against Butch and the others in a shooting match,
+as he had done other times, in other places. Sam, he knew, was
+wondering a little at their strategic retreat.
+
+But the old days were going, law and order were beginning to supersede
+the old methods of every man to his own judgment and action. Hereford
+had a sheriff who was not above suspicion, but the majority of the
+people 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 the
+winnings and he looked and listened, noting every movement of Pronto
+moving free-muscled beneath him, for some sign of alarm--perhaps a
+rifle-shot out of the mesquite. They were not the best of targets, Sam
+and he, riding fast in the thick dusk under the stars. The road was
+almost invisible, the plain unsubstantial, though the far-off mountain
+ranges showed plainly cut, with a curious trick of seeming always to
+shift 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, springing
+forward into a gallop as their riders touched heels to flanks. The pinto
+was the quicker to get into his stride. Just past the center of the
+bridge Sam saw Sandy's mount jump like a startled cat into the air. He
+saw Sandy pliant in his seat; marked against the starry sky. Then came a
+spurt of red flame from the far bank--to the right--another--and
+another--from the left. A bullet hummed by him and his own horse slid
+stiff-legged, plowing the planks, hind feet flat from hoof-points to
+fetlocks 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 gained
+solid footing, Sam automatically whipped out his gun, cursing as he saw
+Sandy slide from the saddle, clutch at the rim of the gap, drop down to
+the bed of the creek, while Pronto, frantic at the loss of his master,
+leaped the opening and fled with clatter of hoof and swinging stirrup
+into the desert.
+
+Sam, wild with rage at the thought of Sandy shot, scrambling in bloody
+sand below him, flung himself from the roan as more bullets whined,
+whupping into the planks. One seared his upper arm, another struck the
+saddle tree as he vaulted off, slapping the roan on the flanks, yelling
+at it as it gathered, leaped the gap and followed Pronto.
+
+"You damned, cowardly, murderin' pack of lousy coyotes!" swore Sam
+mechanically, as he knelt on the edge of the gap and tried to pierce the
+blackness, listening fearfully for a groan. He had not fired back. There
+was nothing to fire at but clumps of blurred growth. The shots had been
+too sudden, the shying of the horses too confusing for location.
+
+He kneeled over the rim of the last plank, turned, caught with his
+hands, revolver thrust back into its holster, swung, dropped. A hand
+closed about his ankle, pulled him down sprawling on the soft sand.
+
+"I'm O. K.," whispered Sandy, and Sam's heart leaped. "Only plugged the
+rim of my hat. I faked a fall to fool 'em. Snake erlong down the crick
+bed. Here's where we git even." Sam knew that ring in his partner's
+voice, low though it was, and his blood tingled. The high crumbly banks
+of the creek, gouged out by winter rains and cloud-bursts, were set with
+brush. Immediately above the bridge were the stripped trunks of
+cottonwoods, stranded in a flood. Peering through the boughs, they saw
+stooping figures running along the bank. A man called from the lower
+side of the bridge, a shot was fired harmlessly. The hunters in view
+raced back.
+
+"Think they saw us," whispered Sandy. "They'll hear from us, right
+soon." He led the way back, crossing to the town side beneath the
+bridge, keeping half-way up the bank, close under the stringers of the
+bridge, crawling between bushes on his belly, Sam with him. Now they
+could see no gunmen but occasionally they caught a whisper, the slight
+sound of moving brush.
+
+There was only a trickle of water in the bed of the creek. Here and
+there were small bars of bleached shingle and larger boulders. Sandy
+found a stone imbedded in the bank, loosened it, squatted on his
+haunches and passed it to Sam, taking a gun in each hand.
+
+"Chuck it into that sunflower patch," he said with his mouth close to
+Sam's ear. "Then fire at the flashes." Sam pitched the stone through the
+darkness. It fell with a rustle, chinked against a rock. Instantly
+there came a fusillade from the opposite bank, four streaks of fire, the
+bullets cutting through the dried stalks, the marksmen evidently hunting
+in couples.
+
+Sandy, crouching, pulled triggers and the shots rattled out as if fired
+from an automatic. Beside him, Sam's gun barked. Each fired three times,
+Sandy shooting two-handed, flinging six bullets with instinctive aim
+while the bed of the creek echoed to the roar of the guns and the air
+hung heavy with the reek of exploded gases. Then they rushed for the top
+of the bank, wriggling behind the cover of bushes, lying prone for the
+next chance.
+
+One yell and a stream of curses came from across the arroyo. Two
+indistinct figures bent above a third, lifted it, hurrying back toward a
+clump of willows. The fourth man trailed the others, his oaths
+smothered, running beside the two bearers, his hand held curiously in
+front 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 missed
+clean. I fired to the left."
+
+"The man who's down is Butch," said Sandy. "I'd know his figger in a
+coal shaft. I've a hunch the other was Hahn. Hit him somewheres in the
+hand; spile his dealin' fo' a while. Let's git out of this. They've
+quit."
+
+"Wonder if Plimsoll was with 'em. How about the hawsses? Can you whistle
+Pronto back?"
+
+"Reckon so."
+
+They walked toward the bridge and crossed it, passing the gap on the
+side timbers. Plimsoll's men had departed with their casualties. Sandy
+whistled shrilly through his teeth. After a minute he repeated the call.
+
+"Sure hate to hoof it to the ranch," said Sam. "Mebbe the shots
+stampeded '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 mine
+is half human. I've sent him ahead before. Ef I'd yelled 'Home' he'd
+have gone. Shots w'udn't have scared him. Made him stand by--like
+Molly."
+
+"Got yore money safe?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+There came a sound of pounding hoofs. Then that of others, coming from
+the 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 the
+plain 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 the
+bridge. The foremost stopped with an exclamation at the missing boards.
+All wheeled in some confusion and slid their horses down into the
+arroyo to scramble up the bank again and spur for Sam and Sandy just as
+the pinto and the roan, curveted up to their masters. The two cowmen
+leaped for their seats, Sandy temporarily sheathing one gun. They faced
+the 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' the
+law 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 the
+Herefo'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 got
+any guts left fo' tryin'. Me, I'm goin' home."
+
+The sheriff and his hastily gathered band of irregular deputies, working
+in the interests of Plimsoll, knew, with sufficient intimacy to endow
+them with caution, the general record of Sandy Bourke and Soda-Water
+Sam. None of them wanted to risk a shot--and miss. Sandy would not. Even
+a fatal wound might not prevent him taking toll. Sam was almost as
+dangerous. They were politicians rather than fighting men, every one of
+them. And they were tolerably certain that Plimsoll had ambushed the two
+from the Three Star. His methods were akin to their own. The sheriff
+blustered.
+
+"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 afteh
+election, Sheriff, as it is. The cowmen ain't crazy about you. They
+might 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 voice
+freezing in sudden contempt. He roweled Pronto and, with Sam even in the
+jump, they galloped through the half-ring without opposition. Horses
+were neck-reined aside to let them pass. The wind sang by them as they
+tangented off from the road. A shot or two announced the attempt of some
+to save their own faces, but no bullets came near the pair. The
+fusillade was sheer bravado.
+
+Pronto and the roan went at full speed, bellies low to the plain that
+streamed past, the manes whipping the hands of their riders, springing
+on sinews of whalebone through soapweed and mesquite, spurning the soil
+with drumming hoofs, night-seeing, danger-dodging, jumping the little
+gullies, reveling in the rush. Sandy and Sam sat slightly forward,
+loose-seated, thigh-muscles and knees feeling the withers rather than
+pressing them, balancing their own limber bodies to every movement of
+the flying ponies.
+
+A late moon climbed out of the east and scudded up the sky, silvering
+the distant peaks. For almost a mile they rode at top speed, then they
+settled down to a lope that ate up the miles--a walk at the end of
+three--then lope and walk again, until the giant cottonwoods of the
+Three Star rose from the plain, leaves shimmering in the moonlight, the
+ranch buildings blocked in purple pin-pointed with orange--the
+pin-points enlarging, resolving into two lighted windows as they passed
+shack and barn and rode into the home corral at last, to unsaddle, wipe
+down the horses and dismiss them for the time with a smack on their
+lathery flanks, knowing they would be too wise to overdrink at the
+trough, 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 my
+arm an' some son of a wolf spiled my saddle. Sandy, he sorter evened up
+fo' it."
+
+"Bleedin'?" asked Mormon.
+
+"Nope. Tied my bandanner round it. Cold air fixed it. Shucks, it ain't
+nuthin'! Sandy's got a green kale plaster fo' it. Come to think of it, I
+got 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's
+the '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 the
+bandanna.
+
+"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 that
+stirred 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 she
+listened 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. "Main
+p'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 is
+yore dad an' paht yore maw. Sabe? They handed you on down an', if you
+make the most of yo'se'f, you make the most of them. Me, I've allus been
+trubbled with the saddle-itch an' I've wanted the out-of-doors. A chap
+writ 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. He
+sure knew what he was writin' erbout. It's called _In Texas, Down by the
+Rio Grande_. I've been there. Arizony ain't much differunt."
+
+"It's called _Lasca_," put in Sam. "I seen it in the movies. Had the
+po'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 git
+erlong with less. But fo' a gel, learnin's a grand thing. An' there's
+the 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 me
+when I was to Chicago with a train of steers one time, the tall
+buildin's was higher than canyon cliffs. On'y full breath I drawed was
+down 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 my
+tongue 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 out
+here. 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. Inside
+you'll be yore real self. You can't take the gold out of a bit of ore
+any more than you can change iron pyrites inter the reel stuff. But, if
+the gold's goin' to be put into proper circulation, it's got to be
+refined. Sabe?"
+
+"I ain't refined, I reckon," said Molly with a sigh. "I don't know as I
+want 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 away
+from him."
+
+"He'd want you to make this trip, sure," said Sandy. "An' that settles
+it. You go off to bed an' dream on it. We got to figger out where you go
+an' that'll take some time an' thinkin'. I'm some tired myse'f. I've
+been out of trainin' lately fo' excitement. Sam, I'm goin' to soak that
+place on yore arm with iodine. Good night, Molly."
+
+She got up immediately, went to Mormon and to Sam and gravely shook
+hands, 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 from
+the room, with Grit leaping after her. Sandy's bronzed face glowed like
+reflecting copper.
+
+"Some folks git all the luck," said Mormon.
+
+"There you go," bantered Sam, stripping his arm for the iodine. "You
+been married three times, reg'lar magnet fo' the wimmin, an' you grudge
+Sandy 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 be
+a five-ringed circus all to yorese'f an' have all the fun. Ef that stuff
+heals like it smahts, Sandy, I'll say I'm cured now."
+
+"It don't amount to much, Sam," said Sandy. "Yore flesh allus closed up
+quick. What you goin' to do with yore ninety dollars?"
+
+"I thought of buyin' me a new saddle. Mine's spiled. Couldn't trust that
+tree 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 been
+brought in from the range and half forced, half coaxed to give the fresh
+milk that Mormon insisted the girl needed. Until then evaporated milk
+had suited all hands. But butter--to go with hot cakes and
+sage-honey--was an imperative need for the riders. Riders demanded the
+best quality in the "found" part of their wages and the three partners
+supplied it. The butter came over weekly from the Bailey ranch to be
+kept under the spring cover for cooling. Usually the gangling young Ed
+Bailey brought it over in the crotchety flivver. When Sandy saw the
+sparsely fleshed figure of Miranda Bailey seated by the driver he winced
+in spirit. This second visitation looked like mere curiosity and gossip
+and offset the opinion he had begun to form of the spinster--that she
+was sound underneath her angularities and mannerisms.
+
+It was twilight. The three partners and Molly were on the ranch-house
+porch after supper, and there was no escape. Sam slid his harmonica into
+his pocket silently and Mormon groaned aloud as the rattlebang car
+chugged up and was braked, shaking all over until the engine was shut
+off. Ed Bailey crossed his legs and rolled his cigarette. No one at the
+Three Star had ever seen him alight from the car, Mormon insisted he ate
+and slept in it. Miranda nodded at the three partners, who rose as she
+came up the steps.
+
+"You sure need some new clothes, child," she said to Molly. "You got to
+have 'em. I heard you was shot," she went on to Sam. "That sling ain't
+right. 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 allus
+heals quick."
+
+Miranda sniffed.
+
+"I reckon prohibition helps some," she retorted. "Now then, I come on
+business. Sandy Bourke, you ain't any of you the legal guardian of that
+child, 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 and
+generally twisted her features in what Sandy interpreted plainly enough
+as a suggestion that Molly should be eliminated from the talk. He did
+not agree with the spinster. It was Molly's prime affair and he knew
+that she would resent being treated too childishly in regard to her own
+concerns. Sandy had gentled too many high-spirited fillies and colts not
+to have found out that methods that apply to well-bred quadrupeds are
+generally coefficient with humans. He shook his head slightly at Miss
+Bailey's signaling.
+
+"Jest what's the idea?" he asked. "Some one figgerin' on makin' her stay
+at the Three Star unpleasant? Fur as jest gossip is concerned, it don't
+have 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," said
+Miranda, a bit grimly. "This ain't gossip. Ef you're bound the gel is to
+sit in with her elders I'll go right ahead. I got a lot of chores to do
+yet, deliverin' butter, an' the car's actin' up uncertain. Here 'tis. I
+got 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 more
+likely. Plimsoll an' Eke Jordan, the sheriff, are like two peas in a
+pod. The sheriff's got the inside of local politicks, so fur. When we
+wimmen git to votin' this fall things is goin' to be different. Right
+now, he's in. He an' the courts of this county are all striped the same
+way. Reg'lar zebras. Penitentiary pattern 'ud match their skins. Mebbe
+some of 'em ought to be wearin' it.
+
+"Now for the meat of the nut. They're figgerin' on gettin' control of
+the gel away from you-all. They'll use argymints for the general public
+that she's too young to be keepin' house for three unmarried men,
+leastwise three men who ain't livin' with their wives." She looked
+pointedly 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 can
+block that if one of us comes out an' offers to take her. I'd be glad
+to, for one, an' do the right thing by her."
+
+Molly walked over to Sandy's chair and stood behind it, her eyes
+widening, 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 out
+owners, lookin' up assessment work an' so on. Talk of a boom. I reckon
+Plimsoll'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's
+partner--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 what
+they're over here ter-morrer with a court order. An' you can't fight the
+courts 's long as they're in authority, the way you fought Jim
+Plimsoll."
+
+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 is
+a damned liar. You won't let 'em take me?" She turned to Sandy, her arms
+stretched in appeal.
+
+"No, Molly, I won't. Will we, boys?"
+
+"You can bet everything you got an' ever hope to own we won't," said
+Sam.
+
+"That goes for me," echoed Mormon, but he scratched his fringe of hair
+in some perplexity.
+
+"Talk don't beat an order of the court," said Miranda Bailey. "Mebbe I
+seem sort of vinegary to you, child, but I'm not a bad sort. My brother
+Ed has got somethin' to say in this community an' I'm likely to control
+a few votes this fall myself. I figger if you came home with me to-day
+we c'ud manage to git you placed with us. There's been tattle about you
+stoppin' 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 wheeled
+and buried her head on his shoulder, sobbing.
+
+"We're powerful obliged to you, Miss Bailey, for what you told us," said
+Sandy. "I'm right sure you'd give Molly a fine home, but we got other
+plans an' we aim to carry 'em out. Plimsoll's a skunk an' I'll block his
+game about the mines ef they amount to anything. Molly's goin' east for
+her 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 are
+over." Miranda Bailey recognized something better than mere decision in
+Sandy's voice, she was not the leading suffragist of the county for
+lack 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. A
+woman needs a woman's company." At the diplomatic concession to her
+maturity Molly gave the spinster a mollified glance. Miss Bailey climbed
+into 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 all
+right. We'll git ready soon's we can. Meantime, we'll keep our eyes
+peeled 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 in
+anything outside of his cigarette.
+
+"Fo' time's sake, aunt," he said, "'twouldn't be no manner of good if it
+come down to a runnin' chase. Nearest depot's fifty mile' across the
+county line. Racin' this car ag'in' the sheriff's 'ud be like matchin' a
+flea ag'in' a grasshopper. Dern it, she's balked ag'in." He wrestled
+with the crank, conquered it and the machine shivered like a hunting dog
+while his aunt adjusted spark and gas. She nodded to him to start and
+they moved off, Miranda waving a farewell as she called out, "Good
+luck!"
+
+"Some sport!" announced Sam. "That's the kind of woman you sh'ud have
+married, Mormon."
+
+Molly, excited now, demanded audience.
+
+"When do we start?" she asked eagerly. "Will you wait till they come out
+from Hereford?"
+
+"I got to think out things a bit, Molly," said Sandy. "I figger we'll
+git 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 is
+sure, you got to tuhn in an' git a good rest. Ef we slide out it won't
+be all a pleasure trip. I reckon Plimsoll means business. An' he's sure
+got 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't
+want to leave Grit."
+
+"It 'ud be a hard trip fo' him this way, Molly. I ain't sure about the
+regulations at them schools. I reckon the best way w'ud be fo' you to
+make arrangements fo' him to come on afteh you git there."
+
+Molly regarded Sandy soberly, her fingers twining through the dog's
+mane.
+
+"You'd be good to him--same as you air to me? Oh, I'm jest plumb mean to
+ask you that. I know you w'ud. He's goin' to be jest as lonesome as me
+for 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 fix
+to 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 is
+west through the Cabezas Range. Only two gaps, Paso Cabras, an' the
+Bolsa."
+
+"But the Bolsa...." started Sam.
+
+Sandy checked him.
+
+"I know. Listen! I aim to git to the railroad an' then me an' Molly'll
+make for New Mexico."
+
+"Huh!"
+
+"You guessed it, Mormon. For the Pecos River an' Boville an' the Redding
+Ranch. I reckon Barbara Redding'll handle the thing. She'll git Molly
+her 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 to
+break my laig over it. Sandy, you sure use yo' brains."
+
+Barbara Redding, once Barbara Barton of the celebrated Curly O, was a
+bright star in the mutual firmament of the Three Star partners. They had
+all worked together on the Curly O in the old days. Sandy had been
+foreman there. Once he had rescued Barbara Barton from horse rustlers
+with a grudge against her father and once again he had rendered her even
+greater service when members of the same crowd kidnapped her
+two-year-old son whom Barbara Redding had brought on a visit to his
+grandfather. Sandy had trailed alone and brought in the "li'l' son of a
+gun," as he styled the youngster. There was little that Barbara Redding
+and 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. See
+what you all think of it."
+
+Subdued guffaws rose from the porch in through the open window of the
+room where Molly Casey lay wide awake, the dog beside her. Presently she
+heard the martial strains of Sam's harmonica, cuddled under his big
+mustache, played one-handed. He was playing an air that he had dedicated
+to Sandy. Vaguely it comforted her.
+
+"They're _good_," she said to Grit. "An' they've figgered out something
+or 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 Sam
+breathed out his melody into the night that was very still and very
+quiet, with the great white stars burning rayless. The tune swelled
+triumphantly.
+
+    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 the
+Three Musketeers of the Range, whereof Mormon was surely Porthos, if Sam
+was hard to recognize as Aramis. "One for all and all for one" was their
+motto, and neither Mormon nor Sam doubted for an instant that Sandy
+would win. Sandy, smoking cigarette after cigarette, was not so sure but
+equally complacent.
+
+Next morning, breakfast over before the sun was well above the peaks,
+while desert birds were still rising, twittering shrill welcome to the
+dawn, Sandy went about humming snatches of cowboy songs just above his
+breath as he oversaw the arrangements for the exodus that was to be; not
+so much a flight, as a deliberately calculated laying of a trail for the
+pursuit. So might an old dog fox, sure of his speed and wisdom, trot
+leisurely across a field in full sight of the pack. Sandy had no
+intention of waiting until the lawhounds arrived, he needed a start
+against the handicap of high-powered cars. He was in high humor as the
+buckboard was greased, a team of buckskins given a special feed and a
+rub-down, and various articles gathered for transportation. Among these
+were 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 little
+short of thirty--but he was generally mature, suggesting deliberation of
+mind 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, tossed
+badinage among one another like a ball. Mormon and Sam, seated on the
+top 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 can
+cert'nly scheme out the scenarios."
+
+"The what?"
+
+"The scenarios," repeated Mormon loftily. "I got that out of a moving
+pitcher magazine down to Hereford. It's the word fo' the plot of the
+story. Sabe?"
+
+"Huh! I reckon them movin' pitcher shooters 'ud have to move some to git
+all that's movin' this trip. Got yore gun oiled up, Mormon? Here's
+Molly."
+
+Molly came out on the porch carrying a small grip packed with her few
+belongings, Grit beside her. Sandy nodded to her, busy giving
+instructions to two riders. Mormon and Sam waved and she went over to
+them, swinging up to the rail beside them.
+
+"Jim," said Sandy, "I want you should ride out to'ards Hereford an' hide
+out atop of Bald Butte. You don't need to stay there any later than
+noon. Take a flash-glass with you. If any of the sheriff's crowd comes
+erlong, any one who looks like he might be servin' papers, sabe, you
+flash in a message. Make it a five-flash fo' anything suspicious, a
+three-flash fo' any one shackin' this way, even if you figger they're
+plumb harmless."
+
+"Seguro, Miguel." With the slang phrase, Jim, an upstanding young chap,
+despite his horse-bowed legs, walked over to the bunk-house for
+flash-mirror and gun, came back to his already caught-up and saddled
+horse, 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 over
+cantle and went streaming off for the Bald Butte in a cloud of dust.
+Sandy called to Buck Perches, oldest of his riders, whose exposed skin
+matched the leather of his saddle.
+
+"Buck, ef any visitors arrives while we're gone, you entertain 'em same
+as 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's
+got a seal to the bottom of it. We won't be to home. You'll be the only
+one to home 'cept Pedro an' Joe. They've got their instructions to know
+nothin'. They ain't supposed to know nothin'. You--you've stayed to the
+ranch to do some fixin' of yore saddle. Started, but come back when yore
+cinch 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 think
+yo'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 here
+Plimsoll person?" he suggested.
+
+"Let 'em size up the thing fo' themselves. They'll find Pronto in the
+corral, also Sam's roan, which they know is our usual mounts. If they
+don't sabe the buckboard's gone, which they probably will, knowin' this
+outfit 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 ten
+o'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 Grit
+with 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 of
+sleep but she had fought the thing out with herself and she was going
+to be game. She gave Sandy her grip and walked off toward the
+cottonwoods. Grit nosed along in her shadow, his muzzle touching her
+skirt.
+
+It was a big load for the buckboard with Mormon and Sam in the back seat
+crowded by the piled-up baggage, with Sandy driving and Molly beside
+him, flushed a little with growing excitement. But the buckskins were
+sinewed with whalebone and used to desert work. They surged forward at
+the word, tightening the tugs in an eager leap and settled down to a
+fast trot, out across the prairie. The riders, with the exception of
+Buck, and Jim, who was already close to the butte, which was midway
+between 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 crossed
+the slowly descending slope of the sink that presently mounted again
+toward the far-off range. There was no apparent road, but Sandy chose a
+compass course between the sage for the first few miles, then skirted
+the mesquite. Sam leaned forward once when the buckskins had been pulled
+down to a walk and spoke to Molly.
+
+"See that notch in the range?" he asked, "oveh to the no'th, where the
+shadder's blue. That's Paso Cabras, the Pass of the Goats. Some says
+it's named 'cause the cliffs is fair lousy with goats, some 'cause on'y
+a goat can make the climb. County line's five mile' out on the plain
+beyond 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 way
+an' strike the pass afore the sheriff catches up with us, he'll have to
+foller afoot or go clean round the mesa. The Goat's Pass ain't no place
+fo' an automobeel, nor an airyplane neither. Don't believe there's a
+level spot wider'n five foot or bigger than that much square."
+
+Either Mormon or Sam sat always with neck twisted, watching for a
+flash-signal from the butte that stood up clearly in the crystal
+atmosphere, sometimes distorted, changing hue from chocolate to indigo,
+never seeming to get any farther away, just as the mesa range never
+seemed to get any closer. Sometimes Molly relieved them as lookout, but
+hour after hour passed without sign.
+
+Close to noon they reached a watering hole, with water none too cool or
+sweet, but still welcome. There the buckskins were unhitched, rubbed
+down and, after they had cooled off, given water and grain. Save for
+sweat marks, they showed little sign of the grueling trip through the
+soft dirt. A strip of lava, half a mile of ancient flow, lay between
+them and the long up-slope of the desert to the mesa. As they ate lunch
+in the shadow of some barrel cactus, Sandy suddenly gave a grunt of
+satisfaction, pointing with outstretched forefinger to the butte. Five
+flashes had flickered up. They were repeated. Jim had signaled a
+suspicious party on their way to Three Star. The sheriff was out with
+his 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? They
+ought to be showin' up. I told 'em noon."
+
+"On time," announced Sam. The two riders who had last talked with Sandy
+rode 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 the
+fees of his office as with his perquisites, a word covering a wide range
+of possibilities, all of which the sheriff made the most of. He was
+proud of his car and proud of his ability to run it anywhere at
+record-breaking speed. It carried an extra water container that could be
+mounted on the running board for desert work, an extra gasoline and oil
+supply, there were always extra tires strapped on, extra spark plugs
+handy and his batteries were always well charged.
+
+"I aim to make her efficient," said Jordan, "bein' she represents my
+office. That's me. If I needed me an airyplane, I'd get me one to hunt
+the 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 efficiency
+or his courage. He brought in the criminals he went out to get, some
+alive, some dead; prosecuted the first with zeal and collected the
+rewards with alacrity. The trouble was that he did _not_ always go out
+after certain individuals, who were outside the law, as interpreted by
+the people, but inside it, as protected by the political ring to which
+Jordan, with other prominent officials, belonged.
+
+Jordan had taken up his brother-in-law's grievance with the greater zest
+since he had a half-interest in Plimsoll's Good Luck Pool Parlors, a
+share that had cost him good money. On top of that had come Sandy's
+flouting 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 the
+court was not a difficult matter, but it was not so easy to get them at
+an early hour, since court was not in session and the judge none too
+eager to arise of a morning. But Jordan knew nothing of the visit of
+Miranda Bailey to the Three Star and he pressed matters with no special
+expedition, though he characteristically wasted no time.
+
+Armed with the necessary warrant, backed by an assurance that, unless
+some extraordinary howl went up, the girl would be given into the
+custody of Jim Plimsoll as guardian, by virtue of his claim to
+partnership with her father, the sheriff, Plimsoll and two others, all
+three deputized for the occasion, started the car from Hereford at a
+quarter of twelve, after an early lunch. They passed the butte where Jim
+lay prone atop without noticing the flashes he shot into the sky. At a
+few minutes after twelve they reached Three Star where Buck, seated on
+the porch, his saddle astride a sawhorse, stitched away at a cinch.
+
+Buck played his part well, allowing Jordan to ferret out information to
+his own satisfaction. It appeared plain that all three partners had
+taken flight with the girl in the buckboard. Sandy's pinto and Sam's
+roan were in the corral. Jordan overlooked one thing, the counting of
+saddles, 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 weathered
+face impassive as the shell of a walnut, but Plimsoll scowled, noting
+the turn of Buck's bland countenance in his direction for the first
+time. It was whispered that the brands on Plimsoll's horse ranch were
+not those usually known in the county, nor even in the counties
+adjoining. There were rumors, smothered by Plimsoll's stand with the
+authorities, of bands of horses, driven by strangers, arriving
+wearied--and always by night--at his corrals.
+
+"It don't matter--to you--what it's for," answered Jordan. "I'll
+overhaul 'em an' bring 'em back. Crossin' the county line won't do 'em
+any good with this warrant. Ef they try hide-out tactics or put up a
+scrap, 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 of
+the tobacco.
+
+"Search me," he drawled. "Me, I don't stay up to the house."
+
+Jordan, temporarily discomfited but still confident of bringing back his
+quarry, marked the trail of the buckboard in the alkali soil, noted the
+hoof-prints of the diverging riders and nodded with the semi-smile and
+half closed-eyes of conscious superiority. He had already elicited
+apparently reluctant information from Pedro as to the four passengers in
+the buckboard. Buck had been more reticent. To the sheriff Buck's
+reticence betokened desire to cover the fugitives. He fancied that
+Pedro's testimony was the result of Jordan's own cleverness in
+cross-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 his
+intentions, but climbed into the car and started it. The powerful
+machine went lunging through the soft dirt, following the blurry trail
+of the buckboard's iron tires, throwing up dust as a fast launch churns
+spray.
+
+After leaving the Three Star all semblance of road vanished. The
+alkaline soil was almost as fine as flour, and deep. This and the fear
+of losing the trail kept the machine down to a limit that would have
+been 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 and
+Jordan stopped, replenished, reoiled. Reaching the lava strip where the
+buckboard had halted for water and the noon meal, they found the trail
+skirting the flow toward the south. The main mass of the mesa, broken up
+into gorges, gaps, stairway cliffs, marked by purple shadows, scanty in
+the early afternoon but gradually widening, was about fifteen miles
+away. Jordan braked his car. He ignored the water in the spring. His
+spare 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 a
+cut 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 I
+know 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 usually
+know where they are headin'. Trail's plain."
+
+"Sure is." But Jordan scratched his head a trifle doubtfully. If Sandy
+Bourke and his chums had been tipped off, this trail was a little too
+plain to be true. Presently, as the machine plowed on south, they
+struck a patch of desert where the rock surfaced out and showed no trace
+of hoof or tire. Jordan stopped the car and the four got out, casting
+around, expecting that this outcropping had been used as a device to
+throw off the pursuit. Fairly fresh horse droppings showed that the
+buckboard had held to its course and, the rock passed, the trail showed
+plain again, curving in toward the broken wall of the mesa, leading
+toward a cleft that was plainly distinguishable.
+
+"That's Bolsa Boquete," announced the deputy named Phil. "I never went
+through it."
+
+"What's it mean--the name?"
+
+"Boquete's gap. Bolsa's money--not jest the same as dinero. It's the
+word 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 my
+star they've gone through it all right. We ought to be not much more'n
+an hour behind them."
+
+"They're on about us getting the papers," said Plimsoll. He had not said
+much on the trip so far. "Too much talk nowadays. You can't whisper in a
+dugout but what the news is all over the county inside of twenty
+minutes. Bourke sabes that getting the girl out of the county won't do
+any good; he aims to get her out of the state and any Arizona court or
+sheriff jurisdiction. He's the brains of the outfit. We've got to get
+her, Jordan."
+
+"You ain't tellin' me a thing I don't know, Jim. But there's one thing
+you _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 the
+party with this eastern crowd dropped into my place and talked. Showed
+some samples and I had a good look at them. He happened to leave a bit
+or two behind and I had them assayed. Here is where I get back the money
+I 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 that
+Bolsa had two meanings in Spanish, Jordan slowed up.
+
+"No shootin' in this deal," he warned. "Come to a show-down, Bourke
+won't buck the law soon's we show papers. So long's he ain't been
+notified 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. "They
+done some pretty shootin' at the bridge that time. Sandy Bourke's a
+two-handed lead flinger an' Soda-Water Sam's no slouch. Neither's
+Mormon. 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-green
+reptilian growths. The soft earth, through which here and there the
+volcanic cores of the range were thrust, seemed as if it could supply
+the paint shops of a nation with almost any hue desired, ready for
+mixing with oil or water. Waves of heat beat between the walls of the
+cleft. The floor was fairly smooth, swept clean by occasional
+cloud-bursts, save for the skeleton of a tree and another of a too-far
+wandering steer, both blanched white as the alkali-crusted boulders. It
+was nearly level going and the car pounded along, all the occupants
+looking for trail sign. The mesa corridor, nowhere more than thirty feet
+wide, twisted and snaked, three hundred feet of sheer wall on either
+side topped by sloping cliffs mounting far higher toward the actual top
+of the mesa.
+
+"Keep an eye peeled for rain, Phil," said Jordan, "I'd sure hate to get
+caught 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 fiery
+unrectified, unstamped liquor. Ahead was an abrupt turn. Jordan slowed.
+Making the curve, a fence stretched across the gorge, reaching from wall
+to wall, a four-strand barrier of barbed-wire, strung on patent steel
+posts. Jordan braked with emergency. The sight of such a fence in such a
+place was as unexpected as the sun-dried carcass of a steer would be on
+Broadway. Plimsoll and Jordan cursed, the former in pure anger, the
+latter with some appreciation of the stratagem for delay.
+
+"We can tear it down quicker'n they fixed it," he said. "I've got a pair
+of 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 of
+trouble puttin' up that fence. It's _my_ fence."
+
+They looked up, to see Mormon seated on the top of a great boulder that
+had land-slipped from the cliff into the gorge. From thirty feet above
+them he looked down, amiably enough, though there was a glint of blued
+metal in his right hand.
+
+"Hello, Jim Plimsoll," he went on. "I ain't seen you-all fo' quite a
+while. 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 of
+a proper guardian, the child Molly Casey, she being a minor and without
+natural or legal protectors. I've got yore name on these papers, Mormon
+Peters, 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 yore
+actions. You put up that gun an' come down here an' help to pull down
+this fence, illegally erected on property not yore own. Otherwise you're
+subject 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 begin
+with. Nor she ain't been here. An' I don't sabe no obstruction of the
+law by settin' up a fence in a mesa canyon to round up broom-tails."
+
+One of the deputies snickered.
+
+"Broom-tails?" cried Jordan. "That's too thin. There's no mustangs
+hangin' round a mesa like this, 'thout feed or water." He flushed
+angrily. He was short-tempered and he was certain the fence was a ruse
+to gain time, with Mormon left behind to parley. It all seemed to point
+to Sandy Bourke making for the railroad.
+
+"You never kin tell about wild hawsses, or even branded ones," said
+Mormon pleasantly. "Ask Plimsoll. He picks 'em up in all sorts of
+places."
+
+Plimsoll cursed. Mormon still held his gun conspicuously, and he
+restrained his own impulse to draw. Jordan wheeled on the gambler.
+
+"You keep out o' this, Jim Plimsoll," he said. "I'm runnin' this end of
+it. He's talkin' against time. You come down an' help remove this
+fence," 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 my
+warrant."
+
+"It ain't on a public highway neither," retorted Mormon. "But I'll come
+down. Don't you go to clippin' those wires an' destroyin' what _is_ my
+property." He slid down the rock and commenced to unbend the metal
+straps that held the wire in place. Jordan and one of his men followed
+suit with pliers from the motor kit. The job took several minutes.
+
+"You'll come along with us," said Jordan. "You lied about the girl
+comin' this way. I've a notion to take you in for that. But I reckon you
+can go back in the buckboard with yore partners."
+
+"Reckon I'll travel in the buckboard, when you catch up with it," said
+Mormon. "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 as
+he took an extra seat in the tonneau.
+
+Jordan made no answer but started the engine. The gorge began to narrow
+perceptibly, its floor slanted upward and the machine labored with a
+mixture that constantly needed more air. The way zigzagged for half a
+mile 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 it
+mounted to a sharp turn. Leaning against a post stood Soda-Water Sam,
+smoking a cigarette, his gun holster hitched forward, the butt of the
+weapon close to one hand. Jordan and his men leaped out as the car
+stopped, 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, he
+says. Seen anything of Molly Casey?"
+
+"Not for quite a spell. Go easy with them wires, Sheriff. Price of
+wire's riz considerable."
+
+The second barrier down and the car through, Jordan ordered Sam to get
+in 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 the
+buckboard. 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 went
+on 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 Bolsa
+Boquete. 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 stayed
+with the two deputies. Around the bend stood the buckboard with the
+buckskins in a patch of shadow under a scoop in the ending wall that
+turned the so-called pass to a box canyon.
+
+"I told you the gel warn't erlong," said Mormon. "She and Sandy was with
+us fo' a spell. But they're goin' visitin' an' they shifted to saddle
+way 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. He
+had nothing on which to make arrest of the two Three Star partners and
+he was far from sure of his ability to do so under any circumstances.
+Mormon hitched up the buckskins, but followed the sheriff and the
+scowling, silent Plimsoll back to the car.
+
+"See that notch, way over to the no'th?" said Mormon, bent on exploiting
+the 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 the
+on'y pass over the mesa. If Sandy had knowed you wanted him he might
+have waited. Why didn't you phone? Ninety mile' around the mesa, nearest
+way, 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 had
+given place to exultation.
+
+"Catch the seven o'clock train at Caroca?" said Jordan. "Thanks for the
+information, Mormon. That schedule was changed last week when they
+pulled off two trains on the main line. The train leaves at nine-thirty
+an', if I can't make ninety miles in four hours an' a half, I'll make
+you a present of my car. Stand back, both of you. No monkey business
+with my tires. Cover 'em, boys. The law's on my side, you two gabbing
+word-shooters."
+
+He handled the car wonderfully, backing and turning her, and, while
+Mormon and Sam stood powerless, the former crestfallen, the latter
+sardonically gazing at his partner, the machine went tilting, snorting
+down the gorge.
+
+"You sure spilled the beans, Mormon," said Sam finally. "I'd have
+thought them three wives of yores 'ud have taught you the vally of
+silence."
+
+"I ain't got a damned word to say, Sam. But I'd be obliged if you'd kick
+me--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. The
+trail, a scant four feet wide at its best, with crumbled, weathered
+margin, crept along the face of the cliff above a deep canyon where the
+night shadows had already gathered in a purple flood, slowly rising as
+the 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 girl
+drooped in her seat tired from the long climb, not yet inured to the
+saddle. The horses traveled gamely, sure-footed but obviously losing
+endurance. Every little while they stopped of their own accord, their
+flanks heaving painfully in the altitude.
+
+Sandy had only once crossed the Pass of the Goats and that was years
+before. There had been washouts since then. Several times they were
+forced to dismount and lead the nervous beasts, Sandy doing the coaxing,
+helping Molly over the difficult places. He rode a mare named Goldie and
+the girl a bay with a white blaze that Sandy had chosen for the mountain
+work and which had been brought to them at the lava strip.
+
+The mare halted, neck stretched out, turning it to look inquiringly at
+her master. A sharp incline lay ahead, the path little better than one
+made by the goats for which the pass was named. Behind, Molly's mount
+followed suit, blowing at the dust. Sandy patted the mare's neck and
+dismounted.
+
+"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 added
+admiringly, "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 canyon through which the night wind
+soughed.
+
+"I'll tighten up yore cinches," said Sandy. "Worst of the climb's jest
+ahead. Then we start to drop down t'other side. You don't have to git
+off. Trail's bound to be better once we git atop the mesa and start
+down. Mesa's right narrer, as I remember. T'other side's away from the
+weather. There's a canyon with oak trees an' a stream of water." He
+tugged 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. "Downhill
+all the way soon an' then a drink to wash out yore mouth an' the best
+feed 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 lost
+buoyancy and was bumping along the mesa ridge. Its belly was black, its
+western side ruddy in the sunset. Sandy viewed it apprehensively. In
+superficial survey the mesa seemed much like the stranded carcass of a
+mastodonic creature left behind when the waters departed from these
+inland seas. A hard skeleton of igneous rock, with clayey soil for
+flesh, riven and seamed and pitted, crumbling and dusty in the sun, ever
+disintegrating with wind and water and frost. Under a rain the trail was
+slimy as a whale's back. The cloud was soggy with moisture. Bursting, it
+would send torrents roaring down every ravine, wash out weathered masses
+of earth, sweep all before it as it gathered forces and rushed out on
+the desert, leaving the main canyons carved a little richer, the surface
+of the soil on the sink a little deeper, against the time when men
+should control these storm waters or bring the precious fluid up from
+underground reservoirs and make the desert blossom like the rose.
+
+Where Molly and Sandy rode they were exposed to the first drench of a
+cloud-burst. Deeper in the pass, where the flood would be confined,
+their chance for escape would be infinitesimal. Even on the heights it
+would be precarious unless they could cross the remainder of the
+up-trail before the inevitable downpour.
+
+Sandy examined his own cinch and tightened it before he mounted. And he
+whispered something in the mare's ear that caused her to lip his
+sleeve.
+
+"Let yore hawss have his own way, Molly," he said. "I'm lettin' Goldie
+do the pickin' fo' the lead. Ready?"
+
+It was growing cold in the deepening twilight, the belt of sunshine was
+rapidly climbing toward the topmost palisades with the purple shadows in
+the gorge mounting, twisting and eddying in skeins of mist, twining up
+toward them. One spire ahead glowed golden. The cloud drifted down upon
+it, glooming and glowing on its sunset side. The crag pierced it, ripped
+it as it glided along, like the knife of a diver in the belly of a
+shark. A cold wind blew from the riven mass. Then came the hiss of
+descending waters. There was neither thunder nor lightning, only the
+steady rush of the rain that glazed the slippery trail, hid the opposing
+cliff from sight, sheeting it with dull silver, pounding, pitting,
+beating at them as they plodded doggedly on, almost blinded, trusting to
+the instinct of their horses.
+
+Through the steady patter began to sound the savage voice of torrents
+falling over cliffs, rapids rising and surging in deep gorges. The
+wetness and the cold sapped Molly's vitality. She shivered, her flesh
+seemed sodden, her hands and wrists began to puff and she saw their
+flesh was purple in the fading light. She rode with hands on the saddle
+horn, her head bowed, water streaming from the rim of her Stetson, the
+thud of the rain on her tired shoulders heavy as shot. The bay slipped,
+lurched, scrambled frantically for footing, hind feet skidding in the
+clay, haunches gathering desperately, heaving beneath her to the effort
+that brought him back to the trail. She saw Sandy ahead, dimly, like a
+sheeted ghost, twisted in his saddle, watching her. From the hips down
+he was a part of the mare he rode, from waist up he was in such
+exquisite balance while keeping his individuality apart from the horse
+that, despite her present misery and a presentiment of coming evil that
+was beginning to encompass her, Molly realized what a magnificent rider
+he was, and clung to his strength and skill, sensing the comforting
+power of his manhood.
+
+To her right was the cliff, slimy with water, the trail so narrow that
+now and then her elbow dug into the soft stuff. To the left was
+blackness out of which mists ascended, writhing, like steamy vapors, the
+rain pelting into the gulf, far, far below; the thunder of augmenting
+waters. Masses of broken cloud swept on above their heads, purple and
+crimson and orange as they streamed across the summit like the tattered
+banners of a routed army. The light rayed upward at an acute angle. In a
+few moments it would be dark. But they were close to the top. The mare
+already stood on a level ledge of side-jutting rock, a horizontal
+protuberance that marked the extreme height of the Pass of the Goats,
+from which one could look down into the canyon of the oaks and the
+unfailing stream.
+
+Sandy heard a cry from Molly and saw, through the curtain of the falling
+rain, the wide-flared nostrils of her horse, its eyes protruding as the
+brute, with the ground slopping away beneath him, slid slowly down
+toward the gulf, the girl, her weight flung forward on the withers, her
+face white as paper, turning to him mutely for help. It was a bad
+moment. Sandy and his mount stood upon an island in a shifting sea. The
+whole cliff seemed working and crawling, slithering down.
+
+He had no space to turn in, no chance to whirl his lariat, even for a
+side throw. There was no time to spin a loop. But his hand detached the
+rope, 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!" He
+sent the line jerking back, whistling as it streaked across the girl's
+shoulders. She clutched for it, with plenty of slack, snubbed it about
+the 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; he
+thanked God that he had examined the cinches of Molly's saddle. The bay
+was cat-footed; with the help of the mare Sandy believed he could dig
+and scrape and climb to safety. It was the decision of a split-second
+and he did not dare risk dragging the girl from the saddle past the
+struggling horse.
+
+He felt Goldie stiffen beneath him, braced against the strain she knew
+was coming. The taut lariat hummed, it bruised into Sandy's thigh.
+Behind, the bay snorted, struggling gallantly. They were poised on the
+brink of death for a moment, two--three--and then the mare began to move
+slowly forward, neck curved, ears cocked to her master's urging, while
+the bay sloshed through the treacherous muck, found foothold, lost it,
+made a frantic leap, another, and landed trembling on the ledge. Sandy
+leaped from his saddle and caught Molly, sliding from her seat in sheer
+exhaustion 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 down
+inter the canyon 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 of
+herself.
+
+"I'm all right," she said. "I was scared an' yet I knew you'd pull me
+out. I'm plumb shamed of myself. Jest like a damned gel to act that
+way."
+
+"Shucks! You wasn't half as scared as the bay. Wonder did he strain
+himself?" He passed clever hands over the bay's legs, talking to it.
+
+"Yo're all right, ol' surelegs. Right as rain." Goldie, the mare, stood
+stock-still with trailing lariat, watching them intelligently in the
+dusk that was growing quickly luminous as star after star shone through
+the flying wrack. A clean, strong wind blew through the throat of the
+pass. Sandy recoiled his lariat, gave Molly a hand to her foot to lift
+her to her saddle, mounted himself and they rode slowly down. The trail
+was in better shape this side, though half an inch of water still topped
+it. The turmoil of running waters far below burdened the night, but the
+danger 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 town
+they were aiming for whose livery stable was, in the march of the times,
+divided between horses and machines. There he expected to put up the
+horses until they could be returned to Three Star, and there he figured
+on hiring a car and a driver if, as he anticipated, there were no more
+trains that night. He believed that Mormon and Sam had delayed the
+sheriff. Probably the latter had given up the chase, but there was no
+telling. Jordan's best attribute was his pertinacity. They should lose
+no time in getting out of the state.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+CAROCA
+
+
+As Sandy had promised, there was a wide-bottomed canyon where great oaks
+grew on the flats beside the unfailing stream. The trees were only vast
+shapes in the starlight, the long grass was wet and clinging, the creek
+spouted and tore along as Sandy led the way on the mare to a shelving
+bench, a place where he had camped once long before and, with his
+out-of-doors-man's craft, never forgotten. Molly was tired almost to
+insensibility as to what might be going on, soaked and chilled to
+limpness. Sandy got her out of the saddle and into a shallow cave in a
+sandy bank. The next thing she knew a fire was leaping and sending light
+and warmth into her nook.
+
+She heard Sandy talking to his mare. Between the range rider and his
+mount there is always an understanding born of loneliness, close
+companionship and mutual appreciation. Sandy was certain that his ponies
+understood most of what he said, and they were very sure that Sandy
+understood 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' the
+bay, an' we'll dry out these blankets a bit. Can't let you stay long or
+we'll git all stiffened up, but Chuck Goodwin, down to Caroca, he knows
+hawses an' he's a pal of mine. He'll fix you with a hot mash an', after
+that, anything on the menu from alfalfy to sugar. The pair of you. You
+bay, 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 you
+are!"
+
+Molly listened drowsily to the affection in his voice. It was nice to be
+spoken to that way, she thought. Nice to be looked after. Her dad had
+been fond of her, but his words had lacked the silk, the caress that
+savored the strength, as it did with Sandy. She snuggled into the warm
+heat-reflecting sand like a rabbit in its burrow.
+
+"Eat this, Molly, an' we got to be on our way." Sandy was handing her a
+cupful of hot savory stew, made for the trip, warmed up hastily, the
+best kind of a meal after their strenuous experience, though Sandy
+bemoaned its quality.
+
+"Figgered you an' me 'ud eat on the Pullman ter-night," he said. "But
+this snack'll do us no harm. We'll git a cup of coffee in Caroca if
+there's a chance."
+
+She gulped the reviving food gratefully, strength coming back with the
+fuel that gave both warmth and motive power. Soon they were jogging on
+down the wide trough of the canyon 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 slopes
+receding, its great bulk dim mass, the twin notches that marked the
+Pass of the Goats hardly discernible against the sky. They crossed a
+white road, unfenced but evidently a main source of travel though now
+deserted.
+
+"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 we
+missed 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. Molly
+had 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' me
+settled down to the ranch. Never had time enough in one place to fool
+round 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 the
+horrible 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 most
+admired was the wife of ol' Pete Holden, a desert prospector an'
+drifter, like yore dad, Molly. She was old an' tough an' wiry, like he
+was. I don't figger she'd ever have taken a blue ribbon in a beauty
+contest, but she was like first-grade linoleum, the pattern wore clean
+through an' the stuff was top quality. She'd drifted with Pete over most
+of Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Arizony, Nevada and paht of New
+Mexico 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 hold
+out on him was once in the Canyon Pintada when he woke up in the night
+and saw her pourin' water out of her canteen into his. Nothin' pritty
+about Kate Holden, but she was full woman-size from foot callus to gray
+ha'r, back to back with Pete all the time she wasn't standin' side of
+him."
+
+"She warn't eddicated?" asked Molly.
+
+"She was. Some thought it funny, for Pete was no scholar. I've listened
+with him, more'n once when she'd tell us things about plants and
+insects, or about the stars, things we'd never dreamed of. They say she
+c'ud play the pianny an' she sure c'ud sing. Ask Sam about that. But
+Pete 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 not
+the first time that Sandy had noticed it, lately wondering a little, not
+realizing that his own observation was a recognition based upon
+response. Now he figured that the low softness of her speech was due to
+her tired condition and a little wave of tenderness swept him, blent
+with admiration of her pluck. Saddle-racked, nerve-tried, she had never
+murmured, never mentioned the trials of the trail.
+
+They entered the little town, once a cattle station, now renamed in
+musical Spanish, Caroca,--A Caress--a spot where fruits were grown and
+shipped and flowers bloomed the year round wherever the water caressed
+the earth. Sandy rode the mare into the livery where the last skirmish
+between hoof and rim, iron and rubber tire was being fought, and called
+for "Chuck" Goodwin.
+
+A stout man came out, not so heavy, not so big as Mormon, but sheathed
+in 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, Sandy
+Bourke! Light off'n that cayuse, you an' yore lady friend. Where in time
+did 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 he
+is agent."
+
+"Got a few oats left fo' yore hawsses, Sandy. Miss, won't you come
+inside the office? Where you bound, Sandy?"
+
+"We was aimin' to catch the seven o'clock train east, makin' fo' New
+Mexico 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 we
+quit hurryin' an' loafed in. Chuck, have you got a machine you c'ud rent
+us, 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 Miss
+Barbara, or Mrs. Barbara as she is now. But--" He looked at the wall
+clock. "It's a quarter of ten. Yore train's been altered to suit main
+line schedules. She don't come through till nine-thirty an' she's
+gen'ally late makin' the grade. I ain't heard her whistle yet. I
+wouldn't wonder but what you can make it. Not that I'm aimin' none to
+hurry you."
+
+The ex-blacksmith reached for the telephone and got his connection.
+
+"Runnin' twenty minutes late," he announced. "Hop in my car an' we'll
+jest about make her. She don't do much more'n hesitate at Caroca when
+she'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 probably
+be back for 'em myse'f in three-fo' days."
+
+"Seguro." Goodwin stepped on his starter and the flywheel whirred to
+sputtering explosions. Another car came limping down the street, flat
+on 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 to
+hear Sandy hissing out.
+
+"Don't tell 'em. Scoot ahead full speed." Then, over his shoulder to the
+girl, "Crouch down there, Molly." Goodwin was still a man of action and
+he knew Sandy Bourke of old. Out came the pedal, the gears engaged and
+the car shot ahead, beneath a swinging arc light. Sandy's hat-rim did
+not sufficiently shade his face or Molly's action had not been swift
+enough. There came a yell and a string of curses from the crippled car
+which backed and turned and followed, its torn treads flapping.
+
+Goodwin asked no questions of Sandy. If the latter wanted ever to tell
+him 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 dodged
+around corners recklessly. A red lantern showed ahead in the middle of
+the road. They crashed through a light obstruction of boards and
+trestles, overturning the lantern and plowed on over rough stones.
+
+"I'm mayor," said Goodwin with a grin. "Breakin' my own rules but I
+figger that broken stone'll bother 'em some. We'll chance it."
+
+They lunged through, regardless of tires and, behind them, the pursuing
+car rattled, lurched, skidded. A third tire blew out and as Goodwin
+swung a corner with two wheels in the air the sheriff's machine smashed
+viciously across the sidewalk, poking its crumpling radiator into a
+cottonwood.
+
+"Brazen bulls!" shouted Goodwin. "There she blows! You got to run."
+
+The depot was ahead, to one side of the road-crossing. The train, its
+clanging bell slowing for the stop, ground to a halt, the conductor
+swinging from a platform to glance at the "clear" board. He waved
+"ahead" as Sandy and Molly raced up and clambered to the platform from
+which the trainman had dropped off. Now the latter remounted while the
+train 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 down
+the street. A star flashed on the breast of one of them, a star dulled
+with mud. Goodwin had disappeared. Jordan pulled up, Plimsoll close
+behind 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's
+the charges? No reservations, but we rode fifty mile' across the mesa to
+make the train."
+
+Sandy produced his roll and at the same time he grinned in the light of
+the conductor's lantern. And Sandy's smile was worth much more than
+ordinary 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 give
+you a spare upper for the lady."
+
+Molly, all eyes, tired though they were, was staring at the Pullman
+Afro-American, flashing eyes and teeth and buttons at her and even more
+at Sandy.
+
+"Fine!" said Sandy. "Smoker's good enough fo' me. He's got a bed for
+you, Molly. See you in the morning."
+
+He waited, countenancing her while she climbed the short ladder to the
+already curtained berth. Molly's system might be aquiver with wonder but
+she never showed loss of wits or poise. She might have traveled so a
+hundred times. Back of the curtain she curled up half-undressed but,
+even as Sandy registered to himself with a low chuckle: "She never
+turned a hair or shied."
+
+He found the smoking-room empty and rolled cigarettes. Presently the
+conductor 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 happy
+an' 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 bad
+man fo' suah. Carryin' two of them six-guns. You figgah he's elopin' wiv
+that 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 the
+bay, reaching the Three Star at the end of sunset. Mormon was in his
+chair with the one letter that Sandy had written on his lap. It was
+almost too dark to read it. Mormon's eyes were beginning to fail him at
+anything short of long distance but he knew the contents by heart, yet
+he liked to keep the letter near him as a dog loves a favorite bone long
+after all the nourishment from it has been absorbed. Mormon was still
+penitent. 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 to
+so close a chance, neither did Sam forget occasionally to remind him of
+his lapse of tongue.
+
+Sandy pulled in the mare beyond the corral. He could hear the sound of
+Sam's harmonica and pictured him with the instrument cuddled up under
+his great mustache. Sam was playing _The Girl I Left Behind Me_ and he
+managed 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. The
+bay nickered. Answers came back from the corral. Pronto, Sandy's first
+string 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-morrer
+together." Then he let out a mighty, "Hello, the house!"
+
+Sam's lilt ceased abruptly. The riders came hurrying. Sam appeared, with
+Mormon 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 el
+rancho! Pronto!_"
+
+"_Si, senor, 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 with
+question after question about the trip, about Barbara Redding and about
+Molly's going to school. Mormon made abject apology for talking too much
+and Sandy told how close a shave it had been.
+
+"I don't cotton to playin' jack-rabbit to Plimsoll and Jordan's
+coyotes," said Sandy. "Speshully Plimsoll, who's at the bottom of the
+whole thing. Nex' time he may not have the law backin' him, an' I won't
+have to run. How's the sheriff?"
+
+"Sort of tamed. They've been kiddin' him a mite. Seems he done some
+boastin' 'fore he started. His car's laid up fo' repairs. Jordan's
+layin' low. Miss Bailey, she's at the head of the Wimmen's League to
+gen'ally clean up politics an' the town, one to the same time. I figger
+the first thing their broom's goin' to locate'll be either Jordan or
+Plimsoll. They're sure goin' into all the dark corners an' under the
+furniture. 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 a
+grin. "She's been over here twice to see if there was news. Mormon
+entertained her. He seems to be the fav'rite. Beats all how one man'll
+charm the fair sect, like honey'll bring flies, while another ain't ever
+bothered."
+
+Mormon changed the trend of the conversation by demanding to know about
+the school.
+
+"Molly's got an outfit Barbara Redding bought her," said Sandy. "Trunk
+an' leather grip, all kinds of do-dads. School costs fifteen hundred
+bucks a year. The rest of Molly's money is banked. Barbara picked out a
+school in Pennsylvania she said was the best. Here's an advertisement of
+it."
+
+He handed the magazine leaf to Sam who read over the items with Mormon
+looking 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 as
+to their meaning. Sandy tried to elucidate, repeating the explanations
+Barbara 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 to
+talk 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' to
+find 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 coax
+him, Sandy. Set around an' howled like a sick coyote fo' fo'-five
+days--mostly nights. If the gel balks at all that line of stuff I'll
+stand back of her to quit an' come back to Three Star."
+
+"An' have Jordan git her away an' put her under Plimsoll's
+guardeenship?"
+
+"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 legal
+guardeen to Molly while we was in Santa Rosa, one day Barbara an' Molly
+was shoppin'. John Redding's lawyer fixed it up."
+
+The months passed without especial incident at the Three Star. Sandy
+purchased a Champion Hereford bull for the herd out of the ranch share
+of the faro winnings. Other improvements were added, and the three
+partners seemed on the fair way to prosperity. Sandy's theory that
+better bred and better fed beef, bringing better prices, would pay,
+began to demonstrate itself slowly, though it would take three years
+before the get of the thoroughbred stock was ready for marketing.
+
+Occasional letters came from Molly. Homesickness and unhappiness showed
+between the lines of the first epistles, despite her evident efforts to
+conceal 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 and
+it 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 of
+havin' her miserable fo' the sake of a li'l' book learnin'. She's
+gettin' 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 honors
+and favors. She gained laurels for Corona in swimming and tennis, and
+life went more merrily. Mormon looked up tennis outfits in his mail
+catalogue and sent for a book on the game, which he soon abandoned.
+
+"You have to learn a foreign langwidge before you start to play," he
+said. "Leastwise a code. The langwidge ain't what you'd expect them to
+be handin' out in a young lady's college. All erbout deuce an' love. I'd
+a notion we'd fix up the game fo' her so she'd c'ud keep it up but I
+dunno. 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 murder
+of a stranger whose friends made such an investigation, backed by the
+real law-and-order element of Hereford, that the exposure brought about
+forfeiture of all licenses and a strict shutting down on gambling and
+illicit liquor. Plimsoll left Hereford for his horse ranch, deprived of
+the sheriff's official countenance, and Jordan began to worry about
+election.
+
+One evening in early October a little body of riders came to the Three
+Star, all strangers to the county, men whose faces were grim, who
+cracked no jokes, whose greetings were barely more than civil. They were
+well armed and they acted like men of a single purpose.
+
+"This is the Three Star, ain't it?" asked the leader of a cowboy, who
+nodded silently, taking in the appearance of the visitors.
+
+"Bourke, Peters and Manning?"
+
+"One and all," answered the Three Star rider. "Find 'em at chuck, I
+reckon. You-all are jest in time. If you aim to stay overnight I'll tend
+yore 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, the
+same bein' strangers, is expected to pass the night, if they're in no
+hurry."
+
+Sandy personally backed the invitation a moment later and steaks were
+being pan-fried as the men dismounted and lounged on the porch, awaiting
+their 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 tip
+the mental scale, the crowd grew more familiar and welded with supper,
+exchanged anecdotes with digestion, to get confidential over the
+tobacco.
+
+"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 what
+they say of you in Herefo'd. Also, by that last reckonin', I ain't
+figgerin' you as any speshul pal of the man we're tryin' to round up. I
+reckon you know who we mean. Jim Plimsoll, who owns what he calls the
+Waterline Hawss Ranch, sixteen miles east of you, more or less; an' who
+gits 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 I
+can 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 Mojave
+City an' Topock. Most of 'em have been sold or passed on. All of 'em
+have been faked an' doctored more or less. Talk points to Plimsoll, so
+do some facts, but not enough. An' this Plimsoll has got some mighty
+close friends where they do the most good. You'd have to prove a damn
+sight 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 supposed
+to 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, it
+ain'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 the
+finest brand-faker I've met up with. He suspicioned what we was after
+an' we didn't see all he had. But we're goin' to git him yet an', when
+we do, there won't be any more hawss-stealin' an' fakin' in Coconino
+County, Arizona. Hawss-stealin' was a hangin' matter when I first come
+west an' I reckon there's some feels the same way now. Speshully when
+the courts back up a man like Plimsoll. Lead's cheaper than rope, but
+somehow it ain't so convincin'."
+
+Brandon changed the subject after he had spoken, but it was plain that
+he and his companions had not given up the matter; clear also that they
+were sure of Plimsoll's guilt and laying plans to trap him. They stayed
+until the next morning and departed.
+
+"That man Brandon's got some trick up his sleeve to trap Plimsoll," said
+Sam, watching them ride off. "He ain't quite got it fixed up yet to suit
+himself but it's a good un."
+
+"He's got brains," commented Sandy, rubbing Grit's ears. The collie had
+picked up since Sandy's return, sensing some connection with his
+mistress closer than that of Mormon and Sam. He would feed only from
+Sandy's hand and attached himself to the latter almost as permanently as
+his shadow. "So has Jim Plimsoll. I ain't hankerin' fo' another man to
+clean him up befo' I get my own chance. But that bunch sure mean
+business."
+
+The incident was forgotten as the round-up days grew near, with frosty
+mornings when the mountains looked as flat as if they had been profiled
+from cardboard and stuck up along the horizon--until the lifting sun
+modeled them with shadows--with sweltering noons tapering slowly off to
+cool nights while horses raced after the flying cattle, driving and
+cutting out, and so to the corral brandings, where the three partners
+found their increase better than they had anticipated.
+
+Molly was not to come home at Christmas after all. She formed a
+friendship, the first close one she had made, and Barbara Redding
+advised that the invitation extended by this new acquaintance to spend
+the holidays be accepted. There had been plans of a Christmas tree and
+a celebration, but the gifts were boxed and sent off. Others arrived
+from the East in exchange, a collar for Grit, a cigarette case for
+Sandy, a necktie for Mormon and a three-decked harmonica for Sam. There
+was a picture too, not so much of a girl but a young woman, a somewhat
+wistful look in her eyes, but a firm-lipped, resolute-chinned young
+woman for all that, who smiled out at them frankly and confidently. It
+was 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 prosperous
+enough, 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, winter
+gave reluctant place to spring until the last moment when it turned and
+fled and, far into the desert, myriads of flower-blooms sprang up
+overnight while everywhere the cactus gleamed in silken blooms in yellow
+and 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 there
+sprang out of it Miranda Bailey and the lanky Ed, temporarily charged
+with a tremendous activity. The cause of young Ed's galvanism was so
+strong that he actually won from his aunt as bearer of the news.
+
+"Gold!" he cried. "They've struck pay dirt at Dynamite! Chunks of
+sylvanite that sweat gold in the fire. Assay thirty thousand dollars a
+ton. Whole streaks of it. Vein's twelve foot wide. The whole town's
+stampedin' by way of White Cliff Canyon. I'm goin'. Got a pick an' shovel
+in the car. Aunt Mirandy, she was bound we'd come this way. Mebbe we can
+pack you all in. But you got to hurry or they'll swarm over Dynamite
+like flies on a chunk o' liver!"
+
+"It's true," backed Miss Bailey. "Folks over to Hereford have gone
+crazy. 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 'em
+sent away an' assayed. They turned out to be the big stuff. 'Course you
+can'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 those
+claims of Molly's first thing. That's one reason I made Ed come this
+way. Thought you might like to come erlong, on'y he took the words out
+of my mouth."
+
+"You goin'?" asked Mormon. There were two red splotches in Miranda's
+cheeks, a glitter in her eyes that suggested she had not escaped the
+gold fever.
+
+"Sure am," she answered. "Ed Bailey Senior, he 'lows there's no sense in
+chasin' gold underground. Says he likes to see his prospects growin' up
+under his own eyes an' gazin' on his own land. I'm the adventurous one
+of the Bailey fam'ly, though you mightn't guess it to look at me," she
+said with a twitch of her lips. "Me an' young Ed here. He takes after
+me. 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 extry
+energy 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 license
+an' his brother-in-law sheriff his badge. He's right. I did. I figgered
+you'd not be anxious to let him have his own way about Molly's claims
+an' I 'lowed I'd like to be along an' see the excitement. Me an' Ed
+here'll stake off suthin' for ourselves. I'd jest as soon git some easy
+money as the rest of 'em. If I do I'll buy another car. This thing"--she
+surveyed the panting flivver contemptuously--"is nigh worn out and it's
+jest 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, voiced
+his opinion.
+
+"Marm," he said, "you're a dyed-in-the-wool sport an' I'd admire to
+trail with you. But that kittle, as you call it, 'll sure bu'st its
+cinches 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'ud
+make it by the old road, where you found Molly? It's shorter than White
+Cliff Canyon 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 what
+was left of it an' there was spots this side of where we found Casey
+where 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 his
+partners balked resolutely.
+
+"We've got some food," said Miranda. "You might fetch along some canned
+stuff 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 beside
+young Ed, Miranda Bailey sat between Sandy and Sam. Whatever lack of
+energy the lank Ed Junior displayed on his feet, he eliminated as a
+driver. The springs creaked, chirpings arose from various parts of the
+car as it ran, but he coaxed the engine, performed miracles at bad
+places in the road, nursed the insufficient radiator surface and kept
+the "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 wheels
+and brought them triumphantly through White Cliff Canyon, over the
+malpais belt, up and across a mesa and so to the far brink of it an hour
+before dawn without puncture, without a broken leaf in the springs, with
+shock 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 a
+minute. Here's some cold biscuits we can warm up on that radiator. It's
+nigh as good as a stove."
+
+The trio watched interestedly the capable way in which she got together
+the meal, adding sugar and evaporated milk to her coffee. Sam picked up
+the 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't
+hesitate to say I like my licker. Likewise I can do 'thout it. They
+claim that I used to leave nothin' but the sody-water inter a saloon
+once 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 rim
+of the eastern range, so jagged it seemed trying to claw back the
+mounting sun. Ever in view below them lay the intermountain valley in
+which the camp had been located. Its floor was jumbled with hard-cored
+hills. There was little greenery. A few cottonwoods, fewer willows along
+the deep bed of a scanty stream. Under the sunrise the whole scene was
+theatrical with vivid light and shade. The crumpled ground, the
+deep-ridged hills, all seemed unreal, made up of papier-mache, crudely
+modeled and painted, garish, unfinished. The effect was enhanced by the
+appearance of the one main street of the camp and the few scattering
+cabins on the hills, the ancient dumps in front of the lateral shafts
+where the weathered timbers sagged.
+
+There were a few tents, some wagons and picketed horses, and there were
+a great many machines parked at will. But, from the height, it all
+looked like the miniature scene of a panoramic model, the houses
+cardboard, the horses and wagons toys of tin. The horses were the only
+moving objects, no smoke curled yet from the chimneys.
+
+Here and there unbroken glass in the windows flung back the sun. A door
+opened and a midget in shirtsleeves came out, stretching arms, palpably
+yawning. Suddenly smoke jetted from a tumbled chimney, other puffs
+followed and steady vapors mounted. Ant-like men emerged from every
+house, 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 the
+hotel, with the high front. Furniture all in it an' in the cabins. Most
+of the fixtures left in the saloons, an' there was a plenty of them. Two
+hotels, five restyronts, seven gamblin' houses, twenty-two saloons an'
+the rest sleepin' cabins. That was Dynamite. When they git it dusted off
+and 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-all
+want to remember, ma'am, that this is an unco'porated town an' that's
+there's allus a shortage of law an' order for a whiles wherever there's
+a strike, gold, oil or whatever 'tis. Eighty per cent. of the rush is a
+hard-shelled lot an' erlong with 'em is a smaller bunch that thrives
+best 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 that
+showed of a compliment accepted.
+
+"Meanin'," said Mormon "that, ef you'll take it 'thout offense, you-all
+air plumb up-to-date. When wimmen took up the ballot I figger they
+wasn't on'y ready fo' equal rights, they knew how to git 'em. 'Side from
+the shootin' end of it, I'd say you was as well equipped as any man to
+look 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 it
+ain't flyin'. Ed, what you stoppin' fer?"
+
+"Blamed if they ain't a puncture," said Ed as he put on the brakes. "We
+got a spare tire but 'twon't do to spile this 'un. We got to git back
+some time. Might not be able to buy a spare round here. I got to fix
+this."
+
+"Fix it when you git down," said his aunt. "Put on the spare. I'm kinder
+nervous 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 over
+the dusty road to the camp. Before they reached the main street a car
+passed them from behind with a rush, driver and passengers reckless,
+whooping as they rode, one man waving a bottle, another firing his gun
+into the air.
+
+"That's the kind that'll figger to run Dynamite fo' a while," said
+Sandy. "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 to
+listen 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 in
+their chaps, who had left the range for the chance of sudden wealth, to
+storekeepers from Hereford and other towns. Excitement reigned, no one
+was normal. Bottles passed freely. Among the crowd moved shifty-eyed men
+who had come to speculate. There were gamblers, plain bullies,
+swaggerers, with here and there a bearded miner, gray of hair and faded
+blue of eye, either moving steadily through the throng or held up by a
+little crowd to whom he declaimed with the right of experience. Some, it
+seemed certain, must be on their claims, but the bulk of the men who
+filled the street of the resurrected town, were those who prey upon the
+work and luck of others, camp-followers of the Army of Good Fortune.
+
+Mormon's pronouncement that the town, after its long desertion, had
+automatically refunctioned, was not far wrong. Rudely lettered signs
+proclaimed 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," he
+drawled. "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," said
+Miranda Bailey. "Do you know where they are?"
+
+"I can soon find the location," replied Sandy. "But there ain't any
+extry hurry. They've been recorded. They'll keep. We'll git us some real
+hot grub at one of these restyronts an' listen a bit to the news. Find
+out 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 was
+runnin' a chuck-wagon. He's sure some cook if it's him."
+
+They pressed through the crowded street to the sign. Next door to the
+cabin that Simpson had preempted on the first-come-first-served order
+that prevailed, was one of the olden saloons. Through door and window
+they could see the crowded bar with bottles and tin mugs upon the
+ancient 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 escort
+checked any familiarity. Covered with dust from their ride, guns on
+hip, the three musketeers did not encourage persiflage at the expense of
+their outfit and they passed unchallenged into the eating-house where a
+stubby man with a big paunch shouted greetings at Sandy.
+
+"You ornery son of a gun! _An'_ Mormon. This yore last, Mormon. No? I
+beg 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'll
+you have, folks? I've got steak an' po'k an' beans. Drove over some
+beef. More comin' ter-morrer. I'll have a real mennoo by the end of the
+week. 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 you
+strike it lucky, Sandy. Damn few--beggin' yore pahdon, miss--damn few of
+this crowd ever had a blister on their hands. It ain't like the old days
+when the sourdoughs made a strike. They worked their own shafts. This
+bunch specklates on 'em. A claim'll change hands twenty times between
+now 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 mineral
+with 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 in
+Colorado. He comes from the Boulder School of Mines. He's a kid, but I
+w'udn't wonder but he knows what he's talkin' about. Some calls it
+telluride. But it's gold, all right, an' there's a big vein of it close
+to the surface on the knoll east side of Flivver Crick."
+
+They passed the heavy mineral from hand to hand, examining it with eager
+curiosity. Simpson rambled on.
+
+"Over five hundred in camp an' more comin' all the time. The rush ain't
+started yet. Goin' to be an old-time boom, sure. Bound to make money ef
+you don't hold on too long. Peg you out a claim or two 'long that east
+bank, 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 got
+a 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 tell
+you, Sandy, the sheriff ought to be on the job on the start of a rush
+like this. But he's t'other end of the county, they tell me, an' likely
+he won't hear of it for three-four days. And by that time she may have
+blew 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 the
+way she started when old man Casey drifted in an' his burro kicked up
+pay-ore. Damn--dern--few of this crowd'll ever stop to run shaft or
+tunnel. Though this young assayin' feller talks big about folds an'
+uplifts, synclines an' anticlines. Claims the po'phyry is syncline. You
+got 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 and
+steaks. Miranda Bailey and her companions finished the meal and started
+out.
+
+The Casey claims were on the east side of the creek, Sandy knew. The old
+prospector's lore, or instinct, had been unfailing. It remained to see
+if his marks and monuments had been respected. Molly had said that the
+assessment work had been done, and she had so described the place in a
+narrow terrace of the hill that Sandy felt sure of finding them without
+trouble.
+
+He pointed out a sign over the door of a shack ahead, white lettered on
+black 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 erlong
+with him. Smart, fo' a youngster. Simpson said he was a kid. How 'bout
+seein' 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. A
+deep voice boomed out in bullying tone, followed by silence, then more
+laughs. 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 apparently
+aimless and clumsy fashion while Sandy, his hands dropping to his gun
+butts, lifting the weapons slightly and, releasing them into the
+holsters once again, lengthened his stride, walking cat-footed, on the
+soles of his feet, as he always did when he scented trouble. Sam, easing
+his own gun, lightly touched his lips with the tip of his tongue and
+followed Sandy with eyes that widened and brightened.
+
+"Bullyin' the kid, I reckon," he said to Sandy as they went. Sandy did
+not need to nod before they reached the half-ring that had formed about
+a young chap in khaki shirt, riding breeches and puttees, whose fair
+hair was curly above a face tanned, and resolute enough. Yet he was
+clearly nervous at the jibes of the crowd and the actions of the man who
+faced him, heavy of body, long of arm, heavy of jowl; a deep-chested,
+broad-shouldered individual whose head, cropped close, tapering in a
+rounded cone from his bushy eyebrows, helped largely to give him the
+aspect of a professional wrestler, or a heavyweight prizefighter. He
+carried a big blued Colt revolver, and the way he spun the weapon on the
+trigger guard showed familiarity with the weapon.
+
+The young assayer had no holster to his belt, seemingly no gun. His
+clean shaven jaws were clamped tight so that the muscles lumped here and
+there, and he fronted the unsympathetic crowd and the jeering bully with
+a courage that was partly born of desperation.
+
+"Mining engineer!" read the bully. "Smart, ain't he, for a curly-headed
+kid! Engineer? Peanut butcher 'ud suit better. Looks like a movie
+pitcher actor, don't he? Mebbe he's a vodeville performer. I'll bet he
+is, 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's
+feet.
+
+"Show us a few steps, you powder-faced dood! Mebbe we'll let you stay in
+camp if you amuse us."
+
+Sandy and Sam had elbowed their way lightly through the ring and the
+former 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 was
+talkin' about. Chap asked the kid's opinion on a bit of ore an' he give
+it. It didn't suit Russell."
+
+"It didn't, eh? Now, that's too bad," drawled Sandy. The other looked at
+him curiously. Sandy's drawl was often provocative. Russell's gun
+barked again.
+
+"Dance, damn ye! An' sing at the same time; blast you for a buttin' in
+tenderfoot! Won't, eh?"
+
+The victim, game but despairing, flung a look of appeal about him. To
+give in meant to become the laughing-stock of the camp, to have its
+ribaldry 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, the
+gleam in his eyes was that of the killer, a man half insane from
+alcohol.
+
+"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 out
+when Sandy, stepping forward, touched the bully on the shoulder. Russell
+whirled 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 hard
+look 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 hand
+though its muzzle was tilted skyward. The crowd, thickening, waited his
+next move. He had been stopped in his baiting. He saw no woman back of
+the big bulk of Mormon, keeping Miranda well away, not seeing what was
+going forward.
+
+"To hell with the lady!" shouted Russell. At his back was only the
+unarmed assayer. This lean cold-eyed interferer was a hardy fool who
+needed a lesson. He swept down his gun, thumb to hammer. Two guns grew
+like 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 the
+stranger had beaten him to the drop and fire. He felt the fan of the
+wing of death on his brow. His gun flew out of his fingers, wrenched
+away 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 almost
+conversational 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 friendly
+fashion by one elbow.
+
+"I won't shoot _yore_ knuckles off," said Sandy, "pervidin' you keep
+yore fingers wide apaht, an' don't wiggle 'em. Spread 'em out against
+the 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 greatest
+safety. Sandy did not move position, he hardly seemed to move wrist or
+finger as his guns spat fire, left and right, eight shots blending,
+eight bullets smashing their way through the door between the "V's" of
+the bully's fingers while the crowd held their breath for the
+exhibition.
+
+Sandy quickly reloaded, quickly but without obvious haste. He did not
+return the guns to their holsters and he paid no attention to the
+admiring 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 a
+healthy trick. An' you ain't apologized to the lady. I don't know how
+Westlake feels about it, but you've sure got to apologize to the lady."
+
+The assayer, bewildered at Sandy's assumption of friendship, waved his
+hand deprecatingly. Russell's eyes rolled from side to side toward his
+still elevated hands.
+
+"You can lower 'em if you can't talk with 'em up," said Sandy. "I'm
+waitin' 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 to
+strangers. You're sorry you swore, ain't you?"
+
+"You're quicker'n I am on the draw with yore two guns," retorted the
+goaded Russell. "I c'ud lick you one-handed 'thout guns--or any man in
+this 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, were
+merciless as probes.
+
+"I apologizes to the lady," growled Russell.
+
+"Now, that's fine," said Sandy. "Fine! Westlake, will you come erlong
+with me fo' a spell?"
+
+He made his way through the opening group. Sam followed with the assayer
+who now began to realize that Sandy's interference had established a
+friendship that would continue protective. They met Mormon, almost
+purple in the face from suppressed feelings. Young Ed Bailey eyed Sandy
+with awe and new respect. Miranda Bailey's attempt to learn exactly what
+had happened was thwarted by Sandy's presentation of Westlake. During
+the introduction Mormon slipped away. Roaring Russell was endeavoring to
+readjust his swagger when the stout cowboy met him.
+
+"I was with the lady," said Mormon. "Consequent I c'udn't git here
+sooner. You said you c'ud lick any one in the camp one-handed, guns
+barred. Now I don't like the way you apologized, sabe? It warn't willin'
+enough, nor elegant enough, nor spontaneous enough. Ter-night, after I
+git through showin' the lady around the diggin's, I'll meet you where
+you say for fun, money or marbles, an' argy with you barehanded.
+Thisaway."
+
+He slapped Russell on the cheek. The bully roared and the crowd stepped
+back. Mormon, with the surprising alertness he showed in action, for all
+his bulk and weight, sprang back, poised for strike or clutch. Miranda
+Bailey came with a rush and stepped between the two men. Russell
+foresaw a laugh at his expense and curbed himself, the sooner for his
+new-found consideration for Sandy's gunplay.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yoreselves, both of you," exclaimed the
+spinster. "I'll have no one fightin' over me. I can take care of
+myself."
+
+"Yes, m'm, I reckon you can. I reckon we are ashamed," said Mormon
+meekly, as the crowd roared in laughter that died away before the evenly
+swung gaze of Sandy, backed by Sam. Russell slipped off and the men
+dispersed. Miranda addressed Mormon.
+
+"I'll not have you fighting with that hulkin' brute on my account," she
+said. "Do you understand?"
+
+Mormon gulped. He seemed summoning his courage, gripping it with both
+hands.
+
+"Marm," he said desperately, "you can't stop me."
+
+The spinster gasped, met his eyes, flushed and turned away. Sam nudged
+Mormon with elbow to ribs.
+
+"You dog-gone ol' desperado," he said in a whisper. "I didn't think you
+had it in you. That the way you treated the first three?"
+
+"No, it ain't," said Mormon, mopping his forehead. "And she ain't the
+same 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 the
+young engineer to Sandy. He made hard going of the last word but shot it
+out with a snap that left his jaw advanced. Sandy told himself that he
+liked the clean-cut, well-set-up Westlake.
+
+"Shucks," he answered, "I reckon you w'udn't have much trubble
+protectin' yo'self, providin' terms was any way nigh even. That Roarin'
+Russell throwed down on you, figgerin' you packed no gun, seein' there
+was none in sight.
+
+"I sabe that kind of hombre. Since he was knee-high he's always had an
+aidge on most folks, 'count of his size an' weight. But that ain't
+enough, 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' a
+man who figgers he ain't equal to tacklin' another 'thout he knows he's
+got 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 be
+a 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's
+fooled mo'n one. He's hog fat, to look at, but if you was to skin him
+you'd find mighty li'l' fat an' a heap of muscle. Got flesh like an
+Injunrubber ball, has Mormon. Minute Roarin' Russell finds he ain't got
+a walkover he'll begin to quit. That sort does, ninety-nine out of a
+hundred. The yaller jest natcher'ly oozes out of 'em. How'd your fuss
+come to staht?"
+
+"A man was showing Russell and some others a piece of quartz picked up
+round here. It had nothing in it but some mica and galena, but Russell
+had given it as his opinion that it was the gold-bearing rock of the
+region. I told them I thought they would find that in the porphyry and
+Russell asked me what the hell I knew about it? That's how it started. I
+don't know how it would have finished if you hadn't taken a hand and
+said I was a friend of yours. That saved my face. I came to the strike
+because I thought there would be a chance of getting in on the ground
+floor in new diggings and I hated to be driven out of it by having to
+dance for a bully and a bully's crowd. I don't know that I _would_ have
+danced. 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 have
+danced."
+
+"You would?"
+
+"I sure would. No sense in argy'in' with a gun an' a boozy bluffer at
+the other end of it. He'd put up his bluff an', feelin' sure you c'udn't
+hurt him, he'd have carried it through. Any time a man has the drop on
+me I raise my hands--or my feet, 'cordin' to orders. I've spent a deal
+of time practisin' so it's hahd to beat me to the draw. Trouble was, ef
+you-all don't mind my sayin' so, you horned in. You give out information
+gratis. You had yore sign up fo' minin' engineer. Chahge fo' what you
+know, son, an' yo' customers'll be grateful. Give 'em a slug o' gold
+free an' they'll chuck it at a perairie dawg befo' they've gone fifty
+yards."
+
+"Do you know anything about mining, Mr. Bourke?"
+
+"Sandy is my name to my friends. A cowman with a mister to the front of
+his name seems to me like a hawss with an extry bridle. No, sir, I
+don'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 the
+gold in a certain region, but he couldn't guarantee that there would be
+any. Experience counts a lot, of course, but I do know something about
+sylvanite, or white gold. I've seen its big field over in Boulder and
+Teller Counties, Colorado. They call it graphic gold, sometimes, because
+the crystals are very frequently set up in twins and branch off so that
+they look like written characters. The crystals are monoclinic and occur
+in porphyry almost exclusively. It is a mixture of gold and silver
+telluride and it's also called tellurium. Named after Transylvania where
+it 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 that
+of the sphinx.
+
+"The porphyry dykes here are in syncline," the engineer went on. "They
+dip toward each other from both sides of the valley and form loops or
+folds. If you imagine an onion sliced in half you catch the idea. Call
+every other layer porphyry, with rock and other dirt between. The bottom
+of a loop may be deep down or it may be missing altogether, ground away
+when the valley was gouged out by a glacier. There may be other loops
+beneath it. Some portions of the loops come to the surface on the
+hillside 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 go
+down deep sinking through the hard porphyry for nothing. Science says
+that the tellurium crystals are in the porphyry dykes and that these
+dykes lie in syncline, perhaps two or three, nested one under the
+other."
+
+"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 to
+locate?" They had left the one street by this time and were making their
+way slowly along the western slope of the valley. Men worked at creaky
+and shaky old windlasses or appeared and disappeared at the mouths of
+lateral shafts, repairing the ancient timbers, wheeling out rubbish.
+Once or twice they heard the dull boom of a shot where dynamite was
+trying to split the rock and uncover a lead. On several of the claims
+were groups, the members of which made no pretense at mining, but lolled
+about, playing cards or pitching dollars at a mark. These were
+speculators, holding to sell. Stakes with papers in clefts, piles of
+stones at the corners, showed the boundaries of the claims.
+
+"If you think my judgment is any good," said Westlake, "you're welcome
+to it. I could be more certain of helping you when it comes to assaying
+or developing a mine. Are you-all taking up claims? Do you want to align
+them, or do you want to pool interests and locate here and there where
+the chances look good?"
+
+"Miss Bailey an' her nephew are goin' to take a chance," said Sandy. "Me
+an' my two partners are lookin' for claims located by the man who first
+discovered the camp. They can't get away an' we'll see Miss Mirandy
+settled 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 agreed
+when we went into the ranchin' business together not to go into
+speculations on the side 'thout mutual consent. From what I can make
+out 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 look
+after with our interest in 'em, an' I've a hunch that's goin' to occupy
+all 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 by
+Plimsoll."
+
+Sandy nodded. "I ain't surprised. Plimsoll's figgerin' that he'll get a
+big 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 take
+out much?"
+
+"As I understand it," replied Sandy, "he hits the porphyry where it's
+shaller, or worn off, like you said. An' he finds rich pay stuff right
+away, 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' he
+kept faith in the camp, on'y he realized it 'ud take a heap of money to
+develop, meanin' to dig through the porphyry, I suppose. Now they've
+found some mo' of that float ore that the first crowd overlooked. Reckon
+that'll peter out too, after a while. But capital may come in on this
+second staht. Some eastern folk were lookin' over the place a while
+back. Took samples an' Plimsoll got wise to what they amounted to."
+
+"And he hasn't taken up any claims?" said Westlake. "Despite his
+gambling investment, I should have thought he would."
+
+"He's got an interest in one or two, I fancy, or thinks he has," said
+Sandy dryly.
+
+Westlake halted and took a small steel hammer from his pocket with which
+he struck off a fragment of rock protruding from the ground. The
+cleavage showed purple. He walked slowly along for some fifty feet,
+kicking the soil with his foot, breaking off other samples to which he
+put his tongue.
+
+"Taste good?" asked Sam.
+
+"Not bad, if you're looking for mineral. They've got a distinct flavor
+all their own, but I wetted them to show the color up more plainly. Here
+is the outcrop of a syncline reef. It may carry gold and it may not, but
+it'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 out
+again 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 the
+rim-rock that outlines the auriferous deposit."
+
+Sandy, glancing across the valley to where the engineer pointed, nodded
+his head. "Your judgment goes with Casey's," he said. "Right across from
+here 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 up
+the 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 the
+same vein, I reckon."
+
+"It's all Greek to me," said the spinster. "How do we locate? I've come
+this 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 through
+worse 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 and
+setting up their monuments at the corners of the claim. Young Bailey
+started for the faithful flivver. They started directly down the
+sidehill, making for the valley, in silence, like men with business
+ahead of them that called for action rather than words.
+
+"Figger that tent is on them claims of Molly's and our'n?" asked Sam, as
+they paused before they tackled the eastern slope. "Looked like it was
+to 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's
+other witnesses to that. Plimsoll'll use some of them to swear that he
+grubstaked Casey. They'll be some of his own crowd. No doubt Plimsoll
+got the location of the claims from the old records an' these buckaroo
+pals of his, who are roostin' on said location, knew jest where to go
+an' stahted out well in front with their outfit. I don't reckon we'll
+find 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 his
+pay-roll."
+
+"Shucks, it don't make no difference whose pay-roll they're on," said
+Mormon. "They're claim-jumpers an', like you said, Sandy, a jump can be
+made two ways. Let's go look 'em over."
+
+The tent was pitched on the hillside where the grade was too steep to
+permit of level ground enough for more than the actual floor space. The
+brown duck erection strained at the guy ropes of its upper side where
+the stakes had been driven deep into the soil. The chimney of a small
+stove came through the top of the cloth, guarded by a metal ring.
+Outside were boxes, saddles, an ax, kettles and pans, a portable grill
+and other camping equipment. The tent flaps were open and showed cots on
+which blankets and clothing were roughly spread. On two of these beds
+men sprawled asleep. Five others were seated on boxes about a boulder
+that looked like porphyry outcrop. Its surface was flat enough to serve
+as a table. The five were playing poker. One was bearded and seemed the
+old-time miner. All boasted stubble on their chins, two wore mustaches.
+One was bald. Their clothes varied, from the miner's faded blue
+overalls, high boots and flannel shirt, to soiled khaki and laced
+prospector's footwear. One thing they all had in common, cartridge
+belts and guns, in plain view. Taken together they were not a
+prepossessing lot, playing their game in silence, looking up with a
+scowl and movements toward gun butts at the visitors. Two burros cropped
+at the scanty herbage above the tent. A demijohn stood between two of
+the 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 private
+property."
+
+"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 and
+stood yawning in the entrance, one hand on the pole. The other snored
+on. Sandy, with Mormon and Sam, stood just above the group on the narrow
+bench that furnished the floor for the tent. They had little doubt that
+the jumpers knew who they were, though they recognized none of them by
+sight. There was a hesitancy toward action that might have been born out
+of respect to Sandy's two guns or a foreknowledge of his reputation in
+handling them, aside from the armament of his partners. Sandy's hands
+rested lightly on his hips, his thumbs hooked in his belt, fingers
+grazing the butts of his guns. There was a smile on his lips but none in
+his eyes. His tone and manner were easy.
+
+"Saw his stencil on the tent," he said. "J. P. in a diamond. Same brand
+he uses fo' his hawsses. Or mebbe you found it."
+
+His drawling voice held a taunt that brought angry flushes of color to
+the faces of the men opposing him, yet they made no definite movement
+toward attack. It seemed patent that Sandy Bourke was testing them.
+Trouble was in the air, two kinds of it: on the one side hesitant
+belligerency; on the other--cool nonchalance. Sandy, with his smiling
+lips and unsmiling eyes, stood lightly poised as a dancing master.
+Mormon and Sam were tenser, crouched a little from the hips, elbows away
+from 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 and
+roused 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 readiness
+and an assurance that shows in their eyes, on their lips, vibrates from
+their compacted alliance, the measure is one of will, rather than
+physical and merely numerical superiority, and the balance beam quivers
+undecidedly. The bearded miner, with the rest, looked shiftily toward
+the man who had done the speaking, the bald-headed one, whose khaki and
+nail-studded boots were belied by the softness and puffiness of his
+flesh, the sags and wrinkles beneath his eyes and under his double
+chins. He had little gray-green orbs that glittered uneasily.
+
+"I'm giving you men two minutes to clear out of here," he said. "No
+two-gunned cow-puncher can throw any bluff round here, if that's what
+you'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 to
+call him, not to chew about it. Me, I pack two guns fo' a reason. Once
+in a while I shoot off all the ca'tridges from one an' then I don't have
+to reload. Now, _I'm_ talkin'. These claims are duly registered in the
+name of Patrick Casey, his heirs an' assigns. Here's the papers. The
+assessment work is all done. Pat's daughter owns 'em now. We're
+representin' her. An' I'm servin' you notice to quit. We'll take the
+same two minutes you was talkin' of. They must be nigh up now, though I
+didn't see you lookin' at yo' watch. I'm lookin' at my Ingersoll an' I
+give 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 with
+hands skilful and steady. Back of him Sam and Mormon stood like dogs on
+point, watchful, unmoving, but instinct with suppressed motion.
+
+"The girl may be his heir," said the bald-headed man, "but Plimsoll is
+assignee. Plimsoll staked him an' these claims are half his. The girl
+can put in her share to the title later, if they amount to anything. She
+ain't of age."
+
+"So J. P. was hirin' you to do his dirty work," said Sandy, his voice
+cold 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 stuff
+with you or send back fo' it. Now, git off this property."
+
+If a man can make movements with his hands so swiftly that they are
+covered in less than a tenth of a second, ordinary human sight can not
+register them. He has achieved the magician's slogan--_the quickness of
+the hand deceives the eye_. It takes natural aptitude and long practise,
+whether one is juggling gilded balls or blued-steel revolvers. Sandy
+could, with a circling movement of his wrists, draw his guns from their
+holsters and bring them to bear directly upon the target to which his
+eyes shifted. Glance, twist of wrist, arrest of motion, pressure of
+finger, all coordinated. One moment his hands were empty, his glance
+carelessly contemptuous, the veriest movement of a split-second
+stop-watch and the gun in his right hand spat fire, the gun in his left
+swung in an arc that menaced the five card players.
+
+The other two were struggling beneath the crumpled folds of a collapsed
+tent, wriggling frantically like the stage hands who simulate waves by
+crawling beneath painted canvas. Sandy had shattered the pegs that held
+up the upper corners of the tent on the slope, had cut the cords of the
+remaining guys on that side and the structure had swayed and collapsed.
+
+Sam and Mormon had lined up now with Sandy. There was no mistaking their
+intention to use their guns. But the exhibition had been quite
+sufficient. With one accord the five raised their hands shoulder high
+and began to shuffle down the hill, regardless of their equipment,
+which, having been paid for by Plimsoll, they regarded as of much less
+value than the necessity for departure.
+
+"Come out of that," commanded Sandy to the two wrigglers. "Git a move
+on."
+
+The faces that appeared were ludicrous in their expressions of dismay
+and appeal. Their owners came out like dogs from a kennel who expect to
+be kicked as they emerge. One of them had taken off his boots for better
+sleeping 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 cur
+who snatches at and bolts with a stray bone. Then the pair set off at a
+jog trot after the rest.
+
+"I wonder," said Sam, "if that was good whisky?"
+
+Sandy looked at him reproachfully. "Sody-Water," he said, "I'm plumb
+disappointed in you an' yore cravin'. Smell it an' see."
+
+His gun exploded. The man with the demijohn gave a curious hop, skip and
+jump. The demijohn jerked in his hand but seemed intact. The bullet,
+smashing through the wickerwork, had shattered the container but the
+tough willow twigs preserved the shape. Two more shots and there was a
+tinkle of broken glass. The last bullet had clipped the neck. It was too
+close shooting for the sockless one and the whisky was dripping fast
+through the weave, bringing a reek of crude liquor to Sam's twitching
+nostrils. The claim-jumper dropped what was left of his burden and went
+hopping on, acquiring stone bruises with every leap.
+
+"Scattered like a bunch of coyotes," said Sam.
+
+"Sure did," agreed Sandy. "Minute they stahted talkin', 'stead of
+shootin', I knew they was ready to stampede. They'll beat it to Plimsoll
+an' 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 his
+boots after you took away his licker. I've got tender feet myse'f as
+well 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 the
+rear of his companions. He turned at Mormon's shout and he stopped,
+fearful at the act of kindness, crawled up the slope and retrieved his
+footwear, pulled them on and scurried off.
+
+A distant shout reached them from the other side of the gulch. By
+position, rather than actual recognition, Sandy guessed the figure that
+of Westlake. The firing must have sounded only a little louder than
+cork poppings, but evidently the engineer had sized up the retreating
+men and the collapsed tent. Sandy waved to him in assurance that all was
+well 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'll
+spill the beans unless he makes some play. It's plumb evident he wants
+these partickler claims. I don't believe he's hirin' men just to make us
+peevish. 'Sides, he didn't know fo' sure we were comin'. Might have
+figgered we'd trail the news of the rush, but I'll bet a sack of Durham
+against a pinch o' dirt that he's fairly sure that old man Patrick Casey
+picked him some first-class locations. We got one card that'll upset him
+considerable, 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 crowd
+that hands out the law, Sam. He might try to make it a show-down right
+here an' drive us out of the camp or leave us tucked away stiff in some
+prospect hole. But there's a lot of decent material drifted in an' it
+w'udn't be hard to beat him to that play an' organize a camp committee
+fo' the regulation of law an' order till such time as the camp proves
+itself an' is established. Once big capital gits stahted in here the
+law'll be workin' right along hand in hand with the development. Let's
+take 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 greater
+depth to the tunnel than they had expected. Its mouth had been closed by
+timbers fitting closely into the frame of the horizontal shaft, forming,
+not so much a door, as a barricade, that had been firmly spiked to heavy
+timbers. This had been recently dismantled and then replaced, as recent
+marks on the weathered lumber showed. Sandy looked at these places
+closely, 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. Like
+as not it was that bunch of easterners. They'd figger the camp was
+abandoned an' consider themselves justified as philanthropists into
+bu'stin' open anything that looked good--like this tunnel. A man w'udn't
+go 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 the
+capitalist, if he found somethin' that looked good, 'ud hunt up the
+owner in the registry an' make him an offer. But it w'udn't be a half
+interest in the mine. He'd say he was thinkin' of developin' half a mile
+away 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 if
+this warn't the mine they sampled which Plimsoll finds out is the real
+stuff an' clamps on."
+
+"Well," said Mormon, "we'll have a chance to ask him in a minute. He's
+comin' 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 look
+over an' above pleased the way things are breakin'. Looks as amiable as
+a timber wolf with his tail in a b'ar trap."
+
+The three partners met the jumpers, now headed by Plimsoll, on the
+border of the claims. The gambler's face was livid. He had boasted and
+lashed himself into a bullying confidence that he knew was inadequate to
+meet the situation he could not avoid. Hatred of the men who had balked
+him more than once served him better.
+
+"You four-flushers get off this ground," he blustered. "You're claiming
+to represent Molly Casey's rights after you've kidnaped the girl and
+sent her out of the state. It won't get you anywhere or anything. I've
+got a half interest in these claims and I've plenty of witnesses to
+prove it."
+
+"I don't believe yore witnesses are half as vallyble as they might have
+been before politics shifted in Herefo'd County," said Sandy. "You ain't
+got 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'inted
+guardeen to Casey's daughter Molly an' I'm here to represent her
+interests, likewise mine. I've got my guardianship papers right with
+me."
+
+"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 hears
+the yarn of your running off with the girl and now, with her tucked
+away, coming back to clean up, I've a notion they'd show you
+four-flushers where you've sat in to the wrong game. Why...."
+
+Something in Sandy's face stopped him. It became suddenly devoid of all
+expression, became a thing of stone out of which blazed two gray eyes
+and a voice issued from lips that barely moved.
+
+"I've got a notion, too, Plimsoll. A notion that it 'ud be a good day's
+work to shoot you fo' a foul-mouthed, lyin', stealin' crook! You sure
+ain'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've
+called me a fo'-flusher twice, an' the on'y way to prove a fo'-flush is
+to call fo' a show-down. I'm doin' it."
+
+The words came cold and even, backed by a grim earnestness that
+imprinted itself on the lesser manhood of the jumpers as a finger leaves
+its print in clay. They shifted back a little from Plimsoll, circling
+out as they might have moved away from a man marked by pestilence. He
+stood trying to outface Sandy, to keep his eyes steady. His lips were
+tight closed, still he could not help but open his mouth to a quickened
+breathing, to touch the lips with a furtive tongue that found the skin
+peeling in tiny feverish strips.
+
+"You pack yore gun under yore coat flap," said Sandy. "I don't know how
+quick you can draw but I aim to find out."
+
+He handed one of his own guns to Mormon, announcing his action lest
+Plimsoll might mistake it.
+
+"Now then," he went on, "I once told you I looked to you to stop any
+gossip 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 to
+you can draw. I'm givin' you the aidge on me. If you don't take that
+aidge, Jim Plimsoll, I'm givin' you till sun-up ter-morrer mornin' to
+git plumb out of camp. An' to keep driftin'."
+
+Deliberately Sandy took tobacco sack and papers from the pocket of his
+shirt, his fingers functioning automatically, precisely, his eyes never
+shifting from Plimsoll's face, measuring by feel the amount of tobacco
+shaken into the little trough of brown paper. While he rolled the
+cigarette the sack swung from his teeth by its string.
+
+The group gazed at him fascinated. Plimsoll's face beaded with tiny
+drops 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. For
+the look in the steel gray eyes of Sandy Bourke, half mocking, all
+confident, spurred the doubts that surged through the gambler's
+chance-calculating mind, while he knew that every atom of hesitation
+lessened his chances.
+
+His own hands were close to his chest. His right had but a few inches
+to dart, to drag the automatic from its smooth holster. Sandy's hands
+were high above his belt, rolling the cigarette. They had four times as
+far to go. But Plimsoll knew that if anything went wrong with his
+performance, if he failed to kill outright, that nothing would go wrong
+with Sandy's shooting. The mention of Butch and Sim Hahn did not compose
+him. He had had the stage all set that time and Butch had been shot
+down, Sim Hahn's capacities as a crooked dealer had been spoiled for
+ever. But--if he did not take his chance and, failing it, did not leave
+camp....
+
+He felt cold. The temperature of his own conceit, the mercury of the
+regard of his bullies, was falling steadily. The nervous sweat was no
+longer 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 that
+could 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 his
+face as Sandy flung away the burnt stick and turned on his heel. Murder
+stirred dully in Plimsoll's brain at the sneers he surmised rather than
+read on the faces of his followers. His defeat was also theirs. But the
+moment had gone. He knew he lacked the nerve. Sandy knew it and had
+turned his back on him.
+
+His prestige was gone. His boon companions would talk about it. Mormon
+gave Sandy back his second gun and Sandy slid it into the holster. He
+exhaled the last puff of his cigarette before he spoke again to
+Plimsoll.
+
+"Sun-up, ter-morrer. You can send fo' yore stuff here any time you've a
+mind to. Fo' a gamblin' man, Plimsoll, you're a damned pore judge of a
+hand."
+
+Plimsoll strode off down the hill alone. The men who had come with him
+hesitated and then crossed the gulch. They had severed connections with
+the J. P. brand for the time, at least. The three partners walked back
+toward 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 been
+at it, an' the wind an' weather had finished the job till there warn't
+much mo'n hide an' some scattered bones. Mebbe a li'l' hair. But that
+carkiss sure held mo' guts than Jim Plimsoll packs."
+
+"He ain't through," said Mormon. "You didn't ought to give him till
+sun-up, Sandy. Sun-down 'ud have been better. He's a mangy coyote, but
+he'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 of
+it 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 of
+harmless fireworks. Sandy answered in the same tone.
+
+"I don't think it likely, Sam. Camp knows, or will know, what's been
+happenin'. If dynamite was thrown they'd sabe who did it an' I don't
+believe the crowd 'ud stand for it. Jest the same it 'ud sure surprise
+me if we didn't git some sort of a shivaree pahty afteh nightfall. I
+w'udn't wonder if Jim Plimsoll forgets to send fo' that tent an' stuff
+of 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 was
+sphinx-like and they refrained from useless questioning.
+
+"Here comes young Ed," announced Sandy as they gained the tunnel. "He's
+totin' 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 spring
+b'ar an' all our stuff's oveh with Mirandy Bailey."
+
+"She's sure one thoughtful lady," said Sam. "What you got, Ed?" he
+queried as the gangling youth came up.
+
+"Beans, camp-bread an' coffee. Aunt Mirandy, she 'lowed you-all might
+not 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 gleaming
+with interest. "We heard somethin' that sounded like shots an' Mr.
+Westlake saw the first bunch go away. He said you waved to him it was
+all right. Aunt, she 'lowed you c'ud look out fo' yourselves. Then the
+second 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 down
+on his haunches and rolling a cigarette. "We're gettin' on fine. Got
+some dandy claims, I reckon. One for maw an' one fo' father, right
+alongside Aunt Mirandy's an' mine. It 'ud be great if we sh'ud all
+strike it rich, to once, w'udn't it?"
+
+"Great!" agreed Sandy, munching beans with gusto. "Don't you think you
+ought to be gettin' back, 'case some one might take a notion to them
+claims 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 business
+to attend to."
+
+Young Ed straightened.
+
+"I'll look out for her all right," he said. "But you don't know Aunt
+Mirandy over well or you'd know she can do her own protectin'. You bet
+she can. 'Sides, the men who've got claims nigh us come over an' told
+her they'd see she wasn't interfered with none. Said they'd heard some
+bully had sworn at her an' the real miners in camp warn't goin' to stand
+anything 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 camp
+here fo' a bit an' sit tight. I'd do the same, if I was you, Ed, spite
+of yore friends. I don't doubt fo' a minute but what yore aunt is plumb
+capable of lookin' out for herself, but you see, she's a woman an' yo're
+a man, an' it's you folks'll be lookin' to."
+
+The lad flushed with pride under the hand that Sandy set in chummy
+fashion on his shoulder.
+
+"I'll do that," he said, and, picking up the emptied utensils he had
+brought he started off down and across the gulch.
+
+"No sense in encouragin' him to hang around us," said Sandy. "There's
+apt to be fireworks round here most any time between now an' ter-morrer
+mo'nin'. Plimsoll'll shack erlong about sun-up--providin' he ain't able
+to 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 the
+tent."
+
+"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 bad
+scheme if we give the gen'ral idee that we _are_ sleepin' in it. I put a
+lantern 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 the
+tent on fairly level ground of the valley bottom. The claim boundaries
+ran to within fifty yards of the little creek named Flivver and the
+tent-pins were set almost on the border-line. The ground was sparsely
+covered with scrub grass, shrubs and willows, the space about the tent
+clear 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 low
+harmonies through his mouth organ, appeared perfectly satisfied.
+
+"Why on the flat?" asked Mormon. "There's a heap of cover round here
+where they might snake up afteh dahk an' sling anythin' they minded to
+at us, from lead to giant powdeh!"
+
+"Wal," drawled Sandy, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "it's handy
+to watch, fo' one thing, an' yore right about that coveh, Mormon. That's
+why we chose it. Sam an' me had a heap of trouble pickin' out this
+place. 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 head
+perplexedly. 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 you
+suthin'."
+
+They followed him into the tent and came out again laughing.
+
+"No matteh what happens," said Sandy, "an' I'm hopin' fo' the worst, it
+ain'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 and
+Plimsoll's crowd. Factions for both sides and a lot of onlookers who are
+neutral and just waiting for the excitement. I saw Roaring Russell but
+he 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 have
+been a champion wrestler at one time."
+
+"You don't say so," said Mormon. "Me, I was the champeen wrastler of the
+Cow Belt, one time. Had the belt to prove it till I lost it at draw
+poker. I've got hawg fat sence then, but I don't believe I've softened
+any. 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 a
+spell. I'll make fire an' git supper if you want to take Westlake up to
+the tunnel."
+
+Westlake carefully inspected the tunnel, the float and the contents of
+the dump.
+
+"I wouldn't wonder if Casey was running this as a drift to follow a good
+lead," he pronounced. "It looks better to me than any part of the camp
+I've inspected. I'll assay these samples for you, if you've no
+objection. I've got a lot of orders back at my shack already. My
+customers told me that they'd put a flea in Russell's ear that the camp
+assayer was not to be interfered with, so there is some value in an
+education, 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 has
+been with larger calibers."
+
+"War?" asked Sandy.
+
+"Yes. I was in the artillery. Is there anything else I can do? Get you
+some supplies? I'm coming back to have supper with Miss Bailey and her
+nephew."
+
+"Not a thing," said Sandy. "Much obliged." He watched the engineer swing
+away.
+
+"There's a good man for you," he said to Sam. "Well set up and able to
+handle himself. I like his ways first-rate."
+
+"Me, too," said Sam. "He'd make a good match fo' Molly, when she comes
+back with her eddication, w'udn't he?"
+
+Sandy stopped in his stride suddenly, so that Sam halted and regarded
+him curiously.
+
+"Twist yo' foot?" he asked. "High heels is all right fo' stirrups but
+they'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 it
+gits dusk enough to light the lantern."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+A ROPE BREAKS
+
+
+The lantern, turned down, dimly illumined the tent and revealed the
+figures of three men seated about some sort of rough table. The flap was
+drawn and fastened. Occasionally a figure moved slightly. No passer-by
+would have guessed that the three partners were ensconced in the black
+mouth of the tunnel, ramparted by the dump heap, watching for
+developments they were fairly sure would start with darkness. Every
+little while Sandy twitched a line that was attached to a clumsy but
+effective rocker he had contrived beneath one of the dummies they had
+built from the stuff that Plimsoll had not reclaimed.
+
+"Don't want to work the blamed thing too much," he said. "Might bu'st
+it. It's on'y the one figger but I'll be derned if it don't look
+natcherul."
+
+After which they all relapsed into silence, restrained from smoking for
+fear of a telltale spark or casual fragrance carried by the wind. It was
+a dark night, the hillsides stood blurry against a blue-black sky in
+which the stars glittered like metal points but failed to shed much
+light. Later, much later, toward morning, a moon would rise.
+
+Here and there on the slopes bright spots or glows of fire marked the
+occupied claim-sites. From the camp itself there came a murmur that
+sometimes swelled louder under the dull flare that hung over the lower
+end of the valley; reflection and diffusion from the gasoline lights and
+acetylene flares used by the owners of the eating-houses, the bars and
+gambling shacks, all open for business during miners' hours, which meant
+two 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; marking
+time by the sidereal clock of the heavens, each with a variant emotion.
+
+Mormon shifted his position more frequently than the others. None of
+them was especially comfortable, but Mormon wanted to keep as limber as
+possible, he was afraid of stiffening up, thinking always of his
+challenge to Roaring Russell. Slow to anger, Mormon, when his rage
+mounted was slow of statement. What he said he meant. The insult to
+Miranda Bailey while under his escort chafed him as a saddle chafes a
+galled horse. It had to be wiped out at the earliest moment and,
+singularly enough, the spinster was not particularly prominent in the
+matter. It was not a personal question; the insult had been offered to
+womanhood, and Mormon was ever its champion and its victim.
+
+Sam, cut off from tobacco and melody, bunkered down with his back
+against a frame timber and looked at the tall lean figure of Sandy
+silhouetted against the stars, wondering why Sandy had stopped so
+abruptly when the names of Westlake and Molly Casey had been coupled. It
+wasn't like Sandy to move or halt without definite purpose, Sam
+reasoned. "I suppose he figgers Molly too much of a kid," he told
+himself. "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 were
+wealthy. 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 not
+go. That Sandy might have felt a tinge of jealousy toward young Westlake
+was furthest from his conjectures.
+
+As for Sandy, he had lost his mental orientation. Something had
+happened, something was happening within him and he could not tell the
+process nor name it. He was as a man who goes out into the darkness amid
+rooms and passages with which he considers himself familiar and
+suddenly--there comes a door where should be space, or space where there
+should be a window--and he is lost, his senses betray him, for the
+moment he is completely fogged, all bearings lost, possessed with the
+blankness that accompanies the flight of self-confidence.
+
+He could see very plainly in mental vision the picture that Molly had
+sent to the Three Star, now framed and given the place of honor on the
+table of the ranch-house living-room. The picture of a girl in whose
+eyes the fleeting look of womanhood, that Sandy had now and then seen
+there and which had thrilled him so strangely, had become permanent.
+That she was something so vital she could not be dismissed from the life
+of the Three Star, from his own life, by sending her to school whence
+she would return almost a stranger, by making her an heiress, Sandy
+recognized. He had deliberately given her his hand to help her out of
+the rut in which he had found her and now, with the swift series of
+tableaux 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 of
+his own from which there was no up-lifting?
+
+To Sandy, Westlake seemed little more than a likable lad, placing him at
+about twenty-three or four. He felt immeasurably older, harder, though
+there were not more than six years between them--seven at the most. Even
+that made him almost twice the age of Molly. With this twist of his
+reverie 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 had
+his affection shifted with the changing of Molly to womanhood?
+
+Sandy Bourke, knight of the roving heel, had never attempted to find
+solution for his attitude toward women. It was neither wariness nor
+antipathy. His life, drifting from rancho to rancho, sometimes
+consorting with the rougher side of men careless of conventions, had
+been, in the main, not unlike the life of a hermit, with long periods
+when he rode alone under sun and stars with only his horse for company.
+
+There were months of this and then came swiftly moving periods of
+relaxation in a cattle town where men unleashed the repressions and let
+pent-up energies and appetites have full sway. Sandy loved card chances
+where his own skill might back what luck the pasteboards brought him in
+the deal. Drinking bouts, the company of the women with whom many of his
+fellows consorted, never appealed to him. His reservations found outlet
+in gambling or in the acceptance of some job where the danger risks ran
+high, where success and self-safety hung upon his coolness, his keen
+sense, his courage and his skill with horse and lariat and gun. A life
+as apart as a sailor's, more lonely, for he was often companionless for
+months.
+
+So far he had never felt lack of anything, least of all lately, with the
+two men he liked best in active partnership with him, with a maturing
+interest in the development of his ranch and his grade of cattle by
+modern methods. But, to have Molly not come back, or, returning, to have
+her wooed and won, entirely absorbed by some one like Westlake, struck
+him with a sense of impending loss that amounted to a real pain,
+difficult of self-diagnosis. Westlake was worthy enough. A good mate for
+Molly, climbing up the ladder of education and culture to stand where
+the engineer, well-bred, well-mannered, now stood, the two of them to go
+on together....
+
+"Shucks!" muttered Sandy. "And he ain't even seen her picture. I must
+have been chewin' loco weed."
+
+"What say?" asked Sam.
+
+"I'm goin' to take a li'l' look-see," said Sandy. "I reckon they're
+tryin' to git warmed up an' decide on what they'll do round here. No
+tellin' how long they may take or what kind of deviltry that camp booze
+may work 'em up to. I'm pritty certain no one saw us sneak out of the
+tent afteh dahk."
+
+If they had been seen no attempt might be made to dislodge them from the
+claims. Sandy did not believe such effort would turn out to be a
+shooting match,--unless the defenders started it,--but something more
+underhanded. The flinging of a dynamite stick, if the throwers felt
+certain of not being caught, was a possibility if enough crude whisky
+had been absorbed. In all probability the crowd of ousted men were
+making themselves conspicuous in the camp during the earlier hours of
+the evening in view of a needed alibi. Nothing might happen until
+midnight and the long vigil was not comfortable. Sandy vanished from the
+tunnel mouth, sinking to the ground, instantly indistinguishable even to
+Sam and Mormon. There was nothing to tell whether he had gone up-hill or
+down. The momentary cessation of the cicadas' chorus was the only
+warning that a human was abroad.
+
+"Have a chaw?" Mormon whispered presently, after he had changed his
+pose.
+
+Sam took the plug tobacco and bit into it gratefully.
+
+"I sure hate stickin' around, waitin'," he said under his breath. "Allus
+makes me plumb nerv'us."
+
+"Same here," answered Mormon. "Reckon it's that way with most men. Sandy
+don't show it, 'cept by goin' out on a snoop."
+
+"He can see, smell an' hear where we'd be deef, dumb an' blind," said
+Sam. "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' Russell
+by moonlight, after we git through down here?"
+
+"I've got a hunch this is goin' to be a busy night, plumb through till
+sun-up," said Mormon. "An', when I meet up with Roarin' Russell it ain't
+goin' to be jest a wrastlin match, believe me. It's goin' to be a
+free-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 of
+the 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 an
+angel on that mouth harp of yores, Sam, but you talk like a rasp. Mormon
+booms like a bull frawg."
+
+They settled down again to their watch. The Great Bear constellation
+dipped 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 into
+listening.
+
+The three stared blankly into the night, while their hands sought gun
+butts and loosened the weapons in their holsters. Out of the blackness
+came little foreign sounds that they interpreted according to their
+powers. The tiny clink of metal, the faint thud of horses' hoofs, an
+exclamation that had barely been above the speaker's breath floated up
+to them through the stillness. The glow of the lantern showed through
+the tent wall.
+
+"Two riders," mouthed Sandy so softly that Mormon and Sam swung heads to
+catch his words. "Came up the valley t'other side of the crick. Both
+crossed it above the tent. Reckon they're visitin' us. One of 'em's
+comin' this way."
+
+They crouched, breathless now, listening to the soft padded sounds that
+told of the approach of man and horse. These ceased. Still they could
+see nothing. Then there came a sharp shrill whistle, answered from the
+levels. Followed instantly the thud of galloping ponies going at top
+speed, parallel, one between the watchers and the tent as they saw the
+swift shadow shade the glow for an instant, the other between the tent
+and the creek. There was a sharp swishing as of something whipping
+brush.
+
+"Yi-yi-yippy!" The cries rang out exultant as the horses dashed by the
+tunnel. The light in the tent wavered, went out. There was a shout of
+surprise and dismay, a _twang_ like the snapping of a mighty bowstring
+and then came the whoops of the trio from the Three Star as they
+realized what the attempt had been and how it had failed.
+
+Two riders, trailing a rope, had raced down the valley hoping to sweep
+away the tent, to send its occupant sprawling, its contents scattered in
+a confusion of which advantage would be taken to chase the three off
+their claims, taken by surprise, made ridiculous.
+
+Sandy and Sam, searching for a convenient tent site, had happened upon a
+mass of outcrop, overgrown by brush. Over this they had pitched the
+tent, using the rock for table, propping their dummies about it. If
+dynamite was flung it would find something to work against. They had not
+anticipated the use of the rope to demolish the canvas any more than the
+two riders had expected to bring up against a boulder. The impact, with
+their ponies spurred, urged on by their shouts to their limit, tore the
+cinches of one saddle loose, jerked it from the horse and catapulted the
+unprepared rider over its head, flying through the air to land heavily,
+while his mount, unencumbered, frightened, went careering off leaving
+its breathless master stunned amid the sage.
+
+As the cinches had given way at one end, the line itself had parted at
+the other. The second pony had stumbled sidewise, rolling before the man
+was 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 down
+the hill, leaving Mormon and Sam to handle the other. If there had been
+assistants to the raid they had melted away, willing enough to join in a
+drive against men yanked from their tent, defenseless, but not at all
+eager 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 druv
+his neck inter his shoulders. Got his saddle, Mormon?"
+
+"Yep. Want the rope?"
+
+They trussed their captive with the lariat still snubbed to his
+saddle-horn. Down in the willows there was a flash, a report, a
+scurrying 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 I
+only took one shot to cheer him on his way. He was mountin' at the time
+an' it was a snapshot. I aimed at the seat of his pants. I w'udn't be
+surprised but what he's ridin' so't of one-sided. Who you got here? Tote
+him down-hill. I don't believe they bu'sted the lantern. We'll take a
+look at him."
+
+Sandy retrieved the lantern from the collapsed canvas and lit it. Mormon
+and Sam took the senseless man down to the creek where they attempted to
+revive him by pouring hatfuls of the icy water on his head. He was a
+black-haired chap, sallow of face, clean-shaven. His clothes were those
+of a cowman.
+
+"Looks a heap like a drowned rat," said Mormon. "It's Sol Wyatt, one of
+Plim's riders oveh to his hawss ranch. He got fired from the
+Two-Bar-Circle fo' leavin' his ridin' iron to home an' usin' anotheh
+brand. Leastwise, that's what they suspected. Old Man Penny giv' him the
+benefit of the doubt an' jest kicked him out of the corral. If he'd had
+the goods on him he'd have skinned him alive an' put his pelt on the
+bahn 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 with
+him?"
+
+"Take him up inter camp, soon's he's able to walk an' hand him over to
+Plimsoll with our compliments. They figgered they'd make us all look
+plumb ridiculous with bein' flipped out of the tent. Then they'd have
+had 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 light
+of the lantern and immediately closed them again, playing opossum. Sam
+prodded 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 right
+fo' 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 friend
+on 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's
+packin' a saddle brand I put on him." His voice was grimly humorous, he
+recognized Wyatt's obstinacy as something not without merit. "How's yore
+haid?"
+
+"Some tender."
+
+"It ain't in first-rate condition or you w'udn't be drawin' pay from
+Plimsoll. Yore saddle's here, yore hawss went west. Ef you want to leave
+the saddle till you locate the hawss, you can git it 'thout any trouble
+any 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. "Ef
+we are, why, we'll have to start the arguments all over."
+
+"I w'udn't be surprised," said the philosophic Wyatt, gingerly pressing
+his head with his fingertips, "but what there is a gen'ral impression
+'stablished by this time that you three hombres from the Three Star are
+right 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 pulls
+too much on his picket line to suit me. Ef he's got a yeller stripe on
+his belly, I'm quittin'. Some day he's goin' to git inter a hole that'll
+sure test his standard. Me, I may be a bit of a wolf, but I'm damned ef
+I 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 round
+here 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 the
+faro table he'd sabe everything went off fine an' dandy. He w'udn't
+figger 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's
+gone back on me," said Sandy. "Seemed to me I heard 'em makin' their
+getaway. 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 at
+Plimsoll's right off. It was a win-or-lose job. Pay if it was pulled
+off. Otherwise, nothin' doin'. You hombres treated me white. There's a
+lot who'd have plugged me full of lead an' death. I was on yore land. Ef
+you force me to walk into Plimsoll's Place ahead of you I ain't
+resistin' none, an' I shall sure admire to watch Plim's face when he
+sees you-all back of me."
+
+He took the trail ahead of them, hands in his pockets, his cigarette
+glowing. Behind him walked Sandy. Wyatt finished his smoke and started
+to 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 bad
+actor, but there's sure somethin' erbout the galoot I like. He ain't
+over 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 the
+other feller's gal. He ain't satisfied with what he can pick for
+himself. T'otheh feller's apple allus has a sweeter core. I w'udn't
+wondeh 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 on
+their account, fer instance?"
+
+Mormon paid no attention to the friendly gibe. As they entered the
+street of the camp, largely deserted, though there was every evidence of
+crowds forgetting time in the drinking and gambling shacks, Sandy moved
+up even with Wyatt and locked arms with him.
+
+"I ain't goin' ter make no break," said Wyatt. "Here's Plim's. Jest you
+let me go in ahead through the door. I've seen you use your guns. I
+ain't suicidin'."
+
+They allowed him to go in first, unescorted. Their plans held no further
+reprisal against Wyatt.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A FREE-FOR-ALL
+
+
+Plimsoll's place was crowded. There were more onlookers than actual
+players though the tables were fairly well patronized. Many of those who
+had seats were only cappers for the game. The majority of the men who
+had rushed to the new strike had not brought any great sums of money
+with them, or, if they had, reserved its use for speculation in claims
+rather than the slimmer chances of Plimsoll's enterprises. In a few
+days, if the camp produced from grass roots, as was expected and hoped,
+Plimsoll would gather in his harvest. A garnering in which Sandy had
+sadly interfered.
+
+Plimsoll had set up a working partnership with a man who had brought
+moonshine and bootlegged whisky to the camp, occupying the next shack to
+the gambling place. For convenience of service extra doors had been cut
+and a rough-boarded passageway erected between the two places. The fever
+of gambling provided thirsty customers for the liquor dealer, and the
+whisky blunted the wits of the gamblers and gave the dealers more than
+their customary percentage of odds in the favor of the house. It was a
+combination that worked both ways. Waiters impressed into service from
+camp followers, crudely took orders and delivered them. There were no
+mixed drinks, no scale of prices. And there was no question of license.
+The will of the majority ruled. The gold-seeking reduced things to
+primitive 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. He
+awaited the result of his play with Wyatt and the latter's companions.
+If he could make Sandy, Mormon and Sam ridiculous, he would achieve his
+end, but he hoped for bigger results. Wyatt and his fellow rider had
+been detailed to ride down the tent that had been reported occupied by
+the Three Star owners. That part of the plan had been suggested by Wyatt
+out of the sheer deviltry of his invention. Plimsoll had enlisted others
+of his following, none too fearless, to loiter in the brush and, in the
+general confusion, fire to cripple and to kill.
+
+Plimsoll had learned of the visit of the men who had come with Bill
+Brandon to investigate Plimsoll's methods of running the Waterline Horse
+Ranch. He had learned, through the leakage that always occurs in a
+cattle community, that Brandon claimed to be an old acquaintance of
+Sandy and his partners. So he had told his men who had come with him to
+the camp from the Waterline Ranch that the Three Star outfit was a
+danger to all of them, undoubtedly acting as spies for Brandon, and
+that they should be eliminated for the general good. But there was none
+of them, from Plimsoll down, who had any fancy to stand up against the
+guns of Sandy, or of Mormon and Sam, when the breaks were anywhere
+nearly even.
+
+So Plimsoll dealt stud and collected the percentage of the house,
+watching his planted players profit by their professionalism and by the
+little signs bestowed upon them by Plimsoll that tipped them off as to
+the value of the hidden cards. Plimsoll, with his ejection from
+Hereford, the advent of woman suffrage, the coming of Brandon and other
+irate horse owners, had begun to realize that his days were getting
+short in the land. He looked to the camp for a final coup. If he held
+the Casey claims and sold them, as he expected to do, to an eastern
+capitalist to whom he had telegraphed some days before, he might
+reestablish himself. Sandy's prompt arrival and subsequent events had
+crimped that plan and he fell back upon all the crooked tactics that he
+possessed in gambling. And now, if Wyatt....
+
+He was dealing the last card around when Wyatt came in and his eyes lit
+up. Then his face stiffened, the light changed to a gleam of
+malevolence. Following Wyatt were the three partners, taking open order
+as 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. The
+two last smiled and nodded to one or two acquaintances. Sandy's face was
+set in serious cast. The players at Plimsoll's table turned to see what
+caused the suspension of the game, others followed their example. The
+Three Star men were known personally to some of those in the room. The
+story of what had happened during the day had buzzed in everybody's
+ears, from Roaring Russell's discomfiture to Plimsoll's failure to hold
+the claims and the eviction notice served on him by Sandy.
+
+The phrase "you'll see me through smoke," held a grim significance that
+touched the fancy of these gold gatherers, men of the cruder types for
+the most part. The issue between Sandy and Plimsoll was the paramount
+topic, 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 other
+gamblers to provide them with excitement. Mormon's challenge of Russell
+was a sporting event that appealed to them more directly and there were
+many possessed of a rough chivalry that appreciated the heavyweight
+cowman'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 as
+referee.
+
+Chairs edged back, the standing moved for a better view-point, the room
+focussed on Plimsoll, Wyatt and the three cow-chums. Then Wyatt stepped
+aside. There was a malicious little grin on his face. Mormon's
+suggestion as to his private grudge against Plimsoll was not without
+foundation. Wyatt had been glad to find excuse for severing relations
+with the gambler. He had done his best and failed, but his failure was
+not bitter.
+
+The partners walked between the tables toward Plimsoll who sat regarding
+them balefully, his teeth just showing between his parted lips, cards in
+midair, action in a paralysis that was caused by the concentration
+forced by Sandy's even gaze, by the same sickening conviction that his
+manhood shriveled in front of Sandy and that Sandy knew it. Oaths
+against Wyatt rose automatically in his brain like bubbles in a mineral
+spring, together with the consciousness that Wyatt, if not allied
+against him, was no longer for him, that his chosen tools lacked edge.
+The placing of bets ceased, there was no sound of clicking chips, the
+roulette dealer held the wheel, expectant, dealer and case-keeper at the
+faro bank halted their manipulations, the presiding genius of the craps
+layout picked up the dice. Tragedy hovered, the shadow of its wing was
+on the dirt floor of the rude Temple of Chance.
+
+"The chaps you sent up to move yore tent an' truck didn't make a good
+job of it, Plimsoll," drawled Sandy. "I reckon they warn't the right
+so't of help. Ef you-all are aimin' to take that stuff erlong with you
+I'd recommend you 'tend to it yorese'f. It's gettin' erlong to'ards
+sun-up, fast as a clock can tick."
+
+Silence held. Sandy stood non-committal, at ease. His conversation with
+Plimsoll might have been of the friendliest nature gauged by his
+attitude. His hands were on his hips. Back of him, slightly turning
+toward the crowd, were Mormon and Sam, smilingly surveying the room. But
+not one there but knew that, faster than the ticking of a clock, guns
+might gleam and spurt fire and lead in case of trouble. It was all
+being done ethically enough. They did not know exactly what the entrance
+of Wyatt meant, but Sandy's talk gave them a hint and his poise was
+correct, without swagger, without intent to start general ruction. It
+was 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 statement
+and a light one, but it passed the situation for the moment. His eyes
+shifted to Wyatt, shining with hate, the whites blood-flecked by
+suppressed passion.
+
+Sandy pulled out a gunmetal watch.
+
+"I make it half afteh one. 'Bout three hours to sunrise, Plimsoll. I'll
+be round later." He turned his back on the gambler and sauntered toward
+the door. Before the general restraint broke Mormon put up his hand.
+
+"I figger Roarin' Russell ain't in the room," he said. "Ef he happens
+erlong, 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 general
+reaction.
+
+"Good for you!" A dozen phrases of commendation chimed and jangled. A
+few 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. "A
+gamblin' parlor where I ain't welcome to stay or play makes no hit with
+me. I'll help you-all find Russell."
+
+The search was not an easy one. Russell had been seen freely in the
+makeshift saloons and other places on both sides of the street. It
+seemed, from what they could glean and put together, that he had stopped
+drinking when he had arrived at a certain point in his boasting and had
+announced his intention of sobering up before he "took the bloody,
+hog-bellied cow-puncher apart, providin' the latter showed." This suited
+Mormon, who wanted fairly to whip a live opponent, not fight a
+staggering drunkard. But they could not find him. They had several
+volunteer 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 to
+Simpson's. If he's gone to bed we'll rout him out. Won't be the first
+time he turned out to cook me a meal. A shot of that Rocky Mountain
+grapejuice 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 as
+well filled as it had been the first time they entered it. In the first
+seethe of the gold excitement no one seemed to get sleepy, while
+appetites developed. Word had preceded them that Mormon Peters was
+looking for Roaring Russell and their entrance caused more than a ripple
+of 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 a
+hammerlock 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 same
+Roarin' Russell has been tellin' the camp what a rip-snortin',
+limb-loosenin', strong-armed galoot he is, an' some of 'em have
+swallered it. They ain't seen you in action, Mormon, an' I have. You'll
+jest natcherly chaw him inter hash. I'm bettin' there won't be enough of
+him left to stuff a Chili pepper after you git through."
+
+"I ain't as limber as I was, Alf," said Mormon deprecatingly. "Make my
+steak 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 while
+ago who seemed to be sort of keepin' tabs on him. That young assayer
+Russell started to bulldoze when Sandy took a hand. Said he'd be in
+ag'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 waiter
+brought over drinks of the Rocky Mountain grapejuice with the
+information 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 the
+table, setting out the battered cutlery and tin plates that Simpson
+provided. "They was offerin' two to one on Roarin' Russell a little
+while ago," he volunteered. "I think I'll take up a piece of their
+money."
+
+"This ain't a prize-fight, it's a privut quarrel," said Mormon as he
+smelled the fiery stuff in the glass, sipped it and then swallowed it in
+one gulp. "That's prime stuff."
+
+"You'll have one hell of a time keepin' it privut, mister," said the
+waiter. "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 to
+watch out for Russell's pals, though; they ain't the gentlest bunch in
+the 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 a
+gun."
+
+A call from another of the makeshift tables claimed his attention.
+Simpson came hurrying with the meat, biscuits and coffee. He sat down
+with them, offering more drinks which they refused.
+
+"Slack right now," he said, "but I sure have done a whale of a business
+to-day. If this keeps up I don't want no claims. They're tellin' me you
+give Plimsoll till sun-up to git out of camp, Sandy. I don't figger
+there'll be any argyment. He's yeller as the yolk of a rotten aig. Hell
+w'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 they
+used to be. This ain't the frontier any more and a few bad men can't run
+a strike to suit themselves. If the camp's no good it'll peter out like
+it did afore; if it amounts to anything, we'll have a police station on
+one 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 in
+this county. The wimmin are ag'in' him. An' I tell you, gents, we
+hombres 'll have to watch our steps or they'll be takin' our vote away
+from us next thing you know. It's a lucky thing for us that men is in
+the 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," he
+announced. "He's been drinking black coffee to sober up on. He's got
+some of his own sort with him. I think they're nearly ready to come
+up-street. He knows you are in camp and looking for him."
+
+"Then we'd better be shackin' erlong," said Mormon, mopping up gravy
+with half a biscuit. "I w'udn't want to keep him waitin'."
+
+Outside, it was apparent that the whole camp was waiting for the
+appearance of the two principals in an event that was not to be allowed
+to be dealt with purely as a personal encounter. The waiter's estimate
+was a fair one. The moon had risen, sailing round and fair and mild of
+beam from behind the eastern hills, making pallid by comparison the
+artificial flares. The one street was packed with men, not all of whom
+were sober. The crowd thickened every moment from outlets of the
+gambling shacks and saloons. All other business and pleasure was
+forgotten with the swift word passing to say that the cowman who had
+slapped the bully in the face and challenged him that morning to a
+catch-as-catch-can, free-for-all contest, was now in Alf Simpson's Chuck
+House 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 delight
+the hearts of frontiersmen. And they warmed to it. All day there had
+been rumors busy of the clash, of the matters involved. Garbled versions
+of the truth ran excitement up to hot-blood heat. The town had stayed up
+for developments. Bets had been made on Plimsoll's backing down at
+sunrise; on the cowman, Mormon; on the bully, Russell.
+
+The affair with Plimsoll at sun-up was likely to be short and sharp. Men
+who knew the three from the Three Star Ranch spread their opinions. The
+prime event was the scrap. Russell was, or had been, a professional
+wrestler and held fame as a rough-and-tumble fighter. Mormon had once
+beaten all comers for the Cow Belt. The spectators swarmed like bees and
+buzzed 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 toward
+the bridge over Flivver Creek, escorting the three partners and
+Westlake, Simpson and his help with them. More were milling up-street
+from Su Sing's place, Russell in their midst. Where the two factions
+met, the principals kept apart by the crowd, a broad-shouldered giant
+with 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 a
+crowd at a fair.
+
+"Gents all," bellowed the big man. "There's been some tall talkin' done
+to-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, without
+recourse to gun, knife or slungshot. Roarin' Russell, champeen wrastler,
+allows he can lick any man in camp. Mormon Peters, champeen holder of
+the 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 two
+principals an' none of our damned business."
+
+The crowd roared in approval of the speaker's style and the force of his
+breezy delivery. He had touched their chivalry in thus delicately
+alluding to the episode of the insult and apology to the only woman in
+camp.
+
+"Therefore," he went on, and the word slipped round that he was Lem
+Pardee, wealthy rancher and ex-representative of the state, "such an
+affair appealin' to every red-blooded male among us, it behooves us to
+see it brought off in due form, fair an' square to both parties, in a
+bare-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' room
+for all on both sides. The moon graces the occasion an' provides the
+proper illumination. I move you that a referee be appointed to discuss
+fightin' rules with Roarin' Russell an' Mormon Peters, to settle all
+side 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. He
+accepted 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 by
+name but selected from his judgment of men, and his choices met with
+general approval.
+
+"The principals will choose their own seconds," he said. "Not more than
+three to each man, to act only in that capacity and in no way to
+interfere. That's all."
+
+In two factions the crowd moved down the slant of the street, turned
+aside at the bridge and, as Pardee indicated the level space on the nigh
+side of the creek that trickled down the gulch like quicksilver in the
+moonlight, ranged themselves about the natural arena while the committee
+established the side lines and the referee conferred with Mormon,
+Russell and their seconds in the open. Sandy and Sam appointed
+themselves corner men for Mormon, and Sandy asked Westlake to make the
+third. A roulette dealer from Plimsoll's and a bartender ranged
+themselves alongside Russell, together with Plimsoll himself. Pardee
+eyed the group.
+
+"There's bad blood between you two," he said to Plimsoll and Sandy. "I
+understand 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 the
+rough-and-ready stage, but there's enough of us who've got together to
+see it's goin' to be run decent an' regular. We're goin' to establish
+fair play and order, from now on. We don't expect to run no man's
+affairs so long's they don't interfere with the general welfare of the
+camp, but, if there's any dirty work pulled off, the man that spills the
+dirt is goin' to be interviewed pronto. Things are goin' to be run
+clean. 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. You
+two 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, I
+don't know nothin' about Queensbury rules an', though the camp seems to
+have 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 to
+man, or I lick him. An' a lickin' don't mean puttin' down shoulders on a
+mat. If a man goes down, t'other lets him git up, if he can. Bar
+kickin', bitin', gougin' an' dirty work, an' to hell with yore seconds
+an' yore rounds. This ain't no exhibition. It's a fight!"
+
+He spoke loudly enough for most of the crowd to hear, and they cheered
+him 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' get
+this over with. It won't take long."
+
+He was a formidable-looking adversary. In the moonlight certain signs of
+puffiness, of dissipation, did not show, save for rolls of fat about
+shoulders and paunch. He was powerfully built, his chest matted with
+black hair, his forearms rough with it. Taller than Mormon, he had all
+the 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 a
+stake, if he's agreeable. Loser leaves the camp."
+
+"When he's able to walk. You slapped my face this morning. This evens
+it."
+
+Russell lashed out suddenly, his hand open, striking with the heel of
+his palm for Mormon's jaw. Mormon sprang back, warding off, but it was
+Pardee who struck aside Russell's blow and sent him reeling back with a
+powerful shove.
+
+"Strip down," he said to Mormon. "Both of you keep back of your lines
+till I give the word. Sabe?" He scored two lines in the dirt with the
+toe 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 allowed
+ten 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 far
+stouter than Russell. His bald pate, with its reddish fringe of hair,
+looked grotesque under the moon. The bulge of his stomach seemed a
+strong handicap in agility and wind. Yet his flesh was hard and, where
+the tan ended on neck and forearms, it held a glisten that caused the
+knowing ones to nod approvingly. There was strength in his back, big
+muscles shifted on his shoulders and his arms were bigger than
+Russell's, if shorter, corded with pack of sinew and muscle. As he toed
+his line, swaying from side to side, arms apart, the left a little
+forward, he moved with a lightness strange to his usual tread. Russell
+crouched a little, his long arms hanging low, knees bent. The two lines
+were about six feet apart.
+
+They faced each other in a silence of held breath on all sides. Pardee
+stood 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 seemed
+about to clinch, to test their prowess as wrestlers. Murmurs went up
+from back of Mormon where his fanciers had ranged themselves. "Russell's
+got too many tricks for him," men told each other and then gasped.
+
+Mormon had landed, light as a dancing master, despite his bulk, had
+stooped, turned in a flash with his right hand clamped about the right
+wrist of Russell, bowing his back, heaving with all his might.
+
+Russell, shifting at the last second from a clutch, seeing Mormon
+charging, swung a vicious uppercut. He made the mistake of
+underestimating Mormon, thinking him slow-witted. He found his wrist in
+a vise, his arm twisted, bent down across the thick ridge of the
+cowman's shoulder, the powerful heave of Mormon's back. His own impetus
+served against him. Mormon shifted grips, he cupped Russell's elbow with
+his right palm and crowded all his energy into one dynamic effort of
+pull and hoist. Russell went over his head in a Flying Mare as the crowd
+stood up and yelled.
+
+Surprised off his feet, Russell's experience served him in good stead as
+they left the ground. Mormon's trick had scored, but it was an old one
+and had its counter-move. As he landed, legs flexed, he twisted, grabbed
+Mormon's arm with his free one and jerked him forward, hunching a
+shoulder under the cowman's stomach. The pair of them rolled together on
+the ground, struggling and clubbing, while the spectators shouted
+themselves hoarse and smote each other great blows. Pardee, stepping
+warily, watched the writhing pair.
+
+Russell, wiser at this game, contrived leverage, twisting Mormon, and
+pinned his arms in a scissors grip while he battered at his face and
+Mormon writhed to get away from the reach of those long arms. The soft
+dust clouded about them and their grunts came out from it as they
+struggled. Once, with Mormon striving to open the leg grip, jerking away
+from the flailing blows, they rolled perilously near a clump of prickly
+pear on the verge of their little arena and a universal cry of warning
+went up.
+
+The two heard nothing of it in their hammer and tongs affair, the
+superheated blood, stoked by passion, surging through their veins.
+
+Mormon felt the pressure of Russell's thigh-muscles closing
+relentlessly, clamping down on his chest, shutting off oxygen. His
+energy waned, his limbs grew heavy, nerveless, his brain clogged and
+dulled. He set his chin well down into his neck to save his jaw, but his
+right cheek was pounded, one eye closing. It was only a matter of
+moments before he must relax and then Russell would pin him down with
+one arm and send in the final smashing blow. He felt himself
+suffocating, sinking--the noise of roaring waters dinned in his ears.
+
+He lay on his back, Russell on his side, one leg below, one leg above
+Mormon's body, bending at the hips in his efforts to reach the cowman's
+jaw. He bent a fraction too much, the scissors grip shifted
+imperceptibly and the message of that weakening of the chain flashed to
+Mormon's hazy brain. With every muscle taut in one supreme convulsion he
+managed to twist sidewise, back to Russell, opening the grip that now
+compressed shoulders instead of chest and back. He got a breath of air,
+dust-laden but blessed. His chest expanded, strength flowed in, he
+forced his arms apart, rolling over on Russell, crushing him into the
+soft earth with his weight. Another wriggling twist and he faced his
+man, bringing his mighty back into play to break clear. He got a forearm
+across Russell's Adam's apple, regardless of the blows that smashed into
+his face. He hammered home one jolt hard to the jaw and, as Russell's
+body grew limp, dragged himself from the relaxing hold and crouched on
+hands and knees, wheezing, spent, gulping air to his flattened lower
+lungs that refused to function.
+
+Now he could hear the shouting of the crowd, a clatter of yells. He saw
+Russell's head move, his eyes opening in the moonlight. Mechanically
+Mormon stood up, swaying, bruised, one eye useless. Pardee began
+counting over Russell, according to the ruling he had made.
+
+Russell rolled over on his face. It looked as if he was not going to try
+to get up. This was not how Mormon had wanted the fight to end, in a
+technical knockout, with his man beginning to come back and he not
+allowed to finish him.
+
+Pardee had put in the clause, "Man down allowed ten seconds, with the
+other on his feet," merely to make a better, longer fight of it from the
+spectator's standpoint. It was supposed to be the sporting thing to do,
+but Mormon, blood-flushed, brain-dull, had no thought of ethics at that
+moment. Russell was lifting himself to knees and elbows, crouching as
+Mormon had done, watching his opponent, listening to the count. He was
+going to get up. He _was_ up at nine, stooping, groggy, his long arms
+hanging low, and a shout went up from his backers as Pardee stepped
+aside.
+
+Russell began to back away, to describe a half-circle, right forearm
+across his chest, left arm extended, both in slight motion. Mormon stood
+like a baited bear, slowly revolving to face Russell, wary of a feint to
+draw 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." "Cut
+him to ribbons. Blind him first."
+
+The man in the crowd was right. Mormon knew little of boxing, but he
+knew enough to throw a cushion of sturdy arm across his jaw, the left
+elbow crooked, nose buried in it, eyes--one eye--indomitable above it.
+And the blunted elbow like a ram, as he ducked and Russell's straight
+right slid over his bald pate. He was far faster, lighter on his feet
+than Russell dreamed. The bully still underestimated his man, but woke
+to vivid and just appraisal as Mormon's elbow smashed against his
+collar-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 a
+clinch. Mormon's arms were about him, underneath, binding him with hoops
+of steel, compressing. He lost his footing, began to rise and he
+back-heeled in an outside click. They both went down together side by
+side in a dog-fall. Mormon loosed his arms as he rolled atop, got
+astride of Russell, strove to gather and control the arms that thrashed
+and smote.
+
+Something jagged crushed against Mormon's temple. It seemed as if the
+skull split open and a jagged, red-hot probe searched through his brain.
+He threw up his head in agony, his chin exposed, but instinct still
+awake to fling out both hands, catch the oncoming blow, his fingers
+clamping deep about the wrist above the hand that held the rock--some
+ore fragment tossed away by an old-timer--that Russell had found in the
+dirt, and used in unfair, murderous intent.
+
+The maddening pain of first impact died to a throb as the blood poured
+down, seeming to leave his brain clear, cold with a rage that responded
+to a deep disgust of the bully who was now at his mercy. For, with the
+rage came absolute conviction that this was the end of the fight.
+
+He screwed unmercifully, flesh and sinews and the small bones of the
+wrist, until Russell shrieked through his swollen mouth at the anguish
+of it and dropped the rock. Pardee, hovering near, seeing all, picked
+it up and slipped it into his pocket as Mormon pinned down Russell's arm
+with his left knee and swung left and right in sledge-hammer blows to
+the jaw of the face that tried in vain to dodge the knockout. As if a
+galvanic current that had simulated life had suddenly been shut off,
+Roaring Russell's body lost all energy, it seemed to flatten, lay
+without a quiver.
+
+Mormon got on his feet and stood to one side while Pardee counted off
+the seconds that were only a grim parody. Russell's brain was
+short-circuited. There was not even a tremor of his eyelids. Pardee
+knelt, 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, while
+Sandy, Sam and Westlake ramparted Mormon from enthusiastic admirers and
+pushed down to the creek where he washed his hurts with the stinging icy
+water and stiffly put on his clothes.
+
+"Knew he was licked and figured he might get away with it," declared
+Pardee. "Lucky it didn't split his head open." Murmurs gathered force
+against the bully's methods.
+
+"Cut out the lynching talk, boys," cried Pardee. "The man's been beaten
+up. 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 broke
+through to Mormon, being assisted into his coat by Sandy. "How are you
+standing up, old bearcat?" asked the referee. "I thought he had you
+nipped once but you walloped him."
+
+"Me? I'm jest about standin' up, an' that's all," said Mormon, gingerly
+feeling certain places on his face. "I sure thought it was my brains
+oozin' when he swiped me with that rock. But my bone's pritty solid in
+the head, I reckon. I don't mind tellin' you-all I'm feelin' a good deal
+like a bass drum at the end of a long parade, but I believe it's all on
+the 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, his
+hand 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't
+plumb forgit about any chance of her showin' up."
+
+"Here's where you git called a hero," said Sam. "She knows what you've
+been fightin' erbout. More'n that she's been in the crowd for the last
+five minnits of the scrap. That right, Westlake?"
+
+"Yes. I saw her come into the crowd with young Ed. She wants to thank
+you, 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 row
+down here, an' she sent me to see what it was. When I didn't hurry back
+she trailed me. Great snakes, Mormon, but you sure whaled him!"
+
+"Huh!" Mormon said nothing but that mystic monosyllable until they
+reached the place where Miranda Bailey stood apart from the crowd who
+deferentially gave her room, whispering her supposed share in the recent
+event. She did not look much like the heroine of a romance, neither did
+Mormon resemble a hero. Her somewhat worn but wholesome face was set in
+forbidding lines, but Westlake and Sandy fancied they saw the ghost of a
+twinkle in her eyes. She greeted Mormon as if he had been a disgraced
+schoolboy.
+
+"What have you been fightin' about?" she demanded.
+
+But, like Russell, she underestimated Mormon. His one working eye was
+innocent 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 up
+that eye. I sh'ud think a man of yore age 'ud have more sense than
+fightin' 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 ridicklus
+reason."
+
+"I didn't think the reason ridicklus," said Mormon, and the spinster's
+lips 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 remedies
+in the background. "Come up to my place."
+
+There may have been some thought of trade from the many who would want
+to see the victor at close range. Mormon hesitated, all slowly moving
+toward the bridge. Men were staring toward the mesa whence came a
+high-powered car, rushing at high speed, magnificently driven, taking
+curve and pitch and level with superb judgment. Its lights flamed out on
+the night. It turned and came on, stopping on the bridge, blocked by the
+crowd that made slow opening for it. The driver, in chauffeur's livery,
+sat immobile, controlling the car, his worldly-wise, blase face like a
+mask. Two men were in the tonneau. One of them leaned forward, looking
+at the crowd, a square-jawed man, clean-shaven but for the bristle of a
+silver mustache beneath an aggressive nose, above a firm hard mouth and
+determined 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 as
+plainly as eastern product, but his manner was subordinate though his
+face that, alone of the three, seemed to hold a measure of fearful
+wonder at the turbulent throng of men, was shrewd enough.
+
+"I'm looking for a man named Plimsoll," said the first of these two, his
+voice an indication that he was accustomed to a quick answer. "He wired
+me about some claims. Where'll I find him?" He made no question
+concerning the crowd, his eyes passed casually over Mormon's damaged
+countenance, over the procession that bore Russell, sack-fashion. Here
+was a man who, at any hour of the twenty-four, was primed for business
+and for profit.
+
+Yet he could not fail but see that his question charged the crowd with
+some emotion he could not fathom. The night was spent, it was getting
+close to dawn. The issue between Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll, crowded
+aside for the moment, was now paramount. Some craned for sight of the
+two-gun man, others glanced toward the eastern sky. The stars seemed to
+be losing their brilliance, the golden moon turning silver, the high
+horizon, jagged with mountain crests, appeared to be gaining form and a
+third dimension.
+
+"You'll likely find him at his place," answered a miner. "Up-street on
+the 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 the
+street. One or two of the bolder got on the running boards unchecked.
+The easterner who was looking for Plimsoll took in the situation as
+something beyond his present range, accepting it. Sandy turned to
+Mormon.
+
+"You better see Miss Mirandy up to her claim," he said, his voice casual
+enough. Mormon started an appeal but it died unvoiced. The spinster knew
+nothing of the clash impending between Sandy and the gambler, neither
+did her nephew, who, the excitement of the fight over, yawned and went
+off with his aunt and Mormon.
+
+"I'll bring you up that chunk of meat, Mormon," whispered Sam. "An' I'll
+bring you somethin' stronger, same time."
+
+"Don't bring it all on yore breath," Mormon whispered back. "If I hear
+any shootin' I'll come back lopin'."
+
+"There won't be any shootin'," said Sam. "You go soak that eye of yores
+in Mirandy Bailey's sage tea. Me 'n' Sandy, we'll handle Plimsoll." Then
+Sam broke clear from Mormon and hurried after Sandy and Westlake.
+
+Sandy walked up the street without hurry and, as they had made way from
+the car, men gave him space. The nearer he got to Plimsoll's place the
+more room they allowed him. They melted away from the car on all sides,
+leaving it clearest between the machine and the entrance to the gambling
+shack. The chauffeur preserved his bored look and carved attitude. His
+face was lined with lack of sleep and the strain of driving at high
+speed over unknown mountain roads, powdered gray with dust. He seemed
+almost an automaton. The man with the square face looked alertly about
+him at the crowd, giving place to the lean tall man walking leisurely up
+the street, high lights touching the metal of the two guns that hung in
+holsters well to the front of his hips. Sandy's face was serene, but
+there was no mistaking the fact that the star performer of the moment
+had come upon the stage. Five paces back of him strolled Sam, his eyes
+dancing with the excitement that did not show in Sandy's steel-gray
+orbs. 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 appeared
+between his eyebrows and he half rose in his seat. Then the door of the
+cabin 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 cards
+until he knew himself beaten. He had been hoping for the arrival of this
+man. He represented capital, the development of the camp into a mining
+town, the movement of money, the boom of quick sales. With his
+backing--once the camp understood what it meant to all of them--he might
+turn the tables on Sandy Bourke. The protection of Capital was powerful.
+
+He came out licking his lips nervously, with a swift survey that took in
+the setting of the stage prepared for his entrance. His eyes, shifting
+from the big machine, as if drawn by something beyond his will, focused
+on the figure of Sandy, easy but sinister in its capacity to avoid all
+melodrama. 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 the
+shadows, pale but visible. The lights of the machine changed from yellow
+to pale lemon, the flares outside the cabins, the illumination of the
+windows altered. High up, a tiny fleck of cloud caught the fire of the
+as yet unseen sun, rolling on to dawn behind the range. Things seemed
+flat, lacking full definition, lacking shadow. In the east the sky
+showed gray behind the dark purple crests between which mists were
+trailing. Men shivered, half from cold, half from tension and lack of
+sleep.
+
+"Plimsoll," said Sandy. "That peak oveh on Sawtooth Range is goin' to
+catch the light first. I'll call it sun-up when the sun looks oveh the
+mesa."
+
+Plimsoll bared his teeth in a fox-grin. Sandy stood with his hands by
+his sides, covering him with his eyes. Plimsoll looked at the hands that
+he knew could move swifter than he could follow, he looked at the car
+with Keith gazing from him to Sandy, he sensed the waiting strain of all
+the men, waiting to see Sandy shoot--if he did not go, to see him
+crumple up in the dust, and--he looked at the peak on Sawtooth and his
+face grayed as the granite suddenly flushed with rose. His will melted,
+he turned and went inside his cabin. No one followed him, there was no
+one 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, had
+been at the door since midnight. He mounted, dug spurs into the beast's
+flanks and went galloping madly up the slope that rose from the street
+gulch leading down to the main gulch of Flivver Creek. He was
+shortcutting for the mesa road, hate in his heart, his blood, his brain;
+poisoning hate that turned all his secretions to gall. His plans for
+wealth had been blocked by a man he dared not face. Before Sandy Bourke
+his spirit flinched as a leaf shrinks and curls from flame. The forced
+acknowledgment of it was an acid aggravation. He raked his horse's
+flanks with his rowels and the spirited brute, pick of all Plimsoll's
+horse 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 once
+evil and futile, a venom that was bound to spread until the infection
+mastered him, body and mind and soul, steeped them in a devil's brew
+that permitted of no other thought but what was dominated by the mad
+desire to get even.
+
+Some one caught sight of the galloping horse and rider lunging along in
+a cloud of dust that showed golden as the sun rose and looked over the
+mesa. He raised a shout that was joined in by the rest, that reached the
+flying Plimsoll as the view-halloo reaches the fox making for its
+earth.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+CASEY TOWN
+
+
+The man named Keith called to Sandy Bourke who, for the moment, still
+stood alone, now rolling a cigarette. He was the only man in the close
+vicinity 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 appeared
+struggling to invest with humor, "exactly what is the idea of this
+theatrical, 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 go
+at that, if you like. Li'l' western drama entitled _To Be Shot at
+Sunrise_."
+
+The crowd began to gather closer, curious to find out the reason for the
+swift 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've
+come all the way from New York to do business with him, driven the last
+two hundred miles in this car, I'd be obliged if you would tell me just
+what was the matter, Mr.----?"
+
+"Bourke. Sandy Bourke."
+
+The stranger had managed to muffle down his chagrin and resentment at
+the outcome of his trip. Of necessity he was a judge of men and it did
+not take him long to place Sandy. Keith was an adept at adapting himself
+to his environment.
+
+"Sorry to have upset things fo' you," went on Sandy, "but this was a
+personal matteh between myse'f an' Plimsoll that had to be settled
+pronto an' permanent. I don't reckon how you've lost a heap, said
+Plimsoll bein' a crook."
+
+"My name's Keith, Wilson Keith," said the other. "I don't know that that
+means much to you as I judge you generally belong to the range rather
+than the mining camp, but there may be a few in the crowd who know me. I
+am a mining promoter. Plimsoll had agreed to sell me his interest in
+certain claims which showed well in assay reports. They alone were
+insufficient to interest me. When he wired me the news of the general
+strike, the prospect of development opened and I came on. You seem to
+have 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 own
+those 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 through
+here 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 Plimsoll
+tried 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 had
+none 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 same
+bein' my legal ward."
+
+"Ah!" Wilson Keith's eyes grew keen and cold. "Have you any interest in
+them 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 the
+promoter and held them for a second or two.
+
+The thought passed through Keith's mind that Sandy's interest, and that
+of his partners, might have been obtained from the girl under false
+pretenses, but he was very far from a fool and, among the things he saw
+in Sandy's eyes, it was clearly written that here was a man who was both
+absolutely 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 bed
+late?"
+
+The remark raised a laugh in the crowd, now milling good-naturedly about
+the machine.
+
+"Want to buy any more claims?" asked a voice.
+
+"I might. I've looked over the ground once, I may as well admit, and
+I've had an expert report upon it. I'd like to have a talk with all of
+you after I've had some coffee. This is a camp where it will take a
+great deal of money, of labor and of time to develop it, whether you try
+to drill and blast yourselves, or pool your interests and install
+machinery. 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 to
+their coffee. The crowd once more had sleep discounted by excitement.
+Keith had shrewdly said just enough. The seed that he had planted in the
+suggestion that they pool interests fell in such rich ground that it
+began sprouting immediately.
+
+Sandy introduced Sam as his partner, Westlake as a mining engineer and
+assayer. Keith gave Westlake a shrewd appraising glance, and a nod.
+
+"I'm too sleepy myse'f to talk business," said Sandy. "My two pardners
+are 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 to
+his 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 as
+much emotion as a hopper taking in grain. Keith talked matters over with
+Blake, not because he valued his secretary's opinion, able as he was in
+his appointed duties, but because it helped Keith to clarify conditions
+in his own mind.
+
+"There were only a few old-timers in the crowd, Blake," he said. "The
+rest of them will want to be going back to wherever and whatever they
+came from as soon as they find this is not a placer proposition. A heap
+of people heard of a gold rush and think it's always a Tom Tiddler's
+Ground, like washing out the rich sands of Nome. They'll be glad to sell
+and take shares for cash."
+
+"Ought to change the name of the camp," suggested Blake. "Dynamite is
+known as an exploded prospect."
+
+"Thought of that," said Keith. "This is damned good coffee. I'll have
+another cup.... How about Casey Town, after the original discoverer who
+always believed in the place, but lacked the money for development and
+wouldn't take in a partner? Picturesque and good stuff for the
+prospectuses. You might send off some stuff about that, Blake, work in
+this Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll affair and find out what this all-night
+racket was about. Good, lively publicity stuff we can use again later
+on. 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 his
+methods, did not interrupt him. Keith was planning a campaign, figuring
+out 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 the
+arrival 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, looking
+at where Mormon snored beneath blankets, "I reckon we better all foller
+his example. If that man Keith wants to buy my claims I'm willin' to
+sell. Milkin' is more in my line than minin', I've decided. I had a fool
+idea we'd pick up nuggets, top of the ground. From what Mr. Westlake
+tells me, you got to put out a lot of money before you even find out
+whether you're goin' to see the color of gold."
+
+"Let's hold a pow-wow before we turn in," said Sandy. "Westlake, what do
+you know about Keith? Anything?"
+
+"I've heard of him. I imagine he started out as a promoter rather than a
+developer. He has made some lucky strikes. There is no doubt but that
+he can float this proposition on a large scale, induce others to put
+money into it. The least likely-looking properties he'll put on the
+market 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 that
+will be a sound one. You see, Miss Bailey, not every porphyry dyke is
+going to have a gold lining."
+
+"Do you figger it w'ud pay best to sell him outright or let him form a
+company?" 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's
+opinion on anything he wants to buy. He's tipped his hand already in
+showin' how far an' fast he came here. Probably had Plimsoll tied up on
+an 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 best
+side of the gulch. The indications are in sight there. This side the
+exposed reef may have been ground down below the sylvanite. There are
+glacial signs all around here. I would say sell these for cash, holding
+out on price until Keith refuses to offer more. He'll come back for a
+final bid. But let him organize with your claims."
+
+"The Molly Casey Mine? With fifty-one per cent. of the shares, if we
+can't get more?"
+
+"He'll squeal like a pig before he grants that," said Westlake. "But
+he'll have to come through to your terms. Those claims are the big bet
+of this camp, and he knows it."
+
+It would have surprised Keith had he known how accurately the young
+engineer he had glanced at and dismissed as almost an amateur at the
+game, followed the trend of his scheming. There is not much variation in
+the methods of Mining Promotion, and Westlake was an observer and a
+conserver 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 the
+fat job, Westlake. I'm dawg-tired. Sam, let's you an' me shack over to
+our 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 drawn
+and 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 his
+plans 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 could
+get the girl to vote apart from the three partners or he might split
+them some way or another. But, wisely, he did not count on this. And he
+took up the task of exploitation with zest, Blake, primed with material
+and notes gathered on the spot, a ready and expert assistant.
+
+When Wilson Keith made up his mind there was money in a plan--money for
+Wilson 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 for
+which he could pat himself upon the back and tell himself how much
+cleverer he was than the public, swimming up to his golden-baited hooks
+like so many fish. Thornton, expert mining engineer, believed the
+prospects 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 itself
+to exploitation.
+
+Blake, nosing here and listening there, while Keith satisfied himself as
+to the legality of Sandy's guardianship of Molly and the powers that had
+been granted him to look after all her interests, assuring himself of
+the speciousness of Plimsoll's claim for grubstake interest. Blake,
+weaving fact into fiction, compiled the romance of Molly Casey, daughter
+of the wandering prospector, Patrick Casey; her father's trail-chum by
+mountain and desert; the death of Casey, the rescue of Molly, the strike
+at Dynamite.
+
+Much about Sandy's part in it all Blake did not use. He learned little
+and said nothing of Plimsoll's attempt to get the girl under his
+control, of the wild ride across the county line. Blake's general
+canniness concentrated wherever his personal interests were concerned
+and he had made up his mind that Sandy Bourke was a man whom it would
+not pay to offend. He might never see the story in print, then again he
+might, and Blake, very likely, would return to Casey Town once in a
+while with Keith.
+
+But it was a good story. A Sunday feature story if he could strengthen
+it a little. If the mine made the girl a millionairess it would carry
+the yarn as sheer news, but Blake wanted the story to help to carry the
+mine, to bring in the money from the outside to exploit Casey Town and
+the Keith holdings.
+
+Keith had the capital and was willing enough to put it into developing
+the Molly Mine if necessary, but it was a business principle of his
+never 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 this
+took money. His wife took more, his son, just out of college, took all
+that he could get. Mrs. Keith seemed to regard her husband's
+bank-account much as the wife of a farmer might regard the spring in the
+meadow. With the extravagance of the post-war period, the advance in
+prices, the amounts she spent were staggering even to Keith, who set no
+limits on his own ability to make money. To suggest retrenchment would
+not merely have had small effect upon his wife, but any curtailment
+would infallibly hurt the standing of the Keith investments. New York
+was full of people with money to invest. Profiteering, easy-come money,
+a lot of it. Easy-go money, too, when the profiteers, still dazzled by
+their 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--to
+his home where he dazzled them, fogged them in an atmosphere where they
+were ill at ease though striving to cover it; Keith, drawing them aside
+when the time was ripe, would tell them of their shrewdness, confess a
+liking, almost an admiration for them--and let them in on the ground
+floor.
+
+There were the many who could not be touched personally and, for these,
+Blake prepared the literature and laid his schemes for real newspaper
+publicity. Submitting them to Keith, the latter approved. Mrs. Keith was
+to look Molly up at her school, take her into the Keith home on
+vacations, introduce her into the social whirl. The right newspapermen
+would see her, meet her, get the story from Blake of her romantic
+childhood, with photographs of the Western Heiress in the Park on
+Horseback. There would be drawings by staff artists of the way she and
+her father appeared wandering through the desert, discovering the
+claims, 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 best
+paragraphs, tied up with views of Casey Town, with engineers' reports,
+with semi-scientific stuff about sylvanite, a masterpiece of romance and
+fiction, peppered with fact. The whole to be titled _White Gold_.
+
+Advertisements, headed _White Gold_, offering the shares. Personal
+letters to those on the carefully selected lists of _Preferred
+Investors_. Offices of the Casey Town Mining Company with alluring
+specimens behind glass cases, with models of mining machinery and of
+sections of mines, framed maps and drawings, blue-prints, a chunk of
+sylvanite ore in a railed-off enclosure with the legend of its marvelous
+value. Many, most, of these lures, had done service in previous
+enticements of Keith, but they still held good. They were a good deal
+like the fake mermaids, the skulls and odds and ends in the window of a
+palmist, all bait, of better quality, more deftly arranged and
+displayed, 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 Keith
+approved of it. That the partners of the Three Star as fifty-one per
+cent, owners, or Molly Casey herself with them, should be consulted or
+informed, never entered his head.
+
+Of course there was always a chance of the investors realizing heavily
+if Casey Town turned up big production. Keith hoped it would. Provided
+he made all the money he wanted, he was always willing to have others
+get hold of some, especially when he would be regarded by them as the
+benefactor who had given them the golden opportunity. He would reap the
+major harvest, and success would open up the way for other
+fields--perhaps in oil. Keith had some associates who rather scoffed at
+his gold-mining promotion as out-of-date. Oil was quicker, more in the
+public eye. Every time the price of gasoline or kerosene went up the
+American automobile-owning public thought of oil, they were primed
+perpetually toward its possibilities.
+
+But Keith was still in gold. He knew all the technique of that branch of
+speculation and Blake's campaign was carried out most successfully. Mrs.
+Keith descended overwhelmingly upon Molly at her school, chauffeur and
+footman on the driving seat of her luxurious sedan; gasped a little when
+she saw that Molly was a beauty, could be made an unusual one with the
+right dressing, the right setting.
+
+Her brain, which was keen enough in business matters, told her that she
+could improve her husband's program of using Molly as an attraction to
+bring 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 in
+love with Molly, the heiress. She wrote to the Three Star Ranch, to
+Sandy Bourke, guardian of Molly Casey, without Molly's knowledge. Sandy
+read 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 almost
+amounted to genius. The hints of Molly's unhappiness so cleverly
+suggested, the mother suggestion, the need of companionship and advice
+from an older woman, Molly's intolerance of conventionalities, all went
+home; though it was some time before the trio entirely absorbed the
+meaning of the glossy phrases and glib vocabulary. The letter passed
+about in silence after Sandy had read it, Sam and Mormon plowing through
+the maze of the fashionable script.
+
+"Reckon she's right," said Mormon. "Molly's different. She had a mighty
+hard time of it along with her old man, compared to what them
+soft-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 ways
+w'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 it
+must be tough to be herded inter a corral where you got to learn all
+over ag'in how to handle yore feet an' hands, not to mention forks. This
+Keith woman's spotted Molly ain't easy at school. The other gals like
+her, but they ain't her style. She's range bred an' free. Those other
+fillies have been brought up in loose boxes. They probably don't mean to
+hurt her feelin's none, but I 'low they snicker once in a while if Molly
+forgets the right sasshay. An' Molly's proud as they make 'em. Sounds
+good 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 a
+pritty fine woman to think of takin' Molly into her own home. I reckon
+Molly 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 a
+glance at his partners that was half shamefaced. "Why not git her
+opinion? Takes a woman to understand a woman. She'd sabe this letter a
+heap 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, did
+ye, Mormon?" asked Sam.
+
+"Never did."
+
+"That's too bad."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Gen'ral principles." Sam said no more but took out his harmonica, ever
+in one hip pocket, and crooned into it. A jiggly-jazz edition of
+_Mendelssohn's Wedding March_ strained through the curtains of Sam's
+drooping mustache.
+
+"Speakin' wide, the weddin' cake of matrimony has been mostly mildewed
+for me," said Mormon reflectively, "but there was one thing about my
+last wife I sure admired. Uncommon thing in woman an' missin' in some
+men."
+
+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 can
+do 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 to
+tackle. I used to wonder why they allus put frostin' on weddin' cake. I
+reckon 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. Nature
+give 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 walking
+toward the cottonwood grove with Grit at his heels.
+
+"He thinks a heap of Molly," opined Sam. "I reckon he sure hates to
+lose her, if he is woman-shy. 'Course Molly was jest a kid. But I don't
+fancy she'll take the back-trail once she gits mixed up with the Keith
+outfit."
+
+"I ain't so plumb sure of that," returned Mormon. "Molly's bo'n an' bred
+with 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't
+forgettin' the water-hole."
+
+Sam glanced at Mormon curiously. It wasn't often Mormon showed any touch
+of what Sam characterized as poetical.
+
+Sandy, under the cottonwoods where the spring bubbled, so near the old
+prospector's grave that perhaps the old-miner lying there could, in his
+new affinities with Nature, hear its flow, was thinking much the same
+thing Mormon had expressed, hoping it might be true, chiding himself
+lest 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. A
+railing outlined the grave, and the turf within it was kept short and
+green. Sandy squatted down and rolled a cigarette, smoking it as he sat
+cross-legged. Grit, as was his custom, leaped the railing lightly and
+lay down above the dust of his dead master, head couched on paws, turned
+a little sidewise, his grave eyes surveying Sandy.
+
+"Miss her, ol' son? So do I. Mebbe she'll come back to see us-all. She
+sure did seem to belong."
+
+Memories of Molly flickered across the screen of his mind: Molly beside
+her father by the broken wagon, climbing to get the cactus blossom for
+his cairn; Molly at the grave; Molly giving him the gold piece; the wild
+ride across the pass and the race for the train and a recollection that
+was freshest of all, one he had not mentioned to his partners; the touch
+of Molly's lips on his as he had bade her good-by. The kiss had not been
+that of a child, there had been a magic in it that had thrilled some
+chord in Sandy that still responded to that remembrance. He never dwelt
+on it long, it brought a vague reaction always, stirred that strange
+instinct of his that had branded him as woman-shy, kept him clean. Part
+of it was intuitive desire for freedom of will and action, as the wild
+horse shies at even the shadow of a halter that may mean bondage,
+however pleasant. Part of it was reverence for woman, deep-seated, a
+hazy, never analyzed feeling that this belief might be disappointed.
+
+Miranda, alone in the flivver, a new car of her own, bought with money
+paid by Keith for her claim, was at the ranch-house when Sandy returned.
+Miranda and young Ed Bailey, accepting Westlake's advice, had sold for
+cash, getting fifteen thousand dollars to divide between them, refusing
+more glittering offers of stock. It was a windfall well worth their
+endeavor and they were amply satisfied. Young Ed had promptly gone to
+Agricultural College, putting in part of his money to buy new stock and
+implements for his father's ranch, in which he now held a half
+partnership. Miranda, Mormon and Sam were talking about this when Sandy
+came up.
+
+"It sure made a man of young Ed overnight," said the spinster. "He
+thought it out all by himse'f an' nigh surprised us off our feet. He was
+sort of ganglin', more ways than one, an' we feared the money 'ud go to
+his head. Which it did, as a matter of fact, but it was a tonic, 'stead
+of actin' like an intoxicant. We're plumb proud of him.
+
+"Mr. Westlake was over day before yesterday," she went on. "Goin' on
+through 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 is
+boomin' up to Casey Town. There's been some good strikes, one in the
+claim nex' but one to ours. Keith's goin' to start things whirlin', I
+reckon."
+
+"Mebbe he'll see Molly," suggested Sam. "Though of course she ain't to
+Keith'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 lap
+for a few moments.
+
+"Want my opinion on it?" she asked finally.
+
+"Yes," said Sandy. "If the mines are goin' to produce big she'll likely
+be rich. She went east to git culchured up. Seems like the school idea
+might not have been the best, after all."
+
+"I don't know. I don't rightly git the motive back of this writin'. It
+ain'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 pay
+well for bein' taken up. I don't mean in money but, if Molly didn't have
+a show of bein' rich, an' warn't pritty, which she is, I ain't certain
+Mrs. Keith 'ud be so eager. I guess it's all right but, somehow, it
+don't hit me as plumb sincere. Still ... I reckon my opinion is like
+that gilt hawss top of Ed's barn," she ended with a smile. "It was set
+up too light, I reckon, an' it was allus shiftin', north, south, east
+an' west, when you c'udn't feel a breath of wind on the level. I ain't
+got a thing to pin it to, but I feel there's something back of it, like
+a 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. Keith
+lives up to that half-promise of hers an' make it a condition she brings
+Molly out here inside of six months. That'll give time for a fair trial
+an' you can see right then fo' yoreself how it's workin'. Long's she
+goin' to have teachers she can't lose much."
+
+"That's a plumb fine idee," said Mormon, looking triumphantly at his
+partners.
+
+It ran with Sandy's own wishes and he subscribed to it. Sam endorsed it
+as well, and a letter was sent east that night, containing the proviso
+of Molly's return and another that Molly should bear all her own
+expenses of tuition and living. All this to hang upon Molly's own desire
+to 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. One
+page was devoted to her anticipations of coming back to visit Three
+Star:
+
+     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 do
+a hawss, on'y not so much, but I'm a hell-singed son of a horned-toad if
+I'd ever kiss one."
+
+"It's two to one you don't have to," said Mormon. "If you're a sport
+you'll do as Molly asks an' draw cards fo' the privilege. It's a
+sure-fire cinch she'll never give you one of them salutes she hints at
+when she comes home ef she knows you backed out. Wait till I git the
+cards."
+
+It was plain to Sandy that Sam and Mormon, despite Sam's protest, took
+Molly's pleasantry in earnest and he made no comment as Mormon deftly
+shuffled 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 sight
+of Mormon's card.
+
+"Hold on, Molly said 'High man out.' That's Sandy. You an' me got to
+draw again. Ain't that so, Sandy?"
+
+"Sure is," said Sandy gravely. "You hollered too soon, Sam. Prob'ly
+crabbed yore luck."
+
+Both chose their cards and drew them to the edge of the table, face
+down, 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 that
+brought water to their eyes and nearly sent Mormon into convulsions. Sam
+surveyed 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 it
+to a livin' soul, outside of Molly, I'll plumb scalp, skin an' silence
+both of you. _Kiss a dawg!_ Hell's delight!"
+
+They started to follow him, still weak with laughter, but he threatened
+them with his gun and they fell back in mock alarm while Sam went round
+back of the corral and they heard him whistling for Grit. When he
+reappeared, straddling along on his bowed legs, his good humor had
+returned.
+
+"How's he like it?" asked Mormon.
+
+Sam grinned at him.
+
+"You bald-headed ol' badger, you, he acted plumb like yore wives must
+have, when I salutes him on the snoot. Licks my nose first an' then
+curls up his tongue an' licks off his own. Wipes out all trace of the
+oskylation 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 I
+figger out that I was just handin' it on fo' Molly, an' that she owes me
+one, whether she decides to salute you two galoots or not."
+
+Molly's letters were prime events at the Three Star. She wrote every
+week telling of life at the Keiths'. Miranda made up the quartet to read
+them. 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, kind
+words for the elder Keiths. "Don't think I've changed," she said. "I'm
+the same Molly underneath even if I have been revamped and decorated."
+
+The famous _White Gold_ prospectuses and advertisements duly followed
+the 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 sent
+Keith's stocks soaring high. The porphyry dyke at the Molly Mine began
+to yield rich results almost from the first and dividends were paid in
+such quantities as to stagger the Three Star outfit who saw themselves
+in a fair way to become rich. All over the barren hills, where the first
+futile shafts had been driven and abandoned, buildings sprang up like
+mushrooms, housing machinery, sending up plumes of white smoke that
+tokened the underground energies. The Keith properties were being
+developed with much show of outlay, prices jumping at every report from
+the Molly Mine or other successful developments. None of the investors
+in these Keith undertakings knew that he owned forty-nine per cent of
+the shares of the Molly and of none other, save for the space between
+issuing them and selling them.
+
+The three partners held consultation as to their disposal of the checks
+that were sent them.
+
+"Molly, she's gettin' the same amount we're splittin' both ways," said
+Sam, "but somehow it don't seem right to me the way we come in. It was
+her dad's mine. He found it. All we did was to find her--an' Grit done
+that. The dawg ought to have a gold collar an' we might accept a gold
+plated 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. "Now
+she's bein' shown how to spend it. It ain't that she'd kick, but some
+might think we'd taken advantage of her. Darn me if I don't feel
+thataway myse'f."
+
+"I see it this way," said Sandy. "I've done a heap of thinkin' over the
+matter. I don't believe that Molly has changed--still she might be
+influenced by folks who w'ud look at it that she made the deal when she
+was a minor an' we c'udn't enfo'ce it. Bein' her guardeen, I'm
+responsible fo' what she makes an' what she loses. Jim Redding fixed up
+things in that line He an' Ba'bara Redding understand it all but others
+mightn't. I'm plumb sure that if we-all didn't take the money Molly 'ud
+pull out her picket-pin an' say we wasn't playin' fair an' square with
+her. It was a deal an', at the time, I had no mo' idee the mines w'ud
+pan out than I have that Sam's laigs'll grow straight. I figger we can
+do this. We can use the money, keepin' account of it, puttin' it into
+stock an' improvements that'll pay fo' themselves long befo' Molly comes
+of age an' my guardeen papers play out. That way we'll have the benefit
+of the capital an' keep it ready to turn over to her if she ever needs
+it. I don't believe she'll ever take one red cent of it. It was a gamble
+with her an' she's a thoroughbred sport. To my mind, she'd sooner be
+slapped 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 it
+handy."
+
+"Figger she's goin' to marry that young Keith? She writes a heap of
+Donald's this an' Donald doin' that. I'd like to take a slant at him. I
+sure 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 money
+in the family. Mirandy's allus 'spicioned a motive to that invite."
+
+"Shucks! She asked her befo' the mine made a showin'. An' every dollar
+Molly 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 now
+unpopular profession, since suffrage ruled, and stayed close to his
+horse ranch. It lay alone, and few visited it save Plimsoll's own
+associates. Rumors drifted concerning Plimsoll's remarkable herd
+increase of saleable horses but, unless proof of actual operation was
+forthcoming, there was small chance of pinning anything down in the way
+of illegal work. There was always the excuse of having rounded up a
+bunch of broom-tail wild horses to account for growing numbers, and, if
+he stole or not, Plimsoll left the horses of his own county alone. No
+neighbor was injured and though stories of wild happenings at the horse
+ranch were current it was considered nobody's business. Wyatt once,
+staggering out of some blind pig in Hereford, still existent despite the
+suffrage sweeping, babbled in maudlin drunkenness of his determination
+to get even with Plimsoll for stealing his sweetheart. For Wyatt, for
+the sake of the girl, had gone back to Plimsoll's employ. The new
+sheriff 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 grand
+shoot-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 the
+listeners. "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 first
+chance he gets. I spoke to him about what he's been firing off from his
+mouth the night before an' he shuts up like a clam. 'I was foolish
+drunk,' he says, but there was a look in his eyes that was nasty. If
+Plim's wise he'll get rid of Wyatt. He knows too much an' he's liable to
+tip it off."
+
+"Wyatt an' Plim's both of 'em side-swipers," returned the other. "They'd
+throw 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 holding
+Plimsoll. 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 for
+the head of the management, whether young or old, male or
+female--carried out his long cherished plans for additional
+water-supply, for alfalfa planting, for registered bulls and high-grade
+cows. Now that there was money in sight the success of the ranch was
+assured. He studied hard, he got in touch with the state experimental
+developments, he subscribed for magazines that told of cattle breeding,
+he sent soils for analysis and young Ed, coming home from his first
+term, found, somewhat to his chagrin, that Sandy was far ahead of him in
+both the theory and practise of ranching.
+
+The days multiplied into weeks and the weeks into months. Sandy received
+one letter from Brandon that seemed to presage another visit across the
+line. 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 now
+fitted 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 it
+up 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 moments
+gentlin' a hawss fo' her an' pickin' wild flowers, until Mirandy Bailey
+persuades her the climate is too chilly. But I'll bet Molly c'ud handle
+that 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 had
+changed a good deal. They held responsibilities, they owned a home and
+they lived there. None of them, since they were children, had ever known
+the close companionship of a young girl. Mormon's matrimonial adventures
+had been foredoomed shipwrecks on the sands of time, his wives marital
+pirates preying on his good nature and earnings. Molly had leavened
+their existences in a way that two of them hardly suspected and the
+yeast of affection was still working. Each hung to the hope that she
+might return to the ranch again to stay and each felt that hope was a
+faint 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 Town
+properties, that he was traveling in a private car with his son, with
+Molly and her governess-companion, and that the two latter would get off
+at Hereford for a visit to the Three Star, Sandy went about with a
+whistle, Sam breathed sanguine melodies through the harmonica and Mormon
+beamed 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 regrets
+that her physicians did not think the journey would be best for her to
+undertake in the present state of her health, which meant that she
+feared possible discomforts en route and imagined the ranch as a place
+where one was fed only on beans, sourdough bread, bull meat and
+indifferent 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 the
+matter 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 that
+means thin-blooded or underfed. My sister's niece by marriage was that
+way till they fed her cod-liver oil an' scraped beef. 'Pears to me as if
+all the companions an' governesses was that kind of folk. I suppose they
+hire out cheaper account of not bein' overstrong."
+
+"You can search me," answered Mormon. "Ask Sandy, he's browsin' through
+the dikshunary reg'lar these days. Gettin' so it's hard to sabe half he
+tells 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. "I
+can't bear 'em."
+
+"That's the legal meaning," said Sandy. "I reckon this is
+it--submissive."
+
+"Halter-broke. That's more likely. That's the kind that Keith party w'ud
+pick. I ain't ever seen her nor don't hope nor expect to, but that's the
+kind she'd pick. No backbone. Molly'll twist her round her little
+finger. Wonder how old she is?"
+
+"The word you meant was anemic, Miss Mirandy," said Sandy, turning a
+leaf in the dictionary. "They sound about the same."
+
+"There's too many words anyway," she replied. "Folks don't use mo'n a
+hundredth part of 'em an' git along first-rate. I don't see why they
+print 'em." Miranda did not show to the best advantage during the rest
+of her visit. She snubbed Mormon severely when he offered to get water
+for her car. "I've fetched an' carried for myself long enough not to
+want to be waited on," she said. "An' I don't need water anyway." She
+drove off and had to bail from an irrigating ditch before she was
+half-way to her destination. Whereupon she took herself to task.
+
+"Miranda Bailey, there's no fool like an old fool," she said aloud, with
+sage-brush and timid prairie dogs for audience. "What you want to do is
+to keep sweet. Now git on." The final adjuration was to her car, to
+which she always spoke exactly as if it was a horse.
+
+"What do you suppose made her so cantankerous?" Mormon inquired after
+she had driven round the corral. "Reckon you got her sore bawlin' her
+out about usin' the wrong word, Sandy. A woman's sensitive about them
+things."
+
+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' lost
+to all sense of touch or motion," he shouted. "Remember what I said
+about the stenographer? Mirandy's jealous of the Nicholson woman. Plumb
+jealous! You better wear blinders while she's here, Mormon. If she's a
+good-looker, Gawd help you! Mirandy won't."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+EAST AND WEST
+
+
+When Miranda Bailey heard the news she announced her determination of
+coming over to the Three Star to prepare for the visitors.
+
+"I reckon my reputation'll stand it," she said, "seein' I'm older than
+two of you an' the third is still a married man. That spineless
+governess'll be writin' back to the Keith woman about everything she
+sees, eats, sits or sleeps on. Pedro's cookin' is enough to give any
+easterner dyspepsy. The whole house wants reddin' up, it ain't been
+swept proper fo' a year."
+
+Abashed, the partners gave her full sway. They lived on the porch in
+their spare waking moments, they ate cold victuals, and the lives of
+Pedro and Joe were made miserable. But the ranch-house was scoured from
+top to bottom. Miranda's car brought over curtains for the windows,
+flowers for the window-sills, odds and ends that made the place look
+homely, cheerful, inviting. Pedro was given lessons at the stove that he
+at first took sulkily but, being praised and his wages raised, took
+pride 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 bring
+them over from time to time. He can make a pie an' biscuit an' he can
+broil meat. I've taught him to mash his pertaters with milk 'stead of
+water an' to put butter in his hot cakes. I'm stayin' over till supper
+ter-morrer to see everything has a good staht."
+
+"She's stayin' over to git a good look at the Nicholson party," Sam said
+to Mormon. "All this ain't jest for Molly."
+
+"There's nothin' between Miss Mirandy an' myse'f," replied Mormon with
+dignity. "She's a wonderful housekeeper."
+
+"She sure is. Me, I'm so I'm afeard to come into my own house, it's so
+golderned clean. If that third wife of yor'n...."
+
+The long-suffering Mormon turned upon his partner. They were seated on
+the broad top rail of the breaking corral, waiting the call to supper.
+Mormon clutched Sam by his collar and jerked him off the rail, catching
+the slack cloth of his pants at the seat, holding him firmly gripped and
+bending him across his padded lap. Despite Sam's kicks and squirms, he
+paddled him unmercifully and then dropped him sprawling into the corral.
+
+"I ain't done that to you, Sam Manning," he said sternly, "fo' five-six
+years. An' you've got too all-fired fresh. Nex' time I'll do it in front
+of Mirandy, you ornery, bow-laiged, hornin'-in son of a lizard."
+
+Sam said nothing. His face, as he stooped somewhat painfully, was fiery
+red. 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 bough
+of the tree that made the heavy stake. He fumbled with this while Mormon
+shook with laughter like a great jelly. The next moment the lariat came
+flying, circling, settled down over Mormon's head, over his body and
+arms. Sam, working like a jumping-jack, took a quick turn, flung a coil
+about Mormon's legs and in a few seconds, had him trussed helplessly to
+the rail.
+
+"Paddle me, you overgrown buzzard, will you? There you roost till
+Mirandy comes to look for you."
+
+Mormon pleaded and Sam pretended to be inflexible. At last they came to
+a capitulation. Mormon promised to keep his hands off Sam, and the
+latter 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 into
+sight and grunted his message.
+
+"Grub piled. Squaw she say hurry."
+
+For the life of him Sam could not resist a side glance of mirthful
+suggestion at Miranda's tendency to issue orders. Mormon did not notice
+it.
+
+"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 we
+goin' to manage it?"
+
+"Mormon c'ud take the Nicholson party on his lap, if she ain't too
+finicky," suggested Sam. This was hewing close to the line, and Mormon
+glared at him while the spinster sniffed.
+
+"Molly'll ride in with me," said Sandy. "I'm goin' over early on Pronto
+an' 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 a
+real 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 own
+private 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 to
+his statements. He used them on this occasion. The argument dropped. In
+a way Sandy was making the matter a test of Molly. If she was as anxious
+as she wrote to "fork a bronco," if she understood Sandy and he her, she
+would feel that he would be waiting with her mount for her to return to
+the ranch western fashion. If not, it meant that she was out of the
+chrysalis and had become, not the busy bee that belongs to the mesquite
+and the sage, but a gaudier, less responsible flutterer among eastern
+flower-beds.
+
+The bay with the white blaze had been groomed by Sandy until his hide
+was glossy and rich as polished mahogany, while the blaze on his nose
+shone like a plate of silver. His dark mane and tail had been braided
+and combed until it crinkled proudly, the light shone from his curves
+as he moved, reflecting the sky in the high-lights. Hoofs had been oiled
+and Sandy had attended to his shoeing. The bay had been up for a month
+and fed until he was almost pampered, save that Sandy took the excess
+pepper out of him every morning.
+
+A new saddle came from Cheyenne, most famous of all cities for making of
+saddles that are tailor-made, the leather carved cunningly into
+arabesques of cactus design, bossed and rimmed here and there with
+silver, the pattern carried over into the tapideros that hooded the
+stirrups, even into the bridle. It was a masterpiece of art craft, that
+saddle, "made for a lady to ride astride," and it cost Sandy an even
+quarter 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 and
+complained. They too had gifts for the homecomer, but Sandy's outshone
+them 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 the
+occasion of the bath at the time of suffering it, went bounding on pads
+of rubber, leaping up, tearing ahead and back, a shuttling streak of
+gold and silver.
+
+Miranda's caravan started an hour later, she driving, Mormon and Sam in
+the back, each dressed in his best, minus chaparejos and spurs, but
+otherwise most typically the cowboy and therefore out of place--and
+feeling it--as they sat stiffly in the leatherette-lined tonneau.
+Miranda was in starched linen, destitute of all ornament, a dark red
+ribbon at her throat the only touch of color, looking extremely
+efficient and, as Sam whispered to Mormon, "a bit stand-offish." He
+wanted to add, "'count of the Nicholson party," but dared not.
+
+The train rolled in majestically, the private car gleaming with varnish
+and polished glass and brass, with a white-coated darky flashing white
+teeth on the platform as the fussy local engine took the detached luxury
+to the side-track designated for its Hereford location. There,
+forewarned by the agent, much of Hereford assembled to witness the
+arrival of the magnate who had helped to place them more definitely on
+the map and increased their revenues as supply depot for Casey Town. The
+flivver was parked and Miranda, Mormon and Sam made one group a little
+ahead of the others, recognized by the crowd as privileged. Sandy sat
+Pronto, talking to the restive bay, proudly conscious of its new
+trappings and the remarks of the onlookers.
+
+If Wilson Keith, clad in tweeds tailored on Fifth Avenue, a little
+portly, square-faced, confident, a trifle condescending, typified the
+East, Sandy was the West. A good horse is the incarnation of symmetry,
+grace and power. Sandy, erect in the saddle, lean and keen, matched all
+of Pronto's fitness. Man and mount both eminently belonged to the land,
+shimmering with sage, far-stretching to the mountains, a land that
+demanded 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 the
+good lines of his mouth belied obstinacy. He wore the regalia of his
+cow-punching holidays, soft-collared shirt of blue, silk bandanna of
+dark weave in lieu of tie, leather gauntlets, leather chaps, fringed and
+buttoned with leather and trimmed with disk of silver, silver spurs on
+his high-heeled boots, trousers of dark gray stripe, a quirt with the
+handle plaited in black and white diamonds of horsehair dangling from
+one wrist, and the blue Colts in the twin holsters. He could not avoid
+being picturesque, yet there was nothing of the masquerader, the
+moving-picture cowboy. He held the eye, even of Hereford, but only
+because they liked to gaze upon a good man on a good horse. His body
+responded to every shift of Pronto, jigging impatiently, showing off,
+pretending to be afraid of the panting locomotive, body shining like
+metal of bronze and aluminum, his nostrils pink as the inside of a
+shell, ears twitching, rider and mount one in every movement. Grit stood
+with plumy tail erect and waving gently, ears up, red tongue playing
+between white teeth, his eyes like jewels; braced on his feet, tiptoe on
+his pads, watching the parking of the private car with now and then a
+glance of inquiry at Sandy.
+
+Keith stood by the railing of his platform, the darky ready with the
+dismounting stool. He surveyed the crowd affably, with the poise of a
+successful candidate assured of welcome, waving his hand in demi-salute
+to Sandy, Sam and Mormon, lifting his hat graciously to Miranda Bailey.
+The man and the car emanated prosperity. Yet, for all the booming of
+Casey Town, the finding of pay-ore, the sale of shares, Keith's present
+financial status was not all that he trusted it might be within a short
+time. It was part of the technique of his profession to assume a mask
+and manner of financial success, and of late he had worn these until at
+times they jaded him, but they were well designed, well worn, and no one
+doubted but that Wilson Keith was a man of ready millions.
+
+Keith was essentially a gambler. He knew that those who bought his
+shares were largely tinctured with the same spirit that exists, more or
+less, in almost every man. They were amateurs and Keith the
+professional, that was the main difference. The average man likes to
+believe himself lucky. Keith was no exception. He knew the prevalence of
+the trait and traded upon it. Also he knew the gold mining game from
+prospect to prospectus and possible profit. But the expert faro-dealer,
+after his trick is over, is apt to take his wages to the roulette wheel
+of 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 to
+invest heavily. He was beginning to have a vague fear of not being so
+certain as he would have wished as to which end of the line he had
+taken, that of the baited hook, or the end that was attached to the reel
+that automatically plays the fish.
+
+He sold gold and he was buying oil. More, he was sinking wells, infected
+with the fever of the game, whereas, with his own mines, he was cool
+with the poise of the physician who takes count of a pulse. Others,
+partners with him in new enterprises in the petroleum field, were making
+sudden fortunes. His turn had not come yet, but they assured him that
+his ventures promised even more than those that had enriched them.
+Faster than gold came out of Casey Town, Keith used it in Oklahoma and
+Texas. He had come west to view his resources, to strain them to the
+utmost, to overlook the ground with the eye of the past-master of
+promotion, who could conjure up visions of wealth from the barest
+indication of pay-ore, trusting to find inspiration for further
+flotation on his return to New York, his market-place, "fresh from the
+field of operations."
+
+The engine uncoupled and panted off, leaving the car at rest on the
+spur-track. The fox-faced secretary came out, held the door open. Some
+one followed Molly Casey. Sandy surmised it must be Donald Keith, but he
+had sight for nothing except the slender figure whose radiant face,
+between a Panama hat and a dustcoat of pongee silk, shone straight at
+him. It was Molly, but a glorified Molly, woman not girl. The freckles
+had gone, the snub nose had become defined, the eyes of Irish blue
+seemed to have deepened in hue back of their smudgy lashes. The wide
+mouth was the same, scarlet and soft as cactus blossom, smiling, opening
+in a glad cry....
+
+"Sandy!" Her arms went out toward him in greeting over the brass
+railing. Then Grit, catapulting from ground to platform, with frantic
+yaps of welcome, fairly bowled over the darky with his mounting block
+and bounded up into Molly's embrace. There was confusion on the platform
+for a moment with Grit as the nucleus. Another person had come out,
+evidently Miss Nicholson. She was neither undernourished nor thin, she
+was medium-sized and her bones were well covered. She had the general
+appearance of a white rabbit and the manners of a maternally intentioned
+but none too efficient hen. "Amenable" described her in one word. The
+darky was bringing out kitbags and suit-cases, piling them on the
+ground. 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 the
+smaller baggage.
+
+Keith descended first, Molly darted by his extended hand and ran
+straight to Sandy, who had dismounted.
+
+"I'm going to hug you, and Mormon and Sam, as soon as we get home to the
+ranch," 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 come
+over him, fighting with his knowledge of the child who had changed into
+a 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 and
+riding boots, a white stock about the slender, rounded neck. She gave
+one hand to Mormon, the other to Sam, gazing at her in admiration that
+was radiant and goggle-eyed.
+
+"You're losing weight, Mormon," she said. "I believe you must be in
+love."
+
+"I allus was, with you," gallantried Mormon.
+
+"You stand aside, you human chuckawalla!" said Sam. "Miss Molly, you
+sure look good to sore eyes. An' I'm sure happy you're in my debt, if
+you 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' I
+hadn't received."
+
+Molly laughed at him reassuringly. Sandy, looking down at her, saw her
+eyes crinkle at the corners in the old way. Keith and his son joined
+them, coming from the car, the Amenable Nicholson hovering behind
+ingratiatingly.
+
+"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 him
+without his guessing it.
+
+"Glad to see you out west," said Mormon. "We'd sure admire to have you
+visit us fo' a spell."
+
+"I was hoping for a bid," said young Keith. "Thanks. The car is here, or
+will be within an hour or two. Father shipped it ahead. Sims wired us it
+was at the junction. He will drive it over for us to go on to Casey Town
+as soon as he overhauls it. Then I'll run in from the mines, as soon as
+Dad can spare me."
+
+"Donald has to get acquainted with a real mining property," said Keith
+affably. "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 in
+my car till the machine comes. Er"--he looked around, and Miss Nicholson
+fluttered up--"this is Molly's companion, Miss Nicholson. She goes with
+you to the ranch. How...?"
+
+Sandy indicated the flivver and introduced Miranda Bailey, who had been
+directing the stowage of the grips and the proper subordination of the
+porter, who had not seemed appreciative of the flivver.
+
+Molly held out a gloved hand for the reins of the fretful Blaze. Young
+Keith advanced with the proffer of a palm of her mounting. She shook her
+head at him.
+
+"Blaze wouldn't know what you were trying to do, Don," she said. She
+turned the stirrup, set in her foot, grasped mane and horn and raised
+herself lightly, holding her body close to the bay's withers for a
+second as he whirled, then lifting to the saddle, firm-seated, with a
+laugh for Blaze's plungings.
+
+"I see they didn't unteach you ridin' back east," said Mormon
+admiringly.
+
+The pair rode out of the crowd that opened for them, with whispered
+comments upon Molly's appearance, or rather, her reappearance. There
+were few stings in the remarks; the girl's spontaneous gaiety, her
+absolute unconsciousness of effort or cause, her evident delight in her
+return and reunion with the Three Star partners, disarmed all criticism
+of her costume. The Amenable Nicholson clambered into the flivver beside
+Miranda Bailey. Sam, Mormon and the grips packed the tonneau, and Keith
+and 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 all
+constituted a first-class reception committee to meet the illustrious,
+the energetic, good-fellow-well-met promoter and engineer of other
+people's fortunes.
+
+Some of them were invited into the car for a private talk. It is certain
+that cigars were handed round and it was hinted that some private stock
+had found its way upon the car. When, three hours later, the big machine
+with Sims the chauffeur, imperturbable as ever, at the wheel, departed
+with the promoter and his heir, the name of Keith was, for a time at
+least, a household word in Hereford.
+
+There was not much spoken between Molly and Sandy on the way back to the
+ranch. She seemed content to breathe in deep the herb-scented air and
+gaze at the mountains.
+
+Sandy, riding a little to one side, a little back of her, so that he
+could 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 by
+him, 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, he
+and a woman who was all the world to him. Even the dog, leaping beside
+them as they loped, ranging when the pinto and the bay broke to a
+breathing walk, belonged in that picture. It was, he told himself, as if
+a 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 her
+father's death. He could recall the tone of the words at will.
+
+"The damned road jest slid out from under. He didn't have a
+hell-chance!"
+
+Molly, who had put arms about his neck and kissed him good-by when she
+went to school--how long ago that seemed--and said, "Sandy, I don't want
+to go, but I'll be game."
+
+Game! Sandy looked at the supple strength of her, so subtly knit in
+curves of graciousness, alert and upright in the new saddle, Panama hat
+in one hand, the better to get the wind full in her face, her cheeks
+flushed with the caress of it, the thick brown braids fluffing here and
+there;--she was the essence of gameness. He had quoted _Lasca_ to her
+once--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 her
+eyes, "Yo're sure a white man. I'll git even with you some time if I
+work 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 life
+opening up before her to wider horizons than would have been hers if she
+had 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 melee 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, burning
+like a lamp in the heart of a man. It was for this, he knew, that he had
+been woman-shy, that he had cherished his own thought of womanhood as
+something so rare a thought might tarnish it. First love, shorn of boy
+fallacies, strong, irresistible, protective, passionate. He closed his
+eyes and, for the first time in his life, touched leather, gripping the
+horn of his saddle as if he would squeeze it to a pulp.
+
+Game and dainty, tender, true, a girl-woman, partner--what a partner she
+would make, western-bred...!
+
+He checked himself there. She was western born but, what had the
+transplanting done? Would she ever now be satisfied with western ways?
+She would come to him, Sandy knew that. Whatever he asked her she would
+not refuse. But would that be fair to her? And he did not want her to
+come 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 early
+years, she was still young in Sandy's eyes.
+
+It seemed no time since he had taken her from her saddle and carried
+her, a tired heartsore child, in his arms. She must have a fair chance
+to see if the East, with all it could offer her of amusement and
+interest, would not outbid the claims of the West. He must wait and
+watch and hold himself in hand though his love and his knowledge of it
+thrilled through him, charging him as if with an electric current that
+strove to close all gaps between him and Molly, struggling ever, in mind
+and body, to complete the circle.
+
+Molly reined up Blaze and turned in her saddle toward him, her eyes
+sparkling, the color of lupines damp with the dew of dawn. Their eyes
+met, the glance held, welded. For a moment the circuit was formed,
+polarity effected. For a moment Sandy looked deep and then Molly's eyes
+hazed with tenderness, with a yearning that made Sandy's heart
+constrict, that warned him his emotions were getting beyond control, his
+own eyes betraying him. He summoned his will. His face hardened to the
+effort, his eyes steeled. Molly's face flushed rose, from the line of
+her white linen riding stock up to her hair, then it paled, her eyes
+seemed to hold surprise, then hurt. Their expression changed, Sandy
+could not read it now as long lashes veiled them. He spoke with an
+effort, 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 of
+mischief, the old Molly looking out. "If you want to find that out, just
+you watch my smoke," she said, and set her heels sharply to the flanks
+of her mount. The astonished Blaze responded with a snort and a leap and
+cut loose his speed, Sandy after them on the pinto.
+
+They got to the ranch ahead of the flivver by a scant margin. Miranda
+Bailey inducted Molly and her chaperon governess into the quarters she
+had helped prepare for them, Molly giving little cries of delight at the
+improvements she saw down-stairs. Miranda came down first and joined the
+partners.
+
+"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 affected
+none an' her speech an' manners is sure fine. That gel's natcherally got
+a 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. I
+reckon she does fine in teachin' Molly some things, but she'd be plumb
+wasted out West. She never saw a churn an' she'd likely die of thirst
+before she'd ever learn how to milk a cow. She's like the rest of 'em
+back East, I imagine, goes fine so long as folks can be hired to do
+everything fo' you. I'll say she never washed out anything bigger than a
+hankychif or cooked a thing larger'n an egg. An' she c'udn't boss a sick
+lizard. But she's easy to git along with, I suppose."
+
+There was a certain complacency about the spinster's summing up of the
+Amenable Nicholson that made Sam wink covertly at Sandy, watching Mormon
+at the same time. Sam was convinced that, despite the handicap of a
+third wife, present whereabouts unknown, Miranda had made up her mind to
+marry Mormon and regarded all other women as possible rivals.
+
+"That Donald is a good-lookin' lad," went on Miranda. "It must take him
+an awful waste of time to fix his clothes every time he puts 'em on. I
+don't know how smart he is inside, but he's got some of them
+movin'-picture heroes beat on appearance. I'm wonderin' what Molly
+thinks 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 we
+got cash for our claims. Keith's too slick an' smooth an' smilin' to
+suit me. So long as he had lots he'd give you some to help the game
+erlong 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 a
+heap of thinkin' on it, it's the way I feel. Some apples sets my teeth
+on aidge before I know it, some victuals riles my stomach jest to
+mention 'em. I never c'ud abear castor-ile, jest the mention of it makes
+me squirmy. Keith affects me that way, on'y in my mind, well as in the
+pit of my stomach."
+
+It was a lengthy diatribe from Miranda Bailey, accustomed as they were
+to hear her state opinions freely. The trio at Three Star had
+universally come to respect her decisions and also her intuitions and
+none of them had felt especially cordial toward Keith as a man, though
+they 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 different
+east an' west of the Mississippi. The man in New York is sure a heap
+different from the man in Denver or San Francisco or Phoenix. Out here
+we 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 be
+some job. I don't cotton to Keith myse'f, because he ain't my kind of a
+hombre. He don't talk my talk, or think my line of thought, any mo' than
+he wears the same clothes or does the same work. Give him a cow pony or
+strand me alongside one of them stock-market tickers an' we'd both look
+foolish. I'm playin' him as square till I find he ain't. Ef he tries to
+flamjigger Molly out of anything that's comin' to her by rights, why, I
+reckon that's one time the West an' East is goin' to meet--an' mebbe lap
+over 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 got
+you 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 riding
+clothes into a gown that looked simple enough to Sandy, though he sensed
+there were touches about it that differentiated it from anything turned
+out locally. With the dress she looked more womanly, older, than in the
+boyish breeches. Miss Nicholson had made some changes also, but she had
+a chameleon-like faculty of blending with the background that preserved
+her alike from being criticized or conspicuous. As she shook hands with
+Miranda the two presented marked contrasts. Miranda was
+twentieth-century-western, of equal rights and equal enterprise; Miss
+Nicholson mid-Victorian, with no more use for a vote than for one of
+Sandy's guns. Yet likable.
+
+"I'm going to Daddy's grave," said Molly, when Miranda had flivvered
+off. "I wish the three of you would come there to me in about ten
+minutes. Miss Nicholson, everybody's at home here. Please do anything
+you want to, nothing you don't want to. She rides, Sandy. And rides
+well. Can you get up a horse for her to-morrow?"
+
+Miss Nicholson's face flushed, the suggestion of a high-light came into
+her 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 divided
+skirts, 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 Sam
+gallantly. "You've got pluck, marm--I mean, miss--an' once you've forked
+a saddle, you'll never ride otherwise."
+
+Miss Nicholson gasped at Sam's metaphor and Mormon kicked him on the
+shin.
+
+"What's the idea?" he demanded after Molly had gone out and Miss
+Nicholson had ensconced herself on the veranda with a book.
+
+"You're plumb indelicut. You ought to be ashamed of yorese'f. You got to
+be careful round females, Sam Mannin', with yore expressions. Speshully
+one like this Nicholson party. She's a lady."
+
+"Who in hell said she ain't?" demanded Sam. "Me--I guess I know how to
+treat a lady, well as the nex' man. I don't notice you ever made a grand
+success of it with yore three-strikes-an'-out."
+
+Mormon disdained to reply. They went outside and, at the end of the ten
+minutes, walked together toward the cottonwoods. Grit was lying on the
+grave, and they saw Molly kneeling by the little railing. They advanced
+silently over the turf and stood in a group about her with their hats
+off and their heads bowed. Grit made no move and Molly did not look up
+for two or three minutes. Then she greeted them with a smile. There were
+no 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 am
+to be back. I have met lots of people, of all sorts and kinds, but not
+one 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 place
+you gave him and made for him under the trees, close to the running
+water. I was only a girl--a kiddie--when I went away. I think I am a
+great deal older now, perhaps, than other girls of my age. And I realize
+all you have done for me. The only thing is, I don't know how to begin
+to 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 enormous
+mustache. Then she came to Sandy, taller than the others, his face
+grave, under control, the eagerness smothered in his eyes, desire
+checked by reverence for the pure affection of the offered salute. He
+fancied 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 heart
+was pounding against the slight touch of her slenderness that was
+manifest with womanhood. His arms ached with the restraint he set upon
+them, despite the presence of Mormon and Sam.
+
+Grit surveyed the gift of thanks gravely, as a ceremony, as some ancient
+lineaged noble might have looked upon the bestowal of sacrament and
+accolade for honorably deserved knighthood. Perhaps it was that and the
+dog knew it. To Sandy, the little space about the grave, where the great
+cottonwoods waved overhead like banners, their trunks like pillars, the
+dappled carpet of the turf, with the sweet air blowing through the
+clearing and peeps of blue above through the boughs, was like a
+sanctuary. That the two others, men of rough life and free habit, yet of
+clean 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 I
+bought 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 what
+we 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 the
+place. An' we sure have been lucky with everythin'. I'll say you're a
+mascot."
+
+"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 had
+won the stake that had started her east. "Now show me all the
+improvements. We'll get Kate Nicholson. She's a first-class scout if you
+ever get her out of the shell she crawled into a long time ago when her
+folks suddenly lost everything they had. If we had a piano, Sam, she'd
+play the soul out of your body. Wait until she gets at the harmonium
+to-night. You and she will have to play duets, Sam, you on the
+three-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. You
+are all magicians. You took me out of the desert, you have made life
+beautiful for me. Don't dispel the illusion, Soda-Water Sam. I'd rather
+hear 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 were
+those 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 a
+good 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 find
+many hours for holiday-making. The ranch ran well on its own routine,
+and Molly was a princess to be entertained. Kate Nicholson emerged from
+her chrysalis and became almost a butterfly rather than the pale gray
+moth they had fancied her. Even Miranda revised her opinion. The
+Nicholsons, it came out, had been a family of some consequence and a
+fair degree of riches in South Carolina before an unfortunate
+speculation had taken everything. Kate Nicholson, left alone soon
+afterward, had assumed the role of governess or companion with more or
+less success and drifted on, submerged in the families who had used her
+services until Keith had secured her for the post with Molly when things
+had seemed particularly black. Now, riding with Molly, with Sam and
+Sandy for escorts, over the open range or up into the canyons, on
+picnics, the years slid off from her. She acquired color with the
+capacity for enjoyment, she developed a quaint gift of jest and she
+proved a natural horsewoman. Molly coaxed her into different modes of
+hair dressing and little touches of color. She laughed understandingly
+and talked spontaneously. Evenings, when they would return to the
+disconsolate Mormon, who bewailed openly his lack of saddle ease, they
+found, two nights out of three, Miranda Bailey, self-charioted in her
+flivver with offerings of cake and doughnuts to supplement Pedro's still
+uncertain efforts.
+
+Molly chuckled once to Sandy.
+
+"Miranda's a dear," she said. "I wish she'd marry Mormon. But Kate
+Nicholson is a far better cook than she is. Only she won't do anything
+for fear of hurting Miranda's feelings."
+
+Yet the governess did cook on occasion, trout that they caught in the
+mountain streams, and camp biscuits and fragrant coffee when they made
+excursion, so deft a presiding genius of the camp-fire that Sam declared
+she belonged to Sageland.
+
+"I love it," she answered, sleeves tucked to the elbow, stooping over
+the fire, her face full of color, tucking a vagrant wisp of hair into
+place.
+
+"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 and
+golf. The people you met at the Keiths'. Clothes, pritty dresses,
+dancin'."
+
+"I love dancing," she said. "But not always the way they dance. Tennis
+and golf are poky compared to riding Blaze. I like pretty things, but
+I'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 never
+satisfied, 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 good
+to be back--good."
+
+She stopped talking, gazing into the fire. The nights at Three Star were
+crisp. It was as if cold was jealous of the land that the sun wooed so
+ardently and rushed upon it the moment the latter sank behind the hills.
+Sandy looked at her hungrily, wishing she would elect to sit there
+always, mistress of the hearth and of him.
+
+"Young Keith'll be over soon, I reckon," he said presently. "He said
+he'd come. Like him, Molly?"
+
+It was not jealousy prompted the suggestion, but Sandy had more than
+once contrasted himself with the youngster and his easy manners, his
+undeniably good looks, his youth, wondering how close he was to Molly's
+moods 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's
+partly spoiled, I'm afraid. He'd have been a lot nicer if he had been
+brought up on a ranch. I've told him so."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Life's quieter out here, Sandy. It's bigger somehow. Donald only
+pleases 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 their
+own ways and none of them do anything together. He's been nice to
+me--Donald. So have Mr. and Mrs. Keith."
+
+Sandy had no effort imagining Donald being nice to Molly, contrasted
+with 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 ride
+one, to see a round-up. Why, Sandy, they think life is wonderful out
+here. And it is."
+
+He wondered how much of her enthusiasm was lasting, how much came of the
+affectionate gratitude she showed them constantly, how much she thought
+of the swifter life she was going back to presently at the end of the
+month--with one week gone out of the four. He wrestled with the
+temptation to ask her not to go back, or to have Miss Nicholson remain
+on the ranch to complete the education that was steadily widening--as he
+saw it--the gap between them.
+
+Sandy was not ignorant. His speech was mostly dialect, born of
+environment. He wrote correctly enough, aided by the dictionary he had
+acquired. He had business capacity, executive ability, strong manhood.
+He read increasingly, his mind was plastic. But these things he
+belittled. And he was her guardian. Though he knew he might win her
+promise to stay easily enough, he did not wish to exercise his
+authority. It might be misunderstood, even by Molly herself, later. He
+could not force his hand in this vital matter, as he handled other
+things. And yet....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sam had stopped playing, Kate Nicholson was weaving chords in music
+unknown to those who listened, save that it seemed to speak some common
+language that had been forgotten since childhood. The fire shifted,
+there was silence in the big room. Mormon sat shading his face, Miranda
+Bailey beside him, her knitting idle. Sam lounged in a shady corner near
+the harmonium. Grit lay asleep. It was infinitely peaceful.
+
+There was the sound of a motor outside, the honk of a horn. The door
+opened and a man came in, gazing uncertainly about him in the
+half-light--Westlake.
+
+"This is the Three Star, isn't it?" he asked, evidently puzzled at the
+group.
+
+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' Miss
+Nicholson, Mr. Westlake. They both know something about you. Come to
+stay, I hope."
+
+His voice was cordial as he gripped Westlake's hand, though the
+remembrance of what Sam had said at the mining camp leaped up within
+him. Westlake and Molly! Here was a man who might mate with her, might
+suit her wonderfully well. Upstanding, educated, no lightweight
+pleasure-seeker, as he estimated Donald Keith. Here was a complication
+in his dreams of happiness that he had lost sight of. He saw the two
+appraising each other and approving.
+
+"If you can put up with me, for a bit," said Westlake. "I've come partly
+on business, Bourke. I've left Casey Town."
+
+He seemed to speak with some embarrassment, glancing toward Molly. Sandy
+sensed 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 machine
+started.
+
+"Quit Keith?" asked Sandy.
+
+"Yes, we had a misunderstanding. About my staying here, Bourke. It may
+be a bit awkward. Young Donald Keith intends coming over. I am sure he
+doesn't know a thing about his father's business affairs. But I have a
+strong hunch that Keith himself will be along later to offset any talk
+he thinks I may have with you. He'll figure I've come here. He doesn't
+know all that I have found out, at that. If it's likely to embarrass you
+or your guests in the least I'll go on to Denver to-morrow. I'm headed
+that way. I've got a South American proposition in view. Wired them
+yesterday 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 Keith
+himse'f. Yo're my guest an' we'll keep you's long we can hold you in the
+corral. As fo' Molly, you don't know her. If it come to a show-down
+between you an' Keith, with you in the right, there ain't any question
+as to where she'd horn in."
+
+"I had no idea Miss Casey would be like--what she is," said Westlake, as
+Miranda 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 reckon
+you 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, Mormon
+watching 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 the
+top rail, ranch-fashion. Westlake stood before them.
+
+"Practically all the gold found in Casey Town comes from the main gulch
+where the creek runs. The gulch was once non-existent. It is likely
+there was a hill there. Its nub was a porphyry cap, the rest of it was
+composed of layers of porphyry and valueless rock dipping downward,
+nested like saucers in the synclinal layers. Ice and water wore off the
+nub and leveled the hill, then gouged out the gulch. They ground away,
+in my belief, all the porphyry that held gold except the portions now
+lying either side of the gulch. That gold was distributed far down the
+creek, carried by glacier and stream. Casey found indications and worked
+up to where he believed he had struck the mother vein. He did strike it
+but 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 left
+only one carries it and that is the reef that outcrops here and there
+both sides of the gulch. This isn't theory. All strikes have been made
+in this top layer. Where they have sunk through to a lower porphyry
+stratum they have found only indications where they found anything at
+all. But the strikes were rich because sylvanite is one of the richest
+of all gold ores. They look big and they encourage further development
+and--what is more to the point--further investment. Some of the strikes
+have been on the Keith Group properties. They have boosted the stock of
+all of them.
+
+"I have been developing these group projects. The value of group
+promotion, to the promoter, is, that as long as one claim shows promise,
+the shares keep selling. The public loves to gamble. Keith came back
+this trip and proposed to purchase a lot of claims that are nothing but
+plain rock, surface dirt and sage-brush. They are not even on the main
+gulch. He can buy them for almost nothing. But he does not propose to
+sell them for that. He was going to start another group. He ordered me
+to 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 attend
+strictly to mine. I told him I understood mine and that it included some
+personal honor. I was hot. I suggested that wildcat development was not
+my business. He called me a quixotic young fool among other things, and
+I 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 been
+fairly started and I have been only consulting engineer for the Molly.
+I've been busy on preliminary work. The engineer he brought from New
+York has been in actual charge. That was all right. I'm comparatively a
+kid. But I know what is going on generally in Casey Town. There have
+been no more strikes, for one thing; the discoveries have all been in
+the one layer and they are gradually working out.
+
+"Keith would rather develop a good property than a bad one. He has
+established himself, has a future to look to. He carries his investing
+clients from one proposition to another. He never has to risk his own
+money 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 been
+fooling with oil stocks. His mail's full of it. And I believe he's been
+bitten 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 palm
+of his left hand for emphasis. "This comes from information I can rely
+on, from logical deductions of my own, from actual observation of
+conditions. Yesterday they closed up the stopes in the Molly. Boarded
+'em over. This was done without consulting me. The superintendent talked
+some rot about not wishing over-production and pushing development. I
+heard of it after I had walked out of Keith's office, resigned, or
+fired. You can't issue an order like that without miners talking. I know
+most of them.
+
+"Now then--there's no gold left back of the boarding in those
+stopes--practically none! The Molly is played out, picked like a walnut
+of its meat! If they do develop down to the second porphyry level they
+won't find anything to pay for the work. They have taken all the
+sylvanite out of your mine and _Keith is trying to cover up that fact_."
+
+Westlake stopped and eyed them. They took it differently. Mormon softly
+whistled. Sam slid out his harmonica, cuddled in beneath his mustache
+and played a little of the _Cowboy's Lament_. Sandy's eyes closed
+slightly. They glittered like gray metal in the moonlight.
+
+"Keith can't help the mine peterin' out," he said. "Jest why is he
+hidin' it? So's he can sell new shares an' keep the price up of the old
+ones. So's he can unload?"
+
+"Plain enough. Now the Molly Mine stock isn't on the market. It is all
+owned, as I understand, by Miss Casey and you three holding the
+controlling interest, Keith the rest. It's been paying dividends from
+the start. Keith will try to unload."
+
+"He'll have to do it on the quiet or it 'ud have the same effect as if
+the 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 take
+it he can't dump 'em in a hurry. That's why he's boardin' the stopes. If
+he don't trail over here in a day or so I'll shack over to Casey Town
+fo' 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 one
+thing she is game. We've got a good deal out of the mine an' it's all
+come so far from the sale of gold to the mint, I take it. We don't
+dabble in stocks. We're ahead. If the mine's gone bu'st she's done
+nicely by us, at that."
+
+Back of Sandy's talk thoughts formed in his brain that held a good deal
+of 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. Her
+relations with the Keiths would be broken. She had not spent all her
+share of the dividends. Keith held some portion of this. Just how much
+Sandy did not know. He had not held Keith to strict accountings, he had
+trusted him to bank the funds. That Molly had a banking-account, he
+knew. It might mean her staying west. The principal used on the Three
+Star was intact and would be turned over to her, if they could make her
+accept it, but it began to look as if Molly might remain, all things
+considered.
+
+"I figger you're right about Keith trailin' over here to see if you've
+showed," Sandy went on. "That's the way I'd play him. As you say, he's
+got to git rid of his shares quietly an' he can't do it in a rush. I
+don'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' we
+break 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 pasear
+over 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 on
+the trip because his father holds the purse strings. He's a good deal of
+a cub, at present. I mean he don't show much inclination to use his
+brains. He's having a good time on easy money. He doesn't know the
+difference between an adit and an air-drill. Doesn't want to. Makes a
+show of interest, naturally, to stand in with his old man, but he puts
+in a good deal of time scooting round the hills in that big car of
+theirs, 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. It
+was not my province. He's a likable kid in many ways but he's just a
+kid."
+
+"'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 much
+pedigree. So long's the blood's pure, names don't amount to shucks. Now
+tell us some about that South American berth of yours, Westlake."
+
+Westlake rather marveled at the ease with which Sandy and his chums
+dismissed a matter that meant a material loss of money to them, but he
+had seen the light in Sandy's eyes and he knew his capacity for action
+when the moment arrived. The four sat up late, talking of mining in
+various ways and places.
+
+"This Westlake hombre'll go a long ways," summed up Sam to Sandy after
+Westlake had turned in and Mormon had yawned himself off to bed. "He
+sure knows a heap, he don't brag, he's on the square an' he ain't afraid
+of 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 potenshul
+millionaire any longer, just plain ranchman. You can go to sleep 'thout
+worryin' how yo're goin' to spend yore dividends."
+
+"That so't of worry won't tuhn my ha'r gray," retorted Sam, "though I
+wish you'd talk plain United States an' forgit the dikshunary. What I'm
+worryin' about is Molly."
+
+"So'm I, Sam," said Sandy. "Good night."
+
+That Westlake won approval from Molly, and also from Kate Nicholson, was
+patent before breakfast was over the next morning. A buyer came out from
+Hereford demanding Sandy's attention and he stayed at the ranch while
+the three and Sam went off saddleback. Westlake had expressed a desire
+to see the ranch and Molly had volunteered to display her own renewed
+knowledge of it. The buyer looked at the Three Star stock with expert
+eyes and made bids that were highly satisfactory.
+
+"Better beef, better prices, that's the modern slogan," he said at the
+noon meal with Sandy and Mormon. "I see you believe in it. You can
+establish a brand for the Three Star steers, Mr. Bourke, just as readily
+as 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 not
+far 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 in
+Chicago to look up some horses for him and I had heard of Plimsoll
+before, not over-favorably. I understand he is a horse-dealer rather
+than a breeder. And that he is not fussy over brands."
+
+"He's got a big herd," said Sandy non-committally. "Claims to round up
+slick-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 at
+one of his men named Wyatt, I believe, and started to run him off the
+ranch. There were sides taken and shots fired."
+
+"News to me," said Sandy. He was not especially interested in Waterline
+happenings so long as Plimsoll remained set. The buyer left and the rest
+of the day went slowly.
+
+When the quartet returned, Molly and Westlake were obviously more than
+mere acquaintances. Sandy felt out of the running though Molly held him
+in the conversation. Kate Nicholson unconsciously intensified his mood.
+
+"They make a wonderful pair, don't they?" she said to him. "Both
+Western, 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. "The
+operator phoned us to see if any one was coming over. Said you left word
+you were at the Three Star. Here it is. When you goin' to have your
+phone 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 an
+apology, was opening. The engineer read it and passed it to Molly. Sandy
+saw her face glow.
+
+"That's fine!" she exclaimed. "But it means you've got to go. I'm sorry
+for that."
+
+The relief that Sandy felt, and dismissed as selfish, was marred by the
+cordial understanding that had sprung up between the two. He wondered if
+they had discovered a real attachment for each other. Such things could
+happen in a flash. His view was apt to be jaundiced, but he did not
+realize 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 on
+immediately. It means a lot to me. Everything," he added, with a smile
+that Molly returned.
+
+"You'll write?" she said. "You promised."
+
+Kate Nicholson looked at Sandy with arching eyebrows. She too appeared
+to 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 curiosity
+to be lively, though he thought her tact would appreciate the situation
+with regard to Molly. "I've got some of my own," she continued. "There's
+been trouble out to Jim Plimsoll's. He shot at Wyatt or Wyatt at him, I
+don't know which rightly. But there was sides taken an' a gen'ral
+rumpus. Several of his men quit or was run off the place. It's been a
+reg'lar scandal. Called the place the Waterline. Whiskyline w'ud have
+suited 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. "You
+sendin' one, Westlake?"
+
+"If you'll take it, Miss Bailey."
+
+"Glad to."
+
+Westlake and Molly were both standing. They moved toward the door and
+out 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 to
+attend to some refreshments. She had gradually taken over supervision of
+Pedro and the results had justified Molly's praise of her qualifications
+as 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 from
+the start. What are you goin' to do about Molly? You ain't told her
+yet?"
+
+"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 belongs
+out west where she was born an' brought up. I hope she stays," she added
+with a shrewd glance at Sandy that startled him into a suspicion that
+Miranda had guessed his secret.
+
+Kate Nicholson returned and the talk changed. Westlake and Molly
+remained outside until the food was served. Then there was music.
+Through the evening the pair talked together, confidentially, apart from
+the rest. Miranda departed at last with the telegrams. Molly lingered as
+good nights were said.
+
+"I've got something to tell you, Sandy," she said. "It's private, for
+the present," she added with a glance toward Westlake.
+
+Sandy sat down by the fire with a sinking qualm. Molly perched herself
+on 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 think
+he's a fine chap. I sure wish him all the luck in the world." He fancied
+his 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, but
+gazed into the dying fire. He saw himself sitting there, lonely,
+woman-shy once more, through the long stretch of years, with a letter
+coming once in a while from far-off places telling of a happiness that
+he 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 was
+saying. "And he had to talk it over with some one. He told me about it
+first this morning and then the telegram came."
+
+"Talkin' about what?"
+
+"His sweetheart. Now he can marry her with this opportunity. She may
+sail 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 dying
+fire leaped up and the room lightened. It died down again, but Sandy sat
+there, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+DEHORNED
+
+
+Miranda Bailey had offered to come in for Westlake with her car, but the
+train 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 back
+in 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 tell
+Sam and Mormon, Westlake? They'll sure be tickled."
+
+"I'd like them to know. And we'll come, when we can. Maybe we'll find
+you coupled by that time, Sandy. All three of you. And I hope we'll find
+Molly here."
+
+"I hope so." Sandy fancied the last sentence more than casual.
+
+"You can rely upon my information being correct," were Westlake's last
+words, spoken aside before he climbed into the buckboard and Molly
+flirted 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 job
+that 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 annoyed
+when I told him I had just seen him off on the train. They all came from
+Casey Town in the big car. Has there been any trouble between Mr. Keith
+and Mr. Westlake?"
+
+"The South American offer is a better chance than Casey Town," answered
+Sandy. "Mr. Keith may have been annoyed about that. His boy's along, you
+say? Is he comin' oveh to the ranch?"
+
+"Yes. He wanted to come with me, to drive me out in the car, but I had
+the buckboard and I'd rather drive horses any day. So he'll be out a
+little later to take up your invitation. Mr. Keith has some business in
+Hereford. He and Mr. Blake will stay on their private car. He told me to
+tell you he would be out to-morrow to see you. Oh, here's a telegram for
+you."
+
+"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 fingers
+worked as fast as Sandy's with buckles, coiling traces and looping
+reins. She led the team off to the drinking trough and fed each an
+apple, with Sandy looking at her, registering the picture that made such
+strong appeal.
+
+"Goin' to take Donald Keith out fo' a real ride on a real hawss?" he
+asked 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 was
+sunshine 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 get
+to any picnic, either. He'll have to 'tend to the hawsses."
+
+The Keith touring car arrived in mid-afternoon with young Keith at the
+wheel, the chauffeur beside him, grips in the tonneau. Donald Keith
+jumped out, affable, a little inclined to condescension at first toward
+everything connected with the ranch, including Kate Nicholson. The
+imperturbable driver left with the car. Young Keith's snobbery wore off
+as he inspected the corrals and the stock with eager interest and the
+riders with a certain measure of awe, which he transferred to Sandy on
+learning that he had broken two colts that morning.
+
+"If they're broken, I must be all apart," he said, watching them plunge
+wildly about the corral at the sight of visitors. "I'd hate to try to
+ride one of them in Central Park. If I could stick on I'd be pinched for
+endangering 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 the
+morning held. His generosity of feeling toward Keith's boy did not
+lessen when he saw how much the elder of the two Molly appeared. The
+youngster 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 the
+forenoon, I imagine. I know he's figuring on getting back to Casey Town
+to-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 did
+not ameliorate his attitude toward the visit of Keith Senior.
+
+That worthy arrived after lunch had been cleared the next day. Kate
+Nicholson busied herself to wait deferentially upon him and his
+secretary, the fox-faced Blake. Keith was brisk and brusk, breathing
+prosperity.
+
+"I was detained in Hereford, Bourke," he said. "I haven't much time for
+anything but a flying visit. I promised Mrs. Keith I'd come over the
+first opportunity, and I wanted to see you. Donald's out with Molly, you
+say. I'll leave him with you on your invitation and pick him up when we
+go back east. That will be in about a week. Sooner than I expected. I'd
+like to spare a day to look over the ranch. I've heard fine things about
+it."
+
+"Thanks," drawled Sandy laconically. "Glad to have a talk with you. Sam,
+Mr. Blake might like to see the hawsses gentled that came up this
+mo'nin'."
+
+Keith raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Leaving Blake, Sandy led
+Keith to his office, rolled a cigarette, offered a chair to his visitor
+and smoked, waiting for the latter to open the talk.
+
+"There are some papers for you to examine, as Molly's guardian," said
+Keith. "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 it
+that reminded the promoter of the first time he had seen it. His own
+changed to a mask, expressionless, save for his eyes, holding suspicion
+that changed to aggressiveness. But the latter did not show in his voice
+which 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 you
+recommended him."
+
+"He figgers he has a better job," answered Sandy.
+
+"I'm glad he thinks so. He is young and lacks experience. His opinion
+clashed with that of my engineer-in-charge, an expert of high standing.
+Westlake was hot-headed and would not brook being overruled. There is no
+doubt 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 on
+his opinion."
+
+"I didn't imagine you knew much about mining, Bourke." Keith looked at
+his watch. "I'll really have to be going as soon as you have looked over
+those papers. Hadn't we better call Blake?"
+
+Sandy looked out of the window. He saw Miranda Bailey's flivver halting
+by the big car, Mormon walking toward her, and wondered what had brought
+her over. So far he had not got the opening he wanted, unless he took up
+defense of Westlake more forcibly to introduce the matter. He was
+inclined to suggest a trip for himself to Casey Town to inspect the mine
+in company with Keith that night, but the coming of Brandon hampered
+him. He wanted to be on hand for that. Then he saw Mormon leave Miranda
+and 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 was
+not entirely clear and he did not like the general atmosphere of the
+office. He scented antagonism in this rancher who called him Keith
+without the prefix. It was all right for him to omit it, but.... He took
+out 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 was
+showing Blake around. Miranda handed Sandy a long envelope.
+
+"Hen Collins had an accident last night," she said. "Blew a tire on the
+bridge by our place an' smashed through the railin'. Bu'sted a rib or
+two an' was knocked out. We took him in. I'm sorry for Hen but it sure
+was a lucky accident. You see, Keith told him to keep quiet but Hen was
+grateful 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 be
+lookin'. 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'll
+start to the beginnin'. When Keith arrived on this trip he held quite a
+reception in his private car. Ed was there with the rest. He invited
+them up fo' cigars. Talked big about Casey Town an' gen'ally patted
+himself on the back. Said it was too bad all the stock of the Molly
+wasn't held in locally, but of co'se the pore promoter had to have
+somethin' fo' his money. He was real affable. Ben Creel asked him if he
+didn'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 how
+many he saw or jest what he said, but this is what he told Hen. After
+he'd got Hen to lead up to it, mind you. That Casey Town was boomin' big
+an' that his own holdin's was nettin' him a heap. That he liked Hen
+fine 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 of
+the Molly Mine at par. Hen was to say nothin' about it because, says
+Keith, if it got out he was sellin' stock, it would send down the price
+of the shares an' hurt Casey Town in general, Hereford some, an' you-all
+at the Three Star in partickler. I reckon he was plausible enough. Hen
+was sure tickled. He w'udn't have said a word about it on'y Ed picks
+these shares up out of the bed of the crick an' give them to Hen afteh
+he'd been fixed up.
+
+"Ed went nosin' around Hereford this mo'nin'. He got eight men--their
+names is inside the envelope--Creel one of 'em--to admit they'd bought
+some shares. Mighty glad they was to have 'em. Ed didn't tell 'em
+anything different, but he come scootin' home at noon an' I borrowed
+Hen's certificut, seein' he was asleep. An' here it is."
+
+"Mirandy," said Sandy, "I'll let Mormon tell you what we all think of
+you. You've sure dealt me an ace. Mormon, help Sam ride herd on the
+secretary. 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 the
+envelope.
+
+"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 him
+a dividend and he's like a girl eating candy. You had one just fourteen
+weeks ago."
+
+Sandy nodded.
+
+"I was askin' you about the _next_," he said, his voice still drawling
+but 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 eyes
+had narrowed. He watched Sandy like a card player who begins to think
+his 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 to
+pay dividends according to the immediate production, however. It is
+better, as a rule, to average it, generally to develop the mine as a
+whole 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 fool
+talk from that cub, Westlake. I know my business. You've got some stock
+in the mine, twenty-five per cent. I've put money and brains into it and
+I'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'll
+jest ask you a question on behalf of myse'f an' partners' twenty-five
+per 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 I
+fired for lack of common sense, experience and recognition of his
+superiors. Westlake is a hot-head and I suppose he has some idea of
+trying to get even with me by belittling me in your eyes and running
+down 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. How
+about 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 the
+envelope and slapped it smartly on the desk. Keith whitened, flushed
+again, recovered himself.
+
+"If I was not friendly to you, Bourke, I should take that as a direct
+insult. I can understand that you believe in Westlake and take stock in
+what he told you. But he is a discharged employee. He has every
+reason...."
+
+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't
+hanker to insult a man but--I don't believe you. An' here's this stock
+you 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 and
+sometimes he is pushed for ready money."
+
+"I reckon that's the reason," said Sandy dryly. "Well, you've got to git
+it some other way. You've got to buy these stocks back, Keith. I control
+the big end of the stock in the Molly. If I have to go to the bother of
+gittin' an expert of my own, an' goin' to Casey Town to look back of
+those 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 business
+sellin' chances to folks who like to buy 'em, but you can't sell
+Herefo'd folks paper when they think they're buyin' gold. I won't bunco
+my neighbors an' I ain't goin' to 'low you to do it with any proposition
+I'm interested in. You'll give me the money you got fo' the shares with
+a list of the men you sold 'em to an' I'll tell 'em the Molly is pinched
+out--as it is."
+
+"You must be crazy, man! They wouldn't believe you. If you went round
+with a statement like that you'd lose every cent of your own and your
+ward'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 Molly
+an' you'll see where she stands. We don't do business out west the way
+you do. We don't rob our friends or even try an' run a razoo on
+strangehs. I reckon the folks'll believe me. If they don't I'll give 'em
+stock of ours, share fo' share, to convince 'em until it's known the
+Molly has flivvered."
+
+"You'll ruin the whole camp."
+
+"Not to my mind. They'll git out what gold's left The Molly'll shut
+down. I'll git you to give me a statement 'long with the money an' the
+list fo' me to check up, sayin' you've jest had news the vein has
+petered out sudden--like it has. That's lettin' you down easy. They'll
+think 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 them
+rotten stock, you an' yore private car might suffer consid'rable damage
+befo' 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 sure
+advise you to come across."
+
+Keith looked into the face of Sandy and, briefly, into his eyes, hard as
+steel. He made one more attempt.
+
+"Let's talk common sense, Bourke. You're quixotic. The Molly is
+capitalized for a quarter of a million dollars. The stock can be sold at
+par if it's done quietly. I can dispose of it for you. There is no
+certainty that the mine will not produce richly when we strike through
+the second level of porphyry. There are plenty of people willing to buy
+shares on that chance after the showing already made. I tried to say
+just now that you have no right to throw away your ward's money, and you
+are 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 paper
+to 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 my
+partners, neitheh will Molly Casey. She's a western gel. Above all, I
+won't gold-brick my friends. I know the mine is petered out. You won't
+call 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 it
+an', we won't sell the dirt. No mo' w'ud Pat Casey, lyin' out there by
+the spring, if he was alive."
+
+"Suppose I refuse?" asked Keith, his square face obstinate. "I've done
+nothing outside the law."
+
+"To hell with that kind of law! We make laws of our own out here once in
+a 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 boy
+visit 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 been
+mixed up in it either, from what I hear. You don't dare...."
+
+Keith stopped abruptly. Sandy had not moved, but his eyes, from
+resembling orbs of chilled steel, seemed suddenly to throw off the blaze
+and 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, or
+we can tell the Herefo'd folk what you've tried to hand to them. Yo're
+apt to look like a buzzard that's fallen into a tar barrel after they
+git through with you, Keith. Trouble with you is that you've been
+bullin' the market an' havin' it yore own way too long. Now you see a
+b'ar on the horizon, you don't like the view.
+
+"When we bring up stock fo' shipment we sometimes have trouble with the
+longhorns. 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 out
+who 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 with
+Creel of the Herefo'd National. Then you can come back an' git yore
+boy."
+
+"I don't remember the names. Blake took the record of them," said Keith
+sullenly.
+
+"Then we'll have him in."
+
+Sandy went to the door and hailed Sam and Mormon. They came to the
+office escorting Blake, whose fox-face moved from side to side with
+furtive 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, licked
+his 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 had
+to peel the shirt off of him in strips." He took the secretary by one
+elbow, Mormon by the other, both grinning behind his back as he shook
+with 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 get
+this over with since you are determined to throw away your own and your
+partners' good money, to say nothing of the girl's. She could bring suit
+against 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're
+startin' fo' Herefo'd right off. You an' me can go over those accounts
+of Molly's same time we attend to the other business, Keith."
+
+They went outside, Blake looking anxious and a trifle bewildered, Keith
+throwing away his cigar and lighting a new one, his face sullen with the
+rage he dammed. Kate Nicholson and Miranda Bailey were on the
+ranch-house veranda.
+
+"Could I ask you to mail these letters, Mr. Keith? Two of Molly's and
+one 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 the
+ground.
+
+"To hell with you!" he shouted, his face empurpled. "You're fired!" All
+of his polish stripped from him like peeling veneer, he appeared merely
+a coarse bully.
+
+Sam came up the veranda in two jumps and a final leap that left him with
+his hands entwined in Keith's coat collar. He whirled that astounded
+person half around and slammed him up against the wall of the
+ranch-house, rumpled, gasping, with trembling hands that lifted before
+the menace of Sam's gun.
+
+"I oughter shoot the tongue out of you befo' I put a slug through yore
+head," said Sam, standing in front of the promoter, tense as a jaguar
+couched for a spring, his eyes glittering, his voice packed with venom.
+"You git down on yo' knees, you ring-tailed skunk, an' apologize to
+this lady. Crook yo' knees, you stinkin' polecat, an' crawl. I'll make
+you lick her shoes. Down with you or I'll send you straight to
+judgment!"
+
+"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 off
+lickin' yo' shoes, he might spile the leather. But he'll git them
+letters 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 right
+where you are, Kate. Let him come to you."
+
+Sam fired a shot and the promoter jumped galvanically as the bullet tore
+through the planking of the ranch-house between his trembling knees.
+
+"I regret, Miss Nicholson," he commenced huskily, "that I let my temper
+get the better of me. I was greatly upset. In the matter of your
+services 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 a
+rattler," said Sam. "She never did work fo' you. It was Molly's money
+paid 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 has
+never before been championed, conscious of the fact that he had blurted
+out her Christian name and disclosed the secret of that touch of
+intimacy between them, Sam grew crimson through his tan. Kate
+Nicholson's face was rosy; both were embarrassed.
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Manning," she said. "Please let him get up, and put away
+your pistol."
+
+"Git up," said Sam, "an' go pick up them letters."
+
+Keith, humiliated before his secretary and his chauffeur, the latter
+gazing wooden-faced but making no attempt at interference, gathered up
+the envelopes and presented them, with a bow, to the governess. He had
+recovered 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 Sam
+aside 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 work
+to keep my hands off him. I've a notion he'll trail better now. If
+Brandon arrives befo' we git back, look out fo' him. Mormon'll help you
+entertain."
+
+"Seguro," replied Sam. "Look at Keith. He looks like a rattler with his
+fangs pulled. I'll bet he c'ud spit bilin' vitriol right now."
+
+"His cud ain't jest what he most fancies, this minute," said Sandy
+dryly. "Sorter bitter to chew an' hard to swaller. Sammy," Sandy's voice
+changed to affection, his eyes twinkled, "I didn't sabe you an' Miss
+Nicholson was so well acquainted."
+
+Sam looked his partner in the eyes and used almost the same words for
+which 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 a
+bargain, shot out his underlip when Keith, with Sandy in attendance,
+tendered him the money for all shares of the Molly Mine sold in
+Hereford, including his own.
+
+"You say the mine has petered out?" he asked Keith, with palpable
+suspicion. Keith glanced swiftly at Sandy sitting across the table from
+him in the little directors' room back of the bank proper. Sandy sat
+sphinx-like. As if by accident, his hands were on his hips, the fingers
+resting on his gun butts. Keith did not actually fear gunplay, but he
+was not sure of what Sandy might do. Sam's bullet, that had undoubtedly
+been sped in grim earnest, had unnerved him. Sandy Bourke held the
+winning hand.
+
+"That is the news from my superintendent," said Keith. "I wish I could
+doubt it. Under the circumstances, consulting with Mr. Bourke, who
+represents the majority stock, we concluded there was no other action
+for us to take but to recall the shares although the money had actually
+passed. Naturally, in the refunding, which I leave entirely to you, it
+would be wiser not to precipitate a general panic and to treat the
+matter with all possible secrecy."
+
+"Humph!" Keith's suavity did not appear entirely to smooth down Creel's
+chagrin at losing what he had considered a good thing. He smelt a mouse
+somewhere. "There are only two reasons for repurchasing such stock," he
+said crisply. "The course you take is rarely honorable and suggests
+great credit. The second reason would be a strike of rich ore rather
+than a failure."
+
+"I will guarantee the failure, Creel," said Sandy. "If, at any time, a
+strike is made in the Molly, I shall be glad to transfer to you
+personally the same amount of shares from my own holdin's. I'll put that
+in writin', if you prefer it."
+
+"No," said Creel, "it ain't necessary." He glumly made the retransfer.
+Sandy viseed Keith's accounts and took Keith's check for the balance,
+placing it to a personal account for Molly. The check was on the
+Hereford Bank and it practically exhausted Keith's local resources.
+
+As they left the bank a cowboy rode up on a flea-bitten roan that was
+lathered with sweat, sadly roweled and leg-weary. Astride of it was
+Wyatt, riding automatically his eyes wide-opened, red-rimmed, owlish
+with lack of sleep and overmuch bad liquor. Afoot he could hardly have
+navigated, in the saddle he seemed comparatively sober. He spurred over
+to 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 to
+hiccough. "This here is one hell of a town, Bourke! They've took away my
+guns an' told me to be good, they're sellin' doughnuts an' buttermilk
+down to Regan's old joint, popcorn an' sody-water over to Pap
+Gleason's! Me, I tote my own licker an' they don't take that off 'n my
+hip. 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 with
+one hand, his alcohol-varnished eyes boring into Sandy's with the fixity
+of 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 see
+the eyes stickin' out of his head an' his tongue stickin' out of his
+lyin' 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 to
+hell!" he cried. "Watch my smoke!" He withdrew his hand and galloped up
+the street as Keith's car started.
+
+The powerful engine made nothing of the few miles between Hereford and
+the Three Star and it was only mid-afternoon when they arrived. Molly
+and Donald Keith were still absent, there was no sign of Brandon. Sandy
+fancied that any wait would not be especially congenial to Keith, but
+the promoter was firm in his determination to take away his son from the
+ranch. While his resentment could find no outlet, it was plain that he
+and 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 open
+choice--there was money enough left, aside from the capital used on the
+Three Star, to send her back east for a completion of education. Or to
+pay Miss Nicholson for remaining as educator. He surmised that Sam would
+persuade Kate Nicholson to stay in any event. Molly, returned, appeared
+so much the woman, that the question of further schooling seemed
+superfluous to Sandy. He felt that it would to her, especially after he
+had told her all that had occurred since morning. That she would approve
+he had no doubt. Molly was true blue as her eyes. Altogether, Sandy
+considered 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 the
+ranch and its people. The afternoon wore on with the sun dropping
+gradually toward the last quarter of the day's march. At four o'clock
+one of the Three Star riders came in at a gallop, carrying double.
+Behind him, clinging tight, was Donald Keith, woebegone, almost
+exhausted, his trim riding clothes snagged and soiled, his shining
+puttees scuffed and scratched. He staggered as he slid out of the saddle
+and clung to the cantle, head sunk on arms until Sandy took him by the
+arm. 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' Bitter
+Flats but he wanted the ranch," said the cowboy to Sandy, ignoring
+Keith. "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 his
+endurance. Sandy strode with him to the car and laid him on the
+cushions.
+
+"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 a
+silver flask. He unscrewed the top and poured some liquor into it. It
+was Scotch whisky of a pre-war vintage. The aroma of the stuff dissolved
+in the rare air, vaguely scenting it. The nose of the wooden-faced
+chauffeur wrinkled. Sandy raised the boy's head and lifted the whisky to
+his pallid lips, gray as his face where the flesh matched the powdery
+alkali that covered it.
+
+"Pinch his nose," he said to Keith. "He's breathin' regular. Stroke his
+throat soon as I git the stuff back of his teeth. So. Now then."
+
+The cordial trickled down and Donald's eyes opened. Almost immediately
+color came back into his cheeks and lips and he tried to sit up. Sandy
+helped 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 when
+he raised the lids again.
+
+"Whisky got me going," he said. "I'd have given a whole lot for that
+flask 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. She
+did 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 canyon where Molly said
+there used to be beavers."
+
+"Beaver Dam Canyon," 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 looked
+at 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. Then
+they 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 back
+of us and I turned to look. Two more men were coming up behind. They had
+rifles. So did the man with Plimsoll. He had a pistol under his vest. We
+couldn't go back very well and I could see from the way Plimsoll grinned
+that he was going to be nasty. Molly spurred Blaze on and cut at
+Plimsoll with her quirt. He grabbed her hand with his left. Grit sprang
+up 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 a
+tenderfoot, knew he would have been small use on such an occasion, but
+the thought of Grit rising to the rescue, falling back shot, brought the
+taunt.
+
+"The two men behind told me to throw up my hands," said young Keith, his
+face 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 it
+round her arms. I had the muzzle of a rifle poked into my ribs. They
+made 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. They
+told me if I looked back they'd shoot my damned head off." Donald's eyes
+were filled with tears of self-pity and the remembrance of his helpless
+rage. "They kept firing at me until I'd passed the stream. I hid in the
+willows, but I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see the men who
+had been firing at me.
+
+"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't rescue Molly without a horse. I
+only had a revolver against their rifles and I'm not much of a shot. I
+tried to get back here but it was hard to find the way. I knew it was
+east but the sun was high and I wasn't sure which way the shadows lay. I
+was 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. Kate
+Nicholson met him as he entered. "Has anything happened to Molly?" she
+gasped.
+
+"That's what I'm goin' to find out," Sandy answered. "Mormon, git me my
+cartridge 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 they
+don't show, you can bring erlong our own boys soon's they come in. But
+I'm hittin' this alone."
+
+As he spoke he rummaged in a drawer and brought out the first-aid kit he
+always 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. They
+got a place over there somewhere they call the Hideout. It's where they
+hide their hawsses when they want 'em out of sight an' I reckon it's
+hard 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 to
+spoil 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' out
+of the country an' I'm trailin' him clean through hell if I have to. Ef
+he's harmed Molly I'll stake him out with a green hide wrapped round him
+an' his eyelids sliced off. I'll sit in the shade an' watch him frizzle
+an' 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'll
+leave sign plain fo' you to foller from Willer Crick. They must have
+crossed at the ford below the big bend."
+
+He left the room and they saw him covering the ground in a wolf trot to
+where Sam, astride his own favorite mount, held Pronto ready saddled.
+They saw Sam's protest, Sandy's vigorous overruling of it, and then
+Sandy was up-saddle and away at a brisk lope with Sam gazing after him
+disconsolately. 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 it
+is--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 an
+overgrown child that Kate Nicholson felt constrained to laugh despite
+the seriousness of the situation. "Me, I been punchin' cows, ridin' a
+hawss fo' a livin' fo' nigh thirty years," said Mormon. "I ain't what
+you'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 no
+mo'--not faster 'n a walk or further than two mile', fo' fear of
+breakin' 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'll
+stay to home. I'm goin' to give away my guns an' learn milkin'. Sandy's
+got 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'n
+Sandy. 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 the
+range, 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've
+done 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' fear
+of hurtin' my feelin's though even Sam 'ud be some handicap to Sandy on
+this trip of scoutin'.
+
+"Sam can't take cover extra good, though he shoots middlin'. Sandy, he
+shoots 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 of
+his cronies. Mebbe one or two mo' chucked in fo' good measure. What of
+it? Yeller, all of 'em, yeller as the belly of a Gila River pizen
+lizard. On'y way the odds 'ud be even w'ud be fo' them to git the drop
+on Sandy an' it can't be done. He's got his fightin' face on an' that
+means hands an' heart an' eyes an' brain an' every inch of him lined up
+to 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' none
+erbout 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 Nicholson
+fled, a little reassured by Mormon's eulogy, anxious to talk it over
+with Sam.
+
+Sandy, his eyes like the mica flakes that show in gray granite, his
+humorous mouth a stern line, little bunches of muscles at the junction
+of 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 mesa
+that he had marked as the short-cut to the spot described by Donald
+Keith. Through gray sage and ferny mesquite Pronto moved, elastic of
+every sinew, springy of pastern, without fret or fuss though he had not
+been ridden for two days. Even as the man fitted the saddle,
+counterbalanced every supple movement of his steed, so Sandy's will
+dominated that of Pronto, making his mood his master's, telling him the
+occasion 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 I
+figger 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 rider
+will and, if the pinto could not understand, he listened with pricked
+ears.
+
+"Grit must have been hurt pritty bad, I'm afraid. Still he might have
+trailed her 'stead of comin' back. Sun's gettin' to'ards the no'th."
+
+He glanced at the luminary, slowly descending. "But the moon's up
+already an' she's full." He looked to where a wan plate of battered
+silver hung in the east. "We got some luck on our side, Pronto, after
+all.
+
+"Wonder who the three were with Plimsoll? They've gone to the Hideout
+an' we got to find it, li'l' hawss. Some job, I reckon. But Plimsoll's
+goin' to be mighty sorry fo' himse'f befo' long."
+
+As they neared the foot-hills of the range he lapsed to silence. He was
+taking chances, crossing country this fashion. He knew it fairly well,
+and he guessed at what lay behind the visible contours from the
+experience of years. Deep barrancas might crop up in their path, massed
+thickets of cactus that had to be ridden around for loss of time. The
+mesa, looking like a solid block of rock at a distance, was, he knew
+well, broken into tortuous ravines and canyons, eroded into wild thrusts
+of the mother rock, its central part eaten away by time and weather.
+
+Part of the Three Star range, shared by two ranches, ran over the
+southern part of the mesa and it was close to its boundary fence that
+Sandy was heading. Then came the range of Plimsoll's Waterline, a rough
+country, unknown to Sandy, with scant food for many cattle, but sweet
+grass enough for a horse herd and containing pockets where the
+slicktails sometimes came.
+
+Sandy struck the first rise. He was now a crucible filled with glowing
+white fury. Thoughts of what Plimsoll might achieve in insult and injury
+to Molly could not be kept out of his mind and they but added fuel. It
+was not Sandy Bourke of the Three Bar, riding his favorite pinto, but a
+desperate man on a horse infected with the same grim determination, a
+man with a face that, despite the fiery heat within, blazing from his
+eyes, would have chilled the blood of any meeting him.
+
+He did not spare Pronto nor did Pronto attempt to spare himself, going
+at the task set before him with all the superb coordination of muscle
+and tendon and bone that he possessed. They slid down the sides of
+ravines that were almost as steep as a wall, the pinto squatting on its
+tail; they climbed the opposing banks with the surety of a mountain
+goat, a rush, a scramble of well-placed hooves, a play of fetlocks;
+then, with a heave of spreading ribs and hammer-strokes of a gallant
+heart under Sandy's lean thighs, they were over the top and away, with
+Sandy's eyes searching the land for the shortest, most practical way.
+
+The place it had taken Molly and young Keith nearly three hours to reach
+in leisurely fashion, Sandy gained in one, splashing through the
+shallows of Willow Creek at the ford below the big bend and giving
+Pronto the chance to cool his fetlocks and rinse out his mouth in the
+cold water.
+
+Ahead lay the chimney ravine that led around into Beaver Dam Lake, in
+which Molly and the boy had been attacked. Sandy viewed the chaparral,
+the trees that covered the lesser slopes, the stark cliffs above. Part
+of this lay in the Waterline territory. The chances that Plimsoll had
+left some one on guard were not to be slighted. But he rode on down the
+narrow trail. Once in a while he broke a branch and left it swinging as
+a 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 on
+remounts. Perhaps Brandon had come? Sandy wasted little time on surmise.
+
+The tracks of Molly's Blaze and the horse Donald had been riding were
+plain as print to Sandy. He even noticed the slot of Grit's pads here
+and there in softer soil. He had picked them up at the coming-out place
+of the ford. Two more sets of hoofs came out of the chaparral and from
+there on the sign was badly broken. But Sandy knew the story and the
+interpretation was sufficient.
+
+The shadows were getting longer, half the eastern side of the ravine was
+in shadow that steadily crept down as if to obliterate the telltale
+imprints. The moon was slowly brightening. Sandy's eyes, burning
+steadily, were untroubled by doubt.
+
+The place of the struggle was plain. The brush was trampled. To one side
+of the trail there was a clot of blood, almost black, with flies buzzing
+attention to it. It must have come from Grit. He caught sight of another
+fleck of it on some leaves where Grit had raced into the brush out of
+the way of the crippling fire.
+
+"I'll score one fo' you, Grit, while I'm about it," muttered Sandy as he
+dismounted and carefully surveyed the sign. He even picked up Donald's
+returning 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 wise
+head.
+
+"Hit the back-trail fo' home, li'l' hawss," he said. "If I need me a
+mount to git back I'll borrow one. I got to go belly-trailin' pritty
+soon."
+
+He gave the pinto a cautious slap on the flank and Pronto started off
+down the trail. So far Sandy believed he had not been seen. If he had, a
+rifle-shot would have been the first warning. With the experience of a
+man who has seen shooting before, he had chanced a miss, knowing the
+odds on his side. It was twenty to one Plimsoll and his men had hurried
+off to the Hideout.
+
+A buzzard hung in the early evening sky, circling high and then suddenly
+dropping in a swoop.
+
+"Looks like Grit's cashed in," thought Sandy. "That bird was a late
+comer, at that."
+
+But it was not Grit.
+
+The ravine curved, forked. One way led to Beaver Dam Lake, the other
+rifted deep through rocky outcrop, leading to the Waterline Range. The
+boundary fence crossed it. Two posts had been broken out, the wire
+flattened. Through the gap led the sign that Sandy followed. He carried
+his rifle with him and he moved cautiously but swiftly through the half
+light, for the cleft was in shadow. The walls lowered, the incline
+ended, became a decline, leading down. The clouds were assembling for
+sunset overhead, the moon just topped the eastern cliffs, beginning to
+send 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 the
+key to the puzzle. Did it mean a quarrel between Plimsoll's men?
+Altogether he figured there had been a dozen horses over the ground. It
+was only a swift guess but he knew it close to the mark. Had Plimsoll
+been joined or attacked? And...?
+
+His practised eyes, roving here and there, saw still more cartridge
+shells. Walking cat-footed, he made no sound but suddenly three buzzards
+rose on heavy wings and he went swiftly to where they had been
+squatting. A dead man lay up against the cliff, a saddle blanket thrown
+over his face. This had held off the carrion birds. The body was limp
+and still warm, it had been a corpse only a short time. Sandy took off
+the blanket.
+
+It was Wyatt! Wyatt, whom he had seen not much more than four hours
+before, riding on the main street in Hereford, threatening vengeance on
+Plimsoll. A bullet had made a small hole in his skull by the right
+temple 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 the
+trouble between Plimsoll and Wyatt, had brewed steadily. It had been a
+reckless crowd at the horse ranch, practically outlaws by their actions
+though not yet so adjudged, yet knowing their tenure of immunity was
+growing short. There had collected, besides Plimsoll's riders, Butch
+Parsons, Hahn's and others of Plimsoll's following who had been forced
+from their livelihood as gamblers. They still hung together, waiting for
+Plimsoll to make a clean-up of his horses and move to places where they
+were less discredited.
+
+Meantime they made their own crude liquors and drank them freely. They
+gambled and caroused late. There were some women at the ranch. There was
+little 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 one
+appeared eager to buy in quantity. Ready cash was short. There were
+frequent quarrels; through it all there worked the leaven of Wyatt's
+jealousy, fermenting steadily. There were men among them who had fought
+with gunplay and who had killed but, as they were cheats, so they were
+cravens, 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 a
+matter between Wyatt and Plimsoll. Sides were taken and the weaker
+driven from the ranch. Preparations were made for departure. The
+frightened women fled back to Hereford.
+
+"It's a rotten mess," declared Butch Parsons. "Wyatt or one of the
+others'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 right
+it would have ended it. Now we've got to clear out."
+
+"There isn't two hundred dollars of real money in the crowd," said
+Plimsoll. "If Taylor had taken the herd...."
+
+"He was afraid to touch it. We'll go south. That's my plan. You can find
+a buyer in Tucson. Put the horses in the Hideout. Leave one or two to
+look out for 'em an' turn 'em over later. We can arrange for a delivery
+if 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 Hahn
+smoothly. "We can settle who's to stay later. There's grub in the
+Hideout and a safe place to lay low if anything goes wrong. They'll have
+a fine time proving up the horses are stolen. We've got to take a
+chance. Butch is right. We can't take them with us. There's a good
+chance of a sale in Tucson. Meantime we've got to figure on Wyatt. He'll
+likely try to get in touch with that Brandon outfit."
+
+"Or that chap who said he was from Phoenix," put in Butch. "You made a
+misplay, there, Plimsoll. That chap was a ringer."
+
+"You talk like a fool," retorted Plimsoll. "He sold us the bunch cheap
+enough. 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 Hideout
+and talk it out there. This place ain't safe."
+
+Within an hour the herd, already corralled for the chance of a quick
+sale, was being driven to the glen known as the Hideout, a little
+mountain park with water and good feed where Plimsoll placed the horses
+that his men drove off from far-away ranches, or Plimsoll bought from
+other horse dealers of his own sort, keeping them there until their
+brands were doctored and possible pursuit died down. There were two
+entrances to the Hideout, one through a narrow gut almost blocked by a
+fallen boulder, with only a passage wide enough to let through horse and
+rider single file, a way that could be easily barricaded or masked so
+that none would suspect any opening in the cliff. The second led by a
+winding way through a desolate region, over rock that left no sign and
+wound by twists and turns that none but the initiated could follow. The
+place, accidentally discovered, was perfect for its purpose.
+
+There were some horses now in the Hideout, the lot purchased from the
+man from Phoenix, whom Butch suspected. But Parsons was of a suspicious
+disposition and the rest had overruled him, though the purchase had
+taken most of the cash at their disposal, until they could make the sale
+that had fallen through at the last minute. There was feed enough for
+the entire herd for a month. There was a cabin in a side gully of the
+park, near the blocked entrance, the whole place was honeycombed with
+caves, in the towering sidewalls and underground.
+
+Five of the nine left of the Waterline outfit drove the herd. Hahn and
+Parsons could both ride, but they were not experts at handling horses.
+They chose to go with Plimsoll and the outfit-cook, while the rest took
+the long way round to the other way in. The four lingered to give the
+rest a start. There was some liquor left and this they started to
+dispose of. At noon the cook got a farewell meal and they mounted.
+
+"I hate leaving the country without evening up some way with the Bourke
+outfit," said Plimsoll. "Damn him and the rest of them, they broke the
+luck 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. "Then
+you'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 with
+Butch might shatter. Butch was a bully, but Plimsoll respected his
+shooting. And Hahn sided with him. The cook did not count.
+
+Plimsoll carried with him a fine pair of binoculars and, as they rode
+leisurely on and reached a vantage-point, he swept the tumbled horizon
+for signs of any strange riders. It was the caution of habit as much as
+actual fear of a raid. There were no Hereford County horses in his herd
+save those he had bred himself and he did not think Wyatt or the others
+who had left the outfit would be able to stir up sentiment against him
+in Hereford. It would take time to get in touch with Brandon. But they
+made it a point to be sure that no casual rider noticed them on the way
+to the Hideout, or coming from it.
+
+At times Plimsoll rode aside from the trail to a ridge crest for wider
+vision. At last, coming up the pass of Willow Creek, he sighted Molly
+and Donald with Grit trotting beside them. It was the dog that confirmed
+his first surmise. He had heard that Molly had returned, but he had not
+dared a visit to the Three Star. Who the rider with her was he did not
+care. 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 face
+twisted to an ugly smile. He had a flask in his hip pocket and he
+swigged 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 told
+them of his discovery. "We'll wait for them along the trail. We'll send
+the 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, and
+the prospect of hatching the revenge over which he had brooded so long
+took 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 a
+quarter interest and a little better in the Molly Mine. The Three Star
+owns 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 young
+Keith. We won't monkey with him. He'll do to tell what happened. But
+we'll take the girl along and we'll send back word of how much we want
+to let her go. After I'm through with her. She may not go back the same
+as she came, but they won't know that and they'll pay enough to set us
+up and to hell with the herd."
+
+Parsons and Hahn looked at each other, greed rising in their eyes. They
+had no love for the partners of the Three Star nor for Molly Casey. A
+big 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 to
+show 'em the way. Bourke'll guess where she is."
+
+"Let him. Wyatt don't know about the caves, does he? We can take her
+some other place to-morrow. We won't say anything now to the kid about a
+ransom. We'll mail a letter after we fix details. But we'll take the
+girl into the Hideout now. That tenderfoot'll be lucky if he drifts back
+to the Three Star by nightfall afoot. We'll be out of the place long
+before that. And we'll put her where they can't find her till they come
+through. 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'll
+be at the other end. We'll keep Cookie with us--for the present. No need
+for the boys to know about it. We can manage that all right. Three
+ways, 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. All
+right, 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 share
+of brains, those he had had never been developed beyond the ordinary.
+Hahn was a good faro dealer. There his intelligence specialized and
+ended. Plimsoll was the master-mind of his crowd; they appreciated and
+acknowledged his capacity for details. That he had been unsuccessful of
+late they set down to his lack of nerve, dissipated in his encounter
+with Sandy. Their present lack of cash, the doubtfulness of being able
+to 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's
+good 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 which
+he had brooded until it became a part of his consciousness, and the
+liquor still stirring potently within him, he felt that his ascendancy
+had become reestablished, "Keith--the old man--is too big a fish to
+monkey with. Got too many pulls and connections. He'd have the whole
+country out and the trick played up big in every dinky newspaper. That's
+part of his business--publicity. We've got one fish--or will have--no
+sense straining the net. We don't want the kid. Let him string along
+back best way he can. We'll get all the start we need. What else would
+you do with him?"
+
+"Stow him away somewhere and send a tip where they can find him in a day
+or 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 get
+lost--we'll take his horse--and that won't be our fault. He may make
+Three Star late this afternoon. I wish I could be with him when he tells
+what he knows. Time they locate the Hideout, we'll be miles away through
+the south end and they'll have one hell of a time trailing us over the
+rocks. The boys weren't over-keen about staying with the herd and they
+can vamose. We'll tell them it's best to scatter for a bit and name a
+meeting-place. The horses can stay in the park. If we put this deal over
+right we don't need to bother about horse-trading. We can get clean out
+of the country with a big stake, go down to South America and start up a
+place. 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 one
+they're making for Beaver Dam Lake--on a picnic."
+
+He laughed and the two laughed with him as he went for his survey and
+returned, announcing that the girl and her escort were entering the
+ravine at the other end. They rode through the trees toward them. Molly
+and Donald came on so leisurely that Plimsoll feared they might have
+turned back and, with Butch, he risked a look down the trail, sighting
+them.
+
+"They didn't recognize us," he said. "We've got to take Cookie into
+this. You and Butch ride on through the trees a ways, Hahn, till you get
+back of them. Then we'll get 'em between us. I'll wise Cookie up to what
+we are doing."
+
+It was more than doubtful whether the three ever intended for a second
+to allow Cookie to share in the ransom money, but Plimsoll easily
+persuaded him that he would be a partner, adding that it would be
+foolish to let all the riders into the pot.
+
+"She's Molly Casey of the Casey Mine," he told him. "Sandy Bourke's her
+guardian. 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. He
+raised no objections and the trap was set and sprung.
+
+"You go ahead, Cookie, and open up the gate," said Plimsoll. Hahn and
+Butch 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 cabin
+and get some grub ready. There's plenty there. Spread yourself. We'll
+be along in a little while. That was a nice job of roping you did. I
+won'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 about
+her upper body from shoulders to waist, constricting her arms, fastened
+where she could not reach it by a hitch, sat on Blaze, looking with
+steady contempt at Plimsoll, who held her bridle rein. He regarded her
+with sleek complacency and then his eyes slowly traveled over her
+rounded 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 make
+the woman, but it takes a proper figure to set them off. And you've got
+all 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 I
+wasn't afraid I might lose you. You are quite precious."
+
+She looked through him as if he had been a sheet of glass. From her
+first sight of him, back in childhood, she had known instinctively the
+man was evil. But she was not afraid. The blood that ran in her veins
+was pure and bore in its crimson flood the sturdy heritage of pioneers
+who had outfaced dangers of death and torture and shame. She was all
+westerner. The blood was fighting blood. She felt it urged in her pulses
+while her brain bade her bide her time. Rage mounted as she faced the
+possible issues of this capture, the flaunting dismissal of young Keith.
+
+Plimsoll must be either very sure of his ground or desperate, she
+fancied. Both, perhaps. Molly had come into contact with life in the raw
+long before she went east. Education had not made a prude of her nor
+tainted her clean purity. She faced the fact and, for the time, she
+ignored the man. She had even time to think of young Donald turned
+tenderfooted into the mountains, to wonder whether he would be able to
+find his way back or get lost in the ranges. She heard the laughter that
+followed the rifle-shots and surmised that they were having their idea
+of a joke with the lad.
+
+If he got back--then Sandy would come after her. She was very sure of
+Sandy 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 scorn
+showed in her eyes and bit through his assumption of ease as acid bites
+through skin, eating its way on. He burned to wipe out his own
+trickeries, his cowardice, his failures, to wreak a vile satisfaction on
+this 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 the
+clarity of prevision to see the strength of character that had been in
+the prospector's child, even as he had never suspected her unfolding to
+beauty. 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 was
+not playing this deal alone. While they might allow him some personal
+license, to them the girl represented so much money. Plimsoll's
+reprisals were only partly theirs, they would not permit him to balk
+them of their share. There is Berserker madness latent in every one that
+breaks out sometimes in the child that torments a kitten and ends by
+torturing it, maiming--killing. There had been nothing in what stood for
+Plimsoll's manhood to change such instinct, to restrain it where he held
+the will and power. But here he had to go carefully.
+
+He cut short Butch's boast of the way they had scared young Keith. Both
+Hahn and Parsons felt a coil of embarrassment at the silence, almost the
+serenity, of their captive. They had expected her to act far
+differently, to rage, threaten, cry out. She almost abashed them.
+
+"See if you can round up that damned dog, Butch," said Plimsoll. "I
+plugged him but we want to be sure he don't get away. He might help
+Keith'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 him
+hard, Plim. Plenty blood on the leaves."
+
+Molly bit her lips and paled a little, but turned away her head so that
+they could not see. She winked back the tears that came to her thought
+of Grit helpless, panting, bleeding.
+
+They rode on up the rocky ravine that gradually closed in on either side
+with the rock walls set with cactus here and there, carved into great
+masses superimposed upon one another for a hundred feet. Presently they
+turned aside from the stony trail that left no record of hooves, and,
+Plimsoll in the lead, Molly next, walked their horses over a precarious
+ledge that zigzagged back and forth up to where a notch in the cliff had
+been nearly filled by a titanic boulder. To one side appeared a narrow
+opening, unseen from below by the curve of the great rock, just wide
+enough to admit horse and rider. A few feet in, they halted, and
+Plimsoll turned in his saddle while the other three men dismounted and
+carefully adjusted several rock fragments in the opening, piling them
+with a swift care that showed familiarity with their task, so placing
+them that they appeared as if a part of the wall. Butch clambered to the
+top 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 him
+my glasses."
+
+Parson took them and climbed up to where a dead tree stood like a
+skeleton in a crotch of the rocks. It screened him from observation
+perfectly by outer approach.
+
+"I can see Keith's kid," he said with a chuckle when he came down. "He's
+through the creek and he don't know which way to start. Looks as if he
+meant to follow down the creek."
+
+"He'll not go far that way," commented Plimsoll. "Mount up. Cookie's
+getting grub and I'm getting hungry. He'll have to cook for the boys
+after we're through. They'll be showing up after a bit."
+
+Below them, Molly saw the hidden park that lay so snugly back of the
+barrier walls. It was an irregular oval that appeared to curve at the
+far end. Gulches reached back, occasionally thick with timber that grew
+in clumps among the rocks and on the ledges, dotting the green grass of
+the floor. She caught the sparkle of a little cascade, the gleam of a
+streamlet. The cliffs were terraced and battlemented in red and white
+and gray. Their facades showed fantasies of weather sculpture that
+looked like ruined castles and cathedrals with cave mouths for
+entrances. Here and there a monolith of stone stood up out from the main
+cliff, spiring for a hundred feet or more. The grass was starred with
+flowers. Some horses were grazing a little distance away and stood at
+gaze, 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 the
+general level and the branch they took led into a side gulch where a log
+cabin stood, smoke coming from its chimney. Plimsoll took the rein of
+Blaze again and they broke into a canter. At the cabin Plimsoll took
+Molly from the saddle and carried her into the rude interior. There he
+set her on a chair. Cookie was busy at a stove frying ham and eggs, with
+coffee simmering.
+
+"You'd better sit up and eat nicely, my dear," said Plimsoll as he
+unbound her. "You'll have to sooner or later, you know. No sense in
+being stubborn."
+
+She said nothing but he saw a gleam in her eyes as she glanced toward
+the table where Hahn was setting out plates and cutlery.
+
+"You'll eat with a fork, Molly," said Plimsoll. "Those steel knives are
+too handy for you. There's a nasty look in those blue eyes of yours that
+will have to be tamed--have to be tamed," he repeated as he took a
+demijohn from a corner and poured out a liquor that sent the reek of its
+raw 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 that
+Cookie placed before them, talking louder, growing flushed with the
+crude whisky, while Molly sat facing the door, striving to catch
+something that might help, might give some clue. But the talk was all of
+the brawl at the Waterline with contemptuous mention of Wyatt and the
+rest. They seemed by common consent to ignore her once she had refused
+the food.
+
+This attitude weakened her resistance though she strove against it. She
+had nerved herself to meet action. Now she seemed to count for little
+more than a bundle, of more or less value, that, having been secured,
+could wait its time for utility. Yet, before she had telescoped her
+vision to extend through and beyond Plimsoll, she had seen devils
+looking from his eyes, smug devils, but none the less menacing, risen
+from the man's own private hell pit.
+
+Plimsoll looked at his watch.
+
+"The horses should be showing up pretty soon," he said and rose, a
+little 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 south
+end. Get 'em to turn the horses loose. And get them out of the place as
+soon 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 now
+at 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 none
+the less evil.
+
+"How long do you want us to give you, Plim?" asked the dealer. "No sense
+in our sticking round here that I can see."
+
+"We've got to get the boys out of the way, haven't we? Keep your eyes
+peeled on Cookie," Plimsoll said in a lower voice as the ranch chef went
+out of the door with his arms piled with provisions. "He might take a
+notion to talk too much. We had to let him in, but he don't have to stay
+in. Soon as the boys are away you come back and we'll go out again this
+end, if all is clear."
+
+"Where are you going to stow her?" asked Hahn "Leave her here in Split
+Rock Cave?"
+
+The callous reference to her as if she was something inanimate chilled
+Molly. If only she had a gun! She had laughed at Donald's tenderfoot
+insistence upon carrying the one he had brought west as a part of his
+outfit and had never attempted to use. The cook's too well thrown rope
+would have probably thwarted any move of hers if she had had a weapon.
+Her fingers crept up toward her throat touching a slender chain upon
+which, 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, even
+now, 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's
+safe. We'll make Windy Gulch to-night and stay there. It's as good a
+place as I know. One of us can ride over the mountain to Redding and
+mail 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 close
+after the pair of blackguards and braced herself. The issue was at hand.
+
+Plimsoll slid a bolt on the door, brought over one of the makeshift
+chairs and placed it in front of Molly, seating himself. His
+alcohol-laden breath reached her nauseatingly and she turned her head
+aside. As if a trigger had been released Plimsoll's face became inflamed
+with a passionate fury. The veins on face and neck swelled and writhed
+like little blue snakes, his eyes congested.
+
+"Damn you!" he said. "Don't you turn your head away from me. I'll train
+you to better manners before I'm through with you. You'll be jumping to
+do what you think I want you to before long. You'll be begging me for
+favors. 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 to
+leash the devils that had broken loose in his brain.
+
+"Just what do you want?" she asked, and her voice seemed not to belong
+to her as she uttered the words that showed no tremor.
+
+"You! Not for love, my beauty! Because you are good to look at--yes. But
+I'll take my time. I'll sip at the dish, my dear. I've got a big score
+to 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. He
+staggered slightly and fumbled the chair as he sat down again. Molly
+watched him intently. If only he got sufficiently drunk. Before the rest
+came back. Perhaps she could get his own gun? Plimsoll laid a familiar
+finger on her knee and instantly loathing showed in her eyes. He
+laughed.
+
+"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 I
+know just how it treats me, sabe? Now then.
+
+"Your guardian angel Sandy chiseled me out of my share in the Molly Mine
+belongin' 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 a
+dead man's agreement. Four-flushing Sandy Bourke...."
+
+Molly suddenly slipped back into the primitive. Something seemed to
+click and the refinement she had learned and used so far fell like a
+cloak that is dropped for freedom in battle. With the malignment of
+Sandy and her father she was Molly Casey, daughter of a Desert Rat, once
+more.
+
+"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 off
+the claim and gave you until sun-up to sneak out of town. I've heard how
+you were afraid to look at him through the smoke but went galloping off
+while the whole camp laughed at you. Sandy a four-flusher! A coyote'll
+fight when it's cornered, but you...."
+
+She had heard the whole story from Keith. It was a favorite tale of the
+promoter's. He used it as publicity across his dinner table. It gave the
+right touch of adventure to Casey Town. Plimsoll grew slowly livid.
+
+"Heard all about it, did you?" he said slowly. "Then you know some of
+the score. And I can wipe off what I owe Sandy Bourke through you. And
+there are more items. There was the first time we met. I haven't
+forgotten that. There was the kiss you said you tried to bite out after
+you'd burned the doll I gave you. You told about that the next time I
+kissed 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 crawl
+on his purpling skin, and she kept her eyes on them though her mental
+vision was on the holster beneath his vest. She deliberately taunted him
+to provoke him to an uncalculated move. Molly knew her own litheness,
+her strength. If she could get inside his arms, if even to endure a
+moment of his beastly embrace and could get a grip on the gun?
+
+But there was something in Plimsoll that delighted in playing with a
+victim he felt sure of. It soothed his broken vanity.
+
+"So," he said, "I'm going to get even with Sandy and with Mormon and
+that bow-legged fool Sam Manning who call you the Mascot of the Three
+Star, all at once; while I get even with you. And get what should have
+been mine at the same time. We'll have you tucked away while we mail the
+letter that will bring your ransom. Never mind the details of handling
+the money. I'll attend to that. But we'll bleed you dry. The price of
+all your stock and that of the three suckers at the Three Star at
+par--and all they can borrow on the ranch--that will be the price for
+you, my lady. With three days to deliver in."
+
+"You talk like a crazy man, or a drunken one. They can't sell the stock
+in 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 you
+alive."
+
+Plimsoll shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes flickered and, for a
+second, his cowardly soul shrank.
+
+"I'll look out for that," he said. "If you are delivered back to them as
+damaged goods they'll never know it till you tell them. Maybe you won't
+be over-anxious to do that." His eyes grew moody, his manner sullen. He
+was passing into another alcoholic phase. Molly sensed imminent danger.
+
+"I'll take those kisses now," he cried and lunged for her, catching her
+about the waist as she rose from the chair. "And more to boot," he added
+thickly as he drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingers
+twining in her hair, twisting her face forward, upward. She had both
+arms inside of his, her hands on his chest. With all her strength she
+strained 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 left
+it on the table. His breath sickened her. She got her arm clear and
+struck him viciously on the mouth, breaking the lips against his teeth.
+Fighting like a cave-woman, she scored his cheek with nails that dug
+deep from the corner of his eyelid and brought the blood. As he shifted
+his hold she wrenched loose, leaving strands of brown hair in his
+fingers, and jumped for the door. In her spring she saw, too late, the
+pistol on the table. She drew the bolt, half opening the door before he
+caught 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 waist
+was torn away. Maddened at her resistance he struck back. Once he got
+her about the throat, but her fingers were at his face, tearing at his
+eyes and he had to beat her off. The girl fought with all the sublimated
+despair of attacked womanhood, the man like a gorilla. The struggle was
+unequal, with more than forty pounds in favor of Plimsoll though, if
+Molly had possessed the puniest of weapons, she might have won. He held
+her at last, close to him, one arm wrapped about her, his right hand
+forcing 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 were
+futile, she had only her teeth left and she was going to try those. But
+she knew her strength sapped, knew in another moment or two she would be
+at 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 appeared
+with blazing eyes, with a neck-ruff flaring high. White teeth showed as
+red gums bared in hate and, forgetting the wounded leg that had held him
+back, Grit hurled himself in a staggering but magnificent leap. He could
+not reach Plimsoll's throat, he had lost much of his momentum through
+the damaged leg, he lacked power from loss of blood, but fury gave him
+strength for the spring that brought his teeth within reach of
+Plimsoll's right wrist, exposed; the cuff half-way up the forearm.
+Grit's teeth slashed like chisels, ripping through flesh, tendon and
+artery, sending jets of blood spurting before Plimsoll, with a yell of
+surprise 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 blindly
+for the gun on the table behind him. He found the barrel and brought the
+heavy butt down with a crash on Grit's head, back of the ear. The dog
+dropped 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, crumpled
+unconscious in the corner, he sought for more liquor, found it and
+poured himself a big jorum, gulping it down while the blood dripped
+heavily from the bandage. He was soggy with shock and fatigue, the
+strong 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 as
+they rose in the leap, the crimson glare in his eyes. To all intents the
+dog was mad. It had been lying wounded in the sun. Only madness could
+have given it strength to track so far. What if it meant
+lockjaw--hydrophobia? Through his dulled brain ran like a black thread
+the impression that he could feel the virus stealing through his veins,
+stiffening his body. How long did the damned thing take. And the
+horrible ending! He had seen a man die of it once, bitten by a mad
+collie, the same breed as the brute under the table. He had done for
+him, anyway.
+
+Water--that was the test! There was water that Cookie had brought in for
+coffee, half a bucket, by the stove. He felt a sudden repugnance toward
+it. The slashed veins in his wrists burned and throbbed as if they were
+oozing molten lead instead of blood. And he was growing weak. If he
+didn't get a tourniquet fixed he might bleed to death. But what was the
+use?
+
+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 door
+swung wide. Cookie rushed in, his face muddy with alarm.
+
+"The show's gone wrong," he cried to Plimsoll, who stared at him
+half-comprehending. "For Gawd's sake what's happened here? Gimme a
+drink." 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 scragged
+the gel?" He thrust the bottle at Plimsoll who drank, senses rallying
+by the urge of danger that emanated from the cook like the sweaty stench
+of a frightened animal.
+
+"Brandon's gang has come back," said Cookie. "It's the damndest streak
+of luck. They must have fell in with Wyatt or some of his pals. They
+must have been to the ranch. They cut off the boys and the horses over
+by 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 his
+feet.
+
+"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 they
+saw him. He's gone out ag'in through the south end. Case they've got
+some one who does know the way in, he'll side-track by Spur Rock an' git
+through the pass at Nipple Peaks. It's hard goin', but we can make it
+unless we can git out this end. Hahn an' Butch has gone up to the
+lookout to.... Hear that?"
+
+_That_ was a single rifle-shot, followed by two others, the last almost
+as one.
+
+"Hell!" cried Plimsoll, "they've got us this end. It's Wyatt. Just my
+damned luck for him to meet up with Brandon."
+
+"Butch says it was the deal with that chap from Phoenix. He allus
+spotted him for a crooked one. They've planted hawsses on us to prove
+up. And Wyatt has been in touch with Brandon ever sense you took his
+gel away from him. Come on, I'm goin'."
+
+He ran outside and Plimsoll followed to the door, lethargy leaving him
+in the face of disaster though he could not think fast or clearly. Hahn
+came clattering over the rocks on his horse, his face chalky white. He
+was reeling in his saddle, the horse spraddling, wild-eyed, almost out
+of control. Cookie jumped for its bridle as Hahn slumped sidewise in the
+saddle, clutched for the horn, missed it and was falling when Plimsoll
+caught him and helped him to the wall of the cabin where he leaned
+weakly. 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 and
+went galloping down the valley to the south.
+
+Plimsoll sent curses after him, reaching for his own pistol before he
+remembered it was inside, dragging Hahn's half out of its holster and
+then quitting as the fleeing cook tangented and disappeared behind some
+timber.
+
+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 about
+Hahn and helped him into the cabin. Molly was stirring and Plimsoll
+scowled blackly at her. He gave Hahn a drink.
+
+"Brace up," he said, "what happened? I know about Reynolds. I mean at
+the 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 here
+under the collar-bone. I reckon they touched the lung. I never saw such
+shooting. But Butch got Wyatt."
+
+"Tell it straight," demanded Plimsoll. "How many of 'em? What did they
+do?"
+
+"We no more than made the lookout," said Hahn, "before six men came
+riding along, heeled for trouble. One of them was the black-bearded guy
+from California who was here with that Brandon, first time they came
+nosing around. And another was Wyatt, God blast his rotten soul in hell
+for a twisting hound! Wyatt was just starting to point 'em out the
+entrance 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 on
+the 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--the
+bullet goes plumb through the tree and knocks Butch down. Went through
+both hips. He falls against me and I show in the open, sliding on that
+damned slippery boulder, sliding inside and out of range, but they got
+me.
+
+"They'll be through any minute, Plim. They'll go careful until they find
+there's no one firing back at them, then it won't take 'em long to
+figure out the way in. You can't tell how much Wyatt told 'em on the way
+up. They've got me. I can't ride. My lungs are filling up. Butch is
+paralyzed--if he ain't dead. A hell of a wind-up! You can make it out
+the way Reynolds did. None of the gang that left with Wyatt knows about
+the side-trail by Spur Rock. But you'd better beat it. Me, I've turned
+my last card. The case is empty!"
+
+His head fell forward on to his arms. A trickle of scarlet came from the
+corner of his mouth. Plimsoll looked at him calculatingly. Hahn could
+not ride. But he wouldn't die for a while. To leave him here where the
+raiders would find him might mean a confession wrung from him that would
+tell of the getaway trail by Spur Rock and Nipple Peaks. He shook Hahn
+by the sound shoulder.
+
+"Brace up," he said. "You can hide in Split Rock Cave. I'm going to put
+the girl in there. Take another drink. Pick up some grub. There's water
+in 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." He
+weakly collected the bottle, some scraps of food.
+
+Plimsoll stooped over Molly, coming out of her faint, and gagged her
+with her own scarf as her eyes opened and looked at him. He took off her
+belt and strapped her arms behind her back. Then, despite his wounded
+wrist, 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 anchoring
+it! Blaze and Plimsoll's black were nipping grass in the little corral
+where they had been placed. Blaze whinnied at the sight, or the scent,
+of his mistress. Plimsoll passed the corral and went through a grove of
+quaking asps close to the wall of the side-gulch, keeping to the rock as
+much as possible. He turned into a cleft, stopping at a rock whose
+almost flat surface was level with his feet, a great mass of granite
+that some freak of weathering or convulsion of earthquake had split
+almost 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 the
+tough fibers, bracing with his knees. Down some ten feet in the crack he
+looked up, his ghastly face pallid in the shadow, with an attempt at a
+grin.
+
+"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 her
+nurse you. Do anything you damn please with her!"
+
+Hahn dropped out of sight. Plimsoll did not wait but picked Molly up
+from where he had deposited her, a helpless bundle, on the rock.
+
+"The bottom's soft down there," he said. "Sand. It ain't more than
+fifteen feet. Down you go, you hellcat! They'll have a fine time
+locating you. And you've got a dying man for company. He'll be a dead
+one before morning."
+
+He lowered her, feet down, released her and watched her disappear. He
+swung about and ran back to the corral, his hurt arm throbbing with his
+exertion. He had entertained a brief thought of hiding in the cave
+himself, but the fear of madness from the bite had not left him, the
+suggestion of it coming on in an underground cavern sickened him with
+horror. He craved the open. He flung himself into the saddle of the
+black horse, once leader of a slick-ear herd of wild mustangs,
+magnificent for speed and symmetry, worthy a better master, and galloped
+out of the corral, out of the side-ravine, into the open park. The rough
+towel about his arm was becoming soaked. Every jump of the black horse
+seemed to increase the bleeding. The spurt of fictitious energy that had
+carried him through since the arrival of Cookie was dying away. But he
+was on a mount that none could match, he was going on a trail that was
+hard to follow, practically unknown. Unless he was headed off, he could
+break through. At Nipple Peaks he could rest, attend to his wound.
+
+A shout, a bullet whistling past that nicked the stallion's ear and sent
+him plunging and bucking, warned him that his enemies had found the way
+in and were after him. He did not look back, but bent forward in his
+saddle and sunk the spurs into the black's flanks. The half-tamed
+mustang's indignant bounds spoiled the aim of the marksmen, and, though
+the steel-nosed missiles hummed like bees about them, they gained the
+shelter of the same trees that had covered Cookie. Belly almost to
+ground, the black swept over the cropped turf at racing speed, the drum
+of his hooves like distant thunder, crest high, crimson-satin nostrils
+flaring, mad at the sting of the red notch in his ear.
+
+Round the elbow of the Hideout, with Brandon's men distanced, into the
+gorge at the south end. A wild scramble up a steep slope and the way to
+Spur Rock was clear. Plimsoll smiled grimly. "Damn them, I'll beat them
+yet!" For a second he was silhouetted against a skyline, then he plunged
+down. Fresh droppings told him that Reynolds had won clear. He was safe
+from 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 was
+an echo, he fancied, it must be an echo, flung back from the mountain
+walls ahead. But it could mean nothing else than a view-halloo. Some one
+had glimpsed him disappearing beyond the ridge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MOLLY MINE
+
+
+Sandy, replacing the blanket on Wyatt's face, examined his guns and
+started climbing up to the big boulder. He could not see the rocks
+displaced by Brandon's men from below, but he picked up the bloody
+imprint of Grit's pad, with other smears of blood less distinctly
+marked. Soon he discovered the narrow opening and proceeded cautiously.
+The moon was quite bright now and the daylight almost vanished. Only the
+afterglow still flamed in the eastern sky back of the violet cliffs. The
+touch of night chill was already threatening, great stars were
+assembling court about the moon.
+
+To Sandy's right was perpendicular rock, to his left the curve of the
+blocking boulder with the skeleton tree topping it, withered in the
+cleft that had first nourished, then denied it nourishment. It gleamed
+silver gray, attracting his attention. As he gazed his sharp ears caught
+the tiny crack of a brittle branch. Instantly he dropped to all fours as
+a spurt of flame showed from the tree and a bullet whined over him, to
+smack against the rock and fall flattened.
+
+Sandy did not move. He knew that, to the man firing, his fall might have
+seemed a hit, that he had beaten the missile by the space of a wink. He
+heard more broken boughs, as if his assailant were clumsily, assuredly,
+clambering out of ambush, and he shifted silently into position, rifle
+set down, both guns ready. There came a strange thrashing sound, a groan
+of 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 bullet
+had ranged through both hips, shattering them. The spine must have been
+injured. There were puddles of blood that told the injury was some hours
+old. Butch had lain there paralyzed, passed by Brandon's men as dead,
+lingering like the traditional snake until sunset to see and recognize
+Sandy coming through the gap, to use his last remnant of life to pull
+trigger 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, plain
+as it was on every side. He found the side-gulch, saw the cabin, saw
+Hahn's saddled horse grazing free, Blaze in the corral, the cabin door
+open with the moon streaming in. He had pieced out the puzzle to his own
+satisfaction. Brandon and his men had arrived and, in Hereford, they had
+run across Wyatt, procuring horses there and saving themselves the trip
+to the Three Star. Butch's body was evidence that they had not been
+unsuccessful, Wyatt's that the fight had not been all one-sided, the
+surprise not perfect. And, if Plimsoll had been warned, what had become
+of Molly?
+
+He got an answer that made his heart stand still, then pound in a rush
+of action. On the floor, in the beam of the moon, lay the luck-piece, a
+few links of gold chain attached to the coin. Stooping for it, he
+brushed a strand of brown hair. Then he saw Grit's body beneath the
+table. Fury boiled in him, chilled to icy wrath and determination. He
+put away the coin and hauled out the dog's body into the moonlight. It
+was limber and still warm. Sandy rose from his squat and swiftly
+examined the cabin. He discovered a lantern with oil in it, which he
+lit. The condition of the fire, corroborating other signs, told him that
+the fighting was long over with, the issue passed on. He had no fear of
+interruption. Before very long Sam and the Three Star riders would be
+along. The sight of Blaze suggested that Molly was not far away. If she
+had gone, by force, or her own free will, the probability was that her
+own mount and saddle would have been requisitioned.
+
+Sandy's capacity for reading sign was almost without limit. He was
+better at it than an Indian because he had equally good observation and
+better judgment. But, to find Molly, with the ground about the cabin cut
+by arriving and departing feet and hooves, with Blaze in the corral,
+was a miracle that called for more than eyesight and deduction. If he
+could revive Grit...?
+
+He found water warm in a kettle; he had the first-aid kit with its
+bandages, 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, the
+blood marks where Plimsoll's veins had sprinkled and Grit had stained
+the floor. He found, too, a button of horn with a fragment of black and
+white check, torn from Molly's riding coat in the struggle. Sandy's
+anger crystallized into one ambition beyond the finding of Molly, and
+that was to kill Plimsoll, if possible with his hands. He pictured the
+struggle between the gambler and the girl, desperate on one side, brutal
+on the other and, whether the stake had been won or lost, he resolved
+that Plimsoll should die for that attack.
+
+Now his hope hung on Grit. He squatted on the floor by the lantern, a
+gun handy in case of need. He took the collie's head on his lap and
+examined the blow made by the butt of Plimsoll's gun. It had laid bare
+the bone but he did not think it either splintered or fractured. Grit's
+tongue lolled out from between his teeth and his muzzle was dry, yet
+Sandy fancied breath still passed the nostrils and that there was a
+faint beat of heart beneath the heavy draggled coat, matted with the
+blood that had drained life from him. Sandy knew that dog or wolf or
+coyote will lie in a torpor after being badly wounded and often recover
+slowly, waking from the recuperating sleep revitalized. But, if he
+could bring Grit back, he must make fresh demands on him.
+
+He washed the wound on the head and poured iodine into it. He did the
+same with the hole in the leg, cleansing it from the dried blood and
+hair. It had stopped bleeding. He disinfected it, stitched it, closed
+it, bound it with adhesive tape and strengthened it with a bandage
+adjusted as expertly as any surgeon could have done. He pried open the
+jaws with but little resistance and let the tongue slip back before he
+poured in a measure of Scotch and water between the canine and incisor
+teeth. He tilted Grit's limp head, shut off his muzzle, stroked his
+throat and let the restorative trickle into the gullet. For a moment
+there was no response, then Grit coughed, choked, swallowed. Sandy
+repeated the dose with less water. It went down naturally. Almost
+immediately he felt the heart stroke strengthen. Grit sneezed, opened
+his eyes and feebly thumped his tail as he licked Sandy's hand.
+
+"Grit, ol' pardner," said Sandy seriously, the dog's head between his
+hands, "yo're sure mussed up a heap an' I hate to do it, but I got to
+call on you, son. Mebbe it won't be such a long trick, but I can't git
+by without yore nose, Grit. It's worth more'n all I've got. An' I know
+yo'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, but
+Sandy prevented him until the third dose was administered. Then he
+carried 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 to
+stand, looking eagerly at Sandy, commencing to snuff the air. Sandy let
+him smell the coin, the strand of hair, the piece of cloth and, with his
+keenest sense stimulated with the perfume that stood to Grit for love,
+the dog wrinkled his nose and cast around. But he led direct to Blaze
+and 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 got
+to cast about." He picked up the dog again, puzzled, and looked about
+him in the gulch, suffused with moonlight. "There sh'ud be soft dirt
+under those asps, let's give a look-see there."
+
+They had not gone five feet into the trees before man and dog made a
+simultaneous discovery. For Sandy it was a heel-mark left by Plimsoll,
+treading heavily under his burden, a slight depression enough, but plain
+to Sandy. Grit began to struggle in his arms. Molly's hair or body must
+have brushed against lower boughs at the same height that Sandy carried
+the 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 the
+heel-print. Grit uttered a low growl deep back in his throat, his ruff
+lifted. Hatred replaced love, but the two odors and emotions were
+inextricably 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. Where
+Plimsoll had laid her down Grit halted and raised his head, his tongue
+playing in and out of his jaws in his triumphant excitement, his eyes
+luminous, his tail waving like the plume of a knight. Sandy gently
+patted him, pressed him down to a crouch.
+
+"Down charge, Grit," he whispered in his ear. "You've got it. You stay
+here." 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 the
+split, holding on to the vine, looking straight into Grit's lambent
+eyes.
+
+"Stay here, son," he said softly, and Grit licked the face now on a
+level with his own. "I'll be back."
+
+Sandy doubted whether he would find Plimsoll in this rock hollow, or any
+one 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. It
+made little difference. There was, to him, the certainty that Molly was
+there and there was no other way of finding out or getting to her. He
+had adventured more dangerous chances than this.
+
+He felt his legs dangle into space and his hands found a curving loop in
+the vine trunk that sagged slightly under his weight. Extended at full
+length, his toes touched bottom. Letting go, he dropped lightly and
+stood in blackness, the crevice above him showing a strip of azure
+light. Sandy listened, wishing for Grit. He might be able to get him
+down, now that he knew the depth of the descent.
+
+There was only the sound of dripping water. He had a vague sense of
+empty spaces all about him. He ventured a match, holding it at arm's
+length in his left hand, flicking friction with his nail, an old trick.
+The match caught and began to blaze instantly in the still air. Low
+down, and to the right, there showed a stab of flame, the roar of an
+exploding cartridge, the reek of high-powered gas seemed to fill the
+cavern. The bullet passed through Sandy's coat sleeve. If he had held
+the match in front of him he would have been shot through heart or
+lungs. His right-hand gun barked from his hip, straight for where the
+flame had showed, then to right of it, to left, above, his left-hand gun
+joining in the merciless probe. No second shot came in answer.
+
+Sandy lit another match. Its flare showed him a sandy floor, slightly
+sloping, moist in one place, a charred stick almost at his feet. It was
+a pine knot, half burned, and he lighted it easily, advancing toward the
+spot where he had flung the shots he knew had silenced whoever had fired
+at the first match. He found Hahn, crumpled up, shot through the right
+arm and a thigh, besides the other wound in his shoulder. There was not
+much 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 up
+at him and essayed a grin.
+
+"Yo're game all right, Hahn," said Sandy. "You ain't the man I was
+lookin' 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 a
+prohibition 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. I
+thought you one of Brandon's gang. They got Butch and me an' they're
+chasin' 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 left
+me here--with the girl--but the case is empty and the bank's
+bu'sted--cashing--in--time and no chips."
+
+He was wandering in his mind, speaking without control, but Sandy's
+mouth tightened at the mention of Nipple Peaks, relaxed again on the
+word "girl." He gave Hahn the last few drops of whisky.
+
+"Where in hell'd you get that?" asked the dealer weakly, coughed
+violently, collapsed, shuddered, writhed a little and was still before
+he could answer Sandy's eager question about Molly.
+
+He found her without much searching, rolled down a little slope beyond
+the crevice. Under the light of the torch her eyes looked up at him. Her
+hair was in disorder, her raiment torn, her slender body wound about by
+the lariat rope, her mouth and chin hidden by the tightly drawn
+bandanna, but her gaze, reflecting the flare of the pine knot, held so
+much of welcome, of faith, of pride and courage, all sourced in
+something deeper, far more wonderful, moving beneath the surface like a
+well spring, that Sandy's heart swelled with glad emotion, knowing she
+was unharmed, knowing that his coming was no surprise, however welcome.
+
+He found himself trembling as he untied her bonds and took away the gag
+from the mouth that lifted to his. She snuggled into his arms and, as
+the torch sputtered out, leaving them in the darkness, save for the
+luminous beams that stole down from where Grit whimpered in joyous
+impatience, 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 to
+his 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 the
+edge of it. He rose easily, still holding her and lifted her high to
+where she could reach the vine, swinging up after her, Grit dancing a
+three-legged reel of joy as they came up into the free air and the
+moonlight.
+
+Blaze greeted them in the corral. Molly mounted, and Sandy set Grit on
+the 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 meet
+up 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 meeting
+anybody." She had taken off Sandy's Stetson and she ran fingers through
+his hair, thrilling him to the intimacy of the caress. But, if there was
+any 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, I
+aim to head him off an' settle the account."
+
+"Sandy." There was a plea in her voice that plucked at his heart
+strings. "Don't spoil to-night. Please!"
+
+"That ain't Molly Casey talkin'," said Sandy. "That's somethin' you must
+have 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 in
+Blaze. 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 to
+Three Star where yore daddy lies an' know he was there in his grave
+while I let that coyote go loose. I found the luck-piece on the floor of
+the cabin, Molly, with a lock of yore hair he must have tore out, a
+button an' a bit of yore dress he nigh tore off you. I was in hell when
+I thought of you fightin' him off an' if I have to wade through it
+knee-deep in flamin' sulphur I'm goin' to find that snake an' make sure
+he quits trailin'. Why, it's my job, Molly. What w'ud you think of me if
+I 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 rocks
+about them.
+
+"I'm afraid," she said.
+
+"Afraid?"
+
+"I know. I never was before. But...." She broke off, leaned swiftly down
+from 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 was
+Goldie that Sandy rode under the stars toward Nipple Peaks. He was
+alone, refusing any company of Sam or the riders. Molly's last kiss had
+been the key that turned in the lock of his heart and opened up to
+reality the garden of his dreams where the two of them would walk
+together, work together all their days. It could have meant nothing
+else. And she had been afraid--for him. Plimsoll living was a blot upon
+the fair page of happiness. Though Molly, thank God, had come through
+unharmed, to Sandy the touch of Plimsoll was a defilement that could
+only be wiped out by his death.
+
+Nipple Peaks he knew by sight, two high mounds of bare granite above the
+timber-line, barring the way to a jumbled country of peaks and ravines
+and cross canyons among which lay Plimsoll's Hideout. Spur Rock he knew
+only 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 to
+the Hideout and attempted to follow a rock trail by moonlight, despite
+its brilliance, would have been sheer folly. Plimsoll had from three to
+four hours' start, he figured. And he calculated that, with luck, with
+common luck and justice, he would pick him up before he reached the base
+of the mountain, before he got into the timber. If not, sooner or later
+he 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 Peaks
+gleaming above the black pines across the valley, with Elk River
+gleaming in the middle, he realized that he had said nothing to Molly of
+Keith, 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 as
+if the rest of the world had been fenced off from them and their own
+intimate affairs.
+
+He compressed his knees and the mare answered in a lope that stretched
+into a gallop, fast and faster as she reached the levels and sped toward
+Elk River. Sandy was not going to waste time looking for a ford. The
+mare could swim. The moon, sloping down toward the west, still above the
+range, helped by the big white stars, made the valley bright almost as
+day. He scanned the mountain toward the peaks, passed over the dark
+impenetrable pines, surveyed the stretch of gently rising ground between
+the Elk and the trees and shifted his guns in their scabbards. His rifle
+he had left with Sam. Either Plimsoll had not passed the peaks, was in
+the woods, or he had come and gone. Something told Sandy this last had
+not occurred. Travel beyond the peaks must have been hard and slow and
+roundabout for Plimsoll while he had tangented fast for the cut-off.
+
+The mare took the cold river water about her fetlocks with a little
+shiver, wading in to the girths, sliding to a deep pool where she had to
+swim a few strokes before she found gravel under her hoofs and scrambled
+out. Suddenly, while Sandy hesitated how best to arrange his patrol, a
+horse came floundering out of the pines less than a quarter of a mile
+away, a black horse, shining with sweat, tired to its limit, staggering
+in its stride, the rider hunched in the saddle more like a sack of meal
+than a man.
+
+Before Sandy could turn the mare toward them three riders burst from the
+trees like bolts from a crossbow, spurring their mounts, the two in the
+lead swinging lariats. They divided, one to either side of the
+foundering black stallion, one at the rear, gaining, angling in. The
+ropes slithered out, the loops seemed to hang like suspended rings of
+wire for a second before they settled down, fair and true, about the
+neck and shoulders of the black's rider. They tightened, the lariats
+snubbed to the saddle horns, the horses sliding with flattened pasterns.
+The black lunging on, pitched forward as it was relieved of a sudden
+weight and its rider jerked hideously from the saddle, hands clawing at
+the ropes that choked his gullet, wrenching, sinking deep, shutting off
+air and light with a horrid taste of blood and the noise of thundering
+waters.
+
+The ropers wheeled their mounts and galloped back toward the woods, the
+limp body of their victim dragging, bouncing over the ground. The third
+rode 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 minute
+too late."
+
+Brandon glanced curiously at Sandy, caught by the grim note in his
+voice. 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 tree
+with a card on his chest presenting him to Hereford County, with our
+compliments. As it is, Bourke, I'd be relieved if you'd keep out of this
+entirely. Even forgetting you'd met us. We're within our rights, but
+we've done some cleaning up to-night that we might have to explain if we
+stayed too long in the state. We got the goods on Plimsoll; one of his
+men whose girl Plimsoll had stolen helped us to pin them on him. We met
+him at Hereford. I'm going to send the facts and proofs to your
+authorities. They may not approve of lynch law these days, but they
+wouldn't act--and we did. I don't fancy they'll bother us any. He wasn't
+worth 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 black
+first. He gave us a hard chase, but we were too many for him and rounded
+him up."
+
+They found the black stallion stretched out on the turf with its neck
+curiously twisted. Tired out, it had fallen clumsily and broken the
+vertebrae. It was quite dead. Both men looked at it silently, with a
+mental tribute to a good horse.
+
+The body of Plimsoll lay at the foot of a big pine. The loops were still
+tight about his neck. One of the ropes had been tossed over a bough. The
+two men had dismounted. They nodded to Sandy as he came up with Brandon.
+He had seen them before on their first unsuccessful trip to the
+Waterline. They were horse-owners, responsible men, who considered they
+had administered justice, who felt no more qualms concerning the dead
+man 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 hit
+the trail home to-night. Bourke wants to identify the body, boys."
+
+Sandy looked down at the contorted, blackened face, and his
+disappointment at having been forestalled, sedimented down. The
+gambler's features had not been made placid by death; they still held
+much of the horror of the last moments of that relentless chase, his
+horse failing under him, foreknowledge of sudden death and then the
+whistling ropes, the jerk into eternity...! It was a thing to be
+forgotten, 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. I
+found him hangin' to a tree. Good night, hombres." He left them standing
+about their quarry and turned the willing mare toward home. Peace
+settled down on him under the stars that were fading, the moon below the
+hills when he rode into the home corral.
+
+A figure was perched upon the fence, waiting. It was Molly, and she
+leaped down almost into his arms as he sprang from the mare. In the gray
+dawn her face seemed drawn and weary. There were the blue shadows under
+the eyes that he remembered seeing there the time they had ridden over
+the Pass of the Goats. She came close to him, her hands up against his
+chest.
+
+"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 my
+hands, now, Sandy."
+
+He swept her up to him, kissing her mouth and eyes, the eager pressure
+of her lips returning all with full measure. A streak of rose glowed in
+the 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 had
+gone 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 the
+corral and were under the big cottonwoods by Patrick Casey's grave. "Do
+I?"
+
+"I don't reckon you can, even if you wanted to," answered Sandy. "I
+forgot to tell you, Molly, that you're bu'sted, so far's the mine is
+concerned. 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 wanted
+most was my happiness--and I've got that." She turned to Sandy. The big
+bell of the ranch boomed brassily. Molly put her hand in Sandy's. "It
+may be most unromantic, Sandy dear," she said, "but I'm hungry. Let's go
+in to breakfast."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE VERY END
+
+
+There was a council held later that day, that was almost a council of
+war. Sandy was in the chair, Mormon and Sam present, Molly the indignant
+speaker-in-chief.
+
+"I'm very much ashamed of all of you," she said. "An agreement is an
+agreement, 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't
+spent all of it, Sandy tells me.
+
+"I've got to accept Sandy's share of it, I suppose, because it goes with
+Sandy. As for you, Sam Manning, you'll need your third when you marry
+Kate 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 a
+rough-hided cuss like me."
+
+"You ask her, Sammy. Mormon, I suppose you'll have to hang fire until
+you find out about that third wife. I hope the fourth time will be the
+charm. It will if you marry Miranda Bailey."
+
+"You're sure talkin' like a matrimonial boorow, Molly," said Mormon. "I
+sure think a sight of Mirandy. She's different from my first three. They
+all married me, fo' me to look out fo' them. If Mirandy can be persuaded
+to take me it's becos she is willin' to look after me. She 'lows I need
+it," 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't
+of insurance policy. I've allus been sort of unbalanced in my leanin's
+to'ards the sex, you see. An' it sure acted as a prop an' a defense so
+fur."
+
+"Then the meeting is closed," said Molly. "I accept your apologies and
+you 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 Honore 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 Honore 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 Honore 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             |
+    +-----------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rimrock Trail, by J. Allan Dunn
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIMROCK TRAIL ***
+
+***** This file should be named 28638.txt or 28638.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/3/28638/
+
+Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Barbara Kosker and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/28638.zip b/28638.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4609585
--- /dev/null
+++ b/28638.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a0e30fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #28638 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28638)