Читать книгу The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox - Ernest Haycox - Страница 39

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"The picture o' a gal blindfolded an boldin' a pair o' scales is shorely a fine sentiment as regards equal justice to all. But sometimes the lady ain't blind. Sometimes she's cross-eyed, which is shorely sad."—Joe Breedlove.

Trapped. Neatly put out of the way in a place so small that he could touch all four walls without moving. Above his head was a sharp steel hook; from below a current of air scoured through an aperture in one corner of the hard-packed floor. Long seasons of meat curing had impregnated the pine boards with a sharp, woody smell and left heavy layers of soot. His exploring fingers found it everywhere; found, too, an occasional rafter charred from the heat. Still, it was not an unsubstantial prison for when he put his shoulders against the door it did not give. The old man had built this house as he had built all others—solidly and meant to endure.

His head ached from the blow Slim had given him on the temple; blood trickled down his jaw. But that didn't matter. What really hurt was to have been so easily captured and put into Trono's power. What would the old man say if he knew what was going on? Lilly saw Breck's heavy, fighting face scowling at him through the black pit. This was not what he had expected of the red- headed stranger. Lilly reached for his makin's, growing impatient with himself. What he ought to have done was to have kicked those two agents off the ranch in spite of Jill's say-so. After all, he was responsible for her—responsible for the JIB. She wasn't the one that had to do the fighting.

"Well," he muttered, "this ain't no time to hold postmortems. Every minute I stay here means money in Trono's pocket. That gent used his head proper. Instead o' bein' bull-headed and shootin' it out he saved himself the trouble an' snares me like a rabbit. Oh, fine! That's what I get for not followin' my original idea. The question becomes, what does he aim to do now that he's got control?"

It was very puzzling. Not that a man couldn't wreck a ranch and make it thoroughly unprofitable for the owners to stay on. Between Trono and Stubbins, Jill couldn't hold her own. By sundry devices, most of which were illegal, they could haze her off. Just bring the pressure to bear hard enough and she would have to quit. It was a matter of rustling JIB cows, of sending 3Cross stock in to graze on JIB territory, of preventing cow-punchers from working for JIB. Threats—and actual violence. Oh, the road was wide enough for them to follow and no doubt they had examples set them by old Breck himself in earlier days.

Still, what was their next move? Having control, what would they do with him? They couldn't kill him outright. That would—or it should—create a stink in the country. Probably they'd escort him down the line and see that he didn't get a chance to come back. What would they do with Jill? Lilly shook his head and drew a deep breath of cigarette smoke. There was one girl they'd have to treat with gloves. She could fight and she might be able to draw enough sympathy to her throughout the county so that both Trono and Stubbins would find it entirely disagreeable. So, if they figured to do the thing neatly they'd have to keep Jill from getting where she could make herself heard.

But they couldn't keep her prisoner forever. That would leak out. What they ought to do was withdraw from the ranch and do their dirty work from the sidelines. If he was Trono and in that kind of a game it would be his tactics.

"Followin' which train of thought," he mused, "they got to put me out o' the road. Then, if they've got the county buffaloed, which it seems they have, it's only a waitin' game before the JIB is busted. Tom Lilly, my boy, it's yore move, even though you only got four feet to move in."

Someone passed near the smokehouse, feet shuffling on the hard earth. Lilly flattened himself against the door, listening. Presently the sound died. The crew appeared to be in the bunkhouse and in a happy frame of mind. They were making the rafters ring with "Arizona Boys and Girls," with now and then a gun shot to punctuate the rhyme. Lilly, crouched on the floor, opined they must have found a quart of whisky somewhere to induce all the hilarity.

"The boys in this country, they try to advance By courtin' the ladies an' learnin' to dance— An' they're down, down, an' they're down!"

"You'll shore be down if ever I get out o' this mousetrap," muttered Lilly, enraged. "A fine specimen, I am! Supposed to be protectin' the gal an' here I sit, of no more use than two-bits worth of canary seed!"

He waited until the crew had embarked on another verse of the song before butting the door with his shoulders. It gave slightly and he tried it a second time, hearing the hasp grate against the lock. Someone moved outside and he stopped quickly, gathering himself in a corner. As before the sound vanished, leaving him perplexed. Were they guarding him? And what about Jill? Were they keeping watch over her? Lilly had a vision of Trono smiling in his tight-lipped, sardonic manner; smiling at the girl with his immense shoulders humped forward. He would ride his victory high, this one-time foreman, would probably exult in his dominion over the possessions of old Jim Breck. He was dangerous—dangerous because of the uncertainty of his temper and of his mind. There was no telling when he might take it in his head to use violence; Lilly had read the ruthlessness, the killer's instinct in the green eyes and he well knew that a time might come when Trono would tire of playing safe.

The thought moved Lily around in his black cubicle and set him to exploring again. He dug his fist down into the vent hole at the bottom of the house. This was the flue by which smoke was sent into the place from a near-by oven. If he could enlarge it—dig his way through to the outside. A few attempts at crumbling the hard-packed ground discouraged him. It would take hours to make any impression and unless he mistook his man very much, Trono would be up and doing before long. Probably the burly one was mulling over the situation now in his clumsy mental processes. Lilly stepped back a pace and hurled himself at the door once again. There was a long groan of the hasp and a sharp splintering of a board, followed by those soft, shuffling steps outside. This time they came nearer and stopped. Someone was fumbling with the lock and as Lilly crowded himself in a corner, ready to spring at whoever crossed the sill, he heard the hasp give way. The door came open, inch by inch. As he poised on his toes the soft, guttural voice of Pattipaws floated in. "Huh. You come now."

He slid outside, to be met by the Indian's outstretched hand. Gun and gunbelt was there, not his own, but one that did quite as well and felt extremely satisfying as he strapped it about his waist. The Indian whispered. "You go get girl. I fin' horses. Put 'em by barn. Hyak."

The singing had diminished. Of a sudden the light streaming from the bunkhouse was shut off by an emerging figure. A figure that rolled unsteadily along for a brief time on the path of the yellow beam and then turned directly toward the smoke house. Pattipaws dissolved in the shadows, leaving Tom Lilly rooted in his place. The advancing puncher stumbled over his own high heeled boots, swearing immoderately and presently he was directly before the house, swaying a little, his tall, lanky figure but an outline in the night. Lilly tarried, not quite sure of his future course. But here was a temptation too great to be passed by. Thus, when the man stretched his arm forward and put one hand on the open door Lilly drew his gun and reversed the butt, lifting it high. It was a moment of uncertainty until Lilly heard the puncher's breath whistling inward as if preparing to send out a cry of discovery. That cry was never uttered; Lilly crossed the intervening space at one stride; the gun came down, not with full force, but heavily enough to send the wandering puncher to the ground senseless.

Lilly worked quickly. He untied the man's neck piece and gagged him. With his own handkerchief he tied the fellow's hands. Then he lifted him into the smoke house and closed the door, propping it shut with a stray piece of wood. This was all makeshift, he well knew; at the most he had no more than fifteen minutes to warn the girl and effect an escape before the puncher would rouse himself and struggle free. Turning, he tiptoed across the yard to the house, coming to a halt at one end of the porch. He had meant to save time and enter by one of the front doors, but the gleaming tip of a cigarette told him he would have to circle around to the rear. He could not see the man, but it took only half a guess to surmise who sat in Jim Breck's rocker. Trono. Trono mimicking the habits of the old man and flattering his own vanity by the performance. Temptation beset Lilly once more; this time he shook it off. The odds were too much against him. Possibly he might surprise and take Trono stowing him away as he had the fellow in the smoke house. But there were a good dozen men in the bunkhouse and he could not hope to dispose of them in the same manner. So, foregoing the pleasure, he retreated, circled the house and came to the kitchen door. It stood ajar, leading into a darkened room. Listening for a moment, he finally groped through it and opened an inner portal; this was a hallway leading he knew not just where. But he could hear the creaking of a rocker out on the porch and presently a man coughing. Nowhere could he see a light until he turned about and looked at the other end of the hall; then he made out a faint yellow beam creeping beneath a doorway. On his toes he crept toward it, listening. No sound.

Undoubtedly it was the girl's room since all the rest of the house was dark. She was in there, waiting for trouble to break, grieving for what the day had seen. Well, it was a poor time to spend in grief. Right now self-preservation was foremost. He put his hand on the knob, very much wanting to announce himself but afraid of having her challenge him and thus arouse Trono. Half turning it, he felt the latch give and at a single movement opened the door, swung himself inside and closed it, coming face to face with Jill.

She was in a chair and she had a gun trained directly on him. The color had partly left her face, but he was never to forget that flash of eye which fell fully upon him and then, after what seemed a long, long time, fade before relief. She had been expecting someone else—had posted herself there to stop that someone. Lilly put a finger to his lips and crossed the room. "Fix up. We're pullin' out. Quick now."

She nodded, keeping the silence, and rose. Whatever of resentment Lilly had felt against her for withholding trust in him vanished. She was a thoroughbred! She asked no silly questions, wasted no time. A small bundle of papers went into her coat pocket, papers she had no doubt salvaged from her father's office. Then she clapped on a battered hunting hat and turned to him as if asking his approval. And for the first time he saw friendliness in her face. The color had returned; something moved in the depths of her eyes as she held out her hand, offering him her gun. He shook his head and beckoned. Together they stepped into the hall, closing the door behind, crossing to the kitchen and threading its cluttered space to the back. The night breeze struck Lilly's face and the fresh, sage-scented air was as a call to adventure. Up above, the sky was metal black, pricked by a dozen dim stars. Beyond this cluttered yard and its garrison of lustful, over-weening men was freedom. Southward stood the shadow of the pine forest. Lilly felt the girl's hand slip into his; with a swift upthrust of reckless pride he closed his calloused fists about her small fingers and led her across the yard toward the corrals, venturing a husky phrase.

"We'll beat 'em, my girl. Don't you forget it."

They had only passed the smoke house when a strangled cry emerged from it—a cry that woke every echo on the ranch. Boots struck the bunkhouse floor, the hum of speech ceased. Trono's bull voice boomed across the area. "Who's that?"

"Shucks," grunted Lilly. "I didn't hit that hombre nowise hard enough. Comes o' bein' chicken-hearted. Now we've got to leg it. Hold tight, girl."

The crew rushed pell-mell out of their quarters and directed by another muffled cry, bore down upon the smoke house as Lilly and the girl slipped away from the yard and circled the corrals; Pattipaws waited somewhere ahead, obscured by the heavy shadows. Fury was behind. The crew had found and released the imprisoned puncher. Lilly, chuckling softly, observed he hadn't impaired the man's voice. It rose toward the sky in outraged accents. "—An' I gits a strangle holt on 'im an' he breaks it like I was a leetle chil'. Belts me acrost the coco a terrible wallop! Boys, I'm all busted up! Somebody gimme a drink! Oh, Gawd that was a dirty blow! I'll rake him across his face with m' spurs! Yeh, I will! Say, gimme a drink!"

"Pattipaws," breathed Lilly, coming to a halt. They were behind the corrals, groping into a small hollow. "Injun, where are you at? By the Lord Harry, I hope he got the cayuses. Listen to Trono yell!"

Trono had done some exploring on his own account and found the girl missing. He was thundering furiously at the crew. "Jill's done gone. That red-head missin', too? Well, you damn fools, don't stand there chatterin' like a cage full o' monkeys! Git yore hosses! They ain't far away! Two-three you boys gallop aroun' the premises! On yore toes now! We're shore sunk if they ain't rounded up!"

"I'm shore glad to hear it from his own mouth," muttered Lilly. "Pattipaws—Oh, that you?" The Indian slipped up to them and grunted briefly. He was leading three horses. Lilly helped the girl into a saddle, hearing someone running around the corrals, rapidly approaching. "Injun," murmured Lilly, "you lead off to'rd the hills, savvy? Walk along easy for a hundred yards, so they won't hear."

The Indian was in front, the girl in the center and Lilly at the rear. They climbed the far slope of the hollow and pointed south, going at a slow and silent gait The exploring party had gone on to the back of the corrals, missing the hollow by a few yards. Elsewhere was the creaking confusion of men saddling up in the dark. Trono's bellicose voice rose and fell, cursing, threatening, lashing at the crew as so many convicts. Quite gradually these sounds grew less distinct and mingled to a kind of rumble. Lilly spoke to the Indian. "All right. Let's stretch out now. We'll have to clear this place before they begin to circle around. Hustle."

Jill had not uttered a word all this time. And now as they swung toward the towering shadow of the pine forest she was equally silent. The leather gear creaked beneath them and the steady breathing of the horses made a kind of rhythm as they covered the miles. Behind them was the one clear beacon of the sky, the North Star. Elsewhere a dusky veil covered the countless twinkling lights; a soft breeze fanned them and presently the aromatic smell of the sage was blended with that of the trees.

It was a sober, thoughtful caravan that fled from the JIB. Once only during the night were they in danger. Lilly halting the group got down and put his ear to the ground. Somewhere in the near distance was a pursuing party. He published it briefly. "Find us a hollow or arroyo somewhere, Injun. We'll anchor a minute." The Indian grunted and turned his course until they were traveling back toward the ranch. The ground grew rough and in five minutes dropped from them. Here they stopped and waited until the rumbling of hoofs could be distinctly heard in the clear, quiet air. Presently a cavalcade swept by with a great clatter and groaning, to vanish westward. Lilly waited some length of time and then signaled the Indian to move on. As near as he could judge, Trono was sweeping the land in widening circles from the ranch.

Midnight passed and they stopped for a brief breathing spell. Toward morning they reached the first trees and began climbing, penetrating deeper and deeper into the recesses of the pines. Daybreak found them high above the valley floor. Lilly, seeing the weariness on the girl's face called a halt. But she was quick to dissent, saying, "If you're stopping on my account, I won't have it. I can travel as long as needed." And Pattipaws made a vague gesture forward, at which Lilly gave in. So they went for perhaps another hour until the pines suddenly made a small bayou and revealed a cabin. There they stopped.

It was an old, mouldering trappers' cabin. On all sides of the little clearing the ground rose in rugged layers and the underbrush sprang up quickly between the trees. Not a great deal farther ahead Lilly saw the base of a half bald peak and he marked it as a place from which he might scour the valley below. Meanwhile there were other things to consider. Rest and food—and a plan for the future. For all her splendid endurance and courage, the mark of the night's ride was on the girl as she slid from the horse and looked uncertainly to Lilly.

"Well," said she, "what are you planning now, Red?"

Lilly grew unaccountably warm at her use of the name. The last twelve hours had revealed many things to her; she accepted him now. Drowsiness weighted her lids, but still there was a frank friendliness in her eyes, and unreserved trust.

"First off we'll fix up a place for you to get a little sleep," he replied. "But not in that shack. If they pick up our trail—and I think they wall—they'll have a look at it. I'll spread the saddle blankets up in the brush for you. As for anything to eat, it appears as if we went on a water diet for a few meals."

She waved that aside as unimportant. "I've been hungry before." Then she flushed a little, still holding his eyes. "I'm—I'm sorry. Most of this is my own fault. But Slim and Bill were two of Dad's trusted men. Even Trono was always kind to me. I had no idea—"

"Yore dad," he reminded her, "was a powerful man. Nobody tried anything on him. They toed the mark and jumped at his word. But you can never tell what a fellow carries around in his mind. That crew puzzles me. A fine bunch of bandits! I'd think yore dad would have known what they were like."

She was struggling to keep awake. "I think he did. You see Trono picked quarrels with some of our old hands and they quit. Usually there'd be a new man the next morning. Dad didn't like some of them—I could see that, though he never told me—but we had to have help and Trono always recommended them. So Dad took Trono's word. Now that I think of it. Trono seemed to do a lot of things, these last few months, that Dad used to do himself. Dad—was getting sick."

"Uhuh. Trono packed the ranch with his own private bunch. Prob'ly bought Slim and Bill to his own side o' the fence. It's an old story. Well, it looks like a running fight for us. We'll do a lot of dodgin' before we can hit back."

"You're the boss, Red. I'll not speak out of my turn from now on."

That gave him courage to say what was in the back of his head. Through the long night ride he had come to a plan that he thought would work. "All right. We'll, sleep on it. Then, this afternoon we'll dodge into Powder and leave you."

He was not quite prepared for her sudden awaking. Dissent flashed in the dark eyes. "What will I do there?"

"Just wait until I get things in order."

"And where will you be?"

"Roamin' these hills and sort of scoutin' until I lay a few traps. Don't you worry, girl. Inside of three-four days I'll wash these bad, bold hombres off the map."

"Leave me in town, doing nothing while you're up here fighting? No! I won't do it, Red."

"But look here. I've got to leave you in a safe place. This is going to be a rough job."

She was looking at him with a curious intensity. There was something of her father in that sharp, weighing, penetrating glance; something of the same forthright recklessness in the way she threw back her head and pursed her lips together. The rich color rose higher in her cheeks. "I'll ride with you. Do you think I'm a coward? This is my country and I'll fight for it. Oh, I know what you're thinking! How will I stand up! Don't you worry about me. And I don't care a rap what anybody thinks! Maybe I can't be of any help. Maybe I'll even hinder you. But I'd die in Powder. I'd feel like a shirker, thinking about you doing the hard work and me doing nothing. No, we'll ride together, Red."

She spoke her mind and turned half away, as if afraid to see the effect on the man. Lilly fumbled for his cigarette papers, disturbed profoundly. This was not at all as he had planned it. What could she be thinking of, anyway? In the midst of these troubled reflections he caught her eyes—and his uncertainty vanished. She was a fighter, like her daddy. And she had forgotten, it seemed, that she was a woman. He doubted if she realized what a curious, gossiping world would have to say.

"Red, I know what you're thinking. Never mind me. I don't belong to any social clubs and so they can't kick me out in disgrace. It's my business. I'm not an infant—and I will fight for JIB!"

He nodded. "All right. That's settled. We'll get along somehow. Now for a siesta. Come along."

He took off the saddles and appropriated the blankets, leading her well into the thicket. It was a rough bed, among the rocks, but when she settled down she was already half asleep. Lilly bent over and folded a loose end around her shoulders, wondering if ever a girl had been fashioned quite like Jill Breck. The dark hair was all tousled, making her strangely boyish. Yet no amount of sun or rain or rough riding could conceal the beauties of the clear white skin of her neck or the pink flush on her cheeks. She had a drowsy, warming smile for him. Then she was plunged in profound slumber.

Lilly walked down the slope to where Pattipaws crouched against the side of the cabin, warming himself in a patch of sun.

"Old-timer," said Lilly, "I've got a chore for you to do."

"Um. Pattipaws do."

"It's a long trip. Sleep first."

The Indian shook his head. "Pattipaws no need sleep. Sleep for young bucks. You fix'm."

Lilly found a pencil and piece of paper in his pocket and after staring thoughtfully at the ground wrote a very brief message, signing his first name. He folded it and passed it to the Indian who tucked it in a pocket. Thereafter for three or four minutes Lilly carefully explained the contents and delivered his instructions. In the end the Indian rose, jumped on one of the horses—scorning a saddle—and pushed through the brush. Lilly watched him go and listened until he could no longer hear the rustling of leaves and the click of hoofs on the stony ground.

One more chore he had to do before finding himself a moment's rest. Hiding the horses deep in the forest and likewise caching the saddles where they could not be seen by prying eyes, he started toward the summit of the peak. It was a long, weary climb and more than a half hour elapsed before he reached the top. Once there he was rewarded by a magnificent sight of the whole valley. It lay before him as a map unrolled on a table with each depression and each knoll visible under the hot summer sun. Here was an isolated kingdom, elevated above the burning desolation of the desert outside the rimming Buttes. And in the center of it huddled the buildings of the JIB. He could see them as so many dark specks against the yellow earth.

But as for moving figures, he saw none. Not a thing seemed to tenant the valley. No tell-tale wisp of dust kicked up behind a traveling cavalcade. Trono had buried himself; Lilly, venturing a shrewd guess, believed the foreman was already in the pine forest seeking his erstwhile prisoners. The thought hurried his inspection and he turned down the slope, plunging through the trees. By-and-by, he heard a sound and he stopped dead, searching the brush with cautious eyes. It came but once and after a few moments he proceeded onward, using a great deal more caution. A warning had come to him, not anything tangible that he could put his five senses to, but still a warning that stayed his feet when he reached the edge of the little clearing again. Heavy silence pervaded it, broken by the sudden heavy beating of a grouse's wings. Far off, he thought he heard the click of rock against rock.

Very still, very peaceful—yet a quick, unfathomable excitement took possession of Lilly and, without displaying himself he withdrew and he circled higher in the brush, aiming for the girl's covert. He crossed a small valley of trees on his stomach, crawled over heavy boulders and half fell into the pit formed by an uprooted pine. And of a sudden he was looking at the very spot he had placed Jill. The ferns and smaller brush were trampled down on all sides, the blankets thrown carelessly aside. And the girl was not to be seen.

She had vanished without warning. But at the end of twenty fleeting minutes Tom Lilly read the story all too well. Trono had traced the hoof prints this far—Trono and a party of four others. And he had found the girl. There was the mark of struggle in the manner the brush had been beaten down; Jill had not surrendered without a fight, though it puzzled Lilly that she had not sent out at least one cry. The pine trees made a vast sounding board and would have carried her warning well up the slope. Perhaps she had—and he had been just beyond the range of hearing. At any rate, struggling had done her no good. Trono had taken her and made his escape.

The horses were still tethered where he had left them. That, too, was peculiar. If they had sought through the underbrush for the girl and found her, how was it they had not discovered the horses?

Lilly extended his radius of search, combing the rocky slopes and the long avenues between trees, coming at last to the conclusion that Trono had been satisfied with his single capture and was not in the vicinity, waiting to ambush him. Quickly saddling a horse and letting the other animal go free, he struck downward, following the trail. It was a clear trail in places, showing the homeward bound prints of Trono's horses. At other places it grew dim and was lost on the rock surfaces. Lilly pursued it as rapidly as his sense of caution allowed, at times striking into the woods and skirting such points and ledges as might form a decent place for a surprise.

When he arrived at the edge of the timber he found the trail of the party diverged from the route leading to the JIB and swung westerly on a path that led directly toward the homestead and Jim's Pass. The thought that they were taking Jill away from her own house to some unknown hiding place enraged him beyond measure. He struck the flank of his horse, swearing softly.

"Damn 'em, they can't get away with it! They can't do it! By the Lord Harry, I'll kill the man if he hurts her! I'll run the legs off him!"

He spurred along the trail, growing reckless. During the fore part of the morning he had been very careful; the farther he traveled across the undulating floor of the valley the less heed he took of his own safety. He kept recalling the old man's last words. "You take care o the gal, Red." What a fine job he'd done so far! For all the good he'd accomplished he might as well be in China. Then he kept seeing her as she was in the covert, her black hair tousled, her sleepy eyes smiling upward at him. The fighting rage welled up and flowed over. Rising in the stirrups he scanned the ground ahead.

Once, toward noon, he thought he saw something moving along the skyline near the homestead and he turned toward it, quickening the pace. Up and down the rolling slopes he galloped, the wild temper overmastering his caution. Once indeed he drew rein to give his horse a brief rest and in the breathing space he recalled Joe Breedlove's sage remarks about the unnecessary trouble red-head gents brought down upon themselves. He threw the thought aside and went on. "Joe never got into a jackpot like this," he muttered, squinting against the hard, glittering light. What good came of holding back, of caution? He had been careful and see what had come of it! "I ain't made on that plan," he reflected. "Better stick to my own method o' fightin'. And by the Lord Harry, I'll nail Trono's hide to the wall!"

The long chase was rewarded at last. When he reached the top of a swelling ridge he saw the homestead shack nestling in the cottonwoods a hundred yards away. Around it were three horses, and loitering in the shade were three men. They saw him the moment he came in view and, as he was against the sun, mistook him for one of the JIB crew. That was all the favor he needed. Drawing his gun he raced down upon them, seeing Trono's massive frame rise slowly and then come to astonished attention and swift recognition. The bawling voice broke the silence.

"Hey—it's the red-head!" And his big fist swooped downward.

Lilly stopped him with a shot that furrowed the sand. "Cut that! You other two boys put 'em in the air! Nev' mind edgin' to'rds the door! I ain't in no good humor right now." His attention snapped back to Trono. "You dirty pirate, what'd you do with Jill?"

Trono, hands half raised, looked toward the man on his left and winked broadly. "Hear him," he grunted. "That's a big bluff for certain. Red, yuh oughta know where she is since yore the one that took her away. Here, yuh be careful o' that cannon! Goin' to shoot me cold?"

Lilly, shifting his glance toward the others, realized they were both strangers; neither were JIB hands. The one to whom Trono had spoken had a pair of cold gray eyes and a clean shaven face that at present wrinkled in puzzlement. Trono broke in, "Yuh fool! Tryin' to bluff it out now? it won't wash. This yere's the sheriff an' he's lookin' fer yuh. Better put down yore gun. Yuh can't bluff the law, kid!"

Lilly slid from the saddle advancing on Trono. "Listen," said he, checking the volcanic eruption of anger, "I'm of no mind to be played with. Yore goin' to tell me what you did with Jill Breck an' yore goin' to do it sudden. Hear that? I'm a white man, but by the Lord Harry I'll use Injun methods if you stand there an' fool me! Know what that means, don't you?"

A side glance into the cabin had told him the girl was not around the homestead; and the three horses likewise indicated there had been a shifting of the original party. As to this stranger being a sheriff, that was a bluff. Even so the man did not bear the stamp of Trono's breed. He looked honest. Meanwhile the JIB foreman shifted his weight and, seeing the expression on Lilly's face, he began to sputter.

"That don't get you by! If you touch me you'll live to regret it!"

Lilly was on the point of replying when the man with the honest face broke in, speaking quietly and with a certain clear assurance. "Put yore gun down, boy. I declare yore under arrest." With that announcement he hitched his shoulder in a way that threw his coat aside, displaying a star.

"Arrest me?" demanded Lilly. "And what for?"

"Kidnappin' Jill Brock," announced the official. "When the doc got back to Powder he said the situation out here was in poor shape, so I rode over. First thing I found was you'd gone off with the gal an' the whole ranch was lookin' fer you. That's a serous offense, my boy."

"Yore takin' Trono's word against mine?"

The sheriff seemed to have some certain mental reservations. In the end he shrugged his shoulder. "Yore a stranger here. All the JIB boys stick to the same story. Deliver me yore gun."

Lilly was shaking his head. "Don't propose to do it, sher'ff. They may have you deceived, but they ain't got me that way. If I got to buck the law to find Jill Breck it's plumb too bad. But I aim to wring a confession out of Trono or cripple him in the attempt."

There was a movement of the sheriff's eye and a sudden relief on Trono's sweating face. At the same time a cool voice spoke from Lilly's rear. "Yore covered. Drop the gun."

Lilly stood immobile for one long, desperate instant. In the end he nodded briefly, passing his revolver to the sheriff and locking his lips to keep in the flood of bitter disappointment. Trono, relieved of danger, sprang forward with an upraised fist. "Now who's goin' to do the cripplin', you—"

"Back off," said the sheriff, coldly. "You'll do nothing to this man. He goes to Powder."

"He oughta be lynched here an' now," muttered Trono. "If the rest o' my crew was around you'd have a hard time gettin' him off safe."

"So?" grunted the sheriff. "Trono, you don't talk sense."

Another man moved into view, the one who had caught Lilly from behind. He, too, was a stranger, and doubtless of the sheriff's party. "Good thing," said he, "I happened to stray off."

The sheriff motioned Lilly to get in the saddle. Meanwhile he and his deputies found their animals and mounted, leaving Trono alone. The heavy man was frowning deeply and the sheriff, catching sight of his temper, stopped to issue a warning. "Don't get it in yore head you can raid the jail, either. There'll be no lynchin' in my bailiwick."

"You goin' to let him go off 'thout tellin' where he's got the gal!" bawled Trono.

"That will develop," said the sheriff, cryptically and started on. The deputies fell in behind. They rode as far as the main trail through the Pass before Lilly roused himself to speak. "So this is justice in Robey County."

"Sometimes," stated the sheriff, "justice don't show her face completely to the onlooker."

When Lilly turned to look at the sheriff, the latter was smiling slightly. That smile engrossed Lilly's attention all the long weary ride into town and puzzled him even when he had been locked behind the cell door.