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"I'm a peaceful man. Fightin' I don't like. But here I am, now who do I shoot?"—Joe Breedlove.

Powder sweltered under the baking, midday heat; Powder shivered with the midnight cold. It was a town of violent extremes, living in a state of suspended animation for long periods of time until the cowboy and his money rode furiously in to spill the red paint. Life here was indolent and easy until the slumbering passions flared up; then it became cruel, raw, unjust. Such was Powder as it appeared to Tom as he surveyed it from the second floor of the sheriff's office during the two days of his confinement.

There was nothing much to divert him, save his own thoughts and these were not of a kind to guarantee peace. He was never the man to play possum; he had no easy-going philosophy to console him when things went wrong. Rather his quick temper fed upon his injuries and the injuries done to others, growing greater, more volcanic. So it flickered and flared under pressure, ready to burst forth at the first opportunity, making of him an extremely dangerous character. The sheriff, visiting now and then, saw this and in an easy-going way tried to humor him.

"Now it don't ever help a man to hold his breath until his lungs cave in," he warned. "That's what yore doin'. You'll bust yore G string and be plumb out of harmony if you don't just float with the tide a while. Sing yoreself a sweet little ditty an' pretend yore takin' the rest cure."

"That," muttered Tom Lilly, "is what Joe Breedlove would say. Yeh, 'Take it easy' is his fav'rite motto."

"Yore friend has got plenty of sense," said the sheriff. "An oiled wheel lasts longer than a dry one."

"Hell! I'm not built that way. Yore a fine fellow to come round here talkin' like Santy Claus. It ain't no skin off yore nose that they's a bunch of wild men up in the hills pickin' the JIB to pieces."

He couldn't quite understand the sheriff. The man draped himself against the door, smiling down his pipestem. There was apparent honesty in his eyes and a certain stubborn fearlessness in the cut of the grizzled, middle-aged face. "Seems to me you didn't have any friendly notions to'rds the JIB when you went into Pilgrim Valley," said he. "Why all the concern now?"

"I hate a double crosser," said Tom. "It natcherlly makes me riled."

"Well, you're buckin' some powerful gents, my son. Take the advice of an old campaigner. Slick does it in this country. Don't go around announcin' your intentions. Just sing low until you're ready to slam in with the artillery."

"Fine to say," grunted Tom. "But do you realize they's a girl bein' held somewhere in those hills? By the Lord Harry, it ain't nothin' to smile about! That's what gripes me. I'd kill somebody for that."

The sheriff stared long and intently at Tom Lilly. His forehead wrinkled thoughtfully and he removed his pipe, tapping it against the grating. "Wherever she is, nobody's treatin' her too bad. Them boys ain't forgot they're gentlemen—of a sort."

"What boys?" demanded Lilly.

The sheriff merely grinned. Lilly stood up. "Say, you seem to know a powerful lot. When do I get tried for this awful crime I didn't commit?"

"Soon enough," said the sheriff. "As for knowin' things, I'll admit it. That's why I hold my job. You have to mingle politics with duty in this country, Red."

Lilly heard him creaking down the stairs and call to somebody in the street. A short while after a rider cantered southward from the town—Lilly saw him go from the back window of his cubicle. The sheriff, too, got aboard his sorrel and ambled leisurely away from the smothering heap that was Powder. The day droned along; night came and with it the sounds of reviving pleasure. Supper came. The piano in Jake Miner's place sent forth its stuttering off-key harmony. Boots clumped across the sheriff's office below him. Evidently that worthy was back from his ride. Lilly rolled an after supper cigarette and reflected on many things. Considering the seriousness of the charge placed against him, it seemed the sheriff maintained a mighty friendly attitude toward him; nor did he seem greatly exercised at the thought of Jill Breck having disappeared. There was mystery behind this. Was the man in league with Trono? On the surface it appeared so, but Lilly could not imagine double-dealing behind the sheriffs square, frank face.

Darkness had long since fallen. Below, there was a murmuring of voices, two or three of them. Then the stairway squealed under a heavy body and a vague shadow appeared beyond the grating. A key scraped the lock and a soft voice—a voice that had a sweet and laughing timber to it—floated inward.

"Yeh. The sheriff said this was where he kept his star boarder. Iron bars do not a prison make! Shore enough. Mister Lilly would you be so kind as to step forth where I c'n shock myself with yore unholy mug oncet more?"

Lilly sprang up, checking a shout of delight. Joe Breedlove! Pattipaws then, had delivered his message. He shoved the door open and with an effort spoke casually. "You old wampus cat."

"Yeh. Same to yuh an' many of them. It shorely seems natcheral—me gittin' yuh outa jail oncet more. I'm allus giftin' yuh outa some mess." A firm hand closed on his shoulder. Breedlove's tall, square body stooped toward him. "I'm a man o' peace. I hate to fight. But here I am, now who do I shoot?"

"Easy, boy. What'd you do with the sheriff?"

"Oh, Moses an' I sorter sauntered in like we wanted to converse with him an' gits the drop. He's down talkin' religion to Moses now. Only it's hard fer a gent to talk with his hands tied."

"You brought the boys along?"

"Eight simple-minded men o' the open spaces. We rolled our blankets five minutes after yore telegram come. Hopped a freight at the water tank an' had a right nice journey. Railroad men c'n be awful accommodatin', when they got to be. The Injun was at the Junction waitin' fer us. Guess he knew all about yuh, fer he leads us thisaway. I left the boys outside so nobody'd get excited."

Lilly groped down the stairway and opened a door into a side room. A lantern emitted feeble rays through its smudgy shield, revealing the sheriff neatly tied to a chair and a sad-faced, loose-jointed person standing near him, speaking in polite solemnity about the weather. The sheriff seemed not to mind his position; he grinned with cheerful humor when Tom Lilly entered.

"I was wonderin' when your party would arrive," said he. "Better turn down that lantern a little. Somebody might peek in that door."

"Huh?" asked Lilly. "How did you know I asked for help?"

"Shucks, man, give me a little credit. Ever' time a sparrow ketches a worm in Robey County I know it. How? That's my own business. What's your next move?"

"Now look here," interrupted Lilly. "Explain yoreself. I don't arrive at you atall. Are you for me or agin me? If yore for me, why did you put me in the jug? If yore agin me, what's the idea o' actin' as if you'd found yore long lost brother?"

"I'm for justice. Red. That's a-plenty. But sometimes I've got to use devious means to arrive at it. Now, I pinched you to keep Trono and his fine assassins from tyin' you to a tree, which they honed to do. As for lookin' proud in these close-embracin' folds of rope, what good would it do me to cuss? You got me. Now go on an' peddle your papers. Though I'm more'n half glad you rustled up some good men."

"Don't it beat hell?" grunted Lilly. Joe Breedlove was smiling, his tall, husky frame slightly bent over. His was the countenance of a man well disposed toward the world; from his sandy yellow hair downward he made a picture of an easy-going, shrcwdly-observant character. Sadness had touched Joe Breedlove; he had never had a home. Once, he had seen himself double-hitched and running his own small ranch. But that was only a memory now. Out of all this he could still smile that sweet, charitable smile, looking at the world with eyes that were sometimes thoughtful, but never embittered.

The sheriff seemed to find him worth studying. "Tell that red- headed friend of yours how it is when you get a chance. You savvy, don't you?"

Breedlove nodded. "Uhuh. Tom might, too, if he wa'n't such a dog-goned ser'ous nature. Y' see, he's all fight."

"So I can see. Well, where you bound for now?'"

"I'm goin' to rake Pilgrim Valley with a fine comb," said Tom Lilly.

"It's plumb empty," replied the sheriff. "Turn your attention to the 3Cross. You'll find something interesting there."

"Well, by the Lord Harry," exploded Tom, "if you know that much, why haven't you collected a posse and gone after 'em?"

"Because I couldn't find ten men I could trust. Somebody'd squeal and when I got to the rancho I wouldn't find a thing."

"Well, we'll surprise 'em this time," said Tom. "You better come along."

"Nope," objected the sheriff. "There might be some violence done and I'd have to take official cognizance of it. What I don't see I don't know. Just tie me tighter in this chair an' shove me in the corner. Then turn out the light, lock the door and be on your way. Good luck."

Joe Breedlove, chuckling, stepped forward to do as the sheriff asked. The two exchanged glances, they understood each other quite well, for they were of the same type. "I'd admire to drink with yuh some day," said Breedlove.

"Well, that goes double," replied the sheriff. "When your vacation in the hills is finished drop back."

Lilly shook his head. "You shore beat me, Sheriff. Well, let's be goin'." They slid out of the office and, hidden by the shadows, ducked through an alley to the back of the town. A hundred yards off they collided with a waiting party. Muffled words of greeting floated upward, the rough and apparently unemotional talk of men glad to see another.

"Here's the ol' hoss."

"Drunk er sober? Hey, remember when we had t' pull him outen that scrape at Box Canyon?"

"He don't git no tamer."

Lilly fired back. "Same old pack of gossipin' gran-ma's. Hope you brought yore tattin' along."

They had journeyed into the country without horses or gear. Yet here they stood, eight of them, each mounted, and with an extra animal for Lilly. Mounting and leading away to the south, he put a puzzled question. "Where'd you collect these scarecrows from, Joe?"

"Why, we borrowed 'em from the town's stable. The gent in charge is out in one o' them empty sheds, reflectin' over the sinfulness o' this world."

There was a suppressed chuckle. The H-H crew was having a glorious vacation. Lilly settled into a stiff pace and led them toward the 3Cross. "Well, have a good time while you can, amigos. There's shootin' work ahead. Don't forget it." Leather creaked and spurs jingled. A black veil shrouded the sky and left the world in utter darkness. Somewhere, a coyote sent forth his quavering, lonesome cry; the smell of sage was in the night breeze.

"Ease up," said Lilly in a muffled voice. The cavalcade dropped to a slow walk, crawling southward. "We're pretty close to the 3Cross now. I can smell it."

"Do we pay 'em a visit or a surprise?" whispered Joe Breedlove.

"A surprise. It's a fightin' game now, Joe. I want you to take four of the boys and corral the bunkhouse. I'll picket a couple around the house an' one at the barn. Me, I'm goin' in to find this horse-faced Englishman and pluck his eyebrows out, one at a time."

"Sounds bad," murmured Breedlove; he was chuckling. "The boys'll enjoy this little holiday."

Blacker shadows in the thin, morning air. Lilly halted, the cavalcade colliding with him. Soft warning ran from man to man and there was a slight groaning of leather and the muffled sound of hands sliding across holsters. "We walk from here," announced Lilly. "Joe, I'll give you five minutes to get that bunkhouse located. When yore ready, let out a whoop and a shot as warnin' to me."

They slid down, leaving the horses. Indian file, they slouched forward behind Lilly until the ranch-house barred their way. Silently, Joe Breedlove touched the four nearest men and, together they disappeared. Lilly whispered directions to the remaining three and waited until they had slipped off before advancing across the porch of the house. As with all Westerners, Stubbins scorned to lock his doors and Lilly raised the latch and opened the portal an inch at a time. A single coal gleamed in the fireplace; stale pipe smoke filled the room. Lilly groped his way over the rug-strewn floor, touched a table and stopped to orient himself. This room was quite silent; but he heard the heavy snoring of a man come out of some near-by room. He skirted a chair, entered what felt like a hallway to his exploring fingers and stopped at a sudden opening. The sleeping fellow's breath rose and fell, alternately sibilant and droning. A heavy sleeper, this one. Lilly felt certain it was Stubbins and moved over the threshold, approaching the bed. There was a window directly beyond the bed and by the patch of gray shadow relieving the opaque dark of the room he saw the crooked figure sprawled beneath the blankets.

Closer he dared not go. So he rested, bringing up his gun and waiting for the signal from Joe Breedlove. Treacherous silence pervaded the 3Cross. The sleeping figure strangled and turned, relapsing to a more normal breathing.

The signal changed all this. There was a high, "Eee-yippy- yippy-yip!" and the flat explosion of a revolver. A door was smashed in and instantly a dozen voices and another gun shot answered the challenge. Lilly had no opportunity to follow Joe Breedlove's fortunes; his own man had risen bolt upright in bed, silhouetted by the gray patch of the window, and was swearing broadly. "What's that—what's that?" he grumbled. A better comprehension came to him when Lilly stepped up, speaking in a soothing voice. "You stand fast, brother Stubbins. I recognize that beef-eatin' accent. Boost yore hands. Boost 'em!"

The bed springs screeched. Stubbins flung himself backward and smote the woolen head of his couch with terrific force. Lilly saw a hand go around in a semicircle and knew the man was reaching for his gun. He brought the barrel of his own weapon down, smashing Stubbins across the head. Thereupon, the master of the 3Cross grunted and temporarily passed from the scene. Lilly's exploring hand reached and appropriated Stubbins' gun and holster hanging on the bed post.

A rear door opened with a clatter and boots came tramping down the hallway. A voice said, "Hey, Stubbins! What the hell—?"

He was pouring words through the bedroom door; but his senses told him something was wrong and he drew back with a challenge. "Who's that there? Speak up or I'll plug yuh!"

"Same to you, brother," announced Lilly and stepped aside into a deeper patch of darkness. An orange-purple flame ran out and was met by another; a water jar trembled in its bowl, the acrid odor of burnt powder swirled high. A gun dropped, a body slid down with a surprising sigh. Somewhere to the rear a Chinaman's voice was flinging weird, wild words about like so many pitched knives. Over this bedlam he heard the drawling voices of one of his own men, Moses. "Well, how's it stand?"

"I plugged somebody," announced Lilly. "The main guy is here on the bed where I plastered him."

"Fifty-fifty," announced Moses in a bored tone. "I ketched me a person at the front door. Seems like he was on guard, but I reckon he fell asleep till the noise jarred him some. He's chewin' at the knots I took in him. Say, that Chink is apt to bust a lung if he don't take a few cinches in them gosh-awful words."

"Light up," said Lilly. "I think Joe's rounded his critters."

He had followed the sound of struggle in the bunk-house but intermittently during his own activity; and by now the shots had ceased and there was only the hum of voices like the buzzing of bees in a disturbed hive. Breedlove sent his gay announcement across the yard. "Say what, Tommy."

"Good enough here."

"Well, what'll I do with these boys? Never saw so many punchers fer one ranch. I count fifteen."

"Hobble 'em an' come over."

Moses had found and lighted a lamp in the main room. He carried it into the bedroom and inspected the man Lilly had dropped at the door. Blood streamed down his face, but it seemed to be something less than a mortal wound. Moses put the lamp on the floor and ran an investigating finger over the fellow's head. "He's grazed, Tom. Sorter knocked him cuckoo. I'll put a han'k'chuff aroun' it an' he'll be good enough."

Stubbins on the bed, was coming out of his enforced sleep; coming out in a fighting mood, twitching his arms. Lilly waited until the Englishman opened his eyes and shook the mists clear of his head. Anger glinted in the pale blue eyes as he stared toward Lilly. "What's this confounded banditry about?" he growled. "I shall hold you for this, friend. I'll have your scalp for it, believe me."

"What have you done with Jill Breck?" demanded Lilly.

"Oh—that's it, eh? It would please you to find out, wouldn't it? Well, she's not here, Red. She's far away." Then it seemed to occur to him that he had forgotten himself. "Why, you damn pup, you know well enough where she is! I'll have you back in jail within six hours. Watch you hang, too, by Godfrey!"

"Yore out of date," said Lilly. "Things have happened since you went to sleep. Yore gang is hog-tied. I've got a posse here that'll string you to a tree if you lie to me. Time's past for foolin'. I've got enough on you this minute to send you to the pen."

"What's that?"

"Some of the JIB boys have been tellin' tales," offered Lilly. "Some of the JIB cows have been found in yore herds, too. We know Jill Breck's been here. Now, you talk turkey an' talk fast."

It was all guess work, but based on good evidence. Lilly watched the Englishman's face settle and to further upset the man he ordered him up and into the main room where Joe Breedlove and three or four of the H-H crew were lounging. "It's all off with you, Stubbins. You tell the truth. We've got six men who'll turn state's evidence against you. Where's Jill Breck?"

"What if I tell?"

"You'll get an even break," promised Lilly.

"What if I don't tell?" shot back Stubbins, his thin mouth disappearing beneath the great nose.

"You'll be hung in an hour."

"Eh? Oh, no. You wouldn't dare that. I'm too big a man in this country."

"So? Say, when this leaks out there won't be a man, woman or dog in Robey County but what won't want to take a piece out of yore hide. No, you ain't got a foot to stand on. Now, where's Jill Breck?"

Stubbins thrust a long, cool glance around at the H-H men, then rose and filled one of the pipes on the mantel. Behind a cloud of tobacco smoke he deliberated. For all his villainy, there was something in the man to evoke admiration. Here he stood, with all his plans crashing down around his head, with three or four grave charges against him—charges that would inevitably lead him to the penitentiary or worse; he had no means of knowing whether this posse would take his life or not, or if they let him go, whether an outraged county would be as lenient. Still, he smoked imperturbably, as if deciding no more important a thing than whether or not to hire another hand for his ranch.

"Yore house is made of cards," broke in Lilly. "As long as old Breck lived, he and you could buffalo this county. But it's too big a job for you alone. A dozen good men can bust any sort of range piracy, and we're goin' to bust you. Times are changin', amigo. You'll change with 'em or go down."

Fretfulness invaded the horsey face. "Damn the man," said Stubbins testily. "Damn Trono. He was the one I always mistrusted. You can't play with a bullheaded fool. Now, he shouldn't have brought—" There he stopped, finishing the sentence to himself.

"Anybody's a fool to trail along with Trono," broke in Lilly. "He'll saddle murder to you yet."

"What's that?" demanded Stubbins, jerking up his head. "Murder—murder?"

"It's the kind he is," replied Lilly. "I know him. He'll go bugs an' shoot anything in sight."

Stubbins appeared to be seeing unwelcome visions. "Ay, I know that. Look, what do you mean by an even break?"

"Stolen goods returned and no questions asked."

"Ah. What goods?"

"Jill Breck for one. Later Joe and I will hold a roundup of yore stock and pick JIB critters."

"And no tales told!"

"None but what naturally leak out, amigo. Of course, yore goin' to lose some of them nice cut-throats you've got hired. Joe's goin' to see that they get started north after breakfast. I'll send the JIB bunch over to you, seein' they're yore men anyhow. Now, let's shorten this palaver."

"Devil," muttered Stubbins. He shot a glance at Lilly. "My boy, you ain't scarin' me, understand? I do this of my own conscience. No man's big enough to scare me."

"Have it yore own way," said Lilly. Joe Breedlove dropped a wink at his partner, which Lilly answered.

"Well, then, Trono took Jill Breck, the night before lost. I told him to stop at a line rider's cabin." He marched to a book case and found a map of the country, running his finger along its surface and pointing for Lilly's benefit. "There you are. It's twenty miles southeast. In the fringe of rock and trees. Welcome, my lad."

"And you let that lout take her off!" cried Lilly, his temper rising. "If she's harmed I'll kill you for it!"

Stubbins returned a hard, obstinate stare, growing red around his heavy neck. He was about to make some rousing answer when he caught Joe Breedlove's usually mild eyes anchored on him with such an intent, weighing glance that he forebore. Instead, he asked a question.

"You mean to kill him?"

"One of us goes down," retorted Lilly.

"It's all the same to me," said Stubbins. "You or him." With that he dropped in a chair and smoked furiously.

"Moses," said Lilly, "find me a fresh horse." He walked into the pale light of false dawn, Joe Breedlove close behind. The big man's arm rested lightly on Lilly's shoulder.

"Well, this is yore fight, Red, so I ain't goin'. But watch yore rear. An' say, yuh wouldn't have hung Stubbins, even if he'd refused to talk."

"I guess not," said Lilly, "but I shore would've done somethin'. He's slick, that boy. Know why he told on Trono? Because he knew one of us won't come back, which is just right for him."

"Like hell it is," growled Breedlove. Moses was returning with a saddled paint horse. "If yuh don't show up in five-six hours, Mr. Stubbins is like to have an accident. Meanwhile, we'll take care o' this crew."

Lilly swung up, gripped Joe's outstretched arm, and spurred away. Dawn was just below the eastern rim; toward it he traveled, going as fast as the horse would stand.

The sun rose in its arc, glowered from zenith, and fell westward, growing more wrathful, more sultry. The vast plain shimmered under the heat and above the undulating barren spaces queer, phantasmic shapes formed and dissolved. To all this Tom Lilly was unconscious. He traveled with Stubbins' map firmly fixed in his head, and an unreasoning hatred in his heart. It was Trono, always Trono who interposed his unlovely, killer's face into the images that passed and re-passed Tom Lilly's vision. Trono was a bad Indian; and never would be a good one until dead. Where had the man got all this vindictiveness of spirit? What could he hope to profit from his course of lawlessness? Well, he was an outlaw by nature; made the more so by his training under old Jim Breck in the days when the Octopus had given him hard chores to do. Evidently, he had formed connections with Stubbins—probably would be a chief heir of the looting of the JIB.

"Even if there wasn't a cent to be made he'd be a renegade, though," opined Lilly. Reviewing the course of events he slapped one hand against the saddle skirts, saying, "It's him or me. If he's laid one o' his dirty paws on Jill—"

He could not, for all the glaring sun, keep her clear oval face from his eyes. She was like no other woman he had ever known. Old Jim Breck had given her a good measure of his sturdy spirit and some of his uncomplaining fortitude. Never, in that long night of flight, had she whimpered. Never had she traded on the fact that she was a woman; seemed, in fact, reluctant to admit that she couldn't do all a man could do. And she had smiled at him in such a manner when she rolled up in the blankets, the rosy color tinging her cheeks and some unfathomable emotion moving in the sleepy eyes.

He swerved, climbed the bench on his left and presently was threading his way among the pines. Shade here, but no coolness. He struck a trail that slanted upward into deeper recesses of the forest and of a sudden all things immaterial to the chase left his head. The tracks of two horses were in the sandy course before him. Not fresh tracks, but recent enough to still show a clear imprint. These he followed, resorting to trailing tactics, for he had followed men before and understood their slyness.

At intervals he left the trail and dived into the trees, going a hundred yards or more before reappearing. Sometimes, confronted by a barrier of rock or deadfall, he made a considerable detour and came to a halt, sweeping the vistas, listening for out of the way sounds. But the forest was silent, save for the drone of heat and small insects. So, he pushed on until his eyes saw a thinning of the pines directly ahead and when he dismounted and crawled forward flat on his stomach, he saw a miniature meadow in which sat a cabin and a small corral. Lush grass stood ankle-high; a small path was beaten through it from the trees to the door. And on the threshold of the door, squatted down like a massive, sullen spider, was Theed Trono. The sun slanted against his face, bringing into bold relief the cleft chin, the columnar neck; shaded by the wide hat-brim his upper features were obscured. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth and he played idly with his lariat, making loops on the ground.

He seemed so much off guard, so little expecting danger that Tom Lilly tarried a while in his covert, shooting glances to all corners of the clearing, seeking some manner of a trap. But though he waited a good ten minutes, he could find nothing to justify his caution. The girl was not to be seen; doubtless she was inside the cabin.

He parted the grass before him, gun forward, and rose to one knee. "Trono," said he, in a quiet voice, "you'll stay right there. Hoist yore hands."

Trono's body stiffened. The hand holding the lariat stopped its circular movement and the Stetson jerked upward, revealing the flash of his green eyes. By and by he dropped the rope and hunched his shoulders, moving his big arms above his head. Lilly stepped from his shelter and walked half way across the meadow. The burly one watching him from half closed eyes; an almost lifeless tone emerged from his enormous chest—the tone of a man discouraged and defeated.

"Knew yuh'd git here soon er late. Shore a persistent fella, ain't yuh, Red?"

"Expectin' me?"

"Yeh." The green eyes flared. "I've had too much time to think. Thinkin' ain't good fer a critter. A fack. Bust outa jail?"

"That's right," agreed Lilly, watching his man closely "No fooling, now. You know what I'll do."

"I reckon," said Trono, wearily. "Nex' time Stubbins c'n do his own chores. What a hell of a time I've had. Well, le's git this over with."

Looking beyond the man, Lilly saw Jill Breck half-risen, dimly visible, in the semi-darkness of the cabin. He saw some movement of her lips and shook his head at her; whereupon she disappeared, leaving him with his great problem. Trono was smiling slightly. "Don't yuh know what to do with me, kid?"

"I see trouble in yore face, Trono. Turn around, face against the logs. I came here to get you—bear it in mind, amigo. If you want to take the chance, all right. I'm just warnin' you."

Trono turned, muttering, "Oh, I've had plenty. I been thinkin' Stubbins double crossed me. What would I do with this gal, anyhow? Ain't it a hell of a chore fer a man? Him a-sittin' back an' lettin' me run the danger. No, I won't raise a rumpus. I'm a- goin' back with you an' turn state's evidence on that beef- eatin', mealy-mouth fool. A fack."

"Change of heart, eh?" grunted Lilly, moving closer, distrusting all this talk. Trono was a bundle of dynamite; a vicious cross-grained man who liked to lull an opponent and strike unawares. So he moved cautiously, arm reaching out for Trono's revolver.

"Well, call it that," said Trono, his great body as straight and rigid as he could carry it. The massive shoulders seemed to fill and threaten the seams of his coat. "But what'd happen to me when a posse got on my trail? I'll go with yuh, an' be thankful it ain't a worse proposition. That gun don't slide out easy, Red. Pull hard. Oh, pull harder!"

Lilly, his fingers touching Trono's gun felt the big body tremble. He had jammed his own weapon into Trono's back. But the feeling came over him all of a sudden that the man meant to make a play; desperate as the case was, Trono had decided to fight. And so, dropping his fingers, Lilly stepped back. Trono waited an instant then swung about. The change in his face was striking. Sweat poured down his swart cheeks and the glitter of evil was in those green, sparkling eyes. Once more he carried the high, triumphant, gloating grin.

"Nerve a-failin' yuh, Red? Caught on to my leetle trick, eh? All right, I'm a-tellin' yuh, I won't go."

"I can't shoot you in the back, Trono," said Lilly. "And I'd have to if you turned on me like that."

"I knew yuh didn't have no nerve," said Trono. "What yuh goin' to do?"

Lilly nodded his head. "Walk over there ten yards. I'll give you an even break."

"Fight it square?" bellowed Trono.

"Fight it square, or drop yore gun belt," announced Lilly.

Trono, without a word, backed away from the log house and stopped. "Red, I shore take my hat off to yuh. But I ain't goin to go back, see? Say when."

"Drop yore arms, slow, until they're to yore belt. All right, that's good. Now I'm puttin' my gun in the holster. We're even." Lilly's hand rose clear of the gun butt. "Last warnin', amigo. You'd better give in."

Trono only shook his head. He was a sinister figure, this man, with his thin lips but a white line in the dark face and the nostrils contracted from inner excitement. Beads of sweat stood out on his upper lip; he was swaying slightly, leaning forward, arms spreading away from his body. Lilly felt the full impact of that deadly gaze and there flashed across his mind the picture of a rattlesnake coiled and about to strike. Trono the killer stood forth in full panoply.

"No signal," said Lilly. His own nerves had jangled a moment and then stopped. He was cold—very cold in this bright sun- drenched clearing. Cold with the premonition of death. All his senses focused themselves on the bulky figure ten yards away; he heard nothing but the drone of his own words; saw nothing but a patch of Trono's shirt where his eyes had centered; felt nothing but the flexing of his right arm. "No signal," he repeated. "Go to it when yore ready."

The world was remote. Time ceased to be. Trono seemed to grow larger, bulk tremendously against the light. The patch of shirt wrinkled and the man's right arm dropped. Lilly had no notion what his own gun arm was doing; it appeared to be detached from whatever mental motor guided it. Fretfully, he wondered why he wasn't matching that swift, cat-like draw. The blue metal barrel gleamed in the afternoon sun. As from a distance he heard a heavy explosion—no, there was a double explosion and instantly the world and all its bustling noises, its cheerful warmth, its grateful light, flooded back. Trono was squinting across the space, the tip of his gun slightly deflected. Lilly, watching the weapon with a queer fascination, saw it dip, jerk upward, and dip again. It dropped to the ground and Trono began to droop. The starch of life was going out of him; quite slowly at first he sagged, then, as if his will power had snapped, he collapsed and lay sprawled, face turned toward Lilly. His thin lips were fashioning words.

"I'll cash my chips, mister. Yuh c'n never tell—what a redhead will do."

He was dead. It seemed altogether ridiculous to Lilly until he looked down and saw his own gun in his hand. Why, he never knew he had drawn, never had felt the recoil of firing! He returned it to his holster and in a moment of thoughtfulness extended his arm to full length. It seemed ice-cold; not a tremor moved his fingers.

"Tom Lilly didn't fire that shot," he murmured. "I guess the Lord shorely is providin' protection."

Jill Breck's voice issued from the cabin, high and electrical. "Red—Red, did he touch you?"

Tom was at the door at one stride. "Lord bless you, no. I'm a fool meant for a different end. Why, what's the matter with you?" Rage jumbled his words together. "Did that swine hurt you?"

Her voice was of a sudden faint. For a moment he saw only an outline in the semi-darkness. "No, Red. I'm all right. All right. But he's kept me tied to this bunk most of the time."

His eyes, becoming accustomed to the shadows, saw that she was half sitting, half lying on the bunk. Her feet were loosely tied to the frame and her hands were bound behind her. She could move two or three feet, no more. Lilly got his knife and cut the rope, his hand beginning to tremble. Her arms went around him and he lifted her up as if she were an invalid. It was then his opportunity came and again his guiding angel helped him to do something that he would never have been able to do otherwise. In short, he kissed her, called her "Jill kid!"

Her body quivered. She was saying over and over again, "I thought you'd never come. I knew you would, but it was so long waiting. It was so long waiting!"

Dusk had settled around the 3Cross. Close harmonies emerged from the bunkhouse, that is to say, harmonies as close as the ensembled voices of the happy H-H crew could manage. It had been a full day and a satisfying one; now they reclined on alien bunks, sustained by 3Cross chuck. In the main house Joe Breedlove was playing a close game of checkers with Lancelot Stubbins, his mild eyes holding no greater care than a concern for the next move. Stubbins seemed to have forgotten his own tangled, troubled affairs. Pipe smoke curled high in the room and the mellow light of the fireplace shimmered over the floor. Remington's bighorn looked down from his high perch with a smug, defiant glance of safety.

"Checkers," observed Joe Breedlove, "is a pastime from which due observations regardin' life might be made. Yuh advance, then yuh stop. Mebbe yuh are taken. But yuh don't go back unless yuh reach the king row. Same in a man's life—only they ain't no king row."

"Mr.," said Lancelot Stubbins. "D'ye know, you're a queer cuss."

"It's been told me before," replied Joe, "only in less elegant terms. Don't I hear hawsses?"

He abandoned his game and went to the door. And when he saw Jill and Tom advancing out of the night he began to smile that rare, sweet smile. He saw them dismount and observed the careful manner in which Lilly lifted down the girl. At that he turned back. "Guess JIB will have good management from now on."

The pair came into the room. Tom Lilly walked straight over to Stubbins. "I'll keep my promise, amigo. Yore free as the air. But I'm yore nex' door neighbor from now on and you'll shoot square with the JIB."

"I guess," said Joe, "us boys won't have much more to do in these parts."

"Oh yes, you will," replied Tom. "Yore goin' to conduct a roundup on 3Cross an' ketch JIB critters. Also I'll be needin' a man to go to Powder an', have the sher'ff come out. He'll find Trono in the line rider's cabin."

"Is that all?" asked Joe.

"No, you son o' Satan, it ain't. Yore hired permanent as foreman o' the JIB. I'd like the boys to stay with us, too. We got to run the present crew off the range. Then we got to make a skookum ranch of it. What'd you do with Mr. Stubbins' men?"

Stubbins slammed down the handful of checkers he carried and rose, exploding a brief word. "Ran them to the county line, by Gad!"

"Fair enough."

"Is that all?" persisted Joe, smiling.

Tom Lilly looked to Jill soberly; she had nothing to say. "Well, you can be best man," he replied.

Joe's arm fell across his partner's shoulder. Nothing was said, but a glance passed between the two of them such as only loyal abiding friends would exchange.