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Chapter	Two

“WHASH I need gun fer?” demanded Preston, half resentful of his brother’s precaution.

“Sure you don’t, but you might if you had one,” replied Range, with a grin. “Anyway, Ash, you’re shootin’ off your chin enough. I tell you this fellar’s a stranger to us.”

The younger rider had been bending his intent, clear gaze upon Rock and had formed conclusions.

“Whash the hell we care? He’s Big Hat, an’ I’m a-goin’ to chase him pronto.”

Thiry Preston stepped out as if impelled, yet she was evidently clamped with fear. Rock was learning a good deal, but could not determine if her fear was on his account or on her brother’s. Rock, swift in his impressions, conceived instant cold suspicion of this Ash Preston. He thought, for Thiry’s sake, he had better make as graceful an exit as possible.

“Please, Ash, be decent if you can’t be a gentleman,” begged Thiry.

For answer Preston lurched by Thiry and swept out a long slow arm, with open hand, aimed at Rock’s face. But Rock dodged, and at the same time stuck out his foot dexterously. The rider, his momentum unchecked, tripped and lost his balance. He fell slowly, helplessly, and striking on his shoulder he rolled over in the dirt. He sat up, ludicrously, and wiping the dust off his cheek he extended a long arm, with shaking hand, up at Rock.

“Shay, you hit me, fellar.”

“Preston, you’re quite wrong. I didn’t,” replied Rock.

“Whash you hit me with?” he went on, sure that indignity had been committed upon him. Plain it was that his presence there on the ground was sufficient proof.

“I didn’t hit you with anythin’.”

“Range, is thish hyar Big Hat lyin’ to me?”

“Nope. You jest fell over him,” returned the younger rider, laconically.

“Ash, you’re so drunk you can’t stand up,” interposed Thiry.

“Wal, stranger, I’m ’ceptin’ your apology.”

“Thanks. You’re sure considerate,” returned Rock, with sarcasm. He was not used to total restraint and he could not remember when any man had jarred him so. Turning to the girl, he said: “I’ll go. Good-by, Miss Preston.”

With his back to the brothers Trueman made his eyes speak a great deal more than his words. The dullest of girls would have grasped that he did not mean good-by forever. Thiry’s response to his gaze was a silent one of regret, of confusion, of something more of which she was unconscious.

Rock did not pass the riders. He stepped up on the corral fence, reached the top rail, and vaulted over. Outside he saw men and horses coming, and was glad that they were not in line with him. Thoughts and emotions almost overwhelmed Rock.

“Ash Preston! Bad medicine! And he’s her brother!” muttered Rock, aloud. “Sure as fate we’re goin’ to clash.”

At first he wanted to go off alone somewhere to think, to try and figure out what had happened and what to do about it. He halted on a street corner long enough to see the buckboard, the wagon, and several mounted riders move away briskly toward the south. Rock’s sharp eye picked out Thiry’s white dress and blue bonnet. Amazing and stirring was it to Rock that she turned to look back. She could see him standing there. Quickly the little cavalcade passed out of sight behind trees. Far to the southward rose a dim outline of rugged country, hazed in purple. Rock divined now that always he had been destined to return to this wild range. He broke away from the corner and the spell which had gripped him. What he must have now was information.

He strode back to Sol Winter’s store. The day was hot, and what with brisk exercise and the emotion under which he labored, he was wet with perspiration when he confronted his friend.

“Now, son, what’s happened?” queried Sol, with concern.

“Lord knows. I—don’t,” panted Rock, spilling off his sombrero and wiping his face. “But it’s—a lot.

“True, you took a shine to Thiry Preston. I seen that. No wonder. She’s the sweetest lass who ever struck these parts.”

“Sol, we’ll investigate my—my state of mind last,” replied Rock, ruefully. “Listen. I ran into the Preston outfit.”

“Humph! You don’t look happy over it,” said Winter, bluntly.

“I should smile I’m not. But I only bumped into two of them. Thiry’s brothers, Range and Ash.”

“Ahuh. Hard luck,” replied Winter, pertinently. His tone implied a good deal.

“Think I saw the rest of them as I came away. Sol, I had to jump the fence.”

“No!” exclaimed the storekeeper, unbelievingly.

“I sure did,” said Rock, with a laugh. “Listen.” And he related to his friend all that had occurred at the corral.

“Aw! Too bad for Thiry. She’s always bein’ humiliated. No wonder she comes to town so seldom. Why, Rock, she’s liked by everybody in this town.”

“Liked! Sol, you old geezer, this here town ought to do better than that.... But I sure agree with you. Too bad for Miss Thiry. Oh, she felt hurt. I saw tears run down her cheeks.”

“An’ you took water from that Ash Preston?” mused Winter.

“I sure did. Gee! it felt queer. But I’d taken a beatin’ for that girl.”

“Rock, you have changed. You’re bigger, stronger. You’ve grown——”

“Hold on, Sol. Don’t make me out so much that you’ll have to crawl later. But if I have improved a little I’m thankin’ the Lord.... Sol, I meant to get terrible drunk till that girl stepped in this store.”

“An’ now you don’t?” queried Winter, gladly.

“Hell! I wouldn’t take a drink for a million dollars,” replied Rock, with a ring in his voice. “You should have seen Thiry’s face—have heard her when she said, ‘Ash—you’re drunk.’ ”

“Yes, I know. Thiry hates drink. She has cause. Most of the Prestons are a drinkin’ lot.... But, son, are you serious?”

“I’m serious? I think so,” rejoined Rock, grimly. “What about?”

“Has bein’ with Thiry Preston for a little while changed your idea about red liquor?”

“Sol, it sure has. I don’t know just what’s happened to me, but that you can gamble on.”

“Son, it sounds good. If it isn’t just excitement.—Why, most every young fellar—an’ some older ones—in this country have been struck by lightnin’ when they first seen Thiry. But I can’t see that it did them good. For they drank only the harder. Thiry isn’t to be courted, they say.”

“Struck by lightnin’. Sure that might be it. But never you mind about me. I’m solid on my feet even if my head’s in the clouds.... Tell me things. I want to know all about this Preston outfit.”

“Rock, you’re hot-headed. You fly off the handle,” returned Winter, gravely. “You might give me more trouble with the Prestons. I’ve had considerable.”

“Sol, you can trust me,” said Rock, earnestly. “We’re old friends. I’m back here for good. I’ll absolutely not give you any more trouble. I’m goin’ to help you. So come out with everythin’.”

“Same old Rock,” mused Winter. “No, not the same, either. There’s a difference I can’t name yet. Mebbe it’s a few years.... Wal, this Preston outfit is sure prominent in these parts. They call them ‘The Thirteen Prestons of Sunset Pass.’ It’s a big family. Nobody seems to know where they come from. Anyway, they drove a herd of cattle in here some time after you left. An’ ’ceptin’ Ash Preston, they’re just about the most likable outfit you ever seen. Fact is, they’re like Thiry. So you don’t need to be told more about that. They located in Sunset Pass, right on the Divide. You know the place. An’ it wasn’t long until they were known all over the range. Wonderful outfit with horses and ropes. Fact is, I never saw the beat of Gage Preston for a real Westerner.”

“Go on, Sol. It’s sure like a story to me. What was the trouble you had?”

“They ran up a big bill in my store. The old store, you remember. I taxed the boys about it. Didn’t see Gage along there. Well, it was Ash Preston who raised the hell. He wasn’t drunk then. An’, son, you need to be told that Ash is wild when he’s drunk. When sober he’s—well, he’s different.... Nick was alone in the store. Nick was a spunky lad, you know, an’ he razzed Ash somethin’ fierce. Result was Ash piled the lad in a corner an’ always hated him afterward. Fact is the range talk says Ash Preston hates everybody except Thiry. She’s the only one who can do anythin’ with him.”

“She didn’t do a whole lot today. The drunken——! ... And Nick was shot off his horse out there in Sunset Pass?”

“Yes. An’ I’ve never breathed to anyone my natural suspicion. I think Ash Preston must have killed Nick. They must have met an’ fought it out. Sure it wasn’t murder. Ash would not shoot any man in the back. There were four empty shells, fresh shot, in Nick’s gun.”

“The boy had nerve and he was no slouch with a six-shooter. I wonder——”

“Well, Gage paid the bill first time he came to town. Then for a while he didn’t buy from me. But one day Thiry came in, an’ ever since I’ve sold goods to the Prestons. But none of them save Thiry have ever been in my store since. She does the orderin’ an’ she pays pronto.”

“Ahuh.... Any range talk among the punchers about these Prestons?”

“You mean——”

“Sol, you know what I mean?”

“Well, son, there used to be no more than concerned the Culvers, or Tolls, or Smiths, an’ not so much as used to be about the little outfits down in the woods. You know the range. All the outfits eat one another’s cattle. It was a kind of unwritten code. But, lately, the last two years, conditions have gone on the same, in that way, an’ some different in another. I hear a good deal of complaint about the rustlin’ of cattle. An’ a few dark hints about the Prestons have seeped in to me off the range. Darn few, mind you, son, an’ sure vague an’ untrailable. It might be owin’ to the slow gettin’ rich of Gage Preston. It’s a fact. He’s growin’ rich. Not so you could see it much in cattle, but in land an’ money in bank. I happen to know he has a bank account in Los Vegas. That’s pretty far off, you know, an’ it looks queer to me. Found it out by accident. I buy from a wholesale grocer in Los Vegas. He happened here, an’ in a talk dropped that bit of information. It’s sure not known here in Wagontongue, an’ I’m askin’ you to keep it under your hat.”

“Is Gage Preston one of these lone cattlemen?” queried Rock, thoughtfully.

“Not now, but he sure was once.”

“Who’s he in with now?”

“John Dabb. They own the Bar X outfit. It’s not so much. Dabb has the big end of it. Then Dabb runs a butcher shop. Fact is he undersold me an’ put me out of that kind of business. He buys mostly from Preston. An’ he ships a good many beeves.”

“Ships? Out of town?” asked Rock, in surprise.

“I should smile. They have worked into a considerable business, with prospects. I saw this opportunity years ago, but didn’t have the capital.”

Rock pondered over his friend’s disclosures, trying to reduce them down to something significant. They might be and very probably were perfectly regular transactions. He could never split hairs over deals pertaining to the cattle range. Thiry Preston’s sad face returned to haunt him. Surely she was too young, too healthy and good for marked sadness of expression, such as had struck him forcibly. He felt more than he could explain. This girl had dawned upon him like a glorious sunrise. His perceptions and emotions had been superlatively augmented by he knew not what. He could not be sure of anything except that he vowed to find out why Thiry’s eyes hid a shadow in their gray depths.

“Sol, what do you think about Ash Preston?” asked Rock, coming out of his reverie.

“Well, son, I’m sure curious to ask you that same question,” replied Winter, with humor. “You used to be as wild as they come. You know the range. How did this fellow strike you?”

“Like a hard fist, right in the eye,” acknowledged Rock.

“Ahuh. I’m glad your sojourn in Texas hasn’t dulled your edge,” said Winter, with satisfaction. “Rock, the Prestons are all out of the ordinary. Take Thiry, for instance. How did she strike you?”

Trueman placed a slow heavy hand on the region of his heart, and gazed at his friend as if words were useless.

“Well, I wouldn’t give two bits for you if she hadn’t. Son, I’ve a hunch your comin’ back means a lot.... Wal, to go on—these Prestons are a mighty strikin’ outfit. An’ Ash Preston stands out even among them. He’s a great rider of the range in all pertainin’ to that hard game. He can drink more, fight harder, shoot quicker than any man in these parts. You used to throw a gun yourself, Rock. I’m wonderin’ did you get out of practice in Texas? But Texas, now——”

“Go on,” interrupted Rock, curtly. He was shy on talk about gun-play.

“Excuse me, son. Well, to resoom, Ash Preston is sure the meanest, coldest, nerviest, deadliest proposition you’re likely to stack up against in your life. I just want to give you a hunch, seein’ you went sweet on Thiry.”

“Thanks, old friend. Forewarned is forearmed, you know. The man was drunk when I met him, but I think I grasped a little of what you say.”

Winter evidently found more in this reply to worry him.

“Well, then, you know what the risk is.”

“Sol, what do I care for risks?” burst out Rock, contemptuously.

“True, you always were a sudden cuss, but even so, you could hardly get serious—real serious over Thiry Preston so quick.”

“What you mean—serious?” snapped Rock.

“Sweet on her, I mean,” answered Winter, hesitatingly.

“Sweet on that girl! No! I’ve been sweet on a hundred girls. This is different. I don’t know what. I’ll have to dig into myself and see. But it’s somethin’ terrible. Ten thousand times sweet!”

“Son, you needn’t bite my head off,” protested Winter. “If you want to know, I’m tickled stiff—an’ scared to death. I love that girl. An’ if you haven’t forgot, I was once some fond of you.”

“Sol, I haven’t forgotten,” replied Rock, with warmth. “But don’t you dare ever mention my—my old girl friends. And if you’d dare to tell Thiry I’d murder you.”

“Somebody will tell her, son. For instance, Mrs. John Dabb. She likes Thiry. She’ll tell her. I see them together occasionally.”

“Mrs. John Dabb. She couldn’t know much.”

“I told you she was Amy Wund.”

“Oww!” wailed Rock, bending double.

“Trueman, your trail will sure be rough,” returned Winter, wagging his grizzled head.

“Listen, old friend. There’s only one thing that could stump me. I don’t know what I’m goin’ to do. But I mean there’s only one thing that could queer this—this beautiful dream almost before it starts.”

“An’ what’s that?”

“Tell me. Do you know Thiry real well?”

“Yes, son, an’ I can answer that question so plain in your eyes. Thiry is not in love with anybody. I know, because she told me herself, not so long ago. She loves her family, especially Ash. But there’s no one else.”

“That’ll—help,” replied Rock, swallowing hard. “Now, Sol, I’ll sneak off alone somewhere and try to find out what’s the matter with me—and what to do about it.”

Trueman sallied forth into the sunlight like a man possessed. He did not know whether he was trying to escape from himself or find himself. It had been all very well to talk loftily to Sol Winter, but now that he was out in the open many feelings began to edge into his incomprehensible buoyancy.

He did not notice the heat while he was striding out of town, but when he got to the cedars and mounted a slope to a lonely spot he was grateful for the cool shade. He threw aside coat and sombrero, and lay down on the fragrant mat of cedar needles. How good to be there! He became aware of his labored breathing, of moist, restless hands, of hot face. Excitement was strong upon him.

It would not do to dream—at least not until he had settled things with himself. Rock always went to the loneliness and silence of desert or forest when in any kind of trouble. He had not been in this shady spot for five minutes before the insidious spell of nature prevailed. He could think here. He heard the hum of bees, melodious on the mellow summer air; and the shrill call of a yellowhammer. A jack-rabbit went bobbing by, and there was a rustling of the dry leaves of brush near at hand.

Only one thing had stood in the way of a happy return to Wagontongue, and that had been possibility of a clash with Cass Seward, the sheriff. This now no longer perturbed him. It had been reckless, perhaps foolish, for him to come back, when he had known that the probabilities were that Cass would try to make him show yellow and clap him in jail, because of a shooting affray which Rock had not started. But it had been Rock’s way to come, not knowing; and there certainly had been only a remote chance of his surrendering to Cass. That hazard was past. Rock paid tribute to the dead sheriff, and gladly welcomed the fact that he had a clean slate before him.

That gray-eyed girl Thiry Preston! Here he did surrender. He had been struck through the heart. And all the fight there was seemed directed against himself—a wavering, lessening doubt that he could be as marvelously transformed as he thought. And then, one by one, in solemn procession, there passed before his memory’s eye the other girls he had known, trifled with, liked, or loved. A few stood out brightly. He watched them pass by, out of the shade, it seemed, into the past forever. He had imagined he had cared; he had thought he had suffered. All that had been nothing. Thiry Preston had made them vanish, as if by magic. Trueman did not sentimentalize or argue about it. She was the girl. All his life he had been dreaming of her. To realize she actually lived! Nor did he ask himself any questions about love. Whatever it was, it had been sudden, inevitable, and fearsome only in its premonition of tremendous might.

This was not decision, but a realization and acceptance. Decision had to do with remaining at or near Wagontongue, and it was made the instant the question presented. He would ask Gage Preston for a job riding, and if one was not available he would ask some other cattleman. Not likely was it that any rancher thereabouts would not find a place for Trueman Rock. In such event, however, he could go into the cattle business himself. He had enough money for a good start, and the idea had always appealed to him. Still, he did not want to hurry into that. Range conditions had changed, and no doubt competition was greater. Also sheep-raising had begun to eat its way out over the pastures. Rock had a cattleman’s healthy dislike for sheep. It would be better to start again as he had started there years ago—a poor cowboy. What to do with his money? It had somehow become precious. Always it had been his habit, when he had any money, to carry it on him until he spent it. And that had not been long. This, however, would never do now. He would ask Winter about a safe investment. And as for minor considerations, there seemed to be some reason or other for Trueman to have a couple of thoroughbred horses to go with his showy saddle and the other fine accouterments he had brought with him.

The thought of Ash Preston was disturbing. When Rock, having burned his bridges behind him, tried to give up to the trance-like memory of Thiry, this wild brother obtruded his evil fame and person to spoil it. Rock had a premonition that he would have trouble with Preston, but he deliberately refused to harbor it. He absolutely must not fight with Thiry’s brother. There might be ways to propitiate Ash, and Rock promised himself that he would go far. But if he could not get along with Ash he could keep out of his way. Fortunately, it was not likely that the range would ever believe True Rock shied from meeting any man. Rather it had been that he had gone out of his way to meet men. Had he not come back to Wagontongue ignorant of Seward’s death? He had always intended to return.

At length Rock left the cedar nook and started to retrace his steps. He had come quite high up the slope, and he could see the town below, and beyond it, to the south. Wagontongue had grown considerably, and from this vantage-point it looked promising. Some day it would grow into an important center.

Far to the south, across a belt of gray desert, rose the range country. It looked its reputation. It rolled away to east and west, far as eye could see, an empire for cattlemen, needing only water to make it a paradise. Capital and labor would some day bring that vast land to its limit of production.

Folding down over the range at its southern line lay the purple broken highlands of rock and gorge and forest, and above these rose the black mountains, not peaked, but wave on wave of great flat domes limned against the blue. The scene caused Trueman to draw a deep breath. He could not discern Sunset Pass from that point, but he saw the bulge of mountains into which it opened to the west.

Rock returned to town and Winter’s store. His friend was busy with customers, so Rock betook himself towards the hotel. A young woman, coming out of Dabb’s large establishment, almost ran into Rock. It might have been his fault, because he was lost in thought. He tried to avoid her, but she did not make a like effort.

“Excuse me,” he said, touching his hat.

“True Rock—aren’t you going to speak to me?” she burst out.

He knew the voice, the face, too, the dark, sparkling, astonished eyes. But who was this holding out both gloved hands?

“True—don’t you know me?” she asked, with mingled reproach and gayety. “It’s Amy.”

Indeed it was. Amy Wund, older, fuller of figure, with dark flushed face and roguish eyes. She was richly and fashionably dressed, and that fact, somehow, put surprise and confusion far from Rock.

“Why, Mrs. Dabb, this is a surprise!” he said, doffing his sombrero, and bowing over her hand. “I’m sure glad to see you.”

“Mrs. Dabb? Not Amy?” she rejoined, with captivating smile and look Rock found strangely familiar.

“Some one told me you were married to my old boss, John Dabb,” said Rock, easily.

“Yes, it’s true, but you can call me Amy, as you used to.”

Rock smiled, but did not avail himself of the gracious privilege. “You sure look well and fine. And prosperous, too?”

She did not like his penetrating gaze and his slow, cool speech.

“True, I can return the compliment. You are handsomer than ever.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t look your years, cowboy.”

“Am I so ancient? I plumb forget.”

“True, you’re not glad to see me,” she rejoined, almost petulantly.

“Why, sure I am! Glad you’re settled and happy and——”

“Happy! Do I look that?” she interrupted, bitterly.

“If my memory’s any good you look as gay and happy as ever.”

“Your memory is bad—about that—and other things.... Trueman, have you come back on a visit?”

“No; I aim to stay. I always was comin’ back.”

“If you only had come!” she sighed and looked eloquently up at him. “I’m glad—terribly glad you’re going to stay. We must be good friends again, True. You’ll come to see me—ride with me—like you used to. Won’t you?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Dabb wouldn’t like that. He never had any use for me.”

“It doesn’t matter what he likes,” returned the young woman, impatiently. “Say you will, Trueman. I’m horribly lonesome.”

Rock remembered that Amy had always been a flirt, but he had imagined she would change after marriage. Evidently she had not changed. It was rather a melancholy moment for him, realizing that he could no more dangle after her than fly, and he was sorry for her and wished to spare her discomfiture.

“I’ll call on you and John sometime,” he replied, with all friendliness.

“Me and—John! ... Well, your long absence in Texas hasn’t made you any brighter. I dare say it hasn’t changed you any—about girls, either.”

“No?” he drawled.

“I saw you with Thiry Preston,” she went on, spitefully. “At your old tricks, cowboy!”

“Did you? I don’t call it old tricks to carry a few bundles for a girl,” replied Rock, stiffly. It annoyed him to feel the blood heat his face.

“Bundles, rot!” she retorted. “I saw you through a window and anybody could have read your mind.”

“Indeed! Could you read it?”

“I sure did.”

“Well, if you’re such a mind-reader, what am I thinkin’ about now?”

“It’s not flattering to me—I have that hunch,” she snapped. “Oh, I know you, True Rock, inside and out. You’ve lost your head pronto over Thiry Preston.”

“I’m not denyin’ it, am I?”

“You’re flaunting it like a red flag right in my face. Well, I’m telling you, cowboy, that this once you’ve lost your head for nothing. Thiry Preston will have none of you. I know her. She is not your kind. She’s cold as ice to every cowboy on this range. Heaven knows, they’ve run after her.”

“Thanks for that last news, anyhow,” he responded, dryly.

She was searching the very depths of him, her eyes keen with jealous intuition.

“More. Thiry Preston has no use for lovesick cowboys, much less one like you, who’ve been at the beck and call of every girl in the land. And she worships that handsome devil of a brother, Ash.”

“I’d hold it a virtue for a girl to love her brother—whether he was bad or good.”

“Bah! Thiry Preston is queer. Some folks say her love is unnatural.”

“Folks around Wagontongue talk a lot,” returned Rock, significantly. “Sure used to say some unkind things about you.... Good day, Mrs. Dabb,” he concluded, rather coldly, and replacing his sombrero he turned away, not, however, without catching a last angry blaze of her eyes. Could he ever have been in love with that catty woman? But he tried to feel kindly, in spite of vague pain she had aroused. Sober thought acquitted him of any blame for her evident disappointment with life. She had trifled with love; she had never known her own mind; and now she was reaping the tares. She would be his enemy, of that he was full sure, unless he allowed himself once more to be attached to her train. The idea was preposterous. In a few short hours—no, they were hours incalculably long in their power—he had grown past flirting with any woman. Life had suddenly become sweet, strange, full of fears and hopes, something real and poignant, such as he had never experienced before.

Rock, instead of entering the hotel, returned to Winter, whom he found unoccupied, and proceeded to unburden himself. He told the last thing first.

“So you run into Amy,” meditated Sol, with a thoughtful twinkle. “Reckon you might have expected that. An’ she knocked the wind out of you?”

“She sure did. You see, I’d really forgotten Amy.”

“Wal, son, take my advice and keep shy of Amy. She’s got old Dabb so jealous he can’t attend to his business. She always has some buckaroo runnin’ after her. That won’t do for you. Dabb had reason to hate you long ago.”

“Huh. I reckon I haven’t forgotten. But no fear, old pard. I wouldn’t run after Amy even if Dabb wanted me to.”

“It’d be like her to hate you, same as he did. An’ that’d not be so good. The Dabbs about own Wagontongue, not to say a lot of the range outfits. Sure John’s brothers are ruled by him. I told you he bought beef from Gage Preston. Then I always see Thiry with Amy, when she comes to town. If you aim to snub your old girl for this new one—wal, son, you’ll have a rough row to hoe.”

“Sol, I’ll not snub Amy, but I can’t go playin’ round with her.”

“Wal, that’s what she’ll expect.”

“Sol, what did Amy mean by sayin’ Thiry had an unnatural love for her brother.”

“I don’t know. Sure I never seen anythin’ unnatural about Thiry. An’, Rock, I’ve heard that very same remark before. It’s just low-down talk by nasty people. All the same, it bothered me.”

“It sort of jarred me. Funny how gossip can sting you, even when you know where it comes from.”

“Son, I seen you’d been jarred some, when you first come in. You went out ridin’ the air. Anythin’ else happen beside buttin’ into Mrs. Dabb?”

“Yes, a lot. But it all happened in-side me.... Sol, how much money do you owe?”

“Couple of thousand, an’ when that’s paid off I’ll be on the road to prosperity again.”

“Old-timer, you’re on it right now. I’ll take that much stock in your business,” went on Rock, crisp and business-like, as he took out his pocketbook.

“Son, I don’t want you to do that,” protested Winter.

“But I want to. I think it’s a good investment. Now here’s your two thousand. And here’s five more, which I want you to put in your bank, on interest, but fixed so you can draw it out quick.”

“You want it to your name, of course?”

“No. Put it in yours. Reckon we’d better add another thousand to that five. I only need enough money to buy a spankin’ outfit.”

“Son, suppose somethin’ happened to you,” said Winter, gravely, as he fingered the money. “It might. You know this is a sudden country. An’, Rock, you’ve got fire in your eye.”

“Sol, my parents are livin’, an’ though old, they’re in good health. They live in Illinois. I was brought up in western Illinois, town of Carthage. Went to school there till I was fourteen. Then we moved to Nebraska. Dad went in for ranchin’ and lost all he invested. Then my folks went back home, but I stayed on, and drifted all over till I landed here.”

“Son, I always was curious about you—where you come from, if you had any folks. I’m sure glad they’re livin’. How old are you, Trueman, if I may ask?”

“Reckon I’ll never see thirty-two again,” returned Rock, ruefully.

“Wal, you don’t say, really. Thirty-two! Cowboy, you sure hide your age. Fact is, you always was a mysterious cuss.”

“To go on about the money. If anythin’ should happen to me—which I’m gamblin’ it won’t—you send this six thousand to my folks. I’ll leave the address with you. Also some papers and things for safe-keepin’.”

“An’ how about the two thousand you’re investin’ with me?” queried Sol, with a smile.

“You can just forget about that, pardner.”

Winter shook his lean old head sagaciously, almost sadly. “Son, you were always open-handed. How did you ever save all this money?”

“Never did save it, Sol,” returned Rock, with a laugh. “Went in with a pretty big rancher in Texas. He had enemies—one of them a sure-enough crooked hombre. I just naturally gravitated toward removin’ that hombre from disfigurin’ the general landscape down there. My pardner did well after that. Then a railroad came our way. We sold out, and I found myself with ten thousand.”

“Ahuh!” exclaimed Winter, his eyes narrowing to slits. “An’ you found yourself needin’ to get out of Texas?”

“Well, Sol, there sure wasn’t any need of my gettin’ out at all,” replied Rock, dryly. “I hung round for weeks to give my pardner’s enemies the chance they circulated round they were lookin’ for. But they didn’t seem to be lookin’ very bad for it. So I got homesick and hit out for Wagontongue.”

“I’m sure glad, yet I know you’ll keep me scared stiff all the time.... Wal, son, out with it. What’s under that big hat?”

“I’m goin’ to be a plain cowpuncher and start in where I left off here six years ago.”

“What’s the idea of pretendin’ to be poor, when you’ve got a big stake for a cowboy?”

“Sorts of suits me, Sol.”

“You’ll need an outfit.”

“Sure. I want a jim-dandy outfit, you bet. Two saddle-horses—the best on the range, if money can buy them.”

“We can find one of them pronto,” replied Winter, with satisfaction. “Come out to my house for supper. Wife will be happy to see you. She was fond of you, son.... After supper we’ll walk out to Leslie’s. He’s sellin’ out an’ he has some good stock. One horse in particular. I never saw his beat. Dabb has been hagglin’ with Leslie over the price. It’s high, but the horse is worth it.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred.”

“Whew!—When I used to buy the best of horses for fifty.”

“Reckon you never laid eyes on one as good as Leslie’s. Wait till you see it.”

“All right, Sol. We’ll buy. But reckon one saddle-horse will do. Then I’ll need a pack-horse and outfit. In the mornin’ we’ll pick out a tarp and blankets, grub and campin’ outfit. I’ve got saddle, bridle, spurs, riata—all Mexican, Sol, and if they don’t knock the punchers on this range, I’ll eat them. My Texas pardner gave them to me. And last, I reckon I’ll require some more hardware.”

This last came reluctantly with a smile not quite grim from Rock.

“Ahuh! ... An’ with all this outfit you’re headin’ for Sunset Pass,” asserted Winter, wholly grim.

“Yeah. I’m goin’ to ride down slow and easy-like, renewin’ old acquaintances and makin’ new ones. Then I’ll end up at Gage Preston’s and strike him for a job.”

“What at? Ridin’?”

“Milkin’ the cows, if nothin’ else offers.”

“Son, it’s a bold move, if it’s all on account of Thiry,” returned Winter.

“Sol, I don’t mind tellin’ you it’s all on account of Thiry,” replied Rock, imitating his friend’s solemnity.

“Gage Preston can’t hardly refuse you a job,” went on Winter. “He needs riders. He has hired about every cowpuncher on the range. But they don’t last.”

“Why not?”

“Ash gets rid of them, sooner or later. Reckon about as soon as they shine up to Thiry.”

“How does he do that?” queried Rock, curiously.

“Wal, he scares most of them. Some he has bunged up with his fists. An’ several punchers he’s driven to throw guns.”

“Kill them?”

“Nope. They say he just crippled them. Ash shoots quick an’ where he wants.”

“Most interestin’ cuss—Ash Preston,” said Rock, lightly.

“Son, this is what worries me,” went on Winter, with gravity. “It’ll be some different when Ash Preston butts into you.”

“How you mean, pardner?”

“Wal, no matter how easy an’ cool you start—no matter how clever you are—it’s bound to wind up a deadly business.”

“Thanks, old-timer. I get your hunch. I’m takin’ it serious and strong. Don’t worry unreasonable about me. I’ve got to go.”