Louis L'Amour - Riders Of The Dawn

AUTHOR'S NOTE RIDERS OF THE DAWN

No matter how far back one goes, there are always stories of earlier arrivals. For example, in the archives of Paris, there is preserved a map prepared supposedly by Jesuits in 1792 that shows the Black Hills and the Big Horn Mountains. It is a topographical map and remarkably good, but where the Jesuits got their information we do not know. At Massacre Rocks and several other places in Nevada, there are inscriptions and markings on rock walls that do not resemble anything done by American Indians.

Riders of the Dawn

I rode down from the high blue hills and across the brush flats into Hattan's Point, a raw bit of spawning hell, scattered hit or miss along the rocky slope of a rust-topped mesa. Ah, it's a grand feeling to be young and tough with a heart full of hell, strong muscles, and quick, flexible hands! And the feeling that somewhere in town there's a man who would like to tear down your meat house with hands or gun. It was like that, Hattan's Point was, when I swung down from my buckskin and gave him a word to wait with. A new town, a new challenge, and if there were those who wished to take me on, let them come and be damned. I knew the whiskey of this town would be the raw whiskey of the last town and of the towns behind it, but I shoved through the batwing doors and downed a shot of rye and looked around, measuring the men along the bar and at the tables. None of these men did I know, yet I had seen them all before in a dozen towns.

There was the big, hardeyed rancher with the iron-gray hair who thought he was the bull of the woods, and the knifelike man beside him with the careful eyes who would be gunslick and fast as a striking snake. The big man turned his head toward me, as a great brown bear turns to look at something he could squeeze to nothing if he wished. "Who sent for you?" There was harsh challenge in the words, the cold demand of a conqueror. I laughed within me. "Nobody sent for me. I ride where I want and stop when I want." He was a man grown used to smaller men who spoke softly to him, and my answer was irritating. "Then ride on," he said, "for you're not wanted in Hattan's Point." "Sorry, friend," I said. "I like it here. I'm staying, and maybe in. whatever game you're playing, I'll buy chips. I don't like being ordered around by big frogs in such small puddles." His big face flamed crimson, but before he could answer, another man spoke up, a tall young man with white hair.

"What he means is that there's trouble here, and men are taking sides. Those who stand upon neither side are everybody's enemy in Hattan Point." "So?" I smiled at them all, but my eyes held to the big bull of the woods. "Then maybe I'll choose a side. I always did like a fight." "Then be sure you choose the right one"-this was from the knifelike man beside the bull-"and talk to me before you decide." "I'll talk to you," I said, "or any man. I'm reasonable enough. But get this, the side I choose will be the right one!" The sun was bright on the street, and I walked outside, feeling the warmth of it, feeling the cold from my muscles. Within me I chuckled, because I knew what they were saying back there. I'd thrown my challenge at them for pure fun; I didn't care about anyone... and then suddenly I did. She stood on the boardwalk straight before me, slim, tall, with a softly curved body and magnificent eyes and hair of deepest black. Her skin was lightly tanned, her eyes an amazing green, her lips full and rich. My black leather chaps were dusty, and my gray shirt was sweat-stained from the road. My jaws were lean and unshaven, and under my black, flat-crowned hat, my hair was black and rumpled. I was in no shape to meet a girl like that, but there she was, the woman I wanted, my woman. In two steps I was beside her. "I realize," I said, as she turned to face me, "the time is inopportune. My presence scarcely inspires interest, let alone affection and love, but this seemed the best time for you to meet the man you are to marry. The name is Mathieu Sabre. "Furthermore-I might as well tell you now-I am of Irish and French extraction, have no money, and have no property but a horse and the guns I wear, but I have been looking for you for years, and I could not wait to tell you that I was here, your future mate and husband." I bowed, hat in hand.

She stared, startled, amazed, and then angry.

"Well, of all the egotistical-was "Ah!" My expression was one of relief.

"Those are kind words, darling, wonderful words! More true romances have begun with those words than any other! And now, if you'll excuse me?" Taking one step back, I turned, vaulted over the hitching rail, and untied inv buckskin. Swinging into the saddle, I looked back. She was standing there, staring at me, her eves wide, and the anger was leaving them. "Good afternoon," I said, bowing again. "I'll call upon you later!" It was time to get out and away, but I felt good about it. Had I attempted to advance the acquaintance I should have gotten nowhere, but my quick leaving would arouse her curiosity. There is no trait women possess more fortunate for men than their curiositv.

The livery stable at Hattan's Point was a huge and rambling structure that sprawled lazily over a corner at the beginning of the town. From a bin I got a scoop of corn, and while the buckskin absorbed this warning against hard days to come, I curried him carefully. A jingle of spurs warned me, and when I looked around, a tall, very thin man was leaning against the stall post watching me.

When I straightened up, I was looking into a pair of piercing dark eves from under shaggy brows that seemed to overhang the long hatchet face. He was shabby and unkempt, but he wore two guns, the only man in town whom I'd seen wearing two except for the knifelike man in the saloon.

"Hear you had a run-in with Rud Maclaren.

"Run-in? I'd not call it that. He suggested the country was crowded and that I move on. So I told him I liked it here, and if the fight looked good I might choose a side." "Good! Then I come right on time! Folks are talkin" about you. They say Canaval offered you a job on Maclaren's Bar M. Well, I'm beatin' him to it. I'm Jim Pinder, ramro.in' the CP outfit. I'll pay warrior wages, seventy a month an' found. All the ammunition you can use." My eves had strayed behind him to the two men lurking in a dark stall. They had, I was sure, come in with Pinder. The idea did not appeal to me.

Shoving Pinder aside, I sprang into the middle of the open space between the rows of stalls.

"You two!" My voice rang in the echoing emptiness of the building. "Get out in the open! Start now or start shootin'!" My hands were wide, fingers spread, and right then it did not matter to me which way they came. There was that old jumping devil in me, and the fury was driving me as it always did when action began to build up. Men who lurked in dark stalls did not appeal to me, nor the men who hired them.

They came out slowly, hands wide. One of them was a big man with black hair and unshaven jowls.

He looked surly. The other had a cruel, flat face and looked like an Apache. "Suppose I'd come shootin'?" the black-haired man sneered.

"Then they'd be plantin' you at sundown." My eyes held him. "If you don't believe that, cut loose your' wolf right now. was That stopped him. He didn't like it, for they didn't know me and I was too ready. Wise enough to see that I was no half-baked gunfighter, they didn't know how much of it I could back up and weren't anxious to find out. "You move fast." Pinder was staring at me with small eyes.

"Suppose I had cut myself in with Blacky and the Apache?" My chuckle angered him."...ally? I had that pegged, Jim Pinder. When my guns came out you would have died first. You're faster than either of those two, so you'd take yours first. Then Blacky, and after him"- I nodded toward the Apache "him. He would be the hardest to kill." Pinder didn't like it, and he didn't like me.

"I made an offer," he said. "And you brought these coyotes to give me a rough time if I didn't take it? Be damned to you, Pinder! You can take your CP outfit and go to blazes!" His lips thinned down and he stared at me. I've seldom seen such hatred in a man's eves. "Then get out!" he said. "Get out fast! Join Maclaren, an' you die!" "Then why wait? I'm not joining Maclaren so far as I know now, but I'm staying, Pinder. Anytime you want what I've got, come shooting. I'll be ready." "You swing a wide loop for a stranger. You started in the wrong country. You won't live long." "No?" I gave it to him flat and face up on the table. "No? Well, I've a hunch I'll handle the shovel that throws dirt on your grave, and maybe trigger the gun that puts you there. I'm not asking for trouble, but I like it, so whenever you're ready, let me know." With that I left them. Up the street, there was a sign: MOTHER O'HARA'So COOKING MEALS FOUR BITS With my gnawing appetite, that looked as likely a direction as any. It was early for supper, and there were few at table: the young man with white hair and the girl I loved... and a few scattered others who ate sourly and in silence.

When I shoved the door open and stood there with my hat shoved back on my head and a smile on my face, the girl looked up, surprised, but ready for battle. I grinned at her and bowed.

"How do you do, the future Mrs. Sabre? The pleasure of seeing you again so soon is unexpected, but real!" The man with her looked surprised, and the buxom woman of forty-five or so who came in from the kitchen looked quickly from one to the other of us. The girl ignored me, but the man with the white hair nodded. "You've met Miss Maclaren, then?" So, Maclaren it was? I might have suspected as much. "No, not formally. But we met briefly on the street, and I've been dreaming of her for years.

It gives me great wonder to find her here, although when I see the food on the table, I don't doubt why she is so lovely if it is here she eats!" Mother O'Hara liked that. "Sure, an' I smell the blarney in that!" she said sharply. "But sit down, if you'd eat!" My hat came off; and I sat on the bench opposite my girl, who looked at her plate in cold silence.

"Mv name is Key Chapin." The white-haired man extended his hand. "Yours, I take it, is Sabre?" "Matt Sabre," I said.

A grizzled man from the foot of the table looked up. "Matt Sabre from Dodge. Once marshal of Mobeetie, the Mogollon gunfighter." They all looked from him to me, and I accepted the cup of coffee Mother O'Hara poured. "The gentleman knows me," I said quietly. "I've been known in those places." "You refused Maclaren's offer?" Chapin asked.

"Yes, and Pinder's, too." "Pinder?" Chapin's eyes were wary. "Is he in town?" "Big as life." I could feel the girl's eyes on me. "Tell me what this fight is about?" "What are most range wars about? Water, sheep, or grass. This one is water. There's a long valley east of here called Cottonwood Wash, and running east out of it is a smaller valley or canyon called the Two Bar. On the Two Bar is a stream of year-round water with volume enough to irrigate land or water thousands of cattle.

Maclaren wants that water. The CP wants it." "Who's got it?" "A man named Ball. He's no fighter and has no money to hire fighters, but he hates Maclaren and refuses to do business with Pinder. So there they sit with the pot boiling and the lid about to blow off:" "And our friend Ball is right smack in the middle." "Right. Gamblers around town are offering odds he won't last thirty days, even money that he'll be dead within ten." That was enough for now. My eyes turned to the daughter of Rud Maclaren."...ally can be buying your trousseau, then," I said, "for the time comw not be long." She looked at me coolly, but behind it there was a touch of impudence. "I'll not worry about it," she said calmly. "There's no weddings in Boot Hill." They laughed at that, yet behind it I knew there was the feeling that she was right, and yet the something in me that was me told me no... it was not my time to go. Not by gun or horse or rolling river... not yet.

"You've put your tongue to prophecy, darlin'," I said, "and I'll not say that I'll not end in Boot Hill, where many another good man has gone, but I will say this, and you sleep on it, daughter of Maclaren, for its a bit of the truth. Before I sleep in Boot Hill, there'll be sons and daughters of yours and mine on this ground.

"Yes, and believe me"-I got up to go-"when my time comes I'll be carried there by six tall sons of ours, and there'll be daughters of ours who'll weep at my grave, and you with them, remembering the years we've had. When the door slapped shut behind me, there was silence inside, and then through the thin walls I heard Mother O'Hara speak.

"You'd better be buyin' that trousseau, Olga Maclaren, for there's a lad as knows his mind!" This was the way of it then, and now I had planning to do and my way to make in the world, for though I'd traveled wide and far, in many lands not my own, I'd no money and no home to take her to. * s Behind me were wars and struggles, hunger, thirst, and cold, and the deep, splendid bitterness of fighting for a cause I scarcely understood, because there was in me the undying love of a lost cause and a world to win. And now I'd my own to win, and a threshold to find to carry her over. And then, as a slow night wind moved upon my cheek and stirred the hair above my brow, I found an answer. I knew what I would do, and the very challenge of it sent my blood leaping, and the laughter came from my lips as I stepped into the street and started across. Then I stopped, for there was a man before me. He was a big man, towering above my six feet and two inches, broader and thicker than my two hundred pounds. He was a big-boned man and full of raw power, unbroken and brutal.

He stood there, wide-legged before me, his face wide as my two hands, his big head topped by a mat of tight curls, his hat missing somewhere.

"You're Sabre?" he said.

"Why, yes," I said, and he hit me.

Never did I see the blow start. Never even did I see the balled fist of him, but it bludgeoned my jaw like an ax butt, and something seemed to slam me behind the knees, and I felt myself going. He caught me again before I could fall and then dropped astride of me and began to swing short, brutal blows to inv head with both big fists. All of two hundred and sixty pounds he must have weighed, and none of it wasted by fat. He was naked, raw, unbridled power.

Groggy, bloody, beaten, I fought to get up, but he was astride me, and my arms were pinned to my sides by his great knees. His fists were slugging me with casual brutality. Then suddenly, he got up and stepped back and kicked me in the ribs. "If you're conscious," he said, "hear me. I'm Morgan Park, and I'm the man who marries Olga Maclaren!" My lips were swollen and bloody. "You lie!" I said, and he kicked me again. Then he stepped over me and walked away, whistling. Somehow I got my arms under me.

Somehow I dragged myself against the stage station wall, and then I lay there, my head throbbing like a great drum, the blood slowly drying on my split lips and broken face. It had been a beating I'd taken, and the marvel of it was with me. I'd not been licked since I was a lad, and never in all my days have I felt such blows as these. His fists were like knots of oak, and the arms behind then like the limbs of a tree.

I had a broken rib, I thought, but one thing I knew. It was time for me to travel. Never would I have the daughter of Maclaren see me like this!

My hands found the building corner, and I pulled myself to my feet. Staggering behind the buildings, I got to the corner of the livery stable. Entering, I got to my horse, and somehow I got the saddle on him and led him out of the door. And then I stepped for an instant, in the light. Across the way, on the stoop of Mother O'Hara's, was Olga Maclaren! The light was on my face, swollen, bloody and broken.

She stepped down off the porch and came over to me, looking up her eyes wide with wonder. "So it's you. He found you, then. He always hears, and this always happens. You see, it is not so simple a thing to marry Olga Maclaren!" There seemed almost regret in her voice. "And now you're leaving!" "Leaving? That I am, but I'll be back!" The words fumbled through my swollen lips. "Have your trousseau ready, daughter of Maclaren! I mean what I say! Wait for me. I'll be coming again, darlin', and when I do it will be first to tear down Morgan Park's great hulk, to rip hirn with my fists!" There was coolness in her voice, shaded with contempt. "You boast! All you have done is talk-and take a beating!" That made me grin, and the effort made me wince, but I looked down at her. "It's a bad beginning, at that, isn't it? But wait for me, darlin', I'll be cbming back!" I could feel her watching me ride down the street.

II Throughout the night I rode into wilder and wilder country, always with the thought of what faced me. At daybreak I bedded down in a canyon tall with pines, resting there while my side began to mend.

My thoughts returned again and again to the shocking power of those punches I had taken. It was true the man had slugged me unexpectedly, and once pinned down I'd had no chance against his great weight.

Nonetheless I'd been whipped soundly. Within me there was a gnawing eagerness to go back-and not with guns. This man I must whip with my hands. The Two Bar was the key to the situation. Could it be had with a gun and some blarney?

The beating I'd taken rankled, and the contempt of Olga Maclaren, and with it the memory of the hatred of Jim Pinder and the coldness of Rud Maclaren. On the morning of the third day I mounted the buckskin and turned him toward the Two Bar.

A noontime sun was darkening my buckskin with sweat when I turned up Cottonwood Wash.

There was green grass here, and trees, and the water that trickled down was clear and pure. The walls of the wash were high and the trees towered to equal them, and the occasional cattle looked fat and lazy, far better than elsewhere on this range. The path ended abruptly at a gate bearing a large sign in white letters against a black background.

TWO BAR GATE RANGED FOR A SPENCER .56 SHOOTING GOING ON HERE 

Ball evidently had his own ideas. No trespasser who got a bullet could say he hadn't been warned. Beyond this gate a man took his own chances. Taking off my hat, I rose in my stirrups and waved it toward the house. A gun boomed, and I heard the sharp whap of a bullet whipping past. It was a warning shot, so I merely waved once more. That time the bullet was close, so I grabbed my chest with both hands and slid from the saddle to the ground. Speaking to the buckskin, I rolled over behind a boulder. Leaving my hat on the ground in plain sight, I removed a boot and placed it to be seen from the gate. Then I crawled into the brush, from where I could cover the gate.

Several minutes later, Ball appeared. Without coming through the gate, he couldn't see the boot was empty.

He was a tall old man with a white handlebar mustache and shrewd eyes. No fool, he studied the layout carefully, but to all appearances his aim had miscalculated and he had scored a hit. He glanced at the strange brand on the buckskin and at the California bridle and bit. Finally, he opened the gate and came out, and as he moved toward my horse his back turned toward me. "Freeze, Ball! You're dead in my sights!" He stood still. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What you want with me?" "No trouble. I came to talk business." "I got no business with anybody." "You've business with me. I'm Matt Sabre.

I've had a run-in with Jim Pinder and told off Maclaren when he told me to leave. I've taken a beating from Morgan Park." Ball chuckled. "You say you want no trouble with me, but from what you say, you've had it with everybody else!" He turned at my word, and I holstered my gun. He stepped back far enough to see the boot, and then he grinned. "Good trick. I'll not bite on that one again. What you want?" Pulling on my boot and retrieving my hat, I told him. "I've no money. I'm a fighting man and a sucker for the tough side of any scrap.

When I rode into Hattan's I figured on trouble, but when I saw Olp Maclaren I decided to stay and marrv her. I've told her so.

"No wonder Park beat you. He's run off the local lads." He studied me curiously.

"What did she say?" "Very little, and when I told her I was coming back to face Park again, she thought I was loudmouthed." "Aim to try him again?" "I'm going to whip him. But that's not all. I plan to stay in this country, and there's only one ranch in this country I want or would have." Ball's lips thinned. "This one?" "It's the best, and anybody who owns it stands in the middle of trouble. I'd be mighty uncomfortable anywhere else. his "What you aim to do about me? This here's my ranch." "Let's walk up to your place and talk it over." "We'll talk here." Ball's hands were on his hips, and I had no doubt he'd go for a gun if I made a wrong move. "Speak your piece." "All right, here it is. You're buckin' a stacked deck. Gamblers are offerin' thirty to one you won't last thirty days. Both Maclaren and Pinder are out to get you. What I want is a fighting, working partnership. Or you sell out and I'll pay you when I can. I'll take over the fight." He nodded toward the house. "Come on up. We'll talk this over." Two hours later the deal was ironed out. He could not stay awake every night.

He could not work and guard his stock. He could not go to town for supplies. Together we could do all of it. "You'll be lucky if you last a week," he told me."...When they find out, they'll be fit to be tied." "They won't find out right away. First I'll buy supplies and ammunition and get back here." "Good idea. But leave Morgan Park alone.

He's as handy with a gun as with his fists." The Two Bar controlled most of Cottonwood Wash and on its eastern side opened into the desert wilderness with only occasional patches of grass and much desert growth. Maclaren's Bar M and Pinder's CP bordered the ranch on the west, with Maclaren's range extending to the desert land in one portion, but largely west of the Two Bar.

Both ranches had pushed the Two Bar cattle back, usurping the range for their own use. In the process of being pushed north, most of the Two Bar calves had vanished under Bar M or CP brands. "Mostly the CP," Ball advised.

"Them Pinders are poison mean. Rollie rode with the James boys a few times, and both of them were with Quantrill. Jim's a fast gun, but nothin' to compare with Rollie." At daylight, with three unbranded mules to carry the supplies, I started for Hattan's, circling around to hit the trail on the side away from the Two Bar. The town was quiet enough, and the day warm and still.

As I loaded the supplies I was sweating. The sweat trickled into my eyes and my side pained me. My face was still puffed, but both my eves were now open. Leading my mules out of town, I concealed them in some brush with plenty of grass and then returned to Mother O'Hara's. Key Chapin and Canaval were there, and Canaval looked tip at me. "Had trouble?" he asked. "That job at the Bar M is still open." "Thanks. I'm going to run my own outfit." Foolish though it was; I said it. Olga had come in the door behind me, her perfume told me who it was, and even without it something in my blood would have told me. From'that day on she was never to be close to me without my knowledge. It was something deep and exciting that was between us.

"Your own outfit?" They were surprised. "You're turning nester?" "No. Ranching." Turning, I swept off my hat and indicated the seat beside me. "Miss Maclaren? May I have the pleasure?" Her green eyes were level and measuring. She hesitated and then shook her head. Walking around the table she seated herself beside Canaval. Chapin was puzzled. "You're ranching? If there's any open range around here, I don't know of it.

"It's a place over east of here," I replied lightly, "the Two Bar." "What about the Two Bar?" Rud Maclaren had come in. He stood cold and solid, staring down at me.

Olga glanced up at her father, some irony in her eyes. "Mr. Sabre was telling us that he is ranching-on the Two Bar. was "What?" Glasses and cups jumped at his voice, and Ma O'Hara hurried in from her kitchen, rolling pin in hand.

"That's right." I was enjoying it. "I've a working partnership with Ball. He needed help and I didn't want to leave despite all the invitations I was getting." Then I added, "A man dislikes being far from the girl he's to marry." "What's that?" Maclaren demanded, his eyes puzzled. "Why, Father!" Olga's eyes widened.

"Haven't you heard? The whole town is talking of it! Mr. Sabre has said he is going to marry me!" "I'll see him in hell first!" Maclaren replied flatly. "Young man, you stop using my daughter's name, or you'll face me." "No one," I said quietly, "has more respect for your daughter's name than I. It's true that I've said she was to be my wife. That is not disrespectful, and it's certainly true. As for facing you, I'd rather not. I'd like to keep peace with my future father-in-law." Canaval chuckled, and even Olga seemed amused. Key Chapin looked up at Rud. "One aspect of this may have escaped you. Sabre is now a partner of Ball. Why not make it easy for Sabre to stay on and then buy him out'?" Maclaren's head lifted as he absorbed the idea.

He looked at Sabre with new interest. "We might do business, young man." "We might," I replied, "but not under threats.

Nor do I intend to sell out my partner. Nor did I take the partnership with any idea of selling out.

Tomorrow or the next day I shall choose a building site. Also, I expect to restock the Two Bar range. "All of which brings me to the point of this discussion. It has come to my attention that the Bar M cattle are trespassing on Two Bar range. You have just one week to remove them. The same goes for the CP. You've been told and you understand. I hope we'll have no further trouble." Maclaren's face purpled with fury. Before he could find words to reply, I was on my feet.

"It's been nice seeing you," I told Olga.

"If you care to help plan your future home, why don't you ride over?" With that I stepped out the door before Maclaren could speak. Circling the building, I headed for my horse.

Pinder's black-haired man was standing there with a gun in his hand. Hatred glared from his eyes.

"Figured you pulled a smart one, hey?" he sneered. "Now I'll kill you!" His finger started to whiten with pressure, and I hurled myself aside and palmed my gun. Even before I could think, my gun jarred in my hand. Once!

Twice!

Blacky's bullet had torn my shirt collar and left a trace of blood on my neck.

Blacky stared at me and then lifted to his toes and fell, measuring his length upon the hard ground.

Men rushed from the buildings, crowding around. "Seen it!" one man explained quietly. "Blacky laid for him with a drawed gun." Canaval was among the men. He looked at me with a cool, attentive gaze. "A drawn gun?

That was fast, man." Ball was at the gate when I arrived.

"Trouble?" he asked quickly.

My account was brief.

"Well, one less for later," said Ball.

"If it had to be anybody it's better it was Blacky, but now the Pinders will be after you." "Where does Morgan Park stand?" I asked.

"And what about Key Chapin?" "Park?" Ball said. "He's fixin' to marry the Maclaren girl.

That's where his bread's buttered. He's got him a ranch on the Arizona line, but he don't stay there much. Chapin publishes the Rider's Voice, a better newspaper than you'd expect in this country.

He's also a lawyer, plays a good hand of poker, an' never carries a gun. If anybody isn't takin' sides, it's him." conMostly I considered the cattle situation. Our calves had been rustled by the large outfits, and if we were to prosper we must get rid of the stock we now had and get some young stuf. Our cattle would never be in better shape and would get older and tougher. Now was the time to sell. A drive was impossible, for two of us couldn't be awav at once, and nobody wanted any part of a job with the Two Bar. Ball was frankly discouraged. "No use, "disMatt. They got us bottled up. We're through whenever they want to take us." An idea occurred to me. "By the way, when I was drifting down around Organ Rock the other day, I spotted an outfit down therein the hills. Know 'em?" Ball's head came up sharply. "Should have warned you. Stay away. That's the Benaras place, the B Bar B brand. There's six in the family that I know of, an" they have no truck with anybody.

Dead shots, all of "em. Few years back some rustlers run off some of their stock. Nobodv heard no more about it until Sheriff Will Tharp was back in the badlands east of here. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of man nor beast for miles when suddenly he comes on six skeletons hanging from a rock tower." "Skeletons?" Ball took the pipe from his mouth and spat.

"Six of 'em, an" a sign hung to "em readin", "They rustled B Bar B cows." Nothin' more." But quite enough! The Benaras outfit had been let strictly alone after that. Nevertheless, an idea was in my mind, and the very next morning I saddled up and drifted south.

It was wild and lonely country, furrowed and eroded by thousands of years of sun, wind, and rain, a country tumbled and broken as if by an insane giant. There were miles of raw, unfleshed land with only occasional spots of green to break its everlasting reds, pinks, and whites. Like an oasis, there appeared a sudden cluster of trees, green fields, and fat, drifting cattle. "Whoever these folks are, Buck," I commented to my horse, "thev work hard." The click of"...a drawn-back hammer froze Buck in his tracks, and carefully I kept my hands on the saddle horn. "Goin' somewhere, stranger?" Nobody was in sight among the boulders at the edge of the field. "Yes. I'rn looking for the boss of the B Bar B." "What might you want with him?" "Business talk. I'm friendly." The chuckle was dry. "Ever see a man covered by two Spencers that wasn't friendly?" The next was a girl's voice. "Who you ridin' for?" "I'm matt sabre, half owner of the Two Bar, Ball's outfit." "You mean that old coot took a partner? You could be lyin'." "Do I see the boss?" "I reckon." A tall boy of eighteen stepped from the rocks. Lean and drawn, his hatchet face looked tough and wise. He carried his Spencer as if it were part of him. He motioned with his head.

The old man of the tribe was standing in front of a house built like a fort. Tall as his son, he was straight as a lodgepole pine. He looked me up and down and then said. "Get down an' set." A stout, motherly woman put out some cups and poured coffee. Explaining who I was, I said, "We've some fat stock about ready to drive. I'd like to make a swap for some, of your young stuff. We can't make a drive, don't dare even leave the place or they'd steal it from us. Our stock is in good shape, but all our young stuff has been rustled." "You're talkie'." He studied me from under shaggy brows. He looked like a patriarch right out of the Bible, a hardbitten old man of the tribe who knew his own mind and how to make it stick. He listened as I explained our setup and our plans. Finally, he nodded. "All right, Sabre.

We'll swap. My boys will help you drive "em back here." "No need for that. Once started down the canyons I'll need no help. No use you getting involved in this fight." He turned his fierce blue eyes on me.

"I'm buyin" cows," he said grimly.

"Anybody who wants trouble over that, let "em start it!" "Now, Paw!" Mother Benaras smiled at me. "Paw figures he's still a-feudin"." Old Bob Benaras knocked out his pipe on the hearth. "We're beholden to no man, nor will we backwater for any man. Nick, roust out an' get Zeb, then saddle up an' ride with this man. You ride to this man's orders. Start no trouble, but back up for nobody. Understand?" He looked around at me. "You'll eat first. Maw, set up the table. We've a guest in the house." He looked searchingly at me. "Had any trouble with Jim Pinder yet?" It made a short tale; then I added, "Blacky braced me in town a few days ago.

Laid for me with a drawn gun." Benaras stared at me, and the boys exchanged looks. The old man tamped tobacco into his pipe. "He had it comin'. Jolly had trouble with that one. Figured soon or late he'd have to kill him. Glad you done it." All the way back to the Two Bar we watched the country warily, but it was not until we were coming up to the gate that anyone was sighted. Two riders were on the lip of the wash, staring at us through a glass. We passed through the gate and started up the trail. There was no challenge.

Nick said suddenly, was I smell smoke!" Fear went through me like an electric shock.

Slapping the spurs to my tired buckskin, I put the horse up the trail at a dead run, Nick and Zeb right behind me. Turning the bend in the steep trail, I heard the crackle of flames and saw the ruins of the house!

All was in ruins, the barn gone, the house a sagging, blazing heap. Leaving my horse on the run I dashed around the house. "Ball!" I yelled.

"Ball!" And above the crackle of flames, I heard a cry. He was back in a niche of rock near the spring. How he had lived this long I could not guess. His clothes were charred and it was obvious he had somehow crawled, wounded, from the burning house.

He had been fairly riddled with bullets.

His fierce old eyes were pleading. "Don't let "em get... get the place. Yours...

it's yours now." His eyes went to Nick and Zeb.

"You're witnesses... I leave it to him. Never to sell... never to give up!" "Who was it?" For the first time in my life I really wanted to kill.

Although I had known this old man for only a few days I had come to feel affection for him and respect. Now he was dying, shot down and left for dead in a blazing house.

"Pinder!" His voice was hoarse. "Jim an" Rollie. Rollie, he... he was dressed like you. Never had no chance. Fun-funny thing. I..

. I thought I saw... Park." "Morgan Park?" I was incredulous. "With the Pinders?" His lips stirred, but he died forming the words. When I got up, there was in me such hatred as I had never believed was possible. "Everyone of them!" I said. "I'll kill every man of them for this!" "Amen!" Zeb and Nick spoke as one. "He was a good old man. Pappy liked him." "Did you hear him say Morgan Park was with the Pinders?" "Sounded like it," Zeb admitted, "but it ain't reasonable. He's thick with the Maclarens. Couldn't have been him." Zeb was probably right. The light had been bad, and Ball had been wounded. He could have made a mistake.

The stars came out, and night moved in over the hills and gathered black and rich in the canyons.

Standing there in the darkness, we could smell the smoke from the burned house and see occasional sparks and flickers of tiny flames among the charred timbers.

A ranch had been given me, but I had lost a friend. The road before me stretched dark and long, a road I must walk alone, gun in hand.

III For two days we combed the draws and gathered cattle, yet at the end of the second day we had but three hundred head. The herds of the Two Bar had been sadly depleted by the rustling of the big brands.

On the morning of the third day we started the herd.

Neither of the men had questioned me, but now Zeb wanted to know, "You aim to leave the ranch unguarded? Ain't you afraid they'll move in?" was If they do they can move out or be buried here.

That ranch was never to be given up, and believe me, it won't be!" The canyon channeled the drive, and the cattle were fat and easy to handle. It took us all day to make the drive, but my side pained me almost none at all, and only that gnawing fury at the killers of the old man remained to disturb me. Thev had left the wounded man to burn, and for that they would pay.

Jonathan and Jolly Benaras helped me take the herd of young stuff back up the trail. Benaras had given me at least fifty head more than I had asked, but the cattle I had turned over to him were as good as money in the bank, so he lost nothing by his generosity.

When we told him what had happened, he nodded.

"Jolly was over to Hattan's. It was the Pinders, all right. That Apache tracker of theirs along with Bunt Wilson and Corby Kitchen an' three others.

They were with the Pinders." "Hear anything about Morgan Park?" "No. Some say Lyell, that rider of Park's, was in the crowd. was That could have been it. Ball might have meant to tell me it was a rider of Park's. We pushed the young stuff hard to get back, but Jonathan rode across the drag before we arrived. "Folks at your place. Two, three of "em. My face set cold as stone. "Bring the herd. I'll ride ahead." Jonathan's big adam's apple bobbed. "Jolly an" me, we ain't had much fun lately. Cant we ride with you?" An idea hit me. "Where's their camp?" "Foot of the hill where the house was. They got a tent." "Then we'll take the herd. Drive "em right over the tent!" Jolly had come back to the drag. He chuckled. "Why, sure!" He grinned at Jonathan. "Wont Nick an" Zeb be sore? Missin' all the fun?" We started the herd. They were young stuff and still full of ginger, ready enough to run. They came out of the canyon not more than four hundred yards from the camp and above the gate. Then we really turned them loose, shooting and shouting; we started that herd on a dead run for the camp. Up ahead we saw men springing to their feet, and one man raced for his rifle. They hadn't expected me to arrive with cattle, so they were caught completely off guard. Another man made a dive for his horse and the startled animal sprang aside. As he grabbed again, it kicked out with both feet and started to run.

Running full tilt, the herd hit the camp. The man who had lost his horse scrambled atop a large rock, and the others lit out for the cliff's, scattering away from the charging cattle. But the herd went through the camp, tearing up the tent, grinding the food into the earth, smearing the fire, and smashing the camp utensils into broken and useless things under their charging feet.

One of the men who had gotten into the saddle swung his horse and came charging back, his face red with fury. "What goes on here?" he yelled.

The horse was a Bar M. Maclaren's men had beaten the CP to it. Kneeing my horse close to him, I said, "I'm Matt Sabre, owner of the Two Bar, with witnesses to prove it. You're trespassin'. Now light a shuck!" "I will like hell!" His face was dark with fury. "I got my orders, an' I-was My fist smashed into his teeth and he left the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud.

Blazing with fury, I lit astride him, jerking him to his feet. My left hooked hard to his jaw and my right smashed him in the wind. He went down, but he got up fast and came in swinging. He was a husky man, mad clear through, and for about two minutes we stood toe to toe and swapped it out. Then he started to back up and I caught him with a sweeping right that knocked him to the dust. He started to get up then thought the better of it. "I'll kill you for this!" "When vou're readv!" I said and then turned around. Jonathan and Jolly had rounded up two of the men, and they stood waiting for me. One was a slim, hard-faced youngster who looked like the devil was riding him. The other was a stocky redhead with a scar on his jaw. The redhead stared at me, hatred in his eyes.

"You ruined my outfit. What kind of a deal is this?" "If you ride for a fighting brand you take the good with the bad," I told him. "What did you expect when you came up here, a tea party? You go back and tell Maclaren not to send boys to do a man's job and that the next trespasser will be shot." The younger one looked at me, sneering. "What if he sends me?" Contempt twisted his lips. "If I'd not lost my gun in the scramble I'd make you eat that." "Jolly! Lend me your gun!" Without a word, Jolly Benaras handed it to me. The youngster's eyes were cold and calculating, but wary now. He suspected a trick, but could not guess what it might be. Taking the gun by the barrel, I walked toward him. "You get your chance," I said.

"I'm giving you this gun, and you can use it any way you like. Try a border roll or shoot through that open-tip holster. Anyway you try it, I'm going to kill you."

He stared at me and then at the gun.

His tongue touched his lips. He wanted that gun more than anything else in the world. He had guts, that youngster did, guts and the streak of viciousness it takes to make a killer, but suddenly he was face to face with it at close range and he didn't like it. He would learn if he lived long enough, but right now he didn't like any part of it. Yet he wore the killer's brand and we both knew it.

"It's a trick," he said. "You ain't that much of a fool!" "Fool?" That brought my own fury surging to the top. "Why, you cheap, phony, would-be badman! I'd give you two guns and beat you any day you like! I'll face you right now. You shove your gun in my belly and I'll shove mine in yours!

If you want to die, that makes it easy! Come on, gunslick! What do you say?" Crazy? Right then I didn't care. His face turned whiter but his eyes were vicious. He was trembling with eagerness to grab that gun. But face to face? Guns shoved against the body? We would both die. We couldn't miss. He shook his head, his lips dry.

My fingers held the gun by the barrel. Tossing it up suddenly I caught it by the butt, and without stopping the motion, I slashed the barrel down over his skull. He hit the dirt at my feet. Turning my back on them I returned the pistol to jolly.

"You!" I said then to the redhead. "Take off your boots!" "Huh?" He was startled.

"Take "em o@.! Then take his off! When he comes out of it, start walking!" "Walkin"?" Red's face blanched. "Look, man, I'll-was "You'll walk. All the way back to Hattan or the Bar M. You'll start learnin' what it means to try stealin' a man's ranch. was "It was orders," he protested.

"You could quit, couldn't you?" His face was sullen. "Wait until Maclaren hears of this! You won't last long! Far as that goes"-he motioned at the still figure on the ground-"he'll be huntin' you now. That's Bodie Miller!" The name was familiar. Bodie Miller had killed five or six men. He was utterly vicious, and although lacking seasoning, he had it in him to be one of the worst of the badmen.

We watched them start, three men in their sock feet with twenty miles of desert and mountains before them.

Now they knew what they had tackled. They would know what war meant. The cattle were no cause for worry. They would drift into canyons where there was plenty of grass and water, more than on the B Bar B. "Sure you won't need help?" jolly asked hopefully. "We'd like to side you." "Not now. This is my scrap." They chuckled. "Well," jolly grinned, "they can't never say you didn't walk in swingin'. You've jumped nearly the whole durned country!" Nobody knew that better than I, so when they were gone I took my buckskin and rode back up the narrow Two Bar Canyon. It narrowed down and seemed to end. Unless one knew, a glance up the canyon made it appear to be boxed in, but actually there was a turn and a narrower canyon leading into a maze of canyons and broken lava flows.

There was an ancient cliff house back there, and in it Ball and I had stored supplies for a last-ditch stand. There was an old kiva with one side broken and room enough to stable the buckskin. At daybreak I left the canyon behind me, riding watchfully, knowing I rode among enemies.

No more than two miles from the canyon toward which I was heading, I rounded a bend and saw a dozen riders coming toward me at a canter. Sighting me, they yelled in chorus, and a shot rang out. Wheeling the buckskin I slapped the spurs to him and went up the wash at a dead run. A bullet whined past my ear, but I dodged into a branch canyon and raced up a trail that led to the top of the plateau. Behind me I heard the riders race past the canyon's mouth.

Then there was a shout as a rider glimpsed me, and the wheeling of horses as they turned. By the time they entered the canyon mouth I was atop the mesa.

Sliding to the ground, Winchester in hand, I took a running dive to shelter among some rocks and snapped off a quick shot. A horse stumbled, and his rider went off over his head. I opened up, firing as rapidly as I could squeeze off the shots. They scattered for shelter, one man scrambling with a dragging leg.

Several of the horses had raced away, and a couple of others stood ground hitched. On one of these was a big canteen. A bullet emptied it, and when the other horse turned a few minutes later, I shot into that canteen also.

Bullets ricocheted around me, but without exposing themselves they could not get a good shot at me, while I could cover their hideout without trouble. A foot showed and I triggered my rifle. A bit of leather flew up and the foot was withdrawn. My position could not have been better. As long as I remained where I was, they could neither advance nor retreat, but were pinned down and helpless. They were without water, and it promised to be an intensely hot day. Having no desire to kill them, I still wished to make them thoroughly sick of the fight. These men enjoyed the fighting as a break in the monotony of range work, but knowing cowhands, I knew they would become heartily sick of a battle that meant waiting, heat, no water, and no chance to fight back.

For some time all was still. Then a man tried to crawl back toward the canyon mouth, evidently believing himself unseen. Letting go a shot at a rock ahead of him, I splattered his face with splinters, and he ducked back, swearing loudly.

"Looks like a long hot day, boys!" I yelled. "See what it means when you jump a small outfit? Ain't so easy as you figured, is it?" Somebody swore viciously, and there were shouted threats. My own canteen was full, so I sat back and rolled a smoke. Nobody moved below, but the sun began to level its burning rays into the oven of the canyon mouth. The hours marched slowly by, and from time to time when some thirsty soul grew restive at waiting, I threw a shot at him.

"How long you figure you can keep us here?" one of them yelled. "When we get out, we'll get you!" "Maybe you won't get out," I yelled back cheerfully. was I like it here. I've got water, shade, grub, and plenty of smokin' tobacco.

Also," I added, "I've got better than two hundred rounds of ammunition. You hombres are riding for the wrong spread." Silence descended over the canyon and two o'clock passed. Knowing they could get no water aggravated their thirst. The sun swam in a coppery sea of heat, and the horizon lost itself in heat waves.

Sweat trickled down my face and down my body under the arms. Where I lay, there was not only shade but a slight breeze, but down there, heat would reflect from the canyon walls and all wind would be shut off.

Finally, letting go with a shot, I slid back out of sight and got to my feet.

My buckskin cropped grass near some rocks, well under the shade. Shifting my rifle to my left hand I slid down the bank, mopping my face with my right. Then I stopped stockstill, my right hand belt high. Backed up against a rock near my horse was a man I knew at once although I had never seen him-Rollie Pinder!

"You gave them boys hell," he said conversationally, "an' good for "em. They're Bar M riders. It's a shame it has to end." "Yeah," I drawled, watching him closely.

He could be waiting for only one reason.

"Hear you're mighty fast, but it won't do you any good. I'm Rollie finder!" As he spoke, he grabbed for his gun.

My left hand was on the rifle barrel a few inches ahead of the trigger guard, the butt in front of me, the barrel pointed slightly up. I tilted the gun hard, and the stock struck my hip as my hand slapped the trigger guard and trigger.

Rollie's gun had come up smoking, but my finger closed on the trigger a split second before his slug hit me. It felt as if I had been kicked in the side, and I took a staggering step back, a rock rolling under my foot just enough to throw me out of the line of his second shot. Then I fired again, having worked the lever unconsciously.

Rollie went back against the rocks and tried to bring his gun up. He fired as I did. The world weaved and waved before me, but Rollie was down on his face, great holes torn in his back where the .44 slugs had emerged. Turning, scarcely able to walk, I scrambled up the incline to my former position. My head was spinning and my eyes refused to focus, but the shots had startled the men and they were getting up. If they started after me now, I was through.

The ground seemed to dip and reel, but I got off a shot, then another. One man went down and the others vanished as if swallowed by the earth. Rolling over, my breath coming in ragged gasps, I ripped my shirttail off and plugged cloth into my wounds. I had to get away at all costs, but I could never climb back up to the cliff house, even if the way were open.

My rifle dragging, I crawled and slid to the buckskin. Twice I almost fainted from weakness.

Pain was gripping my vitals, squeezing and knotting them. Somehow I got to my horse, grabbed a stirrup, managed to get a grip on the pommel, and pulled myself into the saddle.

Getting my rifle back into its scabbard, I got some piggin strings and tied myself into the saddle.

Then I started the buckskin toward the wilderness, and away from my enemies. Day was shooting crimson arrows into the vast bowl of the sky when my eves opened again. My head swam with effort, and I stared about, seeing nothing. familiar. Buck had stopped beside a small spring in a canyon. There was grass and a few trees, with not far away the ruin of a rock house. On the sand beside the spring was the track of a mountain lion, several deer tracks and what might be a mountain sheep, but no cow, horse, or human tracks.

Fumbling with swollen fingers, I untied the piggin strings and slid to the ground. Buck snorted and sidestepped and then put his nose down to me inquiringly. He drew back from the smell of stale clothes and dried blood, and I lay there, staring up at him, a crumpled human thing, my body raw with pain and weakness. "It's all right, Buck," I whispered. "We'll pull through! We've got to pull through!" n Over me the sky's high gray faded to pink shot with hloodred swords that swept the red into gold. As the sun crept up, I lay there, still beneath the wide sky, my body washed by a sea of dull pain that throbbed and pulsed in my muscles and veins.

Yet within beat a deeper, stronger pulse, the pulse of the fighting man that would not let me die without fighting, that would not let me lie long without movement.

Turning over, using hand grasps of grass, I pulled myself to the spring and drank deep of the cool, clear, life-giving water. The wetness of it seemed to creep through all my tissues, bringing peace to my aching muscles and life to my starved bodv. To live I must drink, and I must eat, and my body must have rest and time to mend. Over and over these thoughts went through my mind, and over and over I said them, staring at my helpless hands. With contempt I looked at them, hating them for their weakness. And then I began to fight for life in those fingers, willing them to movement, to strength. Slowly my left hand began to stir, to lift at my command, to grasp a stick.

Triumph went through me. I was not defeated!

Triumph lent me strength, and from this small victory I went on to another-a bit of broken manzanita placed across the first, a handful of scraped up leaves, more sticks. Soon I would have a fire.

I was a creature fighting for survival, wanting only to live and to fight. Through waves of delirium and weakness, I dragged myself to an aspen where I peeled bark for a vesselfainting there, coming to, struggling back to the place for my fire, putting the bark vessel together with clumsy fingers.

With the bark vessel, a sort of box, I dipped into the water but had to drag it to the sand, lacking the strength to lift it up, almost crying with weakness and pain.

Lighting my fire, I watched the flames take hold. Then I got the bark vessel atop two rocks in the fire, and the flames rose around it. As long as the flames were below the water level of the vessel, I knew, the bark would not burn, for the heat was absorbed by the water inside. Trying to push a stick under the vessel I leaned too far and fainted.

When next I opened my eyes the water was boiling. Pulling myself to a sitting position, I unbuckled my thick leather belt and let my guns fall back on the ground. Then, carefully, I opened my shirt and tore off a corner of it. I soaked it in the boiling water and began to bathe my wounds. Gingerly working the cloth plugs free of the wounds, I extracted them. The hot water felt good, but the sight of the wound in my side was frightening. It was red and inflamed, but near as I could see as I bathed it, the bullet had gone through and touched nothing vital. The second slug had gone through the fleshy part of my thigh, and after bathing that wound also, I lay still for a while, regaining strength and soaking up the heat. Nearby, there was a patch of prickly pear, so I crawled to it and cut off a few big leaves. Then I roasted them to get off the spines and bound the pulp against the wounds. Indians had used it to fight inflammations, and it might help.

I found a clump of amolillo and dug some of the roots, scraping them into hot water. They foamed up when stirred, and I drank the foamy water, remembering that the Indians used the drink to carry off clotted blood. A man's bullet wounds healed better after he drank it. Then I made a meal of squaw cabbage and breadroot, not wanting to attempt getting at my saddlebags. Yet when evening came and my fever returned, I managed to call Buck to me and loosen the girths. The saddle dropped, bringing with it my bedroll and saddlebags. Then I hobbled Buck and got the bridle off.

The effort exhausted me, so I crawled into my bedroll. My fever haunted the night with strange shapes, and guns seemed to be crashing about me. Men and darkness fought on the edge of my consciousness. Morgan Park.. Jim Pinder.

.. Rud Maclaren... and the sharply feral face of Bodie Miller. The nuzzling of Buck awakened me in the cold light of day. "All right, Buck," I whispered. "I'm awake. I'm alive." My weakness horrified me. If my enemies found me they would not hesitate to kill me, and Buck must have left a trail easily followed.

High up the canyon wall, there was a patch of green, perhaps a break in the rock. Hiding my saddle under some brush and taking with me my bedroll, saddlebags, rifle, and rope, I dragged myself toward an eyebrow of trail up the cliff: If there was a hanging valley up there it was just what I wanted. The buckskin wandered after me, more from curiosity than anything else. Getting atop a boulder I managed to slide onto his back and then kneed him up the steep trail. A mountain horse, he went willingly, and in a few minutes we had emerged into a high hanging valley.

A great crack in the rock, it was flat floored and high walled, yet the grass was rich and green. Somewhere water was running, and before me was a massive stone tower all of sixty feet high.

Blackened by age and by fire, it stood beside a spring, quite obviously the same as that from which I had been drinking below. The hanging valley comprised not over three acres of land, seemingly enclosed on the far side and almost enclosed on the side where I had entered.

The ancient Indians who built the tower had known a good thing when they saw it, for here was shelter and defense, grass, water, and many plants. Beside the tower some stunted maize, long since gone native, showed that there had once been planting here. Nowhere was there any evidence that a human foot had trod here in centuries.

A week went slowly by, and nothing disturbed my camp. Able to walk a few halting steps, I explored the valley. The maize had been a fortunate discovery, for Indians had long used a mush made of the meal as an hourly application for bullet wounds. With this and other remedies my recovery became more rapid. The jerky gave out, but with snared rabbits and a couple of sage hens, I managed. And then I killed a deer, and with the wild vegetables growing about, I lived well. Yet a devil of impatience was riding me. My ranch was in the hands of my enemies, and each day of absence made the chance of recovery grow less. Then, after two weeks, I was walking, keeping watch from a lookout spot atop the cliff and rapidly regaining strength. On the sixteenth day of my absence I decided to make an effort to return. The land through which I rode was utterly amazingtowering monoliths of stone, long, serrated cliffs of salmoncolored sandstone, and nothing human. It was almost noon of the following day before the buckskin's ears lifted suddenly. It took several seconds for me to discover what drew his attention, and then I detected a lone rider. An hour later, from a pinnacle of rock near a tiny seep of water, I saw that the rider was drawing near, carefully examining the ground.

A surge of joy went through me. It was Olga Maclaren! Stepping out from the shadow, I waited for her to see me, and she did, almost at once. How I must look, I could guess. My shirt was heavy with dust, torn by a bullet and my own hands. My face was covered with beard and my cheeks drawn and hollow, but the expression on her face was only of relief. "Matt?" Her voice was incredulous. "You're alive?" "Did you think I'd die before we were married, daughter of Maclaren? Did you think I'd die before you had those sons I promised? Right now I'm coming back to claim my own." "Back"...[*thorn] The worry on her face was obvious. "You must never go back! You're believed dead, so you are safe. Go away while there's time!" "Did you think I'd run? Olga, I've been whipped by Morgan Park, shot by Rollie Pinder, and attacked by the others, but Pinder is dead, and Park's time is coining. No, I made a promise to a fine old man named Ball, another one to myself, and one to you, and I'll keep them all. In my time I've backed up, I've sidestepped, and occasionally I've run, but always to come back and fight again." She. looked at me, and some of the fear seemed to leave her. Then she shook her head. "But you can't go back now. Jim Pinder has the Two Bar." "Then he'll move," I promised her.

Olga had swung down from her horse and lifted my canteen. "You've water!" she exclaimed.

"They all said no man could survive out there in that waste, even if he was not wounded. his "You believed them?" "No." She hesitated. "I knew you'd be alive somewhere." "You know your man, then, Olga Maclaren.

Does it mean that you love me, too?" She hesitated and her eyes searched mine, but when I would have moved toward her she drew back, half frightened. Her lips parting a little, her breast lifting suddenly as she caught her breath. "It isn't time for that now-please!" It stopped me, knowing what she said was true. "You are sure you weren't trailed?" She shook her head. "I've been careful. Every day." "This isn't the first day you looked for me?" "Oh, no." She looked at me, her eyes shadowed with worry. "I was afraid you were lying somewhere bloody and suffering." Her eyes studied me, noting the torn shirt, the pallor of my face. "And you have been." "Rollie was good. He was very good." "Then it was you who killed him?" "Who else?" "Canaval and Bodie Miller found him after they realized you were gone from the mesa where you had pinned them down. Canaval was sure it had been you, but some of them thought it was the mountain boys." "They've done no fighting for me, although they wanted to. You'd best start back. I've work to do." "But you're in no shape! You're sick!" She stared at me. "I can still fight," I said. "Tell your father you've seen me. Tell him the Two Bar was given me in the presence of witnesses. Tell him his stock is to be off that range-at once!" "You forget that I am my father's daughter!" "And my future wife!" "I've promised no such thing!" she flared. "You know I'd never marry you! I'll admit you're attractive, and you're a devil. But marry you?

I'd die first!" Her breast heaved and her eyes flashed and I laughed at her. "Tell your father, though, and ask him to withdraw from this fight before it's too late." Swinging into the saddle, I addi'd, "It's already too late for you.

You love me and you know it. Tell Morgan Park that, and tell him I'm coming back to break him with my hands!" V Riding into Hattan's Point, I was a man well known. Rollie Pinder was dead, and they knew whose gun had downed him. Maclaren's riders had been held off and made a laughingstock, and I had taken up Ball's fight to hold his ranch. Some men hated me for this, some admired me, and many thought me a fool. All I knew was the horse between my knees, the guns on my thighs and the blood of me pounding. My buckskin lifted his head high and moved down the dusty street like a dancer, for riding into this town was a challenge to them all. They knew it and I knew it. Leaving my horse behind Mother O'Hara's, I walked to the saloon and went in. By then I'd taken time to shave, and though the pallor of sickness was on my face, there was none in my eyes or heart.

It did me good to see their eyes widen and to hear my spurs jingle as I walked to the bar. "Rye," I said. "The best you've got. his Key Chapin was there, and sitting with him, Morgan Park. The big man's eyes were cold as they stared at me. "I'm buying, gentlemen," I said, "and that includes you, Morgan Park, although you slug a man when his hands are down." Park blinked. It had been a long time since anyone had told him off to his face. "And you, Key Chapin. It has always been my inclination to encourage freedom of the press and to keep my public relations on a good basis. And today I might even offer you a news item, something to read like this: Matt Sabre, of the Two Bar, was in town Friday afternoon. Matt is recovering from a bullet wound incurred during a minor dispute with Rollie Pinder, but is returning to the Two Bar to take up where he left o@."." Chapin smiled. "That will be news to Jim Pinder.

He didn't expect you back." "He should have," I assured him. "I'm back to punish every murdering skunk who killed old man Ball." All eyes were on me now, and Park was staring, not knowing what to make of me. "Do you know who they are?" Chapin asked curiously.

"Definitely!" I snapped the word. "Every man of them"...I shifted my eyes to Park-"is known-with one exception. When Ball was dying he named a man to me. Only I am not sure." "Who?" demanded Chapin.

"Morgan Park," I said.

The big man came to his feet with a lunge. His brown face was ugly with hatred. "That's a lie!" he roared.

My shoulders lifted. "Probably a misunderstanding. I'll not take offense at your language, Mr. Park, because it is a dead man you are calling a liar, and not I. Ball might have meant that one of your riders, a man named Lyell, was there. He died before he could be questioned. If it is true, I'll kill you after I whip you." "Whip me?" Park's bellow was amazed. "Whip me? Why, vou- "Unfortunately, I'm not sufficiently recovered from my wounds to do it today, but don't be impatient. You'll get your bellyful of it when the time comes." Turning my back on him, I lifted my glass. "Gentlemen, your health!" And then I walked out of the place.

There was the good rich smell of cooked food and coffee when I opened the door of Mother O'Hara's.

"Ah? It's you, then! And still alive! Things ain't what they used to be around here! Warned off by Maclaren, threatened by Jim Pinder, beaten by Morgan Park, and you're still here!" "Still here an' stavin', Katie O'Hara," I said, grinning at her, "and I've just said that and more to Morgan Park." "There's been men die, and you've had the killin' of some. was "That's the truth, Katie. I'd rather it never happened, but it's a hard country and a small chance for a man who hesitates to shoot when the time comes. All the same, it's a good country, this.

A country where I plan to stay and grow my children, Katie. I'll go back to the Two Bar, and build my home there." "You think they'll let you? You think you can keep it?" "They'll have no choice." Behind me a door closed and the voice of Rud Maclaren was saying, "We'll have a choice. Get out of the country while vou're alive!" The arrogance in his voice angered me, so I turned and faced him. Canaval and Morgan Park had come with him. "The Two Bar is my ranch," I said, "and I'll be staving there. Do you think yourself a king that you can dictate terms to a citizen of a free countrv? You've let a small power swell your head, Maclaren. You think you have power when all you have is money. If you weren't the father of the girl I'm to marry, Maclaren, I'd break you just to show you this is a free country and we want no barons here." His face mottled and grew hard. "conHarry my daughter? You? I'll see you in hell first!" "If you see me in hell, Maclaren," I said lightly, "you'll be seeing a married man, because I'm marrying Olga and you can like it or light a shuck! I expect you were a good man once, but there's some that cannot stand the taste of power, and vou're one.".my eves shifted to Morgan Park. "And there's another beside you. He has let his beef get him by too long. He uses force where you use money, but his time is running out, too. He couldn't break me when he had the chance, and when my time comes, I'll break him." More than one face in the room was approving, even if they glared at me, these two. "The trouble is obvious," I continued. "You've never covered enough country. You think you're sitting in the center of the world, whereas you're just a couple of two-bit operators in a forgotten corner." Turning my back on them I helped myself to the Irish stew. Maclaren went out, but Park came around the table and sat down, and he was smiling. The urge climbed up in me to bat the big face off him and down him in the dirt as he had me.

He was wider than me by inches, and taller. The size of his wrists and hands was amazing, vet he was not all beef, for he had brains and there was trouble in him, trouble for me.

When I returned to my horse, there was a man sitting there. He looked up and I was astonished at him. His face was like that of an unhappy monkey, and he was without a hair to the top of his head. Near as broad in the shoulders as Morgan Park, he was shorter than me by inches. "By the look of you," he said, "you'll be Matt Sabre." "You're right, man. What is it about?" "Katie O'Hara was a-tellin' me it was a man you needed at the Two Bar. Now I'm a handy all-around man. Mr. Sabre, a rough sort of gunsmith, hostler, blacksmith, an' carpenter, good with an ax. An' I shoot a bit, know Cornish-style wrestlin', an' am afraid of no man when I've my two hands before me. I'm not so handy with a short gun, but I've a couple of guns of my own that I handle nice." He got to his feet, and he could have been nothing over five feet four but weighed all of two hundred pounds, and his shirt at the neck showed a massive chest covered with black hair and a neck like a column of oak. "The fact that you've the small end of a fight appeals to me." He jerked his head toward the door. "Katie has said I'm to go to work for you, an' she'd not take it kindly if I did not." "You're Katie's man, then?" His eves twinkled amazingly. "Katie's man?

I'm afraid there's no such. She's a broth of a woman, that one." He grinned up at me. "Is it a job I have?" "When I've the ranch back," I agreed, "you've a job." "Then let's be gettin' it back. Will you wait for me? I've a mule to get." The mule was a dun with a face that showed all the wisdom, meanness, and contrariness that have been the traits of the mule since time began. With a tow sack behind the saddle and another before him, we started out of town. "My name is Brian Mulvaney," he said. "Call me what you like." He grinned widely when he saw me staring at the butts of the two guns that projected from his boot tops. "These," he said, "are the Neal Bootleg pistol, altered by me to suit my taste. The caliber is thirty-five, but good. Now th"...fi-om his waistband he drew a gun that lacked only wheels to make an admirable artillery piece-"this was a Mills seventyfive caliber. Took me two months of work off and on, but I've converted her to a four-shot revolver. A fine gun," he added.

All of seventeen inches long, it looked fit to break a man's wrists, but Mulvaney had powerful hands and arms. No man ever hit by a chunk of lead from that gun would need a doctor.

Four horses were in the corral at the Two Bar, and the men were strongly situated behind a long barricade. Mulvaney grinned at me. "What'd you suppose I've in this sack, laddie?" he demanded, his eyes twinkling. was I, who wbled's a miner also?" "Powder?" "Exactly! In those new-fangled sticks. Now unless it makes your head ache too much, help me cut a few o' these sticks in half" When that was done he cut the fuses very short and slid caps into the sticks of powder. "Come now, me boy, an' we'll slip down close under the cover of darkness, an' you'll see them takin' off like you never dreamed!" Crawling as close as we dared, each of us lit a fuse and hurled a stick of powder. My own stick must have landed closer to them than I planned, for we heard a startled exclamation followed by a yell.

Then a terrific explosion blasted the night apart.

Mulvaney's followed, and then we hastily hurled a third and a fourth.

One man lunged over the barricade and started straight for us. The others had charged the corral. The man headed our way suddenly saw us, and wheeling, he fled as if the devil was after him. Four riders gripping only mane holds dashed from the corral, and then there was silence. Mulvaney got to his feet chuckling. "For guns they'd have stood until hell froze over, but the powder and the flyin' rocks an' dust scared "em good. An" you've your ranch back." We had eaten our midday meal the next day, when I saw a rider approaching. It was Olga Maclaren. "Nice to see you," I said, aware of the sudden tension her presence always inspired.

She was looking toward the foundation we had laid for the new house. It was on a hill with the long sweep of Cottonwood Wash before it. "You should be more careful," she said. "You had a visitor last night." "We just took over last night," I objected.

"Who do you mean?" "Morgan. He was out here shortly after our boys got home. They met the bunch you stampeded from here.

"He's been puzzling me," I admitted.

"Who is he? Did he come from around here?" "I don't know. He's not talkative, but I've heard him mention places back east. I know he's been in Philadelphia and New York, but nothing else about him except that he goes to Salt Lake and San Francisco occasionally." "Not back east?" "Never since we've known him." "You like him?" She looked up at me. "Yes, Morgan can be very wonderful. He knows a lot about women and the things that please them." There was a flicker of laughter in her eves. "He probably doesn't know as much about them as you." "Me?" I was astonished. "What gave you that idea?" "Your approach that first day. You knew it would excite my curiosity, a man less sure of himself would never have dared. If you knew no more about women than most western men you would have hung back, wishing you could meet me, or you would have got drunk to work up your courage." "I meant what I said that day. You're going to marry me." "Don't say that. Don't even think it. You've no idea what you are saying or what it would mean." "Because of your father?" I looked at her. "Or Morgan Park?" "You take him too lightly, Matt. I think he is utterly without scruple. I believe he would stop at nothing." There was more to come, and I was interested. "There was a young man here from the East," she continued, "and I liked him. Knowing Morgan, I never mentioned him in Morgan's presence. Then one day he asked me about him. He added that it would be better for all concerned if the man did not come around anymore.

Inadvertently I mentioned the voung man's name, Arnold D'Arcv.

"When he heard that name he became very disturhed.

Who was he? Why had he come here? Had he asked any questions about anybody? Or described anybody he might be looking for? He asked me all those questions, but at the same time I thought little about it.

Afterwards I began to believe that he was not merely jealous. Right then I decided to tell Arnold about it when he returned." "And did you?" There was a shadow of worry on her face. "No.

He never came again." She looked quickly at me.

"I've often thought of it. Morgan never mentioned him again, but somehow Arnold hadn't seemed like a man who would frighten easily." Later, when she was mounting to leave, I asked her, "Where was D'Arcv from? Do you remember?" "Virginia, I believe. He had served in the Army and before coming west had been working in Washington."" Watching her go, I thought again of Morgan Park.

He might have frightened D'Arcy away, but I could not shake off the idea that something vastly more sinister lay behind it. And Park had been close to us during the night. If he had wanted to kill me, it could have been done, but apparently he wanted me alive.

Why?

"Mulvaney," I suggested, "if you can hold this place, I'll ride to Silver Reef and get off a couple of messages." He stretched his huge arms and grinned at me.

"Do you doubt it? I'll handle it or them. Go, and have yourself a time. his And in the morning I was in the saddle again.

High noon, and a mountain shaped like flame. Beyond the mountain and around it was a wide land with no horizons, but only the shimmering heat waves that softened all lines to vagueness and left the desert an enchanted land without beginning and without end.

As I rode, my mind studied the problem created by the situation around Cottonwood Wash. There were at least three and possibly four sides to the question. Rud Maclaren with his Bar M, Jim Pinder with his CP, and myself with the Two Bar. The fourth possibility was Morgan Park. Olga's account of Arnold D'Arcy's disappearance had struck a chord of memory. During ten years of my life I had been fighting in foreign wars, and there had been a military observer named D'Arcy, a Major Leo D'Arcy, who had been in China during the fighting there. It stuck in my mind that he had a brother named Arnold.

It was a remote chance, vet a possibility.

Why did the name upset Park? What had become of Arnold? Where did Park come from? Pinder could be faced with violence and handled with violence. Maclaren might be circumvented. Morgan Park worried me.

Silver Reef lay sprawled in haphazard comfort along a main street and a few cross streets. There were the usual frontier saloons, stores, churches, and homes. The sign on the Elk Horn Saloon caught my attention.

Crossing to it I pushed through the door into the dim interior. While the bartender served me, I glanced around, liking the feel of the place. "Rye?" The smooth-pated bartender squinted at me.

"Uh-huh. How's things in the mines?" "So-so. But you ain't no miner." He glanced at my cowhand's garb and then at the guns in their tied-down holsters. "This here's a quiet town.

We don't see many gun handlers around here. The place for them is over east of here." "Hattan's?" "Yeah. I hear the Bar M an' CP both are hirin' hands. Couple of hombres from there rode into town a few days ago. One of "em was the biggest man I ever did see." Morgan Park in Silver Reef. That sounded interesting, but I kept a tight rein on my thoughts and voice. "Did he say anything about what was goin' on over there?" "Not to me. The feller with him, though, he was inquirin' around for the Slade bovs. Gunslicks both of them. The big feller, he never come in here atall. I seen him on the street a couple of times, but he went to the Wells Fargo Bank and down the street to see that shyster, Jake Booker.

"You don't seem to like Booker?" "Him? He's plumb no good! The man's a crook!" Once started on Booker, the bartender told me a lot. Morgan Park had been in town before, but never came to the Elk Horn.

He confined his visits to the back room of a dive called the Sump or occasional visits to the office of Jake Booker. The only man who ever came with him was Lyell. Leaving the saloon, I sent off my telegram to Leo D'Arcy. Then I located the office of Booker, spotted the Sump, and considered the situation. Night came swiftly and miners crowded the street, a good-natured shoving, pushing, laughing throng, jamming the saloons and drinking. The crowd relaxed me with its rough good humor, and for the night I fell into it, drifting, joking, listening. His Turning off" the street near Louder's store I passed the street lamp on the corner and for an instant was outlined in its radiance. From the shadows, flame stabbed. There was a tug at my sleeve, and then my own gun roared, and as the shot sped, I went after it.

A man lunged from the side of the store and ran staggeringly toward the alley behind it. Pistol ready, I ran after him.

He wheeled, slipped, and was running again. He brought up with a crash against the corral bars and fell. He was crawling to his feet, and I caught a glimpse of his face in the glow from the window. It was Lvell. One hand at his throat, I jerked him erect. His face was gaunt, and there was blood on his shirtfront. He had been hit hard by my sudden, hardly aimed shot. "Got you, didn't I?" "Yes, damn you, an' I missed. Put-put me down." Lowering him to the ground, I dropped to one knee.

"I'll get a doctor. I saw a sign up the street." He grabbed my sleeve. "Ain't no use. I feel it. You got me good. Anyway-was he stared at me-"why should you get a doc for me?" "I shouldn't. You were in the gang killed Ball." His eyes bulged. "No! No, I wasn't there! He was a good old man! I wasn't in that crowd." "Was Morgan Park there?" His eyes changed, veiled. "Why would he be there?

That wasn't his play." "What's he seeing Booker for? What about Sam Slade?" Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and a man carrying a lantern came up the alley.

"Get a doctor, will you? This man's been shot." The man started off at a run, and Lyell lay quiet, a tough, unshaven man with brown eyes.

He breathed hoarsely for several minutes while I uncovered the wound. Then he spoke. "The Slades are to get Canaval. Park wants you for himself." "What does he want? Range?" "No. He-he wants money." The doctor hurried up with the lantern carrier.

Watching him start work, I backed away and disappeared in the darkness. If anybody knew anything about Park's plans it would be Booker, and I had an idea I could get into Booker's office.

Booker's office was on the second floor of a frame building reached by an outside stairway.

Once up there, a man would be fairly trapped if anyone came up those stairs. Down the street a music box was jangling, and the town showed no signs of going to sleep. Studying that stairway, I liked no part of it. Booker had many friends here, but I had none, and going up there would be a risk. Then I remembered all the other times I'd had no friends, so I hitched my guns easier on my thighs and went across the street.

Going up the steps two at a time, I paused at the door. Locks were no problem to a man of my experience, and a minute later I was inside a dark office, musty with stale tobacco. Swiftlv, I checked the trav on the desk, the top drawer, and then the side drawersea"lighting my exploration with a stump of candle. Every sense alert, ears attuned to the slightest sound, I worked rapidly, suddenly coning to an assayer's report. No location was mentioned and no notation was on the sheet, but the ore had been rich, amazingly rich. Then among some older papers at the bottom of a drawer I found a fragment of a letter from Morgan Park, signed with his name.

You have been recommended to me as a man of discretion who could turn over a piece of property for a quick profit and who could handle negotiations with a buyer. I am writing for an appointment and will be in Silver Reef on the 12th. It is essential that this business remain absolutely confidential.

It was little enough, but a hint. I left the assayer's report but pocketed the letter. The long ride had tired me, for my wounds, while much improved, had robbed me of strength. Dousing the candle, I returned it to its shelf. And then I heard a low mutter of voices and steps on the stair!

Backing swiftly, I glanced around and saw a closed door that must lead to an inner room. Stepping through it I closed it just in time. It was a room used for storage. Voices sounded and a door closed. A match scratched, and light showed under the door.

"Nonsense! Probably got in some drunken brawl! You're too suspicious, Morgan. his "Maybe, but the man worries me. He rides too much, and he may get to nosing around and finding something." "Did you see Lvell before he died?" "No. He shot frst, though. Some fool saw him take a bead on somebody. This other fellow followed it up and killed him." The crabbed voice of Booker interrupted.

"Forget him. Forget Sabre. My men are lined up, and they have the cold cash ready to put on the line! We haven't any time for child's play! I've done my part, and now it's up to you!

Get Sabre out of the way and get rid of Maclaren!" "That's not so easy," Park objected stubbornly. "Maclaren is never alone, and if anybody ever shot at him he'd turn the country upside down to find the man. And after he is killed, the minute we step in suspicion will be diverted to us." "Nonsense!" Booker replied irritably.

"Nobody knows we've had dealings. They'll have to settle the estate, and I'll step in as the representative of the buyers. Of course, if you were married to the girl it would simplify things. What's the matter? Sabre cutting in there, too?" "Shut up!" Park's voice was ugly. "If you ever say a thing like that again, I'll wring you out like a dirty towel, Booker. I mean it." "You do your part," Booker said, "and I'll do mine. The buyers have the money and they are ready. They won't wait forever." A chair scraped, and Park's heavy step went to the door and out. There was a faint squeak of a cork twisting in a bottle neck and the gurgle of a poured drink. Then the bottle and glass were returned to the shelf. The light vanished and a door closed. Then footsteps grated on the gravel below. Only a minute behind him, I hurried from the vicinity. Then I paused, sweating despite the cool air.

Thinking of what I'd heard, I retrieved my horse and slipped quietly out of town. Bedded down among the clustering cedars, I thought of that and then of Olga, the daughter of Maclaren, of her soft lips, the warmth of her arms, the quick, proud lift of her chin.

Coming home to Cottonwood Wash and the Two Bar with the wind whispering through the greasewood and rustling the cottonwood leaves, I kept a careful watch but saw nobody until Mulvaney himself stepped into sight. "Had any trouble?" I asked him.

"Trouble? None here," he replied. "Some men came by, but the sound of my Spencer drove them away again." He walked to the door. "There's grub on the table. I-Iow was it in Silver Reef?" "A man killed." "Be careful, lad. There's too many dying." When I had explained, he nodded. "Do they know it was you?" "I doubt it." It felt good to be back on my own place again, seeing the white-faced cattle browsing in the pasture below, seeing the water flowing to irrigate the small garden we'd started. "You're tired." Vlulvanev studied me. "But you look fit.

You've thrown a challenge in the teeth of Park.

You'll he backing it up?" "Backing it up?" My eyes must have told what was in me.

"That's one man I want, Mulvaney! He had me down and heat me, and I'll not live free until I whip him or he whips me fair!" "He's a power of man, lad. I've seen him lift a barrel of whiskey at arm's length overhead. It will be a job to whip him.". "Ever box any, Mulvaney? You told me you'd wrestled Cornish style." "What Irishman hasn't boxed a bit? Is it a sparrin' mate you're wantin'? Sure an' it would he good to get the leather on my maulies again." For a week we were at it. Every night we boxed, lightly at first, then faster. He was a hrawnv man, a fierce slugger and a powerful man in the clinches. On the seventh day we did a full thirty minutes without a break.

And in the succeeding days my strength returned and my speed grew greater. The rough and tumble part of it I loved. Nor was I worried about Morgan knowing more tricks than I-the waterfronts are the place to learn the dirty side of fighting. I would use everything I'd learned there, if Morgan didn't fight fair.

It was after our tenth session with the gloves that Mulvaney stripped them off and shook his head admiringly. "Faith, lad, you've a power of muscle behind that wallop of yours! That last one came from nowhere and I felt it clean to my toes! Never did I believe a man lived that could hit like that!" "Thanks," I said. "I'm ridin' to town tomorrow." "To fight him?" "No, to see the girl, Olga Maclaren, to buy supplies, and perhaps to ride him a little. I want him furious before we fight. I want him mad, mad and wild." He nodded wiselv at me. "It'll help, for no man can fight unless he keeps his head. But he careful, lad. Remember they are gunnin' for you, an' there's nothin' that would better please them than to see you dead on the ground." When the buckskin was watered I returned him to the hitch rail and walked into the saloon. Hattan's Point knew that Lyell was dead, but they had no idea who had done it. Key Chapin was the first man I met, and I looked at him, wondering on which side he stood.

He looked at me curiously and motioned toward the chair across the table from him. Dropping into it, I began to build a smoke. "Well, Sabre, you're making quite a name for yourself his I shrugged. "That's not important. All I want is a ranch." "All?" "And a girl." "One may be as hard to get as the other." ""Maybe. Anyway, I've made a start on the ranch. In fact, I have the ranch and intend to keep it." "Heard about Lyell?" "Killed, wasn't he? Somewhere west of here?" "At Silver Reef. It's a peaceful, quiet town in spite of being a boomtown. And they have a sheriff' over there who believes in keeping it peaceful. They tell me he is working hard to find out who killed Lyell." "It might be anybody.

There was a rumor that he was one of the men in the raid on the Ball ranch." "And which you promised to bury on the spot." What this was building to I did not know, but I was anxious to find out just where Chapin stood. He would be a good friend to have, and a bad enemy, for his paper had a good deal of influence around town. "You told me when I first came here that the town was taking sides. Which is your side?" He hesitated, toying with his glass. "That's a harder question to answer since you came," he replied frankly. "I will say this. I am opposed to violence. I believe now is the time to establish a peaceful community, and I believe it can be done. For that reason I am opposed to the CP outfit, whose code is violence." "And Maclaren?" He hesitated again. "Maclaren can be reasoned with at times. Stubborn, yes, but only because he has an exaggerated view of his own rightness. It is not easy to prove him wrong, but it can be done." "And Park?" He looked at me sharply, a cool, measuring glance, as if to see what inspired the remark. Then he said, "Morgan Park is generally felt to see things as Maclaren does." "Is that your opinion?" He did not answer me, frowning as he stared out the door. Key Chapin was a handsome man and an able one. I could understand how he felt about law and order.

Basically, I agreed with him, but when I'm attacked, I can't take it lying down.

"Look, Chapin" I leaned over the table "I've known a dozen frontier towns tougher than this one. To each came law and order, but it took a fight to get it. The murderers, cheats, and swindlers must be stamped out before the honest citizens can have peace. And it's peace that I'm fighting for. You, more than anybody else, can build the situation to readiness for it with your paper. Write about it. Get the upright citizens prepared to enforce it, once this battle is over." He nodded and then glanced at me. "What about you?

You're a gunfighter. In such a community, there is no place for such a man." That made me grin. "Chapin, I never drew a gun on a man in my life who didn't draw on me first, or try to! And while I "may be a gunfighter, I'm soon to be a rancher and a solid citizen. Count on me to help." "Even to stopping this war?" "What war? Ball had a ranch. He was a peaceful old man who wanted no trouble from anyone, but he was weaker than the Bar M or the CP so he died. He turned the ranch over to me on the condition that I keep it. If protecting one's property is war, then we'll have it for a long time." "You could sell out." "Run? Is that what you mean? I never ducked out of a good fight yet, Chapin, and never will. When they stop fighting me, I'll hang up my guns. Until then, I shall continue to fight." Filling my glass, I added, "Don't look at the overall picture so long that you miss the details." "What do you mean?" "Look for motives. What are the origins of this fight? I'd start investigating the participants, and I mean neither Maclaren nor Pinder!" Getting up, I put my hat on my head and added, "Ever hear of a man named Booker at Silver Reef?

A lawyer?" "He's an unmitigated scoundrel, and whatever he does he's apt to get away with. If there's a loophole in the law he doesn't know, then nobody knows it." "Then find out why he's interested in this fight, and when the Slade boys drift into this country, ask yourself why they are here. Also, ask yourself why Morgan Park is meeting Booker in secret." Olga was not in town, so I turned the buckskin toward the Bar M. A cowhand with one foot bandaged was seated on the doorstep when I rode up. He stared, his jaw dropping.

"Howdy," I said calmly, taking out the makings.

"I'm visiting on the ranch and don't want any trouble. As far as you boys are concerned, I've no hard feelings." "You've no hard feelin's! What about me? You dunned near shot my foot off!" I grinned at him. "Next time you'll stay under cover. Anyway, what are you gripin" about? You haven't done a lick of work since it happened!" Somebody chuckled. I looked around and saw Canaval. "I reckon he did it on purpose, Sabre." "Purpose?" The injured man roared. Disgusted, he turned and limped off.

"What you want here, Sabre?" Canaval asked, still smiling.

"Just visiting." "Sure you're welcome?" "No, I'm not sure. But if you're wondering if I came looking for trouble, I didn't. If touble comes to me on this ranch now it will be because I'm pushed and pushed hard. If you're the guardian angel of peace, just relax. I'm courtin'." "Rud won't take kindly to that. He may have me order you off." "All right, Canaval, if he does, and you tell me to go, I'll go. Only one thing-you keep Park off me. I'm not ready for him, and when it comes I'd rather she didn't see it." "Fair enough." He tossed his cigarette into the yard. "You'll not be bothered under those circumstances.

Only-he grinned and his eyes twinkled-"you might be wrong about Olga. She might like to see you tangle with Park!" Starting up the steps, I remembered something.

"Canaval!" He turned sharply, ready on the instant.

"A friendly warning," I said. "Some of the people who don't like me also want your boss out of here. To get him out, you have to go first. If you hear of the Slades in this country you'll know they've come for you and your boss!" His eyes searched mine. "The Slades?" "Yeah, for you and Maclaren. Somebody is saving me foi dessert." He was standing there looking after me when I knocked Inside a voice answered that set my blood pounding. "Come in.

VII As I entered, there was an instant when my reflection was thrown upon the mirror beside hers.

Seeing my gaze over her shoulder, she turned, and we stood there, looking al ourselves in the mirror-a tall, dark young man in a dark blue shirt, black silk neckerchief, black jeans, and tied-down hol- sters with their walnut-stocked guns, and Olga in a sea-green gown, filmy and summery looking.

She turned quickly to face me. "What are you doing here? My father will be furious!" "He'll have to get over it sometime, and it might as well be right now." She searched my face. "You're still keeping up that foolish talk? About marrying me?" "It isn't foolish. Have you started buying your trousseau?" "Of course not!" "You'd better. You'll need something to wear, and I won't have much money for a year or two." "Matt"- her face became serious-"you'd better go. I'm expecting Morgan." I took her hands. "Don't worry. I promised Canaval there would be no trouble, and there will be none, no matter what Morgan Park wants to do or tries to do." She was unconvinced and tried to argue, but I was thinking how lovely she was. Poised, her lovely throat bare, she was something to set a man's pulses pounding.

"Matt!" She was angry now. "You're not even listening! And don't look at me like that!" "How else should a man look at a woman? And why don't we sit down? Is this the way you receive guests at the Bar M? At the Two Bar we are more thoughtful." "So I've heard!" she said dryly. Her anger faded. "Matt? How do you feel? I mean those wounds-are they all right?" "Not all right, but much better. I'm not ready for Morgan Park yet, but I will be soon. He won't be missed much when he's gone." "Gone?" She was surprised. "Remember that I like Morgan. was "Not very much." I shrugged. "Yes, gone. This country isn't big enough to hold both of us even if you weren't in it.

She sat down opposite me, and her face was flushed a little. She looked at me and then looked away, and neither of us said anything for a long minute.

"It's nice here," I said at last. "Your father loves this place, doesn't he?" "Yes, only I wish he would be content and stop trying to make it bigger." "Men like your father never seem to learn when they have enough." "You don't talk like a cowhand, Matt." "That's because I read a book once." "Key told me you had been all over the world.

He checked up on you. He said you had fought in China and South Africa." "That was a long time ago." "How did you happen to come west?" "I was born in the West, and then I always wanted to return to it and have a ranch of my own, but there wasn't anything to hold me down, so I just kept on drifting from place to place. Staying in one place did not suit me unless there was a reason to stay, and there never was-before." Tendrils-of her dark hair curled against her neck. The day was warm, and I could see tiny beads of perspiration on her upper lip. She stood up suddenly, uneasily.

"Matt, you'd better go. Father will be coming and he'll be furious." "And Morgan Park will be coming. And it doesn't matter in the least whether they come or not. I came here to see you, and as long as they stay out of the way there'll be no trouble." "But, Matt-- She stepped closer to me, and I took her by the elbows. She started to step back, but I drew her to me swiftly. I took her chin and turned her head slightly. She resisted, but the continued pressure forced her chin to come around.

She looked at me then, her eyes wide and more beautiful than I would ever have believed eyes could be, and then I kissed her.

We stood there, clinging together tightly, and then she pulled violently away from me. For an instant she looked at me, and then she moved swiftly to kiss me again, and we were like that when hoofs sounded in the yard.

Two horses.

We stepped apart, but her eyes were wide and her face was pale when they came through the door, her breast heaving and her white teeth clinging to her lower lip. They came through the door, Rud Maclaren first and then Morgan Park, dwarfing Maclaren in spite of the fact that he was a big man. When they saw me they stopped.

Park's face darkened with angry blood. He started toward me, his voice hoarse with fury.

"Get out! Get out, I say!" My eyes went past him to Maclaren.

"Is Park running this place, or are you? It seems to me he's got a lot of nerve, ordering people off the place of Rud Maclaren." Maclaren flushed. He didn't like my being there, but he disliked Park's usurping of authority even more. "That'll do, Morgan! I'll order people out of my own home!" Morgan Park's face was ugly at that minute.

But before he could speak, Canaval appeared in the door. "Boss, Sabre said he was visitin', not huntin' trouble. He said he would make no trouble and would go when I asked him. He also said he would make no trouble with Park." Before Maclaren could reply, Olga said quickly, "Father, Mr. Sabre is my guest. When the time comes he will leave. Until then I wish him to stay." "I won't have him in this house!" Maclaren said angrily. He strode to me, the veins in his throat swelling. "Damn you, Sabre! You've a gall to come here after shootin' my men, stealin' range that rightly belongs to me, an' tannin' my cattle out of Cottonwood!" "Perhaps," I admitted, "there's something in what you say, but I think we have no differences we can't settle without fighting. Your men came after me first.

I never wanted trouble with you, Rud, and I think we can reach a peaceful solution." It took the fire out of him. He was still truculent, still wanting to throw his weight around, but mollified. Right then I sensed the truth about Bud Maclaren. It was not land and property he wanted so much as to be known as the biggest man in the country. He merely knew of no way to get respect and admiration other than through wealth and power.

Realizing that gave me an opening. "I was talking to Chapin today. If we are going to be safe we must stop all this fighting, and the only way it can be done is tbrougl, the leadership of the right man. I think you're that man, Maclaren." He was listening, and he liked what he heard.

"You're the big man of the community," I added.

"If you make a move for peace, others will follow." "The Pinders wouldn't listen!" he protested.

"You know that! You killed Rollie, but if you hadn't, Canaval might have. Jim will never rest until you're dead. And he hates me and all I stand for." Morgan Park was listening, his eyes hard and watchful. He had never imagined that Maclaren and I would talk peace, and if we reached a settlement, his plans were finished.

"If Pinder and the CP were alone they would have to become outlaws to persist in this fight. If the fight continues, all the rustlers in the country will come in here to run off our herds while we fight. Did it ever fail? When honest men fall out, thieves always profit. Moreover, you'll break yourself paying gunman's wages. From now on they'll come higher." Olga was listening with some surprise and, I believed, with respect. Certainly, I had gone farther than I had ever believed possible. My own instinct is toward fighting, yet I have always been aware of the futility of it. Now I could see that if the fighting ended, all our problems would be simple and easily settled. The joker in the deck was Morgan Park; he had everything to lose by a settlement and nothing to gain. Park interrupted suddenly. "I wouldn't trust all this talk, Rud.

Sabre sounds good, but he's got some trick in mind. What's he planning? What's he trying to cover?" "Morgan!" Olga protested. "I'm surprised at you! Matt is sincere and you know it." was I know nothing of the kind," he replied shortly. "I'm surprised that you would defend this-this killer." He was looking at me as he spoke, and it was then I said the one thing I had wanted to say, the hunch I could not prove. "At least," I replied, "my killings have been in fair fights, by men trying to kill me. I've never killed a man who had no gun and who would have been helpless against me in any case!" Morgan Park stiffened and his face grew livid. Yet I knew from the way his eyes searched my face that he detected the undercurrent of meaning, and he was trying to gauge the depth of my knowledge.

It was D'Arcy I had in mind, for D'Arcy had known something about Park and had been slain for what he knew, or because he might tell others what he knew. I was sure of that. "It isn't only rustlers," I continued, to Maclaren, "but others have schemes they can only bring to success through trouble here.

There are those who wish this fight to continue so they may get rights and claims they could never secure if there was peace." Morgan Park was glaring, fighting for control.

He could see that unless he kept his temper and acted quickly his plans might be ruined. Something of what I'd said apparently touched Maclaren, for he was nodding. "I'll have to think it over," Maclaren said.

"This is no time to make decisions." "By all means." Turning, I took Olga's arm. "Now if you'll excuse us?" Morgan's face was a study in concentrated fury.

He started forward, blood in his eye. Putting Olga hurriedly to one side, I was ready for him, but Canaval stepped between us. "Hold it!" Canaval's command stopped Park in his tracks.

"That's all, Park. We'll have no trouble here." "What's the matter?" he sneered. "Sabre need a nursemaid now?" "No." The foreman was stiff. "He gave me his word, and I gave mine.

As long as he is on this place my word holds.

If the boss wants him to go, he'll go." In the silence that followed, Maclaren turned to me. "Sabre, I've no reason to like you, but you are my daughter's guest and you talk straight from the shoulder. Remain as long as you like." Park started to speak, but realized he could do nothing. He turned his heavy head, staring at me from under heavy brows. That gaze was cold and deadly.

"We can settle our differences elsewhere, Sabre." Olga was worried when we got outside. "You shouldn't have come, Matt. There'll be trouble.

Morgan is a bad enemy." "He was my enemy, anyway. That he is a bad enemy, I know. I think another friend of yours found that out." She looked up quickly, real fear in her eyes.

"What do you mean?" "Your friend D'Arcy. He comes of a family that does not frighten easily. Did you ever have a note of acknowledgment from him?" "No." "Strange. I'd have said such a man would never neglect such an obvious courtesy." We stood together, then, looking out at the night and the desert, no words between us but needing no words, our hearts beating together, our blood moving together, feeling the newness of love discovered. The cottonwood leaves brushed their pale green hands together, and their muted whispering seemed in tune with our own thoughts.

This was my woman, the one I would walk down the years with. The leaves said that and my blood said it, and I knew the same thoughts were in her, reluctant as she might be to admit it.

"This trouble will pass," I said softly, "as the night will pass, and when it has gone, and the winds have blown the dust away, then I shall take you to Cottonwood Wash-to live." Her hand stayed in mine, and I continued. "We'll build something there to last down the years until this will all seem a bad dream, a nightmare dissipated by the morning sunlight." "But could you ever settle down? Could you stay?" "Of course. Men don't wander for the love only of wandering, they wander because they are in search of something. A place of one's own, a girl, a job accomplished. It is only you who has mattered since the day I rode into the streets of Hattan's Point and saw you there." Turning toward her, I took her by the elbows.

Her breath caught and then came quickly and deeply.

Her lips Earted slightly as she came into my arms, and I felt her warm ody melt against mine and her lips were warm and seeking, urgent, passionate. My fingers ran into her hair and along her scalp, and her kisses hurt my lips as mine must have hurt hers.

All the fighting, all the waiting, melted into nothingness then.

She pulled back suddenly, frightened yet excited, her breasts rising and falling as she fought for control. "This isn't good! We're-we're too violent. We've got to be more calm." I laughed then, full of the zest of living and loving and seeing the glory of her there in the moonlight. I laughed and took her arms again. "You're not exactly a calm person." "I?" A flush darkened her face. "Well, all right then. Neither of us is calm." "Need we be?" My hands reached for her, and then I heard someone whistling. Irritably, I looked up to hear feet grating on the gravel path. It was Canaval. "Better ride," he said. "I wouldn't put it past Park to drygulch a man." "Canaval!" Olga protested. "How can you say that?" His slow eyes turned to her. "You think so too, ma'am. You always was an uncommon smart girl. You've known him for what he was for a mighty long time." He turned back to me. "Mean what you said back there? About peace and all?" "You bet I did. What can we gain by fighting?" "You're right," Canaval agreed; "but there'll be bloodshed before it's over. Pinder won't quit.

He hated Rud Maclaren, and now he hates you.

He won't back up or quit." Canaval turned to Olga. "Let me talk to Sabre alone, will you? There's something he should know." "All right." She gave me her hand. "Be careful. And goodnight." We watched her walk back up the path, and when my eyes turned back to him, his were surprisingly soft. I could see his expression even in the moonlight.

"Reminds me of her mother," he said quietly. "You knew her?" I was surprised.

"She was my sister." That was something I could never have guessed. "She doesn't know," he explained. "Rud and I used to ride together. I was too fast with a gun and killed a man with too many relatives. I left and Rud married my sister. From time to time we wrote, and when Rud was having trouble with rustlers, I came out to lend a hand. He persuaded me to stay. was He looked around at me. "One thing more. What did you mean about the Slades?" So I told him in detail of my trip to Silver Reef, the killing of Lyell and the conversation I'd overheard between Park and Booker.

Where I had heard the conversation I did not tell him. I only said there was some deal between the two of them that depended upon results to be obtained by Morgan Park. It was after midnight when I finally left the Bar M, turning off the main trail and cutting across country for the head of Gypsum Canyon. Mulvaney was waiting for me. "Knowed the horse's walk," lie explained. Nodding toward the hills, he added, "Too quiet out there." The night was clear, wide, and peaceful.

Later during the night, I awakened with a start, the sound of a shot ringing in my ears. Mulvaney was sleeping soundly, so I did not disturb him. Afterward, all was quiet, so I dropped off to sleep once more.

In the morning I mentioned it to Mulvaney.

"Did you get up?" he asked.

"Yeah. Went out in the yard and listened, but heard nothing more. Could have been a hunter. Maybe one of the Benaras boys." Two hours later I knew better. Riding past Maverick Spring I saw a riderless horse grazing near a dark bundle that lay on the grass.

The dark bundle was Rud Maclaren, and he was dead.

He had been shot twice from behind, both shots through the head. He was sprawled on his face, both hands above his head, one knee drawn up. Both guns were in their holsters, and his belt gun was tied down. After one look I stood back and fired three shots as a signal to Mulvaney. When he saw Maclaren, his face went white and he looked up. "You shouldn't have done it, boy. The country hated him but they respected him, too. They'll hang a man for this!" "Don't be foolish!" I was irritated, but appalled, too. "I didn't do this! Feel of him! It must have been that shot I heard last night." "He's cold, all right. This'll blow the lid off, Matt. You'd best rig a story for them. And it had better be good!" "No rigging. I'll tell the truth." "They'll hang you, Matt. They'll never believe you didn't do it." He waved a hand around.

"He's on your place. The two of you have been feudin'. They'll say you shot him in the back." Standing over the body with the words of Mulvaney in my ears, I could see with piercing clarity the situation I was in. What could he have been doing here?

Why would he come to my ranch in the middle of the night?

I could see their accusing eyes when the death was reported, the shock to Olga, the reaction of the people, the accusations of Park. Somebody wanted Maclaren dead enough to shoot him in the back. Who?

Vill Strangely, the morning was cool with a hint of rain. Mulvaney, at my request, had gone to the Bar M to tell Canaval of the killing, and it was up to Canaval to tell Olga. I did not like to think of that. My luck held in one sense, for jolly Benaras came riding up the wash, and I asked him to ride to Hattan's to report to Key Chapin.

Covering the body with a tarp I mounted and began to scout the area. How much time I had, I did not know, but it could not be much. Soon they would be arriving from Hattan's, and even sooner from the Bar M. One thing puzzled me. There had been but one shot fired, but there were two bullet holes in Maclaren's skull.

Carefully, I examined the sand under the body'and was struck by a curious thing. There was no blood! None on the sand, that is. There was plenty of blood on Rod himself, but all of it, strangely enough, seemed to come from one bullet hole!

There was a confusion of tracks where his horse had moved about while he lay there on the ground, but at this point the wash was sandy, and no definite track could be distinguished. Then horses' hoofs sounded, and I looked up to see five riders coming toward me. The nearest was Canaval, and beside him, Olga. The others were all Bar M riders, and from one glance at their faces I knew there was no doubt in their minds and little reason for speculation that I had killed Rod Maclaren.

Canaval drew up, and his eyes pierced mine, cold, calculating, and shrewd. Olga threw herself from her horse and ran to the still form on the ground. She had refused to meet my eyes or to notice me.

"This looks bad, Canaval. When did he leave the ranch?" He studied me carefully, as if he were seeing me for the first time. was I don't know, exactly," he said.

"No one heard him go. He must have pulled out sometime after two this morning." "The shot I heard was close to four." "One shot?" "Only one-but he's been shot twice." Hesitating a little, I asked, "Who was with him when you last saw him?" "He was alone. If it's Morgan Park you are thinkin' of, forget it. He left right after you did.

When I last saw Rud he was goin' to his room, feelin' mighty sleepy." The Bar M riders were circling around. Their faces were cold, and they started an icy chill coming up my spine. These men were utterly loyal, utterly ruthless when aroused. The night before, they had given me the benefit of the doubt, but now they saw no reason to think of any other solution but the obvious one.

Tom Fox, a lean, hard-bitten Bar M man, was staring at me. Coolly, he took a rope from his pommel. "What we waitin' for, men?" he asked bitterly. "There's our man." Turning, I said, "Fox, from what I hear you're a good man and a good hand. Don't jump to any hasty conclusions. I didn't kill Rud Maclaren and had no reason to. We made peace talk last night an' parted in good spirits." Fox looked up at Canaval. "That right?" Canaval hesitated, his expression unchanging.

Then he spoke clearly. "It is-but Rud Maclaren changed his mind afterward!" "Changed his mind?" That I couldn't believe, yet at the expression in Canaval's eyes, I knew he was speaking the truth. "Even so," I added, "how could I be expected to know that? When I left, all was friendly." "You couldn't know it," Canaval agreed, "unless he got out of bed an' came to tell you.

He might have done that, and I can think of no other reason for him to come here. He came to tell you-an' you killed him when he started away." The hands growled and Fox shook out a loop. It was Olga who stopped them. "No! Wait until the others arrive. If he killed my father, I want him to die! But wait until the others come!" Reluctantly, Fox drew in his rope and coiled it. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I could fight, and I would if it came to that, but these men only believed they were doing the right thing. They had no idea that I was innocent.

My mouth was dry and my hands felt cold. I tried to catch Olga's eye but she ignored me.

Canaval seemed to be studying about something, but he did not speak a word. The first one to arrive was Key Chapin, and behind him a dozen other men. He looked at me, a quick, worried glance, and then looked at Canaval. Without waiting for questions, the foreman quietly repeated what had happened, telling of the entire evening, facts that could not until then have been known to the men.

"There's one thing," I said suddenly, "that I want to call to your attention." Thev looked at me, but there was not a friendly eye in the lot of them. Looking around the circle of their faces, "I felt a cold sinking in my stomach, and a feeling came over me. Matt Sabre, I was telling myself, this is the end. You've come to it at last, and you'll hang for another man's crime.

Not one friendly face and Mulvaney had not returned with the Bar M riders. There was no sign of Jolly Benaras.

"Chapin," I asked, "will you turn Maclaren over?" The request puzzled him, and they looked from me to the covered 'hcxly and then to Chapin. He swung down and walked across to the dead man. I heard Olga's breath catch, and then Chain rolled Maclaren on his back. He straightened up then, still puzzled. The others looked blankly at me. "The reason you are so quick to accuse me is that he is here, on my ranch. Well, he was not killed here.

There's no blood on the ground!" Startled, they all looked. Before any comment could be made, I continued. "One of the wounds bled badly, and the front of his shirt is dark with blood. The sand would be too, if he'd been killed here. What I am saying is that he was killed elsewhere and then carried here!" "But why?" Chapin protested.

Canaval said, "You mean to throw guilt onto you?" was I sure do mean that! Also, that shot I heard fired was shot into him after he was dead!" Fox shook his head, and sneered. "How could you figure that?" "A dead man does not bleed. Lock at him! All the blood came from one wound!" Suddenly we heard more horsemen, and Mulvaney returned with his guns and the Benaras boys. Not one, but all of them.

Coolly, they moved up to the edge of the circle.

"We'd be beholden," the older Benaras said loudly, "if vou'd all move back. We're friends to Sabre, an" we don't believe he done it. Now give him air an' listen." They hesitated, not liking it. But their common sense told them that if trouble started now it would be a bloody mess. Carefully, the nearest riders eased back. Whether Olga was listening, I had no idea. Yet it was she whom I wanted most to convince.

"There are other men with axes to grind beside the Pinders and I," I said. "What had I to fear from Rud? Already I had shown I could take care of myself against all of them. Face to face, I was twice the man Rud was." "You talk yourself up mighty well," Fox said. "You had your chance in the canyon," I said brutally, "and when I say I can hold this ranch, you know I'm not lying. his Horses came up the trail, and the first faces I recognized were Bodie Miller and the redhead I'd whipped at the Two Bar. Bodie pushed his horse into the circle when he saw me. The devil was riding Bodie again, and I could see from Canaval's face that he knew it. Right at the moment, Bodie was remembering how I had dared him to gamble at point-blank range. "You, is it?" he said. "I'll kill you one day. "Keep out of this, Bodie!" Canaval ordered sharply.

Miller's dislike was naked in his eyes.

"Rud's dead now," he said. "Maybe you won't be the boss anymore. Maybe she'll want a younger man for boss!" The import of his words was like a blow across the face. Suddenly I wanted to kill him, suddenly I was going to. Canaval's voice was a cool breath of air through my fevered brain.

"That will be for Miss Olga to decide." He turned to her. "Do you wish me to continue as foreman?" "Naturally!" Her voice was cold and even, and in that moment I was proud of her. "And your first job will be to fire Bodie Miller!" contiller's face went white with fury, and his lips bared back from his teeth.

Before he could speak, I interfered. "Don't say it, Bodie! Don't say it!" I stepped forward to face him across Maclaren's body.

The malignancy of his expression was unbelievable. "You an' me are goin' to meet," he said, staring at me.

"When you're ready, Bodie." Deliberately, not wanting the fight here, now, I turned my back on him.

Chapin and Canaval joined me while the men loaded the body into a buckboard. "We don't think you're guilty, Sabre. Have you any ideas?" "Only that I believe he was killed elsewhere and carried here to cast blame on me. I don't believe it was Pinder. He would never shoot Maclaren in the back." "You think Park did it?" Canaval demanded.

"Peace between myself and Maclaren would be the last thing he'd want," I said.

Bob Benaras was waiting for me. "You can use Jonathan an' Jolly," he said. was I ain't got work enough to keep "em out of mischief. was He was not fooling me in the least. "Thanks. I can use them to spell Mulvaney on lookout, and there's plenty of work to do." For two weeks we worked hard, and the inquest of Bud Maclaren turned up nothing new. There had been no will, so the ranch went to Olga.

Yet nothing was settled. Some people believed I had killed Maclaren, most of them did not know, but the country was quiet.

Of Bodie Miller we heard much. He killed a man at Hattan's in a saloon quarrel, shot him before he could get his hand on a gun.

Bodie and Red were riding with a lot of riffraff from Hite. The Bar M was missing cattle, and Bodie laughed when he heard it. He pistol-whipped a man in Silver Reef and wounded a man while driving off the posse that came after him. I worried more about Morgan Park. I had to discover just what his plan was. My only chance was to follow Park every hour of the day and night. I must know where he went, what he was doing, with whom he was talking. One night I waited on a hill above Hattan's watching the house where he lived when in town.

When he came out of the house I could feel the hackles rising on the back of my neck. There was something about him that would always stir me to fury, and it did now. Stifling it, I watched him go to Mother O'Hara's, watched him mount up and ride out of town on the Bar M road. Yet scarcely a dozen miles from town he drew up and scanned his back trail.

Safely under cover, I watched him. Apparently satisfied with what he did not see, he turned right along the ridge, keeping under cover. He now took a course that led him into the wildest and most remote corner of the Bar M, that neck of land north of my own and extending far west. His trail led him out upon Dark Canyon Plateau. Knowing little of this area, I closed the distance between us until I saw him making camp.

Before daylight, he was moving again. The sun rose and the day became hot, with a film of heat haze obscuring all the horizons. He seemed headed toward the northwest where the long line of the Sweet Alice Hills ended the visible world. This country was a maze of canyons. To the south it fell away in an almost sheer precipice for hundreds of feet to the bottom of Dark Canyon. There were trails off the plateau, but I knew none of them. The view was breathtaking, overlooking miles of columned and whorled sandstone, towering escarpments, minarets, and upended ledges. This had once been inhabited country, for there were ruins of cliff dwellings about, and Indian writings.

The trail divided at the east end of the plateau, and the flat rock gave no indication of which fork Park had taken. It looked as though I had lost him. Taking a chance, I went down a steep slide into Poison Canyon and worked back in the direction he must have taken, but the only tracks were of rodents and one of a bighorn sheep. Hearing a sound of singing, I dismounted. Rifle in hand, I worked my way through the rocks and brush. "No use to shave," the man at the fire said. "We're stuck here. No chance to get to Hattan's now." "Yeah?" The shaver scoffed. "You see that big feller? Him an" Slade are talking medicine.

We'll move out soon. I don't want to get caught with no beard when I go to town." "Who'll care how you look? An' maybe the fewer who know how you look, the better." "After this show busts open," the shaver replied, "it ain't goin' to matter who knows me! We'll have that town sewed up tighter than a druml" "Maybe." The cook straightened and rubbed his back. "Again, maybe not. I wish it was rustlin' cows. Takin' towns can be mighty mean." "It ain't the town, just a couple of ranches. Only three, four men on the Two Bar, an' about the same on the Bar M. Slade will have the toughest job done afore we start." "That big feller looks man enough to do it by himself.

But if he can pay, his money will look good to me.

"He better watch his step. That Sabre ain't no chicken with a pair of Colts. He downed Rollie Pinder, an' I figure it was him done for Lyell over to the Reef." "It'll be somethin' when he an' Bodie get together. Both faster than greased lightnin'." "Sabre won't be around. Pinder figures on raidin' that spread today. Sam wouldn't help him because he'd promised Park. Pinder'll hit "em about sundown, an" that'll be the end of Sabre." Waiting no longer, I hurried back to my horse. If Pinder was to attack the Two Bar, Park would have to wait. Glancing at the sun, fear rose in my throat. It would be nip and tuck if I was to get back. Another idea came to me. I would rely on Mulvaney and the Benaras boys to protect the Two Bar. I would counterattack and hit the CP!

When I reached the CP, it lay deserted and still but for the cook, bald-headed and big bellied. He rushed from the door but I was on him too fast, and he dropped his rifle under the threat of my six-gun. Tying him up, I dropped him in a feed bin and went to the house. Finding a can of wagon grease, I smeared it thickly over the floor in front of both doors and more of it on the steps.

Leaving the door partly open, I dumped red pepper into a pan and balanced it above the door, where the slightest push would send it cascading over whoever entered, filling the air with fine grains.

Opening the corral, I turned the horses loose and started them down the valley. Digging out all the coffee on the place, I packed it to take away, knowing how a cowhand dearly loves his coffee.

It was my idea to make their lives as miserable as possible to get them thoroughly fed up with the fight.

Pinder would not abandon the fight, but his hands might get sick of the discomfort.

Gathering a few sticks, I added them to the fire already laid, but under them I put a half dozen shotgun shells. In the tool shed were six sticks of powder and some fuse left from blasting rocks. Digging out a crack at one corner of the fireplace I put two sticks of dynamite into the crack and then ran the fuse within two inches of the fire and covered it with ashes. The shotgun shells would explode and scatter the fire, igniting, I hoped, the fuse.

A slow hour passed after I returned to a hideout in the brush. What was happening at the Two Bar? In any kind of fight, one has to have confidence in those fighting with him, and I had it in the men I'd left behind me. If one of them was killed, I vowed never to stop until all this crowd were finished.

Sweat trickled down my face. It was hot under the brush. Once a rattler crawled by within six or seven feet of me. A packrat stared at me and then moved on. Crows quarreled in the trees over my head. And then I saw the riders.

One look told me. Whatever had happened at the Two Bar, I knew these men were not victorious.

There were nine in the group, and two were bandaged. One had his arm in a sling and one had his skull bound up.

Another man was tied over a saddle, head and heels hanging. They rode down the hill and I lifted my rifle, waiting for them to get closer to the ranch. Then I fired three times as rapidly as I could squeeze off the shots.

One horse sprang into the air, spun halfway around, scattering the group, and then fell, sending his rider sprawling. The others rushed for the shelter of the buildings, but just as they reached them one man toppled from his horse hit the dirt like a sack of old clothes, and rolled over in the dust. He staggered to his feet and rushed toward the barn, fell again, and then got up and ran on.

Others made a break for the house, and the first one to hit those greasy steps was Jim Pinder. He hit them running. His feet flew out from under him and he hit the step on his chin!

With a yell, the others charged by him, and even at that distance I could hear the crash of their falling, their angry shouts, and then the roaring sneezes and gasping yells as the red pepper filled the air and bit into their nostrils.

Coolly, I proceeded to shoot out the windows and to knock the hinges off the door, and when Jim Pinder

staggered to his feet and reached for his hat, I put a bullet through the hat. He jumped as if stung and grabbed for his pistol. He swung it up, and I fired again as he did. What happened to his shot I never knew, but he dropped the pistol with a yell and plunged for the door. One man had ducked for the heavily planked water trough, and now he fired at me. He was invisible from my position, but I knew that he was somewhere under the trough, and so I drilled the trough with two quick shots, draining the water down upon him. He jumped to escape, and I put a bullet into the dust to left and right of his position. Like it or not, he had to lie there while all the water ran over him. A few scattered shots stampeded their horses, and then I settled down to wait for time to bring the real fireworks.

A few shots came my way after a while, but all were high or low, and none came close to me.

Taking my time, I loaded up for the second time and then rolled a smoke. My buckskin was in a low place and had cover from the shots. There was no way they could escape from the house to approach me. One wounded man had fallen near the barn, and I let him get up and limp toward it. Every once in a while somebody would fall inside the house. In the clear air I could hear the sound, and each time I couldn't help but grin. There was smashing and banging inside the house, and I could imagine what was happening. They were looking for coffee and not finding it. A few minutes later a slow trickle of smoke came out the chimney. My head resting on the palm of one hand, I took a deep drag on my cigarette and waited happily for the explosion.

They came, and suddenly. There was the sharp bark of a shotgun shell exploding and then a series of hangings as the others went off. Two men rushed from the door and charged for the barn. Bullets into the dust hurried them to shelter, and I laid back and laughed heartily. I'd never felt so good in my life, picturing the faces of those tired, disgruntled men, besieged in the cabin, unable to make coffee, sliding on the greasy floor, sneezing from the red pepper, ducking shotgun shells from the fire. Not five minutes had passed when the powder went off with a terrific concussion. I had planted it better than I knew, for it not only cracked the fireplace but blew a hole in it from which smoke gulped and then trickled slowly.

Rising, I drifted back to my horse and headed for the ranch. Without doubt, the CP outfit was beginning to learn what war meant. Furthermore, I knew my methods were far more exasperating to the cowhands than out-and-out fight. Your true cowhand savors a good scrap, but he does not like discomfort or annoyance, and I knew that going without water, without good food, and without coffee would do more to end the fight than anything else. All the same, as I headed the gelding back toward the Two Bar, I knew that if any of my own boys had been killed I would retaliate in kind. There would be no other answer.

Mulvaney greeted me at the door. "Sure, Matt, you missed a good scrap! We give them lads the fight of their lives!" Jolly and Jonathan looked up at me, jolly grinning, the more serious Jonathan smiling faintly. Jolly showed me a bullet burn on his arm, the only scratch any of them had suffered.

They had been watching, taking turnabout, determined they would not be caught asleep while I was gone. The result was that they sighted the CP riders when they were still miles from the headquarters of the Two Bar. The Benaras boys began it with a skirmishers' battle, firing from rocks and brush in a continual running fight. A half dozen times they drove the CP riders to shelter, killing two horses and wounding a man. They had retreated steadily until in a position -- to be covered by Mulvaney, who was ready with all the spare arms loaded. From the bunkhouse they stood off the attack. They had so many loaded weapons that there was no break in their fire until the CP retreated. "Somebody didn't want to fight," Jolly explained. "We seen "em argufyin", an' then finally somebody else joined in an' they backed out on Pinder. He was almighty sore, believe you me." Amid much laughter I told them about my own attack on the CP. Mulvaney ended it suddenly. "Hey!" he turned swiftly. was I forgot to tell you. That catamount of a Bodie Miller done shot Canaval!" "Is he dead?" "Not the last we heard, but he's hurt mighty bad. He took four bullets before he went down." "Miller?" "Never got a scratch! That kid's plumb poison, I tell you! Poison!" For a minute I considered that, and liked none of it.

Canaval had been a man with whom I could reason.

confore than that, with Canaval at hand there had always been protection for Olga.

There was no time to be wasted now. Telling Mulvaney of what I had seen in the canyon, I turned my buckskin toward the Bar M. I wanted first of all to talk with Olga, and second to see Canaval. If the man was alive, I had to talk to him. The gun star of Bodie Miller was rising now, and I knew how he would react. This new shooting would only serve to convince him of his speed. The confidence he had lacked on our first meeting he would now have. He would not wait long to kill again, and he would seek out some known gunfighter, for his reputation could grow now only by killing the good ones, and Canaval had been one of the fastest around. And who would that mean? Jim Pinder, Morgan Park, or myself. And knowing how he felt about me, I had an idea whom he would be seeking out.

Key Chapin was standing on the wide veranda of the Bar M house when I rode into the yard. Fox was loitering nearby, and he started toward me. "You ain't wanted here, Sabre!" he told me brusquely. "Get off the place!" "Don't be a fool, man! I've come on business!" He shook his head stubbornly. "Don't make no difference! Start movin' an' don't reach for a gun!

You're covered from the bunkhouse an' the barn!" "Fox," I persisted, "I've no row with you, and you're the last man in the world I'd like to kill, but I don't like being pushed and you're pushin' me! I've got Bodie Miller an' Morgan Park to take care of, as well as Jim Pinder! So get this straight. If you want to die, grab iron.

Don't ride me, Fox, because I won't take it!" My buckskin started, and Fox, his face a study in conflicting emotion, hesitated. Then a cool voice interposed. "Fox! Step back! Let the gentleman come up!" It was Olga Maclaren.

Fox hesitated and then stepped back, and I drew up the buckskin for a minute. Fox looked up at me, and our eyes met. "I'm glad of that, Fox," I said. "I'd hate to have killed a man as good as you. They don't come often." The sincerity in my voice must have reached him, for when I happened to glance back he was staring after me, his face puzzled. As I dismounted, Chapin walked over toward the house.

Olga stood on the steps awaiting me. There was no welcome in her eyes. Her face was cool, composed. "There was something you wanted?" "Is that my only welcome?" "What reason have you to expect anything more?" That made me shrug. "None," I said, "none at all. How's Canaval?" "Resting. his "Is he better? Is he conscious?" "Yes to both questions. Can he see anybody? No." Then I heard him speak. "Sabre? Is that you?

Come in!" Olga hesitated, and for a minute I believed she was going to defy the request. Then with a shrug of indifference she led Chapin and me into the wounded man's room.

The foreman's appearance shocked me. He was drawn and thin, his eyes huge and hollow in the deathly pallor of his face. His hand gripped mine and he stared up at me. "Glad you're here, Sabre," he said abruptly. "Watch that little demon! Oh, he's a fast man! He's blinding!

He had a bullet into me before my gun cleared!

He's a freak, Sabre!" "Sure," I agreed, "but that isn't what I came about. I came to tell you again. I had nothing to do with killing Rud Maclaren." He nodded slightly. "I'm sure of it." I could feel Olga behind me. "I found-tracks. Not yours. Horse tracks, and tracks of a man carrying a heavy burden. Small feet." Chapin interrupted suddenly. "Sabre, I've a message for you. Picked it up in Silver Reef yesterday." He handed me a telegram, still sealed. Ripping it open, I saw there what I had expected.

MY BROTHER UNHEARD OF IN MANY MONTHS. MORGAN PARK ANSWERS DESCRIPTION OF PARK CANTWELL, WANTED FOR MURDER AND EMBEZZLEMENT OF REGIMENTAL FUNDS. COMING WEST.

LEO DARCY COL 12TH US CAVALRY 

Without comment I handed the message back to Chapin, who read it aloud. Olga grew pale, but she said nothing.

"Know anything about the case?" Canaval asked Chapin.

The editor nodded. "Yes, I do. It was quite an exciting case at the tine. Park Cantwell was a captain in the cavalry. He embezzled some twenty thousand dollars and then murdered his commanding officer when faced with it. He got away, was recaptured, and then broke jail and killed two men in the process. He was last heard of in Mexico." "Not much chance of a mistake, is there?" "None, I'd say. Or very slight. Not many men are so big, and he is a striking character. Out west here he probably believed he would not be seen.

Most of his time he spent on that lonely ranch of his, and he rarely was around town until lately.

Apparently, if this is true, he hoped to realize enough money out of this deal of his with Jake Booker to retire in Mexico or elsewhere. Probably in this remote corner of the West, he believed he might never be recognized." "And now?" Olga had returned to the room.

"What will happen?" Chapin shrugged. "I'll take this message to Sheriff Will Tharp, and then we'll wait for D'Arcy to arrive." "There's not much else we can do," I agreed.

"What is it Park and Booker want?" Chapin wondered. was I don't grasp their motive." "Who does?" I shrugged.

Olga had not looked at me. Several times I tried to catch her eye, but she avoided my glance.

Her face was quiet, composed, and she was, as always, IS-ERFECTLY poised. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did she betray her feelings toward me, but I found no comfort in that.

Whether or not she believed I had killed her father, she obviously wanted no part of me. Discouraged, I turned toward the door.

"Where to now?" Canaval asked.

"Why"-I turned-I'm heading for town to see Morgan Park. No man ever beat me with his fists yet and walked away scot-free. I'll have the hide off that brute, and now is as good a time as any." "Leave him alone, Sabre!" Canaval tried to sit up. "I've seen him kill a man with his fists!" "He won't kill me." "What is this?" Olga turned around, her eyes blazing. "A cheap, childish desire for revenge?

Or are you talking just to make noise? It seems all I've heard you do since you came here is talk! You've no right to go in there and start trouble!

You've no right to fight Morgan Park simply because he beat you! Leave him alone!" "Protecting him?" My voice was not pleasant.

Did she, I wondered, actually love the man?

The idea did not appeal to me, and the more it stayed in my mind, the more angry I became.

"No!" she flared. was I am not protecting him!

From what I saw of you after that first fight I don't believe it is he who needs the protection!" She could have said nothing more likely to bring all my own temper to the surface. So when she spoke, I listened, my face stiffening. Then without another word I turned and walked from the room. I went down the steps to my horse, and into the saddle.

The buckskin leaned into the wind and kept the fast pace I set for him. Despite my fury, I kept my eyes open and on the hills. Right then I would have welcomed a fight and any kind of a fight.

I was mad all the way through, burning with it.

And perhaps it was lucky that right then I should round a bend of the trail and come into the midst of Jack Slade and his men. They had not heard me until I rounded the bend, and they were heading the same way I was, toward town. The sudden sound of horse's hooves turned their heads, and Slade dove for his gun.

He was too late. Mad clear through, the instant I saw them I slammed the spurs into my startled buckskin. The horse gave a lunge, driving between the last two riders and striking Slade's horse with his shoulder. At the same instant, I lashed out with the barrel of my Colt and laid it above the ear of the nearest rider. He went off his horse as if struck by lightning, and I swung around, blasting a shot from my belt that knocked the gun from the hand of another rider. Slade was fighting his maddened horse, and I leaned over and hit it a crack with my bat. The horse gave a tremendous leap up and started to run like a scared rabbit with Slade fighting to stay in the saddle. He had lost one stirrup when my horse lunged into his and had not recovered it. The last I saw of him was his running horse and a cloud of dust. It all happened in a split second, and one man had a smashed hand, one was knocked out, and Slade was fighting his horse.

The fourth man had been maneuvering for a shot at me, but among the plunging horses he was afraid of hitting his own friends. Wheeling my horse, I fired as he did and both of us missed. He tried to steady his horse and swung. Buck did not like it and was fighting to get away. I let him go, taking a backward shot at the man in the saddle, a shot that must have clipped his ear, for he ducked like a bee-stung farmer, and then Buck was laying them down on the trail to town.

Feeding shells into my gun, I let him run.

I felt better for the action and was ready for anything.

The town loomed up, and I rode in and swung down in front of Mother O'Hara's. Buck's side looked bad, for the spurs had bit deep, and I'm a man who rarely touches a spur to a horse. After greasing the wounds and talking Buck into friendship again, I went inside. There was nobody around, but Katie O'Hara came out of her kitchen.

One look at me and she could see I was spoiling for trouble. "Morgan Park in town?" She did not hesitate. "He is that. A moment ago I heard he was in the saloon." Morgan Park was there, all right. He was sitting at a table with Jake Booker, and they both looked up when I entered. I didn't waste any time. I walked up to them.

"Booker," I said, "I've heard you're a no-account shyster, a sheep-stealin', small-town shyster, at that. But you're doing business with a thief and a murderer, and the man I'm going to whip!" With that I grabbed the table and hurled it out of the way, and then I slapped Morgan Park across the mouth with my hat.

Morgan Park came off his chair with a roar.

He lunged and came up fast, and I smashed him in the teeth with a left. His lips flattened and blood showered from his mouth, and then I threw a right that caught him flush on the chin-and I threw it hard! He blinked, but he never stopped coming, and he rushed me, swinging with both of those huge, ironlike fists. One of them rang bells on my skull, and the other dug for my midsection with a blow I partially blocked with an elbow. Then I turned with his arm over my shoulder and threw him bodily across the floor against the bar rail. He came up fast, and I nailed him With another left. Then he caught me with both hands, and sparks danced among the stars in my skull. That old smoky taste came up inside of me, and the taste of blood in my mouth, and I walked in smashing with both hands! Something busted on his face, and his brow was cut to the bone. The blood was running all over him.

There was a crowd around, and they were yelling, but I heard no sound. I walked in, bobbing and weaving to miss as many of those jarring, brutal blows as possible, but they kept landing and battering me. He knocked me back into the bar and then grabbed a bottle. He took a terrific cut at my skull and I ducked, smashing him in the ribs. He staggered and sprawled out of balance from the force of his missed swing, and I rushed him and took a flying leap at his shoulders. I landed astride and jammed both spurs into his thighs, and he let out a roar of agony.

I went over his head, lighting on all fours, and he sprang atop my back. I flattened out on the floor with the feeling that he had me. He was yelling like a madman, and he grabbed my hair and began to beat my head against the floor. How I did it I'll never know, but I bowed my back under his weight and forced myself to my hands and knees. He ripped at me with his own spurs, and then I got his leg and threw him off. Coming up together we circled, more wary now. His shirt was in ribbons, and he was covered with blood. I'd never seen Morgan stripped before. He had a chest and shoulders like a Hercules. He circled and then came into me, snarling. I nailed that snarl into his teeth with both fists, and we stood there swinging free with both hands, rocking with the power of those punches and smelling of sweat, blood, and fury. He backed up and I went into him. Suddenly he caught my upper arms, and dropping he put a foot in my stomach and threw me over his head!

For a fleeting instant I was flying through the air, and then I lit on a poker table and grabbed the sides with both hands. It went over on top of me, and that was all that saved me as he rushed in to finish me with the boots. I shoved the table at him and came up off the floor, and he hit me again and I went right back down. He dropped a big palm on my head and shoved me at the floor. I sprawled out and he kicked me in the side. It missed my ribs and glanced off my gun belt, and I rolled over and grabbed his boot, twisting hard!

It threw him off balance and he hit the floor, which gave me a chance to get on my feet. I got him just as he was halfway up with a right that knocked him through the door and out onto the porch. I hit the porch in a jump, and he tackled me around the knees.

We both were down then, and I slapped him with a cupped hand over his ear and knew from the way he let go that I'd busted an eardrum for him. I dropped him again with a solid right to the chin, and stood back, gasping and pain-wracked, fighting for breath. He got up more slowly, and I nailed him left and right in the mouth and he went down heavily.

Sprawled out, he lay there on the edge of the walk, one hand trailing in the dust, and I stared down at him. He was finished, through! Turning on my heels I walked back inside, and brushing off those who crowded around me I headed for the bar. I took the glass of whiskey that was shoved at me and poured it in my hands and mopped the cuts on the lower part of my face with it. Then I took a quick gulp from another glass they put before me and turned.

Morgan Park was standing three feet away from me, a bloody, battered giant with cold, ugly fury blazing from his eyes. Give me a drink!" he bellowed. He picked up the glass and tossed it off. "Another!" he yelled, while I stared at him. He picked that up, lifted it to his lips, and then threw it in my eyes!

I must have blinked, for instead of getting the shot-glass full, I got only part of it, but enough to blind me. And then he stepped close. As I fought for sight I caught a glimpse of his boot toes, wide spread, and I was amazed that such a big man had such small feet. Then he hit me. It felt like a blow from an ax, and it knocked me into the bar.

He faced around, taking his time, and smashed one into my body, and I went down, gasping for breath. He kicked at me with the toe of one of those deadly boots that could have put an eye out, but the kick glanced off the side of my head and I went down.

It was my turn to be down and out. Then somebody drenched me with a bucket of water and I looked up.

Key Chapin was standing over me, but it was not Key Chapin who had thrown the water. It was Olga. Right then I was only amazed that she was there at all, and then I got up shakily and somebody said, "There he is!" and I saw Park standing there with his hands on his hips, leering at me, and with the same mutual hatred we went for each other again.

How we did it I don't know. Both of us had taken beatings that would have killed a horse. All I knew was that time for me had stopped. Only one thing remained. I had to whip that man, whip him or kill him with my bare hands, and I was not stopping until I was sure I had done it. "Stop it, you crazy fools! Stop it or I'll throw you both in jail!" Sheriff Will Tharp was standing in the door with a gun on me. His cold blue eyes were blazing.

Behind him were maybe twenty men staring at us. One of them was Key Chapin. Another was Bodie Miller.

"Take him out of here, then," I said. "If he wants more of this he can have it in the morning." Park backed toward the door and then turned away. He looked punch-drunk. After that I sat up for an hour putting hot water on my face.

Then I went to the livery stable and crawled into the loft, taking a blanket with me. I had worn my guns and had my rifle along. How long I slept I have no idea, except that when I awakened bright sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the walls of the old stable. The loft was like an oven with the heat. Sitting up, I touched my-face. It was sore, all right, but felt better. I worked my fingers to loosen them up and then heard a movement and looked around. Morgan Park was on the ladder staring at me. And I knew then that I was not looking at a sane man.

He stood there on the ladder in that hot old barn, staring at me with hatred, with a fury that seemed no whit abated from the previous night. "You back again?" I spoke quietly, yet lay poised for instant movement. I knew now the tremendous vitalitv that huge body held. "After the way I licked you last night?" The veins distended in his brow and throat. "Whipped me?" His voice was hoarse with anger. "Why, you-was He started over the end of the ladder, and I let him come. Right then I could have cooled him, knocked him off that ladder, but something within me wouldn't allow it.

With a lesser man, one I could have whipped easily, I might have done it just to end the fighting, but not with Morgan Park. Right then I knew I had to whip him fairly, or I could never be quite comfortable again.

He straightened from the ladder, and I could see that he was a little stiff. Well so was I. But my boxing with Mulvaney and the riding I had done had been keeping me in trim. My condition was better than his, almost enough to neutralize his greater size and strength. He straightened and turned toward me. He did not rush, just stood there studying me with cool calculation, and I knew that he, too, had come here to make an end to this fight and to me.

Right then he was studying how best to whip me, and suddenly I perceived his advantage. In the loft-one side open to the barn, the rest of it stacked with hay-I was distinctly at a disadvantage. Here his weight and; strength could be decisive. He moved toward me, backing me toward the hay. I feinted, but he did not strike. He merely moved on in, his head hunched behind a big shoulder, his fists before him, moving slightly. Then he lunged. My back came up against the slanting wall of hay and my feet slipped. Off balance, lying against the hay, I had no power in my blows. With cold brutality he began to swing. His eyes were exultant and wicked with sadistic delight. Lights exploded in my brain, and then another punch hit me, and another.

My head spinning, my mouth tasting of smoke, I let myself slide to a sitting position and then threw my weight sidewise against his knees. He staggered, and fearing the fall off the edge of the loft, fought for balance. Instantly, I smashed him in the mouth. He went to his haunches, and I sprang past him, grabbed a rope that hung from the rafters, and dropped to the hard-packed earth of the barn's floor.

He turned and glared at me, and I waited. A man appeared in the door, and I heard him yell, "They're at it again!" And then Morgan Park clambered down the ladder and turned to me.

Now it had to be ended. Moving in quickly, I jabbed a stiff left to his face. The punch landed on his lacerated mouth and started the blood. Circling carefully, I slipped a right and countered with a right to the ribs. Then I hit him, fast and rolling my shoulders, with a left and right to the face. He came in, but I slipped another punch and uppercut hard to the wind. That slowed him down. He hit me with a glancing left and took two punches in return.

He looked sick now, and I moved in, smashing him on the chin with both hands. He backed up, bewildered, and I knocked his left aside and hit him on the chin. He went to his knees and I stepped back and let him get up.

Behind me, there was a crowd and I knew it. Waiting, I let him get up. He wiped off his hands and then lunged at me, head down and swinging! Sidestepping swiftly, I evaded the rush, and when he tried it again I dropped my palm to the top of his head and spun him. At the same instant I uppercut with a wicked right that straightened him up. He turned toward me, and then I pulled the trigger on a high hard one. It struck his chin with the solid thud of the butt end of an ax striking a log. He fell-not over backwards, but face down. He lay there still and quiet, unmoving. Out cold.

Sodden with weariness and fed up with fighting for once, I turned away from him and picked up my hat and rifle. Nobody said anything, staring at my battered face and torn clothing. Then they walked to him. At the door I met Sheriff T harp.

He glared at me. "Didn't I tell you to stop fighting in this town, Sabre?" "What am I going to do? Let him beat my head off? I came here to sleep without interruption, and he followed me, found me this morning." Jerking my head toward the barn's interior, I told him, "You'll find him in there, Tharp." He hesitated. "Better have some rest,, Sabre. Then ride out of town for a few days. After all, I have to have peace. I'm arresting Park." "Not for fighting?" "For murder. This morning I received an official communication confirming your message." Actually, I was sorry for Park. No man ever hates a man he has whipped in a hand-to-hand fight. All I wanted now was sleep, food, and gallons of cold spring water. Right then I felt as if it had been weeks since I'd had a decent drink.

Yet all the way to O'Hara's I kept remembering that bucket of water doused over me the night before. Had it really been Olga Maclaren there? Or had I been out of my head from the punches I'd taken? When my face was washed off I came into the restaurant, and the first person I saw was Key Chapin. He looked at my face and shook his head."...I'd never believe anything human could fight the way you two did!" he exclaimed. "And again this morning! I hear you whipped him good this time." "Yeah." I was tired of it all.

Somberly, I ate breakfast, listening to the drone of voices in my ears. "Booker's still in town." Chapin was speaking. "What's he after, I wonder?" Right then I did not care, but as I ate and drank coffee, my mind began to function once more. After all, this was my country. I belonged here. For the first time I really felt that I belonged someplace. "Am I crazy, or was Olga here last night?" "She was here, all right. She saw part of your fight." "Did she leave?" "I think not. I believe she's staying over at Doc and Mrs. West's place. They're old friends of hers." Chapin knocked out his pipe. "As a matter of fact, you'd better go over there and have him look at those cuts.

One of them at least needs some stitches." "Tharp arrested Park." "Yes, I know. Park is Cantwell, all right." Out in the air I felt better. With food and some strong black coffee inside of me I felt like a new man, and the mountain air was fresh and good to the taste. Turning, I started up the street, walking slowly. This was Hattan's. This was my town. Here, in this place, I would remain. I would ranch here, graze my cattle, rear my sons to manhood. Here I would take my place in the world and be something more.

The End