BANTAMBOOKS

Contents

TitlePage

Dedication

Foreword

TheStrongShallLive

OneNightStand

TrailtoSquawSprings

MerranooftheDryCountry

TheRomanceofPiuteBill

Hattan'sCastle

Duffy'sMan

BigMan

TheMarshalofSentinel

BluffCreekStation

AboutLouisL'Amour

BantamBooksbyLouisL’Amour

CopyrightPage

ToJacksonandMaryJane

Foreword

THISBOOKISapartialanswertothosereaderswhohavebeenaskingwheremy short stories could be found. A previous collection appeared as WARPARTY,andnowthese.

A few of the storieswerewritten long ago, others quite recently.All are, Ibelieve,illustrativeofthetitleofthecollection.

Notlongagoawriter,attemptingtofindaprogressioninthedevelopmentofmy stories according to a pattern of his own devising, predicted that soon Iwouldwriteastorywithanethnichero.Hewasoverthirtyyearslate.Merrano,inthisvolume,isonesuchcase,althoughtherewereothers.

Mystorieshavenothingtodowithrace,creed,ornationality.Theyaresimplystoriesofpeopleonthefrontier,andthosepeoplewereofallkinds.Ifsometimesthey resemble one another it is simply a pattern imposed upon them by thecountryandthetime.

The frontier was itself selective. It tended to eliminate the weak and theinefficientbyonemeansoranother.

In these stories there are no “heroes” in the usual sense, although in theHomeric sense theremaybe.These are stories of people livingout their livesagainst a background that demanded all they couldgive andoften a bitmore.Theywerepeopletryingtofindacceptablepatternsofbehaviorinatotallynewenvironment,drawingupontheirpastbutadjustingthemselvestonewsituationsandattitudes.

Thefrontierdemandedtheybeself-reliant.Group-thinkingandpeerbehaviorhadonlyalimitedapplication.

TheWesthasbeenportrayedaslawless.Thisisliterallyuntrue.Thepioneers

brought their church, their schools, and their town meetings with them.Necessarily,therewerealterationsinthelawstheyestablishedtoconformwithchangedconditions,butthelawwasthere.Itistruethereweremanyfreespiritswhoresentedthis,andtherewereotherswhocamewestintendingtodoastheypleased.TheexistenceofBootHillsinmanywesterntownsisampleevidenceofhowthefrontiercopedwithsuchproblems.

Ithadbeenthecustomofmen,fromthebeginningoftime,tosettledisputesbycombat.Fromtheclubandspear,menprogressedtothelanceandtheswordandthentothepistol.Senators,cabinetofficers,admiralsandgeneralsregularlysettled theirdisputeswithweapons.Therewereundoubtedlyasmanyduels intheearlyAmericanNavyasinanyregionoftheWest.StephenDecatur,oneofourearlynavalheroes,killedasmanymeninduelsasdidBatMasterson,who,incidentallywounduphisdaysasasportswriteronaNewYorknewspaper,anddiednotwithapistolinhishands,butatypewriter.

—LouisL'Amour

THESTRONGSHALLLIVE

THELANDWASfirebeneathandtheskywasbrassabove,butthroughouttheday's long riding the bound man sat erect in the saddle and cursed them forthievesandcowards.Theirblowsdidnotsilencehim,althoughthebloodfromhisswollenandcrackedlipshaddriedonhisfaceandneck.

OnlyJohnSuttonknewwhere theyrodeandonlyheknewwhatheplannedforCavagan,andJohnSuttonsatthinanddryandtallonhislong-limbedhorse,leadingtheway.

Ninemeninall,temperedtothehardwaysofanunforgivingland,menstrongin thestrengthsneeded tosurvive ina land thatheldnoplace for theweakorindecisive.EightmenandaprisonertakenafterabitterchasefromthepleasantcoastallandstotheblazingdesertalongtheColoradoRiver.

Cavaganhadfoughtonwhen theothersquit.Theydestroyedhiscrops, toredownhis fences,andburnedhishome.Theykilledhishiredhandand tried tokillhim.Whentheyburnedhishomeherebuiltit,andwhentheyshotathimheshotback.

Whentheyambushedhimandlefthimfordead,hecrawledintotherockslikeawoundedgrizzly, treatedhisownwounds, and thencaught ahorse and rodedowntoSutton'sRanchandshotouttheirlightsduringthevictorycelebration.

Two of Sutton's men quit in protest, for they admired a game man, andCavaganwaswinningsympathyaroundthecountry.

Cavaganwas a black Irishman fromCounty Sligo. Hismother died on theAtlanticcrossingandhis fatherwaskilledby Indians inTennessee.Atsixteen

Cavaganfought in theTexaswar for independence, trapped in theRockies fortwoyears, and in thewarwithMexicohe servedwith theTexasRangers andlearnedthevalueofaWalkerColt.

Atthirtyhewasamanhonedbydesertfiresandedgedbycombatwithfist,skull, andpistol.Back inCountySligo thenamehadbeenO'Cavaganand thefamilyhadareputationwoninbattle.

Sutton'smensurroundedhishouseasecondtimethinkingtocatchhimasleep.Theyfiredat thehouseandwaitedforhimtocomeout.Cavaganhadsleptonthesteephillsidebehindthehouseandfromthereheopenedfire,shootingamanfromhissaddleandcuttingthelobefromSutton'searwithabulletintendedtokill.

Nowtheyhadhim,buthesatstraightinthesaddleandcursedthem.SuttonhecursedbuthesavedabitforBeefHannon,theSuttonforeman.

“You'reabigman,Beef,”hetaunted,“butuntiemyhandsandI'llpoundthatthickskullofyoursuntiltheyellowrunsoutofyourears.”

Theireyessquintedagainstthewhiteglareandtheblisteringheatfromoffthedunes,andtheytriedtoignorehim.Amongthesanddunestherewasnobreeze,only the stiflingheavinessofhot,motionless air.Wearily theirhorsesploddedalongtheedgeofadunewherethesandfellsteeplyoffintoadeeppitamongthedunes.JohnSuttondrewrein.“Untiehisfeet,”hesaid.

JuanVelasquezswungdownandremovedtherawhidethongsfromCavagan'sfeet,andthenstoodback,forheknewthemannerofmanthatwasCavagan.

“Getdown,”SuttontoldCavagan.

Cavagan stared his contempt from the slits where his eyes peered throughswollen, blackened flesh, then he swung his leg across the saddle, kicked hisbootfreeofthestirrupanddroppedtotheground.

Suttonregardedhimforseveralminutes,savoringhistriumph,thenheputtheflatofhisbootagainstCavagan'sbackandpushed.Cavaganstaggered, foughtfor balance, but the sand crumbled beneath him and he fell, tumbling to thebottomofthehollowamongthedunes.

With his hands tied and his body stiff from the beatings he had taken heneeded severalminutes toget tohis feet.Whenhe stooderecthe staredupatSutton.“ItiswhatIwouldhaveexpectedfromyou,”hesaid.

Sutton'sfeaturesstiffened,andhegrewwhitearoundthemouth.“You'resaidtobeatoughman,Cavagan.I'veheardituntilI'msickofit,soI'vebroughtyouheretoseehowmuchistoughandhowmuchisshantyIrishbluff.Iamcurioustoseehowtoughyouwillbewithoutfoodorwater.We'releavingyouhere.”

Hannonstartedtoprotest.HehadhimselftriedtokillCavagan,buttoleaveamantodieintheblazingheatofthedesertwithoutfoodorwaterandwithhishandsbound...aglanceatSutton'sfaceandthewordsdiedonhislips.

“It'ssixtymilestowater,”hemanaged,atlast.

John Sutton turned in his saddle andmeasuredHannonwith a glance, thendeliberatelyhefacedfrontandstartedaway.Reluctantly,theothersfollowed.

JuanVelasquezlookeddownintothepitatCavagan.Hecarriedarawwoundin his side from aCavagan bullet, but that pitwas seventy feet deep. Slowly,thinking as he did it, Juan unfastened his canteen andwas about to toss it toCavaganwhenhecaughtSutton'seyesonhim.

“Throwit,”Suttonsuggested,“butifyoudoyouwillfollowit.”

Juanbalancedthecanteenonhispalm,temptedbeyondmeasure.Sixtymiles?Withthetemperatureatonehundredandtwentydegrees?Reluctantly,heretiedthecanteentohissaddlehorn.Suttonwatchedhim,smilinghisthinsmile.

“I'llrememberthat,Juan,”Cavagansaid.“Itwasagoodthought.”

John Sutton turned his square thin shoulders and rode away, the othersfollowing.Hannon'sshoulderswerehunchedasifexpectingablow.

Whenthelastofthemhaddisappearedfromsight,Cavaganstoodaloneatthebottomofthesandpit.

Thiswas1850andeventheIndiansavoidedthesandhills.Therewasnolaw

westofSantaFeoreastofthecoastmountains.CavaganhadsettledonlandthatSutton considered his, although he had no legal claim to it. Other would-besettlershadbeendrivenoff,butCavaganwouldnotbedriven.TomakemattersworsehecourtedthegirlSuttonhadmarkedforhimself.

Cavaganstoodinthebottomofthesandpit,hiseyesclosedagainsttheglareofthesunonthewhitesand.Hetoldhimself,slowly,harshly,thathewouldnot,hemustnotdie.Aloudhesaid,“Ishalllive!Ishallseehimdie!”

Therewasaburningfurywithinhimbutacautionbornofexperience.Shadewouldcomefirsttothewestsideofthepit,sowithhisboothescrapedasmallpitinthesand.There,severalinchesbelowthesurface,itwasalittlecooler.Hesatdown,hisbacktothesun,andwaited.

Morethansevenhoursofsunlightremained.Toattemptclimbingfromthepitoreventofightthethongsonhiswristswouldcausehimtoperspireprofuselyand lessen his chances of ultimate survival. From this moment he must bepatient,hemustthink.

Sweatdrippedfromhischin,histhroatwasparchedandthesunonhisbackand shoulders was like the heat from a furnace. An hour passed, and thenanother. When at last he looked up there was an inch of shadow under thewesternlipofthepit.

He studied the way his wrists were bound. His hands had been tied to thepommel,sotheywereinfrontofhim.Heliftedhiswriststohisteethandbeganeversogently toworkat therawhideknots. It tooknearlyanhour,butby thetimehiswristswerefreetheshadehadreachedthebottomofthepit.Hecoiledtherawhideandslippeditintohispocket.

Theeastslopewassomewhatlesssteep,witheachstepheslidback,butwitheachhegainedalittle.Finallyheclimbedoutandstoodinthefullglareofthesettingsun.

He knew where the nearest water hole lay but knew Sutton would have itguarded.Hisproblemwas simple.Hehad to findwater, get out of thedesert,then find a horse and weapons. He intended to destroy Sutton as he woulddestroyarabidwolf.

Shadowsstretchedoutfromthemountains.TothenorththemyriadpinnaclesoftheChocolateMountainscrownedthemselveswithgoldfromthesettingsun.Hestartedtowalk.

Itwasnotsixtymilestothenearestwater,forCavaganknewthedesertbetterthan Sutton. West of him, but in a direction he dare not chance, lay SunsetSpring.Brackishwater,andoffthelineforhim.

Twenty-five miles to the northwest among the pinnacles of the Chocolateswererocktanksthatmightcontainwater.ACahuillaIndianhadtoldhimofthenaturalreservoir,anduponthisfeeblechanceherestedhislife.

Hewalkednorthwest,hischancesathousandtoone.Hemustwalkonlyintheearlyhoursofthemorningandaftersundown.Duringthedayhemustlieintheshade,ifhefoundany,andwait.Towalkinthesunwithoutwaterwastodie.

Thesandwasheavyandateachstephesanktohisankles.ChoosingadistantpeakintheChocolateshepointedhimselftowardit.Whenthestarscameouthewould choose a star above it for a guide. At night landmarks have a way oflosingthemselvesandwhatwasfamiliarbydaybecomesstrangeandunfamiliarinthedarkness.

To reach the vicinity of the rock tanks was one thing, to find them quiteanother.NearsuchtanksintheTinajasAltasmenhaddiedofthirstwithinafewfeet of water, unaware of its presence. Such tanks were natural receptaclescatching the runoff from infrequent rains, and so shaded, that evaporationwasslow.Astherewasnoseepagetherewasnovegetationtoindicatethepresenceofwater.

Theshadowsgrewlongandonlyafaintafterglowremainedinthesky.Onhisright and before him lay the valley dividing the dunes from the ChocolateMountains.Nowtheairwascoolandhereandthereastarappeared.Desertairisthinanddoesnotretaintheheat,henceitsoonbecomescool,andinthemiddleofthenight,actuallycold.ThesewerethehoursCavaganmustuse.

Ifhecouldnotfindthetanks,oriftherewasnowaterinthem,hewoulddie.Cavagan was a man without illusion. His great strength had been sapped bybrutal treatment, and he must conserve what strength remained. Locating his

peakandastaraboveit,hewalkedon.Alongtimelater,descendingfromthelastofthedunes,hetookadiagonalcourseacrossthevalley.Twicehepausedtorest, soaking up the coolness.He put a small pebble in hismouth to start thesalivaflowing.Foratimeithelped.

Walkinginheavysandhehadmadebuttwomilesanhour,butonthevalleyfloor hemoved faster. If he reached the tinajas and theyheldwater hewouldhaveachievedonegoal.However,hehadnowayofcarryingwaterandthenextwater holewas far.Not that one can place reliance on any desertwater hole.Oftentheywereuseduporhadgonedry.

Hisbatteredfacethrobbedwitheverystepandhisheadached.Thepinnaclesof the Chocolates loomed nearer, but he was not deceived. They were milesaway.

AnhourbeforedawnheenteredawashthatcamedownfromtheChocolates.He was dead tired, and his feet moved awkwardly. In eleven hours he hadprobablytravelednomorethantwenty-threeor-fourmilesandshouldbenearthe tanks.Hefounda ledge thatofferedshadeandstretchedout.Hewassoonasleep.

The heat awakened him. His mouth was dry as parchment and he haddifficultyinmovinghistongue,whichseemedawkwardandswollen.Aglanceatthesuntoldhimitwasnoonornearlyso.AccordingtotheCahuillaheshouldbewithin a fewyards ofwater, certainlywithin amile or so. In thatmaze ofcliffs, boulders, rock slabs, and arroyos, cluttered with canelike clumps ofocotillo,hewouldbefortunatetofindanything.

Animals would come to water but many desert creatures lived without it,gettingwhatmoisturetheyneededfromsucculentplantsorcacti.Someinsectssoughtwater, and he had noticed bees flying past taking the straight line thatusuallyledtohiveorwater.

His throatwas raw and hismindwandered. Far off, over the desert he hadrecentlycrossed,layalovelybluelake,shimmeringamongtheheatwaves...amirage.

Lying down again he waited for dusk. He was sweating no longer and

movementwasaneffort.Hehadbeenalmostthirtyhourswithoutwaterandinintenseheat.

Itwasalmostdarkwhenheawakenedagain.Staggeringtohisfeethestartedtoclimb.Thecoolnessrefreshedhimandgavehimnewstrength.Hepushedon,climbinghigher.Hisvisionwasuncertainandhisskullthrobbedpainfully,butattimeshe felt an almost delirious gaiety, and thenhewould scramble up rockswithzestandabandon.Suddenlyhesatdown.Withashockofpiercingclarityherealizedhecoulddie.

Herarelythoughtofdying,althoughheknewitwasexpectedofhimasofallmen,yetitwasalwayssomebodyelsewhowasdying.Suddenlyherealizedhehadnospecialdispensationagainstdeathandhecoulddienow,withinthehour.

Itwasfaintlygrayintheeastwhenhestartedagain.Amazingly,hefoundthetanks.

Asheeptrackdirectedhim.Itwasahalf-shelteredrocktank,but itwasdry.Onlyafaintdustingofsandlayinthebottom.

A fewminutes later, and a little higher up, he found a second tank. It wasbone-dry.

Soon the sun would rise and the heat would return. Cavagan stared at theemptytanksandtriedtoswallow,butcouldnot.Histhroatwasraw,andwhereitwasnotrawitfeltlikeoldrubber.Hislegsstartedtotremble,butherefusedtositdown.Heknewifhesatnowhemightnevergetup.Therewasaqueernessinhim,astrangelightnessasifhenolongerpossessedweight.Throughthesemi-delirium inducedbyheat, thirst, and exhaustion there remained ahard coreofresolution,thefirmnessofacourseresolveduponandincomplete.IfhequitnowJohnSuttonwouldhavewon.Ifhequitnowthedesertwouldhavedefeatedhim,andthedesertwasafriendlyplacetothosewhoknewhowtolivewithit.

Cunningcametohim.Tothosewhoknewhowtolivewithit,notagainstit.Nomancouldfightthedesertandlive.Amanmustmovewithit,givewithit,livebyitsrules.Hehaddonethat,sowhatremained?

Hiseyespeeredintothegrowinglight,refusingtofocusproperly,histhoughts

prowlingthefoggylowlandsofhismind,seekingsomeforgottenthing.

Think back . . . the rock tanks of the Chocolates. The Chocolates. TheChocolateswerearangerunningparalleltotheduneswhichtheMexicanscalledthealgodones.Bitbybithis thoughts tried tosortoutsomethingheknew,butsomethingwasmissing. Something else theCahuilla had said. It came to himthenliketheIndian'svoiceinhisears.“Ifthereisnowaterinthetanks,thereisaseepinthecanyon.”

Almostduewestwas thecanyon throughwhich ran theold Indian trail . . .maybefivemiles.

It was too far. And then he got up without decision and walked away. Hewalkedwithhisheadup,hismindgoneoffsomewhere,walkingwithaquick,livelystep.Whenhehadwalkedforsomedistancehefellflatonhisface.

Alizardonarockstaredathim,throatthrobbing.SomethingstirredCavagan'smuscles,andhegothishandsunderhimandpushedhimselftohisknees.Thenhegotup,weavingalittle.Itwasdaylight.

Abeeflewpast.

Heswayedalittle,browpuckered,abeeflyingstraight...hiveorwaterorahivenearwater?Hetookafewhesitantstepsinthedirectionthebeehadflown,thenstopped.Afterabitanotherdronedpastandhefollowed,takingasightonaclumpofocotillosomedistanceoff.Hestumbledandfell,scarcelyconsciousofituntilhearoseandstaredathispalms,laceratedbythesharpgravel.

Whenhefellagainhelaystillforwhatmusthavebeenaconsiderabletime,finallybecomingawareofawhistlingsound.Hepushedhimselfup, listening.Thesoundremindedhimofacricket,yetwasnotacricket.Helistened,puzzledyetalertedforsomereasonhedidnotunderstand.

He moved then, and under a clump of greasewood something stirred. Hefroze,thinkingfirstofarattler,althoughtheheatwastoogreatforonetobeoutunless inawell-shadedposition.Andthenhiseyecaughtamovement,andheknewwhythesoundhadalertedhim.Itwasatinyred-spottedtoad.

Long ago he had learned that the red-spotted toad always lived within the

vicinityofwaterandnevergotfarfromit.

Awkwardlyhegottohisfeetandlookedcarefullyaround.Hiseyescouldnotseemtofocusproperly,yetdownthecanyonheglimpsedsomegalletagrassandwalkedtowardit,comingupontheseepquitesuddenly.

Dropping to his knees he scooped water in his palm and drank it. A coldtrickledownhisthroatwaspainfulontherawflesh.Withgentlefingersheputwateronhislips,bathedhischeeksandfacewithit,thendrankalittlemore.

Somethinginsidewascryingoutthathewassafe,butheknewhewasnot.Hedrankalittlemore,thencrawledintotheshadeofarockandlayonhisbackandslept.

When he awakened he crawled out and drank more and more, his water-starvedbodysoakingupthemoisture.Hehadfoundwaterbuthadnomeansofcarryingitwithhim,andthecanyonoftheseepmightwellbecomehistomb,hisopentomb.

Cavagangotouttherawhidewithwhichhiswristshadbeenboundandriggedasnareforsmallgame.Inplacingthesnarehefoundsomeseeds,whichheate.Hedrankagain,thensatdowntothinkhiswayforward.

Fromwherehenowsatthereweretwopossibleroutes.NortheasttowardtheColoradowasRedButteSpring,butitwasatleasttwenty-fivemilesawayandinthewrongdirection.

The twelve miles to Chuckawalla Spring began to loom very large, andleavingthewaterhehadfoundworriedhim.TheChuckawallaMountainswereathin blue line on the northern horizon, and even if he reached them the nextspringbeyondwasCornSprings,justasfaraway.Yetthelongerhewaitedthemorehisstrengthwouldbedrainedbylackoffood.Hehadneverknownsuchexhaustion,yethedarenotwait.

Onthesecondmorninghissnarecaughtakangaroorat,whichhebroiledoverasmallfire.Whenhehadeatenhegotupabruptly,dranksomemore,glancedatthenotchintheChuckawallasandstartedwalking.

Attheendofanhourherested,thenwentonataslowerpace.Theheatwas

increasing.Inmidafternoonhefellonhisfaceanddidnotgetup.

More thananhourmusthavepassedbeforehebecameawareof the intenseheatandbegantocrawllikeablindmole,seekingshade.Theplantsabouthimwerelessthanafoothigh,andhefoundnothing,finallylosingconsciousness.

Heawakened,shakingwithchill.Themooncastaghostlyradianceoverthedesert,theclusteredcanesoftheocotillolookingliketheheaddressesofgiganticIndians.Hegottohisfeet,awareofastirringinthenight.Hewaited,listening.Afaintclickofahoofonstoneandthenhesawadesertbighornsheepwalkintothewashandthenheheardafaintsplash.Rising,hewalkeddowntothewashandheard a scurryofmovement as the sheep fled.Healmostwalked into thespringbeforehesawit.Hedrank,thendrankagain.

Latethenextafternoonhekilledachuckawallawithawell-thrownstone.Hecooked the big lizard and found the meat tender and appetizing. At dusk hestartedagain,crossingasmallsaddletothenorthsideofthemountains.Itwastwelvemilesthistime,anditwasdaybreakbeforehereachedCornSprings.Herecognized itby theclumpofpalmsandmesquite in thewashbeforereachingthespring,someclumpsofbaccharis,clustersofsmalltwigsrisingtwotothreefeet. And then he found the spring itself. After drinking he crawled into theshadeandwasasleepalmostatonce.

Heopenedhiseyes,awareofwood-smoke.Rollingoverquickly,hesatup.

Anoldmansquattednearakettleatafirenearthespring,andontheslopeacoupleofburrosbrowsed.

“Lookstomelikeyou'vehadatimeofit,”theoldmancommented.“Youetanything?”

“Chuckawalla...hadakangarooratacoupleofdaysago.”

Theoldmannodded.“Etchuckatimeortwo...ain'tasbadassomefolksmightfigger.”

Cavaganacceptedabowlofstewandateslowly,savoringeverybite.Finally,placing thehalf-emptybowlon thegroundhesatback.“Don't supposeamanwithapipewouldhaveacigarettepaper?”

“You started thatMexway of smokin'?Ain't for it,m'self.Giveme a pipeever'time.”Theoldmanhandedhimhistobaccopouchanddugintohisduffleforarolledupnewspaper.“Don't tearthereadin' ifyoucanhe'p.Abodydon'tfindmuchreadin'inthedesertandsometimesIreadthroughanewspaperfiveorsixtimes.”

Cavaganwiped his fingers on his pants and rolled a smokewith tremblingfingers.Thenheputthecigarettedownandateafewmorebitesbeforelightingup.

“Comefar?”

“Fifty-five,sixtymiles.”

“An'nocanteen?Youhadyourselfa time.”TheoldmansaidhisnamewasPearson.Hevolunteerednomorethanthat.Nordidheaskquestions.TherewerenotfourwhitemenbetweentheSanJacintosandtheColoradoRiver.

“I've got to get to that hot spring this side of the pass, up there by theSanJacintos,”Cavagansaid.“IcangetahorsefromtheCahuillas.”

Theoldmanstirredhisfireandmovedthecoffeepotcloser.“Youlistentomeyouwon'tgoback.”

“YouknowwhoIam?”

“Gotnoidea.Figgeredyoudidn'tgetwhereyouwasbychance.SixyearsIbeen prospectin' hereabouts an' I ain't seen nobody but a Chemehuevi or aCahuilla in thisherecountry.Amanwouldhavehimself anoutfit,gun,knife,canteen.Strikesmesomebodyleftyououthereapurpose.”

“Ifyoucouldletmehaveacanteenorawatersack.Maybeaknife.”

“Howd'youfiggertogetoutofhere?”

“WesttotheHayfields,thenShaver'sWellandtheYumastageroad.”

Pearsonstudiedhimoutofshrewdoldeyes.“Youain'tnopilgrim.Youmade

itthisfaronnervean'savvy,somayhapyou'llgoalltheway.”

Hetampedhispipe.“Tellyousomething.YoumightshyofthemHayfields.Seenacoupleofgentssettin'onthatwaterwithrifles.Abodycouldfiggertheywaswaitin'forsomebody.”

The old man helped Cavagan to more stew. He rarely looked directly atCavagan.

“AretheyontheHayfieldsorbackupthedraw?”

Pearsonchuckled. “Youdoknow this country.They'reon theHayfields, an'couldbe theydon't know the sourceof thatwater.Couldbeyou're figgerin' amanmightsliparoundthem,getwater,andnobodythewiser.”

“IfamanhadawatersackhemightgetasfarasHiddenSpring.”

Theoldmanlookedupsharply.“HiddenSpring?Neverheardofit.”

“SouthwestofShaver's...maybethreemiles.BetterwaterthanShaver's.”

“YoumustbeCavagan.”

Cavagandidnot reply.He finished thestew, rinsed thebowl, then filledhiscoffeecup.

“NobodyknowsthiscountrylikeCavagan.That'swhattheysay.Nobodycanride as far or shoot as straight asCavagan. They say that, too. They also sayCavaganisdead,leftinthealgodoneswithhishandstied.LotsoffolkssetstorebyCavagan.ThemCalifornios,theylikehim.”

Cavagansleptthedayaway,andthenightfollowing.Pearsonmadenomoveto leave, but loafed about. Several times he cooked, and hewatchedCavaganeat.

CavaganfoundhimstudyingsomeIndianwriting.“Can'tmakeheadnortailofit,”Pearsoncomplained.“IfthemCahuillascan,theywon'tsay.”

“This was done by the Old Ones,” Cavagan said, “the People Who Went

Before.I'vefollowedtheirtrailsinthemountainsandacrossthedesert.”

“Theylefttrails?”

“AmancangofromheretotheCahuillavillageatMartinez.Thetrailfollowsthe canyon back of the village and goes back of Sheep Mountain. There's abranchcomesdownbackofIndianWellsandanothergoestotheIndianvillageat thehotspringat theentrance toSanGorgonioPass.There'sawayover themountainstothecoast,too.”

BackbesidethefireCavaganaddedcoffeetowhatwasinthepot,thenmorewaterbeforeputtingitonthefire.Pearsonwatchedhim.“Metadamnfooloncewhothrowedoutthegrounds...throwedawaythemother.Neverseenthelike.Can'tmakepropercoffeeuntilshe'stwo,threedaysold.”

Helithispipe.“Amanlikeyou,hemightknowalotaboutwaterholes.Worthalottoaman,knowin'thingslikethat.”

“The rock tanks in the Chocolates are dry this year,” Cavagan said, “butthere'saseepinSalvationPass.”Hepokedtwigsunderthecoffeepot.“Twenty,twenty-two miles east of Chuckawalla there's a red finger of butte. Maybe aquarter of amile east of that butte there's a little canyonwith a seepofwatercomin'outoftherock.Goodwater.”

“Placelikethatcouldsaveaman'slife,”Pearsoncommented.“Goodtoknowthingslikethat.”

“TheCahuillasusedtheoldtrails.Theyknowthesprings.”

WindwasrustlingthedrypalmleaveswhenCavagancrawledoutintheearlydawnandstirredthecoalstolifetomakecoffee.

Pearsonshookouthisboots,thenputonhishat.Whenhehadhisbootsonhewent to the limbwhere his pantswere hung and shook them out.A scorpionaboutfourincheslongdroppedfromatrouserlegandscamperedaway.

“Lasttimeitwasasidewinderinmyboot.Abodybettershakeouthisclothesbeforeheputs'emon.”

Pearson slipped suspenders over his shoulders. “Figger you'll hit the trailtoday. If you rustle through that stuff of mine you'll find you a water sack.Crossin'thatol'seabottomoutthere,you'llneedit.”Hehitchedhisshoulderstosettlehissuspenders.“Stillfindshellsalongthatol'beach.”

“Cahuillassayashipcameinhereonce,alongtimeago.”

“Iftheysayit,”Pearsonsaid,“itdid.”

Cavaganfilledthebagafterrinsingit,thendippeditinwaterfromthespring.Evaporationwouldkeepitcool.

Pearsontookalongknifefromhisgear.“Nevercateredtothatonem'self,butabodyneverknowswhenhe'llneedanextry.”

Cavaganshoulderedthesackandthrusttheknifeintohisbelt.“Lookmeupsometime,”hesaid.“JustaskforCavagan.”

Pearson's backwas turned, packing gear, whenCavagan spoke. He let himtakeadozensteps,andthensaid,“YougettoLosAngeles,yougototheCallede losNegros.AskforJake.Heowesmemoneyan' Iexpecthemighthaveapistol.Getwhateveryouneed.”

JOHNSUTTONSATatdinneratoneendofalongtableinhisranchhouseatCalabasas.Thedinnerhadbeenenhancedbyaturkeykilledthedaybeforeatacienaga a few miles away. He was restless, but there was no reason for it.Almostamonthhadgoneby.HismenhadreturnedtothealgodonesbutfoundnotraceofCavagan.Norhadtheyexpectedto.Hewouldhavediedoutonthedesertsomewhere.

JuanVelasquezsawtheridercomeupthecanyonasheloafednearthegate,standing guard. At the gate the rider dismounted and their eyes met in thegatheringdusk.“Buenosnoches,Senor,”Juansaid.“Ihadexpectedyou.”

“So?”

“IhaveanuncleinSonora,Senor.Hegrowsold,andheasksforme.”

“Adios,Juan.”

“Adios,Senor.”

Cavagan walked up the steps and into the house where John Sutton sat atdinner.

ONENIGHTSTAND

STEPHENMALONEWAS tall,handsome, immaculate,andbroke.He layonhis back, hands clasped behind his head, trying not to think about breakfast.ThreeweeksagohehadbeenplayingleadrolesinHeartsofOak,Hamlet,andDavyCrockettonsuccessivenights.Thenthebookingsranout,theplaysclosed,andthemanagerskippedtownwiththecompanyfunds,leavingthemstranded.

For some time he had been aware of voices in the next room. A girl wasspeaking.“Hecan't!Hewouldn'tdare!”

Theman'stonewastouchedwithdespair.“Theysayhe'skilledfourteenmen.For thekindofmoneyMasonwouldpay, theKidwouldn'thesitate tomake itfifteen.”

Therewasapause.“EvenbeforemyhandwascrippledIcouldn'tmatchhim.NowIwouldn'tstandachance.”

“ButPa,ifHickokcomes—?”

“Ifhecangethereintime!He'snotthekindtoforgetwhatIdidforhim,butunless he shows up I'm finished. Else, I'd give a thousand dollars to see BillHickokwalkthroughthatdoorrightnow!”

StephenMaloneknewacuewhenheheardone.Hesteppedintothehallandrappedonthedooroftheirroom.

“Who'sthere?”Itwastheman'svoice.

“BillHickok.”

Thedooropenedandhewasfacingathinoldmanwithgrayhair,andapretty,

dark-hairedgirl.“Youaren'tBillHickok!”Themanwasdisgusted.

“No,”Malonesaid,“butforathousanddollarsIwillbe.”

“You'reagunfighter?”Elsedemanded.

“I'manactor.ItismybusinesstomakepeoplebelieveIamsomebodyelse.”

“Thisisdifferent.Thisisn'tplayacting.”

“Hecouldkillyou,”Elsesaid.“Youwouldn'thaveachance.”

“NotifI'magoodenoughactor.NotmanymenwouldtrytodrawagunonWildBillHickok.”

“It'safoolidea,”themansaid.

“So there's an element of risk. I've played Hamlet, Macbeth, and Shylock.WhynotWildBill?”

“Look, son,you'veundoubtedlygotnerve, andprobablyyou'rea fineactor,but this man is a killer. Oh, I know he's a tinhorn, but you wouldn't have achance!”

“NotifI'magoodenoughactor.”

“He'stalkingnonsense,andyoubothknowit!”Elseprotested.

“ToplayHickok,son,you'vegottobeabletoshootlikeHickok.”

“OnlyifIplayitbadly.YousaytheKidisatinborn,I'lltrusttoyourjudgmentandmyskill.”

Bradywalkedtothewindow.“Itmightwork,youknow.Itjustmight.”

“Itwouldbesuicide!”Elseobjected.

Brady turned from thewindow. “I amEmmettBrady. This ismy daughter,Else.FrankMasonwantsmyrange,andthePiocheKidisafriendofhis.Hewasbroughtheretokillme.”

“Thepleasurewillbemine,sir,”Malonebowed.

“Didanyoneseeyoucomeintothehotel?”Bradyasked.

“Onlythemanatthedesk.Itwastwoo'clockinthemorning.”

“Thenit'sallright.JimCooleyisafriendofmine.”

“Get him to spread the story thatHickok is in town, and once the story isaround,I'llmakemyplay.”

“It'sridiculous!”Elsedeclared.“Whyshouldyouriskyourlifeforus?”

“MissBrady, asmuch as I'd enjoy posing as SirGalahad, I cannot. I'm noknightinarmor,justastrandedactor.Butforathousanddollars?Ihaven'tmadethatmuchinawholeseason!”

“You'vegotsand,Malone.Else,fetchJimCooley.”

“You'vestilltimetobackout,”Elsewarned.

“I am grateful for your concern but this will be the first time I have beenofferedonethousanddollarsforasingleperformance.”

Returningtohisroom,Maloneopenedhistrunkandchoseablondwigwithhairtohisshoulders.Heselectedadroopingmustache.“. . .AndthebuckskinjacketIworeasDavyCrockett.ThenI'llremovetheplumefromthishatIworeinShenandoah—”

THEPIOCHEKIDstaredcomplacently intohisglass.Bradywasanoldmanwithabadrighthand.Hewasnothingtoworryabout.

Jim Cooley came through the swinging doors. “Giveme a shot, Sam.” Heglancedaroundtheroom.“Waituntilyouboyshearwhois in town!WildBillhimself!Rode in lastnight, all theway fromKansasbecauseheheardhisoldfriendEmmettBradyneededhelp!”

ThePiocheKidwentsickwithshock.SomebodywasaskingwhatBradyhadonHickok. “Nursedhimback tohealth after agunshotwound.Hickoknearlykilledacoupleofhorsesgettinghere.He'ssleepingitoffoveratthehotelnow.”

WildBillHickok!TheKidhadn'tbargainedforthis.Hetookuphiswhiskeyandtosseditoff,buttheshudderthatfollowedwasnotcausedbythewhiskey.

“Sam...?”Hepushedtheemptyglasstowardhim.

Hecouldfeel theexcitementintheroom.Theywerethinkingthey'dseethePiocheKidshootitoutwithWildBillHickok,themostfamousofthemall.

SomebodymentionedthefourteenmentheKidwassupposedtohavekilled,but theKidhimself knew therehadbeenbut four, and twoof thosehadbeendrunken cowhands, and one of them a drunken farmerwho had never held apistolbefore.

Suddenly, desperately, he wanted out. How had he got into this, anyway?Hickokcouldshoot!Herecalled thestoriesofHickok's famous targetmatcheswiththerenownedMajorTalbot,atCheyenne.

“He'sthebest,”Cooleywassaying.“Eyesinthebackofhishead,seemslike.RememberthetimehekilledPhilCoe,thenturnedandkilledamanrunningupbehindhim?”

CooleysmiledattheKid.“Shouldbesomething,youandhim.You'vekilledmore than he has if you discount those he killed while a sharpshooter in theArmy.ButIdidseehimtakefouratonce.Killedtwo,athirddiedlater,andthefourthwasneveranygoodforanythingafter.”

Cooley finished his drink. “I'm gettin' out of here. I've seen too manybystandersgetgut-shot.Sorry Ican'twishyou luck,Kid,butBill'sa friendofmine.”

Menmoved to the tables, away from thebar.Onehastilypaid forhisdrinkandleftthebar.TheKidwasalone,isolated,cutoff.

Whatthehellwashappening?ThiswasHickok!Ifhewonthey'dallslaphimonthebackandbuyhimdrinks,butifhelostthey'djuststareatthebodyasthey

walkedby.Hemoppedhisface.Hewassoakedwithsweat,andheknewwhy.Hewasscared.

Masonwasatthedoor.“He'scomin',Kid.BesomethingtobeknownasthemanwhokilledWildBill.”

Malone paused in the door to wave at someone down the street, then hewalkedtothebar.Alleyeswereonhim.“Rye,ifyouplease.”

Sam put a bottle and a glass before him. The Kid licked dry lips with afumblingtongue.Desperatelyhewantedtowipehispalmdryonhispants,buthewasafraidHickokwouldthinkhewasgoingforagun.Nowwasthetime.Heshould open the ball. Sweat dripped from his face to the bar. He opened hismouthtospeak,butMalonespokefirst.

“Bartender,I'dliketofindtwomenforalittlejob.I'llpayadollareach.It'sadiggingjob.”

“Yousaid...adiggingjob?”

“That's right. Iwant twomen to dig a hole about—”he turneddeliberatelyandlookedrightattheKid,“—sixfeetlong,sixfeetdeep,andthreewide.”

“Whereaboutsdoyouwantitdug?”

“OnBootHill.”

“Agrave?”

“Exactly.”

Sammotionedtotwomenatanearbytable.“Tom?Joe?Mr.Hickokwantsacoupleofmen.”Hehesitatedeversoslightly.“Todigagrave.”

“Andtomakeaslabforamarker,”Malonesaid.

Samwaslovingeverymomentofit.“Youwantanameonit?”

“Don'tbotherwiththename.Withintheweektheywillhaveforgottenwhohe

was,anyway.JustcarveonitHESHOULDHAVELEFTBEFORETHESUNWENTDOWN.”

Hefinishedhisdrink.“Goodafternoon,gentlemen.”

Hestrolledtothedoor,pausedbrieflywithhishandonthedoor,thensteppedoutontheboardwalkandturnedtowardthehotel.

Withinthesaloonachaircreakedassomeoneshiftedweight.TheKidliftedafumblinghandtobrushawaythesweatfromhisfaceandthehandtrembled.Hetossed off his drink, spilling a little on his chin. Never had death seemed soclose.

Whatkindofadamned foolwashe,anyway?Whatdidhehave todowithBrady?LetMasondohisownkilling.Suddenlyallhewantedwastobeaway,awayfromthosewatchingeyes,staringathim,sowillingtoseehimdie.

What did he oweMason?All he had to dowas cross the street,mount hishorseandride.Behindhisbacktheywouldsneer,butwhatdidthatmatter?Heowedthesepeoplenothing,andtherewereathousandtownslikethis.Moreover,he'dbealive...alive!

Hewanted to feel the sunshine on his face, thewind in his hair, to drink along,colddrinkofwater.Hewantedtolive!

Abruptly, he walked to the door. He had seen men die, seen them lietormented in the bloody dust. He did not want to feel the tearing agony of abulletinhisguts.

TherewasHickok, his broad back to him, only a fewpaces away.A quickshot...hecouldalwayssayHickokhadturned.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, dimly he remembered eyes in the back of hishead.On that other occasionHickok had turned suddenly and fired . . . deadcenter.

TheKidletgoofhisgunasifitwereredhot.

Yethecouldstillmakeit.Hewasaprettygoodshot...well,afairshot.He

could—

Twomen emerged from the livery stable, each carrying a shovel. Tom andJoe,todigagrave...hisgrave?

Hecrossedthestreet,almostrunning,andjerkedloosethetie-rope.Hemissedthestirrupwithhisfirsttry,madeitonthesecond,andwasalmostcryingwhenhe hit the saddle.Hewheeled the horse from the hitch-rail and left town at adeadrun.

Hissaddlewashotfromthesun,buthecouldfeelit.Thewindwasinhisface. . . hewas free!Hewas riding, hewas living, and therewere a lot of othertowns,alotofcountry.

Bradyturnedfromthewindow.“He'sgone,Else.Malonedidit.”

“Mason'sleaving,too,”sheadded.

ThedooropenedbehindthemandStephenMalonesteppedin,removinghishat,thenthewigandthemustache.“That'sonepartIneverwanttoplayagain!”

“Here'syourmoney,son.Youearnedit.”

“Thanks.”

“Whatwouldyouhavedone,Malone,”Cooleyasked,“iftheKidhadcalledyourhand?”

“Done?Whythis—!”

His drawwas surprisingly fast, and he fired atCooley, point-blank.Cooleysprangback,shocked.Hishandsclutchedhisabdomen.

Hishandscameawayandhestaredatthem.Noblood.No—!

Malonewassmiling.

“Blanks!”Cooleyexclaimed.“YoufacedtheKidwithnothinginyourgunbutblanks!”

“Well,whynot?Itwasallpartoftheact.”

TRAILTOSQUAWSPRINGS

JIMBOSTWICKWASpackingagrouch,andhedidn'tcarewhoknewit.Therainthatbeganwithacloudbursthaddegeneratedintoagullywashingdownpourthatforforty-eighthoursshowednoindicationofletup.Bostwick,ridingaflea-bittencantankerousroan,washeadedforthemountainstofileaclaim.

Rain slanted dismally across the country before him, pounding on his backand shoulders, beating on the yellow slicker until his backwas actually sore.Underaloweringgrayskytheraindrewametallicveiloverthecountry,turningtheroadintoamuddypathacrosswhathadbeendeserttwodaysagoandwouldbedesertagainwithintwohoursaftertherainended.

Bostwicksworeattheroanwhomerelytwitchedhisears,beingfamiliarwithcowhands and theirways.He knew the cussing didn'tmean anything, and heknewthemanwhorodehimtookbettercareofhimthananyriderhe'dhad.

Bostwick swore because he wanted breakfast, wanted a drink, because hehadn'tsleptthenightbefore,becauseheneededashaveandhisfaceitched,andhesworeongeneralprinciples.

HisbossontheSlashFivehadgivenhimfivedaysoffinwhichtofileonhisclaim, get drunk or whatever he pleased, and it looked like it would rain thewholefivedays,whichBostwicktookasapersonalaffront.

Bostwick was a cowhand. Not a top hand, just a good, six-days-a-week,fourteen-hours-a-daycowhandwhocouldhandlea ropeor abrandingiron,digpostholes,mendfences,cleanwaterholes,shoeahorse,andplayafairhandofbunkhousepoker.

Hewastwenty-nineyearsold,hadnevermarried,andhemadefortydollarsa

month. Several times amonth hemanaged to get good and drunk.And everydrunk began or ended with a fistfight. To date he was breaking even on thefights.

Heworeagunbuthadneverdrawnitinangerinhislife.Hehadkilledonlyonemanheknewof,anIndianwhowastryingtostealhishorse.ThatwaswhenhewassixteenandcomingWestinacoveredwagon.

Atfiveelevenandweighingonehundredandseventypoundshismethodoffightingwassimple,towadeinswinginguntilsomethinghitthedirt,eitherhimortheotherfellow.Hefoughtbecauseheenjoyeditandnevercarriedagrudgethatlastedlongerthantheheadache.

Therain-blackenedlavaflowonhisleftendedandthetrailcurvedarounditintoahuddleofnondescriptbuildings,forthemostpartunpaintedandweather-beaten.ThiswasthetownofYellowjacket.

The main street was empty, empty except for a covered wagon whose offwheelswereonhigherground,givingaprecarioustilttothewagonbed.Amanin a tattered slicker stood before the wagon talking to a girl whose face wasbarelyrevealedthroughthepartedcanvas.

“He doesn't plan to give them back,Ruthie,” the oldmanwas saying. “Hedoesn'taimtoevergivethemback.Hesaysweowehimbecausehefedthem.”

Thethin,querulousvoicecarriedthroughtheraintoBostwickwhoturnedhiseyestothem.Therewassomethingaboutthelargedarkeyesandthethinchild'sface thatdisturbedhim.Ashedrewabreastof them theoldman lookedupathimoutoffadedblueeyes,thenbacktothegirl.

“You'd better get into the wagon, Grandad.We can't do anything until thestormbreaks.”

Bostwickrodetotheliverystable,strippedthegearfromtheroanandrubbedthehorsereasonablydrywithhandfulsofhay,buttheungratefulbeastnippedathiselbowandashedepartedthestall,tookaplayfulkickathimthatheevadedmore from habit than attention.Without looking back he slogged through themudtothesaloon.Therewasnosoundfromthewagonashewentby.

The Yellowjacket Saloon was a bar fifteen feet long with a row of bottlesbehind, mud mixed with sawdust on the plank floor and a potbellied stoveglowingrubyredlikeanexpectantboil.Behindthebartherewasabigmanwithapolishedfaceandahandlebarmustache.Hishairstartedmidwayonthetopofhisheadandwasjet-black.Hehadbig,squarefistsandhishandsandarmswerewhiteasawoman's.

Amandozed inachairagainst thewall,hishatoverhiseyes,anothersleptwith his head on a card table.At the other table fourmenplayed a lacklustergameinadesultoryfashionwithadog-eareddeckofcards.Fromtimetotimeoneor theotherof themwould turnhishead to spit at aboxof sawdust, andfromtimetotimeoneofthemhitit.

Bostwickremovedhishat,slappedtheraindropsfromitwithablowagainsthislegandsaid,“Gimmeashotofrye.”ThebartenderglancedatJim'sbrokennoseandpouredthedrink.

Amaninamackinawwhosatneartheglowingstovetookhispipefromhismouth.“Justthesame,Ithinkit'smightymeanofhimtotaketheirhorses.Howaretheygoingtogetoutofhere?”

Amanwithastreakedblondmustacheglancedcynicallyatthefirstspeaker.“YouknowPennock.Hedoesn'tplanforthemtoleave,nota-tall!”

“Heseenthatgirl,”themaninthemackinawsaid.“Ain'tmanywomencometoYellowjacket.Besides,thatoldmanwasallsettofileonSquawSprings,andPennockfiguresthat'shis'n.”

Jim Bostwick downed his drink. Squaw Springs? That was the claim he'dplannedtofileon.

Heletthebartenderrefillhisglass.“HefiledonSquawSprings?”

“Pennock?Why should he?Who's going to butt inwhen he says it's his'n?Theysaythatgunofhispackssevennotches,orcouldifhewishedit.”

“Itcould,”thebartendersaid.“Weallknowtwonotchesthatcouldgoonit.SandyChasetriedPennock'sgameandcameupaloser.”

“Oughttobealawagainstkillin'whentheground'sallfrozeup.Gravediggin'nopleasureanytime,butinfrozenground?”

“Makes for shallow graves,” somebody said, “better when Judgment Daycomes.”

“Thatgirlain'tnomore'nsixteenorseventeen.It'sadamnshame.”

“YougotellthattoPennock.”

Nobodyrepliedtothat.Well,itwasnoneofhisfuss.Besides,theyplannedtofileonhisclaim,asdidPennock.

“Where'sthegrub-pile?”heasked.

“Twodoorsdown.”Heglancedagainatthebrokennose.“Youafighter?”

Bostwickbuttonedhisslicker.“OnlywhenI'mpushed.”

He started for the door andheard theman in themackinaw say, “HekilledChaseoverawoman.Whatwastheotheroneabout?”

“Feller aimed to file on Squaw Springs. Pennock brought some sort of acharge against him, and the feller got riled. Figured hewas a tough case andmaybeinhishomecountryhewas.”

“He was too far from home, then. I'm not hunting any beef with CapPennock!”

Jimpulledhishat lowoverhiseyes.Shouldershunchedagainst therain,heslopped through themud to the light already showing from theboardinghousewindow.The coveredwagonwas directly across the street and, as he glancedover,hesawthegirlgettingdownfromthewagon.Avertinghiseyesheduckedintothedoor.

Abig-bosomedwomanwithared,Irishfacepointedatthemat.“Wipeyourfeet,an'wipe'emgood!”

Meekly,Bostwickdidashewastold.Takingoffhishatandslickerhehung

themfrompegsnearthedoorandseatedhimselfatthelongtable.

“You'reearly,stranger,”theIrishwomansaid,“butyoulookhungry,sosetup.I'llfeedyou.”

Bostwick lookedupas thedoorclosed. Itwas thegirl fromthewagon.Shehaddarkhairandlargedarkeyes.Herfacewasovalandquitepretty.Shehadacoffeepotinherhand.Shelookedathim,thenturnedhastilyawayasifshehadseentoomanyofhiskind.Bostwickflushed.

“Ma'am?CanIbuysomecoffee?Grandad'shavingachill.”

“Ishouldn'twonder,sloppin'aroundintherainlikehe'sbeendoin'.Youtwogoin'topayCapPennockwhatheasks?”

Herlips,delicateasrosepetals,trembled.“Wecan't.Wejustdon'thaveit.”

Thewomanfilledthecoffeepotandwavedpaymentaside.“Youtakeitalong,honey.Iwouldn'tknowwhattochargeforthatlittledabofcoffee.”

“ButI—!Idowanttopay.”

“Yougoalongnow.It'sallright.”

When the girl had gone, she brought food toBostwick. “It's a shame!” shesaid.“Adownrightshame!”

Jim Bostwick helped himself to a slab of beef and somemashed potatoes.“WhoisthisPennock?”heasked,withoutlookingup.

The woman turned to look at him, seeing only the tangled hair, the blunt,wind-carved unshaved features and the broad, powerful shoulders tapering tonarrowhips,shoulderscladinacheapcoatandawoolshirt.

“He'sthetownmarshal.More,he'sthebossaroundhere,andfolksknowit.”

“Nobodystandsagainsthim?”

“Sometried.Thingshappenedtothem.CapPennockisahardman.”

Hewasgettingboredby that repeatedcomment. “Whendid those folksgethere?”

“Yesterday.Pennocktooktheirhorses,impoundedthemforbeinginthestreetallnight.Backwhentheminingboomwason,thetowncouncilpassedthatrulebecausethestreetsweresocrowdedatnightabodycouldn'tgetthrough.AftertheboomdiedpeopleforgotaboutituntilPennockwaselectedmarshal,thenhedugintothetownlawsanddugupalotofregulations,allofwhichshowprofitforhim.”

Thedooropenedandthemaninthemackinawcameinfollowedbyhisblond-mustachedfriend.Jimwasawareoftheirattention.

“Howdy,Kate!”

“Howdy,Harbridge!Howareyou,Grove?How'sEmmadoin'?”

“Ailin',”Groverepliedcheerfully.

The bartender came in and behind him, anotherman.Talk around the tablediedandBostwicklookedup.Thenewcomerwasabigman,heavy-shoulderedwithboldblackeyes.Instinctively,BostwickknewthiswasPennock.ThemansatdownnearhimandinstantlyBostwickfeltthestirringofaninnerrebellion.Therewassomethingdeepwithinhimthatdeeplyresentedsuchmen.

Bostwickwas,asmanyanAmericanhasbeenbeforeandsince,amanwhoresented authority. He knew its necessity and tried to conform but when thatauthority became domineering, as this man obviously was, Bostwick'sresentmentgrew.

Morethanthat,verybigmenwhousedtheirsizetooveraweothers,irritatedhim.Thataccountedforthefactthathehadlostasmanyfightsashehad,forhewasalwayschoosingthebiggest,toughestones.Largemenputhimonedge,andhewasonedgenow.

“Strangerintown?”Pennockaskedabruptly.

“No.”Bostwickcouldnothavetoldwhyhechosetodeliberatelyantagonizetheman.“Ibeenintownmore'nanhour.”

Pennockdid not reply, butBostwickwas aware of a subdued stir down thetable.HereachedoverandtookthecoffeepotalmostoutofPennock'shandandfilledhiscup.Thebigman'seyeshardened,andhestudiedBostwickcarefully.

“Don'tlookatme,”Jimsaid,“Iputmyhorseinthebarn.”

SomebodysnickeredandPennocksaid,“Ididn'taskaboutyourhorse.Seemstome,stranger,you'resomewhatontheprod.”

“Me?”Bostwick lookedsurprised.“I'mnothuntin' trouble. I'mnotexpectin'trouble,either.Ofcourse,ifIwasanoldmanwithaprettyyounggranddaughterImightfeeldifferent.”

Pennock put his cup down hard. “I don't like that remark. If you're huntin'troubleyou'resureheadedrightatit.”

“Iain'thuntin'trouble,butthere'snolawagainstamanthinkin'outloud.I'mjustoftheopinionthatatownthatwillmaketroubleforasickoldmanandhisgranddaughterisprettysmallstuff.”

“Nobodyaskedyou,”Pennocksaid.

Pennockhadanuglyexpressioninhiseyes,butBostwickwassuddenlyawarethat Pennock was in no hurry to push trouble. That was an interesting point.Because he was a stranger? Because the attack had surprised him? BecausePennockwasasure-thingmanwhohadnodesire to tackle toughstrangers? Itwasapointworthyofsomethought.

Talk started up again, andKate came around and laid an enormous slab ofapplepieonBostwick'splate.Whenhelookedup,shewassmiling.

No man such as Pennock just happens. Each has a past and perhapssomewhere back down the line Pennockwaswanted.Ormaybe he had takenwaterforsomebody—

“Pennock?”hemuttered.“Thatnamedoessoundfamiliar.”Bostwicklookedhimovercoolly.“Beenaroundherelong?”

Pennock'slipsthinnedout,yethefoughtbackhisanger.“I'llaskthequestions

here.WhatdoyouwantinYellowjacket?”

“Justpassin'through.”

“Adrifter?”

“No, I'm with a big outfit south of here, below the Bradshaws. The SlashFive.”

Grovelookedupat thementionof thename.“Ain't that theoutfit that treedWeaver?”

Ithadbeenafightwithsometinhorngamblers,butBostwicklied,“Wedidn'tlike the town marshal. He gave one of our boys a rough time, so we justnaturallymovedin.”

Kateasked,“Whathappenedtothemarshal?”

“Him?Oh,we hung him!”Bostwick said carelessly. “That is,we hung thebody.Ifigurehewasalreadydeadbecausewedroppedalooponhimanddrughimmaybethreehundredyardswithsomeoftheboysshootin' intohimaswedrughim.Hewasabigfeller,too.”

“What'sthatgottodowithit?”Pennock'sfacehadlostcolorbutnoneofthemeannessinhiseyes.

“Huh?Oh,notmuch!Onlythembigfellersdon'thangsogood.Bodiesaretooheavy.Thisfeller'sheadpulledoff.Wouldyoubelieveit?Rightoff!”

Pete and Shorty would get a hoot out of that story. Just wait until he toldthem!They'dneverhunganybodyordraggedanybody.AcoupleofthetinhornstriedtoshootitoutbutShortywas,foracowhand,mightygoodwithagun.Henailedone,andPetewoundedtheotherone.Thentheyhadpitchedalltherestofthetinhorns'gearintothestreetandranthemoutoftownintheirsockfeet.

Hewasaware theotherswereenjoyinghisbaitingof the townmarshal.Hewasenjoyingithimself,andwithagoodmealinsidehimhehadlosthisgrouch.ButnoneofthiswasgettinghimanywhereclosertoSquawSprings—norwasitgettingthatgirlandhergrandadoutoftrouble.

It was then he remembered they were planning to file on Squaw Springsthemselves,soifsomehowhegotthemoutoftrouble—

Hestoppedabruptly.Nowwhosaidhewasgettingthemoutoftrouble?Whatbusinesswasitofhis?Amancouldgethimselfkilled,buttingintosuchthings.

Butsayinghedidgetthemoutoftrouble,thentheywouldbegoingafterthesameclaimhewanted!

Itwas agoodclaim.The springhada fine flowof excellentwater, and theland laywell for farming or grazing.Aman could do somethingwith it, fruittrees,maybe.AplacelikehisfolkshadbackEast.

Pennockwantedthatclaim,too,andanywayamanlookedatitPennockwasintheway.

CapPennock finished eating andwent outside, ignoringBostwick.Pennockstopped outside the boardinghouse window picking his teeth with the ivorytoothpickthathadbeenhangingfromhiswatchchain.Hewaslookingacrossthestreetatthecoveredwagon.ThatdecidedBostwick.Hewouldgetthemoutoftroublefirstandthendecideabouttheclaim.

“Youbetter layoffPennock,”Harbridgewarnedhim.“He'sakiller.He'llbeouttogetyounow,onewayortheother.

“He'll get out that book of city laws and find something he can hang ontoyou.”

Bostwickhadasuddenthought.“Istherejustoneofthemlawbooks?Imean,doesanybodyelsehaveacopy?”

“Ihave,Ithink,”Katereplieddubiously.“Myoldmanwasmayorduringtheboomdays.Ibelievehehadone.”

“Youhavealook.I'lltalktothatgirl.”

TherewasworryinKate'seyes.“Nowyoubecareful,youngman!Don'ttakePennocklightly!”

“Isurelywon't. Iain'tanxious togethurt.Yousee,”hesaidruefully,“IhadmyheartsetonSquawSpringsmyself!”

Hesplashedacrossthestreettothewagonandrappedonthewagonbox.Duskwasfallingbuthecouldseeherexpressionchangefromfeartoreliefasshesawhim.

“Ma'am,howmuchdoesthatmarshalwantforyourhorses?”

“Hesaidfiftydollars.”

“How'syourgrandad?”

“Notverygood.”Shespokesoftly.“I'mworried.”

“MaybewebettergethiminsideKate'shouse.It'scoldanddampouthere.”

“Oh,butwecan't!Ifweleavethewagonthemarshalwilltakeit,too.”

“Yougethimfixedtomove,”Bostwicksaid.“Youleavethatmarshaltome.”

When he explained to Kate she agreed readily but then wondered, “Whataboutthewagon?”

“I'llfindaway,”hesaiddoubtfully.

“Ifoundthatbook,”Katesaid,“forwhatevergooditwilldoyou.”

Itwasnotreallyabook,justafewhandwrittensheetsstapledtogether.Itwasheadedboldly:CityOrdnances.

Bostwickwasaslowreaderatbest,butheseatedhimselfandbegantoworkhis way through the half-dozen pages of what a long-ago town council haddecreedforYellowjacket.

Later,whenhehadgrandadsafelyinstalledintheroomwhereKate'shusbandhadoncelived,hehadalongtalkwithKate.

“I'lldoit!I'lldoitormename'snotKatieMulrennan!”

WATCHINGHISCHANCEtomoveunseen,Bostwickranthroughthemudandcrawledintothewagon,burrowingdownamidstthebeddingandoddsandendsofhousehold furniture.Hehadbeen therebut a fewminuteswhenheheardasplashingofhoofsandarattleoftrace-chains.Pennockwas,ashehadexpected,hitchinggranddad'steamtothewagon.

Crouching back of the seat, hewaited. Pennock had learned of hismovinggrandadintoKate'sbuthadnoideaBostwickwasinsidethewagon.

Itwasdarkandwet,andthebigmanwaswatchinghisfootingashestartedtoclamberintothewagon.Hemissedseeingthehandthatshotoutofthedarknessandgrabbedthelinesfromhishand,northefootuntilitsmashedintohischest.

Pennockletoutachokingyellandgrabbedatthelegashetoppledbackwardintothemud.

Scrambling to the seat,Bostwick slapped the horseswith the lines, and theheavywagonstartedwithajerk.

Behindhim therewas an angry shout.GlancingbackBostwick saw thebigman lunge after thewagon, then slip and fall facedown in themud.Then theteamwasrunning,andthewagonwasoutoftownonthetrailtoSquawSprings.

JimBostwickdroveforthirtyminutesuntilhecametowhathewaslookingfor,anabandonedbarnthathadstoodtheresincetheboomdays.Hedroveoverthe gravel approach and into the door in the end of the barn. Fortunately,somebody had used the barn during the summer and there was hay in themanger.Heunhitched thehorses and tied them to themanger, and thengoingoutside,heeliminatedwhattrackshecouldfind.Therainwoulddotherest.

Whenhehadfinishedhewentbacktotownridingonehorseandleadingtheother.Hetookthemtotheliverystable,thenscoutedtheboardinghouse,butasKatehadforetold,mostofthetownspeoplewerepresent.

When he entered, Cap Pennock half-started to his feet but Bostwick had a

thumbhookedinhisbeltnearhisgun,andslowlyPennocksatdownagain.

“Youtheonewhodrovethatwagonoff?”

“Iwas.AndIwascompletelywithinmyrights.”

Astonishment replaced anger on Pennock's face. “What do you mean . . .rights?”

“Youquiet down,Pennock.We'vegotbusiness.”BostwickglancedatKate.“Areyouready,judge?”

“Judge?”Pennock'shandsrestedflatonthetable.Helookedlikeanoldbullatbay.“What'sgoingonhere?”

KateMulrennanbangedthetablewithahammer.“Court'snowinsession!”

Pennocklookedfromonetotheother.“Whatkindoftomfooleryisthis?”hedemanded.

“Itmeans,”Bostwick replied, “that the towncouncilmet this afternoonandappointedmethetownmarshalaccordingtotheregulationsetforthinthecityordnancesofYellowjacket,whichdecrees—readit,Katie.”

The aforesaid town council shallmeet on the fifth day of January, or assoonthereafteraspossible,andshallappointa judge,a townmarshalandtownclerk.Theseofficialsshallholdofficeonlyuntil thefifthofJanuaryfollowing, at which time the council shall again meet and reappoint orreplacetheseofficialsastheyshallseefit.

Bostwick'seyesneverleftPennock.Itwasthefirsttimetheman'sbluffhadbeencalled,andhewasexpectingtrouble.Appointedtotheofficealmostthreeyearsbefore,hehadrunthetownashesawfitandhadpocketedthefines.

“Thatmeans,”Jimwenton,“thatyouareno longer the townmarshaland I

am.Italsomeansthatfortwoyearsyouhavebeenactingwithoutauthority.Astherewasnomeetingofthetowncouncilinthattimewewillwaivethatpartofit,butwemustinsistonanaccountingofallthefinesandmoniescollectedbyyou.”

“What?You'reapackofcrazyfools!”

“Accordingtoregulationsyougettenpercentofallcollected.Nowwewantanaccounting.”

CapPennockclutchedtheedgeofthetable.Monthaftermonthhehadbulliedthesepeople,finingthemaswellasstrangers,andnomandareddenyhim.NowthisstrangerhadcometoYellowjacketandinonedayhispowerhadcrumbledtonothing.

Buthadit?Needheletitbeso?WatchingPennock,Bostwickjudgedthathehadbeenwaryof tacklinga toughmanwhomightbeagunfighter,butdrivenintoacorner,Pennockhadnochoice.Itwasrunorfight.

“I haven't the money.” Pennock was very cool now. “So you'll pay hellcollectingit.”

“Wethoughtofthat,soyouhaveachoice.Payuporleavetowntomorrowbynoon.”

“SupposeIdecidetopaynoattentiontothiskangaroocourt?”

“Then it becomesmy job,” Bostwick replied quietly, “as the newly electedtownmarshal...”

CapPennockgottohisfeet.Bostwickhadtohandittohim.Whenthechipswere down Pennockwas going to fight for what he had. “Youwon't have tocomelookingforme,Bostwick.I'llbeouttherewaitingforyou.”

Pennock started for the door andKate called out, “Hold up aminute,Cap!Youowemeadollarforgrub.Nowpayup,youcheapskate!”

Pennock's facewas livid.Hehesitated, then shakingwith anger he tossed adollaronthetableandwalkedout.

“Well,Jim,”Harbridgesaid,“yousaidifitcametothisthatyou'dhandleit.Nowyou'vegotittodo.

“He'sadangerousmanwithagun.SandyChasewasgood,buthewasn'tgoodenough. I neverwould'vehad thenerve togo throughwith this ifKatehadn'ttoldusyou'dfacehim,ifneedbe.”

“Areyoufast?”Groveasked.

“No,I'mnot.ProbablyI'mnofasterthananyofyou,butI'llbeoutthereandhe'dbettergetmequickorI'lltakehim.”

Bostwickdislikedtobrag,butthesemenneededtobelieve.IfhefailedthemtheywouldtakethebruntofPennock'sanger.

Whentheyhadtroopedoutoftheroomandgonetotheirhomes,Bostwicksatdownagain,suddenlyscared.HelookeduptoseeRuthwatchinghim.

“Iheardwhatwassaid.You'vedonethisforme...forus,haven'tyou?”

Bostwick'shardfeaturesflushed.“Ma'am,Iain'tmuch,andI'mnobraverthanmost,it'sjustthatwhenIseeamanlikehimsomethinggetsintome.”

“Iwishwehadafewmorelikeyou!”Katesaid.

Shegestured to the table.“Youset, I'vesomemoreof thatpie.”She lookedaround at Ruthie. “You, too, you look like you could do with somenourishment.”

When the sun hung over the street, Bostwick stood in a doorway thinkingwhatadamnedfoolhewas.Why,Shorty,wholaidnoclaimstobeinggoodwithagun,wasbetterthanhewas.Yethehadwalkedintothiswithhiseyesopen.

Hemustmakenoeffortatafastdraw.Hewasnotfast,andhewouldbeafooltotry.Hemustacceptthefactthathewasgoingtobehit,andhemusthopethatthefirstshotdidn'tkillhim.

Hemighthave time forone shotonly, andhemustbe sure that shotwouldkill.JimBostwickwasamanwithoutillusions.Heknewhewasgoingtotake

somelead,andhehadtobepreparedforit.Yethewasatoughman,hardyearsofworkandbrutal fightshadproved that.Hewasgoing tohave to takesomeleadandkeepa'coming.

Hewasagoodshotwithapistol,better thanmostwhenshootingat targets,onlythistimethetargetwouldbeshootingback.

The sunwas baking thewetness from the street and from the false-frontedbuildings.Somewhereapianowasplaying.Hesteppedintothestreet.

“Bostwick!”

The call was from behind him! Cap Pennock had been lurking somewhereneartheliverystableandhadoutsmartedhim,playedhimforasucker.

Cap was standing there, big and rough, a pistol in his hand. And he wassmilingatthesuccessofhistrick.Capfired.

Takeyour time!Thewords rang inhismind like abell.He liftedhis bone-handledgunandfiredjustasCapletgowithhissecondshot.SomethingsluggedBostwickinthelegasherealizedCaphadmissedhisfirstshot!

HiseyeswereonthattoothpickonCap'swatchchain.Hesqueezedoffashotevenashefell,thenhewasgettingup,bracinghimselfforacarefulshot.

Capseemed tobeweaving, turninghis side tohim likeamanonaduelingfield.Bostwickfiredfromwherehisgunwas,shootingasamanpointsafinger.This time there was no mistake. Where the toothpick had hung there was awideningstainnow,andhefiredagain,thenwenttohisknees,losinghisgriponhisgun.

Somewhereadoorslammed,andheheardrunningfeet.Hereachedoutforhisgun,buthishandclosedonnothing.Hesmelledthewarm,wetearthonwhichhisfacerested,andhefeltsomebodytouchhisshoulder.

ITHINKHE'Swakingup,”somebodysaid,somewoman.

Hemovedthenandabedcreakedandwhenhiseyesopenedhewaslookingup at a ceiling and he heard Ruthie saying, “Oh, Katie! He's awake! He'sawake!”

“Awakeandhungry,”hegrumbled.

HelookedatRuthie.“How'syourgrandad?”

“He died . . . only a littlewhile after your fight.He said youwere a goodman.”

“CapPennock?DidI—?”

“Youhithimfourtimes.He'sbeenburiedthesetwoweeks.”

“Twoweeks?YoumeanI'vebeenheretwoweeks?”

“Youhave.Twoweeksandaday,tobeexact.”Shetookhishand.“Jim?KatetoldmethatyouplannedtofileonSquawSpringsyourself.”

“Forgetit.Thatwillbeagoodplaceforyouandasforme,I'mjustaforty-dollar-a-monthcowhand.”

“Wecoulddoittogether.”

“Well,youknowhowfolkstalk.Youbeingayounggirl,andall.”

“Whatifweweremarried?”shesuggesteddoubtfully.

“Well,”headmittedcautiously,“thatmightdoit.”Hestolealookatherfromthecornersofhiseyes.“Didyouevertakeagoodlookatme?EvenwhenI'mshaved—”

“Youareshaved,silly!”Shelaughedathim.“Kateshavedyou.Shesaidshealwayswonderedwhatyoulookedlikeunderallthatbrush.”

Heliftedahand.Itwastrue.Hehadbeenshaved.“Youthinkyoucouldmarryamanlikeme?”

“Well,”shesaid,“justtostopthetalk—”

MERRANOOFTHEDRYCOUNTRY

NOBODYEVENTURNEDahead to lookhiswayasBarryMerranoenteredthestore.Theyknewhewasthere,andtheirhatredwasalmosttangible,hefeltitpushingagainsthimashewalkedtothecounter.

Mayer,whokept thestore,was talking toTomDrake,ownerof theTDandconsidered thewealthiestman in the valley; JimHill, acknowledged to be itsfirstsettler;andJoeStangle,fromtheheadofthevalley.AfteramomentMayerleftthemandwalkedovertohim.

Thestorekeeper'slipsofferednowelcomingsmilealthoughBarrythoughthedetectedafaintgleamofsympathyintheman'seyes.

Inalowvoice,Barrygavehisorder,andseveraltimestheothersglancedhisway, for they could still overhear a part of what he was saying and he wasorderingthingstheycouldnolongerafford.

“I'll have to ask for cash,” Mayer said. “With the drouth and all, money'sshort.”

Barryfeltasuddensurgeofanger.Therewasamomentwhenhethoughttobringtheirworldcrashingaboutthembyaskinghowlongithadbeensincetheothers had paid cash.He knewwhat itwouldmean. Suddenly theywould befacedwith the harsh reality of their situation. TheMirrorValley countrywasbroke...flatbroke.

Nosoonerhadthefeelingcomethanitpassed.Hehadnodesireforrevenge.Theyhatedhim,andheknewwhytheyhatedhim.Theyhatedhimbecausehewas the son ofMiguelMerrano, theMexican vaquero whomarried themost

beautifulandsought-aftergirlinthevalley.Theyhatedhimbecausehehadtheaudacitytoreturnaftertheyhaddrivenhisfatherfromthearea.Theyhatedhimbecausewhentheybuiltafencetokeephiscattlefromwaterhehadfoundwaterelsewhere.Worstofall,hehimselfhadkeptupthefencetheybuilt,buildingitevenstronger.

Theyhatedhimbecausehehadthenervetotellthemtheywereruiningtheirland,andthatdrouthwouldcomeandtheircattlewoulddie.

“That'sallright,”hetoldMayer,“IhavethemoneyandIcanpay.”

Hetookhisorderandpaidforitwiththreegoldpiecesplacedcarefullyonthecounter.JoeStangle lookedat thegold, thenstaredathim,hiseyesmean.“I'dlike to know,” he said, “where a greaser gets that kind ofmoney.Maybe thesheriffshoulddosomelookingaround!”

Barrygatheredhisarmfulofgroceriesandputtheminaburlapsack.“Maybehecould”—hespokegently—“andmaybeyoucould,too,Joe.Allyou'dhavetodowouldbetouseyoureyes.”

Hewentout,thenreturnedforasecondandathirdload.“Thatgreaserfatherofyoursknowedwhathewasdoin'whenheboughtthatland,”Stanglesaid.

“Thelandmyfatherboughtwasthesamesortoflandyouallhave.Oncetherewas good grass everywhere but you overstocked your land and fed it out ofexistence.Thenthebrushcameinandtheunderlyingrootskilledoffmoregrass.When the grass thinned out your stock started eating poison weeds. There'snothingwrongwithyourlandthatafewgoodyearswon'tcure.”

“Weheardallthatpreachin'before.Nogreaser'sgoin'tocomearoundandtellme how to runmy range! JimHill an'mewere runnin' cattle before youwasborn!”

Merranotookhis lastarmfulofgroceriesandturnedtowardthedoor.Whitewithfury,JoeStanglestuckouthisfootandBarrytrippedandsprawledonthefloor,spillinghisgroceries.

Nobody laughed. Tom Drake threw an irritated glance at Stangle, but saidnothing.

BarryMerrano got up.His facewas very cold and still. “Thatwas a cheapthingtodo,Stangle,”hesaid.“There'snotmuchmaninyou,isthere?”

Had he been slapped across the mouth it would have been easier to take.Stangletrembled,andhishanddroppedtohisgun.OnlyJimHill'sgrabbinghisarmpreventedhimfromshootingMerranointhebackashewalkedoutthedoor.

“Yellow!”Stanglesneered.“Yellow,likeanygreaser!”

“You'rewrong,Joe,”Hillsaidquietly,“he'snotyellow,norwashisoldman.”

“Herun,didn'the?”Stanglesaid.“Hequit,didn'the?”Hisvoicewashoarsewithhatred.

“Yes,heleft,butifIrecallcorrectlyhebackedyoudown,Joe.”

Stangle'sfacewaslivid,butHillturnedhisbackonhimandaskedMayer,“I'llhavetoaskforcreditagain,Mayer.Canyoucarryme?”

“Ialwayshave.”Mayertriedtosmile.Hehadcarriedthemall,buthowmuchlongerhecouldafford todo ithedidnotknow.Only thecashBarryMerranohadspentwithhimenabledhimtomeethisownbills,butscarcelythat.

BarryMerrano'sbuckboard rattledoutof town,hitting the long,dry road toWillowSprings. Itwasalmost sundownbutheat layoverMirrorValley likeasoddenthing,dusthangingheavyintheair.Itwasalwaysherenow,thatdust.Afew years back, hismother told him, this valley had been a green and lovelyplace.There had been fat cattle around then, and itwas here she hadmet hisfather, that pleasant-faced, friendlyMexican—slim, wiry, and elegant—and itwasheretheyhadcourtedandheretheyweremarried.

“I'mgladshedidn'tlivetoseeit,”Barrymuttered,“itwouldhavebrokenherheart.”

Intherushtogetrichfrombeefcattlethegrasshadbeenovergrazed,andthecreosote, cat-claw, and tarweed had started to move in. The grass had grownthinner. It had been eaten down, andworn down,wind hadwhipped the dustfromaroundtherootsandrainshadwashedouttheclumpsofgrass.Thewater

holes,onceplentiful,neverseemedtofilluporremainfullanymore.

“Climate'schanging,”DrakehadsuggestedtoHill,andthelatternoddedhisagreement.

“Don'teverrecallitbeingsodry,”Hilladded.

TheywatchedwithsullenimpatiencewhenBarryMerranoreturnedtooccupyhis father's ranch. And they turned away in contempt when he told them theclimatewas not changing, but theywere simply runningmore cattle than therangewouldsupport.

WillowSpringsloomedbeforehim,andBarrykepthiseyesaverted.ItwasatWillow Springswhere his father andmother firstmet. It had been green andlovely then, and the pool had beenwide and deep.Nowmost of thewillowsweredeadandwherethepoolhadbeen,theearthwascrackedandgray.Therehadbeennowatersinceearlysummer.

TurningrightatWillowSpringshisroadbecameaclimb.Itwasonlyatrail,twowindingrutsacrosstheparchedplain.AheadofhimhesawTheFence.

Alloverthecountryitwasknownbynoothername.ItwassimplyTheFence,onlynowadaysitwasmentionedrarely.

SevenranchershadbuiltTheFence,andtheyhadbuiltitwhenBarryrefusedtoleave.

That was four years ago but to Barry it seemed longer. He had returned,knowingeverydetailof thehatredMirrorValleypeoplehadfelt forhisfather.Hewasdeterminedtofaceitdownandwinaplaceforhimself;andthelandhisfatherlefthimwasallhehad.HeturnedupthedrawtowardthehouseMiguelMerranohadbuiltinthebasinundertheshoulderofTableMountain.

Threedaysafterhisarrivaladozenhorsemenhadriddenupthedrawtotellhimhewasnotwanted.TheywantednoMexicansinMirrorValley.

Hehadwaitedinthedoor,listening.Andthenhesmiled,lookingmuchmorelike his Irish mother at that moment. “I'm sorry you've had your ride fornothing,”hesaid.“I'mstaying.”

“Getoutorwe'llrunyouout!”Stanglehadshouted.

“Then why waste time talking?”Merrano suggested. “Why don't you startyourrunning?”

Withanoath,Stanglehadreachedforhisgun,buthishandgotnofartherthanthebutt,thenvery,verycarefullyhemovedhishandaway.NotoneofthemsawwhereMerrano had held the shotgun, but suddenly itwas there, inMerrano'shands.

“Sorry,gentlemen,butIdon'tlikebeingshotat.Iamnotamanofviolence,butI'veseveralthousandroundsofammunitionandIhitwhatIshootat.

“I'venoticedthatashotgunhasadepressingeffectonviolentmen,asnobodycantelljustwhoisgoingtogethimselfrippedopen.Now,gentlemen,I'vealotofworktodo.DoyougocheerfullyordoIhavetostartagraveyard?”

Theywent,andJoeStanglewasnotthelasttoleave.

Threedays later theybuiltTheFence.Theybuilt itacross thedrawthat ledfromMerrano'sadobein thebasinto town.Theybuilt ithorse-high,hog-tight,andbull-strong.ThensixmenwaitedwithriflesforsomebodytotrycuttingTheFence.

BarryMerrano came down the draw in his buckboard, and they picked uptheir rifles for a killing. Before he came to The Fence, Barry pulled up andtumbled a roll of barbedwire from the back of the buckboard. Then, as theywatched, suddenly feeling very foolish, Barry Merrano built his own fence,higher, stronger, and tighter. In place of their nine strands of wire he put upfourteen.Inthefortyfeetofwidthacrossthedrawheputupninepoststotheirfive.Thenhegotintohisbuckboardanddroveaway.

CabCasady,forty-five,andaccountedoneofthetoughestmeninthevalley,laughed. Just as suddenly as he began laughing, he stopped. “We're a pack offools!” he saidwith disgust. “And for one, I'm ashamed ofmyself! I'm goinghome!”

Avoiding each other's eyes the otherswent to their horses,mounted up androdeaway.TheFencewasatopicnolongermentionedinconversation.

Yet allwonderedwhatMerranowould do, for therewas noway out of thebasinunlessonewalked.For threeweekstheywaited,andthenonedayBarryMerranodroveintotownforsupplies.Whentheyrodeouttosee,TheFencewasstillintact.

JimHill,althoughhewouldnotadmitit,wasrelieved.Yetliketheothers,hewas curious.Hemounted up and scouted around the country. Itwas almost amonthafterthatherodeintotown.HehadadrinkintheFaroHouseandsaid,“DoyouknowwhatthatMexdid?He'sboredhimaholethroughtheNeck!”

AnybodybutJimHilltheywouldhavecalledaliar.TheNeckwasawallofrock that joined thebulkofTableMountain to the restof the range,yetwhentheyrodeouttoseeit,therewasablackholeinthatredwallofrock.

Howcouldithavebeendone?Itwasimpossible,yetithadbeendone.

Nobodymentionedfencingthetunnelmouth.

AfewdayslaterwhenhepassedWillowSprings,BarryMerranosawarideremergefromtheshabbylittlegroveandstartacrossthetrail.Whenshesawhim,shepulledup.

ItwasCandyDrake.

He stopped the buckskinswhenhe drew close. “Howare you,ma'am?”Hetouchedhishat.Hestarted tocommenton theheatand thedrouthbut thoughtthe better of it. Instead he indicated the pinto's leg. “I see that leg is comingalongallright.”

“Yes,itgotwelljustlikeyousaiditwould.”

He wanted to talk, yet wanted to avoid anything that might give offense.CandyDrakewastheprettiestgirlinMirrorValley.Hehadtalkedtonooneinalmost threemonths,andheadmitted tohimself thathehadbeen in lovewithCandyDrakeforthreeyears.

“Thedrouthcamethewayyousaiditwould,too,”shesaidalmostaccusingly.“Everythingseemstoturnoutthewayyousayitwill.”

He flushed slightly. “Anybody who took the time to look could see thiscountrywasintrouble,”hesaid.“Thiscountryhadbeensoovergrazedtherewasnograsstoholdwhatmoisturewegot.Mostofitcouldhavebeenpreventedifworkhadbeenstartedacoupleofyearsago.”

Hetookoffhishatandranhisfingersthroughhisthick,darkhair.“NobodywouldlistentomewhenIofferedtohelp.IwasjustthatdamnedgreasersonofMollyO'Brien's,sowhatcouldIknow?”

Therewasabitternessinhisvoicethatcamethroughnomatterhowhardhetriedtoholditback.Hehadlivedtooclosetothisfortoolongatime.

Mirror Valley had been outraged when pretty Molly O'Brien had marriedMiguel Merrano. He had been a top-hand, hired only for the roundup. PeteDrakehadhiseyesonMolly,andsohadothers,butshehadmadepromisestonooneuntilshemetMerrano.

Miguel bought theTableMountain place and for four bitter years struggledagainstthehatredandtheprejudicedirectedagainstthem.Finally,whenyoungBarrywasalmosttwo,theyhadgoneaway.

Surprisingly, theyprospered.Barryheardmany talesofMirrorValleyashewasgrowingupbutnothingof the reason for leavinguntil hewas fifteen.Hedeterminedthentoreturnandfightitoutifittooktwentyyears.

“Myfathercertainlyshouldknowhowtoruncattle,”Candyprotested.“He'sraisedmorecattlethanyouhaveeverseen.”

“I'mtwenty-six,”Barrysaid,“andI'vealottolearn,butsimplygrowingolddoesn'tmakeonewise.Your fathercame intoa rich,newcountryandnothingcouldconvincehimitwouldnotalwaysstayrich.

“Theotherswerethesame.Theyranmorecattlethantherangecouldsupport.OncewhenIwasvisitingatyourplaceItriedtosuggestsomechanges,buthejustthoughtmeafool.”

“ButBarry,”sheprotested,“millionsofbuffalousedtorunontheseplains,sohowcouldtheybespoiledbyafewthousandcattle?”

“Your father said the same thing,”Barry said, “but youboth forget that thebuffaloneverstoppedmovingastheygrazed.Theywereconstantlymovingandas theymoved on, the grass had a chance to grow back before they returnedagain.Now the range is fencedand the cattle are continually feedingover thesameground.”

Candywasexasperated.“Wealwayshavethesameargument,”sheprotested.“Canyoutalkofanythingelse?”

“Many things, ifyou'll listen.Candy,whydon'tyoucomeover tomyplaceandseeforyourself?”

“To your place?” She was shocked, yet as the idea took hold, she wasintrigued.Likeallinthevalleyshewascurious.Whatwashedoingbackthere?Nobody had visited the basin since he took over, and they all knew BarryMerranopaidcashforeverything.Howcouldhedoit?

Thatherancattle,theyallknew.HehaddrivencattleintoAragontosellandAragonwasoutof thewayforpeoplefromthevalley.Theyknewhedid it toavoidmeetingthem.

“Itwouldn'tbeproper,”shesaid,butasshesaiditsheknewitwasafeebleexcuse. She had done many things that were often considered improper.“Anyway,thatdarktunnelwouldfrightenme.Howeverdidyoumakeit?”

“Itwasnothard.Wanttocome?”

Herfather'sdisapprovalandwhatmightbeconsideredproperwasopposedtohercuriosity,whichresultedinasweepingvictory...forhercuriosity.

Interestedinspiteofherself,shefollowedalong.Hedrovethebuckskinsintothe dark tunnel, and she fell in behind them. The buckskins trotted alongundisturbedbythedarknessuntil roundingasmallcurvetheysawlightbeforethem.Whensheemergedfromthetunnelshepulledupwithagasp.

Thefirstimpressionwasofsize.Shehadthoughtofthebasinasasmallplace,yettheremusthavebeenthousandsofacreswithinthatcircleofhills.Whenshelookedagainshesawnothingwasasithadbeen.

The basin, in contrast to the country she had left, was green and lovely.Awindingroadledtoastonecottagethatstoodonawideledgeandoneithersideoftheroadtherewerefencedfields,theoneontherightofclover,ontheleftofcorn,andthecornwasshoulderhighassherodepastitonherhorse.

Theoldtreessherememberedfromatimeshehadcomehereasachild,whenit was abandoned, but there were younger trees, including a small orchard,carefullysetout.Thevalleyofthebasinitselfwasgreen,withhereandthereasmallpoolthatcaughtthesunlight.

“Isthatgrassdownthere?”

“Mostofit.Someisblackgrama,someiscurlymesquitegrass.IthasalwaysgrowninthiscountrybutIamcarefulnottoovergrazeit.ThebasinopensattheotherendintoacanyonandthenintoLongValley,theoldNavajosheeprange.ImadeadealwiththeNavajotograzesomeofit.Irunaboutfifteenheadtothesectionbutactuallymostofthiswillsupporttwiceasmany.”

Herfathershouldseethis,shethought.Hewouldneverbelieveitifshetoldhim.

“Butwhataboutwater?Wheredoyougetwater?”

“Thiscountryneverhasenough,andmostoftheraincomesinlatesummer.WhenIcamebackIalreadyknewtheproblemIfaced.Ididsomeblasting,builtthree dams the first summer, damming three draws that open into the basin.Wherever I found a low spot Imade some kind of a reservoir.Now I have acoupleofsmalllakesbehindthedamsandtherearepoolsscatteredalloverthebasinanddownintoLongValley.Towardtheendofsummermostof themdodryup,butbythattimetherainsarenotfaroff.

“Inthiscountrywaterrunsoffthehillslikeoffatinroofsoyouhavetosavewhatyoucan.Ofcourse,I'vedrilledacoupleofwells,too.”

Amazed, she listened with only half her attention. Suddenly, she wasfrightened.IfJoeStanglesawthisplacehishatredandenvywouldbedoubled.

Shethoughtofsomethingshehadwonderedabout.“Barry?Howeverdidyoumakethattunnel?”

Hechuckled.“Candy,overtwo-thirdsofitwasabig,naturalcave.Ipaceditoff,thenwentontopandmeasuredtherockandfoundIonlyhadalittlewaytogoandmuchwasanupthrustfrombelowthatIcouldtakeoffwithapick.

“Asfarasthegrassgoes,Inevergrazemuchstockonitatanyonetime,andIshiftthemaroundtogivethegrassachancetogrowback.”

“Don'tyouhavetroublewitholdTwoMoons?”

“Notatall.IexplainedwhatIhadinmind,andheunderstoodrightaway.TheNavajo have always understood grazing prettywell, and I offered them a fairprice.”

Astheywalkedbackhereyesstrayedtowardthehouse.Shewouldhavelikedtoseetheinside,buthedidnotsuggestit.

Hestripped theharness from the teamand turned them into thecorral, thensaddledahorse.“It'sgettinglate,”hesaid,“I'llridehomewithyou.”

The ride to theTDwassilent, forneither felt like talking.Barrywashappyandmiserableatthesametime.HewasinlovewithCandy,butherfatherhadbeenoneofthosewhotriedtodrivehimofftheplace,andherfatherhadlenthistacitconsenttobuildingTheFence,ifnomorethanthat.

The feeling against him had grown stronger rather than otherwise. Theincident in the storewouldmake them turneven further away, andasnoneofthemlikedhim,mostwouldbeonlytooquicktoaccepthiswalkingawayfromStangleascowardice.

Whentheydrewupatthegatehesaid,“Iwishyou'dcomeagain.Andbringyourfather.”

“Hewouldn'tcome,Barry.”Shewaspuzzledaboutherfeelingstowardhim.He had talked more than ever before, and for the first time she had seensomethingofthekindofmanhewas,yetshecouldnotquiteunderstandhim.Hewas, she suspected, a much more complex human being than any she hadknown.

“You'rebeautiful,Candy.”Thewordscameso suddenly that she lookedup,surprisedbythem.“You'resobeautifulithurts.Iwish—”

A dark figure loomed near the gate. “Candy? Is that you?Who's that withyou?”

“Price?IwasjustsayinggoodnighttoBarryMerrano.”

“Who?” Astonishment mingled with anger. “Has that dirty Mex beenbotherin'you?Ifhehas,I'll—!”

“IsimplyrodehomewithMissDrake,”Barrysaid.“There'snoreasontogetexcited.”

PriceTaylor shovedopen thegate andcameout. “Listen, greaser!You turnthathorseandcutlooseforhome!Don'tyoubetellin'menottogetexcited!I'lltakeyouoffthathorseandbeatyourskullin!”

“Price!”Candyexclaimed.“Thisisoutrageous!”

TaylorwasbesideBarry'shorse.Hewasalarge,somewhattop-heavyyoungman.AsforemanoftheTDhehadbecomealmostoneofthefamilyandhehadlong lookeduponCandyDrakeassomeoneveryspecialandreservedforhim,althoughhehadhadnoencouragement fromherandcertainlynonefromTomDrake, who would have been appalled at the thought. Seeing her in themoonlightwithMerranoturnedhimugly.

“Thisisnobusinessforwomenfolk!Yougetalongtothehousenow.I'lltakecareofthis!”

He reached a big hand for Barry and Barry went, much faster than Taylorexpected.AsTaylorlaidholdofhimBarryswunghisotherlegoverthesaddleanddrovehisheelintothebiggerman'schest,sendinghimstaggering.Thenhedroppedtotheground.

Coolly, he waited until Taylor recovered his balance. “I'd rather you'd goalongtothehouse,”Barrysaid,“butifyouwantalickingyoucanhaveit.”

“Alickin'?Me?”Taylor'ssizehadwonseveralbrawlsforhim,andhefancied

himselfatoughman.

HestartedforMerranoandastiffleftstoppedhim,smashinghislips.Taylordropped intoahalf-crouch,armswide tograpple,andmoved in.Barrycaughtthelargerman'ssleeveandjerkedhimforward,off-balance,thenkickedhisfootfromunderhim.Taylorsprawledforward,fallingonhishandsandknees.

Merranostoodwaiting,andTaylorcamehalferect,thenlaunchedhimselfinalongdive.Merranosidesteppedandwaited.

Slowly,carefully,Taylorgotupfromtheground.Puttinghisfistsinfrontofhiminanawkwardsimulationofaboxer,hemovedin.MerranomovedtothesideandTaylorcaughthimonthecheekbonewithaclumsyswing,butMerranostoodhisgroundandstruckthreehard,fastblowstothebody,thenanuppercutthrowninclosethattippedTaylor'schinback.

Taylor bored in, swingingwildly.Another punch caughtBarry but again hefailed tostepbackand,moving in, sankawickedright intoTaylor'sbellyandhookedalefttohisface.

Taylor turned,Barry feinteda left andTaylorpawedat the air toknock thepunchdown,butthefeintwasfollowedbyastiffleft,thenanotherandanother.Taylor was big, but lacked any semblance of fighting skill. He came in, legsspreadwide,swinging.Barryhithimwithaleft,thenknockedhimdownwitharight.TaylorgotupslowlyandBarryknockedhimdownagain.

Taylorgottohiskneesbutwasunabletogettohisfeet.“I'msorry,Taylor,butyouaskedforit.You'reagameman,butyou'renofighter.”

Taylormade it to his feet,weaving.Barry thrust out a hand. “As far as I'mconcerned,there'snohardfeelings.Willyoushake?”

PriceTaylorignoredtheout-thrusthand.

Barryswungtothesaddle.“I'msorry,Candy.Ididn'twantthistohappen.”

“You'dbettergo,”sherepliedcoldly.

Heswunghishorseandrodeaway,cuttingacrosstheplains,grayandempty

underawidewhitemoon.

Taylorwipedhisface.“YoumustthinkI'manawfulbust,gettin'whippedthatway.”

Candyshookherheadsoberly.“No,Price,Idon't,butIthinkwe'veallmadeanawfulmistake!”

Taylorgrunted.“LookslikeImadeone,anyway.”

WHENSHEOPENED thedoor into thewide living roomof the ranchhouseCandywassurprisedtofindfiveorsixmentalkingwithherfather.JimHillwasthere,andJoeStangle.AlsotherewereCabCasady,RockDulin,VinnieLake,HardyBensonandabig,powerfulmanwhomshedidnotknow.

“We've got to figure out something orwe're finished,” Bensonwas saying.“Mycattlearedyinglikeflies!”

“Mine,too,”Stanglesaid,“waterholesaredry,andthere'snograss.”

“If you ask me,” Dulin commented, “it ain't only the drouth. There's beensomerustlin'.”

“There'sbeennorustlinginthiscountrysincewegotridofBertScoveyandhisoutfit.”

“Thatgreaseralwayshasmoney,”Stanglesaid.“Where'shegetit?”

“IfyoucouldseethatBasinRanchofhis,”Candyinterrupted,“youwouldn'twonder.Youshouldallhavelistenedtohimalongtimeago.”

Herfather lookedupsharply.“Candy?Whatmakesyousay that?Whendidyouseeit?”

“Today,”sherepliedcalmly.“HeinvitedmetoseeitandIdid.”

“Youwentintothebasinwiththatlow-downMex?”

“Holdonaminute,Tom!”Stangleliftedahand.“Youmeanhe'sgotgrass?”

“Yes,hehas!”Candywaspleasedwith theeffectofherwords.“Thewholebasinisgreenandbeautiful!He'sgotwater,andlotsofit.He'sdammedsomeofthedraws,he'sdugoutsomepools,andhehasa lotofwater.He'sevengotagraincrop!”

“Grain?”Hillexclaimed.“Youmeanhe'sfarmin'?”

“Notfarming,justraisingenoughforhisownstock.Hetoldmehefedduringthewinterorjustbeforetakingthemtomarket.”

“Youactuallysawwaterandgrass?”Hillasked.

“He's done nothing you all couldn't have done, and he's done it all in fouryears!Certainly,Isawit!”

“Youtakin'upforhimnow?”Dulinasked.

“No!Iamjusttellingyouhe'sprovedhiscase.Hewasright,andyouallwerewrong.”

Stangle leaned forward, intent. “Where'd you say that water was? InCottonwoodDraw?”

“He's dammed both Cottonwood and Spring Valley. He's planted seedlingtreesaroundthemtoholdthebanksandhelpconservemoisture.”

“Well!”Stangleslappedhisthigh.“That'sit,men!Thatsettlesourproblem!”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Drakelookeduphopefully.

“He'sgotwater.Whydon'twejusttakedownTheFenceanddriveourcattlein there?Thatsneakin'Mexican'sgotnoright toall thatwaterwhenourcattlearedyin'!”

Casadylethischairlegsdownhard.“Youmeantosayyou'dhavethegallto

askhimforwaterafterthewaywe'vetreatedhim?”

“Asknothin'!”Stanglesaid.“Just teardownTheFenceandletourcattle in.They'dfindthewaterandgrasssoonenough.”

“Wecouldn'tdothat,”Drakeprotested,“itwouldn'tberight.”

“Right?”Stangle'svoicewashoarsewithbitterness.“Areyousoanxious togobroke?Youwanttowatchyourcattledie?”

“You'ddoa thing like that?”Casadydemanded,hiseyesgoing fromone totheother.

“Iwould,”RockDulinsaid.“Areyoutoonicetosaveyourcows?”

CandystaredatDulin,appalled.

“No,Rock,”Casady said quietly, “I'm not too nice. I hope, however, that Iknowsomethingoffairplay.We'vebuckedthatkidandmadehislifepurehell.Wetriedtodrivehimoutandhestuck.Wefencedhimoutofourcountryandstillhestayed.Hetriedtotellus,andweweretoodamnedhardheadedtolisten.Now,youwouldruinwhathehasdone.Howlongwillthatlittlegrasslastifweturnourherdsinthere?We'vegotsevenoreightthousandheadbetweenus.”

“Idon'tknow,andIdon'tgiveadamn!”Stanglesaid.“He'sgotnoplacehereinthefirstplace.I'vegotmycattletosave,andI'llsavethem.”

“Hewon'tstandforit,”Hillreplied.“He'llfight.”

“Ihopehedoes!”Stanglesaid.“Himandhishighfalutinways!Handin'goldrightoverthecounter!Throwin'itrightinourfaces!”

“Whatifhedoesfight?”Drakeasked.

“Youfoughtinjunstogethere,didn'tyou?”Dulinsaid.“YoukilledsomeofScovey'sboys?”

CandyDrakestaredinshockeddisbelief.“Youcoulddoathinglikethat?JoeStangle, what kind of a man are you? To wreck all he's done! To destroy

everything!”

“Itwouldsaveourstock,MissCandy,”Bensonprotested.“We'vefamiliestothinkabout.Yourpa'sinthesamefixIam,andI'mheadoverheelsindebt.”

“Whatwouldyoudoifhewasn'tthere?WhatifI'dnotbeensofoolishastotellyou?”

“Butheisthere,”Dulinreplied,“andthankstoyou,weknowwhathe'sgot.Theremaybewaterenoughtokeepourstockaliveforamonth,andbythentherainsmightcome.I'mforit.”

“SoamI!”Stangledeclared.

“Itisn'tright,”Drakeprotested.“Ifhehaswaterit'sduetohisownhardwork,andthewater'shis.”

“Well,Tom,ifyouwanttogobroke,thechoiceisyours,”Stanglesaid.“I'llbedamned if I let my cattle die. If you had a water hole you'd let me use it,wouldn'tyou?Whyshouldhebetheonlyonewho'sfencedin?”

Casady'sdislikewasobviousashestaredatStangle.“AndjustwhobuiltTheFence?Seemstomeyouhadahandinit,Stangle.”

“Thatcutsnoice.”Stanglewavedahand.“We'll tear itdown.We'llrunourcattleinthere,andthenwe'llseewhathappens.I'mnotgoingtoletmycattlediebecausehekeepshiswaterfencedup.”

“Ireckonthatspeaksforme.”HardyBensonspokereluctantly.“I'mindebt.I'llloseallIhave.”

“Thatsaysitforme,”VinnieLakeadded.

Cabgottohisfeet.“Howaboutyou,Tom?”

Drakehesitated,beforehiseyesthevisionofhisdyingcattle,thesizeofthebillheowedMayer.

“I'llstringwiththeboys,”hesaid.

ForamomentCasadylookedaroundattheirfaces.“I'drathermycattledied,”hesaid.“Goodnight,gentlemen!”

Dulinstartedtohisfeet,hishandreachingforhisgun.“I'llkillthat—”

“Betternottry,”Hillsaiddryly.“YouneversawthedayyoucouldmatchCabwithagun.”

Helookedaroundattheirfaces.“Idon'tknowthatIlikethis,myself.”

“It's settled,”Stangledeclared.“Dulin,Lake,Benson,Drake,andHill.Howaboutyou,McKesson?”

“Sure, I'll ride along, trailmy stockwith yours. I never liked thatMex, noway.”

TomDrakeglancedathimthoughtfully.CurtMcKessonwasanewmaninthevalley, a big, somber man with a brooding, sullen face. Drake had seen himangrybutonce,butthathadrevealedhimtohaveavicious,murderoustemper.Hehadbeaten ahorse todeathbefore anyone could interfere.Hedisliked theman, and it disturbedhim to seehowMcKesson's eyes followedCandyeverymoveshemade.Thelightinthemwasnotgoodtosee.

JoeStanglegotup,satisfactionshowinginhiseyesandvoice.“WecanmeetatWillow SpringsMondaymorning. Once The Fence is down and the cattlestartedforwatertherewillbenostoppin'them.”

Candywatched,feelingsickandempty.Shewantedtoprotestbutknewtheywould not listen. Their own desperation coupled with Stangle's hatred andDulin'ssullenbrutalityhadledthemintosomethingmostofthemwouldlivetoregret.Nowtheywereonlythinkingaboutdelayingtheirbadtimes.Onebyonetheyfiledoutandwhentheyhadgonesheturnedonherfather.

“Dad,you'vegottostopthem!Youcan'tletthemdestroyallthatpoorboy'swork!”

“Poorboy,isit?He'sgotnorighttoallthatwaterwhenourcattlearedying!”

“Whodammedthosedraws?Whathaveyoudonetotrytosaveyourcattle?

Allyou'vedoneissitherewiththerestofthemandsneeratwhathethoughtandwhathedid!”

“Bequiet!”Drake'svoiceboomed,hisguiltmakinghimevenmoreangry.“Iwon'thaveyoutakin'upfor thatMexican.Nor is ityourplace toquestionmyactions.”

“Dad”—Candy's tone was cold—“You'd better understand this. BarryMerranowillfight.Ifhefights,somebodywillgetkilled.IfIwereyouI'ddoalotofthinkingbeforeyoustartanything.Itisn'tlikeitwaswhenyoudroveoutthoserustlers.Thecountryhaschanged.”

Despite himself, he knew what she said was the truth. He shook his headirritably.“Nonsense!He'syellow!Hewon'tfight.”

Hehesitated,thinking.Thenhesaid,“Hewon'tfight.JoeStanglemadeafoolofhimandhedidnothing,nothingatall!”

“Thenyou'dbettergoout to thebunkhouseand takea lookatPriceTaylor.Pricethoughthewouldn'tfight,too.”

“What?Whatdoyoumean?”

“Barry rode homewithme tonight andwas leavingme at the gate.Hehadbeenagentleman,nomore.Pricejumpedhim,andBarrygavehimabeating.”

“HewhuppedPrice?Girl,you'recrazy!”

“Golookathim.AskPriceifhe'syellow.Also,Iseemtorememberyoutriedtofrightenhimawaybefore,andhedidn'trun.Hehadonlyanideatofightforthen.Nowhe'sgotaplaceworthhaving!”

Shepaused.“Rememberthis,Dad.He'llfight,andsomebodywillgetkilled.”

“Bah!”Drakesaid,buthewasdisturbed.Sheknewherfatherwellenoughtoknowthathehadnot likedtheactiontakentonight,yet thesewerethemenheknew,menhehadworkedbeside,menwithwhomhehadsharedtrouble.Hehadgonealongbecauseitofferedawayoutofbankruptcyandfailure,andbecausethereseemednoalternative.

TomDrakehadfoughtIndians,outlaws,andrustlers,andnowhewouldfighttohold theplace,butheknew inhisheart that if hewereMerrano,hewouldfight.HedidnotapproveofkillingandhebelievedMerranowouldrun,yetnow,listeningtohisdaughter,hewasnolongersosure.

“Dad?”Candy spoke quietly. “Iwant you to understand. If you go throughwith this I'll go and fight beside BarryMerrano. I will take a rifle and standbesidehimandwhathappenstohimwillhappentome.”

“What!”Hestaredathisdaughter,consternationinhiseyes.Inthatinstanthelookednotonlyintohisdaughter'seyesbutintothoseofhiswife,andsomethingmore,hesawareflectionofhimself,thirtyyearsbefore.

Without another word, Candy turned and left the room. The big old manbehindherstaredafterher,hurt,confusion,anddoubtstrugglinginhismind.Hesatdownsuddenlyinthebighidechair.

Suddenlyhefeltoldandtired,staringintothefire,tryingtothinkthingsoutandseeingonlyhisdyingcattleandthefailureofallhehaddone.Thecrackedmudinthedried-upwaterholes,theleaflesstrees,allhisyears,allhisstruggle,allhisworkandhisplansgone.

ThatwasFridaynight.EarlySaturdaymorningabuckboardleftMirrorValleyand bounced over the stones and through the thick gray dust towardWillowSpringsandtheturnofftoMerrano'stunnel.ClydeMayerhadmadeadecision,and he was following through. He knew nothing of the action taken by theranchersattheTDranch.Hewasthreatenedbyforeclosurebythewholesalers,andinthisemergencyhewasturningtotheonemaninthevalleywhoseemedtohavemoney.

Thetunnelwasunguarded,andheturnedinhesitantly.Whenheemergedintothe bright sunlightBarryMerranowas standing in the door of his house.Thesoundofhoofsinthetunnelwasplainlyaudiblewithinthehouseatanytime.

Mayerpulledupintheranchyardandtiedthelinestothewhipstock.Hegotdowncarefully,forhewasnotasagileashehadoncebeen.

“Howdy, son!” He peered at Barry over his glasses. “Reckon this visit's a

surprise.”

“Come in,”Barry invited. “I'm just back frompatching a hole in a dam.Abadgerdugintoit,andthewaterstartedtodrainout.”

“My,my!”Mayerlookedaroundslowly.“Yourmotherwouldberightproud,youngman!Rightproud!Shewasafinewoman,yourmotherwas!”

“Thanks. That's always good to hear from somebody else. Shewas a goodmothertome.”

When theywereseatedovercoffee,Mayersaid,“Son, I'vecome toyou forhelp.Thewholesalershaveshutoffmycredit,andtheyaredemandingmoney.Iamlowonstock,andtherancherswillbecominginforsupplies.”

“Howmuchdoyouneed?”

“Anawfullot,son.I'dneedfivethousanddollars.I'dsellyouahalfinterestinmybusinessforit.IknowI'vebeenfoolishtoextendcredit,butthesearegoodmen,son,andbasicallytheymeanwell.Everyoneofthemwillpayoffif it isthelastthingtheydo,butthatwon'thelpmenow...northem.”

“Ifyoudon'tgetthemoney,yougobroke?”

“That'sright.”

“Thenwhathappenstotheranchers?”

“They'dstarveorgetout.Thedrouth'shitthiscountrysobadthereisn'taheadofcattlefittosell.Itwilltaketworeallygoodyearstogetthemoutoftheholethey're in.They'dneverbeabletostickitout.Theyhavenofood,nofeed,nowater.”

Merranostaredintohiscup,hisbrown,wind-tannedfacethoughtful.Afteramomenthesaid,“Allright.I'llbuyahalfinterestinyourstoreononecondition.Idon'twantanybodytoknowaboutit.”

Mayer hesitated. “What about credit for the ranchers?They aremy friends,andI'dhatetoturnthemdown.”

“Don't.Givethemwhattheyneed.Somebodyhastohavefaithinthiscountry.Maybeafterthistheywilllearntheirlessonandhandletheirstocksensibly.”

Mayer stood up, his relief obvious. “I don't mind telling you, son, I wasscared.Ihadn'tanywheretoturn.”

Hestartedforhisbuckboardandpausedbeforegetting into it.“Son,youbecareful.ThatJoeStangleisamightymeanman,andsoisDulin.”

“Thanks.I'llkeepmyeyesopen.”

AfterMayer had gone Barry returned to the house and got hisWinchester.Thenhe slippedonhisgunbelt. Itwas time tobeginmoving thecattleoff theLongValley range and back into the basin.No use to let them feed there toolong.InafewweekshewouldtakethirtyheadovertoAragonforsale.Itwouldsaveonfeedandwaterandgivehimalittlemoreworkingcash.

Hehadsaddledupandwasabouttomountwhenheheardarattleofhorse'shooves.ItwasCandyDrake.

Atherexpressionhecaughtherhand.“Candy?What'shappened?”

Swiftly,thewordstumblingintooneanother,shetoldhimofthemeetinganditsresult.“Please,Barry!Don'tthinktoohardofFather!Allhecanseenowishiscattledying!”

“Iknow,”heagreed.“ThetroubleisthatthelittlewaterIhavewouldn'thelpmuch.Withthatmassofcattlecomingin,mysmallerpoolswouldbetrampledintomudwithinhoursandthebiggerpoolsbehindthedamswouldlastnotimeatall. Itwouldsimplyaddmyruin to therestof them.Believeme,Candy,I'dliketohelp.

“Thereisaway,iftheywillwork.There'swaterintheWhiteHorseHills.Itwouldtakealotofwork,buttheycouldgetatit.”

“Theywouldn'tlisten,Barry.Notnow.”

“There'sonlyonethingIcandonow,Candy.Theybrokemymother'shearton this ground, and they turned Father from a laughter-loving young vaquero

intoamoroseandlonelyman.

“There'sonlyonethingIcando,andthat'swhatyourfatherwoulddooranyofthemenwithhim.Iamgoingtofight.”

Hewaved a hand. “There's four years of blood, sweat, and blisters in this.Days and nightswhen Iwas so bitterly lonely I thought I'd go insane. I builtthose damswithmy own hands. I gathered the stones for this house, cut andshapedtheplanksforthefloors.Imadethechairs.Thesethingsaremine,andI'llfighttokeepthem.

“IfasinglecowcrossesTheFence, thatcowwillcrossovermydeadbody,but believe me, it won't be lying there alone. Candy, if you can talk to yourfather,tellhimthat.Bloodwon'tsavehiscattle,butifitisbloodhewants,that'swhathewillget.”

“They'llkillyou,Barry.Therearetoomanyofthem.”

“Iwon'tbealone.Thismaysoundsilly,butmymotherandfatherwillbewithme.Thislandwastheirsbeforeitwasmine.Theghostsofathousandothermenwhofoughtfortheirhomeswillbethere,too!”

“Barry,ItoldFatherthatifhecameI'dfightwithyou.”

Surprised,helookedupather.“Yousaidthat?”

“Idid,andImeantit.”

Speechless, hehesitated, then shookhis head. “No, asmuch as I'd like it, Ican't let you fight against your father. This is my fight. I am obliged for thewarning,butyou'dbetterrideonnow.Butnomatterwhathappens,I'llnotforgetthis.”

“Allright,I'llgo,butBarry,becareful!JoeStanglehatesyou!Andthatotherman,CurtMcKesson...hefrightensme!”

For a long time after she was gone, Barry sat staring down the valley,thinking.Hewouldleavethecattlewheretheywere.

Accustomedtoworkingandplanningalonehenowturnedallhisthoughtstodefense.Itwasaproblemhehadconsideredsincehisfirstday,andhispositionwasexcellent.TableMountainandtheNeckbarredaccesstoMirrorValley,andonly the tunnel and The Fence offered ingress. In the other direction lay thecanyonthatopenedintoLongValley,andhehadnoworriesaboutthatdirection.Itwasaseventy-mileride,muchofitthroughthereservationlandstogettothatapproach,andtheIndianswouldresentanyarmedbandcrossingtheirlands.

Despite the selfishness of thosewhowould destroy all he had built to savetheirowncattle,hecouldfeelsympathyforthem.Heunderstoodwhatitmeanttoacattlemantoseehisstockdying,yetthewaterhehadwouldsavethemforafewdaysonly.

Theywereclutchingatstraws,eggedonbythehatredofJoeStangleandbyDulin.BehinditwastheleftoverhatredfortheyoungMexicanwhohadmarriedprettyMollyO'Brien,thegirltheyallwanted.

Withcoolcalculationhebegantostudyhisproblem.

BynoononSaturdayhebeganwork,usingadouble-jackandadrill.Theseholesheloadedwithpowder,determinedtoblast itshut ifneedbe.Itwaslateafternoonbeforehecompletedthework.

FromthetopofTableMountainhestudiedtheMirrorValleycountrywithafield glass his father hadgivenhim.He could see the dust clouds that told ofmovingcattle.NocattlehadyetreachedWillowSprings,whichCandyhadtoldhim would be the rendezvous point. Yet by Sunday night he knew the cattlewouldbemassedattheopeningofthedraw.

Returningtothehouseheloweredaheavyloggateacrossthetunnelmouth.Mountinghishorseandleadingapackhorse,heheadedforTheFence.

Once there he studied the terrainwith care. The Fencewas strong, and hisinner fencewas stronger.Tearing itoutwouldbeno simple job.Climbing themountain he dug two rifle pits, one forward, the other some distance furtherback,whichhecouldreachbyahiddenroute.Ineachheleftammunition.

Noweight of cattle could press down The Fence. Itmust be torn down or

blasted out. Using a crowbar from the packhorse he pried loose a number ofbouldersandtumbledthemdownthesteepsidesofthedrawtoaplacebehindTheFencetowidenanddeepenthebarrier.

Furtherback,where thedrawopened into thebasinheduganother riflepitandtumbleddownmorestones,buttheretheyweremorewidelyspacedandlessofanobstruction.Notuntildarknesshadfallenandhecouldseethedarkmassofadvancingcattledidheceasework.

Despite the fact that he feared to leave the barricade, he went back to thehouseandpreparedameal.Hewassittingdowntoeatwhenheheardacallfromthetunnel.

“Merrano?”The shout reached him clearly. “This isCabCasady! Iwant totalk!”

Pickinguphisrifle,hisgunbeltsstillhangingfromhiships,hewalkedtotheloggate.“What'stheproblem?”heasked.

Thebigmangrasped the logs. “Merrano,damn it, I'mno talker! Idoclaimsomesenseofwhat'sright,andIain'thavin'nopartofwhatthey'retryin'todo.Igotariflehereandplentyofshells.Icametolendyouahand!”

“Youmeanthat?”HerecalledwhatCandyhadsaidofthisman.

“Isuredo,boy!You'vegotsand,andbytheLordHarryIwanttoshowthesebullheadsthatatleastoneofuswon'tbestampededbynohatefilledcoyotelikeJoeStangle!”

Barryputdownhisrifleandunlatchedthegate.“Comein,Cab!Iwon't tellyouhowgooditistoseeyou!”

The two men walked up to the cabin. Over coffee and side meat Barryexplainedhisdefenses.Casadychuckled.“I'll likeseein' theexpressiononJoeStangle'sfacewhenhegetstoTheFence!”hesaid.

They took turns guarding the draw but not until daylight did the cattlemenstarttorideup.Barrywasatthecabinandhehadwelcomedanothervisitor...twoofthem,infact.

ClydeMayer,drivinghisoldbuckboard,ariflebetweenhisknees,droveupthehillwhenthegatewasopened.BesidehimontheseatwasCandyDrake.ShesetherlipsstubbornlywhenshesawBarry.

“If youwon't letme shoot I can at leastmake coffee andget food foryou.You'llhavetoeat.”

“Allright.I'mnotsorryyoucame.Comeon,Mayer,we'dbetterheadbackforthedraw.”

Heturnedtothegirl.“Candy,watchthetunnel.Ifyouhearanybodycoming,andyoucanalwayshear them, tell themtogoaway.Fireacoupleofwarningshotsandiftheydon'tleave,lightthefuses.”

Herfeatureswerestiffandwhite,hereyeslarge.“I'lldoit,Barry.They'venobusinesscominghere.”

Daywasbreakingintothatgrayhalf-lightthatprecedesthedawn.CabCasadyrosefrombehindaboulderandcametomeetthem.“Howdy,Mayer!Youjoinedthearmy?”

“Ihave.”

Casadywasalarge,broad-shoulderedmanwithtwinklingblueeyes.“They'recomin'now,”hesaid.“Webetterlooktoit.”

“Letmedothetalking,”Barrysuggested.“Maybewecanavoidshooting.”

“Idoubtit,”Cabsaid.“Stanglewantsblood.”

Whenthelittlecavalcadeofridershadapproachedasfarashethoughtwisehefiredashotthatbroughtthemupstanding.

“You boys better ride home. Nobody is coming through thewire, today orever.Idon'twanttokillanybody,butI'mprotectingmypropertyagainstarmedmen.”

Casadystoodup.“I'mhere,too,boys.Thefirstmantotouchthatwiredies!”

ClydeMayercalledout.“Hill?Isthatyou?I'mnofightingman,Hill,butbygravythere'sgoingtobesomejusticeinthiscountry!Youtakemyadviceandridehome.”

“Mayer?”Hill'stonewasincredulous.“Youturnedtraitor,too?”

“I'mupholdingjustice,andifyou'vehalfthesenseIgaveyoucreditforyou'llturnaroundandridehome.IlikeyouHill,butyoulayahandonthatwireandmybulletwilltakeyourightbetweentheeyes!”

There was a hurried conference among the riders. “They can't stop us!”Stangleprotested.“They'rebluffin'!”

“Countmeout,”PriceTaylorsaid.

“Youyellow?”Dulinsneered.

“YouknowI'mnotyellow,”PriceTaylorsaidcalmly,“butI'vebeenthinkingallthewayouthere.Merranowhippedmefairandsquare,andwhenIwasdownhedidn'tputthebootstomebutsteppedbackandletmegetup.Hemadegoodwhenweall laughedathim,andhe's standinghisgroundnow.As forMayer,thereain'tafairer,moredecentmanaroundthanhim,andI'llbedamnedifI'llshootathim!”

“Thenwhydon'tyoujoinhim?”Dulinsneered.

Priceturnedonhim.“Youcalledit,Rock!That'sjustwhatI'lldo!I'vemadesomebadmistakesandI'mnoskypilot,but Inevergangeduponamanwithguts.I'lljoinhim!”

He wheeled his horse and started for the barrier. He lifted a hand. “Don'tshoot,Merrano!I'mjoinin'you!”

RockDulinsworeviciouslyandsuddenlyhewhippeduphisrifleandfired.

PriceTaylorlurchedinthesaddle,thenslippedoverontheground.

“Damntraitor!”RockDulinsaid.“That'llshow'em!”

TomDrakestareddownatthebodyofPriceTaylor.Hehadrearedtheboy.Hehad helped him mount his first horse. He stared around him in shockedbewilderment.“Whatarewedoing?”hesaid.“Men,whatarewedoing?”

DroppingfromhishorsehestumbledtothebodyofPriceTaylor.

JimHillwaswhitetothelips.HardyBensonstaredafterTomDrake,hisfacestupidwithshock.Helookedasifhehadawakenedfromanightmare.HeturnedhiseyestoRockDulin.“Thatwasmurder!”hesaid.“Nothin'butmurder!”

Dulinturnedlikeananimalatbay.Hiseyeswentfrommantoman.“What'sthe matter? Are you all turnin' yellow? You started out to do it, now you'requittin'!”

Hillsathishorse,hisrifleinhishands.“PriceTaylorwasagoodman.Hehada right to his feelin's as much as us. Dulin”—his eyes fastened on the otherrancher—“youan'Stangledowhatyouwant,butyouliftagunatme,myboyswill string you to the nearest cottonwood, an' that'swhere you belong!We'vebeenapackof fools, the lotofus!”He turned in thesaddle.“Comeon,boys,start'emforhome!”

AstheJimHillhandsbegangatheringtheherd,TomDrakeglancedonceatthedraw,thenturnedtohisownboys.“AcoupleofyoupickupPrice,”hesaid.

LouBarrowlookedoveratDrake.“Boss,Pricewasagoodman.Toogoodtogetshotintheback.”

“Iknow,butthere'sbeentroubleenoughtoday.”HewalkedhishorsetowhereJimHill andHardyBenson sat. “I seem tobegettin' old thesedays, Jim. I'vebeenlettin'thingsgetoutofhand.”

“Yeah.Well,thisisit,Tom.We'rebroke.”

Silently, thegroupsscattered,driving theircattle.Dulinspoke to thisoneorthatonebutwasignored,cutoff,leftoutoftheirthinking.

HeturnedincoldfurytoStangle.“Igotanotiontocutthethingmyself!”

“Don'ttryit,”Stangleadvised.“Ifhedidn'tgetyou,Cabwould.Wecanget

evenlater.”

As the threemen inside The Fencewatched them go, one said, “It will begood to get somewarm grub.” They turned their horses and rode toward thehouse.

“Dulinhasalwaysbeenakiller.HeshotamaninagunfightoveratTrinidadafewyearsback,”Cabsaid.“CurtMcKessonisanotherofthesamestripe.”

Mayerwenttohisbuckboard.“I'llbeleaving.”

“Watchyourself,”Casadyadvised.

“Theydaren'tbotherme,”Mayersaid.“Withoutmetheycan'teat.”

Candywaslasttogo,andBarryrodealongwithher.Atthegatesheturnedtosaygood-bye,andheshookhishead.“Imusttalktoyourfather,”hesaid.

“Doyouthinkthat'swise?”

“Maybenot,buthe'sgotachancetosavesomeofhiscattle,ifhewilllisten.”

Drakedidnotlookupwhentheyentered.Hewasseatedinhisoldhide-boundchair,headhanging.

“Father?Here'ssomeonetoseeyou.”

Helookedup,raisinghisheadlikeacorneredbear.“Howdy,Merrano.You'relookin'atanoldfool.”

“Drake”—Barry squatted against the wall—“if you will work to save yourherdyoucanstilldoit.”

“Itwouldhavetobesoon,boy.They'redyin'likeflies.”

“HaveyoubeenupintheWhiteHillslately?”

“TheWhite Hills? Not in five or six years. Nothin' up there but pinon an'juniper.”

“I think there'swaterup there,”Barrysaid.“One timedown inTexas I sawthembringinanartesianwellincountryjustlikethat.Ifyoudrilledawelljustbelowthatoldtrapper'scabinIthinkyou'dstrikewater.”

“Neverheardofanywellsdrilledinthiscountry,”hesaiddoubtfully.

“I'vedrilledfour,”Merranoreplied,“allwithwater.”

Drakestruckamatchandheldittohispipe.“Well,it'shightimeIowneduptothinkin'Iwastoosmart.Weolddogsfiguredweknewallthetricks.”

Hepuffed onhis pipe. “Mind if I ride over andhave a look at your place?Candy'stoldmeaboutit.”

“Youcomeatanytime.Asforwell-drilling,I'vegotanoutfitIhauledintwoyearsagofromAragon.”

He rodewarily onhis homewardway.Despite the peaceful discussionwithDrakeheknewthatStangleandDulinwerestillhisenemies.Thetwohadriddenofftogether,andCurtMcKessonhadriddenwiththem.

WhenTomDrakerodetothebasinthenextmorning,JimHill,VinnieLake,andHardyBensonrodewithhim.TheygreetedBarrywithnomorethananod,and hemounted the steeldust and led them across the basin. Drake pulled insuddenly,pointingtoamoundofearthrunningdiagonallyacrossashallowplaceonthehill.

“What'stheobjectofthat?”heasked.

“Waterwasstartingtomakeawashrightthere,”Barryexplained,“soIputinthatlittlespreaderdam.Causesthewatertodivideandspreadoverthehillsideandsoreachestherootsofmoregrass.

“Downbelowwheretherewasanaturalhollow,Idugitoutalittlemorewithascraper.NowI'vegotapoolalthoughitisdryingupnow.”

“Morewater in that pool right now than I've got onmywhole place!”Hillsaid.

Barryledthemfromplacetoplace,showingthemthelakeshehaddammedinthedraws,andthevariouspools.Thefirstofthewells,wherehehadawindmillpumping, showedagood flowofwater.Thesecond, somedistanceaway,wasartesian.

Thebasinlookedgreenandlovely,andhegesturedwithawaveofthehand.“That'smostlyblackgramaandcurlymesquitegrass.Iletthecattlerunthereafewweeks,thenmovethemtoanotherpastureandletthisgrowback.Ionlyrunabouta thirdof thestockyouhaveonthesamenumberofacres, thatwaymystockisalwaysfat.”

“Myplaceisallgroweduptochollacactusnow,”Drakesaid.

“Burnthatfield,”Barryadvised,“theasheswillhelpthefieldandthefirewillburn the dry needles off the cholla leaving the green pulp behind. That greenpulpisfairlygoodfeed.TheNavajostaughtmethat.”

“Then I've got enough cholla on my place to feed all the stock inChristendom,”Hillsaid.

“Son,”Drakesaid,“you'vedoneajob!Weshouldhavelistenedtoyoualongtimeback.”

ThedayspassedswiftlyandBarryworkedhard,buthewaslonely,andeventheworkfailedtohelp.EachtimehereturnedtothehousehekeptlookingforCandyasherememberedher,makingcoffeeinhiskitchenduringthefight.Atnight, aloneby the fire,he seemed to seeher there.Thenonedayhe rodehishorseupthedrawandstopped,astonished.

The Fence was gone! Rooted out, wire and posts gone, and the post holesfilled in.Theremight never have been a fence there at all.He pushed his hatbackonhishead,andshookhishead.“Mom,”hesaidaloud,“you'dhavelikedtoseethis!”

CandyDrake, riding her pinto, decided to head for the basin. She knew allaboutTheFencebeingdown.Theburningofthechollahadworkedandwouldbethemeansofsavingatleastsomeofthecattle.Now,iftherainscameintimeorthedrillersstruckwater,theyhadafightingchance.

Yettroublewasmounting.LouBarrow,filledwithfuryatRockDulin'skillingofPriceTaylor,hadgonetotown.Barrowhadmadearemarkaboutkillers,andDulinhadgoneforhisgun.Barrowwasatoughcowhandbutnogunman,andDulinputthreebulletsintohim.Miraculously,Barrowlived.

RockDulinswaggeredabout town,his ranch forgotten,his stockdying. JoeStangleandCurtMcKessonwereusuallywithhim.

Candydecideditwastimethewomentookahand.AliceBensonagreed,andsodidthethreeLakegirls.Theyorganizedabigdanceandcelebrationfor thepurposeofgettingeverybody togetheragainandwipingoutoldscores.CandyhadtakenituponherselftoridetothebasinandinviteBarryMerrano.

Inotherpartsofthevalley,eventsweremovingintheirownway.McKessonhad riddenover toStangle's, and the two sat in theuntidy living roomover abottleofwhiskey.Withnothingonwhichtofeed,JoeStangle'shatredhadturnedinward.FordayshehadbeenbroodingoverthethoughtofBarryMerrano,nowthe talk of the valley. Joe Stangle's hatred was of long standing, for he hadwantedMollyO'BrienandthenshehadmarriedMiguelMerrano.ThefactthatMollyhadneverevennoticedhisexistencemadenodifference.Deliberately,heprovokedtroublewithMiguel,confidenttheMexicanwouldbackdown.

Thetroublewas,hedidnosuchthing.ThedarklyhandsomeyoungMexicanhadsimplysteppedbackandtoldhimtogoforhisgunwheneverhewasready.

Suddenly Joe discoveredhewas not at all ready. Itwas one thing to tacklewhat you thought was a puppy dog, quite another when you found yourselffacing a wolf with fangs bared. Stangle looked across eight feet of floor anddiscoveredthatcourageknowsnoraceorcreed.

He had backed down, and although itwas notmentioned, he knew hewasdespisedforit.HishatredforMiguelMerranofloweredwiththecomingofhisson.

Now,bothmenweredrunkornearlyso.HulkingCurtMcKessonreachedforthebottleandsodidStangle.JoegothishandonitasdidCurt.Inasuddenburstoffury,StanglejerkedthebottlefromMcKesson'shand.

McKesson'ssullenanger,neverfarfromthesurface,explodedintorageandhe struck with the back of his hand, the blow knocking Stangle sprawling.McKessonwasnotwearingagun,havingputitasideintheotherroom.

JoeStangle,blindwithfury,sawnothingbutthegreathulkingfigure.Allhisbottled-up rage found sudden release in this, and his gun slid into his hand,thumbingthetriggeragainandagain.

Thethunderousroarofthesix-gunfilledtheroom,andwithittheacridsmellofgunsmoke.Then thesounddied, thesmokeslowlycleared,andJoeStanglelurchedtohisfeet.

OneglanceatCurtMcKessonwasenough.Thebigmanwasliterallyriddledwithbullets.Avertinghiseyes,JoeStanglepickedupthebottleanddrainedoffthelastofthewhiskey.Withoutabackwardglance,hewalkedoutthedoor.

Drunkashewashisnaturalcunningwarnedhimhehadnochanceofgettingawaywithwhathadbeenthekillingofanunarmedman.StepswerebeingtakentoelectasheriffandoncethatwasdoneneitherhenorRockDulinwouldlongremain at large.Mounting his horse he started down the valley, filled with asullenfeelingthatsomehowitwasallBarryMerrano'sfault.

Thetrailhewasriding,drunk,andfilledwithsullenrage,intersectedthatofCandyDrake.

Unknown to either of them, Barry Merrano had ridden out of a draw andglimpsedthepintoatadistance.Adeepcanyonlaybetweenthemalthoughtheywere less than a mile apart, but with luck he could overtake her at WillowSprings.

Asherodehesangasonghehadhimselfcomposed,asongmadeupduringhis lonelinessandwhenhedesperatelyneededsomethingcheerfulofwhich tothink.

“Oh,gather'roundcloserandfillupyourglasses,

AndI'lltellyouthestoryofJohnnyGo-Day.

Hewasayoungcowhandwhorodeallthemustangs,

AndnobroncotheybredcouldJohnnydismay!”

InthecancerofenvythatfesteredinthemindofJoeStanglewasahatredforallbetterofformoreattractive thanhimself.Mostofall,afterBarryMerrano,hehatedCandyDrake.

Shewasagirlwhospoketoeveryone,butStanglehadnoticedthatshedidnotparticularlyenjoyspeakingtohim.Hefailedtorealizethiswasduetohisownsurlymanner,andthefactthathehadbeenknowntomakeunpleasantremarksabout girls and women. He simply believed she thought herself too good forhim.

Ridingat a canterCandyapproachedWillowSprings recalling, as shedrewnear, that her father had told her they had struck water at this, the first wellattempted in thevalley.Ridingup towhere thedrill rig still stood, she swungdown,lookingatthepoolofmuddywaterandconsideringwhatthiscouldmeantothevalley.

ItwasBarryMerrano'sdrillrigthathadbroughtinthiswell,anditwasonhisadvice they had fed the cholla to their stock that saved so much of it. Theprejudice against him had virtually disappeared. It couldmean a new life forhim,andmightmean—

Shedidnothearthehorsestopattheedgeofthebrush.JoeStanglehadseenherarrive,knewshewasintherealone, inthegatheringdusk.Hedugintohissaddlebag for the pint he carried there and took a pull at the bottle. He wasleavingthecountry,anyway,andhe'dshowherwhatwaswhat.Beforeanybodyknewwhathadhappenedhe'dbelonggone.

He pushed his way through the willows, and Candy turned sharply at theunexpectedcracklingofthedrybrushandsawJoeStangle.

He was not a big man but he was hairy-chested and broad. His face wasswollenand thefleshsoddenfrommuchdrinking,andhewasobviously inan

uglymood.

Hehadalwayswantedthisgirl,andnowhereshewas,withherprideandherstuck-upways,rightinhishands.Hestartedtowardher.

Candy realizedherdanger,but shewasnotgiven to screaming.Shebackedawaywarily; wishing her horsewere closer. If she turned her back to run hewouldcatchherbeforeshehadtakenthreesteps.

Hedidnotspeak,justwalkedtowardher.

“What'sthematter,Joe?Haveyoulostsomething?”

He made no reply, continuing to advance. She stepped back and her bootslippedinthemudandshefell,rollingquicklyawayandscramblingtoherfeet.

Drunkhemightbe,buthecouldmovequickly.“Damnyou!Youstuck-up—!”She dodged away, but he grabbed at her and caught herwrist. “I'll show youwhat—!”

Inthatinstanttheyheardavoicetheybothknew.

“Oh,therewasayoungcowhandwhousedtogoriding,

TherewasayoungcowhandnamedJohnnyGo-Day!

Herodeablackponyandheneverwaslonely,

Forthegirlsneversaidtohim‘Johnny,go'way!'

Whentheyheardhisbrightlaughtertheirheartsfollowedafter,

Andtheycalledtohim‘Johnny!Oh,Johnny,comestay!'”

Stangle'shandclampedoverthegirl'smouthbeforeshecouldcryoutawarning.

Thepinto stood in plain sight, but JoeStangle's horsewas hidden beyond thebrush.

Holdingherwithonepowerfularmandhand,a legpressedbeforehersandjammingherbackagainstthedrillrig,withhisfreehandhedrewhissix-shooter.

Thesongendedandtheyheardthesaddlecreakashedismountedandthenashestartedthroughthewillowsthesongcontinued.

“Herodetotowndailyandalwaysrodegaily,

Andliftedhishatashecanteredalong!”

JoeStangleliftedhissix-shooter,tookcarefulaim,andsqueezedthetrigger.

The firing pin clicked on an empty cartridge. He had emptied his gun intoCurtMcKesson!

AttheclickofthecockinghammerBarrystoppeddead,andwithanoath,JoeStanglethrewthegirlfromhimandgrabbedfeverishlyathiscartridgebeltformoreshells.Inhishastehedroppedthefirsttwoshellsbutthrusttheothersintoplace.

Wildwith fear, Candy dropped to the ground and began to scramble away,cryingout,“Lookout,Barry!It'sJoeStangle!”

Barry grabbed for his gun, still tied downwith the rawhide thong heworewhenriding.Heslidthethonganddrewswiftly.

Droppingtooneknee,theotherlegthrustoutbeforehim,hewaited.Hecouldhear thebreathingofCandyDrake,but in thedarknessof thewillowgrovehecouldseenothing.Pickingupastickhethrewittooneside.Nothinghappened.

Hemovedslightly,gatheringhimselftoleapaside,andatthesoundastabofflameseemedtoleaprightathiseyesandabulletstruckatreebehindhimwith

anuglythud.Hefiredinreply,andhisbulletricochetedoffthedrillrig.

Hefiredagain,holdingalittlelowerandtheshotdrewastartledmovement.He leaped aside, gunpoised for another shot.Therewas an instant of silence,andthenashot.Thebulletmissedbyafractionofaninch.

Candy lay hugging the ground, andBarry could see her now.Carefully, heshifted position to get further away from her so as not to draw fire in herdirection.

HatredandfearweredrivingJoeStangle,buteventhecourageofacorneredcoyotehadabreakingpoint.Theliquorfumeshadclearedfromhismind,andherealizedBarrywasoverthere;hehadagun,andhewasplayingforkeeps.

Suddenlywhatcouragehehadwentoutofhimlikeagustofbreath,andlikeashadow,hefadedbacktowardthebrushandhishorse.Hewanteddesperatelytokill, but he did notwish to be killed.Hewanted nothing somuch as to get asaddleunderhimandbeoff.Healmostmadeit.

Merrano, hearing him at last, lunged through the brush after him. StanglereachedhishorseandMerranoslidtoastop,andJoeStanglesawhimandtriedonelastshot.Itwasthere,andhehadtotry.

Barryfiredatthesameinstant,thenhefiredagain.JoeStangle'shorseleapedaway,andJoeStangle,shotthroughthebelly,allthehatredoozingawaywithhislife'sblood,swayedonhisfeet,thegunslippingfromhisfingers.Thenhefell.

BarryMerranoturnedandstartedbackthroughthewillowsandthenallofasuddenheseemedtostepintoaholeandhefell.

Thecleanwhitebedand thedoctorwhowasputting thingsaway inablackbagwereasurprise.Candywasthere,andCabCasady.

“Stangle?”Hestartedtorise.

“He's gone, Barry. He had already killed Curt McKesson in some kind ofdrunkenfight,andwasleavingthecountry.”

“Dulin?”

Cabshiftedhisfeet.“IcomebyandhelpedCandygetyouhome.ThenIwentdown to town and run intoRockDulin.He picked a fight and I had to shoothim.”

Cabstarted for thedoor. “You twomighthavesomething to talkabout,”hesaid.“Iwanttogowatchtherain.Seemslikeit'syearssinceI'veseenany.”

THEROMANCEOFPIUTEBILL

TOM GALWAY RODE the sorrel out of the juniper and down the hillsidetoward the rock house on the creek. He was still two hundred yards off andcuttingacrossafieldbrightwithlarkspur,paintbrush,andsegolilywhenhesawPiuteBillcometothedoor,aWinchesterinhishands.

Galway rodeup to thedoorandhookingone legaround the saddlehornhereachedforthemakings.“You'regoingtoneedthatrifle,Bill.Thatis,ifyou'reuptochasingsomehorsethieves.”

“What'shappened?”PiuteBillpushedhishatbackonhishead, thenput theWinchesterdownbesidethedoor.HeacceptedthetobaccosackGalwayhandedhim.“Youlosin'stock?”

“Those boys over yonder in the Rubies ran off twenty head of horses lastnight.Ifiguretogoget'em.”

“All right,”Bill touched his tongue to the paper. “Must be eight or nine ofthemupthere.Whodoyoufiguretotakealong?”

“You andme.No use to clutter things up.All Iwant is somebody to keepthemoffmyback.”

“Sureenough.WaituntilIsaddleup.”

Hecamebackfromthecorralleadingapainthorsewithoneblueeyeandonebrowneye.TomGalwaywassittingontheporchwaitingforhim,withagourddipperinhishand.

“There'sajuginside,”PiuteBillsaid.“Myownmake.”

Piute Bill threw his saddle on the paint. “Ain't bad whiskey, at that. I'mbeginningtothinkthatalkaliaddsalittlebitetoher.”

“Couldbe.”Galwayheftedthejug,thenthrewitoverhisbentarmanddrank.“Couldbe,”herepeated.“Youknow,Bill,I'mbeginningtothinkthatwhatyouneedisawoman.Somebodytosortofcookthingsupandkeepthingsrevvedupamite.Thenyoucouldgivemoretimetomakingwhiskeyandherdingcattle.”

PiuteBillglancedathimsourly.“I'mdoin'allright.Youready?”

Galwayput the jugdown inside thedoorandpulled thedoorshut.Thenheswungintothesaddle,andtheystartedoffatawalkacrosstheflower-blanketedmeadow.

“Cassidy will be there,” Piute Bill said, “and Gorman, too.” He glancedsidewiseatGalway.“YoubetterwatchCassidy.He'safairhand.”

“Noman's goin' to run offmy stock. I rounded up those horses out on therange.Wildstock.Ibroke'emmyselfandgentledthemdown.Cassidy'sgothisbusinessandIhavemine.Aslongashestaysontheothersideof thecreek,Iwon'tbotherhimbutwhenherunsoffmystockhe'dbetterhunthimselfahole.”

The trail ledupashallowgulchborderedby juniperandbrush.“Youknow,Bill,”Galwaysaid,“themoreIthinkofyouhavingawomanaround,thebetterIlike the idea.”He squinted against the sun as they topped out on the rise andlookedthecountryoverwithcare.“Beasortofacivilizinginfluence.Youain'tgetting no younger, and you've been living alone in that shack for some timenow.Ifigureawomancouldsortofrevthingsuparoundandkeepyouwashedbehindtheears.”

“Youmean,”Piutecommentedsourly,“youfiguretodropover timeto timeforhomecookedmeals.Iknowyou.Iain'tbeenridin'therangewithyouthesepastfourorfiveyearswithoutcuttin'yoursign.”

“I'monlythinkingofyou,”Galwaysaid,keepinghisfacestraight.“Youjustthink of that schoolmarm over to Summit,” Galway continued, ignoring theinterruption.“That'sarightsolidbitofwoman,andIhearshe'sagoodcook.”

“You'dbetterbethinkin'ofDiggerCassidy.He'snosofttouch,andifhestoleyourhorseshewanted thembad.Heput lead intoDeanRussellover toBattleMountain,twoorthreemonthsago.Ifyourecall,hewasoneoftheroughestofthatCharlestonoutfit.”

“Gorman'sjustasgoodwithagun.”

“There'saslick-earkid,too.NamedRobbins.HeshotupasaloonovertoTenMilelastweek.”

“Heardabouthim.Hefilesnotchesonhisgun.”

“Oneofthem,huh?Ineverknowedofanyrealbadmanwhodonethat.He'satinhorn.”

Thegulchdownwhichtheyhadbeenridingopeneduponawide,whitesaltflatandtheycutacrossonanangle,walkingtheirhorsestoraisenomoreofthewhite, smothering dust than necessary. The sky was clear and hot. Their lipsbecameparchedandwhite, theireyessmarted fromsweat.Heatwavesdancedover the flats. They rode in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. Thelurking devil in the paint's blue eyewent dull with the heat and the sloggingpace.

Itwas two hours before they topped a small rise and left the desert behindthem.Thesage-brushsmelledgoodaftertheparchedstillnessofthesaltflats.

Cottonwoods showed some distance off and they pointed their horses,ignoringthetrailofthestolenstock,knowingthementheypursuedwouldalsoneedwater, and the trackswouldbegin againwhen they found it.Thehorses,smellingwater,quickenedtheirpace.

Itwasasmallbutcoldstream.Menandhorsesdrank.TomGalwaysatdownonarotting tree trunkandscanned thearea.Horseshadbeenheldhereonlyafewhoursbefore.Theirtrackswereinthemudandinthegrass.

“Abouttwomiles,isn'tit?Thecabinsetsoutintheopen.”

“Yougotanyideas?”

“IwanttotalktoCassidy.”

“Youwanttotalktohim?Doyoureckonhewillsetaroundandtalkwhenheknowsyou'rehuntin'him?”

TomGalwaywasrunningthisshowandPiuteBill figuredheknewwhathewas about, but talking to Cassidy at such a time? It didn'tmakemuch sense.TherehadbeenagooddealoftalkaboutTomGalwaysincehehadriddenintotheRubyCreekcountry,andalotofwonderingabouthim.

“He'lltalk,”Galwaysaid.

Cassidy andGormanwere knownmen, both of them had been involved inshootings. With them would be at least six others, all used to fighting forwhatever they got. Until now they had confined their raids to the big outfitswhere weeks might go by before a tally showed that stock was missing.ApparentlyTomGalway'sstockhadbeentoomuchofatemptation,andGalwaywasnewintheRubyCreekcountry.Inthethreeorfouryearshehadlivedtherehehadkeptoutoftrouble.Hehadbeenahardworker,andobviouslyatophandwithhorses.

WalkingtohishorseGalwaytooktwostripsofrawhidefromhissaddlebagsandtiedhisgundowntohisthigh.Thenhetookoutanothergunbeltandholsterand,afterstrappingiton,tieditdownalso.ItwasthefirsttimePiutehadeverseenamanweartwoguns,althoughhehadheardofsuchthings.

Piute studiedGalway.Hewas a lean, brownman, tannedby sun andwind.Therewasascaroveroneeyeandanotheralongthejawbone.Piuteturnedhishorseandstartedupstream.Galwaycantereduntilbesidehim.

“There'stimberalongthestream,”hesaid,“fiftyyardsfromthecabin.Iftheyopenfirewe'lltakecoverthere.”

Piute couldn't quite make up his mind about Galway. He glanced at theyoungermanbutsawnosignsofnervousnessorexcitement.Nomorethanifhewasgoingafterabunchofcows.

Hismindturnedtootherthings.MaybeGalwaywasright.Maybehedidneedawoman.Itwas lonely there in thecabin in thecreek.Hewasahealthyman,

fortyyearsoldnow,andhehadanicebunchofcattleandafewheadofhorses.Theranchwasdoingwell,iftheydidn'tstartrustlingthissideofthecreek.Hefiguredhecouldmakeawifecomfortable,andhewasn'tacantankeroussort.

The creek turned west and they entered the canyon. There was a narrowopeninglinedwithaspenandafewspruce.Thetreesfellbackandthetwomencanteredover themeadowtoward thecabin. Itwasasquat,stonecabinwithacorralalmostdirectlybehinditinwhichGalwaycouldseehishorses.Nearthestonecabinwerethreeotherhorses,ground-hitched.

Pullingupaboutadozenyardsfromthedoor,twomencameout,followedbya third anda fourth.The firstwasGorman, the secondRobins.Theother twoGalway did not know. The squat, bull-like figure of Digger Cassidy wasnowheretobeseen.

“Howdy,”Galwaysaidcasually.Hiseyes scanned their facesandsettledonGorman.“Where'sDigger?”

“Whatd'youwantwithhim?”Robbinsdemandedbelligerently.

“Shutup,Robbins!”Gormanspokesharply.“I'lldothetalking.”

HelookedatGalway,thenatPiuteBill,whosepainthadbeenstoppedabouttenfeetbehindandwelltotherightofGalway.“Whatdoyouwant?”

“IthinkDiggermadeamistake.”Galwayspokegently.“Hedroveofftwentyhead of horses for me. Nice meadow here, but I'd rather have them close tohome.ThoughtI'djustrideoveranddrivethemback.”

“Youthoughtwhat?”Robbins'faceflushedred.“Justwho—!”

“Shutup!”Gormansaidimpatiently.

Therewas somethinghere he did not like, andGormanhadpursued a longoutlawcareerbybeingcautious.Only twomen,and they looked like fighters.PiuteBillheknewabout,andhewasnomantotriflewith.

The other man, a stranger, seemed to be taking the lead, and his quiet,confidentmannerdisturbedGorman.

“You'llhavetotalktoCassidy,”Gormansuggested.“He'stheboss.”

“Iknow,”Galwayreplied,“butIcan'twait.YoutellCassidythatTomGalwaycameforhishorses.He'llunderstand.”

“YouknowCassidy?”

“Ido.What'smore,Diggerknowsme.YoutellhimIcameformyhorses.Ifhewantsmeforanything, I'llbeatmycabin.Tellhimtocomewheneverhe'sready...dayornight.”

He did not turn his head but spoke to Piute. “Kick those corral bars down,Bill.Wecan'tstaylong.”

Robbins had enough. He stepped forward. “You keep your hands off thatcorral,”hesaid,“andyou,Galway!Yougetgoin'whileyou'reable!”

Gormanwas in a quandary. Theywere four to two. Still, thisman said heknewCassidy,and—

PiuteBillhad ignoredRobbins.Herode to thecorraland leaned toward thebars.Robbins,hisfaceflushedwithanger,turnedbacktoGalway.“Stophim!OrI'llkillyou!”

TomGalway'slipssmiled,buthiseyesdidnot.“Gorman,thiskid'saskin'forit.”

Robbins'handstreakedforhisgunandGalway'ssorrelsidesteppedsuddenlyatatouchofthespur.Galwayfired...thenagain.

Robbins, his gunhalf-drawn, stoppeddead still, staring atGalway, his eyesblankandunseeing.

Swearingviciously,Gormanwentforhisgun,trappedintoagunbattlehehadnotwanted.Galwayfired,knockingonemanintothecabinwallwherehefell,knockingthemanbesidehimoffbalance.

PiuteBill,halfbehindthem,turnedatthefirstshotandfiredatGorman,whowentdown,hisfingersdiggingintotheearth.

Thelastmandroppedhissix-shooterasifitwerered-hotandflattenedagainstthewall.Galwaylookedathimoverhisgun.

Thehorseswereoutofthecorralandstartingtowardthebottleneckopening.

PiuteBill'sWinchesterwas ready,andGalway lookedat the lastman.“YoutellDiggerCassidytostayonhisownsideof thecreek.TellhimGalwaysaidthat,GalwayofTombstone!”

He turned his horse away,watching theman. “And you tellDigger I didn'tstarttheshooting.Itwasthatfoolkid,Robbins.”

Thehorseswouldheadfortheirowncorral,nowthattheywerefree,buttheycouldalwayshurrythemalongabit.

Theywere almostoutof thebottleneckwhena sharp, femininevoice camefromtheaspens.“Allright!Holdupthere!”

Abuxom,determined-lookingyoungwomanofperhaps thirty stepped fromthetrees.Sheheldadouble-barreledshotgunasifsheknewhowtouseit.

GalwayandPiuteBilldrewupwarily.Amanwithashotgunwasbadenough,butawoman—

“What's the trouble,ma'am?”Galwayaskedpolitely.“Canwedosomethingforyou?”

“Youkilledmymanback there,and ifyou thinkyou'regettin'off scot-free,thinkagain!”

PiuteBillstartedtospeak,thenswallowedandlookedhelplesslyatGalway.

Liftinghishandslowly,TomGalwayremovedhishat.“Now,I'msorrytohearthat,ma'am, but thosemen stolemy horses andwhen I came after them theymadethemistakeoftryingtoshootitout.”

Henotednosignoftears.“Ma'am?Whichonewasit,Robbins?”

“That puppy?” Contempt was in her tone. “He killed a few tenderfeet and

figuredhewasatoughman.MymanwasNedWavers.”

“We're almighty sorry, ma'am,” Galway said gently. “We came after ourhorses.We'dnointentionofkillinganybody.”

“Butyoudid!”Therewasnogriefinhertone,justahardmatter-of-factness.“Nedwasn'tmuch,” she said, “but hemademe a home, andwhen hewasn'tdrunkhetookcareofme.NowI'llbelefthereforCassidyandthatbullyin'TintoBill.”

TomGalwaysmiled.“Why,ma'am,ifyouwouldrathernotstayhere,andifitisahomeyou'relookingfor,we'vegotoneforyou!”

Shewas,Tomdecided,quiteaprettywoman.Moreover,shelookedneat,andclean.“Ofcourse,”headded,“you'dhavetobeabletocook.”

“Thereisn'tabettercookwestofthePecos,”shesaidflatly,“andIcanmakepies—”

“Ofcourse,”Galwaysaid,smiling,“andwe'vegotjusttheplaceforyou!It'saprettylittlestonehousebyacreek,andagood,thoughtfulmantogowithit.”

“Hey!”TherewassheerpanicinPiute'seyes.“Look,youcan't—!”

“Agood,thoughtfulman,ma'am,andagoodprovider.He'soneofthefinesthuntersaround,alwayshasmeatforthetable.”

The shotgun lowered. “What's going on here?” The woman was puzzled.“Somehow,Idon'tunder—”

“Ma'am”—TomGalway rested his palms, one atop the other, on the saddlehorn—“ma'am,thisgentwithmeisPiuteBill.He'saknownandrespectedman.Nowhe'samiteontheshadysideofforty,butsteady.Hecanforkabroncwithanyman,oneofthebesthuntersaroundandhe'sgothimthatstonecabinIspokeof.

“Itneedsawoman's touch, that'sall.Therightwoman.Needsawomanlikeyou,aprettywomanwho'sneatabout thehouseandwhowill cookhischuckandkeeptheplacerevvedup.Iknowhe'dbespeakin'forhimself,buthe'sashy

man,notgiventotalkingmuch.”

“Tom! Listen! For God's sake!” His voice trailed off helplessly as Galwaycontinued.

“Hemakesalittle'shinenowandagain,butI'veneverseenhimdrunk.Don'tdrinknomorethantobesociable.Heownssevenhundredheadofsteersandamilkcow.”

“Didyousayamilkcow?”Thewomanlookedthoughtful.“Ifhe'sgotamilkcowhe'sasightmoreofaplannin'manthanmost.Mister,Ireckonyou'vetalkedmeintoit!”

“Mountup,then!”Galwaysaidcheerfully.“MountuprighttherebehindPiuteandputyourarmsaroundhimandhangontight.BythetimeyougettohisplaceonthecreekIthinkhe'llbeconvinced!”

Piute Bill, his eyes vicious and his face red, helped the young woman upbehindhim.SheflashedasmileatGalwaywhichsuddenlyfaded.

“Nowseehere!Nedwasn'tmuchandhebeatmewhenhewasdrunk.Iwasn'tsorrytolosehim,himbein'whathewas,butwewereallmarriedup,fittin'andproper!”

“Ofcourse,ma'am!”Galwaylookedshocked.“I'llrideintoTenMileassoonasIgetyoutothehouse.Wewillhaveapreacheroutherebeforesundown.Thebarkeepwastellin'metherewasapreachertherenow.I'llgethim.Meanwhile,”he added, “you better just bake a wedding cake. Somehow without a cake aweddingdoesn'tseemreal,doesitnow?”

“Maybethepreacherwon'tcome?”Billsuggestedhopefully.

“He'llcome!”Galwaysaid.“I'llseetothat!”

“Ijustbetyouwill!”Piutesaidsavagely.

Whistling,TomGalwayturnedhissorreltowardTenMile.“Horse,”hesaid,“I'dmakeapoorCupidbutsometimesthere'sthingsamanjusthastodo.Andbesides,shehadascatter-gun.”

WhenGalwayrode intoTenMile theonlysignof lifewasaround theGoldCamp Saloon. Galway tied his horse and pushed through the batwing doors.Thereweresixmenintheplace.Onesataloneatatable.Hewasared-hairedman,shortandstocky,withapiouslook.

Galway stepped to the bar, noticing one of the men was Digger Cassidy,anotherwasTintoBill.

“Rye,”Galwayordered,andjerkingathumbtowardtheredheadheasked,“Isthatthepreacher?”

“Itis.”Thebartenderlookedupcuriously.

“Ifyou'vegotahorse,”hesaidtothepreacher,“bettergethimsaddled.I'vegotaweddingforyou.”

“Awedding?Ofcourse,but—?”

“Everything is going tobe all legal andproper, thiswomanwants tomarrythisman,andbythistime,”hechuckled,“he'llbewantingtomarryher.Ifshedoesn'thavehimconvincedbynowshedoesn'thavethetakingwaysIthinkshehas.Shelookedtomelikeawomanwithamindofherown.”

“Who'sgettin'married?”thebartenderasked.

“PiuteBill.He'sbeenlookingforawifeforalongtime.”

“Who'smarryin' him?There ain'tmore'n three or four singlewomen in thecounty!”

“PiuteBill,”Galwayrepliedcarefully,“ismarryingMrs.NedWavers.”

TintoBill chokedonhisdrink.DiggerCassidy turned for the first timeandlookedrightatTomGalway.“Who?”hedemanded,unbelievingly.

“Mrs. Ned Wavers and Piute Bill,” Galway repeated. “They are gettingmarriedthisevening.SoonasIcangettheparsonupthere.”

“Butshe'smarried!”TintoBillsaid.“She'sgotahusband,andanytimeshe

hasn't,IguessI'dbefirstinline.”

“There must be some mistake,” Cassidy said. The light was not good andGalway'shatshadedhisfacesomewhat.“NedWaversis—”

“Dead,”Galwayreplied.“Mrs.NedWavershasbeenawidowforalmostfourhours.”

DiggerCassidyspokesoftly.“YousayNedWaversisdead.”

“That'sright,Digger.Seemssomeofyourboysdroveoffsomehorsesofminelast night, so I rode over to drive them back. Robbins made a fool play andGormanandWaverstriedtobackhimup.”

Silencefilled theroom.Thepreacherswallowed,and thesoundwas loudintheroom.

“Mrs.Waversdidn'twant tobe leftbehindandasshekindofhit itoffwithBilltheydecidedtogetmarried.”

HewaswatchingCassidy,andafewfeettooneside,TintoBill.“Bytheway,Cassidy,Itoldthatotherfellow,theonewho'salive,tosuggestyoukeeptoyoursideofthecreekandI'dkeeptomine.Iwenttoagooddealoftroubletocatchandtrainthosehorses,andIdon'twanttolosethem.”

NeitherCassidynorTintoBillhadmoved.Withoutturninghisattentionfromthem,Galwaysaid,“Rev'rend,getyourhorse.I'llbewithyouinaminute.”

Thepreachervanishedthroughthedoor.

Cassidyspokesuddenly.“Youcan'tgetawaywiththis!Idon'tcareifyouareGalwayofTombstone!”

“Takeiteasy.Ifweshootitoutnow,I'llkillyou.Maybeyou'dgetme,butthatwouldn'thelpyouany.You'dbejustasdead,andInevermissednobodyatthisrange.”

“Whyshouldyougetkilledoverhorsesyoudidn'thavenobusiness stealin'andawomanwho'sobviouslybeenlivingadog'slife?”

“Ididn'tstealyourdamnhorses!”Cassidysaid.“ItwasthatfoolRobbins!”

“Icanbelievethat,”Galwayagreed.“Infact,I'dofbetmoneyonit.Sowhyshouldweshootitout?Itmakesnosense.NowI'mgoingtoleave.I'vegottogetthatpreacherbackuponthemountainbecausethat'sadecentwomanyonder.”

“Damnit,Galway!”Cassidyprotested.“Whycouldn'tyouhavecomewhenIwastohome?OnceIknewthosewereyourhorsesI'dhavedriventhemback!”

“Allright,”Galwaysaid,“I'lltakeyourwordforit.”Deliberatelyhestartedtoturnhisbackandwhenhedid,TintoBillwentforhisgun.

Galwaypalmedhisgunandshotacrosstheflatofhisstomach.Tinto,hisgunup, fired into the ceiling, took two slow steps and fell on his face, his gunskiddingalongthefloor.

DiggerCassidystoodverycarefullynearthebar,hishandsinplainsight.

“Lookstome,Digger,”Galwaysaid,“likeyou'refreshoutofmen.Whydon'tyoutryMontana?”

Heturnedabruptlyandwalkedout.

DiggerCassidymovedtothebarandtookupthedrinkthebartenderpouredfor him. “Damn him!” he said. “Damn him to hell, but he can sure handle agun!”

Hedownedhisdrink.“Bartender,”hesaid,“ifyouevergoontheroad,steerclearofhotheadedkidswhothinktheyaretough!”

TomGalwayrodeuptothestonecabinwithasaddle-sorepreacherjustaftersundown.PiuteBill,inacleanshirtandafreshshavewasseatedbythefireplacewithanewspaper;fromthestovecamearattleofpans.

The futureMrs.PiuteBill turned from the stove. “Youboys light an' set. Itsurelyisn'trighttohaveaweddingwithoutacake!”

“Icouldn'tagreewithyoumore,ma'am!”Galwaysaid.“Nobody likesgoodcookingmorethanme.”

Piute Bill stared at Galway, the venom in his eyes fading under a glint ofhumor.“Youdurnedcatamount!Youdurnedconnivin'Irishson-of-a...”

“Ssh!”TomGalwaywhispered.“There'sapreacherpresent!”

HATTAN'SCASTLE

HATTAN'S CASTLE, A towering pinnacle of rock that points an arrestingfingeratthesky,looksdownonasolitaryframebuildingwithasaggingroof,aruined adobe, and severalweed-covered foundations, all that is left of a townthatonceaspiredtobeacity.

On a low mound a quarter of a mile away are three marked graves andseventy-two unmarked, although before their wooden crosses rotted away adozenothershadcarriedthenamesanddatesofpioneers.

East of the ruined adobe lies a long and wide stone foundation. Around itthereisalitterofbrokenbottlesandascatteredfewthatthesunhasturnedintocollector'sitems.Twentyfeetbehindthefoundation,lyingamongtheconcealingdebrisofapack-rat'snest,isawhitenedskull.Intheexactcenterofthatskullaretworoundholeslessthanahalf-inchapart.

Severalyearsagothescatteredbonesof theskeletoncouldstillbeseen,buttime,rain,andcoyotesbeingwhattheyare,onlytheskullremains.

Amongthescatteredfoundationsareoccasionalcharredtimbers,half-burnedplanks, and other evidences of an ancient fire. Of the once booming town ofHattan'sCastlenothingmoreremains.

In 1874, a prospector known as Shorty Becker drank a stolen bottle ofwhiskeyonthespot.Drunk,hestaggeredtotheedgeofthenearbywashandfellover. Grabbing for a handhold he pulled loose a clump ofmanzanita and thetownofHattan'sCastlewasborn.

Under the roots and clinging to the rootswere flecks and bits of gold, andShortyBecker, suddenly sober, filedononeof the richest claims in the state's

history.

Nineteenotherluckygentlemenfollowed,andthenanumberwhowereonlyfairlylucky.Hattan'sCastlewentfromnothingtoapopulationoffourthousandpeopleinsevendays,andthreethousandofthefourcametolie,cheat,steal,andkilleachotherandtheremainingonethousandoddcitizens,ifsuchtheymightbecalled.

Spawned from an explosive sink of sin and evil, the town lived in anarchybefore the coming of John Daniel. When he arrived the town had found itsmaster.WithhimwerethehulkingBernieLeeandaviciouslittlemurdererwhocalledhimselfRussChito.

MarshalDaveAllenwentout inaburstofgunfirewhenhehadwordswithJohnDaniel.Danielfacedhimbutfiredonlyoneshot,theotherswerefiredbyRussChitoandBernieLee,inambushonoppositesidesofthestreetandtakingthemarshalinadeadlycrossfire.

ShortyBeckerwasfounddeadtwodayslater,aguninhishandandabulletinhisbrain. JohnDaniel, a self-appointedcoroner,pronounced it suicide.BeckerwasfoundtobecarryingawillnamingDanielashisonlyfriendandheir.

Danielturnedtheworkingofthemineovertoothers,andopenedthePalaceSaloon&GamblingHall.FromtheBarbaryCoastheimportedsomewomenanda pair of bartenders skilled in the application ofmickeys, knockout drops, orwhatevermostsuitedtheoccasion.

Fouryearspassed andHattan'sCastleboomed in lust, sin, andmurder.Themines continued to prosper, but theminers and owners remained to spend, todrink,andtodie.Thefewwhohoardedtheirgoldandattemptedtoleavewereusuallyfounddeadalongthetrails.Buzzardsmarkedtheirgoingandifabodywasfounditwasburiedwiththeusualsanctimoniouscommentsandsomehurry,depending on the condition of the remains. John Daniel, aloof, cold, andsupercilious,ruledthetownwitharodofiron.

ChitoandLeewereathisrighthandbuttherewerefiftyothersreadytodohisbidding. Immaculate always, coldly handsome and deadly as a rattler, JohnDanielhadanairof authoritywhichwasquestionedbynone.Of the seventy-

five graves on boot hill at least twenty had been put there by him or hishenchmen. That number is conservative, and of those found along the trail atleasthalfcouldbecreditedtoJohnDaniel'scohorts.ThenBonCaddocametotown.

HewasWelshbyancestry,butwhatmorehewasorwherehehadcomefromnobody ever knew. He arrived on a Sunday, a huge man with broad, thickshouldersandbighands.Hisjawwaswideandhardasiron,hiseyesachillgrayandcalm,hishead toppedwithawirymassof rust-coloredhair.TheclaimhestakedfourmilesfromtheCastlewasgoldfromthegrassrootsdown.

Within twohours after the strikeRussChitodropped in at thePalace. JohnDanielstoodattheendofthebarwithaglassofsherry.

“Boss,”Chitosaid,“thatnewfellerintownstruckitrichupLonetree.”

“Howrich?”

“Theysaytwentythousandtotheton.Therichestever!”

John Daniel mentally discounted it by half, possibly even less. Even so itmade it extremely rich. He felt his pulses jump with the realization that thiscouldbewhathewaswaitingfor,tohaveenoughtobefreeofallthis,tobuyahomeonNobHillandlivethelifeofagentleman,withnomoreRussChitostodealwith.

“Invitehimin.TellhimIwanttoseehim.”

“Ididtellhim,andhetoldmewhereIcouldgo.”RussChito'seyesflickeredwithanger.“I'dliketokillthedirtyson!”

“Wait.Iwanttotalktohim.”

BonCaddo did not come toHattan's Castle and his gold did not leave thecountry. Every stage, every wagon, and every rider was checked with care.Nothing left the country butBonCaddo continued towork steadily and hard,mindinghisownaffairs,uninterestedinthefleshpotsoftheCastle.Hewascoldto all offers from John Daniel, and merely attended to business. Efforts toapproach himwere equally unsuccessful, and riders always found themselves

warnedawaybyanunseenvoiceandariflethatofferednoalternative.

Atthebeginningofthethirdmonth,JohnDanielcalledCherryCreslintohisoffice.Shecameatonce, slim,beautifully curvedand seductive inher strictlyprofessionalway.

“Youliketoride,”Danielsaid,“soputonthatgrayhabitandridemyblack.Howyoudoitisyourownaffair,butgetacquaintedwithBonCaddo.Makehimlikeyou.”

Sheprotested.“Sorry,John.Getoneoftheothergirls.Iwantnopartofthesedrunken,dirtyminers.”

“You'll do as I tell you, Cherry, and you'll do it now. This man is neitherdrunkennordirty.Heisbig,andtough,and,Ithink,dangerous.Also,hecaresnothingforgamblingorwhiskey.”

Shegotup.“Allright,I'llgo.Butyou'llwishyou'dneversentme.I'msickofthesejobs,John!Whydon'twecashinourchipsandpullout?Let'sgotoNewYork,orSanFrancisco.”

“Getstarted.I'lltellyouwhentogo,andwhere.”

The canyon of the Lonetree was warm in the spring sunshine. Thecottonwoods whispered secrets to each other above the stream that chuckledhumorouslytothestones.Therewasnoothersoundbutthetrillingofbirds,andonthebankabovethestreamthesoundofCaddoworking.

Hewore a six-shooter, and a rifle stoodnearby, and just out of sight in thetunnelmouthwasashotgun,arevolvingweaponmadebyColt.

Standing with his feet wide apart in their heavy miner's boots, he made acolossalfigure.Hewasfreshlyshaved,andhisshockofrustyhairwascombed.Hisredflannelshirtwasopenattheneck,andhishugeforearms,bulgingwithrawpower, showed belowhis rolled-up sleeves.CherryCreslin, impressed byfewthings,wasawed.

Atthesoundofhoovessplashinginthewater,helookedaround.Thenhesawtheriderwasawoman,andabeautifulwoman,atthat.Hesmiled.

LongbeforehehadcometoHattan'sCastlehehadheardofJohnDaniel,andknewhiseverytrick.Moreover,heknewthiswomanbynameandknewshewasreputedtobeJohnDaniel'sownwoman.Hecouldsee,asshedrewnearer,thatshewasgenuinelybeautifulanddespitethehardlinesthatshowedthroughherlovely skin, there was warmth there, but a restrained, carefully controlledwarmth.

“Goodmorning,BonCaddo.”Hervoicewaslowandlovely,anddeepwithinhimsomethingstirred,andhetriedtobringupdefensesagainstit.Shewasallwoman,thisone,nomatterwhatelseshemightbe.

“Hello,Cherry.”

“You knowme? I don't remember you.” She looked at him again. “I don'tthinkIcouldforget.”

“You've never seen me, Cherry, and I've never seen you, but I've beenexpectingyou.”

Hegesturedtoaseatunderatree.“Won'tyougetdownandstayforawhile?It'squitepleasanthere.”

“You—you'vebeenexpectingme?”Shewasirritated.Shewasaccustomedtohandlingmen, to controlling situations. Thisman, she realized, was different.Notonlywasheaphysicalgiantbuthewasintelligent,and...sheadmitteditreluctantly...hewasexciting.

“Of course.” He smiled pleasantly. He had, she thought, a truly beautifulsmile.“JohnDanielhastriedeverythingelse,hasn'the?Everythingbutyou...andmurder.”

Her features stiffened and her eyes went hard, but she did not pretend tomisunderstand.“Soyouthinkhesentme?YouthinkIamthekindofwomanamancansendonsomedirtybusiness?”

He leanedonhis shovel. “Yes,”he said, and she struckhimacross the facewithherquirt.

Hedidnotmovenorchangeexpressionalthoughtheredlineoftheblowlay

vividly across his cheek and lips. “Yes,” he repeated, “but you shouldn't be.You'vegotheartandyouhavecourage.You'vejustbeenridingwiththetide.”

“You'reveryclever,aren'tyou?”

“No. But this situation isn't very hard to understand. Nor are you, CherryCreslin.It'sapity,”hecontinued,“thatyou'retiedupwithsuchamurderinglot.There's a lot of woman in you, and you'd make some man a woman worthkeeping.”

Shestaredathim.Thesituationwasoutofhand.Itwouldbedifficultnowtogethimbackintherightvein.Orwasthistherightone?

“Youmayberight,”shesaid,“maybeI'vebeenwaitingforyou.”

He laughed and stuckhis shovel downhard into thepile ofmuck.Thenhewalkedovertoher,andtheblackhorsenuzzledhisarm.“Notthatway,Cherry.Behonest.I'mnotsoeasy,youknow.Actuallytheonlywayistobehonest.”

Shemeasuredhim,searchingherself.“Honest?Idon'tknowwhetherIcouldbe.It'sbeensolong.”

“Ah, now you are being honest! I like that, Cherry.” He leaned his bigshoulderagainstthehorse'sshoulder.“Infact,Cherry,Ilikeyou.”

“Likeme?”Astrangeemotionwasrisingwithinher,andshetriedtofightitdown.“AndyouknowwhatIam?”

“Whatareyou?Awoman.Perhapsnoworseandnobetterthananyother.Onecannotalwaysmeasurebywhatapersonseemstobeorevenhasbeen.Anyway,itisalwaysthefuturethatcounts.”

“Youbelievethat?Butwhatofawoman'spast?”

BonCaddoshrugged.“IfawomanlovedmeI'dstartcountingthedaysofherlife fromthe timeshe toldmeshe lovedme. Iwould judgebywhathappenedafterthat,althoughI'dbeahardjudgefortheafteryears.”

Shewasirritatedwithherself.Thiswasnotwhatshehadcomefor.“Howdid

westarttalkinglikethis?Ididnotintendtogetintoanythinglikethis.”

“Ofcourse.YoucametogetmetofallinlovewithyouoratleasttoluremedowntothatsinkholeatHattan'sCastle.Youmightmanagethefirst,butnotthelast.”

“IfyouwereinlovewithmeandIaskedyoutocome,wouldyou?”

“Certainlynot.Doingwhatawomanasksisnotproofoflove.Ifamanisn'this ownman he isn't worthy of love. No, I'd usemy own judgment, andmyjudgmenttellsmetostayawayfromHattan'sCastleandthePalace.”

His eyes seemed to darken with seriousness. “We ofWelsh or Irish blood,Cherry,sometimeshaveapowerofprophecyorintuition,callitwhatyouwill,andminetellsmethatwhenIcometoHattan'sCastleitwillmeanblazinghellanddeath.Forme,thetown,orbothofus.”

Somethingcoldandfrighteningtouchedherandsuddenlysheputherhandonhis.“Then,thendon'tcome,BonCaddo.Don'tcomeatall.Stayhere,orbetterstill,takeyourgoldandgo.”

“Youadvisemethatway?WhatwouldJohnDanielsay?”

“Hewouldn'tlikeit,”sherepliedsimply.“Hewouldnotlikeitatall.Butitismybestadvicetoyou.”

“Ishallstayuntilmyclaimisworkedout.I'llnotbedrivenoff.”

“MayIcomebackagain?”

“Comesoon.Comeoften.”

Caddowatchedhergoandthenreturnedtohiswork.Therewouldbetrouble,ofcourse.HedoubtedthatCherrywouldtellJohnDanielofherfailure.Notyet,atleast.Shewouldcomeback,andperhapsagain.Ifshecontinuedtofail,JohnDanielwouldtrysomethingelse.

Three times she came in the days that followed and each time they talkedlonger.InevitablythedaycamewhenshereturnedtoHattan'sCastletofindJohn

Danielawaitingher.Whentheireyesmetsheknewshewasintrouble.

“Well?”Hisquestionwasachallenge.“Whenishecomingin?”

“He is not coming at all.” There was no use evading the issue. She hadprobably been spied upon. “He is not coming, but I am leaving.We're to bemarried.”

“What?”Of all things, thiswas the least expected. “Do you think you cantrickmethatway?Marryhimandgetitallforyourself?”

“You'dnotunderstand,John,butIlovehim.He'sarealmanandafineman,sodon'ttrytostopme.”

“Try?I'llnotjusttry,I'lldoit!”Hiseyeswereugly.“Hereafteryouwillstayintown.Ishallfindothermeansofhandlingit.”

“Sorry.”Shegottoherfeet.“Iamgoingbacktohim.”

Hestruckheracrossthemouthwiththebackofhishandandshefell tothefloor, a trickle of blood running from hermashed lip. She looked up at him.“Youshouldn'thavedonethat,John.Iamsorryforyou,orIwouldbeiftherewasadecentboneinyourbody.”

Furious,hestrodefromtheroomandreturnedtothePalace.ThefirstpersonhesawwasChito.“Allright.YouwanttokillCaddo.Godoit.”

Without anotherword, Russ Chito left the room. From herwindowCherrysawhimgoanddivinedhispurpose.FilledwithterrorsherushedtothedoorbuthulkingBernieLeestoodthere.“Youain'tgoin'noplace.Getbackinside.”

Shesteppedback.TherewouldbenochancetowarnCaddo.Chitowouldbehalfwaytherebynow,andhewouldkillwithoutwarning,andfromambush.

At thePalaceJohnDanielstaredfromthewindow, thinking.Theboomwasoverhere,anyway.Hewouldselloutandgoaway.Withinthepastfewmonthsthepopulationhad fallenby a third. Itwas time tomove.With thegold fromCaddo'sclaimhecouldleaveall thisbehind.HewouldgotoSanFranciscoastheyhadplanned,andhewouldtakeCherrywithhim.Onceawayfromallthis

thefoolishnotionswouldleaveherhead.Shewouldbehiswomanagain.

Duringthemonthstheyhadbeenassociatedhehadneverwonherlove,anditgalledhimtothinkthatBonCaddohad,orsoitseemed.

John Daniel hated all that resisted him; anything he did not or could notpossessandcontrol.

The afternoonwore on, and he paced the floor. Chito had not returned.Ofcourse,hewasacarefulman.Hewastakinghistime.Still—

Inherowncabin,Cherrypackedherbelongingsandwaited.Shefeared,shedoubted,yet inside therewasakindofstillness.Terror therewas,andfearfortheman shenow loved,but through it all therewas somethingelse, akindofconfidence,abeliefthatsomehow,someway,BonCaddowouldtriumph.

AtthePalaceSaloonJohnDanielwasnolongerpatient.Helitablackcigarand muttered under his breath. He walked to the door and looked down thestreet.TherewasnosignofChito.

Darknesscameandhewenttohisoffice.Thesaloonbusinessbeganbutinadesultoryfashion.Thewholetownseemedtobewaiting,watching,wondering.Seveno'clockpassed,theneight.JohnDanielwalkedintothesaloonandlookedquicklyaround.Manyof thefamiliarfacesweremissing.Ninecameandwentandsuddenlytherewasacrashofglass.Mensprangtotheirfeet,staring.

Where the alleywindow had beenwas a gaping hole, and sprawled on thefloorinsidewasRussChito.Hehadtakenashotgunblastthroughthechest.

Men rushed to him, and only John Daniel remained where he was, white-faced,hiscigarclampedinhisteeth.

ThentheswingingdoorspartedandBernieLeetotteredintotheroomandfellsprawlingonthefloor.Hewasalive,butbrutallybeaten.

JohnDanielreachedbehindthebarandtookupasparepistol.Methodically,hecheckedit,thentuckeditbehindhisbelt.Hisownguninhishand,hestrodedownthestreet.

Cherrywasgone.

Herhousewaslighted,thedoorstoodopen,butCherrywasgone.

JohnDaniel swore, shifted the cigar in his teeth. “Pete!Dave!Ed!Cherry'sgoneandIwantherback,andIwantBonCaddodead!”

Suddenly,fromdownthestreetavoiceshouted“Fire!”JohnDanielrushedtothe door. One glimpse was enough, down the street, in a direct line with hissaloon,adesertedshackwasablaze.

Aglancetoldhimthatwiththewindtherewasnochance.Thatwholesideofthestreetmustgo,andheownedeverybuildingthere.

Suddenlyhebecameawarethatnobodywasmovingtofighttheblaze.Theywerewatching, and a fewwere throwingwater on buildings across the street,buildingshedidnotown.Heyelledatthem,buttherewasnoresponse.

Cursing, he turnedon his heel andwent into thePalace.Rage filled him, abitter,futilerage.Hewaswhipped...whipped.Buthestillhadthemoney.

Hewent tohis secretdrawerand tookout thegold.Hewent tohis safe formore, carefully changed into bills for easier carrying. There was more goldunderthefoundationbutthatcouldwait.Now,whiletheotherswatchedthefire,hewouldgo.

Fromhis roomhebroughtapairofsaddlebags,kepthandyfor thepurpose,and into themhestuffedbillsandgold.Straighteninguphe turnedswiftlyandstartedforthebackdoor.Afewstepsbeyondwasthestableandhisblackhorse.

Hestoppedabruptly.BonCaddostoodinthedoor.“Goingsomeplace,John?”heaskedmildly.

JohnDanielstoodstock-still,caughtinmidstride.Forthefirsttimeheknewfear.

Hewasalone.RussChitowasdead.BernieLeewasbeatenwithinaninchofhislife.Theotherswerescattered,huntingforCaddo.AndCaddowashere.

JohnDaniel had always accountedhimself abraveman.Hewasnot afraid,buttherewassomethingindomitableaboutCaddo.

“Allyour life,JohnDaniel,you've livedbymurderandrobbery,andyou'vegottenawaywith it.Nowyour town isburning,Daniel,andyou'regoingwithit.”

JohnDaniel'shandreachedforabottleattheendofthebarandthrewit.Thebottlemissed,shatteringagainstthewall.BonCaddostartedforhim.

JohnDanielmoved tomeet him, since therewas no escape. He struck outviciously,andCaddotooktheblowcominginwithoutsomuchasawince.ThenCaddostruckinreturn,andtheblowmadeDaniel'skneesbuckle.

Caddomovedafterhim,coolly,relentlessly.“Likehittingwomen,John?Howdoesitfeeltobehit?Doyoulikekilling,John?Howdoesitfeeltodie?”

In a wild burst of panic-born strength, John Daniel struck out. The blowcaughtCaddocominginagainbutthepowerofitstaggeredhimandhetrippedoverafallenchair,fallingtothefloor.

JohnDaniellungedforthebackdoorandmadeit.WithCaddocomingafterhimhereachedthestable.

Hishorsewasgone!

Trapped,heturnedswiftly,reachingforhisgun.InfrontofBonCaddoaredeye winked, then winked again. Thunder roared in John Daniel's ears and aterribleflameseemedtorushthroughhim.Hedidnotseetheredeyewinkagainforhewasfalling,falling,alreadydead,intothebrokenbranchesofamanzanita.

ThereisaplaceintheTontoBasinwherealong,lowranchhouselooksoutuponavalley.Cottonwoodleaveswhispertheirsecretsaroundthehouseandontheverandaawomanwatchesherhusbandwalkingup from thebarnwithhistwotallsons.Insidethehouseadaughtersingssongsmorehauntingthanthosehermother sang in thePalace, longago.Thebigmanwhosehair isno longerrustred,pausesbyherside.

Beforethem,thepeaceofthemeadows,andthetallsonswashingforsupper

inthedoorsidebasins.Inside,thesongcontinues.

“It'sbeenagoodlife,Mother,agoodlife,”hesaysquietly.

Far to the north there is an adobe wall with a bullet buried in it, a bulletnobodyeversaw.Asmashedelbowbone,coverednowbythesandofthewash,liesamongthedebrisofapack-rat'snest,andwherethemanzanitagrewthereisawhitenedskull.Intheexactcenterofthatskullaretworoundbulletholes,lessthanahalfinchapart.

DUFFY'SMAN

DUFFY'SMANHADbeenonthejobjustsixdayswhentroublestarted.

Duffy,whowasolderthanthegnarledpin-oakbythewaterhole,knewtherewould be trouble when he saw Clip Hart riding up to the stable. Duffy hadcoveredalotofmilesinhistime,andhadforgottennothing,manoranimal,thathehadseeninhistravels.

ClipHarthadkilledamansevenyearsbeforeinElPaso,andDuffyhadseenit happen. Since then there had been other killings in other towns, and threeyearsinthestatepenforrustling.FromtimetotimeHarthadbeeninvestigatedinconnectionwithrobberiesofonekindoranother.

Hartwasolder,heavier,andhardernow.Hehadthecoldlywatchfuleyeofahuntedman. There were twomenwith him and one of them rode across thestreettothePineSaloonandstoodalongsidehishorse,watchingthestreet.

Hartlookedatthesignontheliverystableandthenatthefatoldmaninthebigchair.“You'reDuffy?”Hartmeasuredhimashespoke.

“I'mDuffy.”Theoldmanshiftedhisbulkinthepolishedchair.“WhatcanIdoforyou?”

“Theuseofyourstable.I'vesevenhorsescomingintonight.They'llbekepthereinyourstable,saddledallthetime.”

Duffy shifted himself in his seat. “None of that here. I'll not want yourbusiness.Nothere.”

“You'llkeepthem.Youdon'tmoveveryfast,Duffy.”ClipHartstruckamatchontheseatofhispantsandhelduptheflame.“Yourbarncan'tmoveatall.”He

liftedtheflamesuggestively.“Where'syourhostler?”

Duffyturnedhisheadonhisfatneck.Hewasnofool,andheknewHartwasnotbluffing.Heopenedhismouth to call forhishostler, and ashe turnedhisheadhesawhimthere,standinginthedoor,hishandsonhiships.

Duffy's man was tall, lean, and wide-shouldered. His face was still.Sometimes his eyes smiled, rarely his lips. The stubble of beard he hadwornwhenDuffyhiredhimwasgonenow,butheworenohatandhestillworetheworn,badlyscuffedshoes,unusualfootgearinacountryofbootsandspurs.

Therewasasmallscarononecheekboneandsometimelongagohisnosehadbeen broken.Hewas probably twenty-five but he looked older, and the yearsbehindhimhadprobablybeenruggedyears.

ClipHartstaredathim.“There'llbesevenhorsesbroughtheretonight.Keepthemsaddledandreadytogo.Understand?”

Duffy'smanjerkedathumbatDuffy.“Itakemyordersfromhim.”

Hart's anger flared. He was a man who could not accept resistance of anykind.ItdrovehimtoakillingfuryandDuffyknewit,andwasworried.“You'lltakemyorders!”Hartsaid.“Getbackinside!”

Deliberately, the hostler glanced atDuffy and the oldman nodded.Duffy'smanturnedonhisheelandwentbackinside.

“You'll get paid, and plenty,” Hart was telling Duffy, “but no arguments,understand?”Then,his tonethickwithcontempt,headded,“Whointhis towncouldmaketroubleforus?”

WhenHartcrossedthestreettothesaloon,Duffy'smanreturnedtothedoor.“Yougoin'totakethat?”

“We'venochoice.I'mnogunslinger.There'snomorethansevenmenintownrightnow,allquiet,peacefulmen.Anyway,theirwomenfolkswouldbescared.We'vebeenexpectin'somethingofthekindforalongtime.”Helookedaround.“You'renewhere.Thosemenarebad,realbad.”

Duffy'smanmerelylookedathim.“Arethey?”heasked.

Hewalkedback into thestableandclimbed to the loft, forkinghay into themangers, then put corn into seven feed boxes. Walking out he said, “I'll eatnow,” slipping into his coat as he spoke.He did not look atDuffy. The threehorseswerestillacrossthestreet.

Therewasa sign that saidMA'SKITCHENandwhenhewent inside therewere two tableseight feet longwithabenchalongeach sideandat eachend.ClipHartwassittingat theendofone tablewithhisback to thewall.Duffy'smansatdownalongsidethetableneartheoppositeend.

HehadbeenbornintheWestbut leftwithhismotherwhenhewastenandhadgrownupinthestreetsofNewYork.Atfifteen,aftertwoyearsworkingonafishingboathehadshippedoutaroundtheHorn.HedealtmonteinaBarbaryCoastdive,foughtaseriesofbareknucklefights,andwonthem.Hehadbecomefriendlywith JemMaceand learneda lot about fighting fromhim, themasterboxerofhistime.AtseventeenhewasonawindjammerintheChinaSea.Backin New York again he fought several more bareknuckle fights and won eachtime.

Discontentedwithhis lifehe foundan interest inbooks andbegan to studywithaneyetobetteringhimself,althoughwithoutanydefiniteidea.RunningoutofmoneyheworkedhiswayWest on the railroad and finally, deadbroke, hedroppedoffthestageinWestwater.

Westwaterhadonerestaurant,onesaloon,aliverystable,ablacksmithshop,acrossroadsstore,andastagestationwhichdoubledasapostoffice.

Juliecamearound the tableandputaplatebeforehim.He thankedherandwatchedherfillthecup.ShewasaslendergirlwithIrishblueeyes,blackhair,anda fewfreckles.She lefthimandwentaround the table,pickingupseveraldirty dishes. It looked like at least three men had left without finishing theirmealswhenHartcamein.

“Morecoffee!”Hart lookedat thegirlashespoke,boldlyappraising.Whenshewenttofillhiscupheslippedanarmaroundherwaist.

ShesteppedawaysoquicklythatitjerkedHartoffbalanceandhisfaceturneduglywithanger.

“Putthatpotdownandcomehere!”hesaid.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” Julie flared. “I'll serve you, but I won't bepawedbyyou!”

Clip started to risebutDuffy'smangrabbed the tableandshovedhard.Theendof the tablehitHart's hip ashewas turning to rise, and it caughthimoffbalance.Hestaggered,thebenchbehindtrippedhim.Hefellhard,hisfeetflyingup.

Duffy'smanstoodoverhim.“Letheralone,”hesaid.“Amaninyourbusinesscan'taffordtofoolaround.”

“You'retellin'memybusiness?”Hegatheredhisfeetunderhimbuthewasinnopositiontoargue,andsomethinginthefaceofDuffy'smanwarnedhim.

Atthesametimeherealizedthatwhatthehostlersaidwastrue.Hecouldnotaffordtroublehereandnow.Hecouldwait.Hegotcarefullytohisfeet.“Aw,Iwasjustfoolin'!”hesaid.“Noneedforhertobesopersnickety.”

Thenashestarted tobrushhimselfoff,hisanger flaredagain.“Youshovedthattable!”heexclaimed.

“Youcatchonfast.”Duffy'smanspokecalmly,standingtherewithhishandsonhiships,justlookingatHart.Theoutlawgrewmoreandmoreangry.Atthesame timehe felt an impulse tocaution.No troublehereandnow.That couldwait.

Without anotherword he drewback his bench and sat down.When he hadfinishedeatinghethrewahalf-dollaronthetableandwentoutwithoutsomuchasabackwardglance.

Juliefilledhiscupagain.“Hewon'tforgetthat.”

“Iknow.”

“He'llkillyou.He'skilledothermen.”

“Maybe.”

Duffy's man finished his meal in silence, ever conscious of her presence.Whenhegotuphedroppedtwobitsonthetabletopayforthemeal,thenwenttothedoor.“Youbecareful,”shewarned.

Hecrossedthestreetandsawthehorsesthemenhadriddenintotownweregone.Itwasdarknow,buthecouldstillseeDuffyseatedinhisbigoldchair.

“Horsescome?”

“Notyet.”Duffy'schaircreaked.“Whathappenedoverthere?”

“HegotfreshwithJulie,andIshovedhimdownwithatable.Hedidn'tlikeitverymuch.”

“He'llkillyou.”

“I'mnotreadytodie.”

“Takeahorse,”Duffyadvised.“Takethatlittlebay.Ifyouevergetthemoneyyoucansendittome.Ifnot,forgetit.Ilikeyou,son.”

“Idon'tneedahorse.”

“Youwon'thaveachance.”

“Yougohome,Mr.Duffy,anddon'tcomeouttomorrow.Leavethistome.It'smyfight.”

Duffy'schaircreakedashegotup.“Thebay'sintheboxstallifyouwantit.”Hepausednearthecornerofthebarn.“Haveyougotagun?”

“No,Idon'tthinkI'llneedone.”Hewassilent,andhewasawarethattheoldmanhadnotmoved,butstoodthereintheshadows.

“ThewayIseeit,”hesaid,“they'vegotthistowntreed.Theycandoastheyplease.First theywilluse itasawaystation for freshhorses, then they'll take

overthetown'sbusiness,thenthepeople.Menwillbekilledandwomentaken.”

“Maybe.”

“Yougohomenow,Mr.Duffy.Youstayoutofthis.”

Duffy'smanlistenedtotheslow,retreatingsteps.Duffymustbenearlyeighty.Thestorekeeperwaswellpastsixty.Thetoughyoungmenofthetownwereallgone on a cattle drive. They would be back next year, or maybe they wouldnevercomeback.Thehardshipsofacattledrivebeingwhattheywere.Itmadenodifferencenow.Hewasamanwhoknewwhathadtobedoneandhewasnotaccustomedtoaskingforhelp.

HesatdowninDuffy'schairandwaited.Therehadbeenamaninarailroadconstructioncampwhowasalwaysquoting,andthosequotationshadawayofsticking in the mind. Duffy's man stirred in the chair, remembering one thefellowhadlovedtoquote.Timeandagainhehadsaidit.

They tellus,Sir, thatweareweak,unable tocopewith so formidableanadversary.Butwhenshallwebestronger?Willitbenextweek?Willitbenextyear?Willitbewhenwearetotallydisarmedandaguardstationedineveryhouse?Shallwegatherstrengthbyirresolutionandinaction?Sir,wearenotweakifwemakeproperuseofthosemeanswhichtheGodofnaturehasplacedinourpower.

Thewordshadanicesoundandhesaidthemaloud,butsoftly,listeningtothesmoothsoundofthemonhislips.HehadtheIrishman'sloveoffinesoundingwordsandtheIrishman'saptitudeforrebellion.Heleanedbackinthechairandclosed his eyes.The fellow in the construction campwhoquoted that, he hadbeen better than a book, and all he needed to start him off was a bit of ryewhiskey.

Itwaspastmidnightwhenthehorsescame.Tworidersledthemupunderthetrees and then across the street to the stable. One man remained outside in

Duffy's chair while the other helpedDuffy's man tie them in the stalls. Theywereallfine,beautifullybuiltanimals.

Themanwas stocky and not very tall.He lifted the lantern to the hostler'sface.“New?”

“Drifting.”

“You takegoodcare thesehorses are ready.Youdo that andyou'll havenotrouble.Youmightevenfindafewextrabucksinyourkickwhenthis isover.Doyouhearme?”

“Ihearyou.”

Themanwalkedbacktothedoorbutdidnotstepoutintothelight.Therewasalanternoverthedoorthatwaskeptburningallnight,anditthrewapaleglowaroundthestabledoor.

Duffy's man watched the glow of their cigarettes and then he went to theharnessroom.Therewereseveraloldsaddles,oddsandendsofharness,andinacorner,behindadustyslickertherewassomethingelse.

ItwasaColtrevolvingshotgun.

Hepeeredoutacrackof thedoor, thenput the lanternonthefloorbetweenhimself and the door.Taking up the shotgun hewiped it free of dust, then hetookitapartandwenttoworkonit.

Severaltimeshewenttothedoortopeerout.Afteralmosttwohoursofworkhehadtheshotguninfiringcondition.Thecylinderwouldnolongerrevolveofitselfbutcouldbeturnedbyhand.Duffy'smanfedshellsintothefourchambers.Theywereoldbrass shotgunshells, andhehad loaded themhimself.Thenhestoodtheshotgunbackinthecornerandhungtheslickeroverit.

Theshort,stockymanwasinthechairnowandtheotheronewasasleeponthe hay just inside the door.Duffy'sman stopped inside the door. “What timetomorrow?”heasked.

Thefellowlookedaroundathim.“Maybenoon.Why?”

“Wonderin' if I should feed them again. They won't run good on a fullstomach.”

“Say,that'sright.Feed'emnow,Is'pose.Allright?”

“Yeah.”

Duffy'smanwalkedbackinsideandfedthehorses.“Theytellus,sir,thatweareweak,”herepeated,“butwhenshallwebestronger?”

Hethoughtitoverashestoodthere,rubbingthesorrel'sneck.“Ithasanicesound,”hetoldthehorse,“anicesound.”

Hewalkedtothedoor.“Soonbedaylight,”hesaid,“thesky'sturninggray.”

“Yeah.”Thestockymangottohisfeetandstretched.Duffy'smanhithim.

Itwasabackhandblowwithhisleftfistthatcaughtthestretchingoutlawinthe solar plexus. Duffy's man stepped around in front of him and with thepracticedeaseoftheskilledboxerheuppercutwiththeleftandcrossedarighttothechin.Theoutlawneverhadachancetoknowwhatwashappening,andtheonlysoundwasagaspatthebackhandtothesolarplexus.

Duffy'smanpulledhimoutofsightbehindthedoor.Thenhetiedhishandsandfeetandstuffedadirtyragintohismouthforagag,tyingitthere.

Leaning over the sleeping outlaw he very gently lifted theman's hand andslippedaloopoverit.Hiseyesflaredopenbutthehostlergraspedhisupperarmandflippedhimoveronhisfacebeforeherealizedwhatwashappening.

Shovingtheman'sfaceintothehayandearth,hedroppedononekneeontheman's back and jerked his otherwrist over to receive a second loop.Quickly,withasailor'sskillwithknots,hedrewthewriststogetherandboundthemtight,thentiedhisfeetandgaggedhim.

Theymight,hethought,getthemselvesfreejustwhenhewasmostbusy.Hedragged them to thecenterof thebarnwhere therewasno loft. Itwasalmostforty feet to the ridgepole.Climbing the ladder to the loft he thenmounted aladderthatledtotheroofandriggedtworopesoveracrosspiece,thenwentback

tothefloor.

Theoutlaws,bothconsciousnow,staredathim,horrified.

“Going to hang you,” he said cheerfully, grinning at their agonizedexpressions.“Butnotbythenecks...unlessyoustruggle.”

Twentyminuteslaterhelookedupatthemwithappreciation.Morethanthirtyfeet above the hard packed earth of the barn floor he had suspended the twooutlaws.Eachmanhada loosenoosearoundhisneck. If theystruggled togetfreeandtheknotsstartedtosliptheywouldhangthemselves.

“It's up to you,” he explained. “You can hang there quietly and when thisshindigisoverI'llletyoudowneasy.Youstruggleandyou'llbothbedead.”

Hestrolled to thedoor.Smokewas lifting fromMa'sKitchenandJuliewassweepingoffthestep.Hewalkedacrossandsheglancedup,smilingathim.Hesawhereyesgopasthimtothebarndoor.Thechairwasempty.

Shegot thecoffeepotandfilledhiscup,stealingaglanceathis face,whichrevealed nothing. She had heard the riders come in with the horses, and sheknewitmeantabankholdupsomewherenear.

Theoutlawscouldruntheirhorsesattopspeed,switchtofreshhorsesandbeoff to the mountains. The fresh horses would assure them of escape, for anypossewouldhavetoruntheirhorseshardtotrytocatchthem,andthosehorseswouldhavebeenextendedtotheutmostbeforereachingWestwater.

Duffy'smanateinsilence.Whenhearosehedroppedaquarteronthetable.“Betterstayinsidetoday,”hetoldJulie,“andtellMa.”

Shestoppedattheendofthetable.“Whateveritisyou'replanning,”shesaid,“don'tdoit.Youdon'tknowClipHart.”

“ThereareClipHartswhereveronegoes.Ifyoustartrunningthere'snoplacetostop.IhaveittodoorIhavetorun,andIdon'truneasy.

“Anyway”—hespokeinalightertone,notlookingather—“amanhastostopsomewhereandmakeastart.Thisseemsasgoodaplaceasany.Amanmight

evenstartaranchofhisown.”

“Thattakesmoney.”

“Amanwhoisgoodwithanaxmightmakesomemoneycuttingtiesforthatbranchlinethey'reabouttobuild.Theywillneedties,”headded,“orthey'llhavetoshipthemalongway.”

Hewent outwithout lookingback, but he heardMa say, “I like that youngman.”

Julieanswered,“Hewon'tlivelongifhebucksClipHart.”

At the foot of the steps Duffy's man stopped, thinking. How did one manhandlesevenmen?Andhowfarbehind theoutlawswould thepossebe?HowlongwouldittakethemtogettoWestwater?

Duffy'sman considered a half dozenwaysof delaying theoutlaws and stillstaying alive. Tying their horses with hard knots? They would cut the ropes.Openingfireastheyenteredthestreet?Hedidn'thaveshellsenoughtokillthemallifhescoredwitheveryshot,andtheyweretoomany.Hewouldhimselfbedead.

Therewasnoway.Hehadbeenfoolishtobeginwhathecouldnotend,andhewasverygladhehadnottriedtoenlisthelpinhisfoolhardyscheme.Ithadbeenalltooeasytothinkofdoingsomething,alltooeasytosaytheywouldneverbestronger.

Nonetheless,havingstartedit,itwasnotinhimtoquit.Whathehadbegunhewouldfinish,andhewouldhopetodoenoughdamageintheprocessthattheywouldcomenomoretoWestwater.

Itwasnaturalthathedidnotconsiderhisownsituation.Notthathehadnotthoughtofitbefore,buthehadknownwhathischanceswere,andnowthathehaddecidedtogoaheadhesimplywouldhavenochanceatall.Atleast,noneworthconsidering.

Finally, he brought the horses out and tied them, according to plan, at thehitch-rail.He tied themwithslipknots, tyingClipHart'shorsea littlecloser to

the stable and just a little apart from the others. Then he brought the shotgunfromtheharnessroomandplaceditbesidethebarndoor,butoutofsight.

Heknewthenhehaddonewhathecoulddo,andtherewasnothingtodobutwait.HedroppedintoDuffy'schairandrelaxed.

Wordseemed tohavegottenaround, fornooneappearedon the street.Thestorewasopen,aswasthesaloon,butnobodywasineitherplace.SeveraltimesJuliecametothedoorandlookedacrossthestreetattheyoungmaninthechairbythebarndoor.Eachtimehewaswhittling.Onceheevenseemedtobeasleep.

Itwasalmosteleveno'clockwhentheyheard themcoming.Theythunderedacross the bridge just outside of town and came racing around the bend andthroughthetrees.Theycameatadeadrun,piledofftheirhorsesandrushedforthe fresh horses at the hitch-rail. Hart reached his horse and grabbed at theslipknot,andDuffy'smanhithim.

Therewasnowarning.Duffy'smanhad tied that horsewithin an easy stepand his left hook caught Hart on the chin and he went down, spun halfwayaround,andgrabbedforhisgun.

Duffy'smanslappedawaythegunhandandsmashedHartwithabig,work-hardened fist.Knockinghimbackagainst the railheproceeded to slughim inthe belly, then on the chin with both hands. Hart went down, battered andbleeding.OnlythendidDuffy'smandisarmhim.

The other outlaws had leaped for their saddles and no sooner did they hitleatherthanallhellbrokeloose.Thehorseswerebig,fresh,andfullofcorn,andtheybegantopitchmadlyasifonsignal.Agirthbroke,andthenanother.Menplungedintothedust,andastheyhit,menrushedfromthestoresandranamongthem,clubbingwithgunbarrelsandriflebutts.

Duffyhimselfwasthere,movingwithsurprisingagilityforoneofhisageandbulk.Onlyonemanmadeabreakforit.Hewasnearthestableandhiscinchdidnotbreak.HegothishorseturnedandashedidsoheliftedhispistolandtookcarefulaimatDuffy'sman.

Thehostlersprangfortheshotgunbesidethedoor,knowinghewouldnever

reach it in time.Then a rifle shot rang out and asDuffy'sman swung aroundwiththeshotguninhishands,hesawtheoutlawtopplefromhissaddleintothedust.

HeglancedaroundandsawJuliestandinginthedoorwithanoldSharps.50inherhands,athinwraithofsmokeissuingfromthemuzzle.

Assuddenlyasthat,itwasover.ClipHartwasstaggeringtohisfeet,hisjawhanging and obviously broken. There was a deep cut over one eye, and histriggerfingerwasbroken,apparentlywhenhefellorwhenthegunwasslappedfromhishand.

Onemanwasdead.Duffyhimselfhadkilledhimwhenhesteppedfromthestore.ThemanJuliehadshothadabrokenshoulderandanuglywoundwherethebullethad ripped the flesh.Theothershadachingheadsandoneabrokencollarbone.

Herded together in frontof the livery stable, theywere standing therewhentheposse arrived, staringat their captorswhoproved tobe fouroldmen, twoboysoffourteen,agirlwithanapron,andDuffy'sman.

“They held up our bank and killed a cashier,” themanwith the badge toldthem. “If they'd gotten on those fresh horses they'd have gotten clean away.Whathappened?”

Duffyhadbeenremovingsaddlesfromthehorsesandnowheliftedasaddleblanket and lifted an ugly-looking cocklebur with blood on its stiff spines.“Somebody,” he said, “put one of these under each blanket, and then cut thecincheshalfwaythrough.”

ThebadgewearerlookedatDuffy'sman.“Youdidthat?”

“Pickedthemeanest-lookingburrsIcouldfind.WhatelsecouldIdo?I'mnogunfighter!”

ThesherifflookedatHart.“Well,you'resomekindofafighter,andwhateveritis,you'lldo.Thanks.”

Duffylookedathisholster.“Thoughtwewastooold,didyou?Well,wegot

fightleftinusyet,ain'tweboys?”

The storekeeper gestured toward the saloon. “I'm standing for the drinks,youngorold.”

“Haveyourdrink,”Duffy'smansaid,“I'llbealongsoon.”

HelookedoveratJulie.“AsIsaid,thisseemedagoodplacetostop.”

“Areyouagoodmanwithanax?”

“Iam.Butyouknow,itgetsmightylonelyupthereinthemountains.AnditwouldhelpifIhadsomebodytocookforme,too.”

“Canyoucookatall?”

“No,ma'am.”

“Ican.”

He gestured toward the church, half-hidden among the cottonwoods. “Thepreacherwillbehometomorrow.Weshouldmakeanearlystart.”

“Iwillbeready.”Suddenly,shewasembarrassed.Shedriedherhandsonherapron.“Yougoalongandhavethatdrinknow.”

Atthesaloonthemenliftedtheirglassestohim.“Notme,”hesaid,“Imightneverhavedoneitbutforsomethingaspeakeroncesaid.”

Heliftedhisglass.“Wedrinktothespeaker.ToPatrickHenry,”hesaid.

“ToPatHenry,”theyreplied.

BIGMAN

CHERRYNOBLE RODE intoWagonstop on a black mule. He was six feetseveninhissocks,andhehabituallyworeboots.Heweighedthreehundredandthirty pounds. He swung down from the mule and led it and his three packanimalstowater.Ashestoodbythetroughwithhismules,thebystandersstaredinunadulteratedamazement.

Noble looked up, smiling in a friendly fashion. “What's off there?” Heindicatedthecountrytothewestwithabobofhishead.

Fromwherehestoodnothingwasvisibletothewestbutthesunsettingoveraweirdcollectionofredspiresandtabletoppedmountains.

Lay Benton replied. “Nothin' but wilderness, some of thewildest, roughestcountryonearthandsomebloodthirstyIndians.”

“Nopeople?”

“None.”

“Water?Andgrassmaybe?”

“Couldbealittle.Whoknows?”

“Then that'swhere I'll go. I'll go there sowhen folks do come there'll be aplacewaiting for them.Sooner or later people come tomost every place, andmostlywhentheygettheretheyarehotandtired.I'llhavegrass,water,andbeefa-waiting.”

“You'dbecrazytotry,”Bentonsaid.“NowhitemancouldliveinthatcountryeveniftheIndianswouldlethim.”

CherryNoble's laugh boomed, his facewrinklingwith thememories of oldsmiles.“They'll letmestay,and Iguess there'snoplaceamancan't live ifhesetshismindtoit.”Heslappedabulgingsaddlebag.“KnowwhatI'vegothere?Cherrypits,that'swhat!WhenIstopIplantoplantcherries!Ain'tnobetterfruit,anywhere,andthat'swhypeoplecallmeastheydo.Noble'smynameandfolkscallmeCherry.YoucouldtrailmeacrossthecountrybythetreesI'veplanted.”

LayBentonwasatrouble-hunter,andhedidnotlikeCherryNoble.LayhadbeenthebiggestmanarounduntilNoblearrived,andhestillconsideredhimselfthetoughest.Thebigman'seasygoodhumorirritatedhim.“Ifyougointothatcountry,”hesaidcontemptuously,“you'reafool!”

“‘Better to be a fool than a knave,'” quotedNoble.Hewas smiling, but hiseyesweremeasuringBentonwithsuddenattentionandknowledge.

Bentoncametohisfeetreadyfortrouble.“Whatwasthatyoucalledme?”

CherryNoblewalkedtothefootofthestepswhereBentonstood.“Friend,”hespoke gently, still smiling, “I didn't call you, but if you heard your name justkeepa-coming.”

Bentonwasirresolute.Somethingintheeasymovementandconfidenceofthebigmandisturbedhim. “Youdon'tmake sense!”he said irritably. “What's thematter?Areyoucrazy?”

Noble chuckled, his big hands on his hips. “Now as to that,” he saidjudiciously,“there'sadivisionofopinion.Somesayyes,somesayno.Me,I'venotrightlydecided,butatanyrateI'mnotaverywiseman.

“FellerbackinMissouriwhenIwasabouthip-hightoashortburro,hegivemefivebooks,hedid.Hesaid,‘Son,youtakethesebooksandyoureadthem.Thenyoureadthemthroughagainandthenyouponderon 'em.After thatyougivethemtosomebodyelse,butthere'llbesomethingthatwillstaywithyouallthe days of your life. I'm giving you the greatest gift any man can give toanother.'”

CherryNobleputonehugebootedfootonthestep.“NowIreadthemtherebooks, and more times than twice. One was the Bible, mighty good reading

whetheramanisofareligiousturnornot.AnotherwasabunchofpoetrylikebyamannamedShakespeare.Thatoneonlymadeoccasionalsensetomeuntilthethirdtimearoundandtheneverythingbegantofallintoplace,andit'sstayedinmymindeversince.Thentherewasabookonlaw,orthat'swhatIwastold,byBlackstone.Seemedtomethatbookmadealotofsense,andmostlyitwasrulesandideasonhowfolkscangetalongtogether.TherewasanotherbyamannamedPlatothatseemedtomeconversationswithsomeotherfolks,butonethatworriedmesomewasanaccountofthedeathofthisSocrates.

“Seems they had something against him, and the powers that were said heshouldtakepoisonhemlock.Well,fromtheaccountofwhathappenedafterwardit seemed tome themanwaswriting about something he never actually sawbecausewehave a sight ofpoisonhemlock inparts of the countrywhere I'velived and it's a very agonizing death, no way so calm and easy as this manseemedtohaveit.

“Mantoldmelater,amanwhowasuponsuchthings,thatPlatowasn'teventherewhen it happened. I don't thinkaman shouldwrite thingsunlesshecanwritethetruthaboutit,orasnearashecancometoit.Theotherbookwassomesayings by Jefferson, Franklin, and the like, the sort of conclusions anyreasonablemancomestoinalifetime.

“NowIreadthosebooksuponesideanddowntheotherandnothinginthosebookstoldmeIwascrazyandnothinginthemtoldmeIwasawiseman,either.So”—hesmiledcheerfully—“Ijustlet 'errest,an'that'sagoodwaytodowitharguments.”

NoblemountedthestepsandwentintothestoreandBentonstaredafterhim.Hespatintothedust.Nowwhatkindofamanwasthat?

Hack,anotherof thebysitters,glancedslylyatBenton.“Hesure isbig,”hecommented.

“Sizedoesn'tmaketheman!”Bentonsaidcontemptuously.

Theoldermanchuckled,lookingBentonupanddown.“Nowthat'swhatI'vealwayssaid!”Hackagreed.“That'swhatI'llalwayssay!”

ThedooropenedandNoblesteppedout.Hehadtwoonehundredpoundsacksofflourunderonearmandheldanotherbythetop.Hewalkedtohispackmulesand began strapping on the sacks. Then he went around to the corral andreturnedwiththreehorses.Bringingoutmoresupplies,hestrappedthemonthepacksaddleshehadbroughtalongwiththehorses.

Bentonhadthefeelinghehadcomeoutontheshortendoftheexchangeanddid not like it.Norwas he sure just how it had happened.HewatchedNobleloadingupwithgrowingdispleasure.“SomeMormonstriedtosettleoverthereonetimeandtheinjunsrun 'emout.TheGreenboyswent intherewithcattle,andtheGreenswerekilled.Youain'tgotachancebackintherealone.TherewassixorsevenoftheGreens.

“Besides,”heargued,“howwouldyoumakealiving?Supposeyourcherriesgrew?Wherewouldyousell'em?”

CherryNoble'schucklewasrichanddeep,“Why,friend,Idon'tworryaboutthat.TheLordwillprovide,saysI,andwhenfolkscometheywillfindtheearthfloweringlikethegardensofparadise,withfatblackcherriesgrowing,andifbychancetheinjunsgetmemytreeswillstillbegrowing.ForIsayhewhoplantsatreeisaservantofGod,whichIheardsomewherelongago.Evenifthere'snofruitonthelimbsthere'llbeshadeforthewearyandacoolnessinsummer.”

“Youtalklikeadamnedskypilot,”Bentonscoffed.

“Well, I'm not one.Nor am I reallywhat you'd call a religiousman, nor alearned one.That fellerwho gaveme the books said, ‘Son, it isn't howmanybooksyouread,it'swhatyougetfromthoseyoudoread.YoureadthosebooksIgaveyouandneitherlife,nordeath,normanwillholdanyfearsforyou.'That'swhatthemansaid,andheseemstohavebeenright.”

“You'llneedalotmorethantalkifthosePiutesjumpyou!”Bentonreplied.

Noblechuckledagain.“Iftheydon'tunderstandthatkindoftalkIcanalwaysuse this!”Hepickedanemptywhiskeybottlefromthedustandflipped it intotheair.Asthebottlereacheditshighpointhepalmedhissix-shooterandfired.

Theshotsmashedthebottle,hissecondandthirdshotsbrokefragmentsofthe

bottleintostillsmallerfragments.

LayBentonsatdownonthetopstep,shockedandalittlesicktothestomach.Tothinkhehadbeenhuntingtroublewithamanwhocouldshootlikethat!

Nobleswungintothesaddleonthebigmule,ahugeandhandsomecreaturewho only swished his tail at the great weight. “Come visit me,” he invited,“whereyoufindmetherewillbegreengrassandtrees,andifyougivemetimetherewillbeblackcherriesripeninginthesun!”

“He'llgethimselfkilled,”Bentonsaidsourly.

“Maybe,”Hackagreed,“butinjunstaketohiskind.”

Theywatched him ride down the dusty street toward the trailwest, and heonly stopped once, to letRuthMcGann cross in front of him. Shewas goingovertotheBorderhousetoborrowacupofsugar...atleastthatwaswhatshesaid.

They saw that he spoke to her, and they might as well have overheard itbecauseoldmanBorderrepeatedthewords.

Noble drew up and gallantly swept the hat from his head. “Beauty beforeindustry,ma'am.YoumaypassbeforeIraiseadustthatmightdimthoselovelyeyes.”

Shelookedupathimsuspiciously.“MynameisNoble,”hesaid,“andIhopethatsometimesIam.TheycallmeCherrybecauseit'scherriesIplantwhereverI'vetimetostop.Andyourname?”

“Ruth,”shereplied,hereyestakinginthegreatexpanseofchestandshoulder,“andwheremightyoubegoing,ridingoutthatway?”

“Like the Hebrew children,” he said, “I go into the wilderness, but I shallreturn.Ishallcomebackforyou,Ruth,andthenyoushallsaytomeasdidRuthoftheBible,‘Witherthougoest,Iwillgo;andwherethoulodgest,Iwilllodge;thypeopleshallbemypeople,andthyGod,myGod.'”

Ruthlookedhimovercoolly.Seventeenandpert,shehadhair likefireseen

through smoke, and eyes of hazel. The prettiest girl in all that country itwassaid,butwitheyesfornoman.“Oh,Iwill,willI?You'veasmoothtongue,bigman.Whatelsedoyouhave?”

“Twohandsandaheart.WhatelsewillIneed?”

“You'llneedahead,”sherepliedcalmly.“Nowbeoffwithyou.Ihaveworktodo.”

“Wellspoken!”HereplacedhishatonhisheadandasRuthpassedonacrossthestreet,headded,“‘Fareyouwell,hereafterinabetterworldthanthis,Ishalldesiremoreloveandknowledgeofyou.'”

Ruth McGann turned on the steps of the Border house and watched himdisappeardownthetrail.Itwasonlyadimtrail,fornotmanywentthatwayandfewerreturned.“Whowasthat?”sheasked.“Ihaven'tseenhimbefore.”

“Somestranger,”Bordersaid,“butamightybigman.AboutthebiggestIeverdidsee.”

Ruthcrossedtheporchandwentintothehouseforhercupofsugar,astrangething,asoldmanBordercommented, forhermahadboughtabarrelof sugaronly a few weeks before, looking to a season's canning. The story was toldaround thesewingand theknittingcircles fordaysafter,andaround thehorsecorralsandintheblacksmithshopaswell.Shewaschidedaboutherbigman,butRuthofferednoreply.

Amonthpassed,and thensixmonths,and thenPortGiddingscame inwiththreeriders.TheyhadcrossedtheroughcountrytothewestandstoppedbytheMcGanns. “Wild country yonder,” Port said, “but right in the midst of it wefoundNoble.Heaskedtoberememberedtoyou,Ruth.Hesaidtotellyouwhenhisplacewasinbettershapehe'dbecomingforyou.”

Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing at all. Only when they talked shelistenedandwentonwithhersewing.

“Thewaythatvalleyhaschangedyouwouldn'tbelieve,”Giddingssaid.“He'sbroken sodonmore than a hundred acres andhas it planted to corn andoats.He's got twohundred cherry trees planted and sprouting.Thenhe roundedup

thosecattle theGreenboyslost,andhe'sholdingthemonmeadowsthickwithgrass.He'susingwaterfromthoseoldMormonirrigationditches,andhe'scutalotofhay.

“Bestofall,he'sbuilta stonehouse that's thebest I'veseen in thiscountry.Thatmansuredoesworkhard.”

“WhatabouttheIndians?”McGannasked.

“That'sthepeculiarpart.Heseemstohavenotroubleatall.Helocatedtheircampwhenhefirstrodeintothecountry,andhewentinandhadalongtalkwiththechiefandsomeoftheoldmen.He'sneverbeenbothered.”

CherryNoblecouldnothavetakenoathtothatcomment.TheIndianslivingnearbyhadcausednotrouble,norhadhemadetroubleforthem.Thesamecouldnotbesaidforpassingwarparties.AraidingbandofPiuteshadcomeintothecountry, stealinghorses fromtheother Indiansandat thatverymomentNoblewashunkereddownbehindsomerocksatawaterhole.

Luckily,hehadglimpsedtheIndiansatthesametimetheysawhim.Hehadreachedtherocksaroundthewaterholejustintime.HeshotthenearestIndianfrom the saddle and the rest of themwent to the ground.Noble got themuledownonitssideandoutofriflerange.HereadiedhisWinchesterandreloadedhissix-gun.

It was a long, slow, hot afternoon. There was no water nearer than fifteenmilesexceptwhatlayinthewaterholebehindhim.HeknewthatandsodidthePiutes,onlyhehadthewaterandtheydidnot.

Sweattrickleddownthebigman'sneck.Hetookapullathiscanteenandputareassuringhandonthemule.Theanimalhadbeentrainedfrombirthforjustthiseventualityandlayquietnow.

They came suddenly andwith a rush andNoble took his time.He droppedone,thenswitchedhisrifleandmissedashotastheydisappeared.

Therewereat leastfiveIndiansstillout there.Abuzzardsoaredexpectantlyoverhead.Hemovedsuddenly,furtherintotherocksandonlyintime.Awarrior,knifeinhand,doveathimfromarockandNoblethrewupahand,graspingthe

Indian'sknifewristandliterallythrowingthemantothegroundnearthepool.

NobleputagunonhimandtheIndianlookedupathim,judginghischances.“Nogood,”Noblesaid.“You,”hegestured,“drink!”

TheIndianhesitated.“Drink,damnyou!”AndtheIndiandid,thenagain.

“Nowgetupandgetout.Tellthemtoleavemealone.Iwantnotrouble,doyouhear?Notrouble.

“YoustealevenoneheadfrommeandI'llhuntyoudownandkillyouall.”HowmuchtheIndianunderstoodhehadnoidea.“Nowgo!”

Theywent,wantingnomoreofthisbigmanwholivedalone.

Noble returned to his work. There were more trees to plant, a vegetablegarden to fence, traps to be set for rabbits that were playing havoc with hiscrops.

Four days later, as if testing him, he found several steers driven off andtrackedthemtotheircamp.Theyhadeatenheavilyandweresleeping,doubtingonelonemanwouldattempttopursuethem.

Hewentintotheircamponcatfeet.Hegatheredtheirriflesandwastakingapistol fromoneof themwhen themanawakened.His eyes rivetedonNoble'sfaceandhestartedayell,butthepistolbarrelacrosshisheadstoppedit.

Walkingoutoftheircamphegatheredtheirhorsesandledthemtowherehishorsewaited. Surprisingly, theywere still asleep. Perhaps somewhere in theirraidingtheyhadfoundsomewhiskey,fortheyslepttoosoundly.

Pickingupanarmfulofbrushhetosseditonthefireandatthefirstcrackleofflametheycameawake.Hewaswaitingforthemwithaguninhishand.

Theystartedtoriseandheshouted,“No!Youstay!”

Theywaited, watching him. Theywere toughmen, and thankGod, one ofthemwasoldenoughtohavejudgment.“Notrouble!”hereiterated.“Iwantnotrouble!”

“Mycow,”hegestured,“allmine!Yougonow.Don'tcomeback!”

Theoldestofthewarriorslookedupathim.“Yousaywecomeagain,youkillall.”

“Idon'twanttokill.WhiteStoneCalfismyfriend.Youcanbefriendalso.”

“Yousayyoukill.Canyoukillme?”

“Icankillyou.Idonotwishto.Iamamanwhoplantstrees.Igrowcorn.IfanIndianishungry,Iwillfeedhim.Ifheissick,Iwilltrytomakehimwell,butheharmsmycrops,ifheattacksmeorstealsmycowsorhorses,Iwillkillhim.Somehavealreadydied,howmanymustdiebeforeyouunderstandme?”

“Wewillgo,”theIndiansaid.“Youwillgiveusourhorses?”

“Iwillnot.Youhavetakenmytime.Itakeyourhorses.NexttimeIshalltakemorehorses.Yougo.Ifyoucomeagain,comeinpeaceorIwillfollowtoyourvillageandmanywilldie.”

The followingyear therewere two raids into thearea,but they rodearoundthebigman'sland;andwhenthenextwinterwashardandthesnowswereheavyandicywindsprowledthecanyonsherodeintotheirvillage,andtheywatchedhimcome.

Hebroughtsidesofbeefandasackofflour.HerodetotheIndiantowhomhehadtalkedanddroppedthemintothesnowbeforehim.“Notrouble,”hesaid,“Iamfriend.”

Heturnedandrodeaway,andtheywatchedhimgo.

GIDDINGSSTOPPEDAGAINattheMcGannhome.“DroppedbytobuysomestockfromthatNoblefeller.Gotfiftyheadofgoodbeeffromhim.Ireckonhe'sgotatleastthreehundredheadofyoungstuff,andhe'skeptafewcowsfreshformilking.”

“Didyou saymilking?”McGannwas incredulous. “I never heardof amanmilkin'acowwestoftheRockies.”

“He's doing it.” Giddings glanced slyly at Ruth. “He says womenfolks setstorebymilkcows.Gives'emrealbutterandcream.Forawomanwhobakes,hesays,that'sabighelp.”

Ruthseemednottohear,continuingwithhersewing.

“Hischerrytreesaregrowing,andtheylookmightynice.Longrowsofthem.He'sputinakitchen-garden,too.Seemshecamepreparedwithallkindsofseed.Heeatsmightygood,thatfeller.Cornonthecob,cabbage,peas,carrots,onions,lotsofotherstuff.He'sfoundalittlegold,too.”

ItwasthislastitemthatreachedtheattentionofLayBenton.Itwasjustlikethatcrazyman,hethought,tofindgoldwherenobodyelsehadevenlookedforit. His grudge against Noble had grown as stories of his improving ranchcontinuedtospread.Hetookthatsuccessasapersonalaffront.

LateonanightafteranotherofGiddings'visits,LaymetwithGeneNeversandAb Slade. “He's got gold, horses, cattle, and some cashmoneyGiddingspaidhim.Mustruntosevenoreighthundreddollars.”

“Howdoyoufiguretodoit?”Sladeasked.

“Takenochances.Welayforhimandshoothimdown.There'snobodytherebuthimandeverybodywillthinkinjunsdoneit.”

Atdaylighttheyrodeoutoftown,andGiddingssawthemgo.HestoppedbytheMcGann house. “I shouldn't havementioned that gold,” he said. “Benton,Slade,andNeversrodeoutoftown,thencircledandheadedwest.”

“Youthinkthey'regoingafterNoble?”McGannasked.

“Whereelse?Bentonneverlikedhim,andweallknowwhatBentonis.”

Ruth satquietly sewinganddidnot lookup.Giddingsglancedather. “Youdon'tlookworried,”hecommented.

Shelookedupathim.“WhyshouldIbe?Ifamancan'tlookafterhimselfofwhataccountishe?”

“Bytheway,”Giddingssmiledather.“Hesaidforyoutogettoworkonthattrousseau.”

Hereyesflashed.“Doeshethinkmeafool?”

ThreedayswentbyandtherewasnochangeinRuth,oriftherewasitwentunnoticedbyoldmanBorder,whomissednothing.Except,headded,thatlatelyRuthhadbeenwateringherflowersnineortentimesaday,andeachtimeshetookalongtimeshadinghereyesdownthetrailtowardthewest.Thetrailwasalwaysempty,andthepurplehillsofeveningtoldhernothing.

Benton might have been loudmouthed and Ab Slade a coward, but GeneNeverswasneither.Hewasanexperiencedoutlawandstockthief,andhehadkilledseveralmen.

Bentonwanted to slip up onNoble and shoot him down from ambush, butNeverswaspractical.“He'llhavethatgoldhid,andwe'llneverfindit.”

“Maybeweshouldcatchhimandburnhimalittle.Makehimtalk.”

Neverswasimpatient.“Don'tbeafool!Hiskindnevertalk.”

Atthelasttheydecidedthatwasthewaytodoit.Theyslippeddownnearthehouse and were waiting when Noble went to the spring for water. As hestraightened up his eye caught the glint of light on a rifle barrel, and hewasunarmed.

Hemadeaverybig target,andhewasnofool.Thesemenhadcometorobhimfirstandthenkillhim.Haditbeenonlythelatterhewouldalreadybedead.He thoughtswiftlyandcoolly.Theonlyreasonhewasalivewasbecause theyneededhimtolocatethegold.

Asthethreesteppedintotheopenhiseyeswentfromonetotheother.Neverswasatoncethemostdangerousandthemostreasonable.Sladehungback,eitheroverlycautiousoracoward.ThatBentondislikedhimheknew.

“Howdy,gents!Whyalltheguns?Youbeenhunting?”

“Wewerehuntingyou,”Bentonsaid.

“Alongwaytocomeandabigriskforwhatthereisinit,”hesaid.

“Where'sthegold,Noble?”Neversasked.“Itwillsavetroubleifyoutellus.”

“Mostlikely,butIneverpaidmuchmindtotrouble.Kindoflikeditnowandagain.Keepstheedgeonaman.”Ifhecouldjustgetwithinreach—

He moved toward the door and instantly the guns lifted. “Hold it now!”Bentonwaseagertoshoot.

“Justaimin'tosetmybucketinside.Nousetotalkouthereinthesun.Iwasjustfixin'tohavebreakfast,soifyouboysdon'tmind,we'lljusthavebreakfastfirstandthentalk.I'mhungry.”

“SoamI.”Slademovedtowardthedoor.

“Ab,”Neverssaid,“yougoinsideandpickuphisguns.Movethemintothefarthestcorner,behindwherewewillsit.Wewillletthismanfixourbreakfast,likehesays.I'mhungry,too.”

AbSladewentinsideandNobleknewwhathewasdoing,hecouldfollowhiseverymove.Hecametothedoor.“Allright,justaWinchesterandacoupleofforty-fours.”

Theywent inside.PuttingdownhisbucketNoblewent towork.Hehadnoplan, no idea. He would fix breakfast as promised. Besides, he was hungryhimself.

They stayed across the room from him, butNeverswas very alert. SeveraltimeshemighthavesurprisedtheothersbutnotNevers.

“I foundgold, all right”—he talkedasheworked—“butnotmuchof ityet.Youboyscametoosoon.YoushouldhavewaitedanothermonthortwowhenI'dcleanedupthesluiceaftersomelongruns.I'd justfinishedthesluiceandnowit'saloss.Toobad.”

“Whytoobad?”Bentonasked.

“Theclaimwillbelost.Nobodycouldfinditbutme,andafteryouboyskillme you'll have to skip the country. You'll never dare show face aroundWagonstopagain,sothegoldwon'tdoyouanygood.”

“Weain'tleavin',”Sladesaid.“We'llsayitwasinjuns.”

“Thatwon'twork.”Nobleslappedsomebeef in the fryingpan.“I'm friendswithall the Indians. In fact, they'redueoverherenow. Ipromised themsomebeefandsometobacco.”

Nevers glanced uneasily out the door. Giddings had said that Noble wasfriendlywiththeIndians.Supposetheyappearednow,andsuspectedsomethingwaswrong?

Nobleknewwhatwas inhismind.“Youboysmayhave tokillyourhorsesgettingoutofherebecausethoseinjunswillberightafteryou.I'vebeenhelpingthem through some hard times.” He forked beef from the pan. “How youfiguringongettingout?Unlessyouknowthecountryyou'reinatrap.”

“Southwest,”Bentonsaid,“toArizona.”

“See?You don't know this country. TheColoradoCanyon, looks like it's amiledeep,liesrightintheway.”

Gene Nevers swore mentally, remembering that canyon only then. He hadnever been south fromhere, only east andnorth.Wagonstopwas east and theIndianswerenorth.Forthefirsttimehewasworried.

“You'dbettergetoutside,Ab,andwatchforthoseIndians.”

“They'retouchy,”Noblesaid,“shootoneofthem,andthey'llreallycomeafteryou.”

Hedishedup the food, placingplates beforeNevers andBenton.Bothmenhaddrawn their guns andplaced themon the tablebeside their plates.CherryNoblenotedthefactandturnedbacktothefireplace.

Besidethewoodpilewastheoldburlapsackinwhichhehadthegunshehadtaken from the Piutes.An old blanketwas partly thrown over it. In that sacktherewereweapons . . .butwere they loaded?Couldhe,heaskedhimself,besureofgettingaloadedweaponifhedroppedtoonekneeandgrabbed?Therewasnocertainty,andtherewouldbenosecondchance.

Carefullyheplacedtwocupsonthetableandpickedupthecoffeepot.Neverswatchedhimwithhawkeyesashefilledthecups.ThentheytooktheircupsintheirlefthandsandasNoblefilledhisowncupinspirationcame.Hereachedforaspoonandaccidentallyknockedittothefloor.Stoopingtoretrieveit,hehurledhimselfagainstthelegsofthetable.

Histhreehundredandthirtypoundshitthetablelikeanavalanche,smashingitbackintothetwooutlaws.Neversgrabbedwildlyathisgunanditexploded,sendingabullet into thewallas the tablehithimwaist-high.Hewassmashedbackward and with Benton slammed against the wall, the boiling coffeecascadingoverthem.

Leapingup,NoblesentahugefistthatsmashedintoBenton'sface.Hisheadhitthewallwithathud.Neverspulledfreeofthetable,gaspingforbreath,andlungedatNoblesendingthembothcrashingtothefloor.Neversswungwildly,andtheblowcaughtNobleonthechin.Hemightaswellhavehitastonewall.

Jerkingfree,Neversgrabbedforhisgunwhichlayonthefloor.Neversgotahandon thegunandNoblegrabbedforBenton'sgun.Nevers firedwildlyandmissed, then fired again and didn't. Noble felt the bullet hit him and fired inreturn.

HesawNevers fallandheard running feetasAbSlade rushed thedoor.Heturned,swaying,andfiredasSladeframedhimselfinthedoor.

Sladefell.Fullyconscious,slumpedagainstthedoorjamb,hesaid,“YougotGene?”

“Yes.”

“AndBenton?”

“He'soutcold.”

Sladestaredathim,almostpleading.“I tried,didn't I?Theycan't say Iwasyella,canthey?”

“Youtried,Ab.Youreallytried.Youcouldhaverun.”

“Tellthemthat.TellthemI—”Herolledover,outofthedoorwaytothehard-packedearthoutside.

HediedlikethatandCherryNoblewentbackinside.

ONTHESIXTHday afterBenton,Slade, andNevers rodeout of town,RuthMcGann walked up the street to the store. She lingered over her shopping,listeningforthenews.Therewasnone.

Thensomebodyinthestreetletoutayell.Thestoreemptiedintothestreet.

Therewasnomistaking therideron theblackmule.Behindhimtherewerethree horses.Twowith empty saddles, the thirdwith a rider tied to his horse.That rider's face was battered and swollen. Cherry Noble drew up before thestore.

“They came huntingme. Two are buried back yonder. If anybodywants tocollect them, they can. I caught one but not bad.Not enough toworry about.This one”—he indicatedBenton—“put themup to it and as he sort of figuredhimselfafighterIturnedhimlooseandlethimhaveatit.Hedidn'tcutmuchiceasafighter.”

Ruth stepped off the porch and walked away in the dust. Cherry Nobleglanced after her, threw one longing look at the saloon and the beer he hadwantedforthelastthirtymiles,andfollowed.

Hecaughther in three long strides.Shehad shortenedhers, just a little.Hewasatalossforwordsbutfinallyhesaid,“I'vecomeback.”

“Soyouhave,”sherepliedcoolly.

“Wecanbemarriedbythepreacher,andstartforhomeinthemorning.It'salongride.”

“Doyou think I'msucha fool?” sheburstout. “You toldGiddings I shouldstartatrousseau!”

“Wasthatfoolishofme?Ruth,IlovedyouthemomentIsawyouandknewthatformetherecouldbenoother.Ruth,willyoumarryme?”

“Youtoldhimtotellmetostartmytrousseau!”sherepeated.“Didyouthinkmesuchafool?”

“Why,Ijustthought—”

“You'rethefool,”shesaid,“Istarteditthemorningaftermeetingyouinthestreet.”

“‘Women,'”Cherrystartedtoquote,“‘are—'”

“Foryou,”Ruthsaidsweetly,“thewordhasnowbecomesingular.. .sodonotsay‘women'!”

THEMARSHALOFSENTINEL

ATEIGHTO'CLOCKMarshalFitzMoorelefthishouseandwalkedoneblockwest toGard'sSaloon. ItwasalreadyopenandFitzglimpsedGard's swampersweepingdebrisfromthepreviousnight.Crossingthestreetthemarshalpausedattheedgeoftheboardwalktorubouthiscigaronthetopofthehitchingrail.Ashedidsoheturnedhiseyesbutnothishead,glancingswiftlyupthenarrowstreetalongsidethesaloon.Thegrayhorsewasgone.

FitzMoorehesitated,consideringthis,estimatingtimeandprobabilities.Onlythendidheturnandentertherestaurantjustaheadofhim.

The Fred Henry gang of outlaws had been operating in this corner of theterritoryformorethantwoyears,butthetownofSentinelhadthusfarescapedtheirattention.FitzMoore,whohadbeenmarshalofSentinelformorethanhalfthattime,hadtakencaretostudythemethodsofHenryandhismen.Inrecentraidsthemarshalhadbeenslainwithinminutesbeforetheraidbegan,orjustatthemomentthegangarrived.

Apersistentpatternofoperationhadbeenestablishedandinvariablytheraidshadbeentimedtocoincidewiththeavailabilityoflargesumsofmoney.SuchatimehadcometoSentinel,asFitzMoorehadreasontoknow.

So,unlessallhisreasoninghadfailed,thetownwasmarkedforaraidwithinthenexttwohours.Andhewasmarkedfordeath.

Fitz Moore was a tall, spare man with a dark, narrow face and carefullytrimmedmustache.Normallyhisfacewasstillandcold,onlyhiseyesseemingaliveandaware.

Asheenteredtherestaurantheremovedhisblack,flat-crownedhat.Hisfrock

coatwasunbuttonedofferingeasyaccess to theSmith&WessonRussian .44.Thegunwasbeltedhighandfirmlyonhisleftsidejustinfrontofhishipbone,butttotheright,holsterataslightangle.

Three men and two women sat at a long community table but only onemurmured a greeting. Jack Thomas glanced up and said, “Good morning,Marshal,”histonelowandfriendly.

Acknowledgingthegreeting,themarshalseatedhimselfatthefarendofthetableandacceptedthecupofcoffeepouredbytheChinesecook.

Withhismindclosedtothedriftofconversationfromthefarendofthetable,heconsideredthesituationthatfacedhim.Hisdaysbeganinthesameidenticalmanner,withasurveyof the townfromeachof thesixwindowsofhishouse.Thismorninghehad seen thegrayhorse tiedbehindPeterson'sunusedcorral,whereitwouldnotbeseenbyacasualglance.

With fieldglasses themarshal examined thehorse. Itwas streakedwith thesaltofdried sweat, evidenceofhard riding.Therewere still somedark,dampspots indicating thehorsehadbeen riddennot longbefore, and the fact that itwasstillbridledandsaddledindicateditwouldberiddensoonagain.ThebrandwasaRockingR,notalocalbrand.

WhenFitzMoorehadreturnedtohis livingroomhehadseatedhimselfandforanhourheread,occasionallyglancingoutofthewindow.Thegrayhorsehadnotbeenmovedinthattime.

Ateightwhenheleftforbreakfastthehorsewasstillthere,butbythetimehehadwalkedablock itwasgone.And there lingered in theair a faint smellofdust.

Wherewasthehorse?

Down the arroyo, of course, as it gave easy access to the forest and themountain canyons where there was concealment and water. Taking intoconsiderationthecoolnight,thesweat-streakedhorse...notlessthansixmilestothepointofrendezvous.

The riderof thegrayhadobviouslybeenmakinga final checkwith a local

source of information. To return to the rendezvous, discuss the situation andreturn, gave him roughly two hours, perhaps a bit more. He would deal inminimums.

Themarshallightedacigar,acceptedafreshcupofcoffeeandleanedbackinhischair.Hewasamanofsimpletastesandmanyappreciations.Heknewlittleofcattleandlessofmining,buttwothingshedidknow.Heknewgunsandheknewmen.

Hewas aware of the cool gray eyes of the youngwoman, the only personpresent whom he did not know by sight. There was about her a hauntingfamiliaritythatdisturbedhim.Hetastedhiscoffeeandglancedoutthewindow.Reasonwarnedhimheshouldbe suspiciousofanystranger in townat suchatime,yeteveryinstincttoldhimheneednotbesuspiciousofher.

TheEmporiumBankwould be open in about an hour.A fewminutes laterBarneyGardwouldleavehissaloonandcrossthestreetwiththereceiptsfromSaturdayandSunday.Itcouldbeaconsiderablesum.

TheEmporium safewould be unlocked by that time and, as they had beenacceptingmoneyfromranchersanddustfromminers,therewouldbeplentyofcash on hand. In approximately one hour therewould be no less than twentythousand dollars in spendable cash within easy reach of grasping fingers andreadyguns.

TheHenrygangwould,ofcourse,knowthis.Bynowtheywereinthesaddle,leavingtheircamp.

HedidnotknowthenameofthestrangerwhoplayedpokerwiththeCatfishKid,buthehadknown the face. Ithadbeen the faceofamanhehadseen inTascosawithFredHenry,thebanditleader,sometwoyearsago.TiedtothiswasthefactthattheRockingRwasabrandregisteredtooneHarveyDanuser,aliasDickMawson,thefastestgunhandintheHenryoutfit.

He was suddenly aware that a question had been directed to him. “Whatwould you do,Marshal,” JackThomaswas asking, “if theHenry gang raidedSentinel?”

FitzMooreglancedattheendofhiscigar,thenliftedhiseyestothoseofJackThomas.“Ithink,”hesaidmildly,“Ishouldhavetotakesteps.”

Themarshalwasnotaprecipitateman.Reputedtobebothfastandaccuratewithagun,hehadyettobeprovedlocally.Once,notsolongago,hehadkilledthewrongman.Hehopednevertomakesuchamistakeagain.

SofarhehadenforcedthepeaceinSentinelbyshrewdjudgmentofcharacter,appreciationofdevelopingsituations,andtacticalmovesthatinvariablylefthimin command. Authorized to employ an assistant, he had not done so. Hepreferredtoworkashelived...alone.

Hewas,heacknowledged,butonlytohimself,alonelyman.IfhepossessedanycapacityforaffectionorfriendshipithadnotbeenobvioustothepeopleofSentinel.Yetthiswasanaddedstrength.Noonepresumedtotakehimlightlyorexpectfavoritism.

Longagohehadbeenconsideredabrilliantconversationalistand, ina timewhen a cowboy's saddlebagsmight carry a volume of the classics as often asNedBuntline,hewasknownasawidelyreadman.Hehadbeenacaptaininthecavalry of the United States, a colonel in a Mexican revolution, a shotgunmessenger for Wells Fargo, and a division superintendent for the ButterfieldStageLine.

Naturally, heknewof theHenrygang.Theyhadbeenoperating for severalyears but only of late had they shown a tendency to shoot first and talk later.Thisseemedtoindicatethatatleastoneoftheganghadbecomearuthlesskiller.

Three marshals had been killed recently, each one shot in the back, anindication that amodus operandi had been established. First kill themarshal,thenrobthetown.Withthemarshaloutofactionitwasunlikelyresistancecouldbeorganizedbeforetheoutlawshadescaped.

FitzMooredustedtheashfromhiscigar.Hethoughtthegrayhorsehadbeenstanding long enough to let the sweat dry, which meant the horse had beenriddenintotownbeforedaybreak.Atthathoureverythingwasclosedandhehadseen nobody on the street, and that seemed to indicate the rider had gone insomewhere.Andthatmeanthenotonlyknewwheretogoatthathourbutthat

hewouldbewelcomed.

SotheHenryganghadanaccompliceinSentinel.Whentheriderofthegrayhorse left town that accomplice had undoubtedly been awake. With a raidimminent itwasunlikelyhewould riskgoingback tosleep.Whatmore likelyplaceforhimtobethanrightinthiscafe?Herehecouldnotonlyseewhowasaroundbutwouldhaveachancetojudgethetemperofthemarshal.

Hadanyoneenteredbeforehearrived?FitzMoorekneweveryoneintheroomexceptthegirlwiththegrayeyes.Shewaswatchinghimnow.

Each of the others had a reason to be here at this hour. Barney Gard hadopenedhissaloonandleft it to theministrationsofhisswamper.JackThomasdirectedthedestiniesoftheliverystable.JohnnyHaven,whenhewasn'tgettingdrunk and trying to tree the town, was a hardworking young cowhand andthoroughlytrustworthy.

TheolderofthetwowomenpresentwasMaryJameson,aplumpandgossipywidow,thetown'smilliner,dressmaker,andNiagaraofconversation.Whenshefinishedherbreakfastshewouldwalkthreedoorsdownthestreetandopenhershop.

Butwhatofthegirlwiththegrayeyes?Herfacewasbothdelicateandstrong,herhairdarkandlovely,andshehadanairofbeingtothemanorborn.Perhapsitwas because she did possess that air, like someone from themarshal's ownpast,thatsheseemedfamiliar.Andalso,hethoughtreluctantly,shewasjustthesortofgirl—

It was too late now, and there was no use thinking of it. He was not foolenoughtobelievetherecouldbeanysuchgirlforhimnow.Notafterall theseyears.

Therewasanantagonism inher eyes thathecouldnot account for.Hewasaccustomedtotheattentionofwomenbutnotantagonisticattention.

ThemarshalglancedthoughtfullyatJohnnyHaven.Theyoungcowboywasstaringsourlyathisplateordevotinghisattentiontohiscoffee.Overhisrighttemplewasaswellingandacut.This,coupledwithahangover,hadleftJohnny

inadisgruntledmood.Lastnighthadbeentheendofhismonthlyspree,andtheswellingandthecutwereevidencesofthemarshal'sattention.

Johnnycaughtthemarshal'sglanceandscowled.“Yousureleaveamanwithaheadache,Marshal.Didyouhavetoslugmewithagunbarrel?”

FitzMoore dusted the ash from his cigar. “I didn't have an ax handle andnothing else would have been suitable for the job.” He added casually, “Ofcourse,Icouldhaveshotyou.”

Johnnywasperfectlyawareof thefactandsomemarshalswouldhavedoneexactlythat.ComingfromFitzMooreitwasalmostanapology.

“Isitsoeasytokillmen?”Itwasthegirlwiththegrayeyeswhospoke,hertonelowandmodulatedbutshadedwithcontempt.

“That depends,” Fitz Moore replied with dignity, “on who is doing theshootingandthecircumstances.”

“Ithink”—andtherewasaflashofangerinhereyes—“thatyouwouldfinditeasy to kill. You might even enjoy killing. If you were capable of feelinganythingatall.”

The depth of feeling in her words was so obvious that, surprised, Johnnyturnedtolookather.Herfacehadgonepale,hereyeslarge.

Themarshal'sexpressiondidnotchange.HeknewJohnnyunderstood,asanywesternerwould.JohnnyHavenhadhimselfgivencauseforshootingonmorethanoneoccasion.HealsoknewthatwhatMarshalFitzMoorehadjustsaidtohimwasmore of an explanation than he had given anyman. FitzMoore hadarrested Johnny Haven six times in as many months, for after every paydayJohnnycametotownhuntingtrouble.YetFitzMooreknewthatJohnnyHavenwas simply awild youngsterwith a lot of good stuff in him, onewho simplyneededtamingandasenseofresponsibility.

The girl's tone carried an animosity forwhich none of them could account,anditleftthemuneasy.

BarneyGardgottohisfeetanddroppedadollaronthetable.JohnnyHaven

followedhimout,andthenthemilliner.JackThomasloiteredoverhiscoffee.

“ThatHenryoutfithasmeworried,Marshal,”hesaid.“Youwantme togetdowntheoldscatter-gun,justincase?”

FitzMoorewatchedBarneyGardthroughthewindow.ThesaloonkeeperhadpausedonthewalktotalktoJohnnyHaven.UnderthestubbleofbeardJohnny'sfacelookedcleanandstrong,remindingthemarshal,asithadbefore,ofthefaceofanotheryoungman,scarcelyolder.

“Itwon'tbenecessary,”FitzMoorereplied.“I'llhandletheminmyownway,inmyowntime.It'smyjob,youknow.”

“Isn'tthatabitfoolish?Torefusehelp?”

The contempt in her voice stirred him, but he revealed nothing.He noddedgravely.“Isupposeitmightbe,ma'am,butIwashiredtodothejobandtaketherisks.”

“FiguredI'doffer,”Thomassaid,unwillingtoletthematterdrop.“Youtellmewhatyoufiguretodo,andI'llbegladtohelp.”

“Anothertime.”Themarshaltastedhiscoffeeagainandlookeddirectlyatthegirl.“YouarenewinSentinel.Willyoubestayinglong?”

“No.”

“Doyouhaverelativeshere?”

“No.”

Hewaited, but no explanationwasoffered.FitzMoorewaspuzzled andhestudiedherfromthecornersofhiseyes.Therewasnosoundintheroombutthetickingofthebig,old-fashionedclock.

Thegirlsatverystill, thedelicatelineofherprofilebringingtohimafaint,lost feeling, a nostalgia from his boyhood when such women as she rode tohounds,whentherewasperfumeontheair,bluegrass,picketfences...

Andthenheremembered.

Thomasgottohisfeet.Hewasabig,swarthyman,alwaysuntidy,abulgeoffatpushinghiswidebelt.“Youneedanyhelp,Marshal,youjustcallonme.”

FitzMoorepermittedhimselfoneofhisraresmiles.“Ifthereisanytrouble,Jack,”hesaidgently,“youwillbethefirsttoknow.”

Theclock tickedoff thesecondsafter thedoorclosed,and then themarshalbrokethesilence.

“Whyhaveyoucomehere?Whatcanyoudointhisplace?”

“AllIhaveishere.Justalittlewestofhere.Ileftthestagetohirearig,andthenIheardyournameandIwantedtoseewhatmannerofmanitwouldbewhowouldkillhisbestfriend.”

Hegot tohisfeet.At thatmomentheknewbetter thaneverwhat lonelinesscouldmean.

“You judge tooquickly.Eachmanmustbe judgedagainst thecanvasofhisowntime,hisownworld.”

“Thereisonlyonewaytojudgeakiller.”

“Wait.WaitjustalittlewhileandyouwillseewhatImean.Andplease. . .stayoffthestreettoday.IfyouneedarigIwillseeyougetaresponsibleman.”Hewalkedtothedoorandpausedwithhishandontheknob.“Heusedtotellmeaboutyou.Wetalkedoftenofyou,andIcametofeelIknewyou.Ihadhoped,beforeithappened,thatsomedaywewouldmeet.Butinadifferentworldthanthis.

“What will happen today I want you to see. I do not believe you lack thecouragetowatchwhathappensnortoreviseyouropinionifyoufeelyouhavebeenmistaken.Your brother, as youwere advised inmy letter, was killed byaccident.”

“Butyoushothim!Youwereinagreathurrytokill.”

“Iwasinthemidstofagunbattle.Heranupbehindme.”

“Tohelpyou.”

“Ibelievedhimtobeahundredmilesaway,andinthetownwherewewereIhadnofriends.Itwasquick.Atsuchatime,oneacts.”

“Killfirst,”shesaidbitterly,“lookafterward.”

Hisfeatureswerestiff.“Iamafraidthatiswhatoftenhappens.Iamsorry.”

He lifted the latch. “Whenyou seewhathappens today, try to imaginehowelseitmightbehandled.IfyoucannotseethisasIdo,thenbeforenightcomesyouwill thinkmeevenmorecruel thanyoudonow.Butyoumayunderstand,andwherethereisunderstandingthereisnohate.”

Outside the door he paused and surveyed the street with care. Not muchlongernow.

Across from him was Gard's Saloon. One block down was his office andacrossthestreetfromithissmallhome.Justalittlebeyondwasanabandonedbarn. He studied it thoughtfully, glancing again at Gard's with the bankdiagonallyacrossthestreetfromthesaloon,rightpastthemilliner'sshop.

Itwould happen here, upon this dusty street, between these buildings.Heremenwoulddie,anditwashismissiontoseethatgoodmenlivedandhadtheirpeace,andthebadwerekeptfromcrime.Asforhimself,hewasexpendable...butwhichwashe,thegoodorthebad?

Fitz Moore knew every alley, every door, every corner in this heat-baked,alkali-stampedclusteroflifethatwouldsoonbecomeanarena.Hiseyesturnedagaintothebarn.Itprojectedseveralfeetbeyondtheotherwisecarefullylinedbuildings.Thebigdoorthroughwhichhayhadoncebeenhoistedgapedwide.

Solittletime!

He knew what they said about him. “Ain't got a friend in town,” he hadoverheardMrs. Jameson say. “Lives tohisself in that oldhouse.Got it full ofbooks,folkssay.Butkillyouquickasawink,hewould.He'scold.. .mighty

cold.”

Washe?

Whenfirsthecametothetownhefounditashambles,wreckedbyapassingtrail-herd crew. It had been terrorized by two dozen gamblers and gunmen,citizensrobbedbycardsharpsandthieves.Robberyhadbeentheorderofthedayandmurderalltoofrequent.Nowithadbeensixmonthssincethelastmurder.Didthatcountfornothing?

Hetookoutafreshcigarandbitoff theend.Whatwasthematterwithhimtoday? He had not felt like this in years.Was it what they say happens to adrowningman and hiswhole lifewas passing before his eyes, just before theend?OrwasitsimplythathehadseenJuliaHeath,thesumandtotalofallhehad ever wanted in a girl? And realizing who she was, realized also howimpossibleithadbecome?

They had talked of it, he and Tom Heath, and Tom had written to Julia,suggestingshecomewestbecausehehadfoundthemanforher.AndtwoweekslaterTomwasdeadwithhis,withFitzMoore's,bulletinhisheart.

The marshal walked along the street of false-fronted, weather-beatenbuildings. Squalid and dismal as theymight seem to a stranger theywere thecenter of the world for those who lived in the country around. Here wheremountains and desert met, the town was changing. It was growing with thehopesofitscitizensandwiththechangingoftimesandneeds.Thisspring,forexample, flowershadbeenplanted in theyardofahousenear thechurch,andtreeshadbeentrimmedinanother.

Fromahaphazardcollectionofbuildingscateringtotheneedsofatransientpeople,thetownofSentinelwasacquiringasenseofbelonging,aconsciousnessofthefuture.Thedaysofcattledrivesweresoontobegoneandwheretheyhadwalkedmenwouldbuildandplantandharvest.

FitzMooreturnedintotheemptyalleybetweentheEmporiumandthegeneralstore.Thoughtsofhisproblemreturned.Withthemarshaldeadthetownwouldbehelplessuntilmencouldgather,choosealeader,andact.Forthemomentthetownwouldbehelpless.

Buthowdidtheyplantokillhim?Thatithadbeenplannedhewassure,butitmust be done soon and quickly, for the marshal would be the focal point ofresistance.

Theloftoftheabandonedbarncommandedaviewofthestreet.Theoutlawswouldcomeinto townriding toward thebarnandsomewherealong thatstreetthemarshalofSentinelwouldbewalking,coveredbyahiddenrifleman.

He climbed up the stairs to the barn loft. The dust on the steps had beendisturbed.At the topaboardcreakedunderhisboot.Aratscurriedaway.Theloftwaswideandempty,onlydustandwispsofhay,afewcobwebs.

Fromthatwidedoortheraidmightbestopped,butthiswasnottheplaceforhim.Hisplacewasdownthereinthathot,dustystreetwherehispresencewouldcount.Muchremainedtobedoneandtherewasbutlittletime.

Returningtohisquarters,FitzMoorethrustanextragunintohispocketandbeltedonathird.Thenheputtwoshotgunsintoawoolsack.Nobodywouldbesurprisedtoseehimcarryingthesack,forheusedittobringfirewoodfromthepilebackofGard's.

JackThomaswasseatedinachairinfrontoftheliverystable.BarneyGardcame from the saloon, glanced at the marshal as if to assure himself of hispresence, thenwent back inside.FitzMoore paused, relightinghis dead cigar,surveyingthestreetoverthematchandunderthebrimofhishat.

ThetopicofwhatmighthappenhereiftheHenrygangattemptedtoraidwasnot a new one. There had been much speculation. Several men aside fromThomashadbroughtupthesubject,tryingtofeelhimout,todiscoverwhathethought,whathemightplantodo.

JackThomasturnedhisheadtowatchthemarshal.Hewasabig,easygoingmanwithareadysmile.Hehadbeenoneofthefirsttoofferhisservices.

Johnny Haven, seated on the steps of the saloon's porch looked up at themarshal,grinning.“How'sthetownclown?”heasked.

Moorepausedbesidehim,drawingdeeponthecigarandpermittinghimselfaglance toward the loft door, almost sixty yards away and across the street.

Deliberately,hehadplacedhimselfinlinewiththebestshootingposition.

“Johnny,”hesaid,“Ifanythinghappenstome,Iwantyoutohavethisjob.IfnothinghappenstomeIwantyouformydeputy.”

YoungHavencouldnothavebeenmoreastonished,buthewasalsodeeplymoved.Helookedupatthemarshalasifhethoughthismindhadbeenaffectedbytheheat.Asidefromthewordstheveryfactthatthemarshalhadventuredapersonalremarkwasastonishing.

“You'retwenty-six,Johnny,andit'stimeyougrewup.You'veplayedatbeingthe town roughneck long enough. I've looked the town over, and I've decidedyou'rethemanforthejob.”

Johnny...Tom.Hetriedtoavoidthinkingofthemtogetherbuttherewasaconnection. Tom had been a good man, too. Now he was a good man gone.Johnnywasagoodone,noquestionaboutit.Hehadheardmanystoriesofhowdependablehewasoutontherange,butJohnnywaswalkingthehairlineofthelaw.Asteptoofarandhecouldbecomeanoutlaw.

JohnnyHavenwasprofoundly impressed.Tosay thathebothrespectedandadmired this tall, composed man was no more than the truth. After MoorearrestedhimthefirsttimeJohnnyhadbeenfuriousenoughtokillhim,buteachtimehecameintotownhefoundhimselfneatlyboxedandhelpless.

Nor hadMoore ever taken unfair advantage, never striking one blowmorethanessential,neverkeepingthecowhandinjailanhourlongerthannecessary.AndJohnnyHavenwashonestenough to realizehecouldneverhavehandledthesituationaswell.

Anger had dissolved into reluctant admiration. Only stubbornness and theprideofyouthhadpreventedhimfromgivingupthestruggle.

“Whypickonme?”He spoke roughly tocoverhis emotion. “Youwon'tbequitting.”

Therewasafaintsuggestionofmovementfromtheloft.Themarshalglancedathiswatch.Twominutestoten.

“Johnny—?”The sudden change of tone brought Johnny's head up sharply.“When the shooting starts there are two shotguns in this sack.Get behind thewatertroughanduseoneofthem.Shootfromunderthetrough,it'ssafer.”

Tworiderswalkedtheirhorsesintotheupperendofthestreet,almostablockaway.Twomenonpowerfulhorses,muchbetterhorsesthanwereusuallyfoundonanycowranch.

Three more riders emerged from the space between the buildings, comingfrom the direction of Peterson's corral. One of themwas riding a gray horse.They were within twenty yards when Barney Gard came from his salooncarrying two canvas bags.Hewas starting for the bank, and one of the ridersreinedhishorsearoundtocomebetweenGardandhisgoal.

“Shotguninthesack,Gard.”Themarshal'stonewasconversational.

Then,sunlightglintedona riflebarrel in the loftdoor.FitzMoore tookonestepforwardanddrew.Thethunderoftheriflemergedalittlelatewiththebarkofhisowngun.Therifleclattered,falling,andanarmfelllooselyfromtheloftdoor.

Themarshal'sturnwasabrupt,yetsmooth.“Allright,Henry!”Hisvoiceliketheblareofatrumpetinthenarrowstreet.“You'veaskedforit!Nowtakeit!”

Therewasnorequest forsurrender.Theropeawaited thesemen,deathrodetheirhandsandtheirguns.

As one man they went for their guns. The marshal leaped into the street,landing flat-footed and firing. The instant of surprise was his, and they weremounted on nervous horses. His first shot had killed theman in the loft, thesecondkilledFredHenry.

Behindandtohisrightashotgun'sdeeproarblastedthesun-filledmorning.Themanonthegrayhorsediedfalling,hisgunthrowingauselessshotintothehot,stillair.

Arider leapedhishorseat themarshalbutFitzMoorestoodhisgroundandfired.Therider'sfaceseemedtodisintegrateundertheimpactofthebullet.

Andthentherewassilence.Theroaringofgunswasgoneandonlythefaintsmells lingered, theacrid tangofgunpowder,ofbloodin thedust, thebrightercrimsonofbloodonasaddle.

Johnny Haven got up slowly from behind the horse trough. Barney Gardstaredaroundasifjustawakened,thecanvasbagsathisfeet,hishandsgrippingtheshotgunJohnnyhadthrownhim.

Therewasababbleofsoundthenandpeoplerunningintothestreet,andagirlwithgrayeyeswatching.Thoseeyesseemedtoreachacrossthestreetandintotheheartofthemarshal.

“Onlyoneshot!”BarneyGardexclaimed.“Igotoffonlyoneshotandmissedthatone!”

“TheHenrygangwipedout!”yelledanexcitedcitizen. “WaituntilThomashearsthat!”

“Hewon'tbelistenin',”somebodysaid.“Theygothim.”

FitzMooreturnedlikeaduelist.“Igothim,”hesaidflatly.“Hewastheirman.HetriedallmorningtofindoutwhatI'ddoiftheyshowedup.Besides,hewashostlerattheliverystableatthetimeoftheholdupattheSprings.”

Anhour later JohnnyHaven followed themarshal into the street.Fourmenweredead,twowereinjail.

“Howdidyouknow,Marshal?”

“Youlearn,Johnny.Youlearnoryoudie.That'syourlessonfortoday.Learntobe in the rightplaceat the right timeandkeepyourowncouncil.You'llbegettingmyjob.”Hiscigarwasgone.Hebittheendfromanotherandcontinued.

“JackThomaswastheonlymantheriderofthegrayhorsecouldhavevisitedwithoutcrossingthestreet.Nooutlawwouldhaveleftthehorsehewouldneedforaquickgetawayonthewrongsideofthestreet.”

WhenhereturnedtotheeatinghouseJuliaHeathwasathertableagain.Shewaswhiteandshaken.

“Iamsorry,Julia,butnowyouknowhowlittle timethereiswhengunsaredrawn.Thesemencametostealthemoneyhonestmenworkedtoearn,andtheywouldhavekilledagainastheyhavekilledbefore.Suchmenknowonlythelawofthegun.”Heplacedhishandsonthetable.“Ishouldhaverecognizedyouatonce,Julia,butIneverimagined,afterwhathappened,thatyouwouldcome.Ihad forgotten aboutTom's ranch.Hewas proudof you, Julia, andhewasmybestfriend.”

“Butyoukilledhim.”

MarshalMooregesturedtowardthestreet.“Itwaslikethat.Gunsexploding,aman dying almost atmy feet, then someone rushing up behindme in a townwhereIhadnofriends.Ifiredatamanwhowasshootingatme,turnedandfiredatonerunningupbehindme.Ikilledmybestfriend,yourbrother.”

Sheknewnowhowitmusthavebeenforthisman,andshewassilent.

“Andnow?”sheaskedfinally.

“MyjobgoestoJohnnyHaven,butIshallstayhereandtrytohelpthetowngrow.Thisfightshouldenditforawhile.Inthemeantimethetowncanmature,settledown,andbecomeaplacetoliveininsteadofjustaplacetocampforthenight.”

“I—Iguessit'sworthdoing.”

“It is.”Heputdownhisunlightedcigar. “Youwill bedrivingover to settleTom'sestate.Whenyoucomebackyoumightfeellikestoppingoffagain.Ifyoudo,I'llbewaitingtoseeyou.”

Shelookedathim,lookingbeyondthecoldness,thestillness,seeingthemanherbrothermusthaveknown.“IthinkIshall.IthinkIwillstop...whenIcomeback.”

Outinthestreetamanwasrakingdustovertheblood.Backofthebarnanoldhen cackled, and somewhere a pumpbegan to complain rustily, drawing clearwaterfromadeep,coldwell.

BLUFFCREEKSTATION

THESTAGEWAStwohours late intoBluffCreekand thestationhostlerhadrecoveredhispain-wrackedconsciousnessthreetimes.Aftertwofutileattemptstomovehimselfhehadgivenupand laysprawledon the roughboardsof thefloorwithabrokenbackandanuglyholeinhisside.

Hewas amanofmiddle years, his jawunshaved andhis hair rumpled andstreakedwithgray.Hissoiledshirtandhomespun jeansweredarkwithblood.Therewasoneunlacedbootonhisleftfoot.Theotherbootlaynearafireplacegraywithancientashes.

Thereweretwobenchesandafewscatteredtools,someoddbitsofharness,anoverturnedchair,andatableonwhichweresomeunwasheddishes.Nearthehostler'srighthandlayaSpencerrifle,andbeyonditadouble-barreledshotgun.On thefloornearby,withineasyreach,adouble rowofneatlyspacedshotgunand rifle shells. Scattered about were a number of used shells from bothweapons,mutemementosofhisfour-hourbattlewithattackingIndians.

Now,forslightlymorethantwohourstherehadbeennoattack,yetheknewtheywereoutthere,awaitingthearrivalofthestage,anditwasforthishelived,tofireawarningshotbeforethestagecouldstopatthestation.Thelastshottheyfired,fromaSharps .50,hadwreckedhisspine.Thebloodywoundinhissidehadcomeearlierinthebattle,andhehadstuffeditwithcottontornfromanoldmattress.

Outside,graycloudshunglow,threateningrain,andoccasionalgustsofwindrattledthedriedleavesonthetrees,orstirredthemalongthehardground.

The stage station squatted in dwarfish discomfort at the foot of a bluff, thestationwasconstructedofblockspicked from the slide-rockat the footof the

bluff, and it was roofed with split cedar logs covered with earth. Two smallwindowsstaredinmutewondermentattheemptyroadandattheraggedbrushbeforeitwheretheIndianswaited.

Three Indians, he believed, had died in the battle, and probably he hadwoundedasmanymore,buthedistrustedcountingIndiancasualties,foralltoooftentheywereoverestimated.AndtheIndiansalwayscarriedawaytheirdead.

TheIndianswantedthestage,thehorsesthatdrewit,andtheweaponsofthepeople inside. There was no way to warn the driver or passengers unless hecoulddoit.Thehostlerlayonhisbackstaringupattheceiling.

He had no family, and he was glad of that now. Ruby had run off with atinhorn fromAlta someyearsback,and therehadbeennoword fromher,norhadhewishedforit.Occasionally,hethoughtofher,butwithoutanimosity.Hewasnot,heremindedhimself,aneasymanwithwhomtolive,norwashemuchofaperson.Hehadbeenasimple,hardworkingman,inclinedtodrinktoomuch,andoftenquarrelsomewhendrinking.

Hehadnoillusions.Heknewhewasfinished.Theheavyleadslugthathadsmashedthebaseofhisspinehadkilledhim.Onlyanironwillhadkeptlifeinhisbody,andhedoubtedhisabilitytokeepittheremuchlonger.Hislegswerealready dead and there was a coldness in his fingers that frightened him. Hewouldneedthosefingerstofirethewarningshot.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for the shotgun and loaded it with fumbling,clumsyfingers.Thenhewedged theshotgun intoplace in theunderpinningofhisbunk.Itwasaimedatnothing,butallheneededwastheshot,thedullboomitwouldmake,awarningtothosewhorodethestagethatsomethingwasamiss.

Hemanaged to knot a string to the trigger so it could be pulled even if hecouldnot reach the trigger.Hisextremitieswouldgo firstand theneven ifhisfingerswereuselesshecouldpullthetriggerwithhisteeth.

Exhaustedbyhis effortshe laybackand staredupat thedarkeningceiling,withoutbitterness,waitingforthehigh,piercingyellofthestagedriverandtherumbleandrattleofthestage'swheelsasitapproachedthestation.

Five miles east, the heavily loaded stage rolled along the dusty trailaccompaniedby its followingplumeofdust.Thehumped-upcloudshung lowovertheserratedridges.Uponthebox,KickapooJacksonhandledthelinesandbesidehimHankWellswasridingshotgun.Wellswasdeadheadingithomeastherewas nothing to guard comingwest.He had his revolving shotgun and arifle with him from force of habit. The third man who rode the top, lyingbetweensomesacksofmail,wasMarshalBradDelaney,aformerbuffalohunterandIndianfighter.

Inside thestagea stocky,handsomeboywithbrownhair satbesideaprettygirl in rumpled finery.Both looked tiredandwere,but the fact that theywererecentlymarriedwaswrittenalloverthem.HalfthewayfromKansasCitytheyhadtalkedoftheirhopesanddreams,andtheirexcitementhadbeeninfectious.Theyhadenlisted theadviceand sympathyof thoseatop thecoachaswell asthosewhorodeinside.

The tall man of forty with hair already gray at the temples was Dr. DaveMoody,headingfor theminingcampsofNevada tobeginanewpracticeafterseveralyearsofsuccessfulworkinNewEngland.MajorGlenFaradaysatbesidehim at thewindow. Faradaywas aWest Pointman, now discharged from thearmyandenroutewesttobuildaflumeforanirrigationproject.

MaHarrigan,whoranaboardinghouseinAustinandwasreputedtomakethebestpieswestoftheRockies,satbesideJohnnyRyan,headedwesttothefatherhehadneverseen.

Kickapoo Jackson swung the Concord around a bend and headed into anarrowdraw.“Neverlikedthisplace!”heshouted.“Toohandyforinjuns!”

“Seenanyaround?”Delaneyasked.

“Nope!ButthehostleratBluffCreekhadhimabrushwiththemawhileback.Hedriv'emoff,though!That'sagoodman,yonder!”

“That's his kid down below,” Wells said. “Does he know the kid's comin'west?”

“Know?”Kickapoospat.“Ryandon'tevenknowhe'sgotakid!Hiswiferun

offwithano-accountgamblera fewyearsback!When thegambler foundshewascarryin'anotherman'schildhejustupandlefther.Shehadn'tknownaboutthekidwhensheleftRyan.”

“Sheneverwentback?”

“Tooproud,Ireckon.ShewaitedtablesinKansasCityawhile,thengotsickly.Reckonshedied.Thefolkstheboylivedwithaskedmetobringhimbacktohisdad.Ol'Ryanwillsurebesurprised!”

Thegrade steepenedand Jackson slowed the stage for the longclimb.BradDelaneysatupandsurveyedthesage-coveredhillswithawaryeye,cradlinghisWinchesteronhisknees.Nochanceofsurprising themheredespite theirslowpace.HeretheIndianswouldbeintheopenwhichwouldmeansuicideforthem.HankWellswasaseasonedfightingmanandtherewasn'tabettermanwiththeribbonsthanoldKickapoo.

DowninsidetheyhadDoc,whohadfoughtinthewarbetweenthestates,andthemajor,whowasaveteransoldier.Theynewlymarriedkidhandledariflelikeheknewwhatitwasmeantfor,andunlesstheywerecompletelysurprised,anybatchofraiderswouldrunintotroublewiththisstage.

AtBluffCreekallwasquiet.DudRyanstaredupintothegatheringdarknessandwaited.Fromtimetotimehecouldputaneyetoacrackandstudytheroadandtheareabeyondit.Theywerethere...waiting.

DelaneyandWellswouldbe riding the stage this trip, and theywerecannymen.Yet theywould not be expecting trouble at the stage station.When theyrolled into sightof it therewouldbea letdown,aneasing-off, and the Indianswouldgetoffavolleybeforethemenonthestageknewwhathitthem.

WithBradandHankoutof thepicture,andpossiblyKickapooJackson, thepassengerscouldbeslaughteredlikesomanymice.Caughtinsidethesuddenlystalled stage, with only its flimsy sides to protect them, they would have nochance.

Only one thing remained.Hemust somehow remain alive towarn them.Awarningshotwouldhave them instantlyalert, andHankWellswouldwhipup

histeamandtheywouldgothroughandpastthestationatadeadrun.Towarnthemhemustbealive.

Alive?

Well, he knewhewasdying.Hehadknown from themoment he took thatlarge caliber bullet in the spine.Without rancor he turned the ideaover in hismind.Lifehadn'tgivenhimmuch,afterall.Yetdyingwouldn'tbesobadifhefeltthathisdyingwoulddoanygood.

Thetroublewas,nomanwaseverreadytodie.Therewasalwayssomethingmoretodo,somethingundone,evenifonlytocrossthestreet.

Behind him the years stretched empty and alone.Even the good yearswithRubylookedbleakwhenhethoughtofthem.Hehadneverbeenabletogiveheranything,andmaybe thatwaswhyhedrank.Likeallkidshehadhis shareofdreams, andhewas ready to take theworldby the throat and shake it until itgavehimthethingshedesired.Onlystronger,moreablemenseemedalwaystoget what he wanted. Their women had the good things and there had beennothingmuchhecoulddo forRuby.Normuch forhimselfbuthardworkandprivation.

Rubyhadstuckbyhimevenafterhebegantohitthebottletoohard.Sheusedto talk of having a nice house somewhere, andmaybeof traveling, seeing theworld andmeeting people.All he had givenherwas a series of smallminingcamps,ramshacklecabins,andnothingmuchtolookforwardtobutmoreofthesame.Hisdream,likesomanyothers,wastomakethebigstrike,butheneverhad.

ThetinhornwasaslicktalkerandRubywaspretty,prettierthanmost.Hehadtalkedmighty big of the places hewould show her, andwhat theywould do.EvenwhenDudfollowedhimhomeonenightandgavehimabeating,Rubyhadcontinuedtomeethim.Thentheyranoff.

Atthetimetheyhadbeenjustbreakingevenonwhathemadefromoddjobs,andthenhegotasteadyjobwiththestageline.Herushedhomewiththenews,foritmeanthe'dhavechargeofthestationatHaverHill,acool,pleasantlittlehousewheretheycouldraisesomechickensandhaveaflowergardenaswellas

aplacetoraisegardentruck.Itwasalwaysgiventoamarriedman,andhehadlandedit.Herushedhomewiththenews.

Thehousewasempty.Hehadneverseenitsoemptybecauseherclothesweregone and therewas only the note . . . he still had it . . . telling him shewasleavinghim.

HegaveupHaverHillthenandtookaseriesofbadstationswheretheworkwashardandtherewasmuchfighting.Hissalarywasn'tbadandhehadsavedsomemoney,boughtafewhorses,andbroketeamsduringhissparetime.Thestagecompany itselfhadboughthorses fromhim,andhewasdoingwell.Forthefirsttimehemanagedtosavesomemoney,togetahead.

TherewasnowordfromRubyalthoughheneverstoppedhopingshewouldwrite. He did not want her back, but he hoped she was doing well and washappy.Also,hewantedhertoknowhowwellhewasdoing.

Hedidhearaboutthetinhorn,anditwasfromBradDelaneythathegotthenews.ThetinhornhadshowedupinElPasoalone.FromtherehedriftednorthtoMobeetie, and finally toFortGriffin.Therehehad tried tooutsmart amanwhowassmarter,andwhencaughtcheatinghetriedtooutdrawhim.

“Whathappened?”Dudhadasked.

“What could happen? He tackled a man who wouldn't take anything fromanybody, some fellowwhoused tobe adentist butwasdyingof tuberculosis.That dentist put two bullets into that tinhorn's skull, and he's buried in anunmarkedgraveinBootHill.”

DudRyanwrotetoElPasobuttheletterwasreturned.TherewasnotraceofRuby.Nobodyknewwherethetinhornhadcomefromandthetrailendedthere.RyanhadaboutconvincedhimselfthatRubywasdead.

Hetriedtomove,buttheagonyinhisbackheldhimstill.Ifonlyhecouldlivelongenough!Wherethehellwasthestage?Itshouldhavebeenalonghoursago.

Hegroundhisteethinpainandsethismindontheonethought:Live!Live!Live!

Delaney,Wells,andoldKickapoowere toogoodtodie inanambush.Theywerestrongmen,decentmen,thekindthecountryneeded.Theywouldn'thavelethimdown,andhe'dbedamnedifhewouldfailthem.

I'mtough,hetoldhimself,I'mtoughenoughtolast.

He triedandafteramoment succeeded in liftinghishand.His fingerswereclumsyandhishandfeltcold.TherewerenoIndiansinsightbuthedarednotfire, anyway, for he could never load the gun again. He just had towait . . .somehow.

Hecouldnolongermakeoutthesplitlogsintheceiling.Theshadowsweredarkernow,andtheroomwasdarker.Wasitreallythatmuchlater?Orwashedying?Wasthispartofit?

Once he thought he heard a far-off yell, and he gripped the trigger of theshotgun, but the yell was not repeated. His lips fumbled for words fumbledthroughthethickeningfoginhisbrain.Live!hetoldhimself.You'vegottolive!

“Ruby,”hemuttered,“'sallright,Ruby.Idon'tblameyou.”

Heworkedhismouthbuthis lipsweredry,andhis tonguefeltheavy inhismouth.“Live!”hewhispered.“Please,God!Letmelive!”

Somethingstirredinthebrushacrosstheway,andtheshadowofmovementcaught his eye.An Indianwas peering toward the station.And thenwild andclearheheardKickapoo'syell.“Yeeow!”

DudRyanfeltafiercesurgeofjoy.He'smadeit!BytheLordHarry,he'd—!Hetriedtosqueeze,buthisfingersfailedhimandhishandfellaway,felltothefloor.

Hecouldhearthepoundofhoovesnow,andtherattleofthestage.

Herolledover, thestabbingpainfromhisbrokenspinewrenchingascreamfromhim,butinalast,terribleburstofenergyhemanagedtograsptherawhidein his teeth and jerk down. The twin barrels of the shotgun thundered, anenormous bellow of sound in the empty room. Instantly therewas a crash ofsoundtherollingstage,riflesfiring,andallhellbreakinglooseoutside.

Kickapoo Jacksonwas rolling the stage down the slight hill toBluffCreekwhenheheardtheroarofthegun.BradDelaneycameuponhisknees,rifleinhand,butitwasWellswiththerevolvingshotgunwhosawthefirstIndian.HisshotgunbellowedandDelaney'sriflebeatoutarapidtattooofsound,andfrombelowpistolsandariflewerefiring.

The attack began and ended in that brief instant of gunfire, for the Indianswerenofoolsandtheirambushhadfailed.Swiftly,theyretired,slippingawayinthegatheringdarknessandcarryingthreedeadwarriorswiththem.

Jacksonsawedtheteamtoahalt,andDelaneydroppedtothegroundandsentthreefastshotsaftertheretreatingIndians.

DocMoodypushedopen thedoorandsaw thedyingman, the rawhide stillgrippedinhisteeth.Withagentlehandhetookitaway.

“Youdon'tneedtotellme,Doc.I'vehadit.”Sweatbeadedhisforehead.“I'veknownfor...hours.Had—hadto...warn...”

HankWellsdroppedtohiskneesbesideRyan.“Dud,yousavedusall,butyousavedmorethanyouknow.Yousavedyourownson!”

“Son?”

“Rubyhadaboy,Dud.Yourboy.He'sfournow,andhe'soutsidetherewithMaHarrigan.”

“Myboy?Isavedmyboy?”

“Ruby's dead, Ryan,” Delaney said. “She was sending the boy to you, butwe'llcareforhim,allofus.”

Heseemedtohear,triedtospeak,anddiedthereontheflooratBluffCreekStation.

DocMoodygottohisfeet.“Byrights,”hesaid,“thatmanshouldhavebeendeadhoursago.”

“Guts,”HankWellssaid,“Dudneverhadmuchbuthealwayshadguts.”

Doc Moody nodded. “I don't know how you boys feel about it, but I'madoptingaboy.”

“He'll have four uncles then,” Jackson said. “The boy will have to have afamily.”

“Countusinonthat,”thenewlywedsaid.“Wewanttobesomethingtohim.Maybeabrotherandsister,orsomething.”

They've built a motel where the stage station stood, and not long ago agrandson and a great-grandson of Dud Ryan walked up the hill where somecedar grew, and stood beside Dud Ryan's grave. They stopped only a fewminutes,enroutetoafamilyreunion.

There were fifty-nine descendants of Dud Ryan, although the name wasdifferent.OnediedintheArgonneForestandtwoonabeachinNormandyandanother died in a hospital in Vietnam after surviving an ambush. There wereeleven physicians and surgeons at the reunion, one ex-governor, two statesenators, a locomotive engineer, and a crossing guard. There were twobusdriversanda schoolteacher, severalhousewives, andacountry storekeeper.Theyhadonethingincommon:TheyallcarriedthebloodofRyan,whodiedatBluffCreekStationonalateOctoberevening.

AboutLouisL'Amour

“Ithinkofmyselfintheoraltradition—asatroubadour,avillagetale-teller,themanintheshadowsofthecampfire.That'sthewayI'dliketoberemembered—asastoryteller.Agoodstoryteller.”

ITISDOUBTFULthatanyauthorcouldbeasathomeintheworldre-createdinhis novels as Louis Dearborn L'Amour. Not only could he physically fill thebootsoftheruggedcharactershewroteabout,butheliterally“walkedthelandmycharacterswalk.”Hispersonalexperiencesaswellashislifelongdevotiontohistorical research combined to giveMr. L'Amour the unique knowledge andunderstandingofpeople,events,andthechallengeoftheAmericanfrontierthatbecamethehallmarksofhispopularity.

Of French-Irish descent,Mr. L'Amour could trace his own family inNorthAmericabacktotheearly1600sandfollowtheirsteadyprogressionwestward,“alwaysonthefrontier.”AsaboygrowingupinJamestown,NorthDakota,heabsorbedallhecouldabouthisfamily'sfrontierheritage,includingthestoryofhisgreat-grandfatherwhowasscalpedbySiouxwarriors.

Spurredbyaneagercuriosityanddesiretobroadenhishorizons,Mr.L'Amourleft home at the age of fifteen and enjoyed a wide variety of jobs, includingseaman,lumberjack,elephanthandler,skinnerofdeadcattle,andminer,andwasan officer in the transportation corps during World War II. During his“yondering”dayshealsocircledtheworldonafreighter,sailedadhowontheRedSea,wasshipwreckedintheWestIndiesandstrandedintheMojaveDesert.Hewon fifty-one of fifty-nine fights as a professional boxer andworked as ajournalist and lecturer.Hewas a voracious reader and collector of rare books.Hispersonallibrarycontained17,000volumes.

Mr. L'Amour “wanted to write almost from the time I could talk.” Afterdevelopingawidespread following forhismany frontierandadventure stories

writtenforfictionmagazines,Mr.L'Amourpublishedhisfirstfull-lengthnovel,Hondo,intheUnitedStatesin1953.Everyoneofhismorethan120booksisinprint; there aremore than270million copiesofhisbooks inprintworldwide,makinghimoneofthebestsellingauthorsinmodernliteraryhistory.Hisbookshave been translated into twenty languages, and more than forty-five of hisnovelsandstorieshavebeenmadeintofeaturefilmsandtelevisionmovies.

HishardcoverbestsellersincludeTheLonesomeGods,TheWalkingDrum(histwelfth-century historical novel), Jubal Sackett, Last of the Breed, and TheHaunted Mesa. His memoir, Education of a Wandering Man, was a leadingbestseller in 1989. Audio dramatizations and adaptations of many L'AmourstoriesareavailableoncassettetapesfromBantamAudioPublishing.

Therecipientofmanygreathonorsandawards,in1983Mr.L'Amourbecamethe first novelist ever to be awarded the Congressional Gold Medal by theUnitedStatesCongressinhonorofhislife'swork.In1984hewasalsoawardedtheMedalofFreedombyPresidentReagan.

Louis L'Amour died on June 10, 1988. His wife, Kathy, and their twochildren,BeauandAngelique,carrytheL'Amourpublishingtraditionforward.

BantamBooksbyLouisL’AmourASKYOURBOOKSELLERFORTHEBOOKSYOUHAVEMISSED.

NOVELSBendigoShafter

BordenChantry

Brionne

TheBrokenGun

TheBurningHills

TheCalifornios

Callaghen

Catlow

Chancy

TheCherokeeTrail

ComstockLode

Conagher

CrossfireTrail

DarkCanyon

DowntheLongHills

TheEmptyLand

FairBlowstheWind

Fallon

TheFergusonRifle

TheFirstFastDraw

Flint

GunsoftheTimberlands

HangingWomanCreek

TheHauntedMesa

HellerwithaGun

TheHighGraders

HighLonesome

Hondo

HowtheWestWasWon

TheIronMarshal

TheKey-LockMan

KidRodelo

Kilkenny

Killoe

Kilrone

KiowaTrail

LastoftheBreed

LastStandatPapagoWells

TheLonesomeGods

TheManCalledNoon

TheManfromSkibbereen

TheManfromtheBrokenHills

Matagorda

MiloTalon

TheMountainValleyWar

NorthtotheRails

OverontheDrySide

Passin’Through

TheProvingTrail

TheQuickandtheDead

Radigan

Reilly’sLuck

TheRiderofLostCreek

RiversWest

TheShadowRiders

Shalako

ShowdownatYellowButte

SilverCanyon

Sitka

SonofaWantedMan

Taggart

TheTallStranger

ToTameaLand

Tucker

UndertheSweetwaterRim

UtahBlaine

TheWalkingDrum

WestwardtheTide

WheretheLongGrassBlows

SHORTSTORYCOLLECTIONS

BeyondtheGreatSnowMountains

Bowdrie

Bowdrie’sLaw

BuckskinRun

TheCollectedShortStoriesofLouisL’Amour:TheFrontierStories,VolumeOne

Dutchman’sFlat

EndoftheDrive

TheHillsofHomicide

LawoftheDesertBorn

LongRideHome

Lonigan

MayThereBeaRoad

MonumentRock

NightovertheSolomons

OfftheMangroveCoast

TheOutlawsofMesquite

TheRideroftheRubyHills

RidingfortheBrand

TheStrongShallLive

TheTrailtoCrazyMan

ValleyoftheSun

WarParty

WestfromSingapore

WestofDodge

WithTheseHands

Yondering

SACKETTTITLESSackett’sLand

TotheFarBlueMountains

TheWarrior’sPath

JubalSackett

RidetheRiver

TheDaybreakers

Sackett

Lando

MojaveCrossing

MustangMan

TheLonelyMen

Galloway

TreasureMountain

LonelyontheMountain

RidetheDarkTrail

TheSackettBrand

TheSky-Liners

THEHOPALONGCASSIDYNOVELSTheRustlersofWestFork

TheTrailtoSevenPines

TheRidersofHighRock

TroubleShooter

NONFICTIONEducationofaWanderingMan

Frontier

THESACKETTCOMPANION:APersonalGuidetotheSackettNovels

ATRAILOFMEMORIES:TheQuotationsofLouisL’Amour,compiledbyAngeliqueL’Amour

POETRYSmokefromThisAltar

THESTRONGSHALLLIVEABantamBook

PUBLISHINGHISTORYBantameditionpublishedJanuary1980

Bantamreissue/September1992Bantamreissue/April2004

PublishedbyBantamDell

ADivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.NewYork,NewYork

AllrightsreservedCopyright©1980byLouis&KatherineL'AmourTrust.

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronicormechanical,includingphotocopying,recording,orbyanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,withoutthewrittenpermissionofthepublisher,exceptwherepermittedbylaw.Forinformationaddress:Bantam

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Visitourwebsiteatwww.bantamdell.com

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PublishedsimultaneouslyinCanada

eISBN:978-0-55389860-6

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