For a long while after the men had left the ranch Dawn wondered why Hashknife had asked all those questions. Why would an absolute stranger quiz her like that, she wondered? What was behind those level gray eyes, and that smile that seemed to drive her sorrows away for a moment? She was so sleepy and weary that she could hardly remember just what he looked like; but she remembered his eyes. And he seemed just an ordinary cowboy; the other man seemed to be one continuous grin and blue eyes.Her mother, wearied from the all-night vigil, came out to her on the porch and they sat down together.“Mose pretty bad hurt,” she said dully. “He talk long time ago. Long time ago he friend to Frank Moran.”“I know,” said Dawn.“Two strange men come,” said Mrs. Conley.“With the sheriff,” said Dawn.“What they want?”Dawn shook her head slowly.“I don’t know, mother. I think they want to find out who shot Dad.”“Easy find out, Dawn. Everybody know.”“I suppose.”“Funny life,” said the old Indian woman. “Frank Moran hate Mose Conley; Mose Conley hate Frank Moran. Now both have son in jail for same thing.”“I told that man what Ryker said to you, mother?”Mrs. Conley looked curiously at Dawn.“I told him that Ryker came to see me and talked with you,” said Dawn. “This man knew what Ryker said.”“You tell him what Ryker say about turn Pete loose if you marry him?”“I didn’t tell him all about it; he seemed to know.”“Ryker tell him, Dawn?”“No.”Dawn got to her feet and looked down the road. Some one was riding up along the road. It was Ryker. Dawn knew who it was as soon as she saw him, even at that distance.“Ryker is coming now,” she said. “I won’t talk to him.”“I talk to him,” said her mother, and Dawn went into the house.The prosecuting attorney guided his horse up to the porch and smiled a greeting to Mrs. Conley, who gave a short nod of her head in acknowledgment. He dismounted and came to the corner of the porch. Perhaps he wasn’t exactly sure of his reception.“I heard about the trouble,” he told her.“Pretty damn bad,” she said inelegantly.Ryker mopped his brow with a clean handkerchief and came up on the porch.“Met the sheriff and two men,” he said jerkily. “Out here, wasn’t they?”Mrs. Conley nodded. Ryker cleared his throat harshly.“I thought so. Know who those two men are?”“Pretty smart,” she said. “Tall man tell Dawn what you tell me.”“Eh?” Ryker blinked rapidly. “What do you mean?”“Tall man tell Dawn you turn Peter loose if she marry you.”“The tall man said!” Ryker stopped, staring at her. “Who told you this, Mrs. Conley?”“Dawn tell me.”“Who told the tall man?”“Nobody.”Ryker scowled heavily at the Indian woman.“You told him,” he declared.“You lie. I never talk to man.”“You told Dawn and she told him.”“’Nother lie. He tell Dawn. Pretty damn smart.”“Too damn smart,” growled Ryker. “What did Dawn say when you told her?”“I can answer that, Mr. Ryker.”The prosecuting attorney turned quickly to see Dawn in the doorway.“Why!” he began breathlessly.“I heard what was said,” continued Dawn. “The other time you were here I heard what you said, Mr. Ryker. Are you the law?”“The law?” faltered Ryker.“Yes, the law. They say Peter may hang for the murder of Mallette. Can you trade Peter’s life for a marriage? Is that what the law is for—trade goods?”Ryker flushed angrily.“You don’t understand,” he said huskily. “It isn’t a case of trading, Dawn. I—I want you.”“And I don’t want you,” she said evenly. “Go home.”“Oh, all right,” Ryker turned angrily and walked to his horse. He started to get on, but hesitated and turned to Dawn. “I suppose you know your father hasn’t hired a lawyer to defend Pete. The trial starts Monday.”He mounted and rode away, cursing his own luck and wondering how Hashknife Hartley knew about the proposition he had made to Mrs. Conley. English Ed had said that Hartley was a dangerous man, and Ryker was inclined to believe him.
For a long while after the men had left the ranch Dawn wondered why Hashknife had asked all those questions. Why would an absolute stranger quiz her like that, she wondered? What was behind those level gray eyes, and that smile that seemed to drive her sorrows away for a moment? She was so sleepy and weary that she could hardly remember just what he looked like; but she remembered his eyes. And he seemed just an ordinary cowboy; the other man seemed to be one continuous grin and blue eyes.
Her mother, wearied from the all-night vigil, came out to her on the porch and they sat down together.
“Mose pretty bad hurt,” she said dully. “He talk long time ago. Long time ago he friend to Frank Moran.”
“I know,” said Dawn.
“Two strange men come,” said Mrs. Conley.
“With the sheriff,” said Dawn.
“What they want?”
Dawn shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know, mother. I think they want to find out who shot Dad.”
“Easy find out, Dawn. Everybody know.”
“I suppose.”
“Funny life,” said the old Indian woman. “Frank Moran hate Mose Conley; Mose Conley hate Frank Moran. Now both have son in jail for same thing.”
“I told that man what Ryker said to you, mother?”
Mrs. Conley looked curiously at Dawn.
“I told him that Ryker came to see me and talked with you,” said Dawn. “This man knew what Ryker said.”
“You tell him what Ryker say about turn Pete loose if you marry him?”
“I didn’t tell him all about it; he seemed to know.”
“Ryker tell him, Dawn?”
“No.”
Dawn got to her feet and looked down the road. Some one was riding up along the road. It was Ryker. Dawn knew who it was as soon as she saw him, even at that distance.
“Ryker is coming now,” she said. “I won’t talk to him.”
“I talk to him,” said her mother, and Dawn went into the house.
The prosecuting attorney guided his horse up to the porch and smiled a greeting to Mrs. Conley, who gave a short nod of her head in acknowledgment. He dismounted and came to the corner of the porch. Perhaps he wasn’t exactly sure of his reception.
“I heard about the trouble,” he told her.
“Pretty damn bad,” she said inelegantly.
Ryker mopped his brow with a clean handkerchief and came up on the porch.
“Met the sheriff and two men,” he said jerkily. “Out here, wasn’t they?”
Mrs. Conley nodded. Ryker cleared his throat harshly.
“I thought so. Know who those two men are?”
“Pretty smart,” she said. “Tall man tell Dawn what you tell me.”
“Eh?” Ryker blinked rapidly. “What do you mean?”
“Tall man tell Dawn you turn Peter loose if she marry you.”
“The tall man said!” Ryker stopped, staring at her. “Who told you this, Mrs. Conley?”
“Dawn tell me.”
“Who told the tall man?”
“Nobody.”
Ryker scowled heavily at the Indian woman.
“You told him,” he declared.
“You lie. I never talk to man.”
“You told Dawn and she told him.”
“’Nother lie. He tell Dawn. Pretty damn smart.”
“Too damn smart,” growled Ryker. “What did Dawn say when you told her?”
“I can answer that, Mr. Ryker.”
The prosecuting attorney turned quickly to see Dawn in the doorway.
“Why!” he began breathlessly.
“I heard what was said,” continued Dawn. “The other time you were here I heard what you said, Mr. Ryker. Are you the law?”
“The law?” faltered Ryker.
“Yes, the law. They say Peter may hang for the murder of Mallette. Can you trade Peter’s life for a marriage? Is that what the law is for—trade goods?”
Ryker flushed angrily.
“You don’t understand,” he said huskily. “It isn’t a case of trading, Dawn. I—I want you.”
“And I don’t want you,” she said evenly. “Go home.”
“Oh, all right,” Ryker turned angrily and walked to his horse. He started to get on, but hesitated and turned to Dawn. “I suppose you know your father hasn’t hired a lawyer to defend Pete. The trial starts Monday.”
He mounted and rode away, cursing his own luck and wondering how Hashknife Hartley knew about the proposition he had made to Mrs. Conley. English Ed had said that Hartley was a dangerous man, and Ryker was inclined to believe him.