The two loggers had finished cutting their quota of timber for the homestead cabins and the white peeled logs lay piled and ready to be snaked down to the Three Bar on the first heavy snows of fall. The choppers had transferred their operations to the lower broken slopes which they scoured for the scattered cedars of the foothills, cutting them for fence posts and piling them in spots accessible to the wagons to be hauled whenever the mule teams could be spared.
The acreage of plowed ground increased day by day and would continue till frost claimed the ground. As soon as the brush was burnt the mule teams pulled heavy log drags across the field, pulverizing the lumps and leveling inequalities of the surface.
Evans had been sent out as foreman of the beef round-up while Harris remained behind to direct the operations at the ranch. The details of the new work were unfamiliar ones for the girl and she was entirely absorbed in learning the reasons for every move; so much engrossed, in fact, that she had not left the Three Bar during the month which had elapsed since the dance at Brill's. A few days before Evans was due with the beef herd she rode Papoose away from the ranch, intending to make a long-deferred visit to the Brandons.
After covering two-thirds of the distance along the foot of the hills to the V L she saw a rider dip over a ridge two miles away. She unslung Harris's glasses and dismounted to watch for his reappearance. When he came again into her field of view another man was with him and they were driving a few head of cows before them. They angled into a valley that led off to the south, dropping into it some three miles from her.
She mounted Papoose and headed him on a parallel course, keeping well out of sight behind the intervening waves of ground. After holding her direction at a stiff lope till satisfied that she had passed the men she angled across to intersect their course.
As Papoose topped a low hogback that flanked the valley she saw the men riding toward her down the bottoms, driving twenty or more head of cows. One of the horses threw up his head, his ears pricked sharply toward her, and the swift upward tilt of the rider's hat, as swiftly lowered, informed her that she had been sighted. The other man did not look up. They lifted their horses from a walk to a stiff trot and veered past the cows, then looked up as if just aware of her approach, and waited for her. The men were Bentley and Carp.
Bentley greeted her cheerily. Carp nodded without a word.
"What are you two doing up here?" she demanded without parley.
"I repped with the Three Bar wagon and Carp worked with you for a spell so we sort of know the range," Bentley explained. "Slade sent us up to drift any strays back south."
"Those you were driving are Three Bar stuff—every hoof," she said. "All two-year-old she-stock."
Bentley turned and regarded the little herd they had just passed.
"Them? Sho—we wasn't driving them," Bentley denied easily. "They just drifted ahead of us as we rode down the bottoms. A cow critter will always move on ahead of a man. We rode on past 'em as soon as we decided to amble along."
She knew that they were on safe ground. Any cow would drift on before a horseman.
"The only way to convict a man on a case like this is to shoot him out of the saddle before he has a chance to pass the cows," she said. "That's what will happen to the next Slade rider that gets noticed with any Three Bar cows moving out in front of him and headed south. You can carry that word to Slade."
She whirled Papoose and headed back for the ranch, the intended visit to the Brandons postponed. Harris was piling brush in the lower field when she arrived and she informed him of the act of the two men.
"I wouldn't put it past Carp," he said. "But I hadn't sized Bentley up just that way. It's hard to tell. If Carp shows up here again we'll make him a visit in the middle of the night—and he won't trouble us much after that."
"We'd better pay Slade a night visit too," she said. Her feelings toward Slade had undergone a complete revulsion. She knew beyond a doubt that he had been responsible for the raid on Three Bar bulls. The wild bunch would have had no object in such a foray. Figuring it from any angle Slade was the only one man who could possibly derive any benefit from that. She had come to see that Slade was fighting with his back to the wall,—that he had run his course and come to the end of it if squatters secured a start in his range, and he considered the act of the Three Bar the opening wedge which would throw open the way for the nesters to crowd him out.
The evening of the following day the beef herd trailed into the lower end of the Three Bar valley and bedded for the night. In the morning the trail herd was headed for the railroad under a full crew, for Harris had kept all hands on the job.
There was none of the fast and varied work of the round-up; the trail-herding of beef to market seeming a slow and monotonous procedure in comparison. The cows were drifted slowly south, well spread out and grazing as they moved. Harris detailed two men to ride the "points," the two forward extremities of the herd; two others rode the "drags," holding to either flank of the rear end of the drive. In choppy country he detailed a third pair to skirt the middle flanks and prevent leakage up any feathering coulees.
The chuck wagon followed a mile behind and the horse wrangler brought up the rear, bringing the remuda, much depleted in numbers from full round-up strength, for it now carried but three extra horses for each man.
Three hours out from the Three Bar some of the cows showed a disposition to rest and calmly bedded down; the forward drift of the herd was arrested. After a prolonged rest they rose in scattering groups to feed and once more they were moved slowly to the south. The men not on active duty with the herd rode in knots and whiled away the time as best they could. It was the habit to cover less than twenty miles a day with the beef herd as any strenuous exertion would reduce the weight of the grass-fattened steers.
The drove was a nondescript lot. In addition to the steers and older cows that comprised every trail herd, the off-color she-stock had been carefully culled from the range.
Harris pointed to the bunch.
"Look that assortment over well, Billie," he advised. "A few seasons more, with fair luck, and you won't see one of these rainbow droves with every color from brindle to strawberry roan; none of those humpbacked runts; they'll all be gone. That's almost the last mongrel herd that will ever wear your brand. They'll run better every year until we have all big flat-backed beef stock—a straight white-face run."
The third morning out from the home ranch broke stormy. Gray, leaden skies and low scudding, drab clouds drifted over the foothills and obscured the view of the peaks. A nasty drizzle dampened the face of the world and laid its clammy touch on all living things. This condition prevailed all through the day and shortly after the cows had been milled and bedded for the night the drizzle turned to rain, now falling straight and soft, again in fierce squalls whipped by varying shifts of wind. A saddled night horse was picketed for every man. The wagon stood close under a hill while the herd was bedded on a broad flat at the mouth of a valley.
The men lay in the open, their bed-tarps folded to shed as much moisture as possible. The soggy patter of the rain on her teepee lulled the girl to sleep but she was frequently roused. A dull muttering materialized suddenly into a sharp thunderstorm and the canvas walls of her teepee were almost continuously illuminated by successive flashes. The picketed horses fretted and stamped. Between peals she heard the voices of the night guards singing to soothe their restless charges on the bed ground. One of the men shifted his bed roll from a gathering puddle to some higher point of ground.
She dropped to sleep again but was roused by voices outside as the guards changed shifts and she estimated that it must be near morning, the fourth change of guards.
The sounds ceased as the men who had just been relieved turned in for their sleep. A horse neighed shrilly within a few yards of her teepee. Another took it up and an answer sounded from the flats. There was a crash of pistol shots, a rumble of hoofs and the instant command of Harris.
"Roll out! Roll out!" he called. "Saddles! On your horses."
Even as he shouted there came the swish of wet canvas as the men tumbled from their bed rolls, the imprecations of the suddenly awakened. Billie thrust her head from the teepee flap, the water cascading down her neck. The successive flashes showed the men tugging desperately at boots and chaps, their grotesque, froglike leaps for their tethered mounts. She saw Harris, buckling his belt as he ran, and the next flash showed him vaulting to Calico's back.
The thunder of hoofs drew her eyes to the bed ground where a black mass surged, then bore off up the valley. A scattered line of riders bore down on the herd, two ghostly apparitions among them throwing the cows into a panic of fear. She knew these for riders flapping yellow slickers in the wind. As the light faded she saw three horizontal red streaks cut the obscurity and knew that one of her guards was in the midst of the rustlers, doing his single-handed best. The red splashes of answering shots showed on all sides of him. She tugged on her chaps and boots, slipped Papoose's picket rope and vaulted to his back.
The scene was once more illuminated as she rode from the wagon. A big pinto horse was strung out and running his best, the other Three Bar men pounding after him. A riderless horse circled in the flat, a dark shape sprawled near him, and she wondered which one of her men had gone down. A knot of horsemen were turning up an opening gulch on the far side of the valley. A half-dozen Three Bar riders veered their horses for the spot. Harris turned in his saddle and his voice reached her above the tumult.
"Let 'em go!" he shouted. "Let 'em go! Hold the herd!"
Far off on the opposite side she made out a lone horseman riding at a full run along the sidehill above the cows as he made a supreme effort to reach the head of the run. The Three Bar men split and streamed up both sides of the bottoms. The flashes had ceased except for brief, quivering plays of less than a second's duration. She hung her spurs into Papoose and trusted to his footwork. The swift little horse passed one rider, then another. There were only the rumble of hoofs and the crazed bawling of cows to guide her as she drew near the rear of the herd. A half-flare showed the pinto a bare twenty yards ahead, with Harris putting him at the slope to pass the cows. She swung her own horse after him and she felt the frequent skid of his feet on the treacherous sidehill. Papoose braced on his haunches and slid down a precipitous bank, buckled up the far side and down again, then swooped across a long flat bench. Three times she felt the heaving plunge and jar as the little horse skimmed over cut-bank coulees and washes which her own eyes could not see in the dripping velvet black.
From the sounds below she knew they were well up on the flanks of the run and nearing the peak. The stampede seemed slowing. A long, wavering flash revealed Harris a dozen jumps ahead. Papoose followed the paint-horse as Harris put Calico down the slippery sidehill and lifted him round the point of the herd. In the same flash Billie had seen two slickers out before the peaks of the run, flapping weirdly in the faces of the foremost cows. This accounted for the slowing-up she had sensed. Two of her men were before them and she wondered how this had come to pass.
The lightning-play broke forth once more. She saw two riders swinging round the opposite point. The two slickers were working in the center. Harris's gun flashed six times. She jerked her own and rolled it. The two riders who had just rounded the far point joined in. Cows in the front ranks held back from this fearsome commotion out in front. Others, driven by the pressure behind, forged past them, only to hold back in their turn as the guns flashed before their eyes.
The storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun and for two miles she rode in inky darkness. The last mile was slower. It was showing gray in the east and the night run had spent its force. The herd stopped and the cows gazed stupidly about, standing with drooping heads and heaving sides. Three Bar men showed on both flanks and in the rear. They had held the drove intact and prevented its splitting up in detachments and scattering through the night.
Horne and Moore rode over to them and for the first time the girl noticed that the two men who had wielded slickers out in front of the run were nowhere to be seen.
"Who was the pair out ahead?" Moore asked. "And what swallowed 'em up?"
Harris shook his head.
"Billie and I were the first to make the front," he said.
"Not any," Moore stated positively. "I saw 'em five minutes before you two swung round the point. I was wondering who had outrode the paint-horse and Billie's little nag."
Moore's left side was plastered with mud, as was the left side of his mount.
"I was on guard and halfway up the far side," he said. "Split Ear took a header with me and delayed me some."
He pointed to the mud crusted on his clothes. Billie knew that he was the lone rider she had seen on the flanks of the herd as she rode away from the wagon. The fall accounted for their Founding the point ahead of him. Moore was looking off across the country.
"Do you mean to tell me you didn't see those two slickers flapping out in front?" he demanded.
"I confess I didn't observe any," Harris said. "You're getting spooky, Moore. A couple of white cows, likely, out ahead of the rest."
Moore regarded him curiously.
"Maybe that's so," he said. "Waving their tails in the air, sort of." He grinned and turned his horse to head back a bunch that had drifted out of the herd.
"The boys made a nice ride," Harris said to Horne. "You float round from one to the next and tell 'em we'll soon have a feed. I'll ride back and send the wagon up."
Billie rode with him as he skirted the herd and started on the return trip. Her mind was occupied with the two riders who had slowed the run and disappeared. There had been something familiar about them, for every man has his individual way of sitting a saddle as he has an individuality of gait when on foot. As she had viewed them in the lightning's flash they had closely resembled Bentley and Carp. But she decided that this resemblance had been but a fancied one, suggested by the fact that the two men had been much on her mind of late.
"We're not hurt bad," Harris said. "The boys held them bunched in good shape. Maybe forty or so head down with broken legs—and ten pounds of fat apiece run off the rest."
A hatred of Slade was growing within her. Here, too, was a case where no other would benefit by the senseless stampede. If the beef herd could be broken up it would cause a delay to round it up in a strange range with the certainty of many cows being missed,—a case of weakening the Three Bar.
She had been so absorbed in learning the details of the new work, so elated at its progress, that she had come to believe in its ultimate success. And they had been unmolested for so long a time. Then had come the wanton slaughter of Three Bar bulls and now the stampede of the trail herd. It was conclusive proof that Slade had abandoned his former wearing-down process as too slow and was out to crush the Three Bar in the speediest possible way and through any available means.
There rose in her a flare of resentment against her neighbors, the Brandons of the V L and the McVeys of the Halfmoon D. Both had taken out papers on the best land in their respective localities as soon as forewarned of her intended move. Ostensibly this was done merely as a protection against outsiders but in reality they were hoping that she would win out, in which case they would go through with their filings and prove up. But neither outfit would come out in the open and give her their support, preferring to hold aloof and benefit by her success if it so transpired and lose nothing themselves if she should fail—part of the policy of every man for himself—in the meantime letting her brand bear the brunt of the fight.
Harris, too, was pondering over Slade's change of tactics. He felt assured that Slade's own men had not participated in starting the run. Slade would not let any considerable number of his boys know that much about him. Some of Lang's men had undoubtedly been hired to stampede the Three Bar herd.
"The very fact that Slade is so bald with it is proof that he sees the necessity of crowding us fast," Harris said. "If we get too big a start he's blown up—and he hasn't had anything to work on but plowed ground. He's out now to worry us at odd ends. We can expect a steady run of mishaps now, for he'll work fast—but we'll win out in the end."
She nodded a little wearily for she knew that with Slade throwing all his forces against her the Three Bar would be hard pressed. In addition to this worry her mind was concerned with the riderless horse she had seen as she rode away from the wagon, the huddled figure sprawled in the flat. Every Three Bar rider was a friend and she hesitated to hear which one of her men had gone down in the raid.
"Who was it?" she asked at last, and Harris divined that she was harking back to the fallen night guard who had tried to head the raiders alone.
"I've been trying not to think about that," he said. "Lanky was a good pal of mine. I saw him go down, but I couldn't stop right then."
Evans occupied a place in her regard that was perhaps a notch higher than that of any other of the crew.
"Can't we prove anything on Slade—do anything to stop him?" she demanded. "If they've killed Lanky, I'll perjure myself if it's the only way. I'll have Alden pick him up and I'll swear I saw him do the thing himself. He's as guilty as if he actually had."
"I've a bait or two out for Slade," Harris said. "But that way may prove too slow. If Lanky's gone under, I expect I'll have to pick a quarrel with Slade and hurry things along."
"Don't you!" she objected. For all of her confidence in Harris's efficiency in most respects, her implicit belief in his courage, she could not forget the awkward swing of his gun and she had a swift vision of him facing Slade without a chance.
A crash of wagon wheels and the voice of Waddles admonishing the horses interrupted her. The chuck wagon rolled round a bend as the big cook followed the trail of the night run. Every bed had been rolled and loaded to eliminate the necessity of a return. The remuda trailed behind the wagon under the combined supervision of the nighthawk and the wrangler.
"How is Lanky?" was Harris's first query.
Waddles jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Evans, shot once through the arm and a second time through the shoulder, reclined on the triple-thickness bed roll the cook had spread for him on the floor of the wagon.
"Only nicked—clean holes and no bones," Lanky said. "I'll be all right as soon as Waddles will let me out of this chariot and I get to riding comfortable on a horse."
"He'll come round fine in a few days if we can keep him offen a horse and riding comfortable in the wagon," Waddles countered. "I've give him orders to that effect."
Evans groaned.
"He drives over places I wouldn't cross afoot," he complained. "Did you hold the run?"
Reassured on this point he flattened out on his pallet and the wagon held on toward the herd.
The weary cows were held over for a day of rest. The night guards were doubled and this precaution was maintained during the succeeding two stops before reaching the shipping point.
Harris and Billie sat on the top rail of the loading chute while the last few Three Bar steers were being prodded on board the cars.
Harris slipped from his perch and motioned to Moore and Horne.
"You can go up town now and take on a few drinks. Hunt up an old friend or two and wag your chins. Make it right secretive and confidential and make each one promise faithful not to breathe a syllable to another living soul. That way the news is sure to travel rapid."
He returned to the girl as the stock train pulled out. Two hands waved a joyous farewell from the top of the cars, delighted at the prospect of a trip to market with the steers.
"I don't pretend to regret that old Rile played even for Bang's," Harris said. "But I wish he'd sorted out some one else in the albino's place. It was bad business for the Three Bar when Harper went down."
"He was the head of the gang," she said. "The worst of the lot."
"And for that reason he was able to hold them down," Harris explained. "It was some of the outfit from over in the Breaks that stampeded us. Slade wouldn't let his own boys know that much about him so he'd hire Lang. Harper had brains. He wouldn't have gone in for that. Lang has thrown in against us. He's all bulk and no brains and as savage as an Apache buck. He'll hang himself in the end but in the interim he may hand us considerable grief."
The wild riders of the Breaks no longer mingled with other men with the same freedom as of old. Some fifteen men throughout the country felt themselves marked and set apart from others. Friends no longer fraternized with them at the bars when they rode into the towns. Doors which had always been open in the past were now opened furtively if at all. Lukewarm adherents fell away from them and avoided them even more studiously than the rest. This swift transition had sprung apparently from no more than a whisper, a murderous rumor which persisted in the face of flat denials issued from its supposititious source.
All through the range and as far south as the railroad it was current gossip that the Three Bar would pay a thousand dollars reward for each of fifteen men, a fast saddle horse thrown in and no questions asked. The men were named, and if the rumor was based on truth it was virtually placing a bounty on the scalps of certain men the same as the State paid bounty on the scalps of wolves,—except that it was without the sanction of the law.
This backfire rumor had established a definite line with fifteen men outside, conspicuous and alone, and those who had once followed the hazy middle ground of semi-lawlessness with perfect security now hastened to become solid citizens whose every act would stand the light; for the whispers seemed all-embracing and it was intimated that new names would be added to the original list to include those who fraternized with the ones outside the pale.
Those not branded by this alleged bounty system were quick to grasp the beautiful simplicity of it all. Some recalled that a similar rumor, supposed to have originated with old Con Ristine, had wiped out the wild bunch that preyed on the Nations Cow-trail—that the Gallatin clean-up had resulted from a like report which Al Moody was reported to have launched.
It had the effect of causing the men so branded to view all others with suspicion, as possible aspirants out to collect the bounty on their heads. It sowed distrust among their own ranks for there was always the chance that one, in seeking safety for himself, might collect the blood-money posted for another. The reference to the fast saddle horse was guarantee that no questions would be asked before the price was paid and no questions answered after the recipient had ridden away from the Three Bar with his spoils.
Yet, if the thing were true, it was the most flagrant violation of the law ever launched, even in the Coldriver Strip where transgression was the rule. For the branded men were not wanted on any charge. It was merely the wholesale posting of rewards for the lives of some fifteen citizens whose standing in the community was legally the same as the rest,—prize money offered by an individual concern for its enemies without reference to the law. On every possible occasion Harris flatly denied that there was a shred of truth in the report. Al Moody, years before, had also denied his responsibility for the rumors on the Gallatin range; and Con Ristine had repudiated all knowledge of the whispers that traveled the Nations Trail. But in each case these very natural denials had served only to strengthen men's belief in the truth of the reports; and inevitably they had established a hard line that cut off the men so named from the rest of the countryside.
Harris knew that his own life was forfeit any time he chanced to ride alone. He had not a doubt but that Slade had put a price on his head and that perhaps a dozen men were patiently waiting for a chance at him. Any man whose name appeared on the black list which he was supposed to have sponsored would overlook no opportunity to retaliate in kind. In addition to this there was always the chance of a swift raid on the men who had filed their homestead rights in the valley.
As a consequence Harris had taken every possible precaution. Winter had claimed the range and hardened the ground with frost. The full force of Three Bar hands had been kept on the pay roll instead of being let off immediately after the beef was shipped. These riders were stationed in line camps out on the range, their ostensible purpose being to hold all Three Bar cows close to the home ranch but in reality they served two ends, acting as a cordon of guards as well. The two woodcutters were camped in the edge of the hills behind the ranch and daily patrolled the drifts that now lay deep in the timber for signs of skulkers who might have slipped down from behind and stationed themselves on some point overlooking the corrals.
Three times in as many weeks strangers drifting in from other localities stopped in Coldriver and profanely reported the fact that for no reason whatever, while passing through the Three Bar range, they had been held up and forced to state their business in that neighborhood.
Hostilities had ceased. The Three Bar girl had anticipated a series of raids against the cows wearing her brand, swift forays in isolated points of her range, but no stock losses were reported. On the surface it appeared that Slade had given up all thought of harassing the Three Bar. But the girl had come to know Slade. He would never recede from his former stand. She noted that Harris's vigilance was never for an instant relaxed and it was gradually impressed upon her that the cessation of petty annoyances held more of menace than of assurance. Slade had seen that the Three Bar was not to be discouraged in its course and he now waited for an opportunity to launch a blow that would cripple, striking simultaneously at every exposed point and delaying only for a propitious time. In the face of continued immunity she was filled with a growing conviction of impending trouble.
Christmas had found the range covered with a fresh tracking snow which precluded possibility of a raid and all hands had been summoned to the home ranch for a two-day rest. Harris knew that cowhands, no matter how loyal to the brand that pays them, are a restless lot and must have their periodical fling to break the monotony of lonely days; so he had provided food and drink in abundance. The frolic was over and the hands back on the range. Harris sat with Billie before her fire.
"They'll be satisfied for another two months," he said. "Then we'll have to call them in for another spree."
This evening conference before the fire had come to be a nightly occurrence. Together they went over the details of the work accomplished during the day and mapped out those for the next. From outside came the crunch of hoofs and the screech of logs on the frozen trail as the last mule team came down with its load.
Most of the logs had been skidded down and the men now worked in pairs, erecting the cabins on each filing. The cedar posts had been hauled and strung out along the prospective fence lines. The wagons, under heavy guard, had made two trips to the railroad to freight in more implements and supplies. Thousands of pounds of seed oats and alfalfa seed were stored at the Three Bar along with sixty hundred of cement.
"Another two months and the cabins will be roofed and finished," Harris said. "Then we'll be through till the frost is out of the ground. We'll start building fence as soon as you can sink a post hole; and we'll have time to break out another two hundred acres of ground before time to seed it down."
The girl nodded without comment, content to leave him to his thoughts, her mind pleasantly occupied with her own. For long her evenings had been lonely but now she had come to look forward to the conferences before the blazing logs. She had made no attempt to analyze the reasons for the new contentment which had transformed her evenings, formerly periods of drab reflections, into the most pleasant portion of each day.
Harris gazed about the familiar room and wondered what the future held out to him if he should be forced to spend his evenings alone after having shared them for six months with the Three Bar girl. The weekly letters still came from Deane. The girl valued Harris as a friend and partner without apparent trace of more intimate regard. He wondered which would prevail, the ties which bound her to the life she had always known or the lure of the new life which beckoned.
Suddenly, without having sought it, the explanation of her recent contentment bubbled to the surface of the girl's consciousness, and she turned and gazed at Harris. Night after night she had sat here with old Cal Warren and discussed the details of their work and after his passing her evenings had been hours of restlessness. Now Harris, the partner, had crept into the father's place,—had in a measure filled the void.
Harris rose and flicked the ash from his cigarette, suppressing the desire to take her in his arms, for he knew that time had not yet come. As he opened the door to leave an eddy of steam curled in at the opening as the warm air of the room battled on the threshold with the thirty-below temperature of the outside world. She heard the hissing crunch of his boots on the frozen crust—and reached for Deane's Christmas letter to reread it for perhaps the fifth time.
During the night a chinook poured its warm breath over the hills and morning found the snow crumpling before it. The surface was a pulpy mass intersected by rivulets. Water trickled from the eaves of the buildings and there was a breath of spring in the air; false assurance for those who knew, for it was inevitable that, once the chinook had passed, bitter frost would clamp down once more.
Such days, however, inspire plans for spring and Billie rode with Harris through the lower field as he pointed out the various fence lines and the lay of the ditches and laterals which would carry water to irrigate the meadow, all these to be installed as soon as winter should lose its grip.
As Harris outlined his plans his words were tinged with optimism and he allowed no hint of possible disaster to creep into his speech. But the girl was conscious of that hovering uncertainty, the feeling that the months of peace were but to lure her into a false sense of security and that Slade would pounce on the Three Bar from all angles at once whenever the time was right.
She found some consolation in the fact that Lang's men no longer rode through her range at will, but skirted it in their trips to and from the Breaks. She attributed this solely to Harris's precautions in the matter of outguards, for of all those within a hundred miles she was perhaps the single one who had not heard of the sinister rumor that was cutting Lang and his men off from the rest of the world.
Men were discussing it wherever they met; in Coldriver they were speculating on the possible results, the same in the railroad towns; across the Idaho line and south into Utah it was the topic of the day. And the single patron of Brill's store found the same question uppermost in his mind.
Carson was one of the many who were neither wholly good nor hopelessly bad, one who had drifted with the easy current of the middle course. And he was wondering if that middle course would continue to prove safe. He played solitaire to pass the time. His horse and saddle had been lost in a stud-poker game just prior to his catching the stage to Brill's, where his credit had always been good. He rose, stretched and accosted Brill.
"Put me down for a quart," he said.
"Whenever you put down the cash," Brill returned.
"What's the matter with my credit?" Carson demanded. "I've always paid."
Brill reached for a book, opened it and slid it on to the bar. He flipped the pages and indicated a number of accounts ruled off with red ink.
"So did Harper," he said. "He always paid; and Canfield—and Magill; these others too. Their credit was good but they've all gone somewheres I can't follow to collect. And they was owing me." He tapped a double account.
"Bangs was into me a little. Old Rile paid up for him and then got it in his turn—with his name down for a hundred on my books. Harris and Billie Warren paid up for Rile. Now just whoever do you surmise will pay up for you?"
"Me?" Carson inquired. "Why, I ain't dead. I'm clear alive."
"So was they when I charged those accounts," Brill said. "But it looks like stormy days ahead. I sell for cash."
"I'm not on this death list, if that's what you're referring to," Carson announced.
"But it's easy to get enrolled," Brill said. "Your name's liable to show up on it any time. Seen Lang in the last few days?"
"Not in the last few months," Carson stated. "Nor yet in the next few years. He's no friend of mine."
"I sort of remember you used to be right comradely," Brill remarked.
"That's before I really knowed Lang intimate," Carson said. "He didn't strike me as such a bad sort at first; but now he's going too strong. Folks are getting plum down on him."
"What you mean is that folks who used to be friendly are growing spooky about getting their own names on that list," Brill said. "That's what has opened their eyes."
"Maybe so," the thirsty man confessed. "But anyway, I'm through."
"They're all through!" Brill said. "A hundred others just like you, scattered here and there. It's come to them recent just what a bad lot Lang is. It's hell what a whisper can do."
"It is when that whisper is backed by a thousand-dollar reward," Carson agreed. "If he really pays up it'll wreck Lang's little snap for sure."
Brill dabbed his cloth at an imaginary spot on the polished slab and nodded without comment.
"I reckon he launched that scheme because Slade put a price on him first," Carson said.
"I didn't know Slade was into this," Brill stated softly. "There's no proof of that. Not a shred."
"No more than there's any proof that Harris is behind these rewards," Carson said. "But you know that Slade is out to wreck the Three Bar since they've planted squatters there."
The storekeeper failed to respond.
"There's likely a dozen men looking for Harris right now," Carson prophesied.
"But it's hard for one of 'em to get within ten miles of the ranch," Brill observed. "So while they're maybe looking for him it's right difficult to see him that far off."
"I don't mind admitting that I'm for Harris—as against Slade," Carson said.
"Just between us two I don't mind confessing that I'm neutral—as against everything else," Brill returned.
"Now you know how I'm lined up. Do I get that quart?" Carson urged.
"I knew how you was lined up months back." Brill turned on a dry smile.
"I ain't told a soul till right now," Carson objected. "So how could you know?"
"You didn't need to tell. As soon as that rumor leaked out it was a cinch where you'd stand. And a hundred others are crowding on to the same foothold along with you."
"And why not?" Carson demanded. "Who wants to get a thousand plastered on his scalp? It would tempt a man's best friends."
"Or scare 'em off," the storekeeper commented. "Which is all the same in the end."
A half dozen men clattered up in front and surged through the door. More arrivals followed as the regular afternoon crowd gathered before the bar. There were many jobless hands drifting from one ranch to the next, "grublining" on each brand for a week or more at a time during the slack winter months.
Carpenter rode up alone. Brill lowered one lid and jerked his head toward Carson.
"Broke—and reformed," he said. "Maybe."
Some minutes later Carp bought the thirsty man a drink.
"You looking for a job?" he asked. "I can use you down my way."
Carson was well versed in the bends of the devious trail and Carp's ways smacked of irregularities. Carson had ideas of his own why the other man was allowed to start up an outfit down in Slade's range. One day Carp's name would be cited on the black list. As diplomatically as possible he refused the offer of a job.
The storekeeper smiled as he noted this. Carson had turned into a solid citizen almost overnight. As Carp left him and joined another group Brill poured Carson a drink.
"You're a fair risk at that—as long as you stay cautious," he remarked. "I'll stake you to a horse and saddle. You can ride the grubline with the rest of the boys till spring and get a job when work opens up." He slid a bottle across the bar. "Here's your quart."
He stood looking after him as Carson moved to a table and motioned several others to join him over the bottle.
"That's about the tenth reformation that's transpired under my eyes in as many days," Brill mused. "Give us time and this community will turn pure and spotless. I don't mind any man's owing me if he stands a fair show to go on living."
The sheriff dropped in for one of his infrequent visits to Brill's. He waved all hands to a drink.
"I've just been out to the Three Bar to see Harris," he announced. "And asked him about this news that's been floating about. He came right out flat and says he's not offering a reward. That's all a mistake."
Every man in the room grinned at this statement. There was no other possible reply that Harris could make.
"Of course," the sheriff said reflectively. "Of course there's just a chance that Cal lied to me."
"He lied all right," Carp prophesied. "I'd bet my shirt he'll stand to pay the price for every man that's cited on that list."
"Shaw," the sheriff deprecated. "That's dead against the law, that is. He can't do that."
"He will do it," Carp predicted. "If I was on that list I'd be moving for somewheres a long ways remote from here."
"Then you'd better be starting," Alden counseled mildly. "For Harris was just telling me that your name had got mixed up with it. Morrow's name has sprung up too. Cal seemed mystified as to how it had come about for he says you and Morrow never rode with the others on the list. He couldn't figure how this thing come to start."
"Figure!" Carp snapped. "He figured it out himself, who else? Are you going to stand for his putting a price on every man he happens to dislike?"
"But he says he don't know anything about it," the sheriff expostulated. "So how can I prove he does? I'd like to know for sure. If I thought he was actually set to pay those rewards I'd have to ride over and remonstrate with Cal. That would be in defiance of the law."
One or two who had been drinking with Carp moved over to speak with others and failed to return. He was left standing alone at the bar. He shrugged his shoulders and went out.
"Folks are considerable like sheep," Brill observed. It occurred to him that in every saloon and in every bunk house within a hundred miles the topic of conversation was the same.
He lowered one lid as he looked at the sheriff and jerked his head toward Carson.
"He's broke—and reformed," he said. "Absolutely."
The sheriff drew Carson aside.
"If you're wanting a job I'll stake you to an outfit and feed you through till spring. Forty a month from then on. I'll need a parcel of deputies, likely, after that."
"You've got one," Carson stated. "I'll sign now."
The storekeeper, the sheriff and the new deputy stood at one end of the bar.
"It's queer that folks don't see the real object of this rumor," Brill observed.
"Its object is to clean out the hardest citizens in the country," Carson said. "That's why they're named. Why else?"
"The object is to clean up the rest of the country first," Brill said.
Carson grunted his disbelief.
"If Harris only wanted to wipe out those on the list he wouldn't go to all this fuss," Brill explained. "He'd just put on an extra bunch of hands and raid the Breaks himself. Swear he caught them running off a bunch of Three Bar cows. Simpler and considerable less expense."
"Then what's the object of this bounty?" Carson insisted.
"That's aimed at the doubtful folks," Brill stated. "Folks that was on the fence—like you. This death list makes them spooky and they turn into good little citizens in one round of the clock. It leaves the worst ones outside without a friend. Every one lined up solid behind the law. Public sentiment will start running strong against those outside. Then it'll be easy for the sheriff and a bunch of deputies—like you—to clean the country up from end to end, with the whole community backing your play."
Carson considered this for some time.
"Well, I can furnish the deputies," he said at last. "Boys that are strong for law and order from first to last."
"I've got about all I need," the sheriff said. "A dozen or so. Mostly old friends of yours. I've picked 'em up on and off in the last two weeks. They're strong for upholding the last letter of the law—just like you said."
"A dozen?" Carson asked. "How'll you raise the money to pay that many at once?"
"I'm sort of expecting maybe the Three Bar will make up the deficit," Alden said. "It's cheaper than paying rewards. That's another reason I don't think Cal had a hand in this blacklist report."
The storekeeper grinned.
"Surely not. Surely not. I'd never suspect him of that," he said. "But all the same it's working just as well as if he really had."