Silver ran to the front door. The man who had left the house mounted his horse and spurred toward the gate. Silver turned the man over in the doorway, and the white face and staring eyes of McLeese looked up at him. He found McLeese’s gun where he had dropped it on the porch, and went back in the house. He secured the lamp in the kitchen, lighted it and went into the main room.
June was still lying where they had dropped her. Silver closed the front door and came back to her. It was a simple task for him to take the gag and ropes off her and help her to a chair, where she sagged wearily. The gag had cut her lips, and there was blood on her wrists, cut by the ropes.
Silver said nothing. His face was bruised and one sleeve of his shirt was almost torn off. June stared at him, panting nervously, as he calmly rolled a cigaret with steady fingers.
“Why don’t you say something?” she asked, almost hysterically.
He looked at her, a half-smile on his lips.
“I dunno,” he said simply. “Don’t seem to be much to say.”
“Well, what is it all about? Oh, why don’t you get excited? You sit there and roll a cigaret just as though nothing had happened. Who—which one did you shoot?”
“I didn’t shoot,” he said slowly. “Bell shot McLeese. Mebbe he thought it was me. He didn’t have any cause to shoot Mac, that I know about. The door over there was too thick for me to hear much that was said, and I’m wonderin’ why they had you tied up.”
June shook her head. She didn’t know.
“Didn’t they tell yuh why?”
“Oh, I don’t know what they talked about. Everything is so mixed up.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
He lighted his cigaret and inhaled deeply.
“It seems to me,” he said smiling quietly, “that you’ve kinda had a hard time gettin’ started on yore new job.”
“Why did you have me kidnaped?” she asked.
“Me? Lord love yuh, I never did.”
“I’d like to believe you, but—”
“Why should I?”
“Well, I—I—you hate Park Reber.”
“Yo’re not Park Reber.”
“I—I work for him.”
“Lotsa folks work for him, ma’am, and I never kidnaped any of them.”
June bit her lip and studied Jack Silver, who looked at her frankly. He did not look like a man who would kidnap a woman. There was nothing of the sneak about him.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked bluntly.
“Trappin’, mostly. I had a small herd of cattle a few years ago, but Park Reber’s men killed ’em off. He didn’t want me to get a start. In the winter I trap from here over into the Clear Valley side of the range. I make a good livin’.”
“What do you do with the cattle you steal from Park Reber?”
It was a very blunt question. Jack Silver’s eyes did not shift, but narrowed slightly, and for several moments he did not speak. Then—
“I’ve never stolen a cow from Park Reber.”
“That doesn’t check up with what I’ve heard, Mr. Silver.”
“Probably not, ma’am, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve eaten Diamond R beef. He killed off my cattle, didn’t he? When I needed a piece of beef real bad, I took it. Reber hates me. He says he hates me because I steal his cattle, but he’s a liar.”
“Is it because he wants all the valley?”
“No, it’s because I’ve got Cheyenne blood in me. You’ve heard his story?”
“About the Indians killing his wife?”
“Stealin’ her, ma’am. Nobody knows how she died—if she did die.”
“I’m sorry,” said June simply.
“About my blood?” Silver smiled bitterly. “I can’t help it.”
He got to his feet and walked to a window and he looked out. Finally he came back and sat down.
“I don’t see where your blood would make any difference,” said June.
“Don’t yuh? Yo’re a white woman; would you marry a half-breed?”
“Why, I—I never thought of that.”
“You wouldn’t. Perhaps there are white women who would, but they’d not be the kind I’d want. I don’t want to marry an Injun girl—so there yuh are. I’m only half good enough to marry a white woman, and I’ve got too much white blood to marry an Indian. Everybody hates a breed. Oh, yes they do. Even the Injuns hate a breed.
“Do yuh know what they say about a half-breed? They say he inherits the vices of both sides and the virtues of neither. Mebbe that’s right.”
“What about Buck Priest—did Reber steal his cattle?”
“I think so, ma’am. But this ain’t lettin’ us in on the secret of things. Why do yuh suppose McLeese and Bell tied you up. Who kidnapped yuh, and what was their object? I’m gettin’ kinda anxious. Bell rode away, and he might come back in force. I’d hate to have yuh penned in here with me if Reber’s men try to catch me. I’ve got my own gun and the one McLeese had. If Reber found me here with you he’d hang me—especially if he found McLeese dead on the porch.”
“Then you’d better go away,” said June. “I can get along all right, I guess.”
“I guess yuh can’t. After them fellers tied yuh up and tried to lock yuh in that room? We’ll find a horse to ride and I’ll take yuh over to my place. At least you’ll be safe over there.”
June shook her head quickly.
“No, I’ll stay here.”
“Then I’ll stay with yuh.”
“And get hung for being here?”
“Mebbe. I’d sure hate myself all the rest of my life if I left yuh here alone and anythin’ happened to yuh.”
“Why would you care?”
“I’m half white.”
“And you’d do this, even after I forced you to lead me here with a rope around your neck.”
“That wasn’t anythin’. You didn’t pull it tight,” he smiled at her and went to the front door.
“We’ve got to kinda make this place bull-tight,” he said. “Yore name’s June, ain’t it? I heard it was. I’ll call yuh June. It’s easier to say than ma’am. My name’s Jack. Prob’ly be mud before mornin’.”
“Mr. Reber will come looking for me,” said June.
“Yea-a-ah, and he’ll find me,” laughed Jack. “But I’ve got a hunch that Mr. Reber is goin’ to have a hard time gettin’ here.”
“They spoke about the road being guarded. Did they mean against Mr. Reber?”
“Might be. We’ll just wait and see what happens.”
Buck Priest and his men went back to the ranch and packed two horses with blankets and enough food to last them several days. It was about dark when they headed southeast toward the Porcupine hills. Priest’s idea was to travel along the Porcupine for a way and then turn south toward the Circle S.
As far as he knew there had been no misbranding of cattle. Therefore he was of the opinion that the rustlers were moving a bunch of his stock toward the West Fork pass. If Park Reber were stealing cattle, that was the pass he would take them through to Clear Valley.
There was just enough moonlight to enable them to see to travel by. Buck hoped to find the rustler’s camp, but after traveling far along the Porcupine he decided to head toward the Half-Wheel, which was almost due west of where they were now. He reasoned that if the rustlers knew that O’Steen had escaped wounded they would possibly drop the herd and head for the Half-Wheel.
In the meantime Park Reber had gathered a dozen riders and was also heading down the valley. Nelson had told him what the two masked men had said about the road’s being dangerous, and Reber was not the man not to heed a warning. He left the road a short distance out of Tomahawk and took to the open hills where there would be no danger of an ambush.
“We’ll head straight toward Jack Silver’s place,” he told his men. “Buck Priest is in with Silver on this deal, that’s a cinch, so there’s no use going to his place.”
“And if it’s a scheme to run a lot of cattle out of the valley they’ll use the Trapper Creek pass,” declared Nelson. “I’d like to notch my sight on the jasper that killed old Sam Herd.”
“There’ll be plenty of chances before this time tomorrow night,” said Reber. “I’ll clean this valley of every rustler or quit the cow business myself.”
The men knew the hills well, and they were able to make good time. Reber was suffering considerably with his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and led the way.
There were no lights showing at the Half-Wheel when Buck Priest led his men down to the road past the ranch. For quite a while they sat on their horses at a little distance from the ranchhouse, debating just what to do.
“We’ll go on,” decided Buck Priest. “Before daylight we can be in the West Fork pass, and if they run those cows into that pass we’ll show the dirty thieves a merry time.”
“Jist lemme get a sight of the fellers that leaded up O’Steen,” said Rowdy. “I’m shore honin’ for a chance at ’em.”
“Daylight will tell the tale,” said Priest. “They’ll try and run ’em through early in the mornin’. I wouldn’t be surprized to find the hills around the Two Bar X full of my cows.”
They were about two miles south of the Half-Wheel, traveling along the road through a narrow defile in the heavy brush, when a rifle spat fire almost in front of them. It was so sudden and unexpected that the four riders whirled in a mass, trying to control their horses. From several places in the brush came orange-colored flashes, followed by the angry spat of rifle shots. Buck Priest’s horse went down in a heap, pinning Buck to the ground.
Ken Mader’s horse fell, but Ken flung himself free and began shooting from the ground. For several moments it was a nightmare of rearing, kicking horses and sporadic flashing of rifle and revolver shots. Mader went down on his face.
Rowdy’s horse was shot from under him, but he managed to regain his feet and mount behind Dick Leesom and spur the frightened horse into a gallop back up the road. Dick had been shot through the side and was unable to control his horse or to shoot a gun.
A flurry of rifle shots followed them, but the bullets buzzed far over their heads.
Not one of the bushwhackers came in sight. As far as they were concerned they never existed. Buck Priest had dropped flat on his back to escape the hail of lead. His leg was pinned beneath his dead horse, and it was impossible for him to extricate it. He could see the white face of Ken Mader in the moonlight, and he cursed Park Reber and his men.
He tried to draw his leg loose from beneath the horse, but the pain forced him to desist. He was sure the leg was broken. He swore bitterly, feeling sure that they had run into the rustler’s ambush.
Back in the hills, only a mile away from the road, were Park Reber and his men. They had heard the shooting, but the echoes were so confusing that none of them could tell where the shooting was taking place.
“Sounded like a battle all right,” declared Reber. “We’d better head for the road, I think. Unless I’m mistaken, that’s where the shooting came from.”
They traveled due east, striking the road a few hundred yards north of where the ambush had been laid. They did not see Leesom and Dow, who had gone past the spot, and were heading north. But they did find Dow’s hat in the road. It was a black Stetson, fairly new, but not marked with name or initial.
“Somebody goin’ plenty fast,” said one of the men. “That’s hat’s too good for a puncher to throw it away.”
“No way to tell which way he was goin’,” drawled a cowboy.
“We’ll go south and take a chance,” said Reber. And then they found Buck Priest, pinned down by his dead horse, and Ken Mader lying dead beside his dead horse. The men dismounted. Buck Priest recognized them and spat a curse at Park Reber.
“Got yuh, eh?” grunted Reber.
“Mader’s dead,” said one of the men.
Reber gave them orders to lift the horse off Priest’s leg.
“Well, you’ve got me, Reber,” said Priest. “My leg’s busted. I hope yo’re satisfied, you dirty cow thief!”
“I will be satisfied, yuh can bet on that,” said Reber. “Yo’re all through in this valley, Buck Priest—you and yore S\ Bar\ P outfit. When I get my hands on Jack Silver I’ve made a clean sweep.”
“When yuh do,” gritted Priest.
“Oh, I will,” rasped Reber. “I’ve started out to clean up this valley.”
“Clean! It’ll never be clean as long asyoulive. You killed O’Steen today—yore men did. He saw yuh stealin’ my cows. And yuh—oh what’s the use? You’ve got the best hand, Reber. Go ahead and do what yuh want to.”
“I never killed O’Steen,” denied Reber.
“Yore men did.”
“Did they? I didn’t know it. Where’s June Meline?”
“That female fiddler?”
“Yeah, that female fiddler! Where is she?”
“I heard somebody stole her.”
“Oh, yuh did, eh? I reckon yuh didn’t need tohearit. Some of you boys lift him on a horse. We’ll take him along with us and settle his case at the Two Bar X.”
They lifted Buck Priest to a saddle, and he cursed them for hurting his broken leg. Perhaps they were none too gentle.
“Want to rope him on, Park?” asked one of the men.
“What for? If he falls off he can’t run away, can he?”
Two of the cowboys rode double and one of them led Buck Priest’s horse. The jolting of the horse was misery to Priest, but he clamped his jaws tightly and held all his weight on his right stirrup.
The first faint touch of dawn streaked the old pole corrals and the stables of the Two Bar X. Huddled in a chair beside the table in the main room sat June Meline, wrapped in a blanket, asleep. At one of the front windows stood Jack Silver. He had watched all night for the return of Bell, who he was sure would come back. The body of McLeese still lay where it fell.
He turned his head and saw June looking at him. She had slept for several hours.
“How are yuh feelin’, June?” he asked.
“All right, Jack. Oh, I must have slept a long time. Why, it’s morning!”
“Just about. We’ll get some breakfast and then I’ll rope a couple of horses. I dunno what became of my horse, but I think they took him away. We’re goin’ back to Tomahawk, June. Somethin’ is wrong out here.”
She nodded and got up from her chair.
“I’ll get the breakfast, Jack. I can cook.”
“I’ll betcha,” he smiled. “Yo’re quite a woman, June. I don’t blame Reber for likin’ yuh. I never knew that women had the nerve you’ve got. After what you went through since yuh left Tomahawk yesterday, it’s a wonder you’ve got any nerve left.”
“But I’ve been frightened,” confessed June. “If you had said ‘boo!’ to me yesterday I’d have dropped your gun.”
“Mebbe not,” said Jack smiling. “That gun is too easy on the trigger to take any chances. I might have just booed a bullet into my nervous system.”
Jack laughed and turned back to the window, leaning forward tensely. There were cattle drifting past the rear of the corrals and sheds—a compact mass of moving animals heading northwest toward the West Fork pass. Jack stepped to the door and opened it enough to give him a farther view down the valley. As far as he could see down the valley there were cattle surging ahead like a brown wave.
Jack shut the door quickly. A man had slipped through the corral-fence at the corner of a shed, a man carrying a rifle in his hand.
“What is it, Jack?” asked June anxiously.
“The big steal!” he exclaimed. “I know the answer now, June. Reber’s own men are stealing from him—taking a big herd over the West Fork pass. That’s why they stole yuh, don’t yuh see? They didn’t want anybody here to see ’em. That’s why there wasn’t anybody here, June.
“That’s why they’ve blocked the road against Reber. McLeese had this framed before Reber fired him. God knows how many of Reber’s men are in on it. They’re tryin’ to send ’em over the pass before anybody can get out here to catch ’em.”
“But—but they know we’re here,” panted June.
“They sure do,” said Jack bitterly. “Keep out of line with the windows. I’ve got the doors fastened and I’ve got two guns. But our best chance is to lay low. We know too much for them to let us get out alive, June. Their plans were upset when Reber sent you out here.”
“But won’t they be in such a hurry to get the cattle over the pass that they’ll leave us alone?”
June’s answer came in the form of a bullet, which smashed out a pane of glass and thudded into the rear wall of the room. Jack drew June back against the wall, and they edged their way to the front of the room.
“Flat on the floor under the windows,” said Jack. “They’ll not shoot that low.”
A shower of glass sprayed over them when a bullet tore through the window casing.
“Shootin’ wild,” said Jack easily. “Listen to the cattle.”
They could hear the dull rumble of the moving herd, the soft bawling of calves.
“They’re movin’ a mighty big herd,” said Jack. “It sure will hit Park Reber hard.”
“You ought to be glad,” said June wearily.
“I wonder if I am? If it was anybody but his own men I might.”
“You believe in loyalty, Jack?”
“If yuh mean trustin’ a friend or an employee—yes.”
“You’ve been to school?”
Jack nodded shortly.
“Six years, June—in Cheyenne.”
“Who sent you there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know who paid for it. I was sent from the reservation when I was about eight years old. I never went back there, June. I was fourteen when I came here. I worked for Buck Priest quite a while, and then I built me a place on Trapper Creek. I was goin’ to be a cowman, and I had a good start, but Park Reber’s men killed off my cattle. I’ve been in the valley eleven years.”
“You are twenty-five years old, Jack?”
“I think so.”
“Who was your father?”
He looked queerly at her. Another bullet smashed through the kitchen window and ricocheted off the stove.
“I don’t know who he was,” said Jack. He ran his fingers along the barrel of his six-shooter. “No one would tell me after I came back from school. They said I was the son of a squaw-man.”
Jack sat up with his shoulders against the corner of the room. Some one had come on the porch and was near the door. Jack leaned sidewise and sent a bullet angling through the center panel. His shot was echoed by a yelp and a curse.
“They’re still in there!” yelled a voice.
Bullets came through the door about two feet above the floor and more came through the smashed windows. The opposite wall of the room was beginning to show signs of wear. A bullet smashed the lamp, causing a small shower of kerosene.
Some one was trying to open the kitchen door. Jack snaked along the wall to the kitchen entrance and sent a bullet through the door just above the knob. He heard a sharp cry and turned to see June, one hand across her face. She had tried to follow him.
He rolled back to her and drew her back under the window. A bullet had come through just below the sill, and had scored her temple just enough to break the skin and raise a blue welt. She was dazed, bewildered. She tried to get to her feet, but Jack pulled her down.
“You’re all right, June,” he told her. “It’s not serious. Stay down, girl!”
He held to her with one hand. There was smoke drifting in through the broken window—too much smoke to be caused by the shooting. Jack sniffed at it.
Wood smoke! They had fired the ranchhouse!
He could hear the flames crackling now, and the smoke was getting heavier. June was recovering, but it seemed that the injury had broken her nerve. She began crying softly and Jack patted her on the arm.
“It’s all right, June,” he told her. “Don’t cry. You’ve got to hang on to yore nerve, girl. They’ve set the house on fire. It’s do or die, I guess. We can’t stay here and burn to death.”
The wall was getting hot. There was a little breeze, and the seasoned old building was as dry as tinder. June blinked at him through her tears. She understood what he was saying.
“We’ll crawl to the kitchen door,” he told her. “I’ll open the door and jump out. Mebbe I can drive ’em back so you can get away. It’s our only chance. They might let yuh go and figure on catchin’ yuh. I’ll stop ’em as long as I can, June.”
They slid along the wall to the kitchen.
The shooting had stopped. Jack knew they were merely waiting for them to try to make a break. Beside the door they stopped and Jack held out his hand to her.
“Good-by, June. You stay here until I tell yuh when to come out—if I last that long.”
“Good-by, Jack.” June’s face was white and drawn. “I forced you into this. If it hadn’t been for me you’d be free.”
“Tha’s all right; it was a mistake, June. It’s all in the game. I reckon I’d forgive you for anythin’. Good-by.”
He raised up from his haunches, grasped the door with his left hand and gave it a jerk. It stuck fast. He dropped the gun in his holster and grasped the door with both hands but it refused to open.
“Stay here, June,” he panted, dropping to his knees and crawled back to the front door.
The room was full of smoke now.
He went to the door, got to his feet and tried to open it. He could force it open about two inches—enough to see that a rope ran from the knob to a porch-post.
A bullet smashed through the paneling and raked him along the forearm. He dropped to his knees, coughing from the smoke, and crawled back to June. His left forearm and hand were covered with blood.
“They’ve locked us in, June,” he said. “If we try to get through a window they’ll riddle us.”
June merely stared at him, her mind refusing to work.
“You mean, we can’t get out—we’ve got to burn?”
Jack was staring at a spot in the center of the floor. There was a metal ring sunk in the floor, and beyond it were two hinges—the roothouse trap-door.
He sprawled over and dug the ring loose. With a heave he opened the trap, and the odor of musty old vegetables filled the room. An old ladder led down to the bottom. June went down first. There was more shooting, but they could not hear the bullets now.
Jack left the trap open to give them a little light. The roothouse was about six feet deep and of about the width of the kitchen. It was cool down there, and no smoke penetrated. They took deep breaths to rid their lungs of the smoke.
On one side was an accumulation of old boxes and barrels. Jack lighted a match and almost shouted with joy. Behind those old boxes and barrels was a stairway which led to an outside roothouse door.
He flung the boxes aside, clearing the disused stairway, a prayer in his heart that the door might not be nailed down. They could hear the snapping of the flames now, the hoarse shouts of men, the crackle of guns.
Jack put his shoulder against the old slanting door and lifted enough to find that it was not fastened down.
“We’ll beat ’em yet, June,” he panted. “The fire seems to be mostly at the front of the house yet. We can stay here for a few minutes.”
June was swaying sidewise, and before Jack could spring to her assistance she had fainted. He lifted her up and held her in his arms. In falling she had struck her head against the corner of a box, cutting it badly.
He tore the muffler from around his neck and bound it around her head. Then he picked her up in his arms and staggered up the old steps, where he hunched in as low as possible, bracing his right shoulder against the door.
Park Reber did not lead his men straight for the Two Bar X, but took the left-hand road and headed for the Circle S, where he decided to pick up Jim Carlin and his men. He intended sending one man from there to the Lightning to get the assistance of Nort Jackson and his crew. Reber was going to have enough men to comb every inch of the country.
It was nearing daylight when they rode into the Circle S. The ranch was deserted.
“Mebbe they’re chasin’ rustlers already,” said one of the men.
“More likely out doin’ a little rustlin’,” said Buck Priest grimly. His face was the color of ashes, his left leg dangling uselessly from outside the stirrup. The old man was living on his nerve now. Park Reber scowled at him, but said nothing in reply to Priest’s sarcasm.
“Shall we go to the Lightnin’?” asked a cowboy.
“No,” said Reber shortly, and headed for the Two Bar X.
The men were tired, sleepy, hungry; they were willing to go anywhere to stop for a while. They did not go back to the road, but cut across the hills. Daylight came swiftly, and the sun was painting the tops of the hills when they struck the road about a mile below the Two Bar X.
And here the road was a mass of cow tracks. Reber leaned forward in his saddle, pointing at them.
“The trail of the rustlers,” he said. “They’re headin’ for the West Fork pass.”
“Listen!” Nelson threw up his hand.
From far up the road they could hear the rattle of rifle shots.
“My ⸺!” exclaimed Reber. “The boys of the Two Bar X are tryin’ to stop ’em! Come on!”
Some one lashed Buck Priest’s horse across the rump with a rope, and the animal almost unseated the suffering old man. He gritted his teeth and rode along with them. The men were riding with rifles in their hands now.
About three hundred yards short of the Two Bar X, the road topped an elevation around the point of a hill and, as they swung around this point, Park Reber, riding at the head of his men, drew rein.
The whole front end of the ranchhouse was enveloped in flames, and beyond the burning house the hills were full of cattle. They saw a man running away from the corrals. He mounted a horse and headed for the cattle.
A rifle bullet struck the ground in front of Reber’s horse and buzzed angrily away. The riders separated like a covey of quail. Another bullet thudded against a horse, and its rider flung himself free as the horse reared up and fell backward.
Cowboys were dismounting as swiftly as possible, letting their horses go; then they ran ahead, taking advantage of every bit of cover. Rifles began to crack as the Reber men searched the corrals and sheds with bullets.
Mounted men began riding from behind the stable, heading toward the cattle.
“Get yore horses!” yelled Reber. “They’re headin’ for the pass.”
The men continued to shoot at the retreating cowboys. One of them pitched sidewise off his horse, and his horse came back toward the stable. Reber’s men mounted swiftly and swept down on the ranch.
A man ran from the stable-door, trying to get around the corner, but a hail of bullets cut him down. He went flat on his side, rolled over and fired one shot in return. Park Reber jerked back in his saddle and slid to the ground.
At that same moment one of the men yelled warningly. The outside roothouse door was flung open and out came Jack Silver, carrying June Meline across one arm. He staggered, flung up his right hand to shoot at them, but tripped over an old water-bucket and fell flat.
Several cowboys threw themselves upon him before he could get up, and held him tightly. They yanked him to his feet, and others took charge of June.
“Well, yuh got me, I guess,” panted Jack.
“I guess we have!” snorted a cowboy. “Yo’re all through, you dirty half-breed.”
Jack shut his lips tightly.
“Reber’s been hit hard,” said one of the men. “That feller down at the stable got him.”
They led Jack around to where Reber was lying. But Jack paid no attention to Reber; he was staring at old Buck Priest, who was barely able to sit in his saddle.
Park Reber had the men lift him to a sitting position. He looked at Jack Silver closely.
“I swore I’d get you, Silver,” he said. “I started out last night to clean out the valley. I don’t know how badly I’m hurt, but it’s bad enough. But you’ve stolen your last cow, kidnaped your last woman. If you’ve got any prayers to say you better say ’em.”
“I’m not prayin’,” said Jack coldly. “I never stole yore cows and I never kidnaped any woman.”
“What else could yuh say?” cried Reber, and then to his men, “Run a rope over the ridge-pole of the stable.”
The men hurried to do his bidding. Old Buck Priest had heard Reber’s order, and it seemed to amuse him greatly.
“Goin’ to hang the lad, eh?” he laughed. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That’s good! Goin’ to die with that on yore dirty soul, eh? It’s like yuh, Reber.”
He turned to Jack, who was being held by two men.
“Reber’s men bushwhacked me last night, Jack. They killed Ken Mader. Yesterday afternoon they killed O’Steen.”
“You lie!” declared Reber weakly. “You’re tryin’ to turn it around. You stole my cattle and my men caught yuh.”
“And yore men shot Sam Herd yesterday, Priest,” declared Nelson.
“Lies!” panted Buck. “All lies! We didn’t know Herd was dead until we met yuh at the forks of the road, Nelson.”
“The rope’s ready, Park,” called one of the men.
One of the cowboys threw a noose around Jack’s neck, but he did not quiver. He was probably the coolest man in the crowd.
“Have you said yore prayer?” asked Reber.
Jack shut his lips tightly.
“All right,” said Reber weakly.
“I wish you’d wait until June Meline recovers,” said Jack. “She might have somethin’ to say.”
“Your time is up, Silver.”
“Yuh better not hang him,” said Buck Priest. “You’ll be sorry, Reber. Ain’t there nothin’ that can save him?”
“Not a thing, Priest.”
“All right, Reber. Go ahead and hang him. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Hang him, you dirty old pup! Hang yore own son, and be ⸺ to yuh! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
In spite of his weakness, Reber jerked forward, staring at Buck Priest. Jack Silver stumbled forward, his eyes on the curiously twisted features of the old cattleman. Reber tore his gaze away and looked at Jack Silver.
“You lie, Priest!” he said.
“I don’t lie! He’s your son, Park. His mother died when he was born and he was nursed by a squaw. Ask him who his father was—he don’t know, I tell yuh!”
Jack shook his head.
“I kept track of him, Park,” said Priest. “I shipped him to school and paid for it. I wanted an ace in the hole. You’ve always wondered if there was a child. Look at him, Reber. He’s yore own flesh and blood—and you’re goin’ to hang him! Let’s get it over with, Reber. I want to see you hang yore own son.”
Reber shut his eyes, and after a few moments the tears trickled down his cheeks. The wound was sapping his strength. It was a long way to a doctor, and he knew he couldn’t live till one came.
One of his men came bustling into the crowd.
“Hey,” he shouted, “that fellow down by the stable is Bell, of this ranch, and the one on the hill up there is Bob Cliff, of the Lightnin’! What does it mean?”
“It means that Reber’s own men planned to clean him out,” said Jack Silver. “They kidnaped June Meline. I found her and brought her here. Last night Bell killed McLeese. He was on the porch and he’s burned up by this time. I think you’ll find that the Circle X, Lightnin’ and Two Bar X outfits were makin’ a big steal, but circumstances blocked ’em.”
Reber opened his eyes and stared at Jack.
“Is that all true, Jack?” he asked.
“The girl’s awake,” burst in one of the men.
They brought her over to Reber. She saw the rope around Jack’s neck.
“He—he saved me!” she said hoarsely to Reber. “Jack Silver wasn’t to blame. It was your own men. Oh, you’ve been hurt again!”
Reber leaned back and his face was very white now.
“Come in close, boys,” he said weakly. “Listen to what I’m sayin’. No time to write. Jack Silver is my son. Everything I own belongs to him. I think Buck Priest taught him to hate me. I—I didn’t kill off his herd of cattle. Mebbe my men did it. But it’s all right now. He owns this valley and everything else I have.
“Get Buck Priest to a doctor. I don’t hate him any more. He gave me back my son. Jack—come closer. This—is—June. She’s—fine. I—I—”
His head fell forward on his chest.
There was little left of the old ranchhouse when Jack Silver and June Meline stood beside the body of Park Reber, who seemed to be smiling in his sleep. Nelson came up to Jack and held out his hand.
“You’ll have to hire new crews, Jack,” he said. “I imagine a lot of Diamond R men went over the West Fork pass this mornin’.”
“Let ’em go,” said Jack. “There’s been enough killin’.”
He put his good arm around June and they went down toward the stables, where the men were rigging a stretcher to carry Buck Priest back to his ranch.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 15, 1927 issue ofAdventuremagazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 15, 1927 issue ofAdventuremagazine.