Sunset Pass

(Magazine Abridgment)

by

Zane Grey

CHAPTER 1

The dusty overland train pulled into Wagontongue about noon of a sultry June day.

Trueman Rock slowly stepped down from the coach, grip in hand, with an eager and curious expression upon his lean dark face. He wore a plain check suit, rather wrinkled, and a big grey sombrero that had seen service. His step, his lithe shape, proclaimed him to be a rider. A sharp eye might have detected the bulge of a gun worn under his coat, high over his left hip and far back.

He had the look of a man who expected to see someone he knew. There was an easy, careless, yet guarded air about him. He walked down the platform without meeting anyone who took more than a casual glance at him.

At the end of the flagstone walk Rock hesitated and halted, as if surprised, even startled. Across the wide street stood a block of frame and brick buildings, with high weatherbeaten signs. It was a lazy scene. A group of cowboys occupied the corner; saddled horses were hitched to a rail; buckboards and wagons showed farther down the street; Mexicans in colourful garb sat in front of a saloon.

Memory stirred to the sight of the familiar corner. He had been in several bad gun fights in this town. The scene of one of them lay before him and a subtle change began to affect his pleasure in returning to Wagontongue. He left the station.

But he had not walked half a block before he came to another saloon, the familiar look of which and the barely decipherable name--Happy Days--acted like a blow in his face. He quickened his step, then, reacting to his characteristic spirit, he deliberately turned back to enter the saloon. The same place, the same bar, and the faded paintings; the same pool tables. Except for a barkeeper, the room was deserted. Rock asked for a drink.

"Stranger hereabouts, eh?" inquired the bartender.

"Yes, but I used to know Wagon-tongue," replied Rock. "You been here long?"

"Goin' on two years."

"How's the cattle business?"

"Good, off an' on. It's slack now, but there's some trade in beef."

"Beef? You mean on the hoof?"

"No. Butcherin'. Gage Preston's outfit do a big business."

"Well, that's new," replied Rock, thoughtfully. "Gage Preston? Heard his name somewhere."

He went to the Range House, a hotel on another corner. He registered, gave the clerk his baggage checks, and went to the room assigned him, where he further resisted the mood encroaching upon him by shaving and making himself look presentable to his exacting eyes.

"Sure would like to run into Amy Wund," he said, falling into reminiscence. "Or Polly Ackers. Or Kit Rand. All married long ago, I'll bet."

He went downstairs to the lobby, where he encountered a ruddy-faced man, Clark, the proprietor, whom he well remembered.

"Howdy, Rock! Glad to see you," greeted that worthy, cordially if not heartily, extending a hand.

"Howdy, Bill!" returned Rock, as they gripped hands.

"Wal, you haven't changed any, if I remember. Fact is you look fit, an' prosperous, I may say. How long since you left Wagontongue?"

"Six years."

"Wal, so long as that? Time shore flies. We've growed some, Rock. A good many cattlemen, have come in. All the range pretty well stocked now. We have two lumber mills, some big stores, a school, an' a town hall."

"Well, you sure are comin' on. I'm right glad, Bill. Always liked Wagontongue."

"Did yon jest drop in to say hello to old friends, or do you aim to stay?" inquired Clark, his speculative eyes lighting.

Rock mused over that query, while Clark studied him. After a moment he flipped aside Rock's coat. "Ahuh! Excuse me, Rock, for bein' familiar. I see you're packin' hardware, as usual. But I hope you ain't lookin' for someone."

"Reckon not, Bill. But there might be someone lookin' for me. How's my old friend, Cass Seward?"

"Ha! Wal, you needn't be curious aboot Cass lookin' for you. He's been daid these two years. He was a real sheriff, Rock, an' a good friend of yours."

"Well, I'm not so sure of that last, but Cass was a good fellow all right. Dead! I'm sure sorry. What ailed him, Bill?"

"Nothin'. He cashed with his boots on."

"Who killed him?"

"Wal, that was never cleared up for shore. It happened out here at Sandro. Cass got in a row an' was shot. The talk has always been that Ash Preston killed Seward. But nobody, least of all our new sheriff, ever tried to prove it."

"Who's Ash Preston?"

"He's the oldest son of Gage Preston, a new cattleman to these parts since you rode here. An' Ash is as bad a hombre as ever forked a horse. I ain't sayin' any an' please regard that as confidence."

"Certainly, Bill," replied, Rock, hastily. After some casual conversation about the range, they parted in the hotel lobby.

Sitting there, he recalled friends and enemies of the old days. One of his best friends had been Sol Winter. Whenever Rock got into a scrape, provided it was not a shooting one, Sol was the one who helped him out of it. And as for money, Sol had always been his bank. Rock, remembering many things--one of which was that he had left Wagontongue hastily and penniless--thought he recalled a debt still unpaid. With that he sallied out to find Winter's store.

It should have been a couple if blocks down the street. Some of the buildings were new, however, and Rock could not be sure. Finally he located the corner where Sol's place of business had been. A large and pretentious store now occupied this site. Rock experienced keen pleasure at the evidence of his old friend's prosperity, and he stalked gayly in, only to learn that Sol Winter did not occupy this store.

Through inquiry, he located Winter's store at the end of the street. It was by no means a small or cheap place, but it was not what it had once been. Rock entered. Sol was waiting upon a woman, looked, older, thinner, greyer, and there were deep lines in his face. Six years was a long time. Rock gazed round him. It was a large store room crowded with merchandise--hardware, groceries, saddles and harness and farm implements.

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?" inquired Winter.

"Howdy, Sol, old-timer!" said Rock with a warm leap of his pulse. "Don't you know me?"

Winter leaned and crouched a little, his eyes piercing. Suddenly the tightness of his face loosened into a convulsive smile.

"True Rock!" he shouted incredulously. "If it ain't really you! Why, you old ridin', drinkin', shootin', love-makin' son of a gun!"

"Glad to see me, Sol?" returned Rock, tingling under Winter's grip.

"Glad? Lordy, there ain't words to tell you. Why, True, you were always like my own boy. An' since I lost him--"

"Lost him! Who? You never had any boy but Nick."

"Didn't you ever hear aboot Nick? Nick was shot off his hoss out near Sunset Pass."

"Aw--no! Sol! That fine sweet lad! My God! I'm sorry," exclaimed Rock, huskily. "But it was an accident?"

"So they say, but I never believed it. There's still bad blood on the range, True. You must remember. In fact there's some new bad blood come in since you left."

Here a customer entered, and Rock seated himself on the counter and put aside his sombrero, to find his brow clammy and cold. Nick Winter dead! Shot by rustlers, probably, or perhaps by this new bad element hinted at by Clark and Winter. The last thing Rock would have expected was that anyone could do violence to gentle, kindly, crippled Nick Winter. Here was something to keep Rock around Wagontongue, if nothing else offered.

"True, it's good to see you sittin' there," said Winter, returning to place a hand on Rock's shoulder. "I never saw you look so well, so clean an' fine. I don't need to be told you've worked hard."

"Yes, Sol. I've been five years on a cattle job in Texas. Cleaned up ten thousand, all honest and square. I've got a roll that would choke a cow."

"No! Ten thousand? Why, True, that's a small fortune! It'll make you. If only you don't get drunk an' begin to gamble."

"Well, Sol, maybe I won't. But I've gone straight so long I'm worried. How much do I owe you?"

"Owe me? Nothin'."

"Look over your books before I hand you one," ordered Rock fiercely. Whereupon he helped Winter find the old account, and forced him to accept payment with interest.

"Say, Rock, to be honest, this little windfall will help a lot," declared Winter. "I got in a cattle deal some time past an' lost out pretty much in debt. Then the new store---Dabb's--ate into my trade. I had to move. Lately, though, my business has picked up. I think I can pull out."

"That's good. Who'd you go in cattle deals with?" rejoined Rock.

"Dabb."

"Dabb? Not John Dabb who ran things here years ago? Sol, you ought to have known better."

"Sure. But it seemed such a promisin' deal; an' it was for Nick's sake--but I'm out of cattle deals for good."

"Go on. Tell me some more bad news," said Rock gloomily. "What's become of my old girl, Kit Rand?"

"Kit. Let me see. I know she married Chess Watkins--"

"What! That drunken loafer?"

"Yes, an' she couldn't change him either. Kitty had to go to work in a restaurant here, an' finally they left Wagontongue."

"Kitty-Rand? That dainty, clever little girl a waitress! Good Lord! How about Polly Ackers?"

"Polly went to the bad," returned Sol, gravely. "Some flash gambler got around her. She's been gone for years."

Rock groaned. "I'm Sorry I ever came back to this darned Wagontongue. One more question. How about my best girl, Amy Wund?"

"Worse an' more of it, True," rejoined Winter. "After you left, Amy played fast an' loose with many a puncher, There are some who say she never got over your runnin' away."

"Thunder! They're crazy!" burst out Rock. "She played fast an' loose with me. She never cared two snaps for me."

"Yes, she did, if there's anythin' in gossip. Mebbe she never found it out till you were gone. Amy was a highstrung lass. An' yon know, Rock, you were sweet on Polly at the same time."

"Lord forgive me, I was."

Trueman dropped his head.

"Son, it's the way of life," went on Winter.

"Sol, will you keep my money till I come askin' for it?" queried Rock, with his hand inside his waistcoat.

"Now what're you up to?"

"I'm' goin' out and get awful, terrible drunk," declared Rock.

Winter laughed, though he looked serious enough. "Don't do it, True. It'll only fetch back the old habit. You look so fine, I'd hate to see you, do it."

"I'm goin' to drown my grief, Sol," declared Rock, solemnly.

"Well, wait till I come back," returned Winter. "I've got to go to the station. My clerk is off today. Keep store for me--like you used to."

"All right. I'll keep store. But you rustle back here pronto."

Winter hurried out, leaving Rock sitting on the counter, a prey to symptoms he well knew. If Sol did not hurry back--

A light quick step arrested the current of Trueman's thoughts. He looked up. A girl had entered the store. His first swift sight of her caused him to slip off the counter. She looked around expectantly, and seeing Rock she hesitated, then came forward. Rock suddenly realised that to get terribly drunk was the very remotest thing that he wanted or intended to do.

"Is Mr. Winter in?" asked the girt, pausing before the counter.

"No. He had to go to the station. Reckon he'll be there quite some time. Can I do anythin' for you?" Rock was cool, easy; respectful.

"Are you the new clerk, Mr. Winter was expecting?" she queried.

"Yes, miss, at your service."

"I've quite a list of things to get," she said, opening a handbag.

"I'll do my best, miss. But I'm a little new to the business."

"That's all right. I'll help you," she returned, graciously. "Now where is that paper?"

The delay, gave Trueman opportunity to look at her covertly. She was thoroughbred Western, about 21 or 22, blonde, with fair hair more silver than gold. She was not robust of build, yet scarcely slender. She wore a faded little blue bonnet not of the latest style, and her plain white dress, though clean and neat, had seen long service.

"Here it is," she said, producing a slip of paper and looking up somewhat flushed. Her eyes were large, wide apart, grey in colour. Rock looked into them. Something happened to him then that had never happened before and which could never happen again.

"Now, shall I read the list off one at a time or altogether?"

"Well, miss, it really doesn't--make any difference," replied Trueman, vaguely, gazing at her lips. They were sweet and full and red, and just now curved into a little questioning smile. But, as he watched, it fled and then they seemed sad. Indeed her whole face seemed sad, particularly the deep grey eyes that had begun to regard him somewhat doubtfully.

"Very well--the groceries first," she said, consulting her list. "Five of sugar, five of rice, five--"

"Five what?" interrupted Trueman, with alacrity. Everything was in plain sight. It ought to be easy, if he could keep his eyes off her.

"Five what!" she echoed, in surprise. "Did you think I meant barrels? Five pounds."

"Sure. That's what I thought," replied Trueman, hastily. "But some people buy this stuff in bulk."

Rock began to grasp that he was bungling the greatest opportunity of his life. He found the sugar and had almost filled a large sack when she checked him: "Not brown sugar. White, please."

There was something in her tone that made Rock wonder if she were laughing at him. It stirred him to dexterity rather than clumsiness. He filled a large paper bag with white sugar.

"But you didn't weigh it," she said.

"I never weigh out small amounts," he returned blandly. "I can guess very accurately."

"There's more than five pounds of sugar in that bag," she protested.

"Probably, a little. Sure I never guess underweight. What next? Oh, the rice."

"Can you guess the weight of rice, too?"

"Sure can. Even better. It's not near so heavy as sugar." And he filled a larger bag. In attempting to pass this to her he accidentally touched her bare hand with his. The soft contact shot a thrilling current through him. He dropped the bag. It burst, and the rice poured all over her, and like a white stream to the floor.

"There--you've done' it," she said, aghast.

"Excuse me, miss. I'm sure awkward this day. But rice is lucky. That might be a good omen. I'm superstitious. Spillin' rice might mean a wedding."

She blushed, but spoke up with spirit. "It couldn't, so far as I'm concerned," she said. "Of course I don't know your affairs. But you are wasting my time. I must hurry. They'll be waiting."

Rock humbly apologized and proceeded to fill another bag with rice. Then he went on with the order, and for several moments, in which he kept his eyes averted, he performed very well as a clerk. He certainly prayed that Sol would not come back soon.

"That's all the groceries," she said. "Now I want buttons, thread, calico, dress goods, linen and--"

At the dry-goods counter Rock could not find anything.

The young lady calmly walked behind the counter. "Can't you read?" she inquired, pointing at some boxes.

"Read!" exclaimed Trueman, in an injured tone. "Sure I can read. I went to school for eight years. That's about four more than any cowpuncher I ever met."

"Indeed! No one would suspect it," she returned demurely. "If you're a cowboy--what're you doing in here?"

"I just lately went to clerking."

"Show me the buttons. There--in the white boxes. Thank you."

While she bent over them, looking and assorting, Trueman feasted his eyes on the little stray locks of fair hair that peeped from under her bonnet, on the small well-shaped ear, on the nape of her neck; beautiful and white, and upon the contour of cheek.

"It isn't pearl?" she inquired holding a button in her palm.

"Sure is," he replied dreamily, meaning her cheek, suddenly terribly aware of its nearness and sweetness.

"That pearl! Don't you know bone when you see it?"

"I'm sorry," spoke up Rock, contritely. "I'm not usually so dumb. But you see I never before waited on such a--a girl as you."

She shot him a grey glance not wholly doubtful or unforgiving. And meeting his eyes caused her to look down again with a tinge of colour staining her cheeks.

"I'm not a clerk. Good heavens! If the gangs I've ridden with would drop in here to see me--doin' this. Whew! My name is Trueman Rock. I'm an old friend of Sol Winter's."

"Trueman Rock?" she repeated, almost with a start, as she swiftly lifted big, surprised eyes.

"Yes. I used to ride this range years ago. I've been gone six years--five of which I've spent in Texas, workin' hard and--well,' I'd like you to know, because maybe you've heard talk here. Workin' hard and goin' straight. I sold out. Somethin' drew me back to Wagontongue. Got here today, and when I ran in to see Sol he left me here in charge of the store. I'm sorry I've annoyed you--kept you waitin'. But it was Sol's fault. Only, I should have told you first off."

"You needn't apologize, Mr. Rock," she replied shyly. "Please wrap these for me. Charge to Thiry Preston."

He found a pencil near at hand, and bending over a piece of wrapping paper, very business-like, he inquired, "Miss Thiry Preston?"

"Yes, Miss," she replied.

"What place?" he went on.

"Sunset Pass."

"Way out there?" He glanced up in surprise. "Sixty miles. I know that country--every water-hole, stone, and jack-rabbit."

She smiled fully for the first time, and that further fascinated Rock. "You were well acquainted, weren't you?"

"I expect to renew old acquaintances out there. And I may be lucky enough to make new ones."

Miss Preston did not meet his glance.

"What instructions about these parcels?"

"None. I'll carry them."

"Carry them! All this heavy load? Thirty pounds or more!"

"Surely. I'm quite strong. I've carried far more."

"Where to?"

"Out to the corral. Our buckboard is there. They'll be waiting and I'm late. I must hurry." In rather nervous haste she took up the several light packages and moved toward the other counter.

Rock got there first and intercepted her. "I'll carry these."

"But you shouldn't leave the store," she protested.

Fortunately, at this juncture Sol Winter hurriedly entered. "Well, now, what's this?" he queried, with a broad smile. "Thiry, to think you'd happen in just the wrong minute."

"Oh, Mr. Winter, I didn't miss you at all," returned Thiry, gayly. "Your new clerk was most obliging and--and capable--after I found the thing I needed."

"Haw! Haw! He's shore a fine clerk. Thiry, meet True Rock, old rider an' pard Of mine."

"Ah--I remember now," she flashed. "Is Mr. Rock the rider who once saved your son, Nick?"

"Yes, Thiry," he replied, and turning, to Rock he added, "Son, this lass is Miss Thiry Preston, who's helped to make some hard times easier for me."

"Happy to meet you, Miss Preston," beamed Rock.

"How do you do, Mr. Rock," returned Thiry, with just a hint of mischief in her grey eyes.

They went out together and Trueman felt that he was soaring to the blue sky. Outside in the sunshine he could see her better and it was as if some magic had transformed her.

They soon reached the end of the street and started across an open flat toward the corrals.

"You're in an awful hurry," finally complained Trueman.

"Yes, I am. I'm late, and you don't know--" She did not complete the sentence, but nevertheless it told Rock much.

By this time they had reached the first corral. The big gate swung ajar. The fence was planked and too high to see over. Thiry led the way in. Rock espied some saddle-horses, a wagon, and then a double-seated buckboard hitched to a fine-looking team of roans.

"Here we, are," said the girl, with evident relief. "No one come yet! I'm glad. Put the bundles under the back seat, Mr. Rock."

He did as directed, and then faced her, not knowing what to say, fearing the mingled feelings that swept over him and bewildered by them.

"After all, you've been very kind--even if--"

"Don't say if," he broke in, entreatingly. "Don't spoil it by a single if. It's been the greatest adventure of my life."

"Of many like adventures, no doubt," she replied, her clear grey eyes on him.

"I've met many girls in many ways, but there has never been anything like this," he returned.

"Mr. Rock!" she protested, lifting a hand to her cheek, where a wave of scarlet burned.

Then a clink of spins, slow steps, and thuds of hoofs sounded behind Rock. He saw the girl's colour fade and her face turn white.

"Hyah she ish, Range," called out a coarse voice, somehow vibrant, despite a thick hint of liquor. "With 'nother galoot, b'gosh! Schecond one terday."

Slowly Rock turned on his heel, and in the turning went back to the original self that had been in abeyance for a while. When it came to dealing with men he was not a clerk.

Two riders had entered the coral, and the foremost was dismounting. He was partly drunk, but that was not the striking thing about him. He looked and breathed the very spirit of the range at its wildest. He was tall, lean, lithe, with a handsome red face, eyes hot as blue flame and yellow hair that curled scraggily from under a dusty-black sombrero. Drops of sweat stood out like beads on his lean jowls and his curved lips. A gun swung below his hip.

The other rider, called Range, was a cowboy, young in years, with still grey eyes like Miss Preston's, and intent, expressionless face. Rock gathered from the resemblance that this boy was Thiry's brother. But who was the other?

"Thiry, who's thish?" queried the rider, striding forward.

"I can introduce myself," struck in Rock coolly. "I'm Trueman Rock, late of Texas."

"Hell, you shay!" returned the other ponderingly, as if trying to fit the name to something in memory. "Whash you doin' hyar?"

"Well, if it's any of your business, I was in Winter's store and packed over Miss Preston's bundles," replied Rock.

"Haw! Haw!" guffawed the rider derisively. Who was he? Surely not a lover! The thought seemed to cut fiercely into Rock's inner flesh.

"Wal," went on the tall rider presently, swaggering closer to Rock, "run along, Big Hat, 'fore I reach you with a boot."

"Ash! You're drunk!" burst out the girl.

The disgust and scorn and fear, and something else in her outbreak, instantly gave Rock tight rein on his own feelings. This rider, then, was Ash Preston. Her brother! The relief Rock experienced out-stressed anything else for the moment.

"Whosh drunk?" queried Preston. "Your mistake, Thiry."

"Yes, you are drunk," she returned with heat. "You've insulted Mr. Rock, who was kind enough to help me carry things from the store."

"Wal, I'll help Mishter Rock on his way," replied Preston leering.

Range, the other rider, like a flash leaped out of his saddle and jerked Preston's gun from its sheath. "Ash, you look out," he called sharply. "You don't know this fellar."

CHAPTER 2

"Whash the hell I care? He's Big Hat, an' I'm a-goin' to chase him pronto."

Thiry Preston stepped out as if impelled, yet she was evidently clamped with fear. "Please, Ash, be decent if you can't be a gentleman," begged Thiry.

For answer Preston lurched by Thiry and swept out a long slow arm, with open hand, aimed at Rock's face. But Rock dodged, and at the sane time stuck out his foot dexterously. The rider, his momentum unchecked, tripped and lost his balance. He fell slowly, helplessly, and striking on his shoulder he rolled over in the dirt. He sat up, ludicrously, and wiping the dust off his cheek he extended a long arm, with shaking hand, up at Rock. "Shay, you hit me, fellar."

"Preston you're quite wrong. I didn't," replied Rock.

"Whash you hit me with?"

"I didn't hit you with anythin'."

"Range, is thish hyar Big Hat lyin' to 'me?"

"Nope. You jest fell over him," returned the younger rider.

"Ash, you're so drunk you can't stand up," interposed. Thiry.

"Wal, stranger, I'm 'ceptin' your apology."

"Thanks. You're sure considerate," returned Rock with sarcasm. He was not used to total restraint and he could not remember when any man had jarred him so. Turning to the girl, he said: "I'll go. Goodbye, Miss Preston."

With his back to the brothers Trueman made his eyes speak a great deal more than his words. The dullest of girls would have grasped that he did not mean goodbye forever. Thiry's response to his gaze was a silent one of regret, of confusion.

Rock stepped up on the corral fence, reached the top rail, and vaulted over. "Ash Preston! Bad medicine! And he's her brother!" muttered Rock, aloud. "Sure as fate we're goin' to clash."

He strode back to Sol Winter's store.

"Now, son, what's happened?" queried Sol, with concern.

"Lord knows. I--don't," panted Rock, spilling off his sombrero and wiping his face. "But it's--a lot."

"True, you took a shine to Thiry Preston, I seen that. No wonder. She's the sweetest lass who ever struck these parts."

"So, we'll investigate my state of mind last," replied Rock, ruefully. "Listen. I ran into the Preston outfit. At least, two of them." And he related all that had occurred at the corral.

"Same old Rock," mused Winter. "No, not the same, either. There's a difference I can't name yet. Wal, this Preston outfit is sure prominent in these parts. They call them 'The Thirteen Prestons of Sunset Pass.' Nobody seems to know where they come from. Anyway, they drove a herd of cattle in here some time after you left. An' 'ceptin' Ash Preston, they're just about the most likeable outfit you ever seen. Fact is, they're like Thiry. They located in Sunset Pass, right on the Divide. You know the place. An' it wasn't long until they' were known all over the range. Wonderful outfit with horses and ropes."

"Go on, Sol. What was the trouble you had?"

"They ran up a big bill in my store. The old store. I taxed the boys about it. Well, it was Ash Preston who raised the hell. He wasn't drunk then. An', son, you need to be told that Ash is wild when he's drunk. When sober he's--well, he's different. Nick was alone in the store. Nick was a spunky lad, you know, an' he razzed Ash somethin' fierce. Result was Ash piled the lad in a corner an' always hated him afterward. Fact is the range talk says Ash Preston hates everybody except Thiry. She's the only one who can do anythin' with him."

"She didn't do a whole lot, today. The drunken--! And Nick was shot off his horse out there in Sunset Pass?"

"Yes. I think Ash Preston must have killed Nick. They must have met an' fought it out. There were four empty shells, fresh shot, in Nick's gun."

"The boy had nerve and he was no slouch with a six-shooter. I wonder--"

"Well, Gage paid the bill. Then for a while he didn't buy from me. But one day Thiry came in, an' ever since I've sold goods to the Prestons. But none of them save Thiry have ever been in my store since."

"Ahuh. Any range talk among the punchers about these Prestons?"

"Well, son, there used to be no more than concerned the Culvers, or Tolls, or Smiths, an' not so much as used to be about the little outfits down in the woods. You know the range. All the outfits eat one another's cattle. It was a kind of unwritten code. But lately, the last two years, conditions have gone on the same, in that way, an' some different in another. I hear a good deal of complaint about the rustlin' of cattle. An' a few dark hints about the Prestons.

"Darn few, mind you, son, an' sure vague an untrailable. It might be owin' to the slow gettin' rich of Gage Preston. It's a fact. He's growin' rich. Not so much in cattle, but in land an' money in bank. I happen to know he has a bank account in Las Vegas. That's pretty far off, an' it looks queer to me. Found it out by accident. I buy from a wholesale grocer in Las Vegas. He happened here, an' in a talk dropped that bit of information. It's sure not known here in Wagontongue."

"Is Gage Preston one of these lone cattlemen?" queried Rock.

"Not now, but he sure was once."

"Who's he in with now?"

"John Dabb. They own the Bar X outfit. It's not so much. Dabb has the big end of it. Then Dabb runs a butcher shop. Fact is he undersold me an' put me out of that kind of business. He buys mostly from Preston. An' he ships a good many beeves."

"Ships? Out of town?"

"I should smile. They have worked into a considerable business. I saw this opportunity years ago. But didn't have the capital."

Rock pondered over his friend's disclosures, and Thiry Preston's sad face returned to haunt him.

"Sol, what do you think about Ash Preston?" asked Rock.

"Well, son, I'm sure curious to ask you that same question," replied Winter. "How did this fellow strike you?"

"Like a hard fist, right in the eye," acknowledged Rock.

"Ahuh. Rock, the Prestons are all out of the ordinary. Take Thiry, for instance. How did she, strike you?"

Trueman placed a slow heavy hand on the region of his heart, as if words were useless.

"Well, I wouldn't give two bits for you if she hadn't. Son, I've a hunch your comin' back means a lot. Wal, to go on--these Prestons are a mighty strikin' outfit. An' Ash Preston stands out even among them. He's a great rider of the range in all pertainin' to that, hard game. He can drink more, fight harder, shoot quicker than any man in these parts. He's sure the meanest, coldest, nerviest, deadliest proposition you're likely to stack up against in your life. I just want to give you a hunch, seein' you went sweet on Thiry."

"Sweet on that girl! No! I've been sweet on a hundred girls. This is different, somethin' terrible. Ten thousand times sweet!"

"Trueman, your trail will sure be rough."

"Listen, old friend. There's only one thing that could stump me. Tell me. Do you know Thiry real well?"

"Yes, son, an' I can answer that question so plain in your eyes. Thiry is not in love with anybody. I know, because she told me herself, not so long ago."

"That'll--help," replied Rock, swallowing hard. "Now, Sol, I'll sneak off alone somewhere and try to find out what's the matter with me--and what to de about it."

Trueman sallied forth into the sunlight like a man possessed. He did not notice the heat while he was striding out of town, but, when he got to the cedars and mounted a slope to a lonely spot he was grateful for the cool shade. He threw aside coat and sombrero, and lay down on the fragrant mat of cedar needles. How good to be there!

Only one thing had stood in the way of a happy return to Wagontongue, and that had been possibility of a clash with Cass Seward, the sheriff. This now no longer perturbed him. It had been reckless, perhaps foolish, for him to come back, when he had known that the probabilities were that Cass would try to make him show yellow and clap him in jail, because of a shooting affray which Rock had not started. But it had been Rock's way to come, not knowing; and that hazard was past. Rock gladly welcomed the fact that he had a clean slate before him.

That grey-eyed girl, Thiry Preston! Here he did surrender. He had been struck through the heart. And all the fight there was seemed directed against himself--a wavering, lessening doubt that he could be as marvelously transformed as he thought. And then, one by one, in solemn procession, there passed before his memory's eye the other girls he had known, trifled with, liked, or loved. He watched them pass by, out of the shade, it seemed, into the past forever.

Thiry Preston had made them vanish, as if by magic. She was the girl. All his life he had been dreaming of her. To realize she actually lived!

At length Rock started to retrace his steps toward town. A young woman coming out of Dabb's large establishment, almost ran into him.

"True Rock.--aren't you going to speak to me?" she burst out.

He knew the voice, the face, too, the sparkling, astonished eyes.

"True--don't you know me? It's Amy."

"Why, Mrs. Dabb, this is a surprise!" he said, doffing his sombrero. "I'm sure glad to see you."

"Mrs. Dabb? Not Amy?" she replied with captivating smile and look Rock found strangely familiar.

"Someone told me you were married to my old boss, John Dabb," said Rock easily. "You sure look fine. And prosperous, too."

She did not like his slow, cool speech.

"True, I can return the compliment. You are handsomer than ever."

"Thanks."

"True, you're not glad to see me," she rejoined petulantly.

"Why, sure I am! Glad you're settled and happy and--"

"Happy! Do I look that?" she interrupted bitterly.

"If my memory's any good you look as gay and happy as ever."

"Your memory is bad--about that--and other things. Trueman, have you come back on a visit?"

"No; I aim to stay. I always was comin' back."

"If you only had come!" She sighed. "I'm glad--terribly glad you're going to stay, We must be good friends again, True, You'll come to, see me--ride with--me--like you used to. Won't you?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Dabb wouldn't like that. He never had any use for me."

"It doesn't matter what he likes. Say you will, Trueman. I'm horribly lonesome."

Rock remembered that Amy had always been a flirt. Evidently she had not changed. He was sorry for her and wished to spare her discomfiture.

"I'll call on you and John sometime," he replied.

"Me and--John! Well, your long absence in Texas hasn't made you, any brighter. I dare say it hasn't changed you any--about girls, either. I saw you with Thiry Preston. At your old tricks, cowboy!"

"Did you? I don't call it old tricks to carry a few bundles for a girl," replied Rock stiffly. It annoyed him to feel the blood heat in his face.

"Bundles, rot!" she retorted. "I know you, True Rock, inside and out. You've lost your head pronto over Thiry Preston."

"I'm not denyin' it, am I?"

She would be his enemy, unless he allowed himself once more to be attached to her train. The idea was preposterous. In a few short hours--no, they were hours incalculably, long in their power--he, had grown past flirting with any woman.

Rock returned to Winter and proceeded to unburden himself.

"So you ran into Amy," meditated Sol, with a thoughtful twinkle. "Wal, son, take my advice and keep shy of Amy, She's got old Dabb so jealous he can't attend to his business. She always has some buckaroo runnin' after her. That won't do for you. The Dabbs about own Wagontongue, not to say a lot of the range outfits. Then I always see Thiry with Amy, when she comes to town. If you aim to snub your old girl for this new one--wal, son, you'll have a tough row to hoe."

"Sol, I'll not snub Amy, but I can't, go playin' round with her. Sol, how much money do you owe?"

"Couple of thousand, an' when that's paid off I'll be on the road to prosperity again."

"Old-timer, you're on it right now. I'll take that much stock in your business," went on Rock, as he took out his pocketbook.

"Son, I don't want you to do that," protested Winter.

"But I want to. I think it's a good investment. Now here's your two thousand. And here's five more, which I want you to put in your bank, on interest. Reckon we'd better add another thousand to that five. I only need enough money to buy a spankin' outfit.

"I'm goin' to be a plain cowpuncher and start in where I left off here six years ago. I want a jim-dandy outfit; two saddle-horses--the best on the range, if money can buy them."

"We can find one of them pronto," replied Winter with satisfaction. "After supper we'll walk out to Leslie's. He's sellin' out an' he has some good stock, One horse in particular. I never saw his beat, Dabb has been hagglin' with Leslie over the price. It's high, but the horse is worth it."

"How much?"

"Three hundred."

"All right, Sol. We'll buy. But I reckon one saddle-horse will do. Then I'll need a pack-horse and outfit. In the mornin' we'll pick out a tarp and blankets, grub and campin' outfit. I've got saddle, bridle, spurs, riata--all Mexican, Sol, and if they don't knock the punchers on this range, I'll eat them. And last, I reckon I'll require some more hardware."

"Ahuh! An' with all this outfit you're headin' for Sunset Pass."

"Yeah. I'm goin' to Gage Preston's and strike him for a job."

"Son, it's a bold move, if it's all on account of Thiry. Gage can't hardly refuse you a job. He needs riders. He has hired about every cowpuncher on the range. But they don't last. Ash gets rid of them, sooner or later. Reckon about as soon as they Shine up to Thiry."

"How does he do that?"

"Wal, he scares most of them. Some he has bumped up with his fists. An' several punchers he's driven to throw guns."

"Kill them?"

"Nope. They say he just crippled them. Ash shoots quick an where he wants."

"Most interestin' cuss--Ash Preston," said Rock lightly.

"Son, this is what worries me," went on Winter with gravity. "It'll be some different when Ash Preston butts into you. No matter how easy and cool you start--no matter how clever you are--it's bound to wind up a deadly business."

"Thanks, old-timer. I get your hunch. I'm takin' it serious and strong. Don't worry unreasonable about me, I've got to go."

CHAPTER 3

Trueman Rock was not one of the cowboy breed who cared only for pitching, biting, kicking horses. He could ride them when exigency demanded, but he never loved a horse for other than thoroughbred qualities. And sitting on the corral fence watching Leslie's white favourite, he was bound to confess that he felt emotions of his earliest days on the range.

"Wal, True, did you ever see the beat of that boss?" asked Sol Winter for the twentieth time.

Rock shook his head silently. Then, "I'll take him, Leslie, and consider the deal a lastin' favour."

"Mrs. Dabb has been wantin' this hoss, didn't you tell me, Jim," asked Winter.

"Wal, I reckon so. She has been out here often. But I don't think Mrs. Dabb really cared about the horse so much. She just wanted to show off with him. But today there was a girl here who loved him."

"Who was she, Jim?"

"Thiry Preston. She passed here today with her dad an' some of the boys. She just petted the hoss while the other Prestons walked around talkin'. Never said a word. But I seen her heart in her eyes."

"Speaks well for her," replied Rock, as he slid off the fence and approached the animal. If this beautiful white horse had appeared desirable in his eyes upon first sight, what was he now? Rock smoothed the silky mane, thrilling at the thought that Thiry's gentle hand had rested there. "Leslie, I'll come out in the mornin'. I want a packhorse or a mule. Here's your money. Shake on it."

"I'll throw the pack-horse in to boot," replied Leslie.

"Sol," Said Rock, thoughtfully, as they retraced their steps toward town, "do the Prestons come in often?"

"Some of them every Saturday, Thiry about twice a month."

"Pretty long ride in from Sunset. Sixty miles by trail. Reckon the Prestons make a one-night stop at some ranch?"

"No, They camp it, makin' Cedar Creek, where they turn off into a flat. There's an old cabin--belonged to a homesteader. Preston owns it now. Thiry was tellin' me they'd fixed it up."

"Queer how all about these Prestons interests me so," said Rock.

"Not so queer. Leavin' Thiry aside, they're a mighty interestin' outfit," returned Winter. "It's wild, perhaps, to let yourself go over this girl all in a minute. But then, wild or no it might turn out good for Thiry Preston."

"Sol, why is her face so sad?"

"I don't know. I've asked her why she looks sad--which you can see when she's not speakin', but she always makes herself smile an' laugh then."

"It's for me to find out," said. Rock.

It was nearly noon the following day when Rock had his pack outfit ready for travel. Leslie came up presently with the white horse.

"Black leather an' silver trimmings," said, the rancher, admiringly. "Never seen him so dressed up. An' the son-of-a-gun is smart enough to know he looks grand."

"He's smart, all right," agreed Rock, with shining eyes. "Now we'll see if he'll hang me on the fence."

The white horse took Rock's mount easily, pranced and champed a little, and tossed his head.

"Good day and good luck, rancher," said Rock, lifting the halter of the pack animal off a post. With that he headed down the road which the Prestons had taken the preceding day.

Several hours' ride out of the town, Rock reached the top of a long slope and there halted the horses.

A 30-mile gulf yawned wide and shallow, a yellow-green sea of desert grass and sage, which sloped into ridge on ridge of cedar and white grass. The length of the valley both east and west extended beyond the limit of vision, and here began the vast, cattle range that made Wagontongue possible. Lonely land! Rock's heart swelled. He, was coming back to the valleys and hills that he now discovered he had loved.

An hour's ride down the slow incline brought Rock into a verdant swale of 50 acres surrounding a pretty ranch-house. Here Adam Pringle had lived.

The barn and corrals were closer to the road than the house. Rock saw a man at work under an open shed. The big gate leading in was shut. Rock halloed, whereupon the farmer started out leisurely, then quickened his steps. It was Adam--stalwart, middle-aged, weather-beaten settler.

"True Rock, or I'm a born sinner," shouted Pringle.

"Howdy, Adam! How's the old-timer?" returned; Rock.

"I knowed that hoss. An' I shore knowed you jest from the way you straddled him. How air you? This is plumb a surprise. Get down an' come in."

"Haven't time, Adam. I'm rustlin' along to make camp below. Adam, you're lookin' good. I see you've made this homestead go."

"Never seen you look any better, if I remember. Whar you been?"

"Texas."

"Whar you goin'?"

"Sunset Pass."

"Cowboy, if you want work, pile right off heah."

"Thanks, Adam, but I've got a hankerin' for wilder country. I'll try Preston. Think he'll take me?"

"Shore. But don't ask him."

"Why not?"

"I'm advisin' you--not talkin'," returned the rancher, with a sharp gleam in his eye. "Stay away from Sunset, Pass."

"Adam, I just never could take advice," drawled Rock. "Much obliged, though. How you doin'?"

"Been on my feet these two years," returned Pringle, with, satisfaction. "Been raisin' turnips an potatoes an' some corn. Got three thousand haid of stock. An' sellin' eight-' hundred haid this fall."

"Losin' much stock?"

"Some. But not enough to rare aboot. Though there's more rustlin' than for some years past. Queer rustlin', too. You lose a few haid of steers, an' then you never hear of anyone seein' hide nor hair of them again."

"How's Jess Slagle? I used to ride for Jess, and want to see him."

"Humph! Slagle couldn't make it go in Sunset Pass after the Prestons come."

"Why not? It's sure big enough country for ten outfits."

"Wal there's only one left, an' thet's Preston's. Ask Slagle."

"I sure will. Is he still located in the Pass?"

"No. He's ten miles this side. Stone cabin. You'll remember it."

"If I do, that's no ranch for Jess Slagle. Marshland, what there was of it fit to graze cattle, salty water, mostly rocks and cedars."

"Your memory's good. Drop in to see Slagle. An' don't miss callin' heah when you come out."

"Which you're thinkin' won't be so very long. Huh, Adam?"

"Wal, if it was anyone else I'd give him three days--aboot," replied Pringle, with a guffaw.

Toward sundown Rock reached the south slope of the valley and entered the zone of the cedars. He halted for camp near a rugged little creek.

He was on his way before sunrise the next morning, and about noon he halted before the cabin that he knew must belong to his old friend and employer, Jess Slagle. Rock rode into what was a sorry excuse for a yard, where fences were down and dilapidated wagons, long out of use, stood around amid a litter of stones and wood.

Dismounting, Rock went to the door and knocked. The door opened half a foot to disclose a red-haired, homely woman in dirty garb, more like a sack than a dress.

"Does Jess Slagle live here?" asked Rock.

"Yes. He's out round the barn somewheres," she replied.

As Rock thanked her he sew that she was barefooted. So Jess Slagle had come to squalor, and poverty. Who was the woman? Presently Rock heard the sound of hammer or axe blows on wood, and he came upon Slagle at work on a pen beside the barn.

"Howdy, Rock! I knew you were in town. Range Preston rode by this mornin' an' passed the news."

This gaunt man was Slagle, changed vastly, no doubt like his fortunes. The grasp of his hand was rough, hard, but lacked warmth or response.

"Jess, I'm sure surprised and plumb sorry to find you--your condition so--so different," began Rock, a little uncertain. "What happened? How'd you lose out?"

"Well, Rock, I had hard luck. Two bad years for water and grass. Then Dabb shut down on me. Next I sold some cattle, put the money in a bank, an' it busted. Then Preston moved into the country--an' here I am."

"How in the devil did you get here?" demanded Rock bluntly.

"Right off I made a mistake," returned Slagle. "Preston was keen about my ranch in the Pass. He made me a good offer. I refused. He kept after me. I had some hard words with his son, Ash, an' it all lead to a breach. They kept edgin' my stock down out of the Pass an' that way, then, an' in others, I fell more in debt. I had finally to sell for about nothin'."

"To Preston?"

"Sure, No one on the lower range would take it as a gift. It was a poor location, if any other outfit rode the Pass."

"Ahuh! Then as it stands, Preston about ruined you?"

"No, Rock, I couldn't claim that. Gage Preston never did me any dirt that I actually know. When I went to him an' told him his outfit was drivin' my stock off grass an' water he raised the very old Ned with his sons, in particular Ash Preston, who's sure rotten enough to taint the whole other twelve Prestons."

"So this Ash Preston is rotten?" queried Rock deliberately, glad to find one man not afraid to voice his convictions. "Then what happened?"

"Well, the old man stalled off a shootin' match, I reckon."

"Have you ever met since?"

"Lots of times. But I've never had the nerve to draw on Ash. I know he'd kill me. He knows it, too."

"What do you mean by rotten?"

"Mebbe it's a poor word. But did you ever see a slick, cold, shiny rattlesnake, just after sheddin' his skin, come slippin' out, no more afraid of you than hell, sure of himself, an' ready to sting you deep? Well, that's Ash Preston."

"Ahuh! I see," rejoined Rock, studying the other's face. "Glad to get your angle. I'm goin' to ask Preston for a job."

"I had a hunch you were. I'm wishin' you luck."

"Do you aim to hang on here?"

"Thank God, I don't," replied Slagle, with feeling. "My wife--she's my second wife, by the way--has had a little money an' a farm left her in Missouri. Were leavin' before winter sets in."

"Glad, to hear you've had a windfall Jess."

Rock kid been two hours leisurely climbing the imperceptible slope up to the mouth of Sunset Pass. It was mid-afternoon. At last he entered the wide portal of the Pass, and had clear view of its magnificent reach and bold wild beauty. The winding Sunset Creek came down like a broken ribbon, bright here and dark there, to crawl at last into a gorge on Rock's left. The sentinel pines seemed to greet him.

They stood, first, one, isolated and stately, then, another, and next two, and again one, and so on that way until at the height of the Pass they grew in numbers, yet apart, lording it over the few cedars on the level bench, and the log cabins strange to Rock, that he knew must be the home of the Prestons.

Slowly he rode up and entered the beautiful open park. The road cut through the centre and went down the outer side. Rock had a glimpse of gardens, corrals, fields, and then the purple pass threaded with winding white. Some of the cabins were weathered and grey, with moss green on the split shingles. Other cabins were new.

Just then a hound bayed, announcing the advent of a stranger in the Pass. Rock, having come abreast of the first cabin, halted his horse.

The door of this cabin opened. A tall, lithe, belted and booted man stalked out, leisurely, his eagle-like head bare, his yellow hair waving in the wind--Ash Preston.

CHAPTER 4

"Howdy, stranger! Off the trail?"

The omission of the invariable Western "Get down and come in," was not lost on Rock.

"Howdy to you!" he returned. "Is this Gage Preston's ranch?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm on the right track. I want to see him."

"Who're you, stranger?"

"I'm Trueman Rock, late of Texas."

"Rock--are you the Rock who used to ride here before we came?"

"Reckon I am."

Ash Preston measured Rock, a long penetrating look that was neither insolent nor curious. "You can tell me what you want with Preston. I'm his son, Ash."

"Glad to meet you," said Rock pleasantly. "Do you run Preston's business?"

"I'm foreman here."

"Reckon my call's nothin' important," returned Rock easily. "But when I do call on a cattle man I want to see him."

"Are you shore it's my father you want to see most?" asked Ash.

"Well, I'm callin' one Miss Thiry, too, for that matter," rejoined Rock. "But I'd like to see your father first."

"Miss Thiry ain't seein' every rider who comes along," said Preston. "An' dad ain't home."

"You mean you say he isn't home to me?" queried Rock deliberately.

"Wal, I didn't expect you to take it that way, but since you do we'll let it go at that."

"Excuse me, Preston, if I can't let it go at that," he returned coolly. "Would you mind tellin' me if any of the other ten Prestons are home?"

There the gauntlet went in the face of Ash Preston. Still he did not show surprise. Whatever he might be when drunk, when sober as now, he was slow, cold, complex, cunning. He was flint, singularly charged with fire.

"Wal, Rock, all the Prestons home, if you're so set on knowin'," returned Ash. "But there's one of the thirteen who's advisin' you to dust down the road."

"Reckon that must be you, Mister Ash?"

"An' that's shore me."

"Well, I'm sorry. But I'm not takin' your hunch, Ash Preston. I'll stay long enough, anyhow, to see if the rest of your family is as rude to a stranger as you are."

In one sliding step Rock reached the ground. And at that instant heavy boots crunched the gravel.

"Hey, Ash, who're you palaverin' with?" called a deep, hearty voice.

Ash wheeled on his heel, and without answer strode back into the cabin, to slam the door. Then Rock turned to see a man of massive build, in the plain garb of an everyday cattleman. Rock perceived at once that he was father to Thiry and Range Preston, but there seemed no resemblance to Ash. He might have been 50 years old. Handsome in a bold way, he had a smooth hard face, bulging chin, well-formed large lips, and great deep grey eyes.

"Stranger, I reckon Ash wasn't welcomin' you with open arms," he said.

"Not exactly. You're Gage Preston?"

"Shore am, young man. Did you want to see me?"

"Yes. He said you weren't home."

"Doggone Ash, anyhow," replied the rancher, with impatient good humour. "Whenever a cowpuncher rides in hyar, Ash tells him we've got smallpox or such like. He's not sociable. But you mustn't judge us other Prestons by him."

"I was tryin' to argue with him on that very chance," said Rock, smilingly.

"Hyar, Tom," Preston called, turning toward a lanky youth in the background, "take these hosses. Throw saddle an' pack on the porch of the empty cabin. Wal, stranger, you're down, so come in."

Rock had not noticed that the next cabin, some distance away under the pines, was a double one of the picturesque kind, long, with wide eaves, a porch all around, and ample space between the two log structures. Evidently the second cabin was a kitchen.

"Reckon it'll he pleasanter sittin' outside," said Preston, and invited Rock to a rustic seat. "What'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't say--yet," laughed Rock. He liked Preston.

"Thiry didn't tell me either," went on the rancher. "But I know you're the young fellar who was polite to her an' made Ash huffy."

"Yes, I am. It wasn't much, certainly nothin' to offend Miss Thiry's brother."

"Aw, Ash was drunk. An' he shore ain't no credit to us then. Young man, say you didn't lose any time trailin' Thiry up," went on Preston quizzically, with a twinkle in his big grey eyes.

"Mr. Preston, you--I--I--" began Rock, somewhat disconcerted.

"You needn't lie about it. Lord knows this hyar has happened a hundred times. An' don't call me mister. Make it plain Preston, an' Gage when you feel acquainted enough. You're not trying to tell me you didn't foller Thiry out hyar."

"No--not exactly. I came to ask you for a job."

"Good. What'll you work fer?"

"Reckon the same as you pay any other rider. I'm an old hand with ropes, horses, cattle--anything about the range."

"Wal, you're hired. I'm shore in need of a man who can handle the boys. I run two outfits. Ash bosses the older riders. If you fit in with the youngsters it'll shore be a load off my mind. But I gotta tell you thet no young man I ever hired struck Ash right. An' none of them ever lasted."

"Preston, if I turn out to be of value to you, will you want me to last?" queried Rock, and this was the straight language of one Westerner to another.

"Wal, I like your talk an' I like your looks. An' if you can handle my boys an' stick it out in the face of Ash, I'll be some in your debt."

"I don't know Ash, but I can take a hunch, if you'll give it."

"Wal, Ash sees red whenever any puncher looks at Thiry. He cares fer nothin' on earth but thet girl. An' she's awful fond of him, She's never had a beau. An' Thiry's near twenty-two."

"Good heavens! Is her brother so jealous he won't let any man look at her?"

"Wal, he wouldn't if he could prevent it--thet's daid shore. An' far as the ranch hyar is concerned he does prevent. But when Thiry goes to town accidents happen, like you meetin' up with her. Thet riles Ash."

"In that case, Preston, I'm afraid Ash will get riled out here. For I reckon the same kind of accident may happen."

"Hum! Hum! You're a cool hand to draw to. What'd you say your name was?"

"I haven't told you yet. It's Trueman Rock, late of Texas. But I used to ride here."

"Truman Rock!--Are you thet there True Rock who figgered in gun-play hyar years ago?"

"Sorry I can't deny it, Preston."

"You rode fer Slagle--when he had his ranch down hyar below in the Pass? It was you who run down thet Hartwell rustlin' outfit?"

"I can't take all the credit. But I was there when it happened."

"Say, man, I've heerd aboot you all these years. Damn funny I didn't savvy who you were."

"It's been six years since I left here--and perhaps you heard some things not quite fair to me."

"Never heerd a word thet I'd hold against you. Come now, an' meet these hyar eleven other Prestons."

Mrs. Preston appeared a worthy mate for this virile cattleman. She was buxom and comely, fair like all of them.

"Ma, this is Trueman Rock, who's come to ride fer me," announced Preston. Then be presented Rock to Alice, a girl of 16, not by any means lacking the good looks that appeared to run in the family. Rock took instantly to the ragged, bare-footed, big-eyed children, Lucy and Burr; and signs were not wholly wanting that they were going to like him.

"Where's Thiry?" asked the rancher.

"She's ironin'," replied Alice.

"Wal, didn't she hyar me call?"

"Reckon she did, Pa, for you'd almost woke the daid," replied his wife, and going to the door of the second cabin she called, "Thiry, we've company, an Pa wants you."

Whereupon Thiry appeared in the door in a long blue apron that scarcely hid her graceful symmetry. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow of shapely arms. She came out reluctantly, with troubled eyes and a little frown. She had seen him through the window.

"Good afternoon, Miss Preston," greeted Trueman.

"Oh, it's Mr. Rock, our new grocery clerk," she responded. "How do you do! And aren't you lost way out here?"

"Hey Rock, what's thet about you bein' a grocery clerk? I reckoned I was hirin' a cowboy."

Whereupon Rock had to explain that he had been keening store for Sol Winter when Thiry happened in. Thiry did not share in the laughter.

"Thiry, he's goin' to handle the boys." said Preston.

"You are a--a cowboy, then," she said to Rock, struggling to hide confusion or concern. "You don't know the job you've undertaken. What did my brother Ash say? I saw you talking with him."

"He was telling me your dad would sure give me a job--and that you'd be glad," replied Trueman, with disarming assurance.

"Yes, he was," retorted Thiry, blushing at the general laugh.

"You're right, Miss Preston," returned Rock ruefully. "Your brother was not--well, quite taken with my visit. He told me you didn't see every rider who came along. And that your father was not home. And that--"

"We apologize for Ash's rudeness," interposed Thiry hurriedly. She had not been able to meet Rock's gaze.

"Never mind, Rock. It's nothin' to be hurt about," added Preston. "Ash is a queer, unsociable fellar. But you're shore welcome to the rest of us. Thiry, if you never heard of True Rock, I want to tell you he's been one of the greatest riders of this range. An' I need him bad, in more ways than one."

"Oh, Dad, I--I didn't mean--I--of course I'm glad if you are," she returned hurriedly. "Please excuse me now. I've so much work."

Somehow Trueman divined that she was not glad; or if she were, it was owing to her father's need, and then it was not whole-hearted. But the youngsters saved him. They sidled over to him and began to ply him with questions about the white horse.

"What do you call him?" asked Burr.

"Well, the fact is I haven't named him yet," replied Rock.

"Can you think of a good one? What do you say, Lucy?"

"I like what Thiry calls him," she said, shyly. "Egypt. Isn't that just grand?"

"Egypt?--Oh, I see. Because he's like one of the white stallions of the Arabians. I think it's pretty good. Well call him Egypt."

"That'll tickle Thiry," cried the child joyously.

"Come; Rock, let me show you the ranch," called Preston, drawing Rock away. "When we first come hyar, aboot five years ago, Slagle, as you know, lived down below. He wouldn't sell, an' he swore this divide was on his land. But it wasn't, because he'd homesteaded a hundred an' sixty acres, an' his land didn't come half-way up. Wal, we throwed up a big cabin, an' we all lived in it for a while. 'Next I tore thet cabin down an' built the double one, an' this one hyar, which Ash has to himself. He won't sleep with nobody. Lately we throwed up four more, an' now we're shore comfortable."

The little cabin over by the creek under the largest of the pines was occupied by Alice and Thiry.

The grassy divide sloped gradually to the west, and down below the level were the corrals and barns and open sheds, substantial and well built. Rock found his white horse in one of the corrals, surrounded by three lanky youths from 16 to 20 years old. Preston introduced them as the inseparable three, Tom, Albert, and Harry. They had the Preston fairness, and Torn and Harry were twins.

"Rock, if you can tell which is Tom an' which is Harry, you'll do more'n anyone outside the family."

"Son-of-a-gun if I can tell now, lookin' right at them," ejaculated Rock.

The barns were stuffed full of hay and fodder. A huge bin showed a reserve of last year's corn. Wagons and harnesses were new; a row of saddles hung opposite a dozen stalls, where the Prestons no doubt kept their best horses. But these were empty now.

"Preston, if I owned this ranch I'd never leave it a single day," was Rock's eloquent encomium.

"Wal, I'd shore hate to leave it myself," returned the other tersely.

"How many cattle have you?"

"Don't have much idee. Ten thousand haid, Ash says. We run three herds, the small one down on the Flats, another hyar in the Pass, an' the third an' big herd up in the Foothills."

"Naturally the third means the big job," said Rock.

"Shore will be Tor you boys. Thar's a lot of cattle over there thet ain't mine. Ash said eighty thousand haid all told in the Foothills. But thet's his exaggerated figurin'."

"Gee! So many? Who's in on that range beside you?"

"Wal, thar's several heavy owners, like Dabb, Lincoln, Hesbitt, an' then a slew of others, from homesteaders like Slagle an' Pringle to two-bit cowpuncher rustlers. It's sort of a bad mess over thar. An' some of the outfits haven't no use fer mine."

"Ha! That's old cowboy breed. You can't ever change it. I know Lincoln. But Hesbitt is a new one on me."

"Yes, he came in soon after me," replied Preston shortly.

"Sol Winter told me you'd worked a new wrinkle on the range," went on Rock matter-of-factly. "Wholesale butcherin'."

"Yes. Hyar in this country I first set in killin' an' sellin' to local butchers. Then I got to shippin' beef to other towns not far along the railroad. An' all told I've made it pay a little better than sellin' on the hoof."

"Reckon it's a heap harder work."

"We Prestons ain't afraid of work," said the rancher. "But it takes some managin' as well. I made a slaughter-house out of Slagle's place, an' then we do some butcherin' out on the range."

"What stumps me, Preston, is how you get beef to town in any quantity," responded Rock.

"Easy for Missourians on these hard roads. We got big wagons an' four-hoss teams. In hot summer we drive at night. Wal, you'll want to unpack an' wash up fer supper."

It was just sunset when Rock came out of the cabin assigned him. Sitting down on the stone steps of the porch, he found there was an open place between the trees permitting unbroken view of the Pass.

A bell called Rock to supper. When he reached the cabin, to find the Preston boys straddling the benches, it was to be accosted by the rancher.

"Reckon we can eat now," added Preston. "Set down Rock, an' pitch in."

The long table was bountifully spread, steaming, savoury. Mrs. Preston sat at the foot. Alice's place was next to Rock, and she most solicitously served him.

When supper ended, dusk had just fallen. Rock sat on the edge of the porch, attended by the children. The older sons stalked away while the younger lingered, evidently accepting the newcomer.

Before the hour passed Mrs. Preston and Alice came out, and Thiry, too, and they all sat around on the porch and grass enjoying the cool breeze coming up the Pass. The moon shone bright.

Preston retired within his cabin, and soon after the boys slouched away. Trueman rose to say good night.

Thiry had been standing some moments, in the shadow of the cabin.

"Mr Rock, would you like to walk with me to my cabin?" she asked.

"Why--pleased, I'm sure," replied Rock, haltingly, scarce able to conceal his joy. Good nights were exchanged, and Rock found himself walking away in the shadowed moonlight, with Thiry beside him.

CHAPTER 5

The girl confronted Trueman, and her face had the sheen of the moonlight, her eyes the darkness and mystery of the shade.

"Mr. Rock, I want to talk to you," she said, very quietly.

"Yes?" rejoined Trueman.

"Have you been--wholly honest in coming out here to Sunset Pass?"

"Honest! What do you mean?" flashed Rock, his pride cut.

"What did you tell father?"

"I asked fora job."

"Did you let him believe the job was your sole reason for coming?"

"No. He said I hadn't been long in trailin' you up. I didn't deny it. I laughed and agreed with him.

"Oh--you did!" she exclaimed, somehow shaken out of her reserve. "That's different. I apologize. I thought you'd deceived Dad--the same as so many riders have done.

"Mr. Rock, please don't misunderstand," she said, looking up.

"I was far from being offended that day in the store and at the corral. At the last, there, you meant you'd see me again. And you've done it. Now we're concerned with that."

"Reckon I might have waited a decent little while," responded Rock. "But I never met a girl like you. I wanted to see you again--soon. Where's the harm?"

"Indeed there isn't any halm in it, Mr. Rock, but harm can come from it."

"How?"

"Through my brother, Ash."

"Well, that's not hard to believe," rejoined Rock, with sharpness. "The other day he was a drunken, vulgar lout. Today, when he was sober, he was cold, mean, vicious. He had no hospitality of the West--no idea what was due a tired and hungry stranger. In my day on the range I've met some--"

Trueman bit his tongue. The girl had suddenly covered her face with her hands.

"Aw, Miss Preston, forgive me," he burst out. "I spoke out quick, without thinkin'--"

She drew her hands away and lifted her head. "You're quite right--Mr. Rock," she said unsteadily. "Ash is--all that you say. To my shame I confess it. All my life I've made excuses for him. It's no use. I--I cannot do it any more. But that's not the point."

Rock sat down beside her, his anger flown. "I know. The point was the harm that might come through Ash. Please be frank with me. If I've brought this distress upon you I'm entitled to know why."

"I've always been very--very fond of Ash," she said tremulously, struggling for composure. "Partly because he was always so bad--and I seemed the only one who could influence him for good. Ash cares for nothing but me. He hates men--he hates horses--he hates cattle. I--I've stuck to him until now. I--I--Mr. Rock, I can't tell you."

"Spare yourself, Miss Preston," returned Rock impulsively. "It's wonderful--beautiful of you. I admire and respect you for it. But I can't understand."

"I would dare tell you, but would only make this unfortunate situation worse. I only hint of it because it's not fair to let You think we--or I--dislike you."

"Oh, then you don't?"

"No. I--I think I really like you, though it's such short notice. And Mr. Rock, if I had my way, I'd like to be friends with you."

"Thank you, Miss Thiry," he returned gratefully, swayed by her unexpected avowal. "Honest, I didn't hope for so much. All I wanted was a chance to prove I could deserve you--your friendship."

"I--I dare say you could," she returned, looking away. "But the thing is I can't be friends with you."

"Because of Ash?"

"Yes. He will not let any boy or man be friends with me--at least out here at Sunset. Cowboys have called on me here and many have come to ride for Dad. Ash soon got rid of them."

"I wonder how he did all that. I know cowboys well, where a pretty girl is concerned.. And I'm just curious."

"I'll tell you. He's lied. He'd coolly invite them to leave. He'd bluff. He'd threaten. He'd cripple and shoot their horses. Oh, that was the vilest thing! He'd get them drunk while on guard--which Dad couldn't forgive. He'd ridicule any sensitive cowboy before the outfit--so terribly that the poor fellow would leave. He'd concoct devilish schemes to make a cowboy seem negligent or crooked. And as a last resource he'd pick fights. Then worst of all--he has thrown his gun on more than one."

"How very interestin'! Yet you love him!" ejaculated Rock bitterly.

"I do--more because I seem the only one. But it's not so much that. I've kept him from going to the bad.".

"How could he be any worse?"

"Oh, he could be. You can't understand. But I do."

"Miss Thiry, have you been so vastly concerned for the good health of all these poor lovesick cowboys as you seem about mine?" asked Rock.

"You are sarcastic again. Yes, I was concerned--worried about these boys. But I've never been so--so scared as I am over your coming."

"Scared for me?"

"Yes. I can't lie to you. I'm scared because of the--the harm that may come--if you stay."

"What is the reason you want me to run off like a coward?"

"I've been trying to tell you," she replied. "But I don't want you to be a coward. I'd think it brave, generous to help me. I told you and I tell you again, harm, terrible harm, might come of this, if you stay. Ash will not try any of his tricks on you. For you are different. Why, my Dad said to me, not an hour ago: 'There, lass, is a cowboy whose face Ash won't rub in the dirt. An' he won't be throwin' guns around so careless. True Rock is a different kind of a hombre from all those Ash has stacked up against.' I was thunderstruck. It seemed almost as if Dad was glad. I never heard him speak like that."

She was in the grip of some strong emotion now, beautiful and soul moving to Rock. "You wouldn't stay here--with--us--and--and leave me alone?" she asked, with a simplicity wholly free of vanity.

"Yes, I might--if you cut me cold or slammed the door in my face."

"That I couldn't do. If you stay on, living here and eating at our table, I could not help but talk to you, be with you some. I think it would be nice--if Ash wasn't around. I--I'm afraid I might like you. Now, if you stayed--you'd--you'd--"

"Yes, Miss Thiry, I would," he returned swiftly. "I would be a very great, deal worse than any cowboy you ever knew."

"So--you see," she said, entreatingly. "Then you and Ash would fight over me. First with fists, probably like, a couple of beasts. Then with guns! Oh, that's the horror of it--there would be blood spilled. He might kill you. But most likely you would kill him."

"I'll just make up my mind I won't fight. I'll keep out of his way. I'll do anythin' for you."

"But you've only seen me once!"

"I'm not committin' myself yet. But I'm afraid, if seein' you the other day wasn't enough, this time is."

"Oh, please go away to-morrow--before it's too late," she implored. "You're so sharp--so keen. You'll-" Suddenly in her agitation, she jerked a hand to her lips, as if to silence them. Her eyes dilated. She stared up at Rock like a child who had almost betrayed herself.

Rock had intuition enough to grasp that part of Thiry's fear, perhaps the greater, was not due to the inevitable clash between him and Ash. She was afraid he would find out something.

"Afraid of me," he ejaculated hurriedly. "Why, Thiry--Miss Thiry, that's absurd! Right this minute I'm the best friend you have in the world."

"Then prove it," she said, bending closer. "Go away tomorrow."

"And never see you again?"

"It would be best," she returned, and, looked away. "But perhaps I--we might meet in town. I'm going in over the Fourth. Mrs. Dabb is to give a dance. I could see you there. I--I'll go with you--if you ask me."

"Don't bribe me to run off from Sunset Pass," he said. "But thank you for sayin' you'd go with me. I'd like to. I'd almost give my head to take you to a dance."

"Please, Mr. Rock, go away tomorrow before trouble comes. I'll never be able to thank you enough. It's the only chance you have to be my--my friend."

"You're a queer, wonderful girl," he replied, puzzled and sad.

"I will come to town oftener--then," she almost whispered.

"You'd meet me in town and hope to deceive Ash?"

"Yes. I--I'll try," she faltered.

"But he'd find it out. Then he would have a real case against me. He'd hunt me down, force me to meet him."

"Oh!"

"If I give in to you and leave Sunset Pass, I'd never willingly see you again," he went on, with more bitterness.

"Mr. Rock, that wouldn't be such a--a loss to you as you imagine now," she answered.

"I don't know. All I know is that I hate to refuse you anythin'. Listen. There's two sides to this deal, and here's mine." He leaned close so that he could see her better in the pale shadow. "I want you to know about me. For sixteen years I've lived the life of a wanderin', ridin', drinkin', fightin' cowboy. I stuck here on this range longest of all. I don't say I was bad, but I wasn't much good. I was always gettin' in trouble for other people. That's how I came to shoot Pickins. It was a good riddance. But the sheriff then--Cass Seward--was a friend of Picking's. I didn't want to kill Seward, so I left Wagontongue. I stayed away six years, then had to come back. I got there the day I met you. Found out Seward was gone. Found out a lot of other things. I wanted to know about my old girls.

"I had always been crazy over pretty girls. Sol Winter told me a lot of bad news about the girls--and about his son Nick. So I lost my happy mood. I wanted to go out and get drunk. Sol asked me to keep store for him. And I sat there sinkin' into one of the old black spells that had kept me from makin' someone out of myself. Then you walked into that store. And somethin' happened. I don't know yet what it was. But it was wonderful. It's been such a tearin', changin' somethin' that I don't know myself. I'm findin' out little by little. Seein' you this second time has helped a lot. I'll make a clean breast of all--soon as I know. But right now I know--if you don't turn your back on me--I'll never drink again. Or hunt for a fight! Or waste my time and money!"

"Mr.--Rock!" she exclaimed, low-voiced and trembling. "Are you telling me you--you love me?"

"No, I'm not tellin' you that," he returned doggedly. "But I'm sure afraid somethin's terrible wrong. Miss Thiry, please--please don't make me go away."

"Could I make you do anything? How silly! But if you're manly enough to save me misery, you will go."

"That's hittin' hard. Suppose I get it into my mind that by stayin' I can save you more misery?"

"Mr. Rock!" she cried, shocked.

His sudden query had been a random shot, but it struck home.

Rock's heart leaped. He had to stifle a wild impulse. "Quien Sabe! I might," he returned, almost coldly. "Give me a day to think over whether I'll go or stay. I'll meet you tomorrow night and tell you."

"Tomorrow night. Here at this hour?" she returned, rising.

"Yes. Good night, Miss Preston."

"I'm very, very sorry--Good night."

Rock gave her one long look as she stood now in the moonlight. He would carry that picture in his heart of hearts all his days. Then he strode away, and when he turned she was still standing like a white statue.

CHAPTER 6

A bell awakened Rock from late slumbers. The sun was up, and as he peeped out over his blanket covering he saw the grass shine gold under the cedars.

Rock made short work of his breakfast, and hurried away down toward the corrals. At the barn-yard Rock found Al Preston leading in some horses; and one of his brothers was jacking up a hind wheel of a green wagon.

"Mornin' boss," drawled Al.

The other boy nodded at Rock.

"Are you Tom or Harry?" asked Rock, reminded of the twins.

"I'm Harry."

"All right, Harry, I'll know you tomorrow or bust. Where's Tom?"

"He left us to grease the wagon and went off after a horse for you."

"For my horse, Egypt?"

"No--I'm--sorry to say. Ash saddled him and rode of on him."

Rock for the moment succumbed to a silent fury. But seeing the grey-eyed brothers watching him curiously, he thought he had better explode naturally and wholesomely as might any cowboy. "-- -- -- --!" he yelled lustily. "He took my new white horse! And my saddle that I wouldn't lend to the King of England! Doggone! Boys, was it supposed to be a joke?"

"Take it as a joke. Or better be nice about it," added Harry. "That always stumps Ash. If he can't make you mad he lets up--for a while, anyway."

"Thanks, boys. I'll think it over," rejoined Rock.

While Rock and Al greased the wagon wheels, Harry hitched up, and by the time this task was done Tom rode in, leading a horse. It was a bay that instantly took Rock's eye.

"You boys rustle along. I'll catch up." When Rock rode around the barn he espied the wagon far ahead down the gentle slope. He moved on at a trot, his mind busy. He came to the forks of the road, and taking the left one he entered the cedars, climbed the ridge, and descended to a grassy open meadow, only, to mount another cedared ridge. It was not long until the sweet sage-wind became tainted. Rock rode up a sparsely cedared slope to a level bench, and soon came upon the site that had once been Slagle's ranch. The boys were halting before the several cabins. As Rock rode up, the stench unmistakably heralded a slaughter-house. Skins of cattle hung everywhere.

The horses were turned loose to graze, and Rock, with the three boys, set to work. It was no easy task for one man, or even two men, to fold a stiff hide and compress it into small space. But that was what they had to do.

Nevertheless, during this labour, and while joking with the brothers, Rock was bending all his keen faculties toward the end that he had determined upon. Nothing escaped his sharp eye. Toward late afternoon he happened to kick a piece of white substance, not stone, and of a colour markedly contrasting with the red earth, smelled it--tasted it. Quicklime! Rock put it in his pocket.

In due time Tom mounted the loaded wagon to drive home, while the other brothers rode off toward the woods, and Rock was left alone.

He took out the piece of quick, lime. It did not appear to be very old. After diligent search he found a smaller piece. Quicklime in any quantity there might be used to deaden the stench of decaying offal, blood and bones. Rock searched the cabins, sheds, bins without finding any more. None had ever been used upon the horrible pile that had accumulated in the hollow below the slaughter-house.

Manifestly the Prestons left the entrails and skeletons of their cattle there on the ground to rot. But they might have left something here that they wanted to destroy quickly. Hides! Cow hides they could not sell because they did not bear their brands!

All of a sudden, into Rock's searching mind there flashed memory of a deep well he had once helped to dig on these premises. Slagle wanted to get water close at hand. But they never struck water, and at 80 feet abandoned the effort.

Since that time brush had grown heavily all around the ranch-houses, but after some search Rock located the well. The edges had weathered, widening the mouth. He could not get right to the brink at this point. On the opposite side, however, opened a break in the brush. He was about to crash his way through the bushes, around to this opening, when his caution urged him not to leave a trail. Carefully he retracted his steps, worked around into a narrow path, in which he saw boot tracks.

Reaching the well, Rock peered down. He saw only the gravel sides and the black hole. He dropped a stone into it. No sound! Selecting a larger one he leaned over and let it fall. The hole certainly was deep. A low soft thud came to his taut ears.

"By gum! That well had a rock bottom." Rock cautiously stretched himself on the ground, and putting his head over the brink of the well he sniffed like a tracking hound. He caught a faint scent of something that was not earth or brush and certainly not rotting hides, and it was rotting cattle hides which he expected to smell.

Resting a moment, he tried again. This time he caught the scent strongly enough to recognize it. Quicklime! Rock sat up, suddenly sweating, though he felt a cold chill. He felt no doubt that down this well hundreds, perhaps thousands of cattle hides had been dropped--not one of which bore the Preston brand.

Rock crawled on hands and knees back along the edge of the path, making certain not to leave the slightest mark. He found another piece of quicklime, and several smaller pieces. When he got to the boot tracks he scrutinized them with the photographing eyes of a trailer of long experience. He cut twigs from the under side of a bush, and with minute care measured the length and breadth of the most clearly defined print. These twigs he stored in his pocket.

He retraced his steps back to the open, mounted, and rode quickly away.

Rock shaved and changed his clothes. He made sure, this evening, to be on hand before the first supper bell rang.

The moon appeared long in rising, and Rock both longingly and fearfully watched for the silver radiance over the rim. It came at last and found him unprepared. How could he bear to terrorize Thiry Preston by confessing his determination to stay?

At length he could no longer procrastinate. Skirting the edge of the pines, he circled the slope and soon found the great pine under which he had talked with Thiry the night before.

He heard her cabin door open. A broad light flared out into the gloom. Then Thiry appeared in the doorway, clearly defined. She wore white. Trueman's heart gave a leap and then seemed to stand still while she stood peering out into the night. She closed the door behind her--vanished. But Rock heard quick light footfalls. She was coming.

Presently her pale form grew more distinct. Rock saw her put out her hands, feeling for the tree or the bench. He reached up to take them.

"Oh!" she cried, evidently startled. "It's you, Mr. Rock. You're--late. I--I've been here twice," she said.

"I'm sorry, but it took courage to come at all," returned Rock.

"Didn't it, though? Mr. Rock, you--you are holding my hands. Please let go so I may sit down."

Rock, his own features in shadow, watched her and waited. The hour seemed to be the most momentous of his life.

"Ash stole your horse?" she began tentatively.

"Reckon I wouldn't say stole. But he sure borrowed Egypt."

"I asked Al what you did when you found out Ash took your horse," went on Thiry.

"What did Al say?"

"He said you were thunderstruck. And you swore something terrible. Mr. Rock, you see, then--how impossible Ash is!"

"Nobody or nothin' is impossible."

"Dad says the man doesn't live who can stand Ash's meanness."

"Well, I'm livin' and maybe I can. You saw him this mornin'?"

"Yes. I was up early, helping Ma get breakfast. When the horses came up it wasn't light yet. I heard Dad jawing somebody. Then Range came in and told us. At the table I asked Ash why he'd stolen your horse and--what he meant--to do with him."

Here Thiry's speech grew husky. "Luce told me he'd called the boss Egypt, which was your pet name," said Ash. "That's why I took him an why I'm goin' to break a leg for him."

Only Rock's powerful hold upon himself, fortified by hours of preparation for anything, kept his anger within bounds. "All because I gave him your pretty name! Tough on the horse--and you were afraid to open your mouth! Much you love Egypt!"

"Wait a minute, will you;" she answered, not without anger. "I pitched into Ash Preston as never before in our lives. I--I don't know what all I called him. He took it--and, oh, he looked dreadful. But he never said a word. He got up, nearly overturning the table, jumped on the horse and was gone like a white streak."

"I stand corrected," replied Rock thickly. "I talk too quick I'm sure glad you had the nerve to call him. If you hadn't--Well, Thiry, I suppose you want to know what I'm goin' to do about this horse deal?"

"Worry over that has made me sick all day."

"When Ash gets back, I'll go up to him nice and pleasant. I'll say 'Look here, cowboy, if you want to borrow my horse, ask me for him.'"

"Suppose he comes back without Egypt?"

"Then I think I'd better pass it off as if nothin' had happened. I'd ask your' father. And if Egypt was crippled I'd go find him and end his misery."

Then followed a long silence.

"Mr. Rock, you--you were to tell me something tonight?" she began nervously.

"Thiry," said Rock, with deep feeling, "last night I almost gave in to you. It was terribly hard not to. But tonight I have hold of myself. You can't persuade me. I shall stay. I've thought all night and all day. Out of this torture has come two facts, which I believe as I do my own soul."

"What are they?" she asked.

"I believe I can serve you best by stayin' at Sunset Pass."

"And the other?"

"I love you."

She flung out her hands, protestingly, imploringly, and as if to ward off some incomprehensible peril. "Mr.--Rock!" she gasped. "You dare make love to me--when we've never been together an hour--when I'm insisting you leave my home!"

"I'd dare that, yes, under any circumstances," he retorted, coolly. "But as it happens, I'm not makin' love to you. I'm tellin' you a simple fact. I'm not likely to annoy you with it soon again. But I sort 'of welcome this chance to prove somethin' to myself. You'll hear gossip about me and my love affairs, which you can believe if you like. But I know now I never had a real one before.

"I shall leave you blissfully alone. I shall hardly be even polite if I see you at mealtime. Your brother Ash will soon see that there's one rider who's not mushy over you."

"To what end?" she went on sharply. "Is that to deceive Ash, so you can stay here?"

"Partly. But I'm bound to confess that it's to spare you."

"Oh, you're not going to spare me," she cried. "You'll not leave me alone. And even if you did Ash would believe it only a blind--that you were with me during his absence. It's a poor plan. Please give it up."

"No."

She began to twist her hands in her white gown. The idea that he had decided to stay at Sunset Pass held some singular dread for her. And while he weighed this in mind he watched her with penetrating gaze, steeling his heart against the tenderness that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Trueman Rock, I want you to leave Sunset Pass," she said, leaning to him. "Let's risk being discovered meeting at Wagontongue. You can get work anywhere. We'll take Mr. Winter into our confidence. We can meet in his office. Then I'll arrange to stay with Mrs. Winter all night when I come to town. You can meet me there, too. I will go to Wagontongue every week."

"Thiry, I ask you again--why do you want me to leave?"

"To keep you and Ash apart."

"Is that the only reason?"

"It's the--the big one," she replied with both voice and glance unsteady.

"But that won't keep Ask and me apart. He will come to town when you do. He'll watch you."

"I'll choose the time when he is away with Dad on the range."

"You would risk so much for me?"

"It's not for you, though I know I--I--will like you, if you let me. It's for Ash and Dad all of us."

"It's very sweet of you, Thiry," he said, with just enough satire to belie the portent of his words, "but very little to risk my life, for."

"No, Trueman, it may save your life."

"Hove long would you expect this sort of thing to go on? We couldn't keep it up forever, could we? And when it came to an end--and I worshipped you--what then?"

"I'd run the same risk as you."

"What of? Being killed?"

"No! No! No! You're tantalizing me. You know what I mean."

"Indeed I don't. Reckon some locoed cowboys would think you meant that you risked the danger of love."

"I mean just that, Mr. Trueman Rock," she blazed. "I'm human. And surely it is not beyond the bound of possibility for me to--to love someone. Especially if he sacrificed for me--proved himself a man.

"Thiry, are you offerin' such a hope to me?" he asked huskily.

"It's not hope, but a chance--only a chance--and all I can offer."

"But a chance--that means a lot," he went on, without remorse. "I could be with you alone?"

"Yes, as long as you wished."

"Could I make love to you?"

"How could I keep you--from it?"

"Would you let me kiss you?"

"Yes," she replied, calm.

"Would you kiss me--now--to seal the compact?" he went on, as mad in the ecstasy of the moment, as stern to convict her.

"You drive a hard bargain," she murmured bitterly. "I've never kissed any man save Ash and Dad---but I will kiss you." She stood up, took brave, but hesitating steps, until her knees pressed against his, and as she bent over, instinctively her hands went out. Rock saw them trembling. She was going through with it.

Rock seized her hands, and bending his head, he kissed, one and then the other. "Thiry," he whispered, "I would give almost my very life to have you kiss me. But not for this--I led you on. I wanted to see how far you would go. You poor, loving, blinded girl! What would you not sacrifice for this damned Ash Preston? I will stay here. You have no idea what a horrible temptation you gave me. To meet you often--to have you alone--to be able to kiss you! Thiry! I could make you love me--but so help me God, I wouldn't have your love at such sacrifice. I'll win it square and fair--or never. Now, I'll go, and I'll nor speak to you soon again. Trust me, Thiry. Good night."

He kissed her hands again and rushed away into the shadows.

CHAPTER 7

Four days passed, days full of hard labour for Rock, and pondering thought, and slow absorbing adaptation to the most difficult and strangest situation he had ever encountered. Early at breakfast and late at supper he saw Thiry and then only to exchange a greeting. He did not look to see if she looked at him, though curiosity and longing consumed him.

By doing most of the fence work he made himself more than solid with the three brothers. He let them ride off up into the timber to cut pine saplings and snake them down to the pasture, while he dug the post holes and built the fence.

On the fifth morning Al remarked, laconically: "We sure gotta hustle today, for Pa will be home."

"Why the particular hustle today, Al?" queried Rock.

"Pa has a way of slippin' up on us, an' it'd sure never do to be ketched loafin'. He wouldn't let us go to the rodeo and dance on the Fourth."

"I'd forgotten about that. Are all the folks goin'?"

"Pa and Ma ain't goin', but sure the rest of us Prestons are."

"Includin' Ash?" asked Rock.

"He never missed one yet that Thiry went to--leastways a dance. Allie and the kids will stop at Leslie's. Thiry said she was goin' to Winter's. Reckon you'll ride in with us?"

"I'll ask your dad," returned Rock, thoughtfully. It would be very much better, perhaps, for him to remain on the ranch. Yet the urge laid hold of him. He could take just a peep in at the dance to see Thiry in a party dress.

"Reckon, on second thought, I will go," he said to Al.

Late in the afternoon the brothers left off work and rode home. Rock went with them. While he was cleaning up for supper he heard the clip-clop of trotting horses, then rattle of wheels. With a start he went to the door. Scoot Preston was driving up on the seat of a big empty wagon. Two more wagons had topped the slope. Rock waited for riders to appear, and he was not disappointed. The burly form of the older Preston hove in sight, riding a roan and leading two saddle-horses. A little afterwards, sight of Ash on Egypt shot a quick stab through Rock. The next instant he relaxed. The white horse appeared tired, but none the worse for the absence.

"Aw!" exclaimed Trueman with relief. "Reckon I might as well go out and get it over."

But first he went inside. While pondering over how bests to meet this situation, he had buckled on his gun belt. Whereupon he strolled out leisurely. As he came in sight of the arriving Prestons, halfway between the cabins, Gage spied him, and with a start he wheeled about from the family, who were welcoming him to dismount like any cowboy, and hurried to intercept Rock. As he drew near, his deep grey eyes betrayed considerable anxiety. "Wal, Rock, how are you?" was his greeting, accompanied by extended, hand. "The boys say you all got on, fine. I'm sure glad."

"Howdy, boss!" returned Rock cordially. "We got the fence job 'most done."

Preston fell in step with, Rock, and they approached the double cabin, where on the wide porch were collected the women and children. Ash was the only one of the returning brothers who got down on the ground.

"Cowboy, I shore hope you won't rile Ash--leastways hyar before the women," said Preston hurriedly.

"Don't worry, boss," returned Rock with a genial laugh. He had caught a glimpse of Thiry, who kept somewhat in the background.

Egypt was standing, bridle down, halfway between Ash and the porch. One glance told Rock that he was gaunt, dirty, and rough, but apparently as sound as ever.

"Howdy, boys!" said Rock, nodding to the drivers on the wagons. Then, halting beside Egypt, he turned to face Ash Preston. Despite his iron control a slight quiver strung his frame. How cool, intent, potential of evil menace this man! He stood at ease, hands on his hips, his black sombrero slouched back, his blue-flame eyes piercing Rock, as if to read his mind. Rock had met penetrating glances before, and this one shot little cold sparks along his marrow.

"Howdy, Ash! Did you like my horse?"

"He's got any outlaw beat I ever rode."

"Dog-gone! Leslie swore this horse never pitched in his life."

"Reckon thet was no lie, Rock. But I nagged him. He threw me, an' I couldn't get near him again thet day."

"Served you right," responded Rock naturally. "It doesn't pay to be mean to horses. And see here, Ash, don't go borrowin' a horse from a rider without askin' him."

The tension relaxed, the charged atmosphere lost its fullness and suspense. Ash eyed Rock with slow, cool smile, and slouched with clinking steps to the porch.

Rock spent so much time caring for Egypt, cleaning and brushing him, and making him a comfortable bed of grass in a stall, that it was dark when he got back to his cabin. The supper bell rang. He hurried out, and arrived as the Prestons were just seating themselves at table.

Afterward, Preston called him into his cabin. "Have a drink with me, Rock," invited Preston.

"Sorry, boss, but I've quit."

"Have a cigar, then."

"Thanks," replied Rock. "Did you have a successful trip?"

"Best ever, but thet won't interest you," returned Preston briefly. "I'll say, though, thet when the trip ended hyar I was some worried. An' when I seen you packin' a gun, I was scared stiff."

"Sorry, boss. It's just habit."

"Ahuh!" returned Preston giving Rock a dubious look. "But it was hard to figger you. Ash shore wasn't able to. An' you clean knocked the pins from under him. He didn't an' neither did any of us, expect you to take thet dirty deal so nice an' friendly."

"What else could I do?" demanded Rock, spreading wide his hands. "I came out here to make friends, not enemies."

"Wal, I'm shore thankin' you. You've got Ash stumped. I heard him ask Lucy if you'd been runnin' after Thiry."

"Humph! What did Lucy say?"

"Lucy said you hadn't--thet you were seldom hyar, an' then never paid no attention to Thiry. Is thet so, Rock?"

"Reckon it is, since you left."

"You an' Thiry quarrelled, I take it," went on Preston. "She has a way of makin' the boys leave her alone. I didn't think you'd be so easy. Just before supper Thiry told me you'd acted wonderful with Ash--thet she'd misjudged you. The truth is, Rock, I think she likes you. You've shore begun right, if you're in earnest about her."

Rock could scarcely believe his ears. "In earnest? Good Lord! I wish I knew how to tell you how earnest I am."

"Wal, I reckon now I savvy why you met Ash that way. Rock, you're an upstandin fine, chap an' I like you. So don't be backward tellin' me just how you feet about Thiry."

"Preston, the minute I laid eyes on Thiry I fell in love with her. It's changed my whole life. I used to be a free, careless hombre, runnin' after girls, drinkin', gamblin', fightin'. But that's past."

"Thanks fer talkin out," rejoined Preston, bending deep, inscrutable eyes upon Rock. "Course you mean marriage, cowboy?"

Rock jerked in his chair; his face reddened. "Preston--I never let myself have such hope," he burst out.

"But you'd like to marry her?" queried this astounding ranchman.

Rock stared a moment. "I'd be the happiest and luckiest fellow on earth."

"Wal, thet's talkin'," returned Preston gruffly. "Do you want my advice?"

"Preston, I--I'd be most grateful for anythin'."

"Thiry ought to be told."

"Aw, no! So soon? It'd only distress her--do my cause harm."

"Cowboy, you don't know women," said Preston. "The very fact thet you came to me an' declared yourself, straight like your name, will go far with Thiry, an' all of us 'ceptin' Ash. An' even Ash couldn't help but see thet was right. Wal, I'm appreciatin' your fine feelin's, Rock, so I'll tell her myself," replied the rancher, and turning to the open door he called, "Thiry!"

"Preston!" gasped Rock, rising. Standing as if paralyzed, he heard light quick footfalls. Immediately the dark doorway framed a slender form in white, with wistful, expectant face and great, doubtful eyes.

"Come in, lass, an' shut the door," said her father.

She complied hesitatingly, her glance going from her father to Rock.

"Thiry," he went on, and when she drew close he put an arm around her. "Do you see thet big cowpuncher standin' over there?"

"Yes, Dad--I couldn't very well help it," she replied.

"Sort of pale round the gills, ain't he?"

"Dad, I--I'm afraid he looks a little guilty."

"Wal, it's not exactly guilt," laughed Preston. "Lass, Rock has asked your hand in marriage--an' I've given it."

"Father!" cried Thiry incredulously, almost with horror.

In that exclamation of protest, of unbelief, of consternation, Rock delved further into this Preston mystery. It seemed to betray Preston's guilt along with that of his son, and Thiry's knowledge of it.

"Wal, lass, will you answer Rock now or do you want some time to think it over?" asked Preston coolly, unabashed or unconcerned by her agitation.

"Mr. Rock, I thank you," said Thiry, through trembling pale lips, "for the honour you do me. I'm sorry I cannot accept."

Rock bowed, with what little dignity he could assume.

"Thiry, wait a minute," said her father, as she made for the door. He caught her and held her. "I'm sorry to upset you. Don't think your dad wants to get rid of you. I'm powerful fond of you, Thiry. It's only thet lately--wal, I don't want to worry you about what might happen to me. I might not always be hyar to take care of you. I'd like to have your future settled before--before long. An' Rock struck me about right. Aw, there you're cryin'. Wal, run along. I shore cain't stand a cryin' woman, not even you. An' it's no great compliment to Rock."

Thiry held her head high as she walked by Rock without giving him another word or glance; and he saw that she was weeping.

"Preston, I ought to knock the daylights out of you," declared Rock wrathfully, when Thiry was gone. "If I ever had any hope to win Thiry, it's sure gone now."

"Much you know about women," said Preston. "I had a hunch Thiry took a shine to you; now I know it."

"Preston, I can't be mad at you, but I sure want to be," returned Rock, resigning himself.

"Set down," said the rancher. "You'll shore be goin' in to town with the rest of the outfit. They're leavin' day after tomorrow. Thet reminds me. I run into thet pretty Mrs. Dabb, an' she said to tell you to be shore an' come to her dance. She's havin' the new town hall decorated."

"Boss, you must have been a devil amongst the women, in your day," said Rock slyly. "How would you handle this particular case of mine, regardin the dance?"

"Wal, as you're a handsome cuss, you want to make the most of your chance. It's to be a masquerade, you know."

"Masquerade? I sure didn't know."

"You get yourself up in some dandy outfit. Then first off be cold to Thiry an' sweeter'n pie to your old girl. But you want to be slick, cowboy. Don't overdo it."

"Old-timer, I'm afraid I couldn't do it," replied Rock with a grimace. "It'd be funny; it'd be great, if I dared. But I think I'll rustle now, before you get me locoed. Good night."

As he opened the door abruptly he almost bumped into Ash Preston. Rock could not help wondering if Ash had been eavesdropping.

Rock awakened at dawn with an idea which must have generated in his subconscious mind while asleep. It was that he should start toward Wagontongue ahead of the Prestons. He wanted to stop long enough with Slagle to dig through the husk of that rancher's provocative reticence. Likewise, he wanted to ride over that part of the range which had been the scene of Preston's latest labours. With Preston at home and his family on the road, there would be opportunity for Rock to confirm or disprove his suspicions.

At breakfast Rock asked permission to leave that day, and it was readily given. Saddling Egypt, and leading the rested and mettlesome horse up to the cabin, Rock tied a couple of blankets behind the cantle, and rode away under the pines, without being noticed, so far as he could tell, by any of the family.

He found where the wagon had left the road to halt in the first clump of cedars, and then had gone on again, back to the road. A mile or more this side of Slagle's ranch, which was hidden in the rough hilly country west of the Flats, the wagon tracks and hoof tracks of saddle-horses turned off the road. Rock did not care to follow them until the Prestons had passed, and even then he would be extremely careful how he did follow.

To Rock's disappointment, he found that Slagle was not at home, and he could do nothing but ride on. A couple of miles down the road Rock met the wagon tracks again, coming from across the Flats. C

hapter 8

After pondering awhile, Rock decided he might safely risk some careful scouting around, provided he left no traces and kept keen survey of the several miles of road. With this in mind he tied Egypt on hard ground, and taking to the thickest part of the cedars he mounted the hill, then went on to the summit of the ridge.

The wind carried more than heat, and as he gained his objective point he both smelled and saw dust in the air. Then something raw--an odour that was tainted!

Eagerly Rock came up behind a cedar, and from this cover he peered out and down. The slope on that side sheered steep and rough down to an open draw which appeared pale green, with a dry winding wash in the centre. It led up to a wide pocket, where yellow water gleamed. Cows were bawling. White objects flashed in the sunlight. Rock discerned a cabin and corral, covered with white spots, also men on horses and on foot. Rock slipped to his knees, and crawling to a low thick cedar bush he half buried himself in it, and peered out. The white objects were cowhides; thrown over the corral fence, and nailed on the cabin, hair side down. There were seven riders, several still sitting their saddles, the others walking around.

One of the cowboys, a tall fellow wearing a red scarf, turned same of the cowhides over to look at the under sides. Presently he and the others on foot collected in a group round their mounted comrades, and talked. Watching like a hawk, Rock convinced himself that these riders were curious about Preston's butchering business.

Presently the mounted riders galloped off, and those on foot took to their horses and followed. They rode up the ridge, westward from the cabin. The fellow with the red scarf, following last, halted on the brink of that pocket and took final survey of the scene. Then he followed after his comrades.

"Dog-gone!" muttered Rock, rolling out of his uncomfortable covert and wiping his perspiring face. "What to make of that? Maybe means nothin an then again--"

No doubt at all was there that the cowhides in plain sight over in the draw bore one of several of Preston's brands. If other stock betides Preston's had been butchered, which Rock did not doubt in the least, the hides with their tell-tale brands had of course been well hidden.

Straddling Egypt once more Rock rode down the hill toward Wagontongue. Cedars and brush grew densely at the foot of this slope, where the road crossed a culvert ever a deep wash. Rock's eyes, bent on the ground, suddenly spied the heel imprint of a rider's boot. It stopped Rock. He had seen that heel track before. Slipping out of the saddle, Rock bent to scrutinize it. And he experienced a queer little cold chill.

The impression of the heel was well defined, but the toe part was dim. It pointed off the road. Rock found another, like it, though not so plain. But for his trained eyes the trail might as well have been made in snow: It led into the coarse white grass, down over the bank, to the edge of the culvert, where it vanished.

The culvert was not the handiwork of masons. The aperture was large. Crude walls of heavy stone had been laid about ten feet high and the same distance apart. Logs and brush had been placed across the top. Above this a heavy layer of earth formed the road.

When Rock stepped into the mouth of the culvert he saw a lumpy floor, which at first glance he thought consisted of rocks lying on dried mud. A foot track, the one he was trailing, brought a low exclamation from his lips. Bending quickly with his little sticks he tried them. They fitted perfectly. Moreover, this one had been made recently.

When Rock rose from that track he knew what he was going to find. The tunnel appeared about a hundred feet long, with light shining in at both ends, and the middle dark. The numerous stones on the floor were of uniform size and shape. Rock kicked one. It was soft. Bending to feel it and to look at it more closely, he ascertained that it was a burlap sack tied 'round something. He laughed sardonically.

"Cowhides," he said. These stonelike objects were all hides tied up in burlap sacks. They were old. Some of them were rotting. Then toward the middle of the culvert, where the bags were thickest, he found that those in sight were lying on a bed of bags, flat, decomposed. Altogether, hundreds, perhaps thousands of hides had been destroyed there.

Rock went back to the point where he had found the boot track. If fresh cowhides had lately been deposited in this hiding-place where were they? Rock searched the ground more carefully. Back from the opening it was difficult to see well. Nevertheless, he trailed the heel track a third of the length of the culvert, toward its centre.

Naturally then he reached up to feel where he could not see. He had to put his toes in crevices between the stones to climb up and reach over the top of the wall. The thick logs placed across from wall to wall, and far apart, left considerable room along the top.

When Rock's groping hand came in contact with a sack he felt no surprise. This one was not soft. It appeared to hold heat. Grasping it firmly, Rock dropped to the ground and hurried with it to the light. He ripped it open. Quicklime, hot and moist! A fresh cow-hide, wrapped with hair inside! With hands hands that actually shook, Rock unfolded the hide. No slight thing was this proof of somebody's guilt--about to be disclosed! The brand was clear--a half moon. Rock had never heard of it.

He rolled up the hide, stuffed it in the sack, with the little quicklime he had spilled, and put it back where he had found it. Then he struck a match. By the dim light he saw rows of burlap sacks, neatly stowed away. Rock sneaked out of that culvert and up to his horse as if indeed he were the guilty one himself. Not until he was riding away, positive that he had been unseen, did he recover his equanimity.

That boot track had been made by Ash Preston. Rock knew it. Gage Preston was growing rich by butchering other ranchers' cattle. The very least implication Rock accorded to Thiry Preston was that she shared the secret, and therefore indirectly, the guilt.

And Rock loved her--loved her terribly now, in view of her extremity. When he got to that confession he seemed unable to escape from the tumult and terror it roused in his mind.

Rock had no idea how far this extraordinary dealing of the Prestons had gone. It would take considerable time to find that out, if it were possible at all. But it had proceeded far enough to be extremely hazardous for them, and in fact for any riders connected with them. The situation would certainly become a delicate one for Rock unless he betrayed Preston at once. This was unthinkable. Rock knew his own reputation had always been above reproach, as far as honesty was concerned. It would still hold good with the old cattlemen who knew him. But that could scarcely apply to new ranchers, new outfits, who had come into the Wagontongue range of late years.

Rock believed that before another year was out, if the Prestons kept up this amazing and foolhardy stealing, they would be found out.

It was long past dark when Rock arrived at Wagontongue. He found a stable where Egypt would be well looked after. Next he hunted up a restaurant to appease his own hunger, and then he went to the hotel and to bed.

The sawmill whistle disrupted his deep dumber at six o'clock, but he enjoyed the luxury of the soft bed, and linen sheets awhile before rising. After breakfast he went round to see Sol Winter.

Winter was sweeping out the store. "My, you look good! All browned up. Dog-gone. I'm glad to see you!"

"Same here, old-timer," replied Rock heartily. "Any news, Sol?"

"Not much. Everybody comin' in for the Fourth. Amy Dabb's givin' the biggest dance ever held in these parts. How're things generally out Sunset Pass way?"

"Preston drove in here a couple of day's ago," went on Rock, lowering his voice. "In the outfit were three wagons I know of. One was full of hides, which I helped pack. The other two were loaded with meat. Beeves! Now I want to find out how many beeves there were and where they went. But I don't want this information unless we can get it absolutely without rousin' the slightest curiosity or questions. Savvy, old partner?"

"Wal, i'll be darned if that ain't funny, for I shore can tell you right now what you're so keen about knowin'. Heard it quite by accident. Jackson, who runs Dabb's butcher shop, once worked for me. Wal, I went in last night to buy some beef-steak to take home. An' I seen a lot of fresh meat hangin up. Shore I always was curious, but I never let on I was. All I said was: 'See you're stocked up plenty an' fresh. How're you ever goin' to sell all that meat before it spoils?"

"'It won't last over the Fourth,' he said. 'Long as I got plenty an' can sell cheap to the Mexicans an' lumbermen, it shore goes fast. Wagontongue will soon stand another butcher shop, Sol, an' any time you want to talk business with me I'm ready.'

"'I'll think it over, Jackson,' I said. 'But where'll we get the meat? Reckon we couldn't cut in on Dabb's supply?'

"'No, we can't,' he told me, 'but Preston is killin' now altogether instead of sellin' any more on the hoof. He's gettin' thirty dollars more by killin, on each head of stock. He'll sell to anybody. Today he shipped thirty-six beeves. Driscoll told me. Shipped them to Marigold.'"

"Thirty-six!" muttered Rock, with unreadable face and voice.

"Yep. An' I counted ten beeves hangin' up on Jackson's hooks. All fresh. So that makes forty-six. What you want to know all this for?"

"Gee Sol, you're a gabby old lady!" returned Rock. "I was just askin', because you and I might go into the meat business. And say, who runs the Half Moon brand?"

"New cattleman named Hesbitt," replied Winter. "He's been on the range over two years. They say he hails from Wyomin', has got lots of money, an' runs a hard outfit. Clink Peeples is foreman. You ought to know him, Rock."

"Clink Peeples. By gum! that sounds familiar. What does he look like, Sol?"

"Unusual tall puncher. Sandy-complected. Eyes sharp like a hawk's, but tawny. Somethin' of a dandy, leastways in town. Always wears a red scarf. An' he's one of the gun-packin' fraternity. Clink will be in town shore over the Fourth."

"Red scarf? Ahum!" said Rock. "Well, Sol, I'll run along, and drop in again."

Reaching Dabb's new store, Rock hunted up the suit department. It chanced that there was in stock a black broadcloth suit, with frock coat, which might have been made for him, so well did it fit. Rock purchased it and an embroidered vest of fancy design, a white shirt with ruffles in the bosom, a wide white collar and a black flowing bow tie to go with it. Lastly he bought shiny leather shoes, rather light and soft, which augured well for dancing. Not forgetting a mask, he asked for a plain black one. None of any kind was available.

Rock carried his possessions back to the hotel. While in his room he cut a pattern of a mask out of paper, and taking this back to the store he bought a piece of black cloth and fashioned it after the pattern he had cut.

After supper the hotel man, Clark, got hold of him and in a genial way tried to pump him about the Prestons. Rock did not commit himself. Then who but Jess Slagle stamped into the hotel lobby, in his rough range garb.

Slagle had been trifling with the bottle, but he was not by any means drunk. He was, however, under the influence of rum, and his happened to be a disposition adversely affected by it. "Howdy, than Sunset Pass puncher!" he said, loud and leering.

"Hello, Jess! How are you? I called on the way in."

"Left home yesterday. Stayin' till after the fireworks. Are you goin' back to Preston?"

"Why, certainly! Like my new job fine," responded Rock. "I'm sort of a foreman over the younger Prestons."

"Rock, it was a hell of a good bet that Gage Preston would never put you to butcherin'. Want a drink with me?"

"No, thanks. I've sworn off," replied Rock shortly, and he went out to walk in the darkness. Slagle's remarks were trenchant with meaning. Slagle, of course, hated Preston, and naturally would be prone to cast slurs. But would he make two-sided remarks like that, just out of rancour? It would go severely with him if one of them ever came to Preston's ears. And rattlesnake Ash Preston would strike at less than that.

Rock strolled to and fro between the hotel lights and those on the corner.

As he came into the yellow flare of light, a hand, small, eager and strong, seized his arm, and a feminine voice he knew rang under his ear. "True Rock, I've been on your trail all afternoon."

Rock stared down into the piquant flushed face of his old sweetheart, Amy Wund.

"Now I've got you and I'm going to hang on to you," she said, with a roguishness that did not conceal a firm determination.

"Why--how do--Mrs. Dabb? You sure--"

"Oh, Mrs. Dabb," she interrupted, flashing dark passionate eyes at him. "Call me Amy, can't you? What's the sense of being so formal? You used to call me 'darling Amy.'"

There was no gainsaying that. "Well, good evenin', Amy," he drawled. "I've forgotten what I used to call you. Reckon it's not just good taste for you to remind me."

"Perhaps not, True. But you make me furious. Let's get out of the light. I've got to talk to you." Pressing his arm tight she hurried him down the dark street.

"Amy, listen to sense. Oughtn't you be home?" asked Rock gravely.

"Sense from True Rock? Ye gods! When I was sixteen you made me meet you out, at night, because my father wouldn't let you come to our house," she retorted.

"That's so, Amy. I guess I was no good. But I've learned a little in all these years--at least enough to consider a woman's name."

"Thank you. I believe you have. And it's not true you were no good. Now about my being at home. I suppose I ought to be there. But it's an empty home, Trueman. I am alone most of the time. John has men come there to drink and play cards and talk business. He objects to my friends. He is as jealous as the devil. Just a selfish rich old man!"

"Aw, too bad, Amy," replied Rock, deeply touched: "You never should have married Dabb."

"Father was in debt to John and I had to foot that bill, True," she returned bitterly. "But I didn't waylay you to talk about myself. Did you get the invitation to my dance?"

"I did. Many thanks, Amy. It was good of you."

"Trueman, I'd like you to come for several reasons. First for old times' sake. Then because certain of my friends say you won't come. Next because--well, True, I've been a darned fool. I've gone--a--little too far with a certain cowboy. And I'm afraid of him. He's coming to my dance. And I thought--if you were there--I'd not be afraid, anyhow."

"Who is he, Amy?"

"I don't know his real first name, His last is Peeples. Clink they call him."

"Clink Peeples. I've sure heard of him. Rides for this new rancher, Hesbitt."

"Yes. And Hesbitt--"

"One thing at a time, Amy. Is this the last reason you have for wanting me at that dance?"

"No, Trueman, there's another. A woman's reason, and therefore the most important."

"What is it?"

"I won't tell you."

"Very well, I reckon your third reason is enough to fetch me. I'll come."

"Oh, thank you, Trueman," she replied in delight, squeezing his hand. "You always were the dearest, kindest fellow when anyone was in trouble. Trueman, you could steady me. God knows I need it."

"Don't talk nonsense," he returned sharply. "Amy, will you consent to my callin' on your husband?"

"You want to see John?" she queried, astounded, her eyes opening wide. "What on earth for? All right, go ahead. You have my consent. Tell him anything you want, except I was once in love with you and that it's not utterly impossible for me to be so foolish again."

"I'll take good care you don't do that," he laughed.

"Truman, I have something more to say," she said, hesitatingly. "I think you'd better quit riding for the Prestons."

"Why?" he inquired, freezing a little.

"I'm afraid I can't explain what may be only my intuition. But I believe the Prestons are going to get more than the ill will of the range."

"That's a strong statement, Amy. On what do you base it?"

"True, I can't trace it down. But it must come from many little bits of gossip I've heard. Some of it, by the way, from Peeples. Everyone knows, of course, that you took the job to be near Thiry Preston. It's a joke already. That's your side of it. Trueman, you have a reputation. Oh, I don't mean as a gunslinger. That's old. Nor do I mean as a great rider, roper, and all such cowboy qualities. It's that you're true blue, honest, a man of your word. I could tell you a lot of things, if I could remember. One is--Clink Peeples said he reckoned Gage Preston would profit by your honest name. Isn't that a queer remark, Trueman?"

"It is--a little," Rock admitted.

"And here's another--more of a stumper," went on Amy. "Last night John had some men out to the house. They talked and smoked. When I heard your name I listened. Someone, I think Mr. Hesbitt, answered whoever had used your name first. 'I don't know this great cowboy Rock,' he said. But if he stays on ridin' for Preston, I'll not share the opinion you men have of him.' Trueman, there's something wrong about this Preston outfit. There's an undercurrent of feeling against them. It'll spread, if there's any reason for it. And then you'd be dragged in. True, will you leave Preston? Please! You can get three times the money."

"No. I'll stick, Amy. If there's anythin' in these hints I reckon the Prestons need me all the more."

She did not speak again for several blocks. She held his arm closely. Rock did not have anything to say.

"True, I like you better than I used to," she said softly. "What will you wear at my masquerade?"

"Look here, little lady, that's not fair. I won't tell you."

"You must. I'll never be able to recognize you. I remember how clever you used to be. The unmasking will not take place until dinner. That'll be late, Trueman. And I'll want to know you, in case I need you. You may have to throw Clink Peeples out."

"So the honour of protectin' you falls to me," laughed Rock. "I've half a mind you're lyin'. But I'll stifle my suspicions. Amy, I've bought a dandy broadcloth frock suit, black. Also a fancy vest, shirt with ruffles, flowin' black tie and black mask I'll come as a flash gambler."

"You'll look grand. Bet you make more than one heart ache," she returned, with a glance of mischief and regret.

Next morning about eleven o'clock, Rack strolled out of the hotel on his way to see John Dabb. He was shown into that individual's private office, and walked into a richly furnished room, where two men sat smoking.

"Howdy, Mr. Dabb!" said Rock, easily. "Reckon you know me."

"Trueman Rock!" exclaimed Dabb in great surprise. "Hesbitt, this is True Rock, one of the real riders we used to have. Rock, shake hands with Hesbitt, one of our new ranchers."

Hesbitt bowed stiffly and spoke without offering his hand.

Rock looked squarely at him. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Hesbitt."

"Well, Rock, to what am I indebted for this call?" queried Dabb.

"Remains to be seen whether you'll be indebted to me or not. Reckon that's up to you," replied Rock. "Mr. Hesbitt, I heard this mornin' that your foreman Peeples was in town wantin' to see me.

"Yes, he got in early, and I believe does want to look you up."

"Reckon he can't be particular eager," drawled Rock. "I've been up and down street, and in and out of the hotel all mornin'--lookin' for Mr. Peeples."

"Ah! I see. I dare say he's very busy buyin' supplies," replied Hesbitt, nervously. "May I inquire--er--what you want of