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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.


Chapter 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 my foreman?"

"Nothin' so important--that is, to me," said Rock. "I just wanted to
give Peeples opportunity to meet me. And to tell him somethin'."

"What?" asked Hesbitt, whose sallow face slightly paled.

"Reckon I'd sure like you to know as well. I just want to give you a
hunch. Not till two days ago did I ever hear of the Half Moon brand.
And not till yesterday did I learn what outfit ran it."

Manifestly Rock's cold, biting speech impressed Hesbitt, but scarcely to
the acceptance of its content. He picked up his hat from the desk.
"Dabb, your former cowboy's talk is queer, if true," he said curtly. "I'll
leave you to renew old acquaintance. Good day."

"Hesbitt, you're new to this range," rejoined Dabb, a little caustic.
"I've told you! before. And your Wyoming cowboy foreman needs to be
told--or he'll get into trouble. This is not Wyoming. I'm bound to tell
you that Rock's talk is not queer. I'll gamble it's true. I never knew
him to lie. And no old rider or cattleman on this range would say it,
even if he thought it."

Hesbitt bowed and went out, jarring the door.

Dabb bit viciously at his cigar. "Some of these new cowmen make me sick.
Rock, help yourself to a smoke and sit down."

"Dabb, I sure appreciate what you said to him about me," replied Rock.
"Fact is I'm surprised, too. I'd been told you had no use for me."

"Rock, that's not the point," returned Dabb quickly. "When I knew you were
honest, I was bound to say so. Your connection with Preston has started
rumours. Hesbitt has been losing more stock than any of us. His outfit is
a hard-nut bunch from Wyoming. They think you're--well. I don't want to
repeat gossip. But whether or not I have any use for you I'd sure need to
see proof of your dishonesty."

"That's straight talk. I like it and thank you. Dabb, did I ever do you
any dirt?"

"You quit me, left me in the lurch," replied Dabb testily.

"But be fair, at least," responded Rock earnestly. "I had to leave
quick--or kill another man, and one generally liked here, Cass Seward."

"You may have thought so. Cass told me once you didn't need to run off.
He could have fixed it up. Arrested you--and let you off. It was an even
break, you knew. Anyway, I know everybody was glad you bumped that
fellow off."

"Ahuh! I'm sorry I didn't know that," said Rock. Then he shook off dark
thoughts. "Dabb, did you have anythin' else against me?"

The rancher thrummed on ins desk while revolving this query.

"Look me straight in the eye," went on Rock. "Man to man, Dabb. If you
have cards on me lay them down. I'm comin' clean honest--and a lot might
depend on you doin' the same."

"All right, Rock, I'll meet you," replied Dabb, flushing darkly. "Straight
out then. I've sort of held against you--that old affair of yours and
Amy's."

"Good!" exclaimed Rock, cracking a fist in his palm. "That's just what I
wanted you to admit. The old women gossips gave Amy the worst of that
affair. She was pretty and vain--and had a way with the boys. But she was
good and if they ever said otherwise they lied. I was in love with Amy.
Perhaps a little more so than I was with two other girls. But what I want
to make clear to you Dabb, is that Amy was never serious about me. I mean
never in love as it was in her to be. And I'm satisfied that she never has
been yet. Even with you--her husband. You'll excuse me, Dabb, but this
is blunt straight talk."

"It is, by God! And to what end, Rock?"

"Amy's happiness," flashed Rock "I met Amy the day I arrived in
Wagontongue and again yesterday. Dabb, she'd scalp me alive if she ever
found out I told you this. She's lonesome and unhappy. I don't believe
Amy ever would have married you if she hadn't cared somethin' for you.
But you've failed to win the best in her. Dabb, I don't suppose anyone
ever dared to hit you this way. I don't care a damn how angry you get,
if I can only make you see."

"You're makin' me see red, cowboy," replied Dabb hoarsely. "But go
ahead. I've not the nerve to pull a gun on you."

"Dabb, I always had a hunch you weren't a bad fellow, under your skin.
The range claimed you drove hard bargains, and the cowboys didn't exactly
like you. Maybe that was justified. All the same as ranchers go, you sure
were white. You're rich now. You don't have to eat, sleep, drink and smoke
business. Pay some attention to your young and pretty wife! Take the girl
away occasionally, to Kansas City or Denver. California in winter.
And before long, old-timer, you'll be glad. If you don't do this,
sure as I'm sittin' here, Amy is goin' to the bad. That's what I came
to say and that's all." Rock ended abruptly.

Dabb writhed in his chair, fury and shame contested with the sense of
fairness that seemed dragged out of his depths. "You are a--queer
one--Rock," he stammered. "You've hit me where I live, and it hurts
like sixty. But you talk like a man. And I'm not yet so set in my mind
that I can't learn from any man. If the truth turns out as straight as
your talk--well, young man, you're on parole till I find out. Now since
you've presumed to advise me on a delicate matter, I'll retaliate.
Quit Preston!"

"Why?" snapped Rock.

"You know the range, Rock. Some things just can't be said."

"Because they can't be proved."

"Exactly."

"Well, Ill stick to Preston until these damned underhand rumours are
proved--or until somebody suffers for startin' them."

"That may work out too late for you. I think I ought to tell you I've
broken business relations with Preston last Friday."

"May I ask what were the business relations?"

"Preston had the small end of a cattle deal with me. I bought him out.
And then I cancelled all beef orders."

"How did Preston take that?"

"Kicked about the cattle deal. But I took it he was relieved to get out
of selling me more beef."

"Relieved--what you mean?"

"He just struck me that way. Didn't ask me why. I was glad. My reason was
good, but I could scarcely divulge it to him."

"Mind tellin' me?"

"Yes. I'd mind. It would necessitate violating someone's confidence.
You'll have to find out for yourself, Rock."

"Reckon so. By the way, Dabb, are you still head of the Territory Cattle
Association?"

"No, I resigned. Nesbitt was recently elected."

"Gee! Sorry to hear it," returned Rock. "Good day, Dabb. Reckon I'll meet
up with you at the rodeo and the dance."

In the afternoon, rather late, Rock walked round to see Winter.

"Hey, you been drinkin'?" expostulated Rock, holding his friend at arm's
length.

"Nope. That is, not red liquor. But I shore been drinkin' in Thiry's sweet
smiles an' words."

"Dog-gone! I didn't expe