Hollis met Norton's grim gaze and smiled. "I want to thank you—all of you, for guarding my interests so zealously," he said. "There is no doubt that this man richly deserves hanging—that is, of course, according to your code of ethics. I understand that is the way things have been done heretofore. But I take it none of you want to make me appear ridiculous?"

"Sure not," came several voices in chorus.

Hollis laughed. "But you took the surest way of making me appear so," he returned.

He saw Norton's face flush and he knew that the latter had already grasped the significance of his words. But the others, simpler of mind, reasoning by no involved process, looked at him, plainly puzzled. He would have to explain more fully to them. He did so. When he had shown them that in hanging the rustler he would be violating the principle that he had elected to defend, they stood before him abashed, thoroughly disarmed. All except Ace. The poet's mind was still active.

"I reckon you might say you didn't know nothin' about us hangin' him?" he suggested.

"So I might," returned Hollis. "But people would not think so. And there is my conscience. It wouldn't be such a weight upon it—the hanging of this man; I believe I would enjoy standing here and watching him stretch your rope. But I would not be able to reconcile the action with the principle for which I am fighting. I believe none of you men would trust me very much if I advocated the law one day and broke it the next. The application of this principle would be much the same as if I stole a horse to-day and to-morrow had you arrested for stealing one."

"That's so," they chorused, and fell silent, regarding him with a new interest.

"But what are you goin' to do with the cuss?" queried one man.

"We have a sheriff in Dry Bottom, I expect?" questioned Hollis.

Grins appeared on the faces of several of the men; the prisoner's face lighted.

"Oh, yes," said one; "I reckon Bill Watkins is the sheriff all right."

"Then we'll take him to Bill Watkins," decided Hollis.

The grins on the faces of several of the men grew. Norton laughed.

"I reckon you ain't got acquainted with Bill yet, Hollis," he said. "Bill owes his place to Dunlavey. There has never been a rustler convicted by Watkins yet. I reckon there won't ever be any convicted—unless he's been caught stealin' Dunlavey's cattle. Bill's justice is a joke."

Hollis smiled grimly. He had learned that much from Judge Graney. He did not expect to secure justice, but he wished to have something tangible upon which to work to force the law into the country. His duty in the matter consisted only in delivering the prisoner into the custody of the authorities, which in this case was the sheriff. The sheriff would be held responsible for him. He said this much to the men. There was no other lawful way.

He was not surprised that they agreed with him. They had had much experience in dealing with Dunlavey; they had never been successful with the old methods of warfare and they were quite willing to trust to Hollis's judgment.

"I reckon you're just about right," said one who had spoken before. "Stringin' this guy up would finish him all right. But that wouldn't settle the thing. What's needed is to get it fixed up for good an' all."

"Correct!" agreed Hollis; "you've got it exactly. We might hang a dozen men for stealing cattle and we could go on hanging them. We've got no right to hang anyone—we've got a law for that purpose. Then let us make the law act!"

The prisoner had stood in his place, watching the men around him, his face betraying varying emotions. When it had been finally agreed to take him to Dry Bottom and deliver him over to the sheriff he grinned broadly. But he said nothing as they took the rope from around his neck, forced him to mount a horse and surrounding him, rode out of the cottonwood toward the Circle Bar ranchhouse.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE TENTH DAY

Dusk had fallen by the time Greasy had been brought to the bunkhouse, and Mrs. Norton had lighted the kerosene lamps when Norton and Hollis, assured of the safety of the prisoner, left the bunkhouse and went into the house for supper. Potter had washed the dust of travel from him and when Norton and Hollis arrived he was seated on the porch, awaiting them. Mrs. Norton greeted them with a smile. Her eyes expressed gratitude as they met Hollis's.

"I am so glad you were in time," she said. "I told Neil not to do it, but he was determined and wouldn't listen to me."

"You might have tried 'bossing' him," suggested Hollis, remembering his range boss's words on the occasion of his first meeting with Norton's wife. He looked straight at Norton, his eyes narrowing quizzically. "You know you told me once that——"

"Mebbe I was stretchin' things a little when I told you that," interrupted Norton, grinning shamelessly. "If a man told the truth all the time he'd have a hard time keepin' ahead of a woman."

"'Woman—she don't need no tooter,'" quoted Hollis. "It has taken you a long time to discover what Ace has apparently known for years. And Ace is only a bachelor."

Norton's eyes lighted. "You're gettin' back at me for what I said to you the day before yesterday—when you stopped off at Hazelton's," he declared. "All the same you'll know more about women when you've had more experience with them. When I told you that I'd been 'bossed,' I didn't mean that I'd been bossed regular. No woman that knows just how much she can run a man ever lets him know that she's bossin' him. Mebbe she'll act like she's lettin' him have his own way. But she's bossin' him just the same. He sort of likes it, I reckon. At least it's only when a man gets real mad that he does a little bossin' on his own account. And then, like as not, he'll find that he's made a big mistake. Like I did to-day about hangin' Greasy, for instance."

Hollis bowed gravely to Mrs. Norton. "I think he ought to be forgiven, Mrs. Norton," he said. "Day before yesterday he presumed to lecture me on the superiority of the married male over the unmarried one. And now he humbly admits to being bossed. What then becomes of his much talked of superiority? Shall I—free and unbossed—admit inferiority?"

Mrs. Norton smiled wisely as she moved around the table, arranging the dishes. "I couldn't decide that," she said, "until it is explained to me why so many men are apparently so eager to engage a boss."

"I reckon that settles that argument!" gloated Norton.

Had this conversation taken place two months before Hollis might have answered, Why, indeed, were men so eager to engage a boss? Two months before he might have answered cynically, remembering the unhappiness of his parents. That he did not answer now showed that he was no longer cynical; that he had experienced a change of heart.

Of course Mrs. Norton knew this—Norton must have told her. He could appreciate the subtle mockery that had suggested the question, but he did not purpose to allow Norton to sit there and enjoy the confusion that was sure to overtake him did he attempt to continue the argument with Mrs. Norton. He was quite certain that Norton anticipated such an outcome.

"Perhaps Norton can answer that?" he suggested mildly.

"I ain't no good at guessin' riddles," jeered Norton. "But I reckon you know—if you wanted to tell."

But Hollis did not tell, and the conversation shifted to other subjects. After supper they went out upon the porch. A slight breeze had sprung up with the dusk, though the sky was still cloudless. At ten o'clock, when they retired, the breeze had increased in velocity, sighing mournfully through the trees in the vicinity of the ranchhouse, though there was no perceptible change in the atmosphere—it seemed that the wind was merely shifting the heat waves from one point to another.

"A good, decent rain would save lots of trouble to-morrow," said Norton as he and Hollis stood on the porch, taking a last look at the sky before going to bed.

"Do you really think Dunlavey will carry out his threat?" questioned Hollis. "Somehow I can't help but think that he was bluffing when he said it."

"He don't do much bluffin'," declared Norton. "At least he ain't done much up to now."

"But there is plenty of water in the Rabbit-Ear," returned Hollis; "plenty for all the cattle that are here now."

Norton flashed a swift glance at him. "That's because you don't know this country," he said. "Four years ago we had a dry spell. Not so bad as this, but bad enough. The Rabbit-Ear held up good enough for two months. Then she went dry sudden. There wasn't water enough in her to fill a thimble. I reckon you ain't been watchin' her for the last day or so?"

Hollis admitted that he had not seen the river within that time. Norton laughed shortly.

"She's dry in spots now," he informed Hollis. "There ain't any water at all in the shallows. It's tricklin' through in some places, but mostly there's nothin' but water holes an' dried, baked mud. In two days more, if it don't rain, there won't be water enough for our own stock. Then what?"

"There will be water for every steer on the range as long as it lasts," declared Hollis grimly. "After that we'll all take our medicine together."

"Good!" declared Norton. "That's what I expected of you. But I don't think it's goin' to work out that way. Weary was ridin' the Razor Back this mornin' and he says he saw Dunlavey an' Yuma and some more Circle Cross guys nosin' around behind some brush on the other side of the creek. They all had rifles."

Hollis's face paled slightly. "Where are the other men—Train and the rest?" he inquired.

"Down on Razor Back," Norton informed him; "they sneaked down there after Weary told me about seein' Dunlavey on the other side. Likely they're scattered by now—keepin' an eye out for trouble."

"Well," decided Hollis, "there isn't any use of looking for it. It finds all of us soon enough. To-morrow is the tenth day and I am sure that if Dunlavey carries out his threat he won't start anything until to-morrow. Therefore I am going to bed." He laughed. "Call me if you hear any shooting. I may want to take a hand in it."

They parted—Hollis going to his room and Norton stepping down off the porch to take a turn down around the pasture to look after the horses.

Hollis was tired after his experiences of the day and soon dropped off to sleep. It seemed that he had been asleep only a few minutes, however, when he felt a hand shaking him, and a voice—Norton's voice.

"Hollis!" said the range boss. "Hollis! Wake up!"

Hollis sat erect, startled into perfect wakefulness. He could not see Norton's face in the dark, but he swung around and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What's up?" he demanded. "Have they started?"

He heard Norton laugh, and there was satisfaction in the laugh. "Started?" he repeated. "Well, I reckon something's started. Listen!"

Hollis listened. A soft patter on the roof, a gentle sighing of the wind, and a distant, low rumble reached his ears. He started up. "Why, it's raining!" he said.

Norton chuckled. "Rainin'!" he chirped joyously. "Well, I reckon it might be called that by someone who didn't know what rain is. But I'm tellin' you that it ain't rainin'—it's pourin'! It's a cloud-burst, that's what it is!"

Hollis did not answer. He ran to the window and stuck his head out. The rain came against his head and shoulders in stinging, vicious slants. There was little lightning, and what there was seemed distant, as though the storm covered a vast area. He could dimly see the pasture—the horses huddled in a corner under the shelter that had been erected for them; he could see the tops of the trees in the cottonwood grove—bending, twisting, leaning from the wind; the bunkhouse door was open, a stream of light illuminating a space in which stood several of the cowboys. Some were attired as usual, others but scantily, but all were outside in the rain, singing, shouting, and pounding one another in an excess of joy. For half an hour Hollis stood at the window, watching them, looking out at the storm. There was no break anywhere in the sky from horizon to horizon. Plainly there was to be plenty of rain. Convinced of this he drew a deep breath of satisfaction, humor moving him.

"I do hope Dunlavey and his men don't get wet." he said. He went to his trousers and drew forth his watch. He could not see the face of it and so he carried it to the window. The hands pointed to fifteen minutes after one. "It's the tenth day," he smiled. "Dunlavey might have saved himself considerable trouble in the future if he had placed a little trust in Providence—and not antagonized the small owners. I don't think Providence has been looking out for my interests, but I wonder who will stand the better in the estimation of the people of this county—Dunlavey or me?"

He smiled again, sighed with satisfaction, and rolled into bed. For a long time he lay, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof, and then dropped off to sleep.



CHAPTER XIX

HOW A RUSTLER ESCAPED

When Hollis got out of bed at six o'clock that same morning he heard surprising sounds outside. Slipping on his clothes he went to the window and looked out. Men were yelling at one another, screeching delightful oaths, capering about hatless, coatless, in the rain that still came steadily down. The corral yard was a mire of sticky mud in which the horses reared and plunged in evident appreciation of the welcome change from dry heat to lifegiving moisture. Riderless horses stood about, no one caring about the saddles, several calves capered awkwardly in the pasture. Norton's dog—about which he had joked to Hollis during the latter's first ride to the Circle Bar—was yelping joyously and running madly from one man to another.

Norton himself stood down by the door of the bunkhouse, grinning with delight. Near him stood Lemuel Train, and several of the other small ranchers whose stock had grazed for more than two weeks on the Circle Bar range without objection from Hollis. They saw him and motioned for him to come down, directing original oaths at him for sleeping so late on so "fine a morning."

He dressed hastily and went down. They all ate breakfast in the mess house, the cook being adjured to "spread it on for all he was worth"—which he did. Certainly no one left the mess house hungry. During the meal Lemuel Train made a speech on behalf of himself and the other owners who had enjoyed Hollis's hospitality, assuring him that they were "with him" from now on. Then they departed, each going his separate way to round up his cattle and drive them back to the home ranch.

The rain continued throughout the day and far into the night. The dried, gasping country absorbed water until it was sated and then began to shed it off into the arroyos, the gullies, the depressions, and the river beds. Every hollow overflowed with it; it seemed there could never be another drought.

Before dawn on the following day all the small ranchers had departed. Several of them, on their way to their home ranches, stopped off at the Circle Bar to shake hands with Hollis and assure him of their appreciation. Lemuel Train did not forget to curse Dunlavey.

"We ain't likely to forget how he stood on the water proposition," he said.

After Train had departed Norton stood looking after him. Then he turned and looked at Hollis, his eyes narrowing quizzically. "You've got in right with that crowd," he said. "Durned if I don't believe you knowed all the time that it was goin' to rain before Dunlavey's tenth day was over!"

Hollis smiled oddly. "Perhaps," he returned; "there is no law, moral or otherwise, to prevent a man from looking a little ahead."

After breakfast Hollis gave orders to have Greasy prepared for travel, and an hour later he and the range boss, both armed with rifles, rode out of the corral yard with Greasy riding between them and took the Dry Bottom trail.

The earth had already dried; the trail was hard, level, and dustless, and traveling was a pleasure. But neither of the three spoke a word to one another during the entire trip to Dry Bottom. Greasy bestrode his horse loosely, carelessly defiant; Norton kept a watchful eye on him, and Hollis rode steadily, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the trail.

At ten o'clock they rode into Dry Bottom. There were not many persons about, but those who were gave instant evidence of interest in the three by watching them closely as they rode down the street to the sheriff's office, dismounted, and disappeared inside.

The sheriff's office was in a little frame shanty not over sixteen feet square, crude and unfinished. There were a front and back door, two windows—one in the side facing the court house, the other in the front. For furniture there were a bench, two chairs, some shelves, a cast iron stove, a wooden box partly filled with saw-dust which was used as a cuspidor, and a rough wooden table which served as a desk. In a chair beside the desk sat a tall, lean-faced man, with a nose that suggested an eagle's beak, with its high, thin, arched bridge, little, narrowed, shifting eyes, and a hard mouth whose lips were partly concealed under a drooping, tobacco-stained mustache. He turned as the three men entered, leaning back in his chair, his legs a-sprawl, motioning them to the chairs and the bench. They filed in silently. Greasy dropped carelessly into one of the chairs, Norton took another near him, but Hollis remained standing.

"You are the sheriff, I suppose?" inquired the latter.

The official spat copiously into the wooden box without removing his gaze from the three visitors.

"Yep," he returned shortly, his voice coming with a truculent snap. "You wantin' the sheriff?"

Hollis saw a swift, significant glance pass between him and Greasy and he smiled slightly.

"Yes," he returned quietly; "we want you. We are delivering this man into your custody."

"What's he done?" demanded the sheriff.

"I charge him with stealing two of my steers," returned Hollis. "Several of my men discovered him at work the day before yesterday and——"

"Hold on a minute now!" interrupted the sheriff. "Let's git this thing goin' accordin' to the law." He spat again into the wooden box, cocked his head sideways and surveyed Hollis with a glance in which there was much insolence and contempt. "Who might you be?" he questioned.

"My name is Hollis," returned the latter quietly, his eyes meeting the other's steadily. "I own the Circle Bar."

"H'm!" The sheriff crossed his legs and stuck his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, revealing a nickle-plated star on the lapel of the latter. "H'm. Your name's Hollis, an' you own the Circle Bar. Seems I've heard of you." He squinted his eyes at Hollis. "You're Jim Hollis's boy, ain't you?" His eyes flashed with a sudden, contemptuous light. "Tenderfoot, ain't you? Come out here to try an' show folks how to run things?"

Hollis's face slowly paled. He saw Greasy grinning. "I suppose it makes little difference to you what I am or what I came out here for," he said quietly; "though, if I were to be required to give an opinion I should say that there is room for improvement in this county in the matter of applying its laws."

The sheriff laughed harshly. "You'll know more about this country after you've been here a while," he sneered.

"Mebbe he'll know more about how to run a law shebang, too," dryly observed Norton, "after he's watched Bill Watkins run her a little."

"I don't reckon anyone ast you to stick your gab in this here affair?" demanded the sheriff of Norton.

"No," returned Norton, drawling, "no one asked me. But while we're handin' out compliments we might as well all have a hand in it. It strikes me that when a man's runnin' a law shop he ought to run her."

"I reckon I'll run her without any help from you, Norton!" snapped the sheriff.

"Why, sure!" agreed the latter, his gaze level as his eyes met the sheriff's, his voice even and sarcastic. "But I'm tellin' you that this man's my friend an' if there's any more of them compliments goin' to be handed around I'm warnin' you that you want to hand them out soft an' gentle like. That's all. I reckon we c'n now proceed."

The sheriff's face bloated poisonously. He flashed a malignant glance at Hollis. "Well," he snapped, "what's the charge?"

"I have already told you," returned Hollis. "It is stealing cattle."

"How stealin' them?" demanded the Sheriff truculenty.

"Changing the brand," Hollis informed him. He related how Ace and Weary had come upon the prisoner while the latter was engaged in changing his brand to the Circle Cross.

"They see him brandin'?" questioned the sheriff when Hollis had concluded.

Hollis told him that the two men had come upon Greasy after the brand had been applied, but that the cattle bore the Circle Bar ear-mark, and that Greasy had built a fire and that branding irons had been found in his possession—which which he had tried to hide when discovered by the Circle Bar men.

"Then your men didn't really see him doin' the brandin'?" questioned Watkins.

Hollis was forced to admit that they had not. Watkins smiled sarcastically.

"I reckon you're runnin' a little bit wild," he remarked. "Some of your stock has been rebranded an' you're chargin' a certain man with doin' it—only you didn't see him doin' it." He turned to Greasy. "What you got to say about this, Greasy?" he demanded.

Greasy grinned blandly at Hollis. "This guy's talkin' through his hat," he sneered. "I ain't allowin' that I branded any of his cattle."

Watkins smiled. "There don't seem to be nothin' to this case a-tall—not a-tall. There ain't nobody goin' to be took into custody by me for stealin' cattle unless they're ketched with the goods—an' that ain't been proved so far." He turned to Hollis. "You got anything more to say about it?" he demanded.

"Only this," returned Hollis slowly and evenly, "I have brought this man here. I charge him with stealing my cattle. To use your term—he was caught 'with the goods.' He is guilty. If you take him into custody and bring him to trial I shall have two witnesses there to prove what I have already told you. If you do not take him into custody, it is perfectly plain that you are deliberately shielding him—that you are making a joke of the law."

Watkins's face reddened angrily. "Mebbe I'm makin' a joke of it——" he began.

"Of course we can't force you to arrest this man," resumed Hollis, interrupting Watkins. "Unfortunately the government has not yet awakened to the fact that such men as you are a public menace and danger. I did not expect you to arrest him—I tell you that frankly. I merely brought him here to see whether it were true that you were leagued with Dunlavey against the other ranchers in the country. You are, of course. Therefore, as we cannot secure justice by appealing to you we will be forced to adopt other means."

The sheriff's right hand dropped to his gun-holster. He sneered, his lips writhing. "Mebbe you mean——" he began.

"I ain't lettin' this here situation get beyond my control," came Norton's voice, cold and even, as his six-shooter came out and was shoved menacingly forward. "Whatever he means, Watkins, he's my friend an' you ain't runnin' in no cold lead proposition on him." He smiled mirthlessly.

Watkins's face paled; his right hand fell away from the pistol holster. There was a sound at the door; it swung suddenly open and Dunlavey's gigantic frame loomed massively in the opening.

"I'm looking for Greasy!" he announced in a soft, silky voice, looking around at the four men with a comprehending, appreciative smile. "I was expecting to find him here," he added as his gaze sought out the prisoner, "after I heard that he'd been nabbed by the Circle Bar men."

Norton smiled coldly. "He's here, Bill," he said evenly. "He's stayin' here till Mr. Hollis says it's time for him to go."

He did not move the weapon in his hand, but a certain glint in his eyes told Dunlavey that the pistol was not in his hand for mere show. The latter smiled knowingly.

"I'm not interfering with the law," he said mockingly. "And I certainly ain't bucking your game, Norton." He turned to Watkins, speaking with broad insinuation: "Of course you are putting a charge against Greasy, Watkins?" he said.

They all caught the sheriff's flush; all saw the guilty embarrassment in his eyes as he answered that he had not. Dunlavey turned to Hollis with a bland smile.

"Have you any objection to allowing Greasy to go now, Mr. Hollis?"

Hollis's smile was no less bland as his gaze met Dunlavey's. "Not the slightest objection, Mr. Dunlavey," he returned. "I congratulate you upon the manner in which you have trained your servants!" He ignored Dunlavey and smiled at Norton. "Mr. Norton," he said with polite mockery, "I feel certain that you agree with me that we have no wish to contaminate this temple of justice with our presence."

He bowed with mock politeness as he strode to the door and stepped down into the street. Norton followed him, grinning, though he did not sheath his weapon until he also was in the street.

As they strode away from the door they turned to see Dunlavey looking out after them, his face wreathed in a broad smile.

"There is plenty of law in Union County, Mr. Hollis," he said, "if you know how to handle it!"



CHAPTER XX

THE "KICKER'S" CANDIDATE

The next issue of the Kicker contained many things of interest to its readers. Now that the drought had been broken, Union County could proceed with its business of raising cattle without fear of any future lack of water, with plenty of grass, and no losses except those from the usual causes. Dry Bottom merchants—depending upon the cattlemen for their trade—breathed easier and predicted a good year in spite of the drought. Their worries over, they had plenty of time—and inclination—to discuss the Kicker.

More advertisements were appearing in the paper. Dry Bottom merchants were beginning to realize that it deserved their support, and with few exceptions they openly began to voice their opinions that the editor would "make good."' The advertisements began to take on a livelier tone and the Lazette Eagle grew more sarcastic.

When the Kicker appeared following the incident in the sheriff's office, there was a detailed account of Dunlavey's now famous "ten day edict," together with some uncomplimentary comments upon the latter's action. This was signed by Hollis. He called attention to Dunlavey's selfishness, to the preparations that had been made by him to shoot down all the foreign cattle on the Rabbit-Ear. He made no reference to his part in the affair—to his decision to allow the small ranchers to water their cattle in the river at the imminent risk of losing his own. But though he did not mention this, the small owners and his friends took care that the matter received full publicity, with the result that Hollis was kept busy assuring his admirers that the incident had been much magnified—especially his part of it. Then his friends applauded his modesty.

In the same issue of the paper was also related the story of Greasy's capture by the Circle Bar men. But in telling this story Hollis was not so modest, for he spoke frankly of his part in it—how he had refused to allow his men to hang the thief, telling his readers that though Greasy deserved hanging, he did not purpose to violate the law while advocating it. Following the story of the capture was a detailed report of the incident in the sheriff's office and a scathing commentary upon the subservience of the latter official to Dunlavey's will. The article was entitled: "Handling the Law," and Dunlavey's exact words when he stood in the door of the sheriff's office as Hollis and Norton departed were repeated.

Below this, under the rubric, "Union County Needs a New Sheriff," appeared an article that created a sensation. This dwelt upon the necessity of the county having a sheriff who would not permit his office to be prostituted by any man or influence. The Kicker named a man who would not be bribed or cowed and declared that his name would appear on the ballot at the next election—to be held on the first Monday in November. At the end of the article he printed the man's name—Ben Allen!

He had made this announcement without authority, and therefore he was not surprised, soon after the appearance of the issue containing the article, to see Allen's tall figure darken the door of the Kicker office while he sat at his desk.

"Durn your hide!" cried the latter as he stood in the doorway; "you're the biggest disturber in seven states!"

"Perhaps," smiled Hollis, motioning Allen to a chair. "Still, you don't need to thank me. You see, I have decided to clean up this county and I need some help. I supposed you were interested. Of course you may refuse if you like."

"Refuse!" Allen's eyes flashed as he took Hollis's hand and wrung it heartily. "My boy," he declared earnestly, "you couldn't have done anything to suit me better. I'm just yearning to take a big hand in this game!"

"Interesting, isn't it?" smiled Hollis.

"Some," returned Allen. He grasped Hollis's hand and wrung it heartily. "You're a winner and I'm mighty glad to be able to work with you." He spoke seriously. "Do you think there's a chance for us to beat Dunlavey?"

Hollis laughed. "I flatter myself that a certain editor in this town stands rather well with the people of this county since a certain thing happened."

"You sure do!" grinned Allen. "Lordy! how this county has needed a man like you!"

Hollis smiled. "Then you won't object to being the Kicker's candidate?" he inquired.

"Object!" returned Allen with mock seriousness. "Say, young man, if you don't keep my name at the head of your editorial column from now till the first Monday in November I'll come down here and manhandle you!"

And so it was arranged. Dry Bottom gasped in public but rejoiced in secret. Many of the town's merchants personally congratulated Hollis.

But for two days following the appearance of the issue of the Kicker containing these sensations, Hollis stayed away from Dry Bottom. Now that he had launched Allen's campaign and placed the other matters before his readers, he began to devote some attention to the problem of arranging for Ed Hazelton's visit to the great Chicago surgeon. Both Nellie and Ed had been disappointed because of his continued absence, and when, on an afternoon a few days after his activity in Dry Bottom, he rode up to the Hazelton cabin his welcome was a cordial one.

"It seems like a year since I've seen you!" declared Hazelton as he came down from the porch to lead Hollis's pony into the shade at the rear of the cabin.

While he was gone with the pony Hollis stood looking up at Nellie, who had remained seated in her chair on the porch and who was now regarding him with eyes in which shone unconcealed pleasure.

"It hasn't really been so long, you know," said Hollis, smiling at her. "But then, I have been so busy that I may not have noticed it."

Of course she could not tell him how many times she had sat on the porch during Ed's absences watching the Coyote trail. But she blushed and made room for him on the porch. Ed appeared presently and joined them there. The young man was not able to conceal his joy over the prospect of his ultimate recovery from the peculiar malady that afflicted him, and gratitude mingled with it as he looked at his benefactor. He had not recovered from an attack the day before.

"We've got it all arranged," he told Hollis with a wan smile. "I'm going to Chicago just as soon as I can get things fixed." He reddened with embarrassment as he continued: "There's some things that I'd like to talk to you about before I make up my mind when to start," he said; "I've been worrying about what to do with my stock while I'm gone. I wouldn't want it to stray or be run off by Dunlavey's gang." The appeal in his eyes did not escape Hollis's keen observation.

"I have thought of that too," smiled the latter. "In fact, I have talked it over with Norton. He tells me that he won't have any trouble in caring for your stock while you are away."

"Thanks." Hazelton did not trust himself to say more at that moment. He knew how great would be the task of caring for his stock during his absence, and had not Hollis come to his aid with this offer he would have had to give up the proposed trip. He sat silent until his composure returned, and then he looked up at Hollis gratefully.

"That will make things much easier for Nellie," he said. And then, remembering that Hollis knew nothing of his intention to ask him for permission to allow Nellie to remain at the Circle Bar during his absence, he fell silent again.

"Easier?" inquired Hollis, puzzled. He had supposed that Nellie would accompany her brother to Chicago. He did not look at either of the two for a time. He had been anticipating a period of lonesomeness and this unexpected news came like a bright shaft of light into the darkness.

"But you can't allow her to stay at the cabin alone!" he said when Ed did not answer. And then the thought struck him that this peculiar silence on Ed's part could mean only one thing—that he and Nellie had decided that she was not to accompany him, and that the problem that was now confronting them—since he had told them that his men would care for the cattle—was the girl's welfare. He appreciated the situation and smiled wisely into the yawning distance. But a deep sympathy made the smile grim.

"I have sometimes wondered how it were possible for a woman to live in this country without having close at hand one of her sex with whom to gossip," he remarked, looking at Ed and deliberately closing an eye at him. "It doesn't bother a man so much—this being alone. If he is a drinking man there are the saloons; if a poet he may write wise saws concerning the inconstancy of women; he may punch cows, another man's head—or run a newspaper. In any case his mind is occupied.

"But a woman! Of course it is different with a woman. A woman must talk—she simply can't help it. There's Mrs. Norton. Only this morning I chanced to hear her remark to her lord and master that if he did not soon provide her with a companion with whom she might discuss the things which are dear to the feminine heart, he might as well make up his mind to requisition the mourners. All of which suggests the thought that perhaps it would not be a bad idea for Miss Hazelton to bundle up her things and advance on the Circle Bar. Thus two ends will be served—Mrs. Norton will secure her companion and Norton will find peace." He turned to Nellie. "Of course if you are afraid that the cabin will stray during your absence I could manage to ride the Coyote trail each morning and evening—or you could ride over yourself occasionally."

He could tell by the light in her eyes that she was pleased over the suggestion. He was sure of it when she smiled at him.

"If you really think that Mrs. Norton would like some one to talk to——" she began, and then hesitated, her eyes suddenly widening as she saw an odd light in his. "Oh!" she said, "it isn't true about Mrs. Norton wanting to talk. You have guessed that I—that Ed—wanted me to go——" But confusion descended upon her and she flushed crimson with embarrassment.

"If you think it isn't true, why don't you ride over to the Circle Bar and inquire?" he smiled.

"Perhaps I may," she replied, looking at him in mock defiance.

As a precaution against the carrying out of this threat, Hollis that night acquainted Mrs. Norton with the facts in the case, even going so far as to inform the lady brazenly that he had deliberately lied about her. But when she had been fully informed, she told Hollis that she did not blame him very much, and that should Nellie carry out her threat to come to her upon an errand having as its object a question of his veracity, she would assure the young lady that he had spoken the plain truth. Would that be sufficient?

Hollis told her that it would, and the following morning on his way to Dry Bottom, he took the Coyote trail and stopped off at the Hazelton cabin, where he informed Ed that he had decided to send Weary with him on his trip to Chicago.

Nellie spoke a few words to him while he lingered beside the porch, but her threat of the night before was not repeated and Hollis rightly guessed that it would never be carried out.



CHAPTER XXI

DUNLAVEY PLAYS A CARD

During the week following Ed Hazelton's departure for Chicago Hollis did not see much of Nellie. In the few days preceding his departure she had not allowed her brother to see how his refusal to allow her to accompany him had hurt her, but once he had boarded the east-bound express at Dry Bottom, she had yielded to the emotions that she had so far succeeded in concealing. Hollis had ridden in to town with them, and not until Nellie and he had seen Ed and Weary safely on the train—indeed, not until the train was well under way and the two figures on the back platform could no longer be discerned—did Nellie break down. Then Hollis turned to her with a smile to see the sudden tears well up into her eyes. He had not attempted to console her, feeling the awkwardness of the situation.

He was much relieved when she refused his offer to make the return trip with her, for he was certain that a few hours alone in which to meditate over her loss would enable her to regain her composure. But before leaving her he secured her promise not to stop at the cabin, but to go on to the Circle Bar. On her arrival at the ranch she was to tell Norton to send one of the men to the cabin after the few personal effects that she had decided to transfer. But once out of Hollis's sight Nellie forgot her promise through fear over the safety of her things. She took the Coyote trail, riding slowly through the clear sunshine of the morning.

After taking leave of Nellie Hollis rode slowly down the street to the Kicker office. He looked in through the window and seeing that Potter had not yet arrived, continued down to the court house. He talked for a few minutes with Judge Graney. Nothing new had developed. Ben Allen had gone to visit several small ranchers the day before and had not returned.

Hollis returned to the Kicker office. At noon Potter had arrived, bearing the news that he had seen Nellie Hazelton on the Coyote trail, within a few miles of the Circle Bar. She had stopped at her cabin and there were several bundles strapped to the cantle of her saddle.

That night Hollis did not see her at all. He did not inquire for her, but surmised that she was in her room. The next morning soon after he had awakened and while he still debated the question of arising, he heard her singing in the kitchen. He smiled, thinking how quickly she had adapted herself to her new surroundings.

At breakfast he looked closely at her several times, searching for evidence of her grief of yesterday. There was none. Therefore he was not surprised when, after breakfast, she told him that she intended riding with him as far as the cabin for the purpose of bringing the remainder of her effects. He gravely reminded her that she had broken her promise of yesterday, and that as a punishment he contemplated refusing her request. But when, an hour later, he urged his pony down the river trail she was riding beside him.

But she did not ride again that week. She did not tell Hollis the reason; that returning that evening she had reached the Razor-Back and was riding along its crest when she happened to glance across the Rabbit-Ear toward the Circle Cross. On the opposite side of the river she had seen two men, sitting quietly in their saddles, watching her. They were Dunlavey and Yuma. She did not know what their presence there meant, but the sight was disquieting and she feared to return to the cabin for the few things that were still here.

But as the days went her fears were dispersed. Time and the lure of her old home had revived her courage, and on a day about a week following her previous trip, she herself saddled and bridled her pony and set out over the Coyote trail toward her cabin.

She had not told Hollis of her intention to ride there, fearing that the knowledge of what she had seen on the day of the other ride would be revealed in her eyes. It was a good hour after noon when she stole out of the house to her pony, mounted, and rode away toward the river.

For many days she had been wondering at Dunlavey's continued inaction. He had been known as an energetic enemy, and though at their last meeting in Dry Bottom he had threatened her and her brother, he had so far made no hostile move. Uusually he would go a considerable distance out of his way to speak to her. Perhaps, she thought, at their last meeting she had shown him that he was wasting his time. Yet she could not forget that day when she had seen Yuma and Dunlavey on the Circle Cross side of the Rabbit-Ear. The sight somehow had been significant and forbidding.

But when she reached her cabin she had forgotten Dunlavey and Yuma; her thoughts dwelt upon more pleasant people. Had she done right in allowing Hollis to see that she was interested in him? Would he think less of her for revealing this interest? She could not answer these questions, but she could answer another—one that brought the blushes to her cheeks. Why had Hollis shown an interest in her? She had known this answer for a long time—when she had read Ace's poem to him while sitting on the porch beside him, to be perfectly accurate. She had pretended then to take offense when he had assured her that Ace had succeeded in getting much truth into his lines, especially into the first couplet, which ran:

"Woman—she don't need no tutor, Be she school ma'am or biscuit shooter."

The language had not been graceful, nor the diction, yet she knew that Ace had struck the mark fairly, for woman indeed needed no tutor to teach her to understand man—woman had always understood him.

She dismounted from her pony at the edge of the porch, hitching the animal to one of the slender porch columns. Then she went into the house to gather up the few things that still remained there.

But for a long time after entering the cabin she sat on a chair in the kitchen, sobbing softly, for now that Ed had gone she felt the desolation of the country more than ever. Presently she rose and with a start looked out of the door. The dusk had fallen; darkness was stealing into the valley around the cabin!

Flitting here and there, she hurriedly began packing things which she took from shelves and racks. It was an engrossing task and she was much interested in it, so much so that she did not hear a slight sound at the door that led out to the front porch. But when she saw a shadow darken the doorway of the room in which she was working she stood suddenly erect and with rapidly beating heart stole softly forward and peered around the door-jamb. Of course it could be no one but Hollis. He had taken the Coyote trail to-night. He would be surprised to see her.

But it was she who was surprised. Yuma stood near the table in the center of the kitchen, looking straight at her, his insolent, evil face drawn into a foreboding smile.

After the first gasp of horror and surprise a righteous anger stiffened her.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Yuma's evil smile grew. She had seen him often, usually at a distance, for she had abhorred him, with his olive skin, his thin, cruel lips and small glittering eyes. He had always seemed like an animal to her, though she could not have told why. She thought it must be something in his attitude, in the stoop which was almost a crouch, in the stealthy, cat-like manner in which he walked. She had spoken to Ed about him more than once, conveying to him her abhorrence of the man, and he had told her that he felt the same about him. She shuddered now, thinking of what her brother had told her of the man's cruelty. Dunlavey had often boasted that Yuma was the most venomous and bloodthirsty of his crew of cut-throats.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, her anger growing.

Yuma laughed softly. "I saw you ridin' the Razor Back the other day," he said, showing his teeth as the words came—even, smooth, burdened with a subtle mockery. "I saw you again thees afternoon—but you not see me like the other day—I watch you thees long." He held up three fingers to denote that he had watched her three hours. She shuddered, suddenly realizing the significance of his attitude that day she had seen him from the Razor Back.

"Ed gone," he continued, watching her narrowly; "nobody here; I come. I like you—much." He grinned, his eyes brightening. "I reckon you know—you girl that understan'?"

She drew a slow deep breath. Curiously enough, next to the horror and doubt that she felt over Yuma's presence at the cabin was a wonder for the idioms of cowboy speech that were interjected with his own. He had caught them from association, she supposed. She made a pretense of boldness, though she felt more like screaming.

"Leave this cabin!" she commanded sharply.

Yuma did not change his position. "Leave heem?" he laughed. "I theenk not. Dunlavey says me come here—make um love me—same as tenderfoot noospaper man!" He laughed again, exultantly. "Dunlavey say you spark tenderfoot—you spark me!"

She trembled, realizing that a crisis was at hand and that she must meet it boldly. She thought of the ivory-handled weapon in the holster at her hip and involuntarily her right hand dropped to its butt. She had learned to shoot, but she had never yet shot at a man and she drew her hand away from the butt of the weapon with a shudder. Yuma had been watching her closely, his evil little eyes glittering, and when he saw her hand drop away he laughed derisively.

"You no shoot heem!" he said. "You 'fraid. Dunlavey say he reckon you no shoot—say you make love to um right away!"

He smiled significantly and took a step toward her. She made an involuntary step backward and her right hand again sought the butt of the revolver, the left closing on the edge of the door that opened into her room. Terror had given her courage and as Yuma continued to advance with a soft, cautious, cat-like sliding movement, she drew the revolver and presented it, though her hand wavered a little.

"If you take another step toward me, Yuma, I will kill you!" she declared.

She saw his little eyes glitter with decision, saw him measure the distance between them, saw him crouch for a spring.

She fired, aiming at the lower edge of the scarf that sagged at his throat. The smoke from the pistol blinded her; she heard his laugh, heard the rush of his feet as he hurled himself forward. Terror stricken over her failure to hit him, she dropped the pistol and whirled, grasping the edge of the door and slamming it shut in his face. She felt his weight against it, but he had been taken by surprise by the movement; there was the strength of desperation in her body and she held the door closed against him while she shoved the fastenings into place.

Then, suddenly overcome, she leaned weakly against the jamb, her heart thumping hard, her nerves tingling.

For a long time she did not move, and there came no sound from the other side of the door to tell her of Yuma's movements. There was a wild hope in her heart that he had gone, but presently, becoming a little calmer, she pressed her ear against the door. There was no doubt of Yuma's presence; she could hear him stepping softly about the room. Had there been a window in the room in which she had imprisoned herself she might have escaped, but unfortunately there was not.

She fell to thinking of the revolver she had dropped when Yuma had sprung upon her. It must have dropped very close to the door. Had Yuma picked it up? There was a chance that he had not. If the weapon were still there and she could open the door and secure it and close the door again, she would be in a position to defend herself. She could not defend herself without it. If Yuma should burst the door open she would be at his mercy. She must get the revolver.

Convinced of this she stood for some little time at the door, her ear pressed against it, listening for any sound that might tell her of the whereabouts of Yuma in the cabin. She heard nothing. Perhaps he had gone? But she listened a while longer, determined to be certain before loosening the fastenings of the door. Silence—a premonitory silence—filled the room beyond the door. She could hear nothing except her own rapid breathing. Presently she heard a horse whinny. Was Yuma at the horses? It seemed incredible that any man should visit the cabin purposely to attack her. Perhaps Yuma had only intended to frighten her; he had said that Dunlavey had told him to follow her, but she believed that Dunlavey, in spite of his reputation for lawlessness and trickery, was not so unmanly as to incite the half-breed to attack her. He may have told him to steal the horses—she could believe that of him!

But for a long time, in spite of the quieting influence of these thoughts, she kept her ear pressed against the door. Then, moved by a sudden impulse—an accession of courage inspired by the continued silence—she cautiously loosened the fastenings and swung the door slowly open.

Her revolver lay close and with a swift movement she reached for it. As her fingers grasped its butt she heard a slight sound and Yuma was upon her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She felt his breath on her neck, heard his laugh, exultant and derisive, mocking her. His right hand, gripping hers tightly, was slipping slowly down toward the hand that held the revolver. She struggled desperately, squirming and twisting in his grasp, silently matching her strength against his. Finding this hopeless and feeling his hand gradually slipping toward the revolver, she suddenly raised her hand toward her face, bringing Yuma's hand, still on her arm, with it. Then she dropped her head to his arm near the wrist, and sank her teeth savagely into the flesh.

Yuma howled in anguish, loosening his hold momentarily. In an instant she had wrenched herself free and had bounded to the center of the room, placing the kitchen table between herself and her assailant.

But he was after her with a bound, his little eyes gleaming with a venomous expression, his face contorted with passion. She raised the revolver and fired. For a breathless instant she thought that she had hit him, for he sank almost to the floor. But she saw that it was only a trick for he was up again on the instant, a mocking smile on his face and closer than ever. She fired again, and when she saw him sink to the floor she pulled the trigger a second time. He had been very close to the table when she fired the last time and before she could press the trigger again he had lurched forward under it, raising it on his shoulders and sending it crashing down behind him as he confronted her, his evil face close to hers, his hands again gripping her arms.

She fought him silently, and together they reeled around the cabin. She bit him again, and then in an outburst of savage fury he brutally twisted the arm in which she still held the revolver, sending the weapon crashing to the floor. While twisting her arm he had been compelled to loosen his grasp of the other slightly, and she again wrenched herself free and darted toward the door leading to the porch. But he bounded forward, intercepting her, and with a last, despairing effort she raised both hands to his face and clawed furiously at his eyes.

She heard a savage curse from him, saw the lust of murder in his little, glittering eyes, felt his sinewy fingers at her throat. Then objects within the cabin swam in a dizzy, blurring circle before her. She heard a crash—seeming to come from a great distance; heard Yuma curse again. And then, borne resistlessly forward by the weight of his body, she tumbled to the floor in an inert heap.



CHAPTER XXII

PROOF OF GRATITUDE

Shortly after noon on the same day Hollis, finding work irksome, closed his desk with a bang, told Potter that he was going home, mounted his pony, and loped the animal out the Dry Bottom trail. He remembered hearing Norton tell one of the men that morning that he suspected that several of Ed Hazelton's cattle were still in the vicinity of the basin near the Hazelton cabin, and he determined to ride around that way and try to turn them back toward the Circle Bar. It would be recreation for him after a hot morning in the office.

He also remembered another thing that had occurred that morning at the ranch house. Mrs. Norton had assured him—with a sly, eloquent glance at him—that he might do worse than to make arrangements to keep Nellie Hazelton at the Circle Bar indefinitely. At the risk of being considered obtuse Hollis had ignored the hint, broad though it had been. But Mrs. Norton's words had shown him that Nellie stood high in her estimation and he felt a queer, unaccountable elation.

After striking the Dry Bottom trail he took a circuitous route and some time later came out upon a high ridge overlooking a basin. There were some cattle down there and he made a mental note of the locality so that he would be able to tell Norton where to have the men look for the cattle. Then he rode along the ridge until he could no longer see the basin. He spent most of the afternoon exploring the surrounding country, and then when the dusk began to fall he retraced his steps to the ridge upon which he had ridden earlier in the afternoon. Something familiar in the shape of the hills near him struck him and he halted his pony and smiled. These were the hills that he had seen many times from the Hazelton porch. He faced around, certain that if the hills could be seen from the porch he would be able to discern the porch from some point on the ridge, for he was satisfied that he must be nearly in line with it. He rode back and forth a few moments, and then, coming out on a bald spot on the ridge, he saw the cabin.

It was about a mile away, snuggled comfortably down in a little basin, with some trees and shrubbery flanking it on both sides. He smiled as he looked at it, and then suddenly his face clouded, for he saw two ponies hitched to the porch. His forehead wrinkled perplexedly over this. He was certain that Nellie rode the same animal each time, because she would not trust any of the others that were now with the remuda. One of the horses belonged to her of course, for he could see the gay ribbon with which she was accustomed to decorate her animal's bridle. But to whom did the other horse belong? He gazed steadily toward the cabin, searching for signs of life on the porch. But though he could see clearly—even into the shadows from a rambling rose bush that clung to the eaves of the roof—no human figure appeared on the porch.

Certainly Nellie must have a visitor. But who? He was not aware that the Hazeltons had made friends with anyone in the neighborhood besides himself and the Nortons. He smiled. Probably some cowboy from the Circle Bar had been in the vicinity looking for Hazelton's cattle, had met Nellie, and had stopped at the cabin. He remembered to have heard Norton say that he was sending a man in that direction some time that day.

That must be the explanation. But while he sat, debating the propriety of riding down to the cabin to satisfy his curiosity, the sound of a pistol shot floated to his ears on the slight breeze that was blowing toward him.

He sat erect, his face paling. Then he smiled again. He had been in the West long enough to become acquainted with the cowboy nature and he surmised that Nellie's visitor was very likely exhibiting his skill with the revolver. But he turned his pony and urged it down the sloping side of the ridge, riding slowly in the direction of the cabin.

After striking the bottom of the slope he rode cut upon a broad level that stretched away for half a mile. He made better time here and had almost covered half the width of the plain when two more reports reached his ears. He was close enough now to hear them distinctly and it seemed to him that they sounded muffled. He halted the pony and sat stiffly in the saddle, his gaze on the cabin. Then he saw a thin stream of blue-white smoke issue from the doorway and curl lazily upward.

A grave doubt assailed him. No cowboy would be likely to exhibit his skill with a weapon in the cabin! Nellie's visitor must be an unwelcome one!

The pony felt the sudden spurs and raced like a whirlwind over the remaining stretch of plain. Hollis had become suddenly imbued with a suspicion that brought an ashen pallor to his face and an awful rage into his heart. He slid his pony down one side of a steep arroyo, sent it scrambling up the other side, jumped it over some rocks that littered the rise, spurred savagely through a little basin, and reaching the edge of the porch, dismounted and bounded to the door.

He saw two figures—Nellie Hazelton and a man. He saw the man's fingers gripping the girl's throat and the lust of murder surged over and blinded him. In the dusk that had fallen he could only dimly see the man's head and he swung his right fist at it, putting every ounce of his strength into the blow. He felt the fist strike, realized that it had glanced, and tried to recover for a second blow.

But the terrific swing had carried him off his balance. He whirled clear around, slipped, and came down to the floor flat on his face. He was up in an instant, however, his brain afire with rage, his muscles tingling with eagerness. He did not think of the gun at his hip, for the lust of murder was in his soul and he wanted only to hit the man—to seize him and tear him apart—to crush and smash the vile hands that he had seen at the girl's throat.

Five feet from him, facing him, on his hands and knees and scrambling to rise, was the man. He recognized Yuma, and even as he bounded forward the latter gained his feet and tugged at his gun-holster. The weapon had not yet cleared the holster when Hollis was upon him. He struck again with his right fist and missed, crashing against Yuma in his eagerness and carrying him down to the floor with a force that shook the cabin. As they fell Hollis felt a sharp, agonizing pain in his left wrist, from which the splints had been only recently removed, and the hand hung limp at his side, entirely useless.

For an instant after the fall Yuma lay still, breathing heavily. Then he made a sudden movement with his right arm and Hollis caught a glint of metal. He threw himself at the arm, catching it with his right hand just above the wrist and jamming it tight to the floor. Yuma tried to squirm free, failed, and with a curse drove his left fist into the side of Hollis's face. Again he tried to squirm free and during the struggle that followed the hand holding the pistol was raised from the floor. Hollis saw it and wrenched desperately at the arm, twisting it and dragging it furiously downward to the floor. Yuma shrieked with rage and pain as the force of the impact cracked his knuckles and sent the weapon clattering ten feet away.

For an instant both men lay silent, panting from their exertions. Then Yuma succeeded in getting one leg over Hollis's body and one arm around his neck. With a quick motion—successful because of Hollis's injured wrist—he turned the latter over on his back. His eyes alight with an exultant, malevolent fire, he gripped Hollis's throat with one hand and drove at his face with the other. A quick movement of the head served to defeat Yuma's aim and his fist thumped heavily against the floor, bringing a grimace of pain to his face. Disregarding his injured wrist, Hollis wrenched savagely and succeeded in rolling free of Yuma and reaching his feet. He had moved quickly, but the lithe, cat-like half-breed was before him, bounding toward the pistol on the floor. He was bending over it, his fingers gripping its butt, when Hollis, throwing himself forward bodily, crashed into him and hurled him heavily to the floor.

This time Yuma lay face downward, his arms outstretched, and Hollis lay sprawled out on top of him. But Yuma had succeeded in holding to the pistol; it was grasped in his outstretched right hand, just out of Hollis's reach.

For an instant again both men lay silent, breathing rapidly. Then, yielding to the rage that still possessed him, Hollis bounded to his feet, striking Yuma a crashing blow in the face as he did so. While Yuma reeled he brought his booted foot down on the hand holding the pistol, grinding it under his heel.

Yuma screamed with pain and rage and got to his feet, holding his injured hand with the other. The pistol lay on the floor where Yuma had dropped it when Hollis's boot had come in contact with his hand. For an instant Yuma stood gripping his hand, his face hideous with passion. Then with a snarl of rage and hate he drew a knife from the folds of his shirt and sprang toward Hollis.

Hollis tensed himself for the clash, rapidly measuring the distance, and when Yuma came close enough caught him squarely on the side of the jaw with a vicious right swing. But in some manner when Hollis stepped aside to avoid Yuma's knife, his feet had become entangled with the legs of the table that Yuma had previously overturned. As he struck he slipped, the blow at Yuma's jaw not having the force he intended it to have. He caught himself, slipped again and went down, turning completely over the table top and falling face downward to the floor. He saw Yuma throw himself forward and he tried to wriggle out of danger, but he failed. He felt the half-breed's weight on his body, saw the knife flash in the dull light. He tried to roll over and grasp the knife in its descent, but could not, his left arm, now useless, being pinned to the floor by Yuma's knee.

A revolver roared spitefully—once—twice. Yuma's knife hissed past Hollis's ear and struck the floor, its point sunk deep, its handle swaying idly back and forth. Yuma himself—inert, limp, rolled from Hollis's back and lay flat on his own, his eyes wide open and staring, two huge bullet holes in his forehead. And in the open doorway of the cabin stood Ten Spot.

For an instant Hollis could not realize his escape. He looked at Yuma and then again at Ten Spot. Slowly and painfully he got to his feet, looking around at the wreck of the room. Staggering a little, he walked to where Ten Spot stood, gripping the latter's hand silently, at a loss for words with which to thank him.

But apparently Ten Spot did not notice the omission, for he grinned broadly.

"I reckon there's folks which would call that a right clever bit of shootin'," he said, "seem' a? there wasn't time to pull off no fancy stuff!"



CHAPTER XXIII

TEN SPOT USES HIS EYES

The crash of Ten Spot's pistols aroused Nellie Hazelton, and she sat up and stared stupidly about—at Hollis, who was just rising from the floor; at Ten Spot, who still stood in the doorway; and then at Yuma's body, stretched out on the floor beside the overturned table. She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. The next instant Hollis was bending over her, helping her to her feet, leading her to the door and assuring her in a low, earnest voice that everything was all right, and that Yuma would never trouble her again, and that he wanted her to get on her pony and go to the Circle Bar. She allowed herself to be led out on the porch, but once there she looked at him with renewed spirit.

"It was you who came first," she said; "I didn't see you, but I heard Yuma curse, felt something strike him, and then—I must have fainted. You see, I felt it must be you—I had been expecting you."

As she spoke she seized his hands and pressed them tightly, her eyes eloquent with thankfulness. "Oh, I am so glad!" she whispered. Then she saw Ten Spot standing in the doorway and she ran over and seized his hands also, shaking them hysterically. And Ten Spot stood, red of face, grinning bashfully at her—like a big, awkward, embarrassed schoolboy.

"That's the first time I've ever been thanked for shootin' anybody!" he confided to Hollis, later. "An' it cert'nly did feel some strange!"

In spite of Hollis's remonstrances the girl insisted on returning to the interior of the cabin, to "bundle up her things." Feeling the futility of further objection, Hollis finally allowed her to enter. But while she was busy in one of the rooms he and Ten Spot carried Yuma's body outside, around to the rear of the cabin.

Then, when the girl had finally secured her "things" and they had been securely tied to her pony, and she had started down the trail toward the Circle Bar ranch, Hollis and Ten Spot returned to the rear of the cabin, took up Yuma's body, carried it to a secluded spot at some little distance from the cabin and there buried it deep and quickly.

"I want to thank you again," said Hollis as he and Ten Spot stood on the porch when Hollis was ready to depart; "it was a great stroke of luck that brought you here just when you were needed."

Ten Spot grinned. "I don't think it was just luck that brought me," he said; "though mebbe it was luck that took me into the Fashion this morning. Whatever it was, I was in there, an' I heard Dunlavey an' Yuma cookin' this here deal. I wasn't feelin' entirely ongrateful for the way you'd treated me after you'd got my gun that day in the Kicker office an' I wasn't intendin' to let happen what Dunlavey wanted to happen. So I got out of the Fashion as soon as I could an' trailed Yuma. I've been after him all day, but somehow or other I lost him an' didn't find out where he'd gone till a little while ago—when I heard a gun go off. Then I hit the breeze here—after Yuma. That's all. That's how I come to get here so lucky." He stuck out a hand to Hollis. "Well, so-long," he said; "I'm hittin' the breeze out of the country." He stepped forward to his pony, but hesitated when he heard Hollis speak.

"Then you're not going back to the Circle Cross—to work for Dunlavey?" questioned the latter.

"Well, no," grinned Ten Spot. "You see, it might not be so pleasant now as it's been. I reckon when Dunlavey hears this he won't be exactly tickled."

Hollis contemplated him gravely. "So you're going to leave the country?" he said slowly, his eyes twinkling. "I take it you are not afraid——"

"Don't!" said Ten Spot coldly and sharply. Then he grinned with feline cordiality. "I reckon I ain't scared of anyone," he said, "but I ain't likin' to go back to the Circle Cross after puttin' Yuma out of business. I've done some mean things in my time, but I ain't dealin' double with no man, an' I couldn't go back to the Circle Cross an' work for Dunlavey when I ain't sympathizin' with him none."

"I'm shy of good cowhands," offered Hollis quietly. "If forty a month would be——"

Ten Spot's right hand was suddenly gripping Hollis's. "You've hired a man, boss!" he said, his eyes alight with pleasure. "Ever since you clawed me that day in the Kicker office I've had a hankerin' to work for you. I was wonder in' if you'd ast me. There ain't no damn——"

"Then it's a bargain," laughed Hollis, interrupting. "You can start right now." He pointed to the ridge upon which he had been riding when he heard the shot that had brought him to the cabin. "Some of Ed Hazelton's cattle are in the basin on the other side of that ridge," he said. "You go over there and keep an eye on them until I can get a chance to send some one here to help you drive them back up the river toward the Circle Bar." As he came to the edge of the porch to mount his pony his gaze fell on Yuma's horse, still hitched to one of the columns. "What are we going to do with Yuma's horse?" he questioned.

Ten Spot grinned. He walked over to the pony, unhitched it, and with a vicious slap on the flank sent it loping down the trail toward the river.

"That'll be my message to Dunlavey that Yuma ain't here any more," he said grimly.

Hollis mounted and rode a short distance, but halted and turned in the saddle when he heard Ten Spot call to him.

"Boss," he said with a grin, "I ain't exactly blind, an' mebbe you've got your eyes with you, too. But I saw that there Hazelton girl lookin' at you sorta——"

He saw a smile on Hollis's face, but the rest of his speech was drowned in a clatter of hoofs as the "boss's" pony tore down the Coyote trail. Then Ten Spot smiled, mounted his pony, and rode away toward the ridge.



CHAPTER XXIV

CAMPAIGN GUNS

Of course Yuma had been amply punished for his part in the attack on Nellie Hazelton, but there still remained Dunlavey—who had instigated it. Hollis was aware of the uselessness of bringing a charge against Dunlavey—he had not forgotten his experience with Bill Watkins when he had attempted to have Greasy brought to justice. He believed that he would not have brought such a charge had there been any probability of the sheriff taking action. He felt that in inciting Yuma to attack Nellie, Dunlavey had also contemplated a blow at him. The man's devilish ingenuity appalled him, but it also aroused a fierce anger in his heart that, in the absence of a powerful will, would have moved him to immediate vengeance.

But he contemplated no immediate action. Besides the attack on Nellie Hazelton there was another score to settle with Dunlavey, and when the time came for a final accounting he told himself that he would settle both. He knew there would come such a time. From the beginning he had felt that he and the Circle Cross manager were marked by fate for a clash. He was eager for it, but content to wait until the appointed time. And he knew that the time was not far distant.

Therefore he remained silent regarding the incident, and except to Norton and his wife, Nellie Hazelton, Ten Spot, and himself, the disappearance of Yuma remained a mystery.

Dunlavey, perhaps, might have had his suspicions, but if so he communicated them to no one, and so as the days passed the mystery ceased to be discussed and Yuma was forgotten.

Hollis received a letter from Weary, dated "Chicago," announcing the safe arrival of himself and Ed Hazelton. "Town" suited him to a "T," he wrote. But Doctor Hammond would not operate at once—he wanted time to study the symptoms of Ed's malady. That was all. Hollis turned this letter over to Nellie, with another from Ed, addressed to her—whose contents remained a mystery to him.

Ben Allen had returned from his visit to the small ranchers in the vicinity, had confided to Hollis that he had "mixed a little politics with business," and then, after receiving a telegram from the Secretary of the Interior, had taken himself off to Santa Fe to confer with the governor.

After several days he returned. He entered the Kicker office to greet Hollis, his face wreathed in smiles.

"You've got 'em all stirred up, my boy!" he declared, placing his hand on Hollis's shoulder with a resounding "smack"; "they're goin' to enforce the little law we've got and they've passed some new ones. Here's a few! First and foremost, cattle stealing is to be considered felony! Penalty, from one to twenty years! Next—free water! Being as the rivers in this Territory ain't never been sold with what land the government sharks has disposed of, any cattleman's got the right to water wherever he wants to. The governor told me that if it's necessary he'll send Uncle Sam's blue coats anywhere in the Territory to enforce that! Third: after a man's registered his brand he can't change it unless he applies to the district judge. Them that ain't registered their brand ain't entitled to no protection. I reckon there's trouble ahead for any man which monkeys with another man's brand!

"Say!" Allen eyed Hollis whimsically; "that new governor's all het up over you! Had a copy of the Kicker in front of him on his desk when he was talkin' to me. Says you're a scrapper from the word go, an' that he'd back you up long as there was a blue coat anywhere in the Territory!"

Allen's speech was ungrammatical, but its message was one of good cheer and Hollis's eyes brightened. The Law was coming at last! He could not help but wonder what Dunlavey's feelings would be when he heard of it. For himself, he felt as any man must feel who, laboring at a seemingly impossible task, endless and thankless, sees in the distance the possible, the end, and the plaudits of his friends.

Yes, he could see the end, but the end was not yet. He looked gravely at Allen.

"Did you happen to hear when these laws become effective?" he inquired.

"On the first day of October!" returned Allen, triumphantly.

Hollis smiled. "And election day is the third of November," he said. "That gives Dunlavey, Watkins and Company a month's grace—in case you are elected sheriff."

Allen grinned. "They can't do a heap in a month," he said.

"No," returned Hollis, "but in most elections that have come under my observation, I have noticed that the winning candidate does not assume office for a considerable time after the election. What is the custom out here?"

Allen grinned grimly. "Usually it's two weeks," he said, "but if I'm elected it will be the next day—if I have to go down to the sheriff's office and drag Bill Watkins out by the hair!"

"That belligerent spirit does you credit," dryly observed Hollis. "It will afford me great pleasure to participate in the festivities. But there is another matter to be thought of—which we seem to have overlooked. Usually before an election there is a primary, or a convention, is there not?"

"There is," grinned Allen. "It's to-night, and I'm ready for it!" His grin expanded to a wide, whimsical smile. "I told you that I'd been mixing a little politics with business," he said. "Well, I've done so." He got up and approached the front window of the office, sweeping a hand toward the street. "If you'll just get up and look out here," he said, "you'll see that I ain't lying. There's some good in being an ex-office-holder—you get experience enough to tell you how to run a campaign." He bowed to Hollis. "Now, if you'll look close at that gang which is mixing palaver in front of the Silver Dollar you'll mebbe notice that Lemuel Train is in it, an' Truxton, of the Diamond Dot, Holcomb, of the Star, Yeager, of the Three Diamond, Clark, of the Circle Y, Henningson, of the Three Bar, Toban, of the T Down, an' some more which has come in for the racket tonight. Countin' 'em all—the punchers which have come in with the fellows I have named—there'll be about seventy-five.

"An', say!" he added, suddenly confronting Hollis and grasping him by the shoulder and shaking him playfully and admiringly, "there wouldn't a durn one of them have come over here on my account. They up an' told me so when I asked them. Said they'd nothin' ag'in me, but they wasn't considerin' votin' at all. But since Hollis wanted me—well, they'd come over just to show you that they appreciated what you'd done for them!"

Hollis smiled. He did not tell Allen that since the appearance of the Kicker containing the announcement that he was to be its candidate he had written every small rancher in the vicinity, requesting as a personal favor that they appear in Dry Bottom on the day of the primary; that these letters had been delivered by Ace, and that when the poet returned he had presented Hollis with a list containing the name of every rancher who had promised to come, and that several days before Hollis had known approximately how many votes Allen would receive at the primary. He did not intend that Allen should know this—or that he had been going quietly from one Dry Bottom merchant to another, appealing to them for their support. And the earnestness with which many of them had promised had convinced him that the primary was to be the beginning of the end for Bill Watkins and Dunlavey.

When he had first come to Dry Bottom it had been universally conceded by the town's citizens that his differences with Dunlavey and the Cattlemen's Association were purely personal, and there had been a disposition on the part of the citizens to let them fight it out between themselves. But of late there had come a change in that sentiment. The change had been gradual, beginning with the day when he had told the author of the notice that had appeared on the door of the Kicker office not to hold the express on his account. But the change had come and it was evident that it was to be permanent. It had only been necessary to arouse the government to the situation in order to secure intervention. He had hoped to secure this intervention without being forced to a hostile clash with the opposition, but his first meeting with Dunlavey had spoiled that. Subsequent events had widened the breach.

He was satisfied. Let Bill Watkins be defeated for sheriff and Dunlavey was beaten. But there was much to be done before that desirable end could be achieved.

Following the custom the primary was to be held in the sheriff's office. Watkins had issued a proclamation some weeks before; it had appeared on the door of the sheriff's office—a written notice, tacked to the door—but it had been removed the same day. Obviously, it was the sheriff's intention to conduct the primary as quietly as possible, hoping no doubt to disarm whatever opposition might develop. But Hollis had been apprised of the appearance of the proclamation and had quietly proceeded to plant the seed of opposition to Watkins in the minds of his friends.

He had been warned by Judge Graney that Watkins would try to "pack" the sheriff's office with his friends on the night of the primary. This had been the usual method employed by Dunlavey when opposition to Watkins developed. Drunken, dissolute, dangerous men were usually on hand to overawe the opposition; the Judge told of instances in which gunplay had developed. But Hollis had determined that Watkins must be beaten.

Allen did not stay long in the Kicker office. Nor, for that matter, did Hollis. Once, during the morning, he went down to the court house to talk with Judge Graney. Then he returned to the Kicker office and worked until noon.

During the morning there had been a surprising influx of visitors. Bronzed punchers on dusty, drooping ponies rode down the town's one street, dropped from their saddles, and sought the saloons. Groups of them swarmed the streets and the stores. As Hollis walked down to his office after leaving the court house, he was kept busy nodding to friends—many of whom had become such during the later days of the drought. Merchants grinned at him from their doorways; Dunlavey's friends sneered as he passed or sent ribald jokes after him.

At noon he went to the Alhambra for lunch. Almost the first person he saw there was Dunlavey. The latter grinned at him mockingly.

"Friends of yours in town to-day," he said with a sneer. "Well, you'll need them!"

His voice had been loud enough for all in the restaurant to hear. Hollis did not answer, though he appreciated the significance of Dunlavey's words; they told him that the Circle Cross manager was aware of the contemplated contest and was ready for it.

During the afternoon Dry Bottom presented a decidedly different appearance from the day when Hollis had first viewed it. Animation had succeeded desolation. Perhaps a hundred cowponies were hitched to the rails that paralleled the fronts of the saloons, the stores, and many of the private dwellings. It was apparent that many of the visitors had made the trip to town for the double purpose of voting and securing supplies, for mixed with the ponies were numerous wagons of various varieties, their owners loading them with boxes and crates. Men swarmed the sidewalks; the saloons buzzed.

Toward dusk the volume of noise in the saloons drowned all sound outside. Having made their purchases the ranchers who had driven in for supplies and had loaded their wagons preparatory to departure found time to join their friends and acquaintances over a convivial glass. By the time the kerosene lamps were lighted in the saloons revelry reigned. From one saloon issued the shrieking, discordant notes of a violin, accompanied by the scuffling of feet; from another came laughter and the clinking of glasses; from still another came harsh oaths and obscene shouts. In the latter place rose the laughter of women.

Seated at his desk near the front window of the Kicker office Hollis gravely watched the scene—listened to the sounds. In another chair sat Potter. There was no light in the office; neither man had thought of a light. As the revelry in the saloons increased the printer glanced furtively at his chief.

"There'll be hell to-night!" he said.

"I expect there will be trouble," agreed Hollis.

Potter shifted uneasily in his chair, eyeing his employer with a worried expression. He was silent for a moment. Then he cleared his throat nervously.

"Do you intend to go there—to the sheriff's office—to-night?" he questioned.

Hollis looked quickly at him. "Of course!" he said with emphasis. "Why?" he interrogated.

"Nothing," returned Potter; "only——" he hesitated and then blurted out: "I wouldn't go if I were you. They've been saying that if you do there'll be trouble. You know what that means."

"Who has been saying that?" inquired Hollis.

"I heard it at noon—in the Silver Dollar. Some of Dunlavey's men sat near me and I heard them saying that Watkins was to win if they had to put two or three of his chief opponents out of business."

"I have been expecting that," returned Hollis. He said nothing more and Potter, having done his duty, felt that he had no business to interfere further.

Shortly after dark there was a clatter of hoofs outside the Kicker office and four men dismounted from their ponies and strode to the office door. They were Norton, Ace, Lanky, and Bud. Evidently Hollis had been awaiting their coming, for he met them at the door, greeting them with the words: "We'll be going at once; it's about time."

Followed by Potter the five strode rapidly down the street. When they arrived at the sheriff's office there were a number of men congregated about the door. Inside a kerosene lamp flickered on a table that sat in the center of the room. Another lamp stood on Watkins's desk, and beside the desk sat Watkins himself.

Conversation died away as Hollis and his men approached the door and stood in the stream of light from the interior. A man stepped out of the shadow of the building and approached Hollis, drawing him and Norton aside. It was Allen. The latter had lost some of the sprightliness that had marked his manner during his conversation with Hollis in the Kicker office that morning—he was again the cool, deliberate, steady-eyed man he had been that day in Judge Graney's office when Hollis had met him the first time.

"I've been waitin' for you," he said; "we're goin' to have a scrumptuous time. Dunlavey's planning to pack her." He swept a hand toward the interior of the office. "But each candidate is to be allowed two witnesses. I've selected you two. Dunlavey and Greasy are doing the honors for Watkins. We might just as well go inside; we can't do anything out here. There won't be anything done by any of this gang until Dunlavey says the word."

He turned and stepped into the sheriff's office, Hollis and Norton following.

Watkins looked up and surveyed them with a bland smile as they entered and dropped quietly into the several chairs that had been provided.

"I reckon she's goin' to be some hot tonight?" significantly remarked Watkins, addressing himself to Allen.

"Maybe," grinned Allen.

"We're goin' to take a hand in handlin' the Law," significantly remarked Norton.

Watkins's face reddened. He stared offensively at Hollis.

"I reckon you're a witness, too," he said, sneering. "Well," he went on as Hollis gravely nodded, "the law says that a witness to the count must be a resident of the county. An' I reckon you ain't. You ain't been——"

"He stays," interrupted Allen, shortly. "That's settled."

Watkins's face bloated with a sudden anger, but he wheeled without replying and gave his attention to some papers lying on the desk in front of him.

For a long time the four sat in silence. Outside arose voices of men—growing in volume. There was a jam around the door; looking out Hollis could see the bronzed, grim faces of the punchers as they crowded close, moved by a spirit of curiosity. Hollis could hear exclamations of impatience, though the majority of the men outside stood in silence, waiting.