 CHAPTER V. OF THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY BY CHARLES ALDEN SELZER. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. DAKOTA EVEN'S A SCORE. With a thermometer at 105, it was not to be expected that there would be much movement in Lisette. As a matter of fact, there was little movement anywhere. On the plains, which began at the edge of town, there was no movement, no life, except when a lizard, seeking a retreat from the blistering sun, removed itself to a deeper shade under the leaves of the sagebrush, or a prairie dog, popping its head above the surface of the sand, to the lightning survey of its surroundings, and apparently dissatisfied with the outlook, just back into the bowels of the earth. There was no wind, no motion. The little whirlwinds of dust that arose settled quickly down, the desultory breezes which had caused them departing as mysteriously as they had come. In the blighting heat of the country lay dead, spreading to the infinite horizons, in the sky no speck floated against a dome of blue. More desolate than a derelict on the calm surface of the trackless ocean, Lisette lay. Its huddled buildings dinged with the dust of a continuing dry season, squatting in their dismal lonesomeness in the shining, blinding sun. In a strip of shade under the eaves of the station set the station agent, gazing drowsily from under the wide brim of his hat, at the two glistening lines of steel that stretched into interminable distance. Some cow ponies hitched the rails in front of the saloons, and the stores stood with drooping heads tormented by myriad flies, a wagon or two, minus horses occupied, a space in front of a blacksmith's shop. In the red dog's saloon some punchers on a holiday played cards at various tables, quietly drinking. Behind the rough bar, Pete Mullen, the proprietor, stood, talking to his bartender, Blackie. Say that Jastler's back again, comment at the proprietor. Which, the bartender followed the proprietor's gaze, which was on a man seated at a card table, his profile towards him, playing cards with several other men. The bartender's face showed proplexity. Mullen laughed. I forgot you ain't been here that long, he said. That was before your time. That fellow sitting sideways to us is Texas Blanca. What's he calling himself Texas for, queried the bartender? He looks more like a greaser. Breed, I reckon, offered the proprietor, claims to have punched cows in Texas before coming here. What's he allowing to be now? Nobody knows. Used to own the star, Dakota's brand. Sold out to Dakota five years ago. Country got too hot for him, and he had the pullest freight. Rustler? You've said something. He's been suspected of it. But nobody's talking very loud about it. Not safe? Not safe. He's lightning with a six. God is nerve to come back here, though. How's that? Ain't you heard about it? I thought everybody's heard about that deal. Blanca sold Dakota the star. Then he pulled his freight immediate. A week or so later, Duncan, of the double R, rides up to Dakota's shack with a bunch of double R boys, and accuses Dakota of rustling double R cattle. Duncan had found twenty double R calves running with the star cattle, which had been marked secret. Blanca had run his iron on them and sold them to Dakota for star stock. Dakota showed Duncan his bill of sale. All regular, of course. Duncan couldn't blame him. But there was some hard words passed between Duncan and Dakota, and Dakota ain't allowing their particular friend's sense. Dakota had to give up the calves sure enough, and he did. But sore. Dakota was sure some disturbed in his mind. He didn't show it much, being one of them quiet kind. But he says to me one day, not long after, Duncan, had got the calves back. I've been stung, Pete, he says, soft and even like. I've been stung proper by that damned oiler. Not that I'm carrying for the money end of it. Duncan, finding those calves with my stock, has damaged my reputation. Then he laughed. One of them little short laughs which he gets off sometimes when things don't just zoot him. The way he laughed a couple of times when someone's tried to run a cold lead proposition in on him, he fair freezes my blood when he gets it off. Well, he says to me, maybe I'll be running in with Blanca one of these days. And that's all he's ever said about it. Likely, he expected Blanca to come back. And sure enough he has, reckon, he thinks that maybe Dakota didn't get wise to the calf deal. In his place, like he said, I and Blanca furtively, I'd be making some inquiries. Dakota ain't no man to trifle with. Trifle? Moomin's voice was pregnant with odd admiration. I reckon there ain't no one who knows Dakota's going to trifle with him. He's discouraged that long ago, square to, square as they make him. The Lord knows the country needs square men, observed Blackie. He caught a sign from a man seated at a table, and went over to him with a bottle and a glass. While Blackie was engaged in this task, the door opened, and Dakota came in. Moomin's admiration and friendship for Dakota might have impelled him to warn Dakota of the presence of Blanca. And he did hold up a covert finger, but Dakota, at that moment, was looking in another direction, and did not observe the signal. He continued to approach the bar and Blackie, having a leisure moment, came forward, and stood ready to serve him. A short nod of greeting passed between the three and Blackie, placed a bottle on the bar, and reached for a glass. Dakota made a negative sign with his head, short and resolute. I'm in for supplies, he left, but not that. Not drinking, queried Moomin. I'm pure as a driven snow, grod Dakota. How long has that been going on? Moomin's grin was skeptical. A month. Moomin looked searchingly at Dakota, saw that he was in earnest, and suddenly reached a hand over the bar. Shaky said, I hate to knock my own business, and you've been a pretty good customer. But if you mean it, it's the most sensible thing you've ever done. Of course you didn't hit it regular. But there's been times, when I thought that if I could have three or four customers like you, I'd retire in a year, and spend the rest of my life counting my dust. He was suddenly serious, catching Dakota's gaze and winking expressively. Friend of Yoran here, he said. Dakota took a flashing glance at the men at the card-tables, and Moomin saw his lips straighten and harden. But in the next instant he was smiling gravely at the proprietor. Thanks, Pete, he said quietly, but you're some reckless with the English language when you're calling him my friend. Maybe he'll be proving that he didn't mean to skin me on that deal. He smiled again and then left the bar, and strolled toward Blanca. The latter continued his card-playing, apparently unaware of Dakota's approach. But at the sound of his former victim's voice, he turned and looked up slowly, his face wearing a bland smile. It was plain to Moomin that Blanca had known all along of Dakota's presence in the saloon. Perhaps he had seen him enter. The other card-players ceased playing and leaned back in their chairs, watching, for some of them knew something of the calf deal, and there was that in Dakota's greeting to Blanca, which warned them of impending trouble. Blanca said to Dakota quietly, you can pay for those calves now. It pleased Blanca to dissemble. But it was plain to Moomin, as it must have been plain to everybody who watched Blanca, that a shadow crossed his face at Dakota's words, evidently, had entertained the hope that his duplicity had not been discovered. Caves, he said, were calves, my friend. He dropped his cards to the table and turned his chair around, leaning far back in it, and hooking his right thumb in his cartridge belt, just above the holster of his pistol. I think maybe it must be a mistake. Yes, returned Dakota, slow, grimly humorous smile reaching his face. It was a mistake. You made it, Blanca. Duncan found it out. Duncan took the calves. They belonged to him. You're going to pay for them. I pay for them. The bland smile on Blanca's face had slowly faded with the realization that his victim was not to be further misled by him. In place of that smile his face now wore an expression of snaring contempt. His black eyes had taken on a washful glitter. He spoke slowly. I pay for no calves, my friend. You'll pay, said Dakota, an ominously quiet draw in his voice, or? Or what? Blanca showed his white teeth in a tigerish smirk. This town ain't big enough for both of us, said Dakota. His eyes cold and alert as they washed Blanca's hand at his cartridge belt. One of us will leave it by sundown. I reckon that's all. He deliberately turned his back on Blanca and walked to the door, moving down into the street. Blanca looked after him, staring. An instant later Blanca turned and smiled at his companions at the table. It ain't my funeral, said one of the card players. But if I was in your place I'd begin to think that me staying here was crowding the population of this town by one. Blanca's teeth gleamed, my friend, he said insinuatingly. It's your deal. His smile grew. This is a nice country, he continued. I like it very much. I come back here to stay, Dakota. He's got the star too cheap. He tapped his gun holster significantly. Tonight, Dakota, he goes somewhere else. Tomorrow, who takes the star? You. He pointed to each of the card players in turn. You, he questioned, you take it. He smiled at their negative sign. Well then, Blanca take it, peste, Dakota give him to sundown. The six o'clock was an hour and thirty minutes late. For two hours Sheila Langford had been on the station platform awaiting its coming. For a full half hour she had stood at one corner of a platform straining her eyes to watch a thin scheme of smoke that trailed off down the horizon, but which told her that the train was coming. It crawled slowly like a huge serpent over the wilderness of space, growing always larger, steaming its way through the golden sunshine of the afternoon. And after a time, with a grinding of brakes and the shrill hiss of escaping air, it drew alongside the station platform. A breakman descended. The conductor stroked swiftly to the telegrapher's window. Two trunks came out of the baggage car, and a tall man of fifty alighted and folded into Sheila's welcoming arms. For a moment, the two stood thus. While the passenger smiled sympathetically, then the man held Sheila off at arm's length and looked searchingly at her. Crying, he said, what a welcome. Oh, Daddy, said Sheila. In this moment she was very near to telling him what had happened to her on the day of her arrival at Lausette. But she felt that it was impossible with him looking at her. She could not, at a blow, cast a shadow over the joy of his first day in the country where, henceforth, he was to make his home. And so she stood sobbing softly on his shoulder, while he, aware of his inability to cope with anything so mysterious, has a woman's tears, caressed her gently and waited patiently for her to regain her composure. Then nothing's happened to you after all he laughed, patting her cheeks. Nothing, in spite of my croaking. Nothing, she answered. The opportunity was gone now. She was committed irrevocably to her secret. You like it here? Duncan has made himself agreeable. It's a beautiful country, though a little lonesome after, after Albany. I miss my friends, of course, but Duncan's sister has done her best, and I have been able to get along. The engine-belt clanged, and they stood side by side as a train pulled slowly away from the platform. Langforth solemnly waved the farewell to it. This is the moment for which I have been looking for months, he said. With what it seemed to Sheila was almost a sigh of relief. He turned to her with a smile. I will look after the baggage, he said, and leaving her he approached the station agent, and together they examined the trunks which had come out of the baggage-car. Sheila watched him while he engaged in this task. His face seemed the trifle drawn. He had aged much during the month that she had been separated from him. The lines of his face had grown deeper, he seemed. Now that she saw him at a distance, to be care-worn, tired. She had heard people call him a hard man, she knew, that business associates had complained of what they were pleased to call his sharp methods. It had even been hinted that his methods were irregular. It made no difference to her, however, what people thought of him, or what they said of him. He had been a kind and indulgent parent to her, and she supposed that in business it was everybody's business to look sharply after their own interests. For there were jealous people everywhere, envy stalks rampant through the world. Failure cavalls at mediocrity, mediocrity sneers at genius, and Sheila had always considered her father a genius. And the carping of those over whom her father had ridden roughshod had always sounded in her ears like tributes. As quite unconsciously we were prone to place the interests of self-above considerations for the comfort and convenience of others, so Sheila had grown to judge her father through the medium of his treatment of her. Her own father, who had died during her infancy, could not have treated her better than had Langford. Since her mother's death some years before, Langford had been both father and mother to her, and her affection for him had flourished in the sunshine of his. No matter what other people thought, she was satisfied with him. As a matter of fact, David Dowd Longford allowed no one, not even Sheila, to look into his soul. What emotions slumbered beneath the mask of his habitual imperturbability no one, say Langford himself, knew. During all his days he had successfully fought against B. Trane, his emotions, and now at the age of fifty, there was nothing of his character revealed in his face except sternness. If addicted to sharp practice in business no one would be likely to suspect it, not even his victim. Could one have looked steadily into his eyes, one might find there, a certain gleam, to warn one of trickery? Only one would not be able to look steadily into them, for the reason that they would not allow you. There were shifty, crafty eyes that took one's measure when one least expected them to do so. Over the motive which had motivated her father to retire from business while still in his prime, Sheila did not speculate, nor has she speculated when he had bought the double-R ranch and announced his intention, to spend the remainder of his days on it. She supposed that he had grown tired of the unceasing bustle and activity of city life has had she, and longed for something different, and she had been quite as eager as he to take up her residence here. This had been the limit of her conjecturing. He had told her, when she left Albany, that he would follow her in a month, and therefore, in a month to the day, knowing his habit of punctuality, Sheila had come to Lausette for him, having been driven over from the double-R by one of the cowboys. She saw the station age it now, beckoning to the driver of the wagon, and she went over to the edge of the station platform and watched while the trunks were tumbled into the wagon. The driver was grumbling good-naturedly to Langford. That darn six o'clock train is always late, he was saying. It's a quarter to eight now, and the sun is going down. If that train had been on time, we could have made part of the trip in the daylight. The day had indeed gone. Sheila looked towards the mountains and saw that great long shadows were lengthening from their bases. The lower half of the sun had sunk behind a distant peak. The quiet colors of the sun set were streaking the sky and glowing over the plains. The trunks were in, the station agent held the horses by the bridles. Quieting them, the driver took up the reins. Sheila was helped to the seat by her father. He jumped in himself, and they were off down the street, toward a dim trail that led up a slope that began at the edge of town and melted into space. The town seemed deserted. Sheila saw a man standing near the front door of a saloon, his hands on his hips. He did not appear interested in either the wagon or its occupants. His gaze roved, up and down the street, and he nervously fingered his cartridge belt. He was a brown-skinned man, almost olive. Sheila thought, as her gaze rested on him, attired after the manner of the country, with leather and chaps, felt-hat, boots, spurs, and necker-shift. Why, it is sundown already, Sheila heard her father say. What a sudden change. A moment ago the light was perfect. The subconscious sensed only permitted Sheila to hear her father's voice, or her thoughts and eyes, or just then riveted on another man who had come out of the door of another saloon, a little way down the street. She recognized a man has dakota, and explained sharply. She felt her father turn. Heard the driver declare, it's coming off, though she had not the slightest idea of his meaning. Then she realized that he had halted the horses' saw, that he had turned in his seat, and was watching something to the rear of them intently. We're out of range, she heard him say, speaking to her father. What's wrong? This was her father's voice. Dakota and Blanca are having a run-in, announced the driver. Dakota's given Blanca till sundown to get out of town. It's sundown now, and Blanca ain't pulled his freight, and it's likely that hell will be a poppin' sort of sudden. Sheila cowered in her seat, half afraid to look at Dakota, who was walking slowly toward the man, who still stood in front of the saloon, though in spite of her fears and misgivings, the fascination of the scene held her gaze steadily on the chief actors. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see that far down the street men were congregated. They stood in doorways, at convenient corners, their eyes directed toward Dakota and the other man. In the sepulchral calm, which had fallen, there came the Sheila's ears, sounds that in another time she would not have noticed. Somewhere a door slammed, there came to her ears the barking of a dog. The nae of a horse, sharply the sound, smote the quiet atmosphere. They seemed odd to the point of unreality. However, the sounds did not long distract her attention from the chief actors in the scene which was being worked out in front of her. The noises died away, and she gave her entire attention to the men. She saw Dakota reach a point about 30 feet from the man in front of the saloon, Blanca. Has Dakota continued to approach? Sheila observed. An evil smile flashed suddenly to Blanca's face. Saw a glint of metal in the faint light. Heard the crash of his revolver. Shuttered at the flame's spurt. She expected to see Dakota fall, hoping that he might. Instead, she saw him smile, in much the fashion in which he had smiled that night in the cabin, when he had threatened to shoot the parson, if she did not consent to marry him. Then his hand dropped swiftly to the butt of the pistol at his right hip. Sheila's eyes closed, she swayed, and felt her father's arm come out, and grasped her to keep her from falling. But she was not going to fall. She had merely closed her eyes to blot out the scene, which she could not turn from. She held her breath in an agony of suspense, and it seemed an age, until she heard a crashing report, and then another, then silence. Unable longer to resist looking, Sheila opened her eyes. She saw Dakota walk forward and stand over Blanca. Looking down at him, his pistol still in hand. Blanca was faced down in the dust of the street, and as Dakota stood over him, Sheila saw the half-breed's body move convulsively, and then become still. Dakota sheathed his weapon, and without looking toward the wagon in which Sheila sat, turned, and strolled unconcernedly down the street. A man came out of the door of the saloon, in front of which Blanca's body lay, looking down at it curiously. Other men were running toward the spot. There were shouts, oaths. For the first time in her life, Sheila had seen a man killed, murdered, and there came to her a recollection of Dakota's words that night in the cabin. Have you ever seen a man die? She had surmised from his banner that night, that he would not hesitate to kill the parson, and now she knew that her sacrifice had not been made in vain. The sob shook her, the world reeled blurred, and she covered her face with her hands. Oh, she said in a strained, hoarse voice, oh, the brute. Hey! From a great distance the driver's voice seemed to come. Hey, what's that? Maybe. But I reckon Blanca won't rustle any more cattle. God, he added, in an odd voice, both of them hit him. Blanca was dead then, there could be no doubt of that. Sheila felt herself swaying, and tried to grasp the end of the seat to steady herself. She heard her father's voice raised in alarm, felt his arm come out again and grasp her, and then darkness settled around her. When she recovered consciousness, her father's arms were still around her, and the buckboard was in motion. Dust had come. Above her countless stars flickered in the deep blue of the sky. I reckon she's plum-shocked, she heard the driver say. I don't wonder, returned Langford, and Sheila felt his shiver run over him. Great guns! Sheila wondered at the tone he used. That man is a marvel with a pistol. Did you notice how cool he took it? Cool, the driver laughed. If you're acquainted with Dakota, you'll find out that he's cool. He's an iceberg, that's what he is. They'll arrest him, I suppose, queried Langford. Arrest him, what for? Didn't he give Blanca his chance? That's why I'm telling you he's cool. It was past two o'clock when the buckboard pulled up at the double R corral gates, and Langford helped Sheila down. She was still pale and trembling, and did not remain downstairs to witness her father's introduction to Duncan's sister, but went immediately to her own room. Sleep was far from her, however, for she kept dwelling over and over on the odd fortune which had killed Blanca and allowed Dakota to live when the latter's death would have brought to an end the distasteful relationship which his freakish impulse had forced upon her. She remembered Dakota's words in the cabin. Was fate indeed running this game, if game it might be called? End of chapter five. Chapter six of a trail to yesterday by Charles Alden Seltzer. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Kindred spirits. Looking rather more rugged than when he had arrived at the station at Lisette two weeks before, his face tanned, but still retaining the smooth, sleek manner which he had brought with him from the east. David Dowd-Longford sat in a big rocking chair on the lower gallery of the double R ranch house, mentally appraising Duncan, who has seated nearby his profile towards Langford. So this Ben Doubler has been a thorn in your side, questioned Langford softly. That's just it, returned Duncan with an evil smile. He has been, and still is, and now I'm willing him to you. I don't know when I've been more tickled over getting rid of a man. Well said Langford, landing farther back in his chair and clasping his hands, resting his chin on his thumbs, his lips curving with an ironic smile. I suppose I ought to feel extremely grateful to you, especially since when I was negotiating the purchase of the ranch, you didn't hint of a nester being on the property. I didn't sell Doubler to you, said Duncan. Langford's smile was shallow. But I get him just the same, he said. As a usual thing, it is pretty hard to get rid of a nester, isn't it? I haven't been able to get rid of this one, returned Duncan. He doesn't seem to be influenced by anything I say or do. Some obstinate. Tried everything? Yes. The law? Duncan made a gesture of disgust. The law, he said, what for? I haven't been such a fool. He's got as much right to the open ranges I have, as you will have. I bought a section, and he took up a quarter section. The only difference between us is that I own mine, or did own it, until you bought it. And he ain't proved on his. He is on the other side of the river, and I'm on this, or rather, he add it with a grin. He's on the other side, and you are on this. He's got the best grassland in the country, and plenty of water. His rights, then, remarked Langford slowly, equal yours or mine, that is, he added. He makes free use of the grass and water. That's so, agreed Duncan. Which reduces the profits of the double R, pursued Langford? I reckon that's right. And you knew that when you sold me the double R ranch, continued Langford, his voice smooth and silky. Duncan flashed a grin at the imperturbable face of the new owner. I reckon I wasn't entirely ignorant of it, he said. That's bad business, remarked Langford, in a detached manner. What is, Duncan's face reddened slightly, you mean that it was bad business for me to sell, when I know doubler-owned land near the double R? There was a slight sneer in his voice as he looked at Langford. You've never been stung before, huh? Well, there's always the first time for everything, and I reckon, according to what I've heard, that you ain't been exactly no Sunday School scholar yourself. Langford eyes were narrowed slits. I meant that it was bad business to allow doubler's presence on the two forks to affect the profits of the double R. Perhaps I have been stung, as you call it, but if I have been, I'm not complaining. Duncan's eyes glinted with satisfaction. He had expected a burst of anger from the new owner, when he should discover that the value of his property was impaired by the presence of a nester near it, but the new owner apparently harbored no resentment over this unforeseen obstacle. I'm admitting, said Duncan, that doubler, being there, is bad business. But how are you going to prevent him staying there? Have you tried, Langford looked obliquely at Duncan, drawing significantly? Force? I've tried everything I told you. Duncan gazed at Langford with a new interest. It was the first time since the new owner had come to the double R, that he had dropped the mask of sleek smoothness behind which he concealed his passions. Even now the significance was more in his voice than in his words. And Duncan began to comprehend that Langford was deeper than he had thought. I'm glad to see that you appreciate the situation, he said, smiling craftily. Some men are mighty careful not to do anything to hurt anybody else. Langford favored Duncan with a steady gaze, was the latter returned, and both smiled. Business presently said Langford with quiet significance, which was not lost on Duncan. Good business demands, the application of certain methods which are not always agreeable to the opposition. He took another slight glance at Duncan. There ought to be a good many ways of making it plain to doubler, that he isn't wanted in this section of the country, he insinuated. I've tried to make some of the ways Plain, said Duncan, with a cold grin. I got to the end of my string, and haven't any more things to try. That's why I decided to sell. I wanted to get away, where I wouldn't be bothered, but I reckon you'll be able to fix up something for him. During the two weeks that Langford had been at the double R, Duncan had studied him from many angles, and this exchange of talk had convinced him that he had not erred in his estimate of the new owner's character. As he had hinted to Langford, he had tried many plans to rid the country of the nester, and he remembered a time when Doubler had seen through one of his schemes to fasten the crime of rustling on him, and had called him to account. And the recollection of what had happened at the interview between them was not pleasant. He had not bothered Doubler since that time, though there had lingered in his heart a desire for revenge. Many times, on some pretext or other, he had tried to induce his men to clash with Doubler, but without success. It had appeared to him that his men suspected his motives and deliberately avoided the nester. With a secret satisfaction he had watched Langford's face this morning when he told him that Doubler had long been suspected of rustling, that the men of the double R had never been able to catch him in the act, but that the number of cattle missing had seemed to indicate the nester's guilt. Doubler's land was especially desirable, he had told Langford, and this was the truth. It was a quarter-section line adjacent to Goodwater, and provided the best grass in the vicinity. Duncan had had trouble with Doubler over the water rights, too, but had been unsuccessful in ousting him, because of the fact that since Doubler controlled the land, he also controlled the water rights of the river adjoining it. The two forks was the only spot which could be used by thirsty cattle in the vicinity, for the river, at other points, was bordered with cliffs and hills, and was inaccessible, and Doubler would not allow the double R cattle to water at the two forks, though he had issued this edict after his trouble with the double R owner. Duncan, however, did not explain this to Langford. The latter looked at him with a smooth smile. It is plain from what you have been telling me, he said, that there is no possibility of you succeeding and reaching a satisfactory agreement with Doubler, and therefore I expect that I will have to deal with him personally. I shall ride over some day and have a talk with him. The prospect of becoming involved with the nester gave Langford a throb of joy. All his life he had been engaged in the task of overcoming business obstacles, and he had reached the conclusion that the situation which now confronted him was nothing more or less than business, of course, it was not the business to which he had been accustomed. But it offered the opportunity for cold-blooded merciless planning for personal gain, and there were elements of profit and loss it would give him an opportunity to apply his particular genius to grapple, to battle, and finally overthrow the opposing force. Though he had allowed Duncan to say nothing of the emotions that rioted within him over the discovery that he had been victimized by the latter, at least to the extent, of misrepresentation in the matter of the nester, there was in his mind a feeling of deep resentment against the former owner, and he felt that he could no longer trust him. But for the sake of learning all the details of the new business he felt that he would have to make the best of a bad bargain. He had already arranged with Duncan to remain at the double-R throughout the season, but he proposed to leave him out of any dealings that he might have with Doubler. He smiled as he looked at Duncan. I like this country, he said, leading back in his chair, and drawing a deep breath. I was rather afraid at the first that I would find it dull after the east, but this situation gives promise of action. Duncan was watching him with a crafty smile. You reckon on running him off, or? He leered at Langford significantly. The latter's face was impassive, his smile dry, eh, he said abstractedly, as though his thoughts had been wandering from the subject. Why, I really haven't given a thought to the method by which I ought to deal with Doubler. Perhaps he added, with a genial smile, I may make a friend of him. He observed Duncan's scowl, and his smile grew. CHAPTER VII She had grown tired of the continued companionship, and despite the novelty of the sights, she had become decidedly worried of looking at the cowboys in their native haunts, not that they did not appeal to her, for on the contrary, she had found them picturesque, and had admired their manliness. But she longed to ride out alone, where she could brood over her secret. The possession of it had taken the flavor out of the joys of this new life, had left it flat and filled with bitter memories. She had detected a change in her father. He seemed coarse, domineering, entirely unlike his usual self. She had tributed this, changing him to the country. It was hard and rough, and of course it was to be expected that Langford, or any man for that matter, taking an active interest in ranch life, must reflect the spirit of the country. She had developed a positive dislike for Duncan, which she took no trouble to conceal. She had discovered that the suspicions she had formed of his character during the first days of their acquaintance were quite correct. He was selfish, narrow, and brutal. He had accompanied her and her father on all their trips, and his manner toward her had grown to be one of easy familiarity. This was another reason why she wanted to ride alone. The day before she had spoken to Langford concerning the continued presence of Duncan on their rides, and he had laughed at her, assuring her that Duncan was not a bad fellow. And though she had not taken issue with him on this point, she had decided that hereafter, in self-protection, she would discontinue her rides with her father, as long as he was accompanied by the former owner. Determined to carry out this decision, she was this morning saddling her pony at the corral gates when she observed Duncan standing near, watching her. You might have let me throw that saddle on, he said. She flushed, angered, that he should have been watching her without making his presence known. I prefer to put the saddle on myself, she returned, busying herself with it, after taking a flashing glance at him. He laughed, pulled out a package of tobacco and some paper, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. When he had completed it, he held a match to it and puffed slowly. Crossed this morning, he taunted. There was no reply, though Duncan might have been warned by the dark red in her cheeks. She continued to work with the saddle, lacing the litigo strings and tightening the cinches. We're riding down to the box canyon on the other side of the basin this morning, said Duncan. We've got some strays penned up there, but your dad won't be ready for half an hour yet. You're in something of a hurry, it seems. You are going, I suppose, questioned Sheila, pulling at the rear cinch, the pony displaying a disinclination, to allow it to be buckled. I reckon. I don't see said Sheila, straightening and facing him, why you have to go with father everywhere. Duncan flushed. Your father's aiming to learn the business, he said. I'm showing him, telling him what I know about it. There's a chance that I won't be with the double R after the fall roundup. If a deal, which I have got on, goes through. And I suppose you have a corner on all the knowledge of ranch life, suggested Sheila sarcastically. He flushed darkly, but did not answer. After Sheila had completed the tightening of the cinches, she led the pony beside the corral fence, mounted, and without looking at Duncan, started to ride away. Waity shouted, and she drew the pony to a halt, and sat in the saddle looking down at him, with a contemptuous gaze, as he stood in front of her. I thought you was going with your father, he said. You're mistaken. She could not repress a smile over the expression of disappointment on his face. But without giving him any further satisfaction, she urged her pony forward, leaving him standing beside the corral gates, watching her with a frown. She smiled many times while riding toward the river, thinking of his disconfiture, reveling in the thought that for once she had shown him that she resented the attitude of familiarity which she had adopted toward her. She sat erect in the saddle experiencing a feeling of elation, which brought the color into her face and brightened her eyes. It was the first time since her arrival at the double-R that she had been able to ride out alone, and it was also the first time that she really appreciated the vastness and beauty of the country. For the trail to the river, which she had decided she would follow, led through a fertile country where the bunched grass grew long and green. The barren stretches of alkali were infrequent, and where the low wooded hills, and the shallow gullies seemed to hint at the mystery. Before long the depression, which had made her life miserable, had fled, and she was enjoying herself. When she reached the river she crossed it at a shallow and urged her pony up a sloping bank and out upon a grass plain that spread away like the level of a great green sea. Once into the plain though she discovered that its promise of continuing green was a mere illusion. For the grass grew here in bunches, the same as it grew on the double-R side of the river. Yet though she was slightly disappointed, she found many things to interest her, and she lingered long over the odd rock formations that she encountered and spent much time peering down into the gullies and exploring sand-draws which seemed to be on every side. About noon, when she became convinced that she had seen everything worth seeing, in that section of the country she wheeled her pony and headed it back toward the river. She reached it after a time and urged her beast along its banks, searching for the shallow which she had crossed some time before. The dim trail led along the river, and she felt certain that if she followed it long enough it would lead her to the crossing. But after riding half an hour and encountering nothing but hills and rock cliffs she began to doubt. But she rode on for another half hour and then, slightly disturbed, over her inability to find the shallow, she halted the pony and looked about her. The country was strange and unfamiliar, and a sudden misgiving assailed her. Had she lost her idea of direction? She looked up at the sun and saw that it was slightly past the zenith on its downward path. She smiled. Of course, all she had to do was to follow the river and in time she would come in sight of the double R buildings. Certain that she had missed the shallow because of her interest in other things, she urged her pony about and captured it slowly over the back trail. A little later seeing and a royal would seem to give promise of leading to the shallow she sought. She descended it and found that it led to a flat and thence to the river. The crossing seemed unfamiliar and yet she supposed that one crossing would do quite as well as another, and so she smiled and continued on toward it. There was a fringe of shrubbery at the edge of what appeared to have once been a swamp, though now it was dry and made fairly good footing for her pony. The animal acted strangely, however, when she tried to urge it through the fringing shrubbery, and she was compelled to use her quirk vigorously. Once at the water's edge she halted the pony and viewed the crossing with satisfaction. She decided that it was a much better crossing than the one she'd encountered on the trip out. It was very shallow, not over thirty feet wide, she estimated, and through the clear water she could easily see the hard sandy bottom. It puzzled her slightly to observe that there were no wagon tracks or hoof prints in the sand anywhere round her, as there would be where the crossing used ever so little. It seemed to be an isolated section of the country, though, and perhaps the cattlemen used the crossing little. There was even a chance that she was the first to discover its existence. She must remember to ask someone about it when she returned to the double R. She urged the pony gently with her booted heel and voice, but the little animal would not budge. In patient over its obstinacy she again applied the quirk vigorously. Stung to desperation, the pony stood erect for an instant, pawing the air frantically with its four hoofs, and then, as the quirk continued to lash its flanks, it lunged forward, snorting in apparent fright, made two or three eccentric leaps, splashing water high over Sheila's head, and then came to a sudden stop in the middle of the stream. Sheila nibbled at her lips in vexation, again convinced that the pony was merely exhibiting obstinacy. She applied the quirk to its flanks. The animal floundered and struggled, but did not move out of its tracks. Evidently something had gone wrong. Sheila peered over the pony's mane into the water, which was still clear in spite of the pony's struggling, and sat suddenly erect, stifling cry of amazement. The pony was mired fast, its legs, to a point just above the knees, had disappeared into the river-bottom. As she straightened, a chilling fear clutching at her heart, she felt the cold water of the river splashing against her booted legs, and now the knowledge came to her in a sudden, sickening flood. She had ridden her pony fairly into a bed of quicksand. For some minutes she sat motionless in the saddle, stunned and nervous. She saw now why there were no tracks or hoof prints leading down into the crossing. She remembered now that Duncan had warned her of the presence of quicksand in the river, but the chance of her riding into any of it had seemed to be so remote that she had paid very little attention to Duncan's warning. Much as she disliked the man, she would have given much to have him close at hand now, if he had only followed her. She was surprised at her coolness, she realized, that the situation was precarious, for though she had never before experienced a quicksand, she had read much of them in books, and knew that the pony was hopelessly mired. But it seemed that there could be no immediate danger, for the river-bottom looked smooth and hard. It was grayish-black, and she was so certain that the footing was good, that she pulled her feet out of the stirrups, swung around, and stepped down into the water. She had stepped lightly, burying only a little of her weight on the foot while holding to the saddle. But the foot sank instantly into the sand, and the water darkened around it. She tried again, in another spot, putting a little bit more weight on her foot this time. She went in almost to the knee and was surprised to find that she had to exert some little strength to pull the foot out. There was so great a suction. With the discovery that she was really in a dangerous predicament came a mental picture which threatened to take the form of hysteria. She held tightly to the pommel of the saddle, shutting her eyes on the desolate world around her, battling against the great fear that rose within her and choked her. When she opened her eyes again, the world was reeling and objects around her were strangely blurred. But she held tightly to the saddle, telling herself that she must retain her composure, and after a time she regained the mastery over herself. With the return of her mental faculties, she began to give some thought to escape, but escape seemed to be impossible. Looking back toward the bank she had left, she saw that the pony must have come fifteen or twenty feet in the two or three plunges it had made. She found herself wondering how it could have succeeded in coming that distance. Behind her the water had become perfectly clear, and the impressions left by the pony's hoofs had filled up and the river-bottom looked as smooth and inviting as it had seemed when she had urged her pony into it. In front of her was a stretch of water of nearly the same width as that which lay behind her. To the right and left the grayish black sand spread far, but only a short distance beyond, where she could discern the sand there were rocks that stuck above the water with little ripples around them. The rocks were too far away to be of any assistance to her, however, and her heart sank when she realized that her only hope of escape lay directly ahead. She leaned over and laid her head against the pony's neck, smoothing and patting its shoulder. The animal whinnied, appealingly, and she stifled a sob of remorse over her action and forcing it into the treacherous sand, for it had sensed the danger while obeying her blindly. How long she lay with her head against the pony's neck she did not know. But when she finally sat erect again she found that the water was touching the hem of her riding skirt and that her feet dangling at each side of the pony were deep in the sand of the river-bottom. With a cry of fright she drew them out and crossed them before her on the pommel of the saddle. With the movement the pony sank several inches it seemed to her. She saw the water suddenly flow over its back, heard it nay loudly, appealingly, with a note of anguish and terror, which seemed almost human, and feeling a sudden response of emotion of horror and despair she'll abound her head against the pony's mane and sobbed softly. They would both die she knew horribly. They would presently sink beneath the surface of the sand. The water would flow over them and obliterate all traces of their graves, and no one would ever know what had become of them. Some time later, it might have been five minutes or an hour, Sheila could not have told. She heard the pony nay again, and this time it seemed there was a new note in the sound, a note of hope. She raised her head and looked up, and there, on the bank before her, uncoiling his rope from the saddle horn, and looking very white and grim, was Dakota. Sheila sat motionless, not knowing whether to cry or laugh, finally compromising with the appeal, uttered with all the composure of her command, won't you please get us out of here? That's what I'm aiming to do, he said, and never did a voice sound sweeter in her ears at that moment. She almost forgave him for the great crime he had committed against her. He seemed not in the least excited, continuing to uncoil his rope and recoil it again into larger loops. Hold your hands over your head, came his command. She did as she was bidden. He had not dismounted from his pony, but had ridden up to the very edge of the quicksand and, as she raised her hands, she saw him twirl the rope once, watched, as it sailed out, settled down around her waist, and was drawn tight. There was now a grim smile on his face. You're in for a wedding, he said. I'm sorry, but it can't be help. Guess your feet off to one side, so that you won't get mixed up with the saddle, and keep your head above the water. Yes, she answered tremulously, dreading the ordeal, dreading still more the thought of her appearance, when she would finally reach the bank. His pony was in motion instantly, pulling strongly, following out its custom of dragging a rope steer, and Sheila slipped off the saddle and into the water, trying to keep her feet under her. But she overbalanced and fell with a splash, and in this manner was dragged, gasping, strangling, and dripping wet to the bank. The coat was off his pony long before she had reached the solid ground, and was at her side before she had cleared the water, helping her to her feet and loosening the noose around her waist. Don't please, she said frigidly, as his hand touched her. Then I won't, he smiled, and stepped back, while she fumbled with a rope and finally threw it off. What made you try that shallow, he asked? I suppose I have a right to ride where I please. Had saved her life, of course, as she was very grateful to him. But that was no reason why he should presume to speak familiarity to her. She really believed, in spite of the obligation, under which she had placed her, that she hated him more than ever. But he did not seem to be at all disturbed over her manner of a contrary, looking at him, and trying her best to be scornful. He seemed to be laboring heroically to stifle some emotion, amusement, she decided, and she tried to freeze him with an icy stare. Now you don't look dignified for a fact, he grinned brazenly, allowing his mirth to show in his eyes, and in the sudden, curved lines that had come around his mouth. Still, you couldn't expect to look dignified, no matter how hard you tried, after being dragged through the water like that. Now could you? It isn't the first time I have amused you, she said, with angry sarcasm. A cloud passed over his face, but it was instantly superseded by a smile. So you haven't forgotten, he said. She did not bane to answer, but turned her back to him, and looked at her partially submerged pony. Want to try it again, he said mockingly. She turned slowly and looked at him, her eyes flashing. Will you please stop being silly, she said coldly. If you were human, you would be trying to get my pony out of that sand, instead of standing there and trying to be smart. Did you think that I was going to let him drown? His smile had in its quality a subtle mockery which made her eyes blaze with anger. Evidently, yet observed it, for he smiled as he walked to his pony coiling his rope and hanging it from the pommel of the saddle. I'm certainly not going to let your horse drown, he assured her, for in this country horses are sometimes more valuable than people. Then why didn't you save the pony first, she demanded hotly? How could I, he returned, fixing her with an amused glance, with you looking so appealingly at me? She turned abruptly and left him walking to the flat rock and seating herself upon it, wringing the water from her skirts trying to get her hair out of her eyes, feeling very miserable and wishing devoutly that the coda might drown himself after he has succeeded in pulling the pony from the quicksand. But the coda did not drown himself nor did he pull the pony out of the quicksand. She watched him, as he rode to the water's edge and looked at the animal. Her heart sank when he turned and looked gravely at her. I reckon your pony's done for, ma'am, he said. There isn't anything of him above the sand but his head and a little of his neck. He's too far gone, ma'am, in half an hour, he'll. She elisted up, wet and excited. Can't you do something, she pleaded? Couldn't you pull him out with your lariat like you did me? There was a grim humor in his smile. What do you reckon would have happened to you? If I have tried to pull you out by the neck, he asked. But can't you do something, she pleaded? Her icy attitude toward him melting under the warmth of her affection and sympathy for the unfortunate pony. Please do something, she begged. His face changed expression and he tapped one of his holsters significantly. There's only this left, I reckon. Pulling him out by the neck would break it, sure. And it's never a nice thing to see her here, a horse or a cow, sinking in quicksand. I've seen it once or twice, sand. Sheel is shuttered and covered her face with her hands, for his words had set her imagination to working. Oh, she said and became silent. Dakota stood for a moment, watching her, his face grim with sympathy. It's too bad, he said finally. I don't like to shoot him any more than you want to see it done, I reckon, though that pony would thank me for doing it if he could have anything to say about it. He walked over close to her speaking in a low voice. You can't stay here, of course. You'll have to take my horse and you'll have to go right now if you don't want to be around with the pony. Please don't, she said, interrupting him. He relapsed into silence and stood gravely watching her as she resumed her toilet. She disliked to accept his offer of the pony, but there seemed to be no other way. She certainly could not walk to the double-r ranch house, even, to satisfy a desire to show him that she would not allow him to place her under any obligation to him. I've got to tell you one thing, he said presently, standing erect, and looking earnestly at her. If Duncan is responsible for your safety in this country, he isn't showing very good judgment in letting you run around alone. There are dangers that you know nothing about, and you don't know a thing about the country. Someone ought to take care of you. As you did, for example, she retorted, filled with anger over his present solicitation of her welfare, as contrasted to his treatment of her on another occasion. The slow red filled his cheeks. Evidently, he did possess some self-respect after all. Contrition to, she thought, she could detect in his manner and in his voice. But I didn't hurt you any way, he said, eye on her steadily. Not if you call ruining a woman's name, not hurting her, she answered bitterly. I am sorry for that, Miss Sheila, he said earnestly. I had an idea that night and still have it for that matter. But I wasn't instrument. Well, I had an idea, that's all. I haven't told any body about what happened. I haven't even hinted it to any body. And I told the parson to get out of the country, so he wouldn't do any gassing about it. And I haven't been over to dry bottom, to have the marriage record it, and I'm not going to go, so that you can have it set aside at any time. Yes, she could have the marriage annulled, she knew that. But the contemplation of her release from the tie that bound her to him did not lessen the gravity of the offence in her eyes. She told herself that she hated him with a remorseless passion which would never cease until he ceased to live. No action of his could repair the damage she had done to her. She told him so plainly. I didn't know you were so bloodthirsty as that he laughed in quiet mockery. Maybe it would be a good thing for you if I did die or get killed. But I'm not allowing that I'm ready to die yet. And certainly I'm not going to let anybody kill me if I can prevent it. I reckon you're not thinking of doing the killing yourself. If I told my father she began, but hesitated, when she saw his lips suddenly straighten and hardened, and his eyes light with a deep contempt. So you haven't told your father he laughed, I was sure. You had taken him into your confidence by this time. But I reckon it's a mighty good thing that you did for your father. Like as not, if you'd tell him, he'd get some riled and come right over to see me yarning for my blood. And then I'd have to shoot him up some. And that would sure be too bad. You lovin' him as you do. I suppose you would shoot him like you shot that poor fellow in Lisette, she taunted bitterly. Like I did that poor fellow in Lisette, he said, with broad ironic emphasis. You saw me shoot Blanca, of course. For you were there. But you don't know what made me shoot him. And I'm not going to tell you it's none of your business. Indeed, her voice was burdened with contempt. I suppose you take a certain pride in your ability to murder people. She placed a feminist accent on the murder. Lots of people ought to be murdered, he drawed, using the accent she had used. Her contempt of him grew. Then I presume, who have others in mind, whom you will shoot when the mood strikes you, she said. Perhaps this smile was mysterious and mocking, and she saw in his eyes the reckless gleam, which she had noted that night while in the cabin with him. She shuddered and walked to the pony, his pony. If you have quite finished, I believe I will be going, she said, holding her chin high and averting her face. I will have one of the men bring your horse to you. I believe I have quite finished, he returned, mimicking her cold, precise manner of speech. She disdainfully refused his proffer of assistance and mounted the pony. He stood watching her with a smile, which he saw by glancing covertly at him, while pretending to arrange the stirrup strapped. When she started to ride away without even glancing at him, she heard his voice with its absurd, hateful drawl. And she didn't even thank me, he said, with mock bitterness and disappointment. She turned, and made a grimace at him. He bowed and smiled. You are entirely welcome, she said. He was standing on the edge of the quicksand, watching her, when she reached a long rise upon which she had sat on her pony on a day some weeks before, and when she turned he waved a hand to her. A little later she vanished over the rise, and she had not ridden very far. When she heard the dull report of his pistol, she shivered and rode on. Nursing her wrath against the man who had rescued her, feeling bitterly vindictive against him, yet aware, that the Dakota who had saved her life was not the Dakota whom she had feared during her adventure with him in his cabin on the night of her arrival in the country. He had changed, and though she assured herself that she despised him more than ever, she found the grim amusement in the recollection of his manner immediately following the rescue, and in a review of the verbal battle in which she had been badly worsted. His glances had had in them the quality of inward mirth and satisfaction, which is most irritating, and behind his pretended remorse she could see a pleasure over her dilemma, which made her yearn to inflict punishment upon him that would cause him to ask for mercy. His demeanor had said plainly that if she wished to have the marriage set aside all well and good, he would offer no objection, but neither would he take the initiative. Decidedly it was a matter in which she could consult her own desires. It was late in the afternoon when she rode up to the double-r corral gates and was met there by her father and Duncan. Lankford had been worried, he said, and was much concerned over her appearance. In the presence of Duncan, Sheila told him the story of her danger and subsequent rescue by Dakota, and she saw his eyes narrow with a strange light. Dakota, he said, isn't that the chap who shot that half-breed hormonal ascent the day I came? To Sheila's nod he ejaculated. He's a trump. He's a brute, as the words escaped her lips. She had not meant to utter them. Sheila caught a glint in Duncan's eyes, which told her that she had echoed the latter sentiments, and she felt almost like retracting the charge. She had to bite her lips to resist the impulse. A brute, huh? laughed Lankford. It strikes me that I wouldn't so characterize a man who had saved my life. The chances are that after saving you he didn't seem delighted enough or he didn't smile to suit you or he ain't so awful much of a man remarked Duncan disparagingly. Lankford turned and looked at Duncan with a comprehending smile. Evidently you owe Dakota nothing, my dear Duncan, he said. The latter's face darkened, and with Sheila listening, he told the story of a calf deal, which had indirectly brought about the death of Blanca. For a long time we had suspected Texas Blanca of rustling, said Duncan, but we couldn't catch him with the goods. Five years ago, after the spring roundup, I branded a bunch of calves with a secret mark, and then we rode, sighing on Blanca. We had him then, for the calves disappeared, and some of the boys found some of them in Blanca's corral. But we delayed, hoping he would run off more, and while we were waiting he sold out to Dakota. We didn't know that at the time. Didn't find it out until we went over to take Blanca and found Dakota living in his cabin. He had a bill of sale from Blanca all right, showing that he'd bought the calves from him. It looked regular, but we had our doubts, and Dakota and me came pretty near having a run-in. If the boys hadn't interfered, he hesitated and looked at Sheila, and as her gaze met his, steadily, his eyes wavered and a slow red came into his face for the recollection of what had actually occurred at the meeting between him and Dakota was not pleasant. And since that day Duncan had many times heard the word yellow, spoken in connection with his name, which meant that he lacked courage. So he wasn't a wrestler after all, said Sheila pleasantly. For some reason, which she could not entirely explain, she suspected that Duncan had left many things out of his story, of his clash with Dakota. Well, no, admitted Duncan grudgingly. Sheila was surprised at the satisfaction she felt over this admission. Perhaps Duncan read her face as she had read his, for he frowned. Him and Blanca framed up, making believe that Blanca had sold him the star brand, he said, vehemently. I don't believe it. Sheila's eyes met Duncan's and the ladders wavered. She was not certain, which gave her the thrill she felt, her defense of Dakota, or Duncan's bitter rage over the exhibition of that defense. He doesn't appear to me to be the sort of man who would steal cow, she said, with a smile which made Duncan's teeth show. Although she continued significantly, it does seem that he is the sort of man I would not care to trifle with were I a man. You told me yourself, if you remember, that you were not taking any chances with him. And now you accuse him, if I were you, she warned. I would be more careful. I would keep from saying things which I could not prove. Meaning that I'm afraid of him, I reckon, sneered Duncan. Sheila looked at him, her eyes alight with mischief. That day on the edge of the butte overlooking the river, when Duncan had talked about Dakota, she had detected in his manner an inclination to belittle the latter. Several times since then she had heard him speak vehemently of him. And she had suspected that all was not smooth between them. And now since Duncan had related the story of the calf incident, she was certain that the relations between the two men were strained to the point of open rupture. Duncan had bothered her, had annoyed her with his attentions, had adopted towards her an air of easy familiarity, which she had deeply resented, and she yearned to humiliate him deeply. Afraid, she appeared to hesitate. Well, no, she said, surveying him, with an appraising eye, in which the mischief was partly concealed. I do not believe that you were afraid. Perhaps you are merely careful where he is concerned. But I am certain that even if you were afraid of him, you would not refuse to take his pony back. I promise to send it back, you know. A deep red suddenly suffused Duncan's face. A sharp, savage gleam in his eyes, with Sheila met with a disarming smile, convinced her that he was aware of her object. She saw also that he did not intend to allow her to force him to perform the service. He bowed and regarded her with a shallow smile. I will have one of the boys take the pony over to him, the first thing in the morning, he said. Sheila smiled sweetly. Please don't bother, she said. I wouldn't think of allowing one of the men to take the pony back. Perhaps I shall decide to ride over that way myself. I should not care to have you meet Dakota if you are afraid of him. Her rippling laugh caused the red in Duncan's face to deepen. But she gave him no time to reply, for directly she had spoken, she turned and walked towards the ranch house. Both Duncan and Langford watched her until she had vanished, and then Langford turned to Duncan. What on earth have you done to hurry, questioned? But Duncan was savagely pulling the saddle from the Dakota's pony and did not answer. Sheila really had no expectation of prevailing upon Duncan to return Dakota's horse. And had she anticipated that the manager would accept her challenge, she would not have given it. For after thinking over the incident of her rescue, she had come to the conclusion that she had not treated Dakota fairly. And by personally taking his horse to him, she would have an opportunity to proffer her tardy thanks for his service. She did not revert to the subject of the animal's return during the evening meal. However, more after it, when she and her father and Duncan sat on the gallery of the ranch house, enjoying the cool of the night breezes. After breakfast on the following morning, she was standing near the windmill, watching the long arms travel lazily in their wide circles. When she saw Duncan riding away from the ranch house, leading Dakota's pony, she started toward the corral gates, intending to call him to return, but thought better of the impulse and hailed him tauntingly instead. Please tell him to accept my thanks, she said, and Duncan turned his head, bowed mockingly, and continued on his way. Half an hour after the departure of Duncan, Sheila pressed the loafing puncher into service and directed him to rope a gentle pony for her. After the puncher had secured a suitable appearing animal, and had placed a saddle and bridle on it, she compelled him to ride it several times around the confines of the pasture to make certain that it would not buck. Then she mounted and rode up the river. Duncan was not particularly pleased over his errand, and many times while he rode the trail toward Dakota's cabin, his lips moved from his teeth in a snarl. Following the incident of the theft of the calves by Blanca, Duncan had taken pains to insinuate publicly that Dakota's purchase of the star from the half-breed had been a clever ruse to avert suspicion, intimating that a partnership existed between Dakota and Blanca. The shooting of Blanca by Dakota, however, had exploded this charge, and until now Duncan had been very careful to avoid a meeting with a man whom he had maligned. During the night he had given much thought to the circumstance which was sending him to meet his enemy. He had a suspicion that Sheila had purposely taunted him with cowardness, that in all probability Dakota himself had suggested to plan in order to force a meeting with him. This thought suggested another. Sheila's defense of Dakota seemed to indicate that a certain intimacy existed between them. He considered this carefully, and with a throb of jealousy concluded, that Dakota's action in saving Sheila's life would very likely pave the way for a closer acquaintance. Certainly, in spite of Sheila's remark about Dakota being a brute, she had betrayed evidence of admiration for the man. In that case, her veiled illusions to his own fear of meeting Dakota were very likely founded on something which Dakota had told her, and certainly anything which Dakota might have said about him would not be complementary. Therefore his rage against both Sheila and his enemy was bitter when he finally rode up to the door of the latter's cabin. There was hope in his heart that Dakota might prove to be absent and when, after calling once and receiving no answer, he dismounted and hitched Dakota's pony to a rail of the corral fence. There was a smile of satisfaction on his face. He had plenty of time to hitch the pony he even lingered at the corral bars, leaning on them, to watch several steers which were inside the enclosure. He found time too in spite of his fear of his enemy to sneer over the evidence of prosperity which were on every hand. He was congratulated himself on his good fortune in reaching Dakota's cabin during the time when the latter was absent when he heard a slight sound behind him. He turned rapidly to see Dakota standing in the doorway of the cabin, watching him with cold level eyes and one of his heavy six-shooters in hand. Duncan's face went slowly pale. He did not speak at once and when he did he was surprised at his hoarseness. I brought your kaius back, he said, finally. So I see returned Duncan. His eyes glinted with a cold humor, though they were still regarding Duncan, with an alertness which the other could not mistake. So I see repeated Dakota. His slow draw was in evidence again. I don't recollect, though, that I sent word to have you bring him back. I wasn't tickled the death over the job, returned Duncan. Now that his first surprise was over and Dakota had betrayed no sign of resenting his visit, Duncan felt easier. There had been a slight sneer at his voice when he answered. That isn't surprising, returned Dakota. There never was a time when you were tickled a heap to stick your nose into my affairs. His smile froze Duncan. I ain't looking for trouble, said the latter, with the perfect knowledge of Dakota's peculiar expression. Then why did you come over here? I reckon there wasn't anyone else to send my horse over by, said Dakota. His voice coming with a truculent snap. Duncan flushed. Sheila Langford sent me, he admitted, reluctantly. Dakota's eyes lighted with incredulity. I reckon you're a liar, he said, with cold emphasis. Duncan's gaze went to the pistol in Dakota's hand, and his lips curled. He knew that he was perfectly safe so long as he made no hostile move. For in spite of his derogatory remark about the man, he was aware that he never used his weapons without provocation. Therefore he forced to smile. You ain't running no blanket deal on me, he said. Calling me a liar ain't going to get no rise out of me. But she sent me just the same, I reckon, like in you as I do, that I ought to be glad she gave me the chance to come over and see you, but I ain't. We was gassing about you, and she told me, I was scared to bring your kaius back, he laughed mirthlessly. I reckon I've proved that I ain't scared. No, said Dakota, with a cold grin, you ain't scared. You know there won't be any shooting done, unless you get careless with that gun you carry. His eyes were filled with a whimsical humor, but they were still alert, as he watched Duncan's face, for signs of insincerity. He saw no such signs, and his expression became mocking. So she sent you over here, he said, and his was the voice of one enemy, enjoying subtle advantage over another. Why, I reckon, you're kind of a handyman to have around. Sort of a lady's man, running errands and such. Duncan's face bloated with anger, but he dared not show open resentment. For behind Dakota saw voice and gentle, over polite manner. He felt the deep rancor, for whose existence he alone was responsible. So trying to hold his passions in check, he grinned at Dakota, significantly insinuatingly, unable finally, to keep the bitter hatred and jealousy out of his voice. For in the evilness of his mind, he had drawn many imaginary pictures of what had occurred between Dakota and Sheila, immediately after her rescue by the latter. I reckon, he said hoarsely, that you take a heap of interest in Sheila. As part of your business, I suppose, Dakota's voice was suddenly hard. Duncan had to steer carefully away from any trouble with Dakota. He had even decided that as a measure, for his own safety, he must say nothing which would be likely to arouse Dakota's anger. But the jealous thoughts in his mind had finally gotten the better of Prudence, and the menacing Dakota's voice angered him. I reckon, he said with a sneer, that I ain't as much interested in her as you are. He started back, his lips tightening over his teeth in a snarl of alarm and fear. For Dakota had stepped down from the doorway, and was at his side as eyes narrowed with cold wrath. Meaning what, he demanded harshly, sharply, for he imagined that perhaps Sheila had told of her marriage to him, and the thought that Duncan should have been selected by her to share the secret maddened him. Meaning what, you damned coyote he insisted, stepping closer to Duncan. Meaning that she ain't admiring you for nothing, flared Duncan, and cautiously, his jealousy overcoming his better judgment. Meaning that any woman, which had been pulled out of a quicksand like you pulled her out, might be expected to favor you with. The sun might flashed on Dakota's pistol, as it leaped from his right hand to his left, and was bolstered with a jerk. And with the same motion his clenched fist was jammed with savage force against Duncan's lips, cutting short the slanderous words and sending him in a heap to the dust of the corral yard. With a cry of rage, Duncan grasped for his pistol and drew it out, but the hand holding it was stamped on violently into the earth. The arm bent and twisted until the fingers released the weapon, and then Dakota stood over him, looking down at him with narrowed, chilling eyes. His face white and hard, his anger gone, as quickly as it had come. He said no word while Duncan clambered awkwardly to his feet and mounted his horse. I'm telling you something, he said quietly, as Duncan lifted the reins with his uninjured hand, turning his horse to depart. You and me have never hitched very well, and there ain't any chance of us ever falling over each other's necks. I think what I've done to you about squares us for that calf deal. I've been yearning to hand you something before you left the country, but I didn't expect you to give me the chance in just this way. I'm warning you, that the next time you shove your coyote nose in my business, I'll muss it up some. That applies to Miss Sheila. If I ever hear of you getting her name on your dirty tongue again, I'll tear you apart. I reckon that's all. He drew his pistol and balanced it in his right hand. It makes me feel some reckless to be talking to you, he added, a glint of intolerance in his eyes. You'd better travel before I change my mind. You don't need to mention this to Miss Sheila, he said, mockingly, as Duncan urged his horse away from the corral gate. Just let her go on thinking you're a man. End of Chapter 8