Chapter II: Part 2

Peace was saddling his horse at the corral, and Jim and Bert were arguing in the kitchen with Saleratus, when Blackie Erne rode in and tied his horse to a corner of the porch.

Cross L Marshall was sitting on the porch and merely grunted as Erne climbed the steps and came up to him. Jim Horn looked out of the kitchen door and watched Erne leave his horse. He motioned to Bert to come out.

The horse, a Roman-nosed buckskin, had swung around until its body was hidden from those on the porch, and Jim Horn grinned gleefully as he picked up a few feet of baling-wire and motioned frantically to Bert.

Old Cross L looked quizzically at Erne, waiting for him to make known his mission.

“Is Miss Marshall to home?” asked Erne.

“I hope she is,” grunted Marshall. “Ain’t seen her this mornin’, so I’d say she was still in bed.”

Erne reached in his pocket and drew out an envelop, which he tendered to Marshall.

“Will yuh see that she gets this here note?”

Marshall squinted at the unsealed envelop, turning it over and over in his hands.

“I reckon I will,” he nodded slowly. “Ain’t nobody been took sick nor nothin’ like that, has there?”

Erne squinted back at him and shook his head, as he said:

“Not yet. Much obliged.”

“Uh-huh.”

Erne went back to his horse and swung into the saddle. He whistled unmusically between his teeth, as if glad that his mission was over. The buckskin jerked around nervously and from its hind legs came a metallic sound.

Erne turned to look back as the horse buck-jumped quickly, and caught a flash of a large tin-can hanging to the buckskin’s tail. Came the _tunk!_ as it struck the horse’s heels, and Mr. Erne began riding high and handsome in order not to part from his saddle.

Down past the corral and out of the gate went the buckskin, bucking and bawling in a cloud of dust, while Jim Horn hugged Saleratus hysterically and Bert Hart sat down on the ground, howling with unholy mirth.

Marshall watched the unceremonious leaving of Blackie Erne and walked to the side of the porch, where he could look back at the three at the kitchen door. Marshall did not know just what was the matter with the horse, but he did know that Jim and Bert were responsible. Peace stopped saddling long enough to watch Erne disappear in a cloud of dust, shook his head sadly over the misdeeds of his men and went back to his task.

Cross L Marshall smothered a grin and turned back, looking at the unsealed envelop. He cocked one ear toward the open door as if listening. Satisfied that Jess was nowhere in sight, he proceeded to show that he was entirely without shame.

Cautiously he perused the note several times. Then he put it carefully in his pocket, bit an enormous chew of tobacco off his plug and exploded an oath that would have galvanized a dead mule into life.

He squinted down toward the corral at Peace Parker who was looping up his lariat rope, and hesitated for a moment over just what to do, made his decision and clumped down the steps.

Peace turned to him as he approached.

“What did Erne want?” he asked.

Marshall spat explosively and handed Peace the envelop.

“Brought yuh a note,” he mumbled.

“Me? Why didn’t he bring it to me, Cross L?”

Marshall cleared his throat with difficulty, as Peace drew out the missive and scanned it.

My Dear Jessie:

In a fit of anger, caused by jealousy, I think, Peace Parker took
occasion to damage me to a certain extent, which accounts for my
absence. But physical wounds heal quickly and I shall count the hours
until I am presentable again.

Yours,
Frank.

P. S.--Please say nothing to Parker. I can appreciate his feelings
in this matter. F.

Peace lifted his eyes and looked at Cross L who was still having throat trouble.

“Cross L, this note wasn’t intended for me?”

“Huh! Wasn’t intended for yuh? Then--lemme see it, Peace.”

Peace folded it slowly and put it back into the envelope.

“That note is for Jess--not me.”

“The ---- it was! Well, I’ll be darned! Huh!”

Cross L squinted at the note and up at Peace.

“Well, sir, I must be gittin’ hard of hearin’, Peace. I thought I distinctly heard that jasper say that it was for you. Yuh know, I wondered why he didn’t give it to you. Huh! Well, I’ll have to give it to Jess.”

He walked swiftly back toward the house; anxious to get out of range of Peace Parker’s accusing eyes. Marshall was not a gifted liar. Peace looked after him, a queer expression in his eyes. A smile flitted across his wide lips and he shook his head slowly.

“Cross L, yo’re an awful poor liar,” he reflected, “but yuh mean mighty well.”

Jess had come out on the porch and met her father, who handed her the envelope.

“Mister Erne brought it for yuh, Jess.”

He bit off a fresh chew and scratched his shoulders against a porch-post, while Jess read the missive, a slight frown between her eyes.

“Ain’t nobody sick, are they, Jess?” he asked seriously, but avoiding her eyes.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I was just wonderin’.”

Cross L sat down on the porch and rubbed his hands on his thighs nervously.

“I was just wonderin’ why that Erne feller come here. I don’t like him, Jess. He ain’t bringin’ yuh poetry, is he?”

“Poetry?”

Jess laughed shortly and shook her head.

“Tha’sall right then, Jess. I ain’t got a bit of use for them poets. Fellers--” He reflected a moment--“Fellers that vas-leen their hair--might write poetry.”

Jess studied the back of his head for a while, and then--

“Dad, why do you dislike Frank Campion?”

“Dislike him? I never said I did.”

“But you do dislike him?”

“No, I don’t dislike him, Jess. That word’s too soft. I hate him to beat ----!”

“Why?” softly.

“Why!”

Cross L got to his feet and tried to glare at Jess.

“Yes, why, dad?”

“’Cause I don’t like him and ’cause he’s a ---- liar and--and everythin’.”

“Why do you call him a liar? Did he lie to you?”

Cross L began to have throat trouble again. He felt that Jess knew he had read that note. He walked to the corner of the porch and proceeded to cough rackingly. When he turned, his eyes were filled with tears from his efforts and his voice was husky.

“Gotta do somethin’ for my cold,” he told her. “Be in m’ grave, if I don’t. Must ’a’ set in a draft. Cough m’ fool head off once in a while.”

“Especially when you don’t want to answer a question, dad.”

“What question?” Cross L fairly bristled, but started for the steps. “What’s questions got to do with runnin’ a cattle-ranch, I’d admire t’ know. Think I’m goin’ t’ stand around and let m’ business go to rack and ruin, just ’cause a fool woman wants t’ ask questions? Huh!”

He humped his head between his shoulders and headed for the corral, where Jim and Bert were leaning on the fence, still laughing over what they had done to Erne.

“Didja see what happened to that Erne feller?” asked Jim, still chuckling.

“What did yuh do to him?” asked Cross L.

“Tied a tin-can to his bronc’s tail. Man, man, but didn’t that animal respond to treatment. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

Cross L glared at them and masticated violently.

“That’s a ---- of a thing to do! Do I have t’ muzzle you pelicans to make visitin’ safe at this ranch? That was a danged mean thing t’ do, and I don’t want t’ see yuh do it ag’in; _sabe_?”

“All right,” said Jim seriously, “yuh won’t. And yuh won’t have to muzzle us either, old timer. There’s other ranches where they hire cow-hands.”

“M’yah!” grunted Cross L explosively, and then to Peace--

“Tell me about that scrap yuh had with Campion.”

Peace shook his head slowly--

“No, it ain’t worth tellin’.”

“Like ---- it ain’t!” snorted Jim, and proceeded to tell the whole story in detail, while old Cross L masticated thoughtfully and squinted at him.

“Shot the gun out of his hand, eh? Knocked him upside down and then busted his gun-hand.”

“Well, my gosh, he had to do it!” yowled Jim.

“Didn’t have t’ shoot him in the hand, did he?”

“Well, he had to stop him.”

“Was he runnin’ on his hands?”

“Aw, you make me sick!”

“Yeah, and you fellers make me sick,” retorted Cross L. “Shoot ’em in the hands! ----’s delight! What’s a man got a body for, if it ain’t t’ shoot at? Yuh make me sick, takin’ a chance on shootin’ at his hands!”

Cross L spat viciously and glared at Jim Horn.

“How long do yuh reckon that tin can’ll stay on that bronc’s tail, Jim?”

“Quite some period,” declared Jim. “It was put on with twisted balin’-wire.”

“That’s,” Cross L squinted down the road, “that’s what I call bein’ thorough. But if yuh ever try it on that black race horse----”

He glared wickedly for a moment and then a smile wrinkled his face.

“Be careful. I’ll betcha that bronc could kick a fly out of a gallon can of axle grease and never spot his hoof.”

Cross L grunted softly to himself, tightened up his belt and went back toward the house. The three cowpunchers looked at each other and grinned widely.

“My ----, but old Cross L is plumb human!” exclaimed Jim Horn. “He’s reg’lar home folks.”

Which was not a compliment, but a statement of fact.

* * * * *

Three days passed without anything happening, except the usual routine of the cattle-ranch. None of the Three Dot outfit came to the Cross L. Peace and the other two punchers were busy moving a bunch of Herefords from the Bar X Bar and throwing them back into the ranges nearer the pass, but they saw nothing of Campion nor his men.

Peace avoided the ranch-house as much as possible. He had been in the habit of spending his evenings in the living-room with Jess and her father, but now he played seven-up for mythical stakes with Jim and Bert, or listened to Jim play an everlasting Spanish fandango on his guitar.

He had not changed in any way, except this. He did not sigh over his misfortunes. On the contrary, his smile seemed wider and he plunged into the ranch work with a will. Jess said nothing to her father, but she knew he missed Peace Parker at the interval between supper and bedtime.

But Cross L would not admit it except on the second night, when Peace did not join him, he flung aside his newspaper at eight o’clock and got to his feet.

“---- any man that vas-leens his hair!” he exploded and clumped off to bed, talking in an undertone to himself.

On Thursday Gus Sinks rode in at the Cross L and met Peace at the barn. Gus was a thin, wiry, wry-necked sort of an individual with the face of a ferret. There was nothing good about Sinks. He was a gun-man, ex-horse-thief and several more things. But, for the first time in his life, he was shooting square with one man--Peace Parker.

“Hello, Gus,” greeted Peace, shaking hands with him. “I been wonderin’ when you’d come in. How’s everythin’?”

“Aw right. I’d ’a’ been in before this, but I couldn’t find a honest man to leave with the sheep. I got a Basque herder, and he _sabes_ enough United States to know that I’ll massacree him if any of them ----ed animated underwears are missin’ when I get back.”

Peace laughed and shook his head.

“I dunno how yuh stand it out there, Gus. How’s the feed?”

“Feed’s fine. I dunno how I stand it either, Peace. The other day I got to thinkin’ about it. I says to myself:

“‘Sinks, yo’re a ---- fool. Why don’t yuh sell these lousy woollies and pull yore freight with the money. Nobody would be the wiser.’

“I could do it, too, Peace. There’s buyers out there that don’t care who owns the sheep. But--” Gus hooked one leg around his saddle-horn and drew out his tobacco and papers--“but I jist shut my eyes and remembered back to that night in Tarp City, when they had the rope all ready for my neck, and you stepped in and claimed that my life belonged to you. I’ll betcha--” Gus shut his eyes tight for a moment--“I’ll betcha I don’t forget that, Peace.”

“Well,” Peace smiled softly, “mebbe they wouldn’t ’a’ hung yuh, Gus.”

“The ---- they wouldn’t! I had it comin’ to me, didn’t I? Don’tcha try to fool yoreself, Peace; I know Tarp City.”

“How are yuh fixed for money, Gus?”

“That’s why I came in, Peace. I don’t need no salary, but the grub’s runnin’ low.”

“You’ve got to have some salary, too, Gus.”

“Aw, I’ll get along. You forgit the salary until yuh sell them sheep. All I need is grub money.”

“Well, go right down to Pasiooks,” declared Peace. “I’ve got money in the bank down there.”

“Pasiooks, eh? I never seen that town. Have they got a bank down there?”

“Y’betcha. Yuh didn’t think that the Chinookers packed their money to Tarp City, didja? Our bank is the richest little old bank in the state, if anybody asks yuh.”

“Yeah? Oh, I’ll betcha that’s right, too. These cattlemen sure do make money over here.”

Peace got his horse and they headed for Pasiooks which was five miles away. It could hardly be called a town. The one street was hardly a block long. There was the Pasiooks bank, general store, post-office and blacksmith shop on one side of the street, and on the other was a little restaurant, two saloons and a feed store.

On the east side of the settlement was the little frame schoolhouse and at the south end of the town was the church. The schoolhouse and the church had been painted within two years, but the rest of the buildings were unpainted, or had been painted but time had worn off the color.

There were several horses tied to the saloon hitchracks as Peace and Gus Sinks rode into the town, and as they dismounted in front of the bank, Frank Campion and Tiny Bender came out of a saloon and went out to their horses.

Sinks turned and watched them mount their horses. Frank had a little trouble with his black horse, which carried him over near the bank. He looked at Sinks and his brows drew together in a quick frown. Quickly he jerked the horse around and galloped off up the road after Bender. Sinks continued to look after him, and his face registered wonderment as he turned to Peace.

“Who’s the fussy cowpuncher, Peace?”

“Feller by the name of Campion. Bought out the Three Dot outfit over here.”

“Ye-e-eah?” Sinks seemed slightly amused. “Cow-man, eh?”

“Well, I dunno about his ability, but he owns the ranch.”

“Well, that’s kinda flossy,” remarked Sinks. “Let’s go and get the _dinero_.”

As they entered the bank they met Chris Sorensen, the owner of the Bar X Bar. Chris was a big Norse cow-man with a mustache that looked like a pair of inverted buffalo horns, and the voice of a bull.

“H’lo, Peace,” he boomed. “I was just goin’ to ride out and see you. The boys just brought in some more of them white-faced cows and I was wonderin’ if Cross L wanted any more of them. Look fine.”

“All right,” grinned Peace. “I’ll ride back with yuh as soon as I get through with a little business.”

Sorensen waited until Peace had drawn some money and paid it over to Sinks who seemed interested in the interior of the bank. Few strangers ever came to Pasiooks and Mark Clayton, the cashier, made a memory photograph of Gus Sinks.

They went outside and Gus mounted his horse.

“I’ll see yuh ag’in in a couple of weeks, Peace. If yuh want to sell out there’s plenty of buyers goin’ through the Sun Prairie, but they don’t offer much. If we get one more rain pretty soon we’ll be all fixed and can thumb our nose at ’em. Whatcha think?”

“Well, I dunno,” confessed Peace. “I don’t want to give ’em away, Gus. Suppose we wait and take a chance, eh? If you don’t mind stickin’ out there.”

Gus spat dryly.

“Aw, I’ll stick. S’-long, Peace, and thanks for the _dinero_.”

Peace waved at him and went to join Sorensen at the hitch-rack. He had had his doubts about Gus Sinks, and would not have been surprised to know that Sinks had sold out the sheep and skipped the country, but since Sinks’ confession of guilty thoughts he felt that his sheep were well protected.

Somehow he had the feeling that Gus Sinks and Frank Campion knew each other. He had seen the expression of Campion’s face when he saw Sinks, and Sinks had shown too much interest for one stranger in another. But it was none of his business, he decided. It was a small world, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t know each other.

He walked over to Sorensen, where they mounted and rode out the opposite end of town toward the Bar X Bar.

* * * * *

Figuratively speaking, Peace Parker exploded a bombshell under Cross L Marshall the following day. Jim and Bert had ridden toward the upper end of the valley and Peace and Cross L were sitting on the porch, looking over some figures that Peace had got on Bar X Bar yearlings.

Cross L had been arguing over the prices and swearing at Sorensen for being a pirate when he happened to notice that Peace was paying no attention. The big cowboy was staring off across the hills, his mind wandering far from the business at hand.

“When yuh come back we’ll talk some more,” said Cross L humorously.

“When I come back,” repeated Peace slowly. “Yeah, that’s it, Cross L.”

“What’s the matter with yuh, Peace?”

“Nothin’; I was just thinkin’.”

“Yeah? But yuh wasn’t thinkin’ about white-faced cows.”

“No-o-o--not about cows.”

Peace turned and put his hand on Marshall’s shoulder, a whimsical smile on his homely face.

“I’m goin’ away, Cross L--goin’ to take a trip.”

Marshall eyed him closely, while he drew out his plug of tobacco and bit off a quarter-section.

“Thasso? How long will yuh be gone, Peace?”

Peace smiled and shook his head.

“I dunno. The Injuns used to say, ‘When the wind blows out through Poncho Pass, who can say when that same wind will return?’”

“----!” exploded Marshall. “Yuh don’t mean that yo’re goin’ for good!”

“For good?”--Peace rubbed his chin thoughtfully--“Mebbe. The only trip I ever had was to the penitentiary and I’d kinda like to see somethin’ beyond the hills.”

“Uh-huh,” Cross L squinted narrowly into space. “To see somethin’ beyond the hills, Peace. Yuh know, I was thataway once. I wanted t’ see the other side of the hill. But I’m old now, and I don’t care what’s over there. Right now and right here is all that interests me.”

“You ain’t old, Cross L.”

“Mebbe not, Peace. I’m sixty. And when yo’re sixty yuh don’t climb hills just to look over the other side.”

For several minutes they sat silent, each busy with his own thoughts. Then:

“I always wished I had a son,” said Cross L slowly. “Our first baby was a girl and she died when she was a little thing. Then Jess came along. Her mother didn’t live long after that, Peace.

“I had t’raise Jess m’self, and I reckon I made a ---- of a mess of it. She ain’t got the sense that the Lord gave geese in Ireland. If she was a boy I could cuss him out and hammer some sense into him--but she ain’t no boy.”

“Jess,” said Peace softly, “Jess is a wonderful girl.”

“M’yah!” Thoughtfully. “Didja tell her yuh was goin’ away, Peace?”

“No-o-o. Yuh see I just made up my mind.”

“Uh-huh. When yuh goin’, Peace?”

“Tomorrow, I reckon. I’ll go to Sun Prairie and sell out them sheep and then I reckon I’ll go down into Arizona. I ain’t made up my mind just where I’ll go.”

“Uh-huh,” Cross L got slowly to his feet and sighed deeply. “I--I hope yuh have luck, Peace Parker. We’ll be kinda thinkin’ about yuh and wonderin’--I s’pose.”

“I’ll write to yuh, Cross L.”

“Yeah, I s’pose so.”

Cross L reached for his plug of tobacco, but his hand stopped short of his pocket.

A man was riding swiftly in through the ranch gate and coming toward them, while several other men, who had been with him, kept on up the main road, heading toward the upper end of the valley.

The rider jerked to a stop near the porch and dropped to the ground. It was Perry Hazelton, the blacksmith from Pasiooks. He dropped his reins and trotted up the steps.

“The Pasiooks bank has been robbed!” he panted, as he pointed up the road, where a cloud of dust still hung.

“Some of the boys have headed for the Pass, but he’s likely got away by this time.”

“Pasiooks bank!” exclaimed Cross L. “Who done it?”

“Whew! I’m all out of wind!” puffed Hazelton, “I reckon I worked harder than the horse did. We don’t know who done the job. It was about an hour ago, I think.

“There wasn’t nobody in the bank, except Clayton, when I went in and found him. He’d been hit over the head with somethin’, and was layin’ half-in and half-out of the vault. There was loose money scattered all over the floor.

“I yelled for help and we got Clayton on to a cot. He kinda roused up long enough to tell us that he’d been robbed by one man. We turned him over to Doctor Glover and then went huntin’ for the robber. If he ain’t made his getaway straight for the Pass he’s still here in the valley.”

“How much money did he get?” asked Cross L.

“We dunno. From the looks of things he’s got a lot.”

“I’ve expected this,” said Cross L quickly. “Yuh see, this bank belongs to us cowmen. We’re a queer lot, I guess. We didn’t trust the banks at Tarp City; so we started one of our own.

“We didn’t do a regular bankin’ business--much. It was more of a place to store money. And like a lot of fools we didn’t think that anybody would bother it.”

“Must ’a’ been a lot of money in there,” observed Hazelton.

“A lot? I dunno how much, but about all the money there is in Chinook Valley, except what’s wearin’ a hide and runnin’ around on four legs.”

“It probably won’t take Clayton long to find out how much is gone,” stated Peace. “Let’s go down there.”

“One of the boys will ride to Tarp City and tell the sheriff,” said Hazelton as they went after the horses. “There was Dud Le Page, Baldy Hyatt, Jud Smith and Campion.”

“Where did you find Campion?” asked Cross L.

“At the Three Dot. There wasn’t no use of everybody goin’ to the Pass; so he sent his three punchers to town to help search the South end.”

Pasiooks was a busy little place when they rode in. Bad news travels swiftly, and the robbery of the bank was mighty bad news to the Valley of the Chinook. Several groups of cowboys had already left town, searching for a sight of the robber.

Clayton, his head swathed in bandages, was in the bank, trying to check up the extent of the loss while several cattlemen stood around and annoyed him with questions.

Peace and Cross L Marshall came in and joined the group. Clayton looked up at them. His face was very white and his eyes showed that he was suffering from a raging headache.

“H’lo, Clayton,” said Cross L. “How are yuh feelin’?”

“Not very good,” faltered Clayton. “My head is all wrong for figures right now.”

He sat down in a chair and held his head in his hands.

“Any idea how much money he got?” asked one of the men.

“About all there was in the vault,” groaned Clayton. “I’d hate to even make a guess. Of course it will all check up.”

“About how much?” queried Marshall anxiously.

“Well,” Clayton lifted his head, “there was thirty thousand in currency in one box. I don’t know how much gold there was, but it was about ten thousand dollars.”

The cattlemen looked at each other seriously. It meant that they were about cleaned out. It was their own institution--their loss.

“It was a foolish idea,” said Clayton heavily. “We should have invested this money. But--well, there’s no wisdom in hoarding money, gentlemen.”

“That’s a cinch--now,” said one of the men bitterly.

“Any idea who done it?” queried Peace.

Clayton squinted painfully at Peace and nodded slowly.

“Yes, I know who did it, Parker.”

“Yuh do?” exploded Cross L. “Who was it, Clayton?”

Clayton rubbed his aching head.

“I don’t know his name, Marshall. It was the man that came here yesterday with Peace Parker.”

Peace stared at Clayton and around at the cattlemen, who were watching him, wondering what it meant. Peace went to Clayton and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Clayton, are yuh sure of that?”

“Just as sure as the world, Parker. I noticed that he was looking the place over yesterday.”

“But he was masked, wasn’t he?” queried Cross L.

Clayton nodded.

“Yes, he was masked, but that was no disguise. He was wearing an old yellow velvet vest, a gray sombrero and a wide cartridge-belt which was studded with brass rivets. I even recognized his boots with the stitched tops.”

Peace turned away and stared across the room. He knew that it had been Gus Sinks. Gus was square with him, but he was still a thief. Peace turned and looked at Cross L.

“It was Gus Sinks. I brought him here yesterday to give him some money, Cross L. He rode North when I went to the Bar X Bar with Sorensen.”

“Does that description cover him, Peace?” asked one of the men.

Peace nodded.

“Yes, that covers him.” Then to Clayton--“Tell us how he done it, Clayton.”

Clayton squinted painfully and pointed toward the open door of the vault.

“I had the vault open and was just coming out with some papers, when I happened to look up. I didn’t hear this man come in but there he stood, just inside the railing with his gun pointed at me.

“I couldn’t hardly realize what it was all about. Then he motioned for me to turn around and go into the vault. I had to do it, gentlemen. He stepped in behind me and held a gun against my back while I unlocked the strong-boxes.

“Yes, he ordered me to do it. Then he must have hit me over the head with his gun.”

Clayton rubbed his hand tenderly over his bandages.

“I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up he was gone.

“I was so weak I couldn’t stand up; so I crawled half out of the vault, when Hazelton discovered me. I think the robber intended to lock me in the vault, because the bolts were thrown. In his haste to escape, he accidentally threw the bolts and was unable to shut the door.”

Peace went over to the vault door. The bolts were still blocking it. He examined it closely.

One of the cattlemen laughed shortly. “Lookin’ for finger-prints, Peace?”

Peace smiled grimly and shook his head.

“Wouldn’t do us any good, Pierce.”

“You wouldn’t find any,” said Clayton. “He wore gloves.”

“Well,” observed Cross L hopefully, “if he didn’t get to the Pass ahead of the boys, he’s bottled up in the valley.”

“Plenty of places to hide,” declared Peace. “He can take his time and get away. What we’ve got to do is to curry this old valley until a chipmunk couldn’t get away.”

As they started out of the door, Hazelton met them at the door, and with him was a ten-year-old boy.

“Say, this kid seen him!” blurted Hazelton. “He seen that robber after he got the money.”

“Where was he?” asked Cross L.

“Well, I seen a man, but I dunno whether he was the one,” said the boy. “This’n had his horse tied just the other side of the schoolhouse. I seen him get on his horse and he had a big bundle in his arms.”

“What did he look like?” asked Peace.

“I don’t just remember,” confessed the boy, “but I know he had on a gray hat and a fancy belt. I seen the sun sparkle on that belt. And he had a sorrel horse that singlefooted.”

Peace nodded to the men.

“That’s the horse.”

“Was the man wearin’ a mask, Buddy?” queried Cross L.

“No. I wasn’t close enough to see his face, but he didn’t have no mask on that I could see.”

“He’d take it off right away,” said one of the men. “He likely slipped it on when he went in and slipped it off as soon as he got outside.”

“Didja notice which way he went, Buddy?” asked Peace.

“He went up the valley, but he didn’t seem to go in a hurry. Just kinda singlefooted along.”

“He’s a smart son-of-a-gun,” admitted Cross L. “Didn’t do anythin’ to attract attention. Likely went ---- for-leather as soon as he got out of sight. Prob’ly twisted off the road and circled into the hills. Mebbe the boys’ll beat him to the Pass. If they don’t--we’re about half-out of money around here.”

“Half-out, ----!” snorted Billy Pierce, who owned the Crescent outfit. “If they don’t nail him, I won’t have money enough to pay my two punchers a month’s salary. I might have to sell a cow or two to make a payday.”

“You’d have a ---- of a time sellin’ one to me,” said Cross L sadly. “I might be able to trade, but I couldn’t buy the hole in a doughnut.”

“I reckon that about covers us all,” said another.

“It’s a hard old world, and few of us ever get out of it alive,” observed Peace seriously. “I feel that I’m partly to blame. I brought Gus Sinks here with me. Why, he didn’t even know we had a bank here.”

The cattleman smiled grimly. Peace remembered that he had told Gus Sinks that the Pasiooks bank was the richest little bank in the state and that Sinks had seemed interested in that fact.

He and Cross L stood around awhile and listened to arguments, pro and con, which arrived at nothing. Then they got their horses and headed for the Cross L ranch. There was nothing they could do just now.

“You’ll have to hire somebody to take your sheep,” observed Cross L as they rode home, “or will yuh go out and sell ’em, like yuh intended to do?”

“I dunno, Cross L,” Peace shook his head. “It kinda hurts me to think that Gus Sinks done this job to us folks. He’s an ignorant son-of-a-gun and he don’t know any better than to do wrong most of the time, but I trusted him--kinda.”

“In God we trust,” quoted Cross L. “That’s the only safe thing to do.”

Marshall went straight to Jess with the news of the robbery, but Peace did not go up to the house with him.

“We had fifteen thousand dollars in that bank, Jess,” he added, after he had explained the robbery. “It kinda crimps us.”

“But they will catch the robber, won’t they?” she asked.

“I’m hopin’ fifteen thousand dollars worth, Jess. He had a fair start, but he might ’a’ circled far enough to let the boys beat him to the Pass.”

“Who went up there?”

“Le Page, Hyatt, Jud Smith and Frank Campion.”

Jess nodded thoughtfully.

“I reckon I forgot to tell yuh that Peace is leavin’ us, Jess,” said Marshall slowly.

She looked up quickly at him--

“Leaving us?”

Marshall nodded.

“Yeah.”

“What for, Dad?”

“Well,” Marshall squinted thoughtfully, “well, he said he kinda wanted t’ see what’s on the other side of the hill. Mebbe he’s tired of the valley, Jess.”

She walked to the door and stared across the hills.

“I don’t blame him,” continued Marshall. “Sometimes a feller does kinda itch to see the other side of the hill. Says he’s goin’ down into Arizona. He ain’t much of a hand to write letters; so we won’t likely hear from him. I’m kinda glad t’ see him go, m’self.”

Cross L picked up his hat and walked quietly out through the kitchen, leaving Jess still staring out of the door. He went out through the rear entrance, slapped his hat on his head and grinned wickedly.

“I’ll betcha that’ll hold her for a while,” he chuckled and went down to the barn to find something to swear at.

It was after dark that night when Sheriff Houston and Barney McManus stopped at the Cross L on their way to Pasiooks. They had ridden straight in from Tarp City, but had left the Pass guarded.

“Gus Sinks, eh?” grunted Houston, after Cross L had told them what he knew about the robbery. “Well that gives us one man to look for. He’s likely hid out here in the valley and will wait for a chance to get out.”

“He don’t know the valley, though,” objected Peace. “Never was in here before.”

“That helps some,” grinned Barney. “Mebbe the danged fool is tryin’ to cross the range.”

“Likely tryin’ to get back on to the Fossilshell,” observed Houston. “He knows that country like a book and he’d likely get protection over there. Mebbe he’d hit for the Sun Prairie country.”

They rode on toward Pasiooks, and it was about dark when Jim Horn and Bert Hart rode in at the ranch. They had run into one of the searchers further down the valley and had spent the rest of the day riding the hills. None of their party had even the slightest clue to where the robber had gone.

“We was with Blackie Erne,” laughed Jim, “but he never mentioned the tin can. Bender and Mehl was with two of the boys from the Crescent, but we didn’t see ’em. This is the most excitin’ day I ever seen in this old valley. Whatcha think about Gus Sinks, Peace? I’ll say that he’s a real cute little jasper. I betcha he’s got more money than he could ever count.”

“I hope he stopped to count it,” grunted Cross L angrily.

* * * * *

For two more days the cowboys searched out every corner of the valley. In twos and threes they combed it; making a drive of the entire country, but nothing came of it. Peace had said no more to Cross L about leaving the ranch, and Cross L was careful not to mention it.

Jess had said nothing to Peace. In fact, they had not spoken half a dozen words to each other since her father had said that Peace was going away.

But in spite of the fact that there was no trace of Gus Sinks, the cowboys still guarded the Pass and stopped every one going through. There was always the chance that Gus Sinks was hidden away, waiting the time when the cattlemen would relax their vigilance.

Then Peace Parker acted abruptly. He saddled his own horse, tied his war-bag behind the cantle and went up to the ranchhouse. Cross L had seen him tie the sack to the saddle and knew that Peace Parker was leaving the Valley of the Chinook.

Peace had already told Jim and Bert good-by. They were sitting on the bunkhouse steps waiting for him to leave. Cross L Marshall got to his feet and looked awkwardly at Peace, who put one hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Yo’re goin’, are yuh?” asked Marshall.

Peace nodded.

“Yeah, I’m goin’, Cross L. I reckon that the other side of the hill is callin’ me.”

“I s’pose,” Marshall sighed heavily and looked keenly at Peace. “You’ve got a few days’ pay comin’, Peace.”

“Thasall right. I’ll come back and collect it some day.”

“By grab, I’d keep it if I thought yuh would, Peace.”

“Keep it and see if I do,” smiled Peace, and looked toward the door where Jess was standing. He turned to her and held out his hand.

“Are you going away?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah, I’m goin’, Jess.”

They looked steadily at each other for several moments, as they shook hands. It was an awkward situation. Cross L Marshall began to have throat trouble again and Peace grinned widely.

“’S funny,” said Peace slowly, “but folks never seem to be able to say much when they’re sayin’ good-by. I reckon I’ll be siftin’ along, folks.”

He turned on his heel and went down the steps, but stopped at the bottom and looked back at Jess.

“Be good to yoreself, Jess,” he said softly, “mebbe I’ll see yuh sometime.”

He glanced at Cross L and went toward the barn, where Jim and Bert were coming to meet him. Cross L looked at Jess, his mustache bristling belligerently, but she was looking at Peace Parker.

“Aw, ----!” exploded Cross L. “That’s what vas-leen does.” He shook a finger in the general direction of the barn and spat viciously, “Vas-leen and per-fumed notes! By ----!”

He struck the porch post with a clenched fist.

“If you think for one ---- minute that you--aw, ----!”

Jess had turned and looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. They looked at each other for a minute before she turned and went into the house.

Peace Parker was riding away now, and he waved back at Cross L Marshall, who looked at him and half-waved one hand as though in doubt. He glanced back at the open door and then at Peace Parker.

“I dunno,” he told himself, “I dunno which one of yuh is the biggest darned fool, but I reckon it’s horse-and-horse. Good-by, you homely son-of-a-gun. I hope yuh don’t find nothin’ on the other side of the hill and have to come back for the rest of yore salary.”

Peace went slowly up the valley road, which wound in and out of the hollows. He had no idea of where he was going after disposing of his sheep. The Valley of the Chinook was home to him--the only real home he had ever known, and it was with a dull ache in his heart that he rode up the steep grades that led to Poncho Pass and looked back down the misty length of the finest cattle range in the world.

Below him he could see the silvery flash of sunlight on the headwaters of the Chinook river, and on each side the green, rolling hills, dotted with clumps of dark trees, faded away into the blue haze of the distance. It was good to look upon and Peace Parker feasted his eyes upon it before riding on into the tall crags of the Pass which would cut off his view.

As he rode into the narrow defile which was the Pass three men stepped into the road in front of him. It was Dud LePage, “Baldy” Hyatt and Frank Campion, and each of them was carrying a rifle.

Peace stopped and grinned at them.

“Hyah, Peace,” greeted Le Page, a big, raw-boned, grizzled cowboy, grinning back at Peace.

“Hello, Dud. Still guardin’ the Pass, eh?”

LePage nodded and grounded his rifle.

“Yeah, we’re not takin’ any chances, Peace. Are yuh travelin’ or goin’ somewhere?”

“Travelin’,” grinned Peace. “I’m leavin’ the valley.”

“Naw!”

Baldy Hyatt removed his hat and polished the shiny top of the head that gave him a nickname.

“You ain’t leavin’ us for good, are yuh?”

Peace nodded quickly.

“I reckon so, Baldy.”

Frank Campion had taken no part in the conversation, and Hyatt turned to him.

“You know Peace Parker, don’tcha, Campion?”

Campion nodded indifferently.

“Yes, I know him.”

Hyatt and LePage glanced at each other quickly, but turned back to Peace.

“She don’t seem right that yo’re leavin’ us,” said Hyatt. “Cripes, I thought yuh was personal property of the Cross L.”

The inference was plain, because every one in the valley surmised that Peace was to marry Jess Marshall. Peace only grinned and shifted in his saddle.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I been thinkin’ of takin’ a trip for quite a while.”

“Well, yo’re comin’ back, ain’tcha?” asked Hyatt.

“No-o-o, I reckon not, Baldy--not for a while; so I’ll tell yuh good-by and be on my way.”

He held out his hand and shook hands with Baldy and LePage, while Campion looked on indifferently. But when Peace started on Campion stepped in front of him.

“You know why we’re here, Parker, and you know that we’re not letting any one go out of the valley without bein’ sure about them. You’ve got a bundle behind your saddle.”

“Yeah, I have,” Peace squinted at Campion closely.

“----’s bells!” snorted Hyatt. “Why Peace Parker is----”

“That makes no difference,” retorted Campion. “We’re not here for our health.”

“No, it kinda looks like you wasn’t,” agreed LePage warmly. “Do yuh suspect Peace Parker? Ha, ha! Ha, ha!”

“What is in that bundle, Parker?” demanded Campion angrily.

“A couple of shirts, a pair of socks, some overalls and a couple of blankets. Oh, yeah, there’s a necktie, too. Do yuh want to try and search it, Campion?”

Peace was leaning forward in his saddle, his right arm crooked at the elbow. Campion had seen him in that same position before, and he knew that Peace Parker was a very sudden person with a gun.

“No,” Campion shook his head, “I don’t want to search you.”

Peace nodded and rode on through the Pass, while Baldy and LePage congratulated Campion on his lack of curiosity. Campion smarted under their rough humor, but knew better than to incur their enmity.

“What I don’t _sabe_ is why he’s leavin’ here,” complained Baldy. “I thought that him and Jess Marshall was goin’ to hook up for life.”

“Yeah, I heard they was goin’ to get married,” nodded LePage. “She could do a dang lot worse, y’betcha!”

“He is not going to marry Miss Marshall,” stated Campion.

“How do yuh know?” queried Baldy.

“Because I am going to marry her myself.”

“You are?” Baldy gasped audibly. “Whatcha know about that!”

“What I just said goes as she lays,” said LePage seriously, and added, “I reckon she’s goin’ to.”

* * * * *

Peace rode to Tarp City and spent the night there. Tarp City was not interested in the troubles of Chinook Valley, but Peace talked things over with Sheriff Houston who was of the opinion that Gus Sinks had got out of the valley ahead of the posse of cowboys and made his escape into the Fossilshell.

The next morning Peace saddled his horse and headed for the Sun Prairie country which was located north and east of Tarp City and about fifteen miles away.

It was a desolate, sheeped-out country of bald buttes, swept clean of verdure and smelling strongly of sheep. Bands of sheep, marked by dust clouds, were moving about the hills. The road was entirely blotted out by the passing of numberless sheep. Peace had no idea of where he might find his band of sheep, so he swung into the hills and accosted the first sheepherder he ran across.

The man confessed total ignorance. Peace explained that the herd was marked with a painted cross on their backs, but this meant nothing in the life of this sheepherder.

Peace spent the whole day, riding from place to place, but no one could tell him where the cross-marked band was located. Finally he wrinkled his long nose in disgust and headed for Tarp City.

“I reckon I just dreamed that I owned sheep,” he reflected as he swung along the side of a bald butte, which had been cultivated by the sharp hooves. Below him, a band of sheep were moving slowly southward, an indistinct mass in the clouds of dust stirred up by their passing.

Peace rode down, intending to pass them, but he happened to see his own brand on the back of a wooly straggler. The herder was a man about middle-age, gray as a badger, and with a scar running from above his left temple to a spot near the left corner of his mouth.

It gave him a leering expression, which did not belie the evil of the rest of his countenance. He carried a Winchester rifle in the crook of his arm and looked suspiciously at Peace Parker.

“Kind of a dusty job, ain’t it?” grinned Peace.

“Yeah, yuh bet it is,” agreed the man.

Peace sized him up and looked at the sheep. Surely this was not the Basque herder spoken of by Gus Sinks, thought Peace.

“Feed gettin’ pretty short, ain’t it?” asked Peace.

“---- short!”

The herder motioned a dog to pick up some stragglers, and they watched the trained sheep-dog round them up and close up the rear of the band.

“I wonder if there’s any chance to pick up some cheap woolies,” said Peace. “Must be money in ’em now.”

“Not much.” The man spat dryly.

It was dry work following that drifting herd.

“Who owns this herd?”

The herder squinted up at Peace, looking narrowly at him.

“I do,” he grunted.

“Don’t want to sell ’em, do you?”

“No. Just bought ’em myself.”

“Just?” queried Peace.

“Huh?” He squinted at Peace again.

“How long ago did yuh buy ’em?”

“Long ago?”

The sheep-herder repeated that much of the question and looked away for a moment. Then--

“What’s it to you, stranger?”

“Well,” Peace grinned widely, “yuh see, there’s been a lot of sheep-herders sellin’ off stock that don’t belong to ’em, and I’m here investigatin’.”

“I _sabe_. Hired by the sheep men, eh?”

Peace did not say, but the shepherd dug into the inside pocket of his vest and drew out a soiled paper.

“I reckon you’ll find that this is all right,” he said as he handed Peace the paper.

It was a bill of sale for three thousand sheep, in favor of John Smith, and was signed by Gus Sinks. Peace studied it closely and handed it back to the man.

“All right?”

The sheep-herder looked closely at Peace as he tucked the paper back into his pocket.

Peace nodded.

“Yeah, it’s made out properly, I reckon. Yuh see, we’ve got to be careful.”

“That’s right.”

The man smiled broadly for the first time and seemed at ease.

“I suppose there’s crooked work done every little while.”

“Yeah--every little while. Well, I’ve got to be movin’ on. You headin’ for Tarp City?”

“Uh-huh. Slow work movin’ sheep, but I’ll likely be in there by noon tomorrow.”

Peace nodded and rode around the band, which had belonged to him. He could still prove ownership. He had plenty of witnesses to prove that Gus Sinks was only a hired man, but he was not going to argue with this man.

He rode back to Tarp City and went to Sheriff Houston. He told Houston what had happened to the sheep, and Houston exploded over the information. But Peace merely grinned and asked Houston to do nothing.

“Well, yuh ain’t goin’ to let ’em get away with anythin’ like that, are yuh?” demanded Houston.

“It ain’t hardly ethical,” agreed Peace, “but let’s not say anythin’ about it.”

“Well, they’re yore sheep,” agreed Houston wearily. “If you want to be a Santa Claus to some ---- sheep-herder, go ahead, Peace.”

As they came out to the door of the office a middle-aged man, wearing a black suit and a wide, black hat, came up to them. He was not a pleasant-looking man with his square chin and thin-lipped mouth beneath a broad, flat nose.

“I beg your pardon,” he said crisply. “I am a stranger around here--a cattle buyer--and I came here to get some information.”

“Well,” replied Houston bruskly, “we’ll listen and do our dangdest.”

A slight smile flashed across the stranger’s lips and he nodded slightly.

“Fair enough. I wanted some information on Chinook Valley. I understand that a lot of cows are shipped out of there and I wanted to find out who was handling their stuff, and whether it would be worth my while going in to talk with them.”

Houston looked keenly at him and motioned to Peace.

“Parker knows every inch of the place and he’d know.”

“Well,” smiled Peace, “I know the place, but I’m darned if I could answer yuh, stranger. I don’t reckon that any buyer has a cinch on the output, and if your prices are right yuh might do business.”

“Fair enough. Who are the big owners?”

Peace gave him the names of several cattlemen and he wrote the names in a note-book. Then he thanked them both and went back across the street.

“A husky lookin’ jasper,” commented Houston.

Peace nodded and studied the back of the man. There was a peculiar stiffness about his walk that betokened the fact that the man had spent much time in the saddle. He twisted slightly at the hips at each step, and Peace drew a mental picture of this same man in chaps and high-heeled boots.

“Old time cow-man,” observed Peace to himself. “Betcha he was a go-getter in his time.”

Some cowboys were riding in from the Fossilshell and waved at Houston as they came past. Peace strolled up the street to a restaurant and went in to eat. He was short of money and wondered just what he was going to do.

His savings had all been in the Pasiooks bank and now he was unable to sell off his sheep.

“Looks kinda like I was goin’ to have to forget the other side of the hill for a while,” he reflected.

After his meal he went over to the Tarp City saloon. The strange cattle buyer was drinking with some of the men from the Fossilshell--or rather, they were drinking with him. Peace sat down against the wall and watched the activities in the place.

In about fifteen minutes Frank Campion came in. He saw Peace Parker but did not speak. One of the cowboys called to him and he joined their party. Peace heard them tell the buyer that Campion was from the Chinook Valley, and they began talking prices.

After a few more rounds of drinks Campion and the buyer went outside. It was growing dusk. Peace got up and went out just in time to see them disappear into the livery-stable. He crossed the street to the front of Carney’s store where he leaned against a post until the two men came out, leading a saddled horse. Campion went to the hitch-rack, mounted his horse and joined the cattle-buyer.

“That’s funny,” reflected Peace. “Campion came in with a thirst and the stranger was half-loaded, but they’re leavin’ it behind. I never seen a cow-man with a thirst that was so anxious to sell stock that he’d quit drinkin’ to make a sale.”

Peace swung across the street, untied his horse and got into the saddle. Without showing undue haste he rode down the street, but as soon as he was clear of Tarp City he shook up his horse and hit the Poncho Pass grades at a stiff gallop.

There was no real reason for Peace following these two men except that he was a student of cowboy nature and was following what might be called a “hunch.” It was the same feeling that causes a gambler to back a poor hand to the finish, feeling that something unforeseen will happen.

In a few minutes he reached a straight piece of road and saw Campion and the stranger ahead of him. They were riding at a stiff gallop. He drew up slightly, but did not slacken speed too much.

As he swept around a curve, going more cautiously, he suddenly jerked his horse to a standstill. Campion and the stranger had left the road and were climbing up the broken hog-back, heading toward the secret trail.

Peace turned and spurred his horse back around the curve, out of sight of the two men, in case they might look back.

“Now, what do yuh think of that?” grunted Peace to himself wonderingly. “That son-of-a-gun trailed me through that place and now he’s takin’ a cattle-buyer in the same way.”

There was no way of explaining it. As far as Peace could see there was no reason for Campion to take this man into the Valley by a route which was kept secret. It would take at least an hour longer to go in by the trail than by the road so he knew that they were not going in that way as a short-cut.

The two men had disappeared now, and Peace knew that their view of the grades had been shut off, so he spurred ahead toward the Pass, going back into the valley he had left but a short time before.