Chapter III: Part 3

No one guarded the road now, or, if they did, they were not stopping any one going toward the valley. He topped the Pass and took it easier on the down grades. He knew he could head the two riders without any trouble.

The valley was flooded with moonlight now and his galloping horse made little sound on the dust-padded road. Mile after mile he reeled off before he came to the spot where he left the road and headed into the hills.

An examination of the old cattle-trail showed that the riders were still somewhere back in the mountains; so he took it easier. Finally he reached the narrow cañon which wound back across the summit, and dismounted.

He had reached a spot where the two riders must pass within a short distance from him. Here he had no chance of missing them, in case they came through. Farther down the slopes they might take their own direction into the valley, and he might fail to see them.

He had left his horse in a thicket and stretched himself beside a granite outcropping. Above the Pass hung the moon like a great opal ball. Somewhere a night-bird called in a shrill voice, and far down the slopes a pair of owls hooted a duet.

A wild-cat, in search of its evening meal, crossed the slope just above Peace, like a little gray shadow and melted into the jackpines. Peace grinned contentedly but wished that he might dare to roll a smoke.

Then, from a point far above him, he heard the murmur of voices, as if two men were arguing. It was impossible for him to distinguish voices or words but he knew that it was Campion and the cattle-buyer.

But they did not come on down the slope. The voices ceased and he did not hear them again. Half an hour passed and still the two riders did not appear.

Peace rubbed his chin and wondered at the why and wherefore of it all. Tired of inaction he untied his horse, swung into the saddle and headed for the rocky pass. He had made up his mind to challenge Campion for what he had already done and leave the outcome in the hands of fate.

He had almost reached the rocky defile, when he looked back down the slope. Three indistinct figures emerged from the timbered slope and came toward him. They were three mounted men.

Peace dropped off his horse and led it into the shadow of a cliff, holding a hand over its nostrils. The riders came on over the rocky edge, passing close to Peace. They were talking openly, and Peace recognized them as being Bender, Mehl and Erne.

They went past him and into the defile, traveling slowly.

“It’s a ---- good thing he showed us the way in daylight,” grunted Bender. “The ---- himself couldn’t find it at night.”

“And there’d be ---- to pay if Chinook Valley knew that we was wise to it,” added Erne, chuckling loudly.

Peace grinned to himself. He knew that Campion had showed his men where the secret trail was located--and for some mighty good reason.

“Mebbe,” reflected Peace, “they framed up to keep me from usin’ the road that evenin’, and it was all planned to have Campion see if there was another way in. But why do they come through here?”

He waited until they had passed out of earshot and mounted again. He traveled slowly now, although he felt sure that they did not suspect his presence. Just short of the end of the defile he drew rein.

In the notch of the cañon, silhouetted against the sky, were the riders. He could see them all now. It was impossible for him to approach nearer without danger of discovery. They were evidently arguing about something, as he could see one of them waving his arms at times, and their voices came in bursts of indistinct words.

Then they seemed to group together and disappear to the right of the defile. Peace moved ahead, wondering at their intentions. They should have gone to the left to get back to the road.

He went slowly out to the edge of the defile where the eastern slope of the mountain began and watched closely. Far below him he could hear the horses moving through the brush, the sound getting more faint all the time, as the riders went down the hill.

“Goin’ down a new way so they won’t have to take a chance of bein’ seen from the road,” he decided, after thinking it over. “No reason why yuh couldn’t go that way, except that it’s a long, hard trip and a roundabout way to Tarp City. But what does it all mean?”

Peace humped in his saddle and tried to reason it out. Why should Campion take a stranger up there, he wondered? And why did Bender, Mehl and Erne meet them there?

From what Bender had said, it was reasonable to suppose that the meeting was by appointment. But why? And was the meeting of Campion and the cattle-buyer premeditated? Peace shook his head and took the left-hand side of the cañon, heading back to Tarp City.

* * * * *

That same night Chris Sorensen and Jim Claypool, the owner of the Wagon Wheel outfit, the last ranch at the southern end of the valley, came to the Cross L. Claypool was a dark-faced, somber-eyed sort of an individual, prone to arguments and settled in his convictions. Usually he prefaced his objections by saying, “Yeah, but--” and this habit had caused him to be known as “Yeabut” Claypool.

Since Peace Parker had left the ranch Cross L Marshall had chewed much tobacco and uttered many strange and wonderful oaths. He even swore at Saleratus who promised to feed him ground glass at mealtime. Saleratus felt as bad over the departure of Peace Parker as any of them, and he said he’d be ----ed if anybody was goin’ to rag him when he felt melancholy.

And Cross L was in no mood to enjoy visitors. Sorensen and Claypool sat down in the living-room and tried to appear at ease. Jess had wanted to take their hats, but they assured her that it was hardly necessary.

“Well, whatcha got on yore minds?”

Cross L knew that it was not merely a friendly visit so he wanted them to come right to the point.

“Well,” Claypool twisted his hat nervously and cleared his throat, “well, I been talkin’ to Chris, yuh see. Me and him has been kinda talkin’.”

“That’s fine,” agreed Cross L, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Shows that yuh both got vocal cords.”

Claypool squinted at Cross L, but that worthy was as serious as an undertaker.

“Yeah, we’ve been talkin’--me and Chris.”

“Well, for ----’s sake, I hope yuh didn’t come up here to brag about it!” exploded Cross L.

“It was about the bank robbery,” prompted Sorensen.

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah, but mebbe yuh don’t see,” said Claypool, glad of the opening.

“Me and Chris got to talkin’ about the robbery. Yuh see, Peace Parker brought that Sinks down to Pasiooks. I hear that Sinks was Parker’s hired man.”

“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with the robbery.”

“Yeah, but mebbe it has, Marshall. This here hired man robs the bank, makes his getaway and we lose all our money, don’t we?”

“I did,” said Cross L dryly.

“We all did, as far as that’s concerned,” agreed Sorensen.

“Yeah, but that ain’t what I’m drivin’ at,” stated Claypool. “This here hired man does the job. It ain’t but a danged short time until Peace Parker pulls----”

“Whop!”

Cross L shot out of his chair and leaned over Claypool, who stared up at him.

“Dang yuh, don’tcha say it, Yeabut!” roared Cross L.

“Well!” exploded Claypool wonderingly. “You knowed what I meant without me sayin’ it, Marshall.”

“You said it,” corrected Marshall slowly, “but don’tcha say it agin.”

“Yeah, but what became of Sinks? Why did Parker pull out?”

Marshall squinted away and reached back for his chair. Jess was sitting in a rocking-chair beside the table, and now he looked directly at her, but she did not look up.

“Why?” Marshall shook his head. “I dunno exactly, but he said he wanted to see the other side of the hill.”

“Zasso?” queried Claypool. “I suppose that Sinks is on the other----”

“Hol’ on!” rasped Marshall threateningly. “If you make another remark agin’ Peace Parker, I’ll slap yuh to a peak and slap the peak off.”

“Izzat so!”

“Now, have a little sense,” begged Sorensen. “Fightin’ won’t get us nowhere. Let’s look at this just as though we didn’t know Peace Parker a-tall, will yuh?”

“Can’t be done,” declared Cross L. “I know him, and I’ll be ----ed if I can make m’self talk like I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but--listen.” Claypool leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Yuh got to admit the facts, Marshall. He didn’t leave here for nothin’, did he? He was yore foreman. He had some money of his own in the Pasiooks bank. I found that out from Clayton.

“Parker went away for good, didn’t he? Yeah? Then why didn’t he try to get the money that the bank owed him? He just rode away, thasall. Looks kinda queer to me. Looks kinda queer to a lot of folks, Marshall.”

“Yeah?” Marshall’s mustache bristled belligerently. “Looks kinda queer, eh? Lotsa things look queer to yuh, don’t they, Claypool? F’r instance, it looks queer to yuh that the earth is round, don’t it? That’s ’cause yo’re a slant-eyed yaller-hammer and thinks that everythin’ is flat if it ain’t got corners for yuh to feel of.”

“Naw, I ain’t no slant-eyed nothin’!” snorted Claypool. “I’ve got a lot of _sabe_, and this whole thing looks like it was all framed up. I ain’t got nothin’ pers’nal agin’ Peace Parker. Why, I heard that he rode out of here with a big bundle behind his saddle. Le Page, Hyatt and Campion stopped him on Poncho Pass and Campion wanted to search the bundle, but Parker bluffed him.

“Le Page and Hyatt kinda stood in with Parker and Campion didn’t want to start nothin’ alone.”

“Yuh dang well know he didn’t!” grinned Marshall. “He monkeyed with that buzz-saw once and got in a jam.”

“Well,” observed Sorensen wearily, “we ain’t gettin’ no place, Claypool,” and then to Marshall, “Cross L, you know danged well that I liked Peace Parker. He’s a ---- of a nice feller, but in a case like this yuh got to put yore feelin’s behind yuh.

“I can see things like Claypool does, and--I dunno,” Sorensen shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet. “I don’t accuse nobody--nor trust ’em. If Peace Parker didn’t have no reason, except to see the other side of the hill, I’d say that we ought to kinda find out for ourselves what he aimed to find over there.”

It was a long speech for Sorensen and he was winded at the last word. Claypool got to his feet and put on his hat.

“I’m goin’ to Tarp City,” declared Claypool, “and I’m goin’ to put the facts up to Sheriff Houston. I’ve got a lot of Chinookers backin’ me in this; _sabe_? Goodnight.”

They turned and went out of the door, closing it softly behind them. Cross L Marshall did not look up nor speak as they went out. Their horses’ hoofs sounded hollowly on the hard ground as they rode away.

Marshall lifted his head and found Jess looking at him across the table. He started to speak, but changed his mind and got to his feet.

“Dad, why didn’t you tell ’em why he left?” she asked softly. “It might save Peace a lot of trouble.”

Cross L started for his bedroom, but turned at the door and looked back at her.

“Would Peace tell ’em why he left?” he demanded.

She did not reply. He turned and opened the door, but stopped with the knob in his hand and looked back at her.

“Say, ain’t yuh kinda takin’ a lot of credit to yourself, Jess? How do we know why he left?”

He turned quickly and went into his room, while Jess bent over her work. He had hurt her feelings badly with his two questions, but she forgave him quickly because she knew of his intense loyalty to Peace Parker, and that he had said what he did as a vent for his own anger against everything.

In a few minutes he came out, drawing on his coat, but not soon enough to conceal the cartridge belt around his waist and the heavy Colt revolver in his holster.

“Where are you going, dad?” she asked.

“Nobody’s business!” he growled. “If anybody asks yuh where I’m gone--don’tcha tell ’em, Jess.”

“How could I tell them?” wonderingly.

“Because you know I’m goin’ to Tarp City. By grab, I’m goin’ to be there when Claypool opens his trap to Houston, and I’m goin’ to ram a hot six-gun barrel down among his vocal cords. I’m lookin’ for these Chinookers who are seein’ queer things, that’s what I’m lookin’ for.”

He thumped toward the door, but Jess crossed the room and took him by the arm.

“Dad, don’t do anything to cause trouble. Peace Parker wouldn’t want you to--and he can take care of himself.”

Cross L squinted at her.

“Thasso? Think he can, eh? Lemme tell yuh somethin’, Jess: when a danged fool’s mind gets in such a shape that he goes huntin’ for the other side of a hill, just because his best girl gets stuck on a vas-leen-haired dude--he--can’t--take--care--of--himself. Leggo my arm, young lady.”

He flung open the door, stamped down the steps and headed for the barn. Jess shut the door softly behind him and went back to her work.

Cross L was not a delicate handler of horses, and Jim Horn heard him swearing at the corral. It did not take Jim and Bert long to find out why Cross L was saddling a horse. In fact, Cross L told them in glowing, if profane terms, just why he was going to Tarp City.

And without further explanation, Bert and Jim got their saddles. Old Cross L made no comment, but their hasty actions caused him to quit swearing long enough to chuckle to himself. A few minutes later they rode away from the ranch--heading toward Tarp City.

* * * * *

Peace went back to Tarp City and hung around the saloons until nearly daylight, but Campion and the cattle-buyer did not show up; neither did Bender, Mehl nor Erne put in an appearance.

He ate an early breakfast at an all-night restaurant and rode out of town just before daylight, heading toward the Sun Prairie country. Peace wanted to have another talk with the sheepherder. Perhaps this man might know something about Gus Sinks, he thought.

He expected to find the sheep-camp a few miles out of town, but he traveled almost into the Sun Prairie country without seeing anything of the sheep or the herder. The band had been following the road, and there was no reason for the herder to leave it. There was no chance of a short-cut, as the road ran almost in a straight line to Tarp City.

Peace reached the spot where he had talked to the herder, and turned back.

“Mebbe the son-of-a-gun recognized me and pulled out in a different direction,” he reflected uneasily.

He did not want to lose sight of his own property. But there was no place for the man to hide them.

There was no sheep range to the west, and if he drove them south or east he would encounter the line-riders of the Fossilshell. His only chance was either to keep them on Sun Prairie or ship them from Tarp City.

“Got me fightin’ my own head,” observed Peace. “Mebbe I passed ’em.”

He rode on slowly toward Tarp City, scanning the hills which were so bare of verdure that a grasshopper would have been visible at a great distance. About two miles from Tarp City he saw a rider coming toward him. He appeared to be in a great hurry and when he got closer Peace saw that it was Sheriff Houston.

He drew up beside Peace and mopped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Whatcha sweatin’ about, sheriff?” grinned Peace.

“I sneaked out of town,” declared Houston seriously.

He turned in his saddle and looked back.

“I hope nobody seen me leave there, ’cause it might look bad.”

“Looks bad when the sheriff has to sneak out,” admitted Peace seriously.

“Yeah, that’s right. Now listen to me, Peace; they’re on your trail. I don’t need to open either one of my eyes to know ---- well that you’re innocent, but them danged----”

“Innocent of what?” interrupted Peace quickly.

“Aw-w-w, of havin’ anythin’ to do with that Pasiooks bank robbery. Lot of them ---- Chinookers got the idea that you and Gus Sinks was in cahoots on it, Peace. They point out the fact that you never went after your money and that you’re pullin’ out for good, and--aw, ----!”

Houston stopped and mopped his brow. Peace stared at him for several moments and a grin widened his mouth.

“It does look kinda like I was tryin’ to out-smart ’em, don’t it, Houston? Reckon they’ll put me in jail?”

“---- right! That’s why I snuck out on ’em. Kinda had an idea yuh was up this way. Now,” Houston shook a finger at Peace, “you keep out of Tarp City, do yuh hear me? I’m danged if I want yuh clutterin’ up my jail. Them Chinookers will stick there in Tarp and likely get drunk. I’ll do a lot of huntin’, but ---- little findin’; _sabe_? Now you hit the grit, you homely son-of-a-gun!”

“Buck, yo’re breakin’ the law,” observed Peace.

“Let her break!”

“Did they swear out a warrant for me?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Uh-huh,” grunted Peace softly.

He knew that Houston had the warrant in his pocket.

“Where’s yore sheep?” asked Houston impatiently.

“I dunno, Buck. Can’t find ’em anywhere.”

“----, yuh can’t lose three thousand sheep! Here.”

Houston took out a note-book and tore out a leaf.

“You write me out an order, Peace. Date it yesterday, _sabe_? I’ll sell them sheep for yuh, and as soon as yuh send me an address I’ll send yuh the money.”

“Buck, yo’re plumb white, but I can’t do it, I appreciate what you’d do for me, but I’ve kinda got a reason. We’ll let the sheep alone for a while, I reckon. You hunt for me, and I’ll hunt for what I can find.”

“Well,” reluctantly, “if that’s the way yuh feel about it, Peace. I’ll swing wide and come in on the Fossilshell road. But, dang your hide, keep away from Tarp City. _Adios._”

“Good-by, Buck.”

The sheriff spurred his horse and swung to the left, heading for the Fossilshell road which went into town on the east side. Peace watched him until he faded out in the distance, and rode on.

Peace reflected bitterly over what the sheriff had told him and wondered who composed the posse from the Chinook, but was forced to grin over the fact that it did look bad for him to leave there so soon after the robbery.

“And I brought Gus Sinks in there, too,” he mused. “By golly, it sure looks bad. I knowed the bank was plumb broke; so I marked my savin’s off the book, but they didn’t see things my way. Well, I reckon I’ve got to prove an air-tight alibi or go to jail.”

Peace did not know where to go so he followed practically the same route taken by the sheriff. He knew that it would only be a short time until the gang from Chinook would be hunting the country for him, and he was not in favor of giving them either a race or a battle.

He struck the Fossilshell road about two miles out of Tarp City where he turned and rode slowly in the opposite direction. To the right of him stretched the brushy slopes of the hills which led to the mountains on the western side of the valley of the Chinook.

Almost behind him and to the right he could see the spot where the secret trail--but a secret no longer--went through the high cliffs. It was miles away and hazy in the noontime heat. Suddenly he drew rein and scanned the dusty road.

A herd of sheep had crossed there--crossed to the right-hand side of the road and were somewhere back in those brushy hills. It was evident that they had crossed but a short time before as there was no track of horse or vehicle since their passing.

Peace swung off the road and followed them. It was easy to trail a band of a thousand sheep through the brush, and Peace followed them about two miles before finding them.

They were scattered along the slopes of a small creek, feeding ravenously after their long drive. Peace grinned as he noticed that they were branded with a painted cross. It was his band of sheep and they were already dangerously close to the deadline of the Fossilshell.

He knew that there was an old tumbledown ranch-house and corrals just above there in a big clearing, and that this would probably be where he would find the scarfaced herder.

He rode down through the scattered band and crossed the little creek. On the further side he rode through the fringe of brush and came out into the opening. A few sheep were feeding out there and the sheepherder was engaged at a camp-fire beside the old ranch-house.

He moved backward against the house, as Peace rode into sight, and watched him closely. Peace merely glanced toward him and looked back at the sheep. As he turned back his horse seemed to break down on one shoulder and whirl wildly, and from the old house came the whang of a rifle shot.

Peace tried to jerk the horse to a standstill and to draw his gun, but he heard the thud of the next bullet into the horse, which went down in a headlong pitch.

Peace tried to save himself by throwing himself away from the falling horse, but only succeeded in losing his six-shooter and ended up by having his left leg pinned under the animal. It was all done so quickly that he had little time to do anything.

Peace had fallen flat on his back with his leg far enough under the horse to save his ankle but he was unable to move. It was possibly two minutes later that a shadow fell across his face and he twisted his head to look up at the scar-faced sheepherder, covering him with the Winchester.

“I kinda wanted to be sure yuh didn’t have no gun.”

Thus the sheepherder explained his slowness in making an appearance. He picked up Peace’s gun and shoved it inside the waist-band of his overalls.

“It’s a good thing to be sure about,” admitted Peace calmly. “Now that yo’re satisfied--will yuh try and move that dead animal enough to let my foot loose?”

“Can’tcha move your foot loose?”

“Do I look like a person that needs somebody to wait on him?” retorted Peace.

“No, I reckon yuh don’t.”

The man walked away toward the house and came back in a few minutes with a coil of rope with which he proceeded to tie Peace’s arms to his side.

“I’m cautious, I am,” he declared. “She’s a lot easier to rope yuh now, pardner. Don’t have to order yuh to so-and-so; _sabe_?”

“You sure got the right idea,” applauded Peace. “I’d ’a’ never thought of that. But what’s it all about?”

The scar-faced man laughed but did not reply while he managed to drag the inert mass of horse-flesh off Peace’s leg. Peace flexed his knee slowly and was glad to find that it was hardly injured at all.

“What’s it about, eh?”

The scar-faced man sat down on the saddle-fender and rolled a smoke.

“You thought yuh was makin’ me believe that you was the sheep inspector, didn’t yuh? Pardner, I wasn’t born yesterday. I _sabe_ that there ain’t no such animal. Also--” he leered at Peace, “I knowed who yuh was all the time. My old friend Gus Sinks described yuh many a time.”

“Then you knowed that these sheep didn’t belong to Gus, eh?”

“’Course I knew it,” the man laughed throatily. “Me and Gus had that all fixed.”

“Yeah?” Peace grinned widely. “Mind rollin’ me a smoke?”

“Yuh do need waitin’ on, don’tcha? Well, I’ll----”

“Untie my hands and I’ll roll my own.”

“Any old time I do! Nope, I’ll roll ’em for yuh.”

He rolled a cigaret, lighted it and put it between Peace’s teeth.

“You sure busted up my poor bronc,” observed Peace sadly.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t shootin’ at the ----ed horse.”

The man was a frank sort of a murderer and Peace grinned at his honesty.

“Well, I’m glad that yo’re a rotten shot, pardner.”

“Oh, I ain’t so bad. I kinda hurried, thasall.”

“Wasn’t lookin’ for me, eh?”

“Wasn’t I? Huh! I sure was lookin’ for yuh. I knowed you’d trail me down here. I didn’t want to down yuh out in the open.”

“Danged considerate of yuh,” observed Peace. “Whatcha goin’ to do with my sheep?”

“Your sheep! Sa-a-ay, git that idea out of yore mind. These are my sheep; _sabe_? Well, as soon as I fix you a-plenty I’m goin’ to herd ’em into Tarp City, throw ’em into a corral and sell out.”

“Fix me a-plenty, eh?”

“Y’betcha. What else can I do? I ain’t no ---- fool and I ain’t no shepherd. These sheep are worth a lot of money, don’tcha know it? Enough to keep me a long time.”

“Pardner, I’ll make you a trade.”

Peace spat out the remnant of his cigaret and grew serious.

“You tell me where Gus Sinks is and I’ll give you a straight bill-of-sale to these sheep.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” incredulously.

“Just that. If you know anythin’ about me, you’ll know that I keep my word. You show me Gus Sinks and you can have these danged woolies.”

The man shook his head.

“Nothin’ like that, pardner. Gus is my bunkie and I won’t squeal on him.”

“That’s danged square of yuh,” observed Peace dryly, “and I appreciate it in yuh. Just the same, I’d make the trade with yuh.”

“Nope. I ain’t tradin’ t’day, Parker.”

“Too bad. Yuh know I trusted Gus Sinks. How long have yuh known him?”

The man reflected for a moment.

“I dunno. Anyway, it’s a long time; too long to squeal on him.”

“I see,” Peace sighed deeply. “I liked him, too. I’ve only knowed him a few months. You remind me of him a little.”

“Thasso?”

“Yeah. ’Course yuh don’t look like him, but that scar on his face is kinda like yours.”

The man felt on his face and nodded slowly.

“How’d he get the scar?” asked Peace.

“I dunno. I never asked him.”

“Got it in a fight, I know that much about it,” said Peace. “Said he lost the little finger off his left hand in the same fight. But Gus handled the truth kinda carelessly and I never believed him much. Likely lost his finger when he was learnin’ to split wood.”

The man grinned and nodded.

“That’s how he lost it. Gus told lots-a stories about that finger. I dunno how he got the scar on his face, but he likely got kicked by a cow.”

Peace laughed softly over the troubles of Gus Sinks and watched his captor closely, as he said--

“Well, whatcha goin’ to do next?”

“I dunno.”

The man seemed undecided but motioned Peace to get to his feet.

“I’ll keep yuh in the old house for a while. I don’t want to rub yuh out right away--if yuh behave. Can’t let yuh loose, that’s a cinch. I ain’t got nothin’ agin’ yuh personally--except that yo’re in my way, and when folks git in my way, I usually fix ’em a-plenty.”

“Where do you bury yore dead?” grinned Peace, stretching his long legs.

“Ne’ mind where I plant ’em. You toddle along ahead of me and be glad that I’m in good humor t’day. I ain’t no mean _hombre_, but I don’t let nobody stand between me and a lot of money, yuh understand?”

Peace went into the old tumble-down ranch-house and the scar-faced man motioned him to sit down in a corner. It was a dusty old place, with a broken floor, sway-backed roof and smelled strongly of pack-rats.

Scar-face proceeded to hog-tie Peace, who was unable to make any resistance. Satisfied that the job was well done, the scar-faced man went back to his cooking.

Peace squinted up at the sagging ceiling and a grin spread across his face. But Peace was not grinning over the fact that the roof sagged. Something had struck him as being funny and he chuckled to himself.

“Anyway,” he reflected when his period of mirth had passed, “that posse of Chinookers ain’t liable to find me here. Every cloud has a silver linin’, if yuh only look at it in the right way. And if that shepherd is goin’ to bump me off, I hope he don’t wait until I get hungry enough to eat a mutton stew.”

The scar-faced man shoved his head inside the door.

“Gittin’ hungry?” he asked.

Peace sniffed. There was an odor of frying mutton. He shook his head quickly.

“Not for sheep meat.”

“Huh! Before I git through with yuh, I’ll betcha you’ll be glad to eat sheep meat, Parker.”

“I’ll betcha I won’t.”

“Why won’tcha?”

“’Cause,” grinned Peace, “I’ll be so old and toothless that I can’t chaw it.”

The man laughed and went back to his fire. He was not without a sense of humor which was a lucky thing for Peace Parker.

* * * * *

It was early that morning when Cross L Marshall arrived at Tarp City with his two cowboys, but Claypool and his men had already been there nearly an hour. They had secured a warrant which had been turned over to the sheriff.

Houston had complained bitterly over being dragged out of bed at that time of night and had declined to make a search in the dark for Peace Parker. But as soon as they had gone he had made preparations to warn Peace, who had already gone toward Sun Prairie.

Marshall was in just the right mood to do battle with Claypool or any of his crowd, which consisted of Chris Sorensen, Mike O’Neil and six cowpunchers. Mike owned the 77 outfit and a grim sense of justice, so he brought Sam Barill and Tony Laughlin, his two punchers, who were old gun-men.

Cross L, Jim and Bert found them all in the Royal Saloon, drinking success to their affairs, with Claypool as toastmaster. He growled at sight of Cross L, and Cross L returned the growl with fair interest.

“What are you doin’ down here?” demanded Claypool.

“That’s some more of your ----ed business, I suppose,” observed Cross L.

“Yeah--mebbe it is.” Claypool felt that there was strength in numbers and had little fear.

“I don’t have to ask yuh what you’re doin’ here,” said Cross L. “You’ve done told me, Claypool. And I don’t mind tellin’ yuh that we’re here to hope real hard that yuh fall down on the job.”

“Go ahead and hope,” grinned O’Neil. “We’ve got the sheriff on Parker’s trail.”

“Lot of good that’ll do yuh,” said Jim Horn quickly. “Buck Houston couldn’t trail a load of hay through a mesquite thicket.”

“Mebbe,” said Claypool meaningly, “he won’t have to trail him. Parker was here last night and he’s here yet.”

“And you fellers ain’t went after him?”

Cross L laughed scornfully and counted them.

“Nine of yuh. Why didn’t yuh bring a dozen more and surround the town? Yuh might starve him out.”

“That’s the sheriff’s business,” said Claypool.

“And it took nine of yuh to come to see him, eh?” Thus Bert Hart sarcastically, “Yuh sure picked a swell bunch, Claypool. I s’pose it took nine of yuh to remember what yuh came for, didn’t it?”

Claypool was mad. He hated to be ragged by these three men, but he knew that if this went much further some one was due to get hurt; so he invited the three to drink with them.

This was profanely declined by Cross L who turned and led his men outside.

“Claypool, yuh better stop ’em,” advised O’Neil quickly. “They’ll get to Parker ahead of the sheriff, if yuh don’t.”

Claypool started toward the door but stopped and came back to the bar.

“Why should I stop ’em?” he asked, emphasizing the personal pronoun. “You go and stop ’em, O’Neil.”

But O’Neil turned back to the bar and poured out his drink.

“Somebody ought to stop ’em,” observed Sorensen half-heartedly.

“All right,” snapped Claypool, “you do it, Chris.”

But Chris made no move to accept the commission. Every man at the bar knew that Cross L and his two men had gone to warn Peace Parker, but none of them felt in the mood to attempt to stop them.

“I never came down here to do battle with anybody,” declared Claypool. “Marshall is one of our own people and he’s a danged old fool--but I don’t want to fight him.”

“One alibi is as good as another,” grinned O’Neil, “so what you said goes for me, too. Let’s have another, gents.”

“That’s a lot more sensible than fightin’,” observed a cowpuncher joyously.

But Cross L did not find Peace Parker. He was not at either of the two hotels, and inquiries showed that he had not kept his horse in the livery-stable that night. They went down to Houston’s house and were informed that the sheriff was not at home.

Barney McManus swore sleepily when they rapped on the door of the sheriff’s office where he slept, and disclaimed all knowledge of everything, except that he was sleepy.

“I seen Peace yesterday afternoon,” said Barney yawning. “Frank Campion rode toward the Pass with a cattle-buyer and in a few minutes Peace rode the same way. Nossir, I ain’t seen him since.”

“Peace headed back toward Chinook?” queried Cross L.

“Well, he went that direction,” declared Barney. “And what in the ---- do yuh want him for so badly?”

“They think he was in cahoots with Gus Sinks.”

“With Gus Sinks? In the Pasiooks robbery? Now would yuh listen to such ----ed foolishness?”

Barney snorted his indignation.

“I think that Buck Houston is out lookin’ for him,” said Jim Horn. “They’ve sworn out a warrant for Peace.”

“Who did?”

“Aw, there’s Yeabut Claypool, Chris Sorensen, Mike O’Neil and some of their punchers. They’re over at the Royal.”

“They are, eh?”

Barney wrinkled his nose, as though an offensive odor annoyed his nostrils.

“Well, the best thing we can do is to split up the four of us and try to warn Peace. He’s some’ers around this here country. Wait’ll I git m’ pants on.”

“You can’t go and warn him, Barney; there’s a warrant out for his arrest,” reminded Bert Hart.

“Can’t, eh?”

Barney thought it over for a moment.

“Well, I can resign, can’t I? This ain’t no good job, anyway. If Buck Houston serves that warrant he’ll git a new deputy, y’betcha.”

About an hour later Buck Houston showed up. He had stabled his horse, and none of the Chinook outfit knew that he had carried a warning to the man they were after.

Cross L and Barney cornered him immediately, but the sheriff was non-committal. Then Barney tendered a verbal resignation, handed back his badge of office and went over to the Royal saloon with high hopes of talking out loud to Claypool & Co.

Houston pocketed Barney’s star, grinned widely over Barney’s emphatic resignation--and did nothing.

Claypool waxed profanely eloquent over Houston’s lack of initiative, but the sheriff did not seem to care. Not so with Cross L Marshall. He followed Claypool around and tried to annoy him into argument. Every one expected momentarily that there would be a gun-battle, but Claypool had not misrepresented his own feelings when he said that he did not want to fight with Cross L.

Finally Claypool gathered his forces and rode away toward Sun Prairie. Most of the punchers were unsteady in their saddles and in no shape to do anything, except yell and sing, but they rode away without caring where they were going or why.

As they rode out of town, Frank Campion, Bender, Mehl and Erne rode in. They stopped at the Royal saloon and it did not take them long to find out the news. Campion listened to the evidence against Peace Parker seriously.

“Well,” he announced, “Parker and I are not the best of friends; so the best thing I can do is to keep my mouth shut.”

“Then I’ll give yuh credit for havin’ a little sense,” applauded Cross L seriously.

Campion eyed Cross L, but said nothing. He realized that the old man was looking for trouble and he had heard that Cross L Marshall was not at all crippled in his gun-hand. At any rate he turned back to his drink.

“Mebbe you know where Peace Parker is,” suggested Jim Horn.

“Me?”

Campion turned and stared at Horn.

“Yeah. You and that cattle-buyer pulled out of here last evenin’, and Peace follered yuh out.”

“Eh?”

Campion upset his glass of liquor accidentally, but was too interested to right it.

“Peace Parker followed me--us?”

“That’s what he done,” declared Jim. “You two headed for Poncho Pass and Peace was right on your trail.”

Campion’s eyes narrowed and he stared down at the floor, deep in thought. His eyes flashed sideways to Bender who was watching him. Then Campion seemed to pull himself together and looked at Jim Horn.

“It’s funny we didn’t see him,” he said slowly. “We didn’t ride fast. Did he go all the way into the valley?”

“I dunno.”

Jim shook his head.

“He was around here before midnight,” thus the bartender horned into the conversation. “I seen him about that time. He didn’t play--just kinda in and out, like he was lookin’ for somebody.”

“How long before midnight?”

Campion was interested.

“Oh, I dunno. Mebbe it was eleven o’clock--mebbe later, but it was before midnight.”

“You fellers have a little drink with me?”

Campion nodded to the three from the Cross L.

Cross L was about to refuse, but Jim Horn accepted the invitation, and they joined Campion’s party. Jim gave the old man a sharp glance, and he accepted the invitation without a word.

“We rode over here to warn Peace Parker,” offered Jim, “but Claypool and his gang beat us to it. Didn’t do ’em any good, ’cause Peace wasn’t here. They’re huntin’ for him now, but they’re too drunk to last long.”

“Well, here’s to Parker,” Campion held up his glass and examined the liquor. “And may he get so far out of the country that the sheriff would have to pay ten dollars to send him a postal-card.”

“Which he won’t,” chuckled Cross L. “Peace ain’t the runnin’ kind. Nossir, he’ll play out his hand. What gets me is the fact that he was headed for Chinook Valley.”

“Why do you suppose he’s hanging around here for?” asked Campion.

“I’ll betcha he’s lookin’ for Gus Sinks,” Bert Hart seemed convinced that this was the reason. “Mebbe he’s got a hunch that Gus is still in the Chinook.”

“He’d be a fool to stay in there,” observed Campion.

“Yeah--from our point of view. Sinks may be a fool, but he’s sure fooled us good and plenty. Forty thousand dollars and a clean getaway.”

“He ain’t got away--yet,” declared Cross L. “If Peace Parker can keep away from the law long enough, I’m bettin’ he finds Gus Sinks.”

“I’m trailin’ my bet with yours,” said Jim Horn enthusiastically. “Peace Parker likes to play a lone hand and he mebbe pulled out of the valley just so we’d let him run things to suit himself. He’s a salty rascal.”

“Well, I wish him luck,” said Campion slowly. “I had no money in that bank, but I probably would have had some in there if this had happened a little later.”

“Sell off some cows?” queried Cross L.

“No, I didn’t. There was a difference of opinion on prices. These buyers want all the best of it.”

“That’s a fact,” nodded Cross L. “I’ll buy somethin’ this time.”

They all drank a good-luck to Cross L, and Campion and his men left the Royal. At the edge of the sidewalk, Campion spoke to Bender who nodded and went straight to the hitchrack where he mounted and rode back toward Poncho Pass.

Jim Horn stood beside a window and watched him leave. The other three crossed the street to the store and were in there a few minutes; when they came out each carried a number of bundles.

They came across the street, mounted their horses and followed Bender. Jim scratched his head and told Cross L what the Three Dot outfit had done. Cross L bit off a big chew of tobacco and frowned deeply.

“Whatcha suppose Bender went away ahead for?” queried Jim. “Why didn’t he stay and pack his share of plunder?”

“Jim,” Cross L’s mustache bristled and twitched violently, “I ain’t no mind-reader.”

“I ain’t either but I’ve got a hunch that somethin’ ain’t just what it ought to be. I’ll betcha that Campion knows where Peace Parker is.”

“You don’t think that Peace had a run-in with him, do yuh, Jim?”

Jim shook his head. “No, I don’t. If they had a run-in, Peace would be here and we’d be lookin’ for Campion.”

Cross L grinned and slapped his leather-chapped leg.

“That’s a cinch, Jim! Well, we’ve just got to wait and see which way the pickle is goin’ to squirt.”

* * * * *

Peace soon found that the sheepherder was no novice when it came to hog-tying a human being. He tried in every way to loosen his bonds but only succeeded in rubbing a lot of skin off his wrists.

Once that afternoon, Peace thought he heard voices. It was a dull murmur, as though two people were arguing; but no one came near the shack. The sheepherder had left shortly after eating his meal and it was about two hours before he returned.

He sat down in the doorway and rolled a cigaret for Peace. He seemed very thoughtful over something and talked but little.

“Have yuh run out of words?” grinned Peace.

“Not exactly. I’m takin’ the sheep to Tarp City late this afternoon and I’m goin’ to leave you here. Mebbe I’ll come back and mebbe I won’t. Anyway, I won’t be back before I sell the sheep; so you better pray for a quick sale.”

“I suppose I don’t eat while yo’re gone, eh?”

“Don’t look like it, does it? I suppose I’d save myself a lot of trouble by puttin’ a bullet into yuh right now.”

“Pleasant thing to think about,” grinned Peace.

“Well, put yourself in my place. I can’t let yuh loose to block me, can I? I can’t come back here and let yuh loose, ’cause that would give yuh a chance to trail me down. We’re both up against it, don’tcha know it?”

“Well,” grinned Peace, “I ain’t goin’ to be a hero and ask yuh to sacrifice me to save yourself. Yuh know, that proposition I made yuh still holds good. You show me Gus Sinks and the sheep belong to you.”

“Thasso? Suppose I just keep the sheep, anyway. You can’t force me to accept your proposition; yuh must remember me and Gus had this all framed. He was to lift the money from the Pasiooks bank, while I disposed of the sheep. We’re in cahoots on this, and yore offer don’t interest me none.”

“Kinda looks like a dead-lock,” said Peace seriously.

“Yep. Well, I’m goin’ to herd my sheep right now and we’ll see about the rest.”

The man got to his feet and stretched his arms. He was still carrying Peace’s six-shooter in addition to his own. He studied Peace for a moment and came over to him.

“Got to kinda look yuh over, pardner. Can’t take no chance on yuh workin’ them ropes loose.”

He rolled Peace over on his side, loosened the ropes a little and tied them off again. It eased the pressure on Peace’s arms a little for which he was thankful.

“I reckon you’ll stay put,” he remarked. “I’ll see yuh later. _Adios._”

He walked away from the shack and Peace heard him swearing at the sheep as he rounded them up with the dogs. Peace could not see out of the door, but the shadows showed that it was well past mid-afternoon. The sound of the sheep and sheepherder died away and there was no sound, except the drone of insects.

Peace hitched back toward the wall and tried to sit up. He twisted at his wrists and a thrill went through him. The rope was slack enough for him to work one hand loose, and inside of a minute he had shucked the ropes from his body and got to his feet.

He took one step toward the door and stopped.

“Too easy,” he muttered. “Too ---- easy! Whatcha know about that?”

He backed to the wall and frowned down at the loose rope. Had the man made a mistake in the tying, or did he do it intentionally? Peace shook his head.

“Planted the whole thing, I betcha,” he reflected bitterly. “When I walk out I get a bullet.”

Cautiously he sidled to the door and peered out. His angle was limited and he could see nothing. There was no sound. He peered a little closer. Within six feet of the doorway, leaning against the house, was that Winchester rifle.

Peace grinned, but without mirth. He knew that the rifle was there for a purpose. The scar-faced man knew that Peace would go after that rifle immediately, and Peace was just as sure that the scar-faced man was out there at that fringe of brush, waiting for him.

Peace squinted at the rifle and wondered if he dared to make a dash for it. It was a long chance.

“Betcha forty dollars it ain’t loaded,” he mused. “No danged fool would leave a loaded rifle that handy.”

He had noticed the rifle the day before and a thought suddenly came to him. Peace, like all range men, instinctively noted the caliber of a rifle and the thought suddenly struck him that this rifle might mean something to his side.

He gathered up the rope and tied a heavy knot on one end. The muzzle of the rifle was leaning against the side of the building, which precluded any chance of roping it with a loop, but Peace had an idea.

He backed to the corner and circled the room, which put him on the opposite side of the door and on the same side with the rifle. Estimating the distance to the gun, he flung out the length of rope, throwing it the opposite direction from the gun.

Then, with a jerk of his wrist, and only exposing his forearm, he whipped the rope toward the gun. He felt it strike the gun, and jerked quickly, but the knot whipped loose and the rope came back.

Quickly he tossed it again and whipped back. This time the rope was a little longer and his forward jerk captured the gun. He dragged it swiftly through the doorway, and picked it up.

A flip of the lever showed the gun to be empty, but a glance at the caliber number on the top of the barrel caused Peace to grin with joy.

The scar-faced man had Peace’s six-shooter but he had neglected to remove Peace’s cartridge belt which was studded with 32-20 revolver cartridges. The rifle was a 32-20 caliber and would chamber the revolver cartridge. Both the 32-20 rifle and revolver were fairly new to the range-land, and the Cross L had made uncomplimentary remarks anent Peace’s pop-gun. But Peace had showed them that the smaller caliber gun was more accurate and just as deadly as the more cumbersome ones. His gun was of .45 caliber frame which gave him the accustomed weight.

The question now was to find the location of the sheepherder. Peace took off his coat and hung it over a short piece of the broken flooring. Then he took his hat in his other hand and projected them past the edge of the doorway. At a distance it would seem that the point of a man’s shoulder and the edge of his hat were in sight.

_Whap!_

Peace jerked the coat back, dropped the piece of board and flexed his fingers. The bullet had drilled a neat hole through the shoulder of his coat and splintered the board. “Mebbe that jasper can’t shoot!” applauded Peace admiringly. “What he’d ’a’ done to me would ’a’ been a-plenty. Um-hm-m-m-m! Don’t look as good as it did.”

The rear door and windows had been boarded up long ago, and to Peace it looked like a case of staying out of sight until the sheepherder decided to leave--or until it got dark. The broken floor attracted his attention. The old house had been built upon heavy log sills and there seemed to be considerable room underneath. Peace examined it closely and crawled under. The dirt banking on the sides had fallen away and he was able to crawl to the side of the building and peer out. He could not get a clear vision of that side of the clearing, but he had an even break with any one that came into view for a radius of two hundred yards.

He could not see or hear the sheep now, but he was sure that the sheepherder would not leave until things were settled between them. Peace shoved the muzzle of his rifle through the aperture and squinted closely. He had a fair idea of where the shot had been fired from.

He knew that the sheepherder would stay where he could watch the front door and this knowledge was of assistance to Peace. He watched a certain spot in the brush for some little time. Something had caused a branch to jerk--and there was no wind.

It jerked again. Peace flattened his cheek against the butt of his rifle and sent a bullet whistling into that clump. The man must have been moving away, because beyond that spot, and to the right, the bushes jerked sharply.

Twice more Peace fired but without visible results. He did not have a target but felt that his bullets were going very close. The bushes did not wave again; so he relaxed and waited for the sheepherder to make his next move.

Straight across the clearing from Peace was the brush-lined creek with high banks, where a man might easily walk without being seen from the cabin. Peace had left the rifle muzzle protruding from under the cabin, while he slid back a foot or two, as he rolled a smoke.

Suddenly the dirt bank near his head seemed fairly to explode, and to his dirt-filled ears came the snap of a high-power rifle. Peace rolled aside and clawed the dust out of his eyes. The bullet had evidently mushroomed into that clay-like dirt and had driven Peace’s mouth, nose, ears and eyes full of it.

He reached blindly for his rifle, yanked it with him and crawled farther back toward the rear of the building, while shot after shot tore through the hard dirt and filled the air with dust and fine gravel. The sheepherder was taking a chance on hitting Peace by searching the whole length of the shack.

But Peace hugged the rear of the place, while he tried to blink the dust out of his eyes and wait for the man to finish his magazine of shots.

“The danged murderer snuck up the creek on me,” reflected Peace, “and I left my gun-muzzle outside as a marker for him. That was a smart thing to do. Peace Parker, if you git killed, it’s yore own fault.”

The sheepherder’s rifle had made many apertures in the banked foundation of the shack and Peace crawled to the near corner and peered out. The man was too smart to show himself, but Peace felt sure that he was just behind the creek bank.

Then Peace saw a slight movement. It was the crown of the man’s hat and it moved in a perfectly natural way. A moment later it flipped upward from the jerk of Peace’s bullet, and almost at the same time a bullet ricocheted off the barrel of Peace’s gun and thudded into the corner of the building.

Peace rolled and slid sideways toward the center of the place and crawled rapidly toward the front, while another bullet smashed into the corner of the foundation.

“Son-of-a-gun foxed me,” complained Peace. “Hung up his old hat while he went down the creek and laid for me. But it didn’t git him any scalps.”

He crawled to the side again and peered out. This time he was careful to keep near the corner where the angle gave him slightly better protection.