Chapter II: Part 2

“I’m doin’ this, ’cause I don’t trust yuh--not because I want this pretty gun. Holman said you’d give me a Winchester and a six-gun, which listens good; but I’m goin’ to be heeled until yuh do. _Sabe?_”

Peace released Danert and stepped back, loading the gun. Danert rubbed his cramped arm and arranged his rumpled clothes. He was boiling, inwardly, but outwardly cool.

Danert was a large man, but Peace had handled him easily, and it hurt Danert’s vanity. He knew he was a fighter, knew he was stronger than the average man, but Peace had made him feel that he was in the grip of a machine rather than the grip of human muscles.

“Did I hurt yuh?” asked Peace quietly, a bit humorously. “I done it as easy as I could. Hope you don’t begrudge me the use of the pretty gun.”

“That’s all right,” said Danert, forcing a smile. “You caught me when I wasn’t looking.”

“Are yuh lookin’ now?” queried Peace meaningly.

“You and I can get along without any trouble,” said Danert hastily. “We’ll let things go as they lay. Maybe we better not be seen together after this. We can’t do anything before tomorrow evening. Suppose you meet me in front of the Palace saloon at seven o’clock tomorrow evening, and we’ll leave from there. I’ll have the guns for you at the herd, and we’ll give you all your instructions at that time.”

“I’ll take orders,” nodded Peace. “_Adios._”

Peace walked to the door and watched Danert disappear up the street. Across the street in front of the stage-station was a watering-trough, a huge log hollowed and set up on log foundation. Peace crossed the street and sat down on one end of this, while he tried to think.

From down the street came the tin-panny tinkle of a piano, blended with the uncertain notes of a worn-out music-box. Wagons creaked into the light of the oil lamps, men called greetings to each other as they passed. Riders swung past, melting into the shadows at the saloon hitch-racks.

Peace gave no heed to the passing night life of Tarp City. It was what his soul had longed for, dreamed over for five years; but the one sentence, “Sheep in Chinook,” drove all other thoughts from his mind. He could see the gray bands sweeping the valley from Poncho Pass to the Crazy Snake, to the utter ruination of the most wonderful cattle range in the world.

Peace shook his head slowly. He would not be a party to this.

“Sheep!” he muttered to himself. “I’ve hated the ---- things all my life, and here I am throwin’ in with ’em.”

He mused over it for a while, and it suddenly came to him: Why should he protect Chinook Valley? What had Chinook Valley done for him? Nine of the twelve jurors had been from Chinook Valley. The witnesses for the prosecution were from Chinook. He was innocent; but they convicted him. Why not let the sheep clean out the place? Sheep were going to supplant cattle. It was only a question of time; so why not make it now?

Peace rubbed the palm of his hand over the butt of Danert’s pistol and stared down at the ground. He had left there, branded as a dangerous gunman; his homecoming had unfortunately sustained this reputation.

* * * * *

Jefferson Crane was humped on the bunk, spelling out the words of an old newspaper when Clell Danert rapped at the door. With a flip of the paper Crane extinguished the lamp, and picked up a Colt pistol, which was beside him on the worn blanket.

“Come in!” he grunted.

Danert opened the door and peered into the dark interior.

“Danert?” snapped Crane.

“Yes.”

“Come in!”

Danert shut the door behind him and Crane lighted the lamp, cursing at the hot chimney. He turned and peered at Danert, who sat down on a rough stool.

“Holman sent us a man,” volunteered Danert, handing the letter to Crane, who made no move to take it.

“Talk about him,” ordered Crane.

Danert started to describe Peace River Parker, but Crane stopped him.

“Tell me that again, Danert. Yuh say he’s over six feet tall, and kinda stooped? Homely son of a gun?”

“Holman didn’t say what his name was,” said Danert, ignoring Crane’s anxious questions. “I asked him what his name was an’ he said it was Peace.”

“The ---- he did!” Crane’s teeth fairly snapped. “Peace, eh? Danert, you ---- fool; that’s Peace River Parker!”

“The guy who shot up you and your outfit?”

Crane trembled with anger, and he nodded violently. “I forgot that his five years were up. What in ---- did he come back here for?”

“Why ask me?” growled Danert. “Not for his health, that’s a cinch. He filled the Fossilshell stage-driver full of lead in Davey’s restaurant tonight--with my gun. I took him down to Louie’s place where we could talk business, and he took my gun away from me again and held me against the wall while he loaded it from my own belt. Said he would keep it until I gave him a better one.”

Crane stared at Danert for a moment and broke into a cackling laugh, which grated on Danert’s nerves.

“Took your gun, eh? He, he, he! Held yuh against the wall. He, he, he!”

“Stop your ---- cackling!” snapped Danert.

Crane stopped his unholy glee and wiped his eyes. It was not often that Jefferson Crane laughed and the effort was almost too much for his vocal cords.

“I’m not working for you and I don’t have to take your ---- orders; so--” Danert was angry.

“Don’t let that itch yuh any,” advised Crane. “I got along before your handsome carcass hove into view, Danert; and I can do it again.”

For several moments there was silence. Danert realized that the argument was getting too warm for him, especially as he had no gun, and Crane’s gun was on his lap. He knew that Crane would not hesitate to kill him if it came to a show-down, and Clell Danert had no desire to die. Finally he said slowly--

“Shall we let him take the herd in?”

“I dunno.” Crane fondled his gun. “Peace Parker is a wolf when he hates; but the ---- fool comin’ back here kinda makes me wonder. Did the penitentiary make him scared of trouble?”

“You can bury that kind of talk,” said Danert. “He is not afraid of trouble, Crane; and five years in the pen hasn’t spoiled his six-gun ability. He never lifted that gun from his hip, and I’ll bet that every shot hit the target.”

Crane stared blankly at the wall, and his lips twitched for a moment. Down deep in his narrow soul was a great fear--not exactly a fear of death; and his soul cried out a “Why” for the coming of Peace Parker. Then a crafty grin came to his lips, and he turned to Danert, who was watching him closely.

“Clell, I reckon we’ll let him take the sheep in--if he’ll do it; and if he won’t----”

Danert nodded. He knew what Crane meant.

“He knows what he’s goin’ up against,” said Crane. “It’s almost a cinch that the first sheepherder into Chinook Valley will get filled so full of lead that they’ll take him to the smelter instead of to the undertakers.”

Danert nodded, and Crane continued:

“We’ve got to see that he goes in with them sheep. Post the boys to trail him and watch every move. If he gets an idea that I’m behind this deal he will yell it from the street. Tell the boys to stick to him, Danert; and if he makes a break--kill him. Don’t let him talk to anybody. _Sabe_ what I mean?”

Danert nodded quickly. “Leave that to me, Crane. I don’t think that Holman knew who he was hiring. He paid Parker the hundred dollars.”

“I told him to pick a man who looked like he didn’t care what happened to him,” said Crane, “and ---- bad luck sent Parker to him. Don’t let on that you suspect him, Clell, and for ----’s sake don’t mention my name to him. If he knowed I was behind this----”

“He’d give Holman back his money and kill you,” finished Danert.

“That’s none of your ---- business!” exploded Crane. “What’s between me and Peace Parker is no affair of yours, Danert!”

“For which I give thanks,” grinned Danert. He turned back toward the door, where he stopped. “I’ll be at Pasiooks when the sheep start into the pass.”

“What for, Clell?”

“Well, I may be able to hinder some action.”

“Yeah?” drawled Crane sarcastically. “You ain’t afraid of Jess Marshall hinderin’ us, are yuh?”

Clell Danert’s eyes narrowed, and he took a half-step back towards Crane.

“My personal business is nothing to you, Crane. What I do in Pasiooks is none of your ---- business, do you understand? You found that you couldn’t get that girl; so yuh might as well get used to it.”

Crane’s evil face contorted with anger, and his skinny hands gripped the heavy gun.

“What about that restaurant girl, Danert? You goin’ to turn her down?”

“None of your ---- business, Crane! I haven’t done her any harm. You take care of your own morals.”

Crane glared at Danert, but made no reply.

“Marshall ran you out of Chinook Valley,” continued Danert tauntingly. “I’ve heard it all. You was willing to sell your outfit for about half what it was worth; so you must have valued your hide pretty highly. Maybe that’s what Peace River Parker came back for.”

“Danert--” Crane slipped off the bunk and walked half way to him before he continued--“Danert, we’re into this sheep deal together--pardners, if yuh feel thataway--but--but your ---- tongue wags too much. You’re nothin’ but a crook in dude clothes. Yes, I know you’ve got a rep as a gunman, but that don’t scare me none a-tall. We’ll put our sheep in Chinook Valley and then we’ll talk business. _Sabe?_”

“Any time,” nodded Danert, but added, “in the mean time I’m goin’ to Pasiooks, Crane. _Adios._”

Crane did not reply, but he stared at the closed door for several minutes after Clell Danert had gone into the night. Then he dropped the heavy gun into his holster, snapping it out--back--in--out--in--out until the draw was too swift to follow with the eye, and each time the gun came level with the hammer at full cock. Then he tossed the belt and gun on the bunk and sat down to think of Peace Parker.

Crane did not fear Clell Danert. He knew that he could shade Clell with a gun, and that with an even break he would win. He would see that it was an even break, if he had to start it himself.

Peace Parker was a different proposition. Peace had beat him on the draw--beat him in a fair fight, and not only that but had whirled and downed two of Crane’s cowboys, who were not rated as slow gunmen.

Peace had not gone unscratched, but was able to mount his horse and ride to the sheriff at Tarp City and surrender himself to the law. Crane had been the chief witness against Peace Parker--lying while under oath to tell the truth.

Danert’s taunts had bitten deep into Crane’s narrow soul. He had planned to win Jess Marshall for a wife, after Peace Parker’s exit, but the wooing had been a dismal failure. He knew that the people of Chinook Valley were laughing at him, and it had steeped his soul in bitterness.

He had set his plans to control the valley. Some one had likened him to Napoleon. Discreet questioning had brought him the information that Napoleon had aspired to rule the world. Considering Napoleon’s ultimate failure, Crane decided to cover less territory and play safe, but a delegation of hard-eyed, sober cattlemen persuaded him that Chinook Valley was a very poor place to attempt to start an absolute monarchy.

Exhibit A was a half-inch, hard-twist rope. The jury requested that Mr. Crane sign his name on a dotted line, accept a fair price for his holdings in Chinook Valley and go some place where the people hankered for a monarch. Mr. Crane signed, and he and his four cowboys--Gus Sinks, Pete Perez, Jud Evers and Rance Wylie--were escorted to Poncho Pass and ordered to stay away.

Crane’s brand had been a Five Dot. Barr Severn owned the Three Dot outfit, whose brand is three dots in triangle form. The added two dots changed it to Crane’s ownership. Such things, while not easy to prove, are a violation of range etiquette.

Chris Sorensen owned the Bar X Bar. Chris was absolutely honest, and when he found a Three Dot animal, which had been made over into Bar X Bar, with four strokes of a running-iron, he took up the matter with Barr Severn. Some one was trying to start trouble between neighbors. At any rate Jefferson Crane left Chinook Valley and bought a brand far out on the Fossilshell range, but he still remained Napoleonic in his desires.

* * * * *

Peace Parker did not know that Crane was no longer a cattleman in Chinook Valley, as news of this kind does not penetrate the walls of a prison. He realized what sheep would mean to the valley, and he knew how the cattlemen would greet the first man who drove in a band of sheep.

The men who were going to invade Chinook Valley were determined, and he knew that they would see that he either obey their orders or never live to tell what their plans were.

His head was in a noose, especially as soon as they found out who he was. He slept late and went to Davey’s restaurant for breakfast. The same girl waited on his table, but she seemed nervous and glanced often towards the door, as if expecting someone. Finally two men came in and sat down near the door.

One was a swarthy man, whose features bespoke Mexican parentage. The other was thin almost to the point of emaciation, with a weak, blond mustache. Peace studied them for a moment and a half-smile moved his thin lips.

It was Pete Perez and Gus Sinks, two cowboys who worked for Crane, when Peace was with the Cross L outfit. Peace did not know either of them personally, as they had joined Crane’s outfit shortly before Peace’s conviction. Crane hired them to replace the cripples caused by Peace’s gun. Peace remembered seeing them in the court-room.

Neither of the men gave Peace more than a passing glance, but he felt that both of them recognized him. He looked up at the girl as she placed a cup of coffee on the table, and he noticed that her hands shook, spilling the coffee.

“What’s the matter, miss?”

Peace’s question was very abrupt, but scarcely above a whisper. The girl’s hand went to her forehead and she flinched slightly, a look of pain in her eyes; but she quickly recovered and tried to smile.

“Why--why, it is nothing,” and hurried back to the kitchen.

Peace wondered why the waitress was nervous; but decided that the events of the night before had made her afraid that his presence meant more trouble. He busied himself with his food, but studied the two men at the other end of the room.

He knew the type. Perez, with his scarlet muffler and beaded vest, was dangerous in his own way--a type which always strikes from behind. Sinks was the opposite--an unemotional, cold-blooded killer, who does not fear death, because his imagination pictures nothing beyond the bare word. Neither of the men was paying any attention to Peace; but he felt that they were there because of him. He switched his eyes to the door, where more people were coming in.

It was Jess Marshall and Bart Farley. They were laughing as they went to a table, on an angle between the table occupied by Perez and Sinks, and Peace’s table. They had just sat down when the door swung open again and Cross L Marshall came in. He was talking with some one just outside the door, but turned and went straight to Jess and Farley, and sat down beside Jess, facing Peace.

Peace watched them closely, hungrily. He watched the play of emotions across Jess Marshall’s face as she listened to something her father was telling Farley. Peace’s mind flashed back to a night in Spring, five years before, when he and Jess had halted at the top of the pass and watched the moon come up above the jagged skyline. That was the night when he had talked haltingly, groping for words; while Jess had looked up at him and supplied both the question and answer.

He had told Cross L Marshall of it all later on, and the old cattleman had wrung his hand and said--

“Peace, I was afraid yuh wasn’t never goin’ to get up the nerve to ask her.”

Peace watched them now as they talked. He wanted to get up and go outside; but it seemed miles to the door, and he must pass them as he went out. For the first time in his life, Peace Parker knew fear. He glanced back and saw the waitress near the door to the kitchen, one hand against the wall. She was looking past him at Perez and Sinks.

Marshall’s voice boomed out in a laugh as he leaned across the table, talking earnestly with Farley, but suddenly he looked straight at Peace Parker. Neither man showed surprize in his face. It was more the sharp scrutiny that strangers often direct at each other.

Marshall turned back to Farley and continued their conversation. Peace continued to eat slowly, at the same time watching Perez and Sinks, who were paying no attention to the Marshall party.

Suddenly Peace glanced at Jess Marshall and found her looking straight at him, a look of wonderment in her face. Her eyes shifted to her father, but he was engaged with his food. Peace flashed a glance at Perez and Sinks and caught them both watching the girl. Their eyes shot a glance at him and both men began eating again.

Peace glanced up as the waitress came between himself and the Marshall party and began removing the dishes. Without seeming to move her lips the waitress said softly:

“Be careful. They are waiting for you to meet that girl and her father and if they are kind to you, you’ll never leave here alive.”

Peace had begun eating as the girl spoke and did not look up until after she had taken the dishes and gone away. He could see it now. If Jess Marshall or her father shook hands with him, either Perez or Sinks would try to kill him.

The powers that be were taking no chances on having their sheep venture blocked. Danert had likely told the girl, and she feared gun-play.

Peace smiled at their caution. There was not the remotest chance in the world that any of the Marshalls would recognize him--an ex-convict. Hadn’t the jury declared him guilty? The judge had censured him severely for the shooting at Crane’s ranch, believing that Peace had done it out of revenge.

Peace wondered who was really behind the sheep deal. Some one who knew him, that was certain. He felt that Clell Danert was merely one of the pawns of the game. Jess and her father were not looking at him now, and Perez and Sinks seemed interested solely in their food.

Peace got to his feet and walked slowly to the counter, where he settled for his meal, paying no attention to any one.

Farley looked up at him as he passed and started to get to his feet, but Marshall spoke quickly, and he sat down again. Farley had been a stanch defender of Peace Parker, and a prison record would not interfere in any way with his friendship for a man.

A grin passed between Perez and Sinks. Jess Marshall stared down at her plate until she heard the door shut behind Peace Parker. She looked at her father as if about to speak, but her glance took in Perez and Sinks beyond and she shut her lips tightly.

“Five years--” muttered Marshall, staring down at his plate--“five years is a short time.”

Farley glanced at Jess. He knew it had been a long five years to her, although she had never mentioned Peace Parker’s name since the day of his conviction. Other men had paid court to her; but she would have none of them until Clell Danert came. She was not the kind to mope in memories; but Farley knew that she had not forgotten Peace Parker.

Perez and Sinks got up, paid for their meal and went outside. Farley scowled at them as they went out. Jess and her father were both intent on their own thoughts as Farley turned and said:

“I heard that Crane sold out his outfit on Sandy Fork, and I’m wonderin’ what his cow-rustlin’ punchers are goin’ to do for a livin’. It’s a cinch that nobody will hire ’em.”

Marshall shook his head.

“I dunno, Bart. Crane is a bad _hombre_, I reckon. Danert told me a lot of things about him.”

“Danert did, eh?” Farley slowly stirred his coffee. “Clell Danert worked for him long enough to know a few things, I guess. If Clell is so ---- upright, why did he work for Crane all this time? If yuh asks me I’d say that Crane can likely tell a few things about Danert.”

“Don’t say that, Bart,” begged Jess. “You are prejudiced.”

“Yeah, by ----, I am!” Farley snapped his reply. “Clell is educated and he’s slick enough to make yuh think the moon is a hunk of cheese. Yeah, sure he can talk the handle off a pump and make it believe it’s a windmill. He’s got a pretty face and nice hair and don’t wait for Saturday night to take a bath; but there’s only one difference between him and a rattlesnake--the snake is honest enough to rattle.”

“Quit it!” snapped Marshall. “If Jess says he’s all right, he’s all right. If Bart says he’s a bad _hombre_, he’s a bad _hombre_.”

“What is your opinion, Dad?” asked Jess.

“Mine?” Marshall put on his hat and pulled the brim low over his eyes. “My opinion is that I’d be a ---- fool to throw in with either one of yuh.”

“Dad plays safe,” said Jess seriously.

“Y’betcha he does,” returned Marshall. “But that don’t mean I’m goin’ to give three cheers for Clell Danert. Bart is right when he says----”

“Dad, are you going to be a ---- fool?”

“Excuse me.” Marshall got to his feet. “It’s kinda hard to keep neutral. Mebbe Jess is right, Bart--I dunno. But there’s one thing I do know--” Marshall placed one hand on Jess’ shoulder and looked down at the table, speaking softly--“I know it hurt like ---- to have Peace Parker walk past us thataway.”

Jess looked at her father. He had sworn by Peace Parker. His hard old face was curiously twisted now. Jess looked at Bart Farley, who had been Peace Parker’s bunkie. Farley did not look at her as he rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin and said softly--

“As if he thought that bein’ in the pen made any difference.”

Jess put her hand on his arm, and he looked straight into her eyes.

“Jess, I don’t reckon that Gawd A’mighty himself could convince me that Peace Parker was a thief.”

Jess did not speak, but turned away as her father went over to the counter to pay for their meals.

Peace Parker did not ignore the Marshalls and Farley because he did not want to speak to them, but he felt that they might speak to him out of sympathy and old friendship, masking their true feelings against him.

After the warning from the waitress he knew that if he talked with them it would mean a bullet in the back. He sauntered up the street to the front of the Diamond Flush saloon. Looking back he could see Perez and Sinks leave the restaurant, but they went in the opposite direction. Their work was done.

Peace concluded that they knew Marshall was leaving Tarp City immediately and would have no further chance to meet him again that day. As he started into the saloon a familiar figure, wearing a faded green derby hat, met him at the door. For a moment they stared at each other, and Jefferson Crane tried to smile, but only succeeded in twisting his face into a painful contortion.

“Huh--howdy, Peace River,” he stammered, holding out his hand.

Peace looked him over carefully. Jefferson Crane had ruined his life--branded him a thief, caused him to be placed behind prison walls for five years, cheated him out of the happiness with the girl he loved--and now he wanted to shake hands. Jefferson Crane swallowed hard and wished himself many miles away from that spot. Finally Peace spoke:

“Crane, I ain’t goin’ to curse and swear at yuh and I ain’t goin’ to shake hands. Yo’re a pizen little sidewinder, Crane.” Peace pointed at the gun in Crane’s holster. “You’ve got a gun right handy, and you’ve got a rep for bein’ sudden with it.”

Peace smiled softly and hooked his thumbs over his belt.

“Crane, I reckon I’m goin’ to kill you right away.”

“No!” breathed Crane. “No! Peace River, you can’t----”

“I ain’t got nothin’ to lose,” interrupted Peace. “You put a brand on me, Crane--the brand of a convict. ---- knows it’s a hard brand to change. You lied before a judge; but yuh won’t lie before the one I’m goin’ to send yuh to. No, yuh won’t lie to Him.”

Crane’s hands opened and shut spasmodically and his eyes flashed sidewise, like the eyes of a trapped animal. He was cold-blooded, hard as flint, but he knew Peace River was going to kill him.

His gun-hand was nerveless and his stomach was nauseated, as his mind flashed back to the day when Peace River had dared him to draw and then downed him before his gun left its holster. Crane wet his lips.

“Peace, they’ll hang yuh,” he whispered thickly. “Think of it, Peace.”

“You dirty little coward,” said Peace coldly. “It won’t hurt yuh--much. I’ll try not to cripple yuh, Crane. Put up a fight and it won’t hurt yuh as much as though you stood and took it.”

“----!” Crane’s face contorted with agony as he looked at Peace. “Gimme a chance, Peace--gimme a chance. Yuh can’t shoot a man down like that. It--ain’t--human.”

Crane’s nerve was broken, and he whimpered like a child. Peace laughed aloud, and Crane shrank back; but instead of drawing his gun, Peace’s arm flashed out and he caught Crane by the collar. Crane’s knees buckled under him, but Peace yanked him up. For a moment he glared into Crane’s frightened eyes; then he removed the faded green derby and proceeded to smash it to shreds over Crane’s head.

The job was very thorough. Crane staggered into the wall, covering his head with his arms, but Peace jerked them down and only quit when his hand held nothing but a wisp of the old hat-brim. Peace threw this aside and stepped to the saloon door, where men were crowding out to see what was causing the noise. Crane, white-faced, stared at Peace, his lips moving as though talking to himself.

“That was the only way to ever make yuh get a new hat,” explained Peace.

The crowd laughed nervously, wondering why Crane did not resist Peace’s act. Crane stared at Peace, amazed. His gaze shifted to the crowd, and he swallowed painfully. Then without a backward glance, he half-ran, half-staggered down the street.

“Thank ----!” said a man piously. “I’ve hated the sight of that old hat.”

Peace smiled and walked on up the street. He had fully intended to kill Crane--the smashing of the hat was an afterthought. Crane’s whining cowardice had saved him, but from now on he would be a marked man.

He had shielded his face with his hands, while a man beat him over the head with his own hat--had made no move toward the gun at his hip, and went away like a whipped puppy.

Clell Danert had seen everything that happened from where he stood just inside a store across the street, and he grinned joyfully, as he went outside and followed Peace to the upper end of town. Danert felt that he had a good argument to put up to Peace regarding the sheep--an argument which would help, in case Peace suspected Crane.

He crossed the street and caught up with Peace. Danert was in a jovial mood and did not seem to harbor any ill feelings for what had happened the night before.

“I saw you having a run-in with Jefferson Crane,” smiled Danert.

“Yeah?” Peace River seemed indifferent.

“Peculiar character, that man Crane. You didn’t mention anything about sheep, did you?”

Peace shook his head.

“No, we didn’t talk about sheep--” and then as an afterthought--“Crane still have a ranch in Chinook Valley?”

Danert smiled, but evaded the question by saying:

“I’m glad you did not mention sheep to him. You know how the cattlemen feel about sheep?”

“Yeah, I know. I understand that Perez and Gus Sinks are still working for Crane.”

“Yes,” replied Danert, and immediately wondered why Peace grinned so widely. He had a sudden suspicion that Peace had a deep reason for that question; so he said quickly:

“I’m not sure of that either. Come to think of it, I remember hearing that they left Crane some time ago.”

“This here country,” said Peace softly, “ain’t rid of all its liars yet, Danert.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Danert nettled.

“I mean that you’re a liar, Danert.”

Peace did not raise his voice above a low conversational tone, and he smiled as he spoke.

“Why should I lie?” Danert’s voice carried no resentment.

“Mebbe Crane told yuh to.”

“Crane! For Heaven’s sake, why would Crane ask me to lie?”

“I dunno.” Peace shook his head slowly. “I dunno, but I think I’m goin’ to find out pretty soon.”

Danert reflected. He knew what the trouble was between Crane and Peace, and he was afraid that Peace already knew too much about the sheep. A word of warning in Tarp City and they would never be able to invade Chinook Valley with their bands of sheep.

Danert knew there was no use antagonizing Peace, and he also knew that diplomacy was apt to fail. Peace must be appeased at any cost; so Danert grew confidential.

“I want you to understand that Crane is no friend of mine. He’d love to block that sheep deal, and he will do it if he suspicions us for a moment.”

“Yeah?” Peace was skeptical. He studied Danert for a moment and then--

“Who owns the sheep?”

Danert smiled and shook his head.

“I can’t tell you; if I could you’d be surprized.”

“Yeah?”

Danert knitted his brows as if deep in thought.

“Peace, I think perhaps I had better tell you, after all. I know that you are Peace River Parker.”

If Danert expected Peace to be surprized over the statement he was disappointed, because Peace merely nodded seriously.

“And you know Chinook Valley,” added Danert after a pause. “The price of hides and beef has dropped since you lived here, and there is little profit in the business. In fact the cattle business is no longer a paying proposition. Now, suppose a big cattleman had foresight enough to see that wool is going to be a money maker.”

“Somebody in Chinook Valley?” queried Peace.

Danert nodded slowly, and said--

“The biggest cattle raiser.”

“Cross L Marshall?”

Danert started to speak, but a man walked in behind them and they both turned. It was the sheriff, who had been in the restaurant when Peace and the stage-driver had battled with their guns. Danert spoke to him and turned to face Peace.

“See you later, old man.”

Peace nodded and turned back to the sheriff.

“Sent the driver to Fossilshell today,” volunteered the sheriff. “He was kinda bad off, and we ain’t got much of a surgeon around here.”

“Shucks! I’m sorry he acted thataway, sheriff.”

“I ain’t blamin’ you for the shootin’. He got what was comin’ to him. What I want to talk to you about is the reasons for it. He tells me that you stole his stage and kicked him off half-way between Fossilshell and Sandy Fork. He got a horse from a ranch and came on.”

“He ain’t no liar,” smiled Peace. “I just about done that. He was drivin’ his team with rocks and almost knocked an ear off one of his leaders. He ain’t fit to drive a nail, sheriff.”

The sheriff nodded.

“I reckoned there was a good excuse. Too danged bad we shipped him out. Yo’re a stranger, ain’t yuh?”

“Name’s Peace River Parker.”

“Peace River? You the feller that--” the sheriff hesitated.

“And that’s whatever,” agreed Peace.

The sheriff studied Peace. His term of office began long after Peace had left the country, and he only knew Peace from hearsay.

“Goin’ to work around here, Parker?”

“Mebbe,” softly.

“Well, I reckon yuh can take care of yoreself,” drawled the sheriff appraisingly. “I ain’t preachin’, yuh understand; but--I’m tryin’ to stop folks from throwin’ lead around here.”

Peace glanced behind him and saw Jud Evers standing looking in a window. He was only a few feet away, apparently interested in what was going on inside the building; but Peace knew that his ears were tuned to catch every word that was said between himself and the sheriff. Peace turned to the sheriff and said--

“You know Jeff Crane?”

“Y-e-s, I know him. Owns the Double Circle ranch down on Sandy Fork--did own it, rather. Just sold it.”

“Ain’t he runnin’ cows in Chinook Valley no more?”

“No-o-o, not for a long time. Heard that he had a run-in with Cross L Marshall and sold out.”

“That so?” Peace was interested. “Ain’t no money in cows nowdays, anyway, is there?”

“There ain’t? Buyers in here most every day, Parker. Meat and hides are worth more right on the range now than they used to be laid down in the eastern markets. No money! Man, them Chinook cattlemen are gettin’ rich as----”

“Cross L Marshall sellin’ a lot of stock nowdays?”

“I dunno, Parker. I know he drove two thousand head of feeders through the pass a week ago and added ’em to his range. Bought ’em from the TF outfit. That Chinook is one hy-iu range, y’betcha. I seen Marshall a while ago--him and his daughter. Hear she’s goin’ to marry Clell Danert pretty soon.”

“Is that so?” asked Peace softly. “What is Danert’s business?”

“He punched cows for Crane for a while and then for Marshall, but I hear he’s buyin’ stock for some Chicago outfit now.”

“Any sheep botherin’ around here?”

“No-o-o, not much. The Sun Prairie country is sheeped out. Lots of woolies have been shipped out of here lately, and a big bunch are waitin’ for trains. I’m ---- glad to see ’em go.”

“I’ve just been wonderin’,” said Peace, “is there any law that keeps sheep off the range which ain’t actually owned by cattlemen?”

“That is somethin’ for the undertaker to handle--not the law. Pers’nally, that ain’t in my jurisdiction, and if it was I’d be there too late to arrest any one.”

Peace grinned and nodded.

“Yeah, I reckon yo’re right, sheriff. I just wondered, that’s all. Too bad about that stage-driver.”

“Like ---- it was!” snorted the sheriff. He nodded and went on down the street.

Peace watched him for a moment. He knew the sheriff had not lied to him, and he knew that Jefferson Crane was the man behind the sheep deal. Danert was a party to the deal, and Danert was going to marry Jess Marshall. He was the cat’s-paw. Holman had innocently hired him, and Crane was more than willing to let him go ahead and drive the sheep-wedge into Chinook.

Peace knew there were just three things left for him to do--obey orders, escape from town or fight. He thought of going straight to Pasiooks and warning the cattlemen, but it was almost a certainty that some of Crane’s men would be on the watch for just such a move and ambush him. No, it would be suicide to try to move. He knew that there were at least four of Crane’s men in town, not including Danert.

He turned slowly and saw Rance Wylie cross the street near him and join Evers in earnest conversation. Evers and Wylie were the two cowboys he had crippled in the fight at Crane’s ranch five years ago, and he knew that they were dangerous. With Perez and Sinks, both gunmen, it made the odds badly against him.

The fact that Jess Marshall intended to marry Danert did not seem to annoy him, for the simple reason that he couldn’t believe it. He did not hate Danert for this, but he did detest him for what he was doing against her father. The old saying that all is fair in love or war did not connect with Peace Parker’s philosophy of life.

He would neither love nor fight unfair, because he did not believe in anything except a square deal. If Jess Marshall wanted to marry Danert--all well and good; but he was going to see that Danert won her fair--if they didn’t kill him off before he got the chance. It was plain to see that the Chinook Valley cattlemen were going to have trouble.

Sheep travel slowly at night, especially in large bands. The small band could get well into the valley by morning. This would be discovered and cause much excitement. While they were rounding up this bunch the valley entrance to the pass would be spewing its woolly horde uninterrupted. Once inside and scattered it would be more than the cattlemen could handle, especially as there would be well-armed men with them.

This would end in the courts, which, according to law, would give the sheep man an equal right with the cattlemen. The only hope for Chinook Valley would be to stop them in the pass.

Peace’s impulse was to seek out Crane and Danert. He went up the street in the direction taken by Danert, but he was nowhere in evidence.

Gus Sinks and Jud Evers were drinking at the bar, Perez was in a poker game and Rance Wylie was apparently half-asleep, tilted back against the wall in a chair.

“Four to one,” mused Peace. “They’ll kill me and the sheep game goes merrily on. I reckon I’m the poor guesser. They’ve kinda got a tail-holt on yuh, Peace Parker.”

He turned and walked slowly down the street, watching behind him. Wylie and Evers came out of the saloon and sauntered down the sidewalk behind him. Sinks came out a moment later, but crossed the street and walked slowly down the other side.

“Kinda taggin’ me around,” mused Peace to himself. “Goin’ to see that I don’t open my heart to anybody. Mebbe them jaspers think that five years of rock-bustin’ has ruined my gun-hand.”

Peace had approached the corner of a general store, and as he turned, the door opened and Jess Marshall and Clell Danert stepped out. Peace dropped his head and quickened his pace, as if to walk past them; but Jess caught him by the sleeve and he looked straight into her face.

“Peace Parker, won’t you speak to me?” she asked wistfully.

Peace blinked his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I--uh--Jess, I didn’t reckon yuh--uh----”

“I didn’t think you would turn down an old friend, Peace.”

Peace had not expected this and it shackled his tongue for a moment. Danert seemed uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want to turn yuh down,” said Peace softly. “I thought that mebbe--after what happened----”

“That is only the past, Peace,” softly, “and the past is all forgotten as far as I am concerned. I feel that it was all a terrible mistake, and--won’t you come to see us? Come out to the old ranch, Peace. I know dad and Bart would be mighty glad to see you again.”

Peace turned away and glanced across the street. Evers was standing on the sidewalk, looking across at them. Just beyond them, Perez and Wylie had stopped and were looking in a window.

Peace turned back to Jess:

“That’s a’mighty nice of yuh, Jess--that is. I’d sure like to talk with ’em again. I hear that yore dad is goin’ in for sheep.”

“Sheep?” Jess’ brown eyes snapped wide in amazement. “Where on earth did you ever hear such a thing, Peace?”

Peace shifted his eyes to Danert, whose face had flamed scarlet and then turned gray with anger. He knew that Parker was ruining their scheme, and he had no way to stop him.

“I heard he was,” said Peace slowly. “Seems a shame to sheep out old Chinook.”

Jess glanced at Danert and back to Peace.

“Why, Peace--such a thing is ridiculous. I don’t understand why----”

“It is foolish to talk of such a thing,” said Danert. There was a world of meaning in his words and Peace understood.

“Is yore dad in town, Jess?” asked Peace.

“No. Dad and Bart went home a little while ago.”

“I think we had better be going, Jess,” stated Danert impatiently.

Peace smiled at Danert’s eagerness to get away from him, and said to Jess--

“Where’s yore horse?”

She pointed down the street, where two horses were tied to a hitch-rack.

“Down there. Mr. Danert is going to ride home with me.”

“Yeah?” Peace smiled widely. He knew that this was his one chance to spoil the sheep deal--the only one. It was a long shot--four-to-one, to be exact; but Peace Parker liked odds, and he was banking on Jess Marshall’s ability to grasp the situation.

Danert started to walk on, but Peace stepped in front of him.

“Danert, you ain’t goin’ for no ride--” and then to Jess, without turning his head--“Get yore horse and circle west to hit the road, Jess, and ride like ----. I’ll foller yuh if I can. Tell yore dad that a herd of sheep is comin’ into Chinook tonight, and----”

Danert lunged forward like a bull, crashing into Peace and they both floundered off the sidewalk, locked in each other’s arms.

Danert twisted himself on top and tried to get loose, but Peace hugged him tight and yelled to Jess--

“For ----’s sake, get goin’, can’tcha?”

Then with superhuman effort, Peace twisted from under Danert, and came up with him in his arms. Jess ran down the street towards the horses, while Peace, with the cursing Danert in his arms, staggered to the middle of the street, keeping Danert between himself and Wylie and Evers, who had come running at the first signs of trouble.

“Stop her!” yelled Danert. “She----”

Peace tightened his elbow and Danert’s vocal cords were too cramped to function properly.

Jess had got on her horse by this time, and was just swinging around the corner when Wylie seemed to grasp the purport of Danert’s words.

He whirled and raced for the hitch-rack, calling to Perez, who was running down the other side of the street. Perez ran out to him and they both ran for the rack, where their saddle-horses were tied.

Evers seemed undecided what to do as he did not understand what had happened, but when he saw Wylie and Perez mounting hurriedly, he started for the other horse at the rack, where Jess Marshall’s horse had been.

Danert had been kicking and cursing and trying to get his gun, but now Peace, when the danger from the others had passed, whirled and crashed Danert against the side of the building, releasing him at the same time. Danert dropped, stunned, to his hands and knees. Peace tore the gun loose from Danert’s holster and ran down the sidewalk toward Evers, who was having trouble mounting.

He managed to swing into the saddle, but the half-broke bronc whirled against the hitch-rack. Evers saw Peace coming and whipped out his gun, but Peace’s gun spat once and Evers’ right arm crumpled at the elbow; his gun discharging from the jerk of tearing muscles.

The horse reared wildly, but Peace caught it by the head-stall and eased Evers out of the saddle, letting him fall to his knees beside the rack-post. The horse tried to tear away from Peace, but he grasped the saddle-horn, cramped the animal’s head against its shoulder and swung into the saddle.

Danert had got to his feet and was trying to run after him, but his feet did not seem to track well. Men were running to see what was going on, and Peace heard the sheriff yell at him from across the street, demanding that he stop.

Peace swung the horse toward the narrow board sidewalk, and the animal jumped it like a born hunter. Straight down a narrow alley dashed the horse, swinging in behind a blacksmith-shop, where a blacksmith was setting a tire on a wagon-wheel.

Peace caught a flash of the blacksmith dodging sidewise, waving a heavy pair of tongs, as they vaulted the tire-rack, and then swinging clear of buildings he circled away from town to strike the road which led to Poncho Pass.

Peace stood straight in his stirrups and thrilled at the feel of a good horse under him. It had been over five years since he rode a horse, and this was a real horse. It was Danert’s, and Danert was as proud of a good horse as he was of his personal appearance. The animal was only half-broke, anxious to run, and Peace did not check it.

He thundered around curves, where brush blocked his vision, riding with Danert’s gun swinging in his hand, and Danert’s other gun in his holster. Suddenly he noticed that there was a Winchester swinging in a scabbard under his right leg, and he laughed with joy. It was likely filled with cartridges--six, to be exact--but six would be enough.

Peace knew that Perez and Wylie were going to capture Jess if possible, and there was a strong possibility that they would strike the pass ahead of her, as she had to make a wide circle to get to the road.

His only hope was to overtake her before she reached them, because he knew they would hesitate at nothing to stop her from reaching home. If she reached the pass ahead of them they would lose, because Jess was a good rider and the Cross L horses were no common stock.

Now the road twisted and turned, climbing higher and higher. To the right the mountain broke sheer for a hundred feet, boulder and brush at the bottom of the gorge. The upper side was dense with mesquite and sage.

The horse began to show signs of slowing up. Peace spurred it to further efforts. The grade was only wide enough for one wagon, with turn-outs at irregular intervals. Peace swung himself sidewise on the turns, watching ahead.

Suddenly he whirled around a curve, and saw three horses about a hundred yards ahead of him. Perez and Wylie had got to the pass ahead of Jess and had captured her.

Peace threw his horse back on its haunches, but before he could make any other move Perez fired with a rifle. Peace felt the impact of the bullet as it struck the horse, but before he could swing out of the saddle, the horse pitched sidewise and went over the grade with him.

Luckily the horse struck flat on the steep side of the bank, throwing Peace free of the saddle; otherwise he would have been crushed, as the horse rolled over and over to the bottom of the ravine. Peace struck on his side in the brush, out of sight of Perez and Wylie and slid to the bottom, where he lay in a doubled heap.

It would seem impossible for a man to fall off that grade with a horse and not be killed, as the first sixty feet was almost sheer drop. Whether from the bullet or not, the horse was stone dead when it reached the bottom.

Peace did not move for some little time, and then it was only to open his eyes and look up at the sky. He did not know how badly he was hurt, but he was leaving that to be determined when there was no longer danger from the men up on the grade.

Suddenly he heard several shots fired. The reports echoed in the hills, making it difficult to tell just where they came from, but Peace felt sure they were fired from above him on the grade. He did not hear the bullets, which seemed to imply that some one else had mixed into the game. He knew that there was nothing he could do for Jess Marshall--at least not right away.

They would probably hold her a prisoner until tomorrow--but would they? Chinook Valley would rise _en masse_ and treat the kidnapers to a sample of swift justice. Jess would know the men who stopped her, and that knowledge would be fatal to Perez and Wylie.

Peace knew that Crane and Danert would stop at nothing to accomplish their ends. They were determined to put their sheep into Chinook Valley, and they would not let Jess Marshall stand in their way.

It was very likely that Jess knew and recognized Perez and Wylie; but they were merely hired gunmen, who would take their pay for the deed and escape from the country. Crane and Danert would not show in this--at least Crane would not. If Peace were killed, and Perez and Wylie out of reach, it would be hard to prove anything.

Peace knew that Crane was foxy, and that he would have some plan formed to throw the blame on others. Their one aim was to get the sheep into the valley. Twenty thousand sheep represented a big sum of money. If Jess Marshall had escaped them, they might as well let the coyotes and buzzards have their herds. They were taking a desperate chance in kidnaping Jess; but it was their only alternative.

Peace drew himself together and began to analyze his different bruises and strains. He was cut in several places and his whole body seemed one mass of bruises, but there were no bones broken. His revolvers had been lost in the fall and were nowhere in evidence. He dragged himself to where the horse was lying, intending to get the rifle, but found it minus a stock and with the barrel bent. The saddle was broken and torn--a useless hull. The rope was still intact, and might be of assistance in getting back to the road.

He sat down and rolled a cigaret, while he tried to plan some action. He might try to go on into Pasiooks but it was almost a certainty that some one was guarding against just such a thing. No, his move would be to get back to Tarp City as fast as possible. He worked his way into the open, taking a chance to expose himself; but no one shot at him.

He worked on up the cañon for a distance, and then began his climb. A narrow hogback afforded him a precarious footing; but he was able to climb up to within about forty feet of the level of the grade.

He rested a while. Above him, at the edge of the grade, was the stub of a jackpine. It was a long cast, almost straight up. Peace managed to brace his feet sufficiently to make a cast with his rope. He had been a good roper five years before; but his arm and eye had lost their cunning. Cast after cast he made, swinging the loop almost straight up, only to have it fall back. Finally it caught and held.

Even with the aid of the rope it was a hard climb. He sprawled beside the road for a while, his bruised body protesting against such efforts. His hands were cut--his clothes torn; but he grinned as he rolled a smoke.

He was near a curve in the road. The sun was still about an hour high and Peace estimated that it must be about four o’clock. Finally he got to his feet and began limping down the road toward Tarp City.

As he made the first turn in the road he almost stumbled over the body of a man, lying face down in the middle of the road. Near the man stood a saddled horse, its feet tangled in the bridle-reins. Peace stopped and glanced quickly around. No one else was in sight. He knelt down beside the man and turned him over.

It was the sheriff--stone dead. Peace examined him quickly. He had been shot twice. Peace straightened up and looked around. He knew instinctively what had happened. The sheriff had followed him, had run into Perez and Wylie with Jess, and one of the men had killed him. Those were the shots he had heard.