Chapter VIII

It was fairly late in the afternoon when Slim and Bill found the spot where old Rory McPherson had been shot. The sheriff and posse had been there judging from the horse-tracks in the dusty road. Both men were almost exhausted from holding the dogs in their arms.

They dismounted and let the dogs sniff at Della’s old apron. Quickly they circled, nosing in the dust, while both men held a leash tightly. After a moment they worked off the side of the road, whining softly.

“The trail was just about ten feet long,” said Slim sadly, as the dogs converged and began circling again.

“She got off her horse, walked this far and got on again,” declared Bill. “But it looks like she went east. My ---- that’s an awful country to hunt anybody in.”

“But she can’t ride a horse very far into the Wild Horses,” observed Slim hopefully. “She’ll either walk or be carried by somethin’ besides a horse. What’ll we do, Bill?”

“Pack these ---- dogs as far as we can ride and then let ’em hunt for tracks. It’s goin’ to be dark before we can get very far and it looks like a storm.”

Thunder-heads were piling up back of the Wild Horses, but were yet too far away for the two cowpunchers to estimate the path of the storm. They picked up their dogs and rode straight toward the mountains.

“I’ve been up in them mountains in a storm,” said Bill, as he squinted narrowly at the clouds. “There’s a lot of mineral in them cliffs--iron, I reckon--and the way that old lightnin’ can splatter around up there is a caution to cats.”

“You’ve been up there?” queried Slim wonderingly.

Bill Smith bit his lip and shifted the weight of his dog. He had forgotten that Bill Smith was a stranger to that country. He glanced at Slim who was looking straight at him.

“On the other side of the range, Slim,” he said. “They’re the same on both sides.”

“Oh, yeah!”

Slim nodded, but Bill knew that the explanation had not been satisfactory. Several times during that ride toward the mountains, Bill noticed that Slim looked curiously at him.

It was almost dark when they reached the foot of the cliffs, where the mass of slide-rock precluded any further riding on horseback. They dismounted and tied the horses in a jack-pine thicket where they would be protected from rain and wind.

“It’s a ---- of a hopeless proposition,” observed Bill sadly. “All we can do is to skirt the slides and hope to ---- that these million-dollar hounds will pick up a scent. If it rains hard they won’t be no good to us, ’cause rain will wash out the scent.”

“Miles and miles of it, too,” said Slim hopelessly. “Mebbe we better give it up as a bad job, Bill.”

Bill squinted at the sky which was already overcast. A rumble of thunder came to their ears, but from a great distance. Bill turned and held out his hand to Slim as he said:

“Give me your dog, Slim. You stay here with the horses and wait for me to come back.”

“You aim to go it alone, Bill?” asked Slim.

“Sure.”

“Uh-huh.” Slim scratched the back of his head and spat reflectively. “You know this girl, Bill?”

“I’ve seen her. Why do yuh ask that, Slim?”

“Well,” Slim shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “You ain’t stuck on her, are yuh, Bill?”

“Mebbe,” Bill smiled softly.

“Me, too,” nodded Slim. “I’ve knowed her a long time, Bill. I reckon I’ve--but yuh see, she’s still stuck on Tex Rowland. We ain’t got a ghost of a chance--we ain’t. Yo’re a good lookin’ sort of a jigger, Bill; but that won’t help yuh none.”

Bill laughed softly and slapped Slim on the back.

“We won’t cut in on Tex Rowland, will we?” queried Slim. “I want her and you want her, but we’ll give Tex a square deal, won’t we, Bill?”

Bill Smith’s eyes softened as he looked into Slim’s honest face. Slim had confessed his love for Della Marsh, but was willing to stand aside for a man he believed to be hiding away from the law; a man he had helped send to prison.

“I just told yuh that so yuh’d know how I stood, Bill,” said Slim slowly.

“All right, pardner,” agreed Bill. “You’re a square-shooter and I’m with yuh. Now, let’s go and find her.”

They gave the hounds another scent of the calico apron before they started off across the slide-rock, traveling north. It was hard going. The light grew more dim each minute and the high walls of the cliffs were like inky towers, reaching into the sky.

The wind whipped into a gale, but as yet there was no rain. It screamed around the cliffs, and the night blotted out the landscape until neither of them was able to see the dogs which clambered over the rocks a few feet ahead of them, still pulling hard on their leash.

High-heeled boots are hardly the proper foot-gear for rocky traveling, even in daylight, and both men were almost exhausted after a mile of slipping and sliding. The storm was nearer now, but the lightning glare was broken by the high cliffs which threw them in the dense shadow.

Then Slim bumped into Bill and grasped him by the arm. They halted together, shielding their faces from the drift of rain which had just blown in. Another glare of lightning lighted up the world beyond them; a glare that held long enough for Bill to see why Slim had stopped him.

Just beyond them, and not over a hundred yards away, was a man on a pinto horse riding parallel with them. They could see him humped in his saddle, forcing the horse against the storm.

The flash faded, leaving them staring into inky blackness. For several moments they stood still, waiting for the next flash which showed the rider still going ahead. The thunder roared like the discharge of a mighty cannon and the rocks jarred heavily.

The two cowpunchers started on; but now they swung to the left and got out of the slide-rock where the traveling was better, but where the force of the storm almost blew them off their feet.

It was impossible to converse except by shouting into each other’s ears. The lightning did not show them the rider now, but they knew he must be still ahead of them; so they put down their heads and staggered on. It was raining harder now and they were getting drenched.

Through a jack-pine thicket they forced their way, skirting the slide-rock, stumbling over rocks, tearing their clothes on the branches of down-timber. Suddenly another flash of lightning sent its blinding glare down across the slopes, and both men stopped short. Just a few feet away stood the pinto, its rump turned toward the wind and rain, its head hanging down.

There was no sign of the rider. Bill and Slim moved close together, edging their way over to the pinto, which stood stock-still and let them make an examination.

“Tied to a snag!” Bill yelled his information into Slim’s ear. “Swing to the right! He must ’a’ gone toward the cliffs.”

They left the pinto and headed back into the land of slide-rock. The lightning gave them intermittent illumination, but between flashes the world was a vast, inky void. The rocks sloped upward, slippery with rain; but the two men and the dogs managed to make a certain progress, however painful.

They halted against the side of the protecting cliffs out of the force of the wind and tried to take stock of their surroundings. They were able to carry on a conversation here. The cliffs still jarred from the thunder, but the storm was working its way down the slopes into Antelope.

“Who in ---- was on that pinto?” queried Slim.

“I dunno,” said Bill pantingly, “but I’ll bet he ain’t up here for his health. The question is: Where did he go? It’s a cinch he didn’t go down-hill. Let’s pesticate along here, Slim.”

“All right. I’ll betcha these here dogs won’t be worth no thousand dollars when we get through with ’em. I’ve stepped on mine seven times.”

“They’re sure as ---- a patient animal,” laughed Bill. “If I ever want a dog that don’t care what happens to ’em, I’ll get me a bloodhound. C’m’on.”

Slowly they worked their way along the side of the cliff. It was difficult traveling, because they could not tell when a mis-step might drop them off into a fissure or on to a lower level. At times they were against the wall of rock, and at another they were forced to move away to circle an obstruction.

They had traveled possibly fifty yards and were working their way around a shelf of rock, when Slim’s voice arose in anger:

“C’m’on, you danged flop-eared mongrel! Where do yuh think yo’re goin’, anyway?”

“What’s the matter with him?” yelled Bill, who was slightly in the lead.

“Anchored, b’gosh! Whoa, you darned fool!”

The dog was pulling back on the leash and Slim almost fell down in turning around on a slippery rock. Bill came back and they went up to the dog. The other hound whined and managed to tangle the leash around Bill’s legs in its eagerness to get in on the situation.

“My dog’s hit a trail!” exclaimed Slim. “C’m’on, Bill!”

Bill untangled the leash and the hound immediately shot in past Slim.

“I wish t’ gosh I could see somethin’,” complained Slim. “I can feel this darned dog, but I can’t see him. I tell yuh he’s got a trail.”

“Mine’s got the fever, too!” exclaimed Bill. “Go to it, pup!”

Slowly they worked their way into what seemed to be a narrow passageway into the cliffs. At times they could feel the right-hand walls and again they would collide with those on the left side.

The dogs swung to the right for a distance and then to the left. The thunder had almost died away in the distance now and there was little sound, except the gurgle of running water off the rocks and the scrape of their boots, as they wended their way into a place where neither of them had ever been.

“It’s gettin’ wider out here,” said Slim, as they halted for a few moments. “I can feel it, Bill. That must ’a’ been a narrow gorge through there, don’tcha think?”

“Sure felt like it. Is your dog doin’ any pullin’ now?”

“Not so much. He sure was smellin’ somethin’ though. This must ’a’ been where the pinto rider came through. I’ll be danged if I like this idea of runnin’ blind in this place. Yuh never can tell what you’ll fall into. Didja ever see such a storm in your life? Honest to gosh, I got scared of that lightnin’.”

It was dark and dismal in there now, and a cold wind began to blow through their wet clothes. Both of the hounds were casting about, trying to locate a trail which had probably been washed out in the downpour of rain.

“We hit that trail where it was protected from the rain,” said Bill thoughtfully. “Now we’ve got to go by guess and by gosh.”

“Looks like it,” agreed Slim wearily, sloshing in his wet boots. “I don’t mind goin’, if I’ve got somewhere to go.”

* * * * *

They were staring into the black world ahead of them when suddenly there appeared a tiny light. It was impossible for them to tell what it was or how far it was away.

“Now that beats ----!” muttered Slim. “Looks like a light in a house; but there ain’t----!”

“It went out for a moment,” interrupted Bill. “There, it’s on again. It’s a light in a house, Slim; and somebody walked between the light and us.”

“But what house?” complained Slim. “There ain’t no house up here.”

“There she goes!” grunted Bill.

“By gosh, it is a house!” exploded Slim. “They done pulled down the curtain.”

“It’s a house all right,” muttered Bill. “I think they put out the light instead of pullin’ down a curtain. Let’s see if we can find a place to hang up for the night. I’ve got a idea that said house wouldn’t be a-tall friendly to us, Slim. It’s in a place where honest men wouldn’t pick for a home; and the best thing we can do is to wait until mornin’ before doin’ a lot of investigatin’. I reckon it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“You sure handled my idea to a gnat’s whisker,” agreed Slim. “But I dunno where we’ll find a bood-wah in these rocks. My gosh, this country sure has been laundered to the queen’s taste.”

They moved slowly on, feeling their way along, but working their way to the right of where they had seen the lighted window. Suddenly Slim gave a grunt of satisfaction.

“Found a place,” he said. “Bumped my head on it, too. Feels kinda dry.”

A closer investigation disclosed the fact that Slim had found a spot where an overhanging cliff had protected a few square feet of ground in an angle of the rocks. It was not an ideal place to spend the night, but it was dry and offered refuge from the wind, which blew cold from the tops of the Wild Horse range.

The hounds curled up in the corner, while the two cowpunchers sat close together, denying themselves a cigaret, and waited for morning. They were tired, wet and hungry, but neither complained.

“We’ll prob’ly warm up in the mornin’,” said Bill meaningly, as they humped dismally against the rock.

“Not me,” replied Slim. “I may get excited as ----, but I’ll never get warm ag’in. This is what you’d call a damp-cold. I’m sure goin’ to kick ---- out of these million-dollar dogs if they just led us in here to get out of the wet.”

It was a long night. The wind grew colder and an occasional flurry of rain whipped into their shelter. Neither of them were able to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. A wild-cat almost ran into them, squalling with anger and alarm as it sprang away from the sudden scent of human beings and dogs. Down the wind came the wailing of a coyote pack, baffled in their nightly hunt by the extreme darkness.

Daylight came slowly and the morning mists of the cañon lifted like steam from a giant boiler. They tied the dogs to a fallen tree and began working their way up the cañon. The mist was so heavy that they were unable to see any distance, but it was much easier traveling than it had been in the dark.

Through rifts in the mist they could see the cliffs ahead of them. There was much down-timber, laurel and jack-pines, which impeded their progress. Then, through a pocket in the mist, Bill Smith caught a glimpse of the cabin.

It was situated in an angle of the cliffs across the cañon from them, about fifty feet higher than they were standing. It was only a glimpse, but it gave him the exact location and a fair idea of how to reach there.

“We’ll have to hurry,” he told Slim. “This fog won’t last much longer and there’s nothin’ but rocks for cover between here and there.”

“Got to get within six-gun range, that’s a cinch,” panted Slim. “You lead the way, Willyum.”

Across the slippery rocks they made their way, working to the right of the cabin with the intention of approaching it from the rear. They reached the cliffs and began working around to the left. The mists from the lower cañon were rising up past them now and they were unable to see anything.

Suddenly Bill stopped. Just in front of him was the corner of the cabin; so close, in fact, that he had almost bumped his head on one of the projecting logs. Slim moved in beside him and they silently studied their next move.

“We’ll try the rear,” whispered Bill softly. “Go easy and keep your gun handy.”

Slowly they worked their way between the cliff and the cabin, which were so close together that there was barely room for a person to walk. There they found a door, located just beyond the center of the cabin, which seemed to be about thirty feet in length.

For several moments they listened closely at the door, but there was no sound from within. Bill pushed softly against the door and it creaked open.

From within came the odors of cooked food and the smell of wood-smoke, but no one challenged their right to open the door. Cautiously they peered inside.

It was a two-room cabin, rudely furnished. They stepped softly inside, their guns handy. Across the room was a double-decked bunk, built into the corner of the wall. There was a crudely built table and a low stool. The flooring of the cabin was of packed earth--uneven and unclean.

The opening between the two rooms was a sawed-out space, about five feet by three feet, without either door or curtain. In the other room they found another double-decked bunk, a fireplace, table and two rough benches. The dirt roof of the cabin was not water-proof, judging from the little pools of water in the low places of the dirt floor.

A once-gaudy blanket hung over the edge of the upper bunk, and a tumbled mass of old blankets in the lower bunk attested to the fact that some one had spent the night there. The room was warm, although the fire had been put out. Evidently some one had thrown a bucketful of water into the fireplace.

There was a front door, roughly made of hand-hewn timber, and beside it was a small window aperture, _sans_ window, but with a hinged board which would lift to show a view of the cañon. There were several apertures between the logs left, no doubt, for loop-holes.

Bill peered out through one of these apertures, jerked back and whirled on Slim who was reaching for that door.

“Two men comin’!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “C’m’on!”

They darted into the other room and stopped near the door.

“How close are they?” whispered Slim.

“Right up to us,” whispered Bill softly. “Let’s take a chance.”

He stepped across the room, climbed to the upper bunk, while Slim followed him. The bunk was fairly high and by crowding against the wall they would be partly hid from any one below.

They had barely stretched out when they heard the front door open. There was no sound for several moments; then they heard a soft footstep. Some one had come to the opening between the two rooms. Then big Jim Mott’s voice said--

“Nobody around here, but they’ve been here a short time ago.”

“---- place I ever tried to get to,” complained McHague’s voice wearily. “I hope to ---- I never have to crawl over them wet rocks again. I don’t see how you ever found it, Jim.”

“Knowing where it was helped me,” laughed Big Jim.

“Well, it’s sure ---- well hid,” declared

McHague. “Don’t anybody know where it is?”

“Nobody but Pablo and his gang. I’ve been here twice. Pablo built it a year or so ago.”

“Regular rustler’s roost, eh?” grunted McHague.

“Yes. Pablo wanted a place to hole-up in. He’s afraid of the law.” Big Jim laughed.

“Well, what did you expect to find here--the girl?” asked McHague.

“Perhaps.”

He turned back toward the door and they splashed through the puddles on the floor.

Slim and Bill raised up slightly and looked at each other. Slim’s lips framed an “Oh!”, but there was no sound. McHague and Big Jim were talking softly to each other. The back door creaked very slightly and Bill lifted his head, peering with one eye.

The door had swung partly open, disclosing Pablo, a rifle gripped in both hands. Softly he slipped through the doorway with the rifle at his shoulder. He passed out of Bill’s vision, and a moment later his voice hissed softly--

“Not move--please!”

For several moments there was no sound. Then:

“Drop guns on floor,” ordered Pablo.

The front door creaked and Big Jim’s voice rasped angrily:

“The whole works, eh? Pokey Speed and Mike John.”

“---- right!” grunted Mike John’s voice.

An interval of silence, except for shuffling feet, before Pablo spoke again--

“You got all gun, Mike?”

“---- right.”

“Set down,” ordered Pablo.

“What’s all this about?” queried McHague, a note of fear in his voice. “I thought you owned this bunch of breeds, Jim.”

“No more,” said Pablo quickly, and his statement was echoed by Mike John’s--

“---- right!”

“Well, what are you going to do?” demanded Big Jim.

“You in hurry?” asked Pokey Speed in an amused voice.

“Nobody see you come,” stated Pablo. “Nobody know how to find this place. Why you come, Big Jim?”

“You know ---- well why I came,” retorted Big Jim.

Pablo laughed.

“I know why. Mike John see you pass ranch last night. He come and tell me.”

Slim and Bill exchanged glances of understanding. It was Mike John on the pinto in the lightning glare. He had come to tell Pablo that Big Jim was coming.

“He must ’a’ had a swell time,” grunted McHague dismally. “I never seen a storm like that before in my life. By ----, it just blew us off the mountain.”

“Nobody find this place,” said Pablo.

“Don’t fool yourself,” said Big Jim quickly.

“You tell?”

There was menace in Pablo’s voice.

“He lie,” declared Mike John. “He try scare you, Pablo.”

“Oh, ----!” snorted McHague. “What’s it all about, anyway?”

“I know you,” said Pablo. “You boss of prison, eh? Big Jim say you take me to prison. He say I get to ---- out of here, or I go to prison.”

“That’s right,” agreed McHague.

“---- wrong!” snorted Mike John.

“You’ll go to prison, if I ever tell on you, Pablo,” declared Big Jim warningly. Pablo laughed.

“You not tell, Big Jim.”

“---- right!” added Mike John. “You no talk now.”

“Hey! What the ----’s all this about?” McHague’s voice was filled with apprehension.

“Set down!” snapped Pablo, “I’m boss now.”

“Well, I never done nothin’ to you.”

“You never have chance.”

The three half-breeds laughed. Slim and Bill were sitting up in the bunk now, looking at each other wonderingly. They were hearing things that made them wonder.

“Where is that girl?” demanded Big Jim.

“You think I’m fool?” queried Pablo. “I work for you long time, Big Jim. I’m ’fraid of you. You tell me you send me to prison. Pablo scare at prison.”

“You bet I’ll send you to prison. You try to double-cross me and you’ll sure go up for life. You got off pretty easy when they sent Old Hump Sherrill to prison, Pablo. You know ---- well it was your work--not Hump Sherrill’s.”

Pablo did not reply. Bill Smith shut his jaw tightly and the ball of his thumb caressed the hammer of his big six-gun. Now he knew that poor Old Hump had been framed into prison.

“And it’s a wonder they didn’t get you instead of Tex Rowland,” continued Big Jim. “Tex scared you away before you could brand that RMP mare, and it just happened that Crane and Slim found him inside the corral.”

“I steal horse for you,” said Pablo accusingly. “You give me nothin’. You say all the time you send me to prison if I no do this.”

Slim swore softly and nodded at Bill Smith.

“I no go to prison,” said Pablo. “I fool you.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” demanded Big Jim.

“I know you come here,” exclaimed Pablo. “You know this place.”

Big Jim swore heartily and Pablo grunted for him to sit still.

“I steal girl,” confessed Pablo. “She your girl, Big Jim. You call me Injun snake and say you have me hung; so I get even with you now. You know I steal girl; so you come here. I know you come here.”

“---- smart!” grunted Mike John in appreciation.

“This is a ---- of a mix-up,” declared McHague. “I dunno why yuh dragged me into it, Jim. I’ve done your dirty work, too.”

“Shut up!” snapped Big Jim. “You’re still alive.”

And then to Pablo:

“How much you want, Pablo? How much money?”

“No money.”

“No money, eh? Then what do you want?”

“You wait see.”

“---- right.” Mike John laughed loudly.

“You shot old Rory McPherson,” accused Big Jim.

“You tell me sometime I shoot him,” retorted Pablo. “I no shoot him for you; I shoot him to steal girl. Him old man--die pretty soon, anyway.”

“That’s kinda cold-blooded,” observed McHague.

“You shut up,” ordered Pablo. “You go to ---- pretty soon.”

“Say, you ain’t sore at me,” wailed McHague. “I never done nothin’ to you, Pablo.”

“You bring hounds to hunt men.”

“But I wasn’t huntin’ you, Pablo. You’re Big Jim’s friend.”

“That ---- lie!” exclaimed Mike John.

“This is all foolishness,” declared Big Jim. “Pablo, you turn that girl over to us and get out of the country. If you stay here, they’ll hang you in spite of anything I can do. Don’t yuh know what it means to steal a girl?”

“Girl all right,” stated Pablo. “I no want girl. I steal her to make you come. She no get hurt.”

“But what do you want of me?” demanded Big Jim hotly.

Pablo laughed.

“You not smart man; you ---- fool. Bimeby the wolf find this cabin. Door open, nobody live here. You no send Pablo to prison, Big Jim. Pablo treat wolf. How you like that?”

Big Jim laughed, but there was no mirth. He was afraid, and the half-breeds knew it.

“You couldn’t kill me,” said Big Jim, trying to be boastful. “You’re afraid, Pablo. They’d get you pretty quick. Those hounds would trail you into ----, you dirty half-breed.”

“Mebbe I no kill you.”

Pablo’s voice did not show indecision. He spoke gutturally, and a moment later Slim and Bill ducked down as Mike John glided past their bunk and went out the rear door.

“Listen to me, Pablo,” Big Jim was talking again. “You let up on all this foolishness and save your own hide. Turn the girl over to us and we’ll swear to let you have a chance to get out of the country safe. If you stay here they’ll skin you alive.”

“Mebbe. I take chance. You lie plenty to me, Big Jim. Pablo no go to prison.”

“But what about me?” queried McHague. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this. I don’t even belong in this country. You ain’t got nothin’ against me, Pablo.”

“You have bad luck,” replied Pablo. “You know too much--see too much.”

“----, I won’t never say a word,” promised McHague, pleadingly. “I want to get out of here.”

“Where you want go, eh?”

“Back where I came from, by ----!”

“Where your dogs?”

“Stolen. Slim Whelan and Bill Smith stole ’em. They wanted to keep me from trailin’ Tex Rowland.”

Pablo laughed throatily.

“Steal your dogs, eh? Bill Smith. By ----, that good! Ho, ho, ho, ho!”

* * * * *

A moment later the rear door creaked open and Bill Smith almost spoke aloud with surprise. Alice Spotted Horse came in, with Della Marsh close behind her. Behind them came Mike John, closing the door.

Della Marsh was not bound in any way, but she looked weary and bedraggled. She was clad in her riding clothes, which had been torn in spots and covered with dirt. Her hair fell in a tumbled mass about her shoulders.

They passed into the next room. For a moment there was silence and then Big Jim’s voice saying:

“Well, we found you, Della; but it didn’t do us much good. We are prisoners, too.”

Bill Smith grinned when Della ignored Big Jim’s statement.

“What’s the idea of the Injun woman?” asked Big Jim.

“She Alice Spotted Horse,” said Pablo.

“Yes, I know who she is,” said Big Jim. “She works for Crane.”

“She not work for Crane now. She was goin’ marry Tucson Charley. Charley dead now.”

“You ---- right!” grunted Mike John. “Tucson Charley dead as ----.”

“I understand all that,” Big Jim growled with impatience.

“You know what kill Tucson Charley?”

“Horse killed him,” growled Big Jim.

“----d lie!” Mike John fairly barked his denial.

“He got drunk and the horse kicked him to death,” declared Big Jim. “Everybody knows that, Pablo.”

“Nobody knows--nobody sees. I _sabe_ what kill Charley.”

“All right.” Big Jim growled angrily. “I don’t see what that has to do with us.”

Bill and Slim were on their knees, trying to poke a hole in the chinking of the partition so they might see what was going on in the other room; but without any success. Pablo was talking now and the two cowpunchers on the upper bunk leaned out across the footboard, and listened closely.

“Tucson Charley have letter from Tex Rowland. He give letter to this girl. She send letter back to Tex Rowland. Somebody kill Tucson Charley. Somebody write that note, Big Jim.”

“Tex Rowland wrote it, didn’t he?”

There was a note of alarm in Big Jim’s voice now.

“Tex Rowland not write it,” declared Pablo. “You want Tex Rowland in prison. You ---- glad he go prison. You want girl; you want hurt old man in Rainbow Valley. You no want Tex get loose. You write letter, by ----! You kill Tucson Charley, Big Jim!”

“That’s a lie!” Big Jim yelped his denial. “Why, you dirty half-breed, you lie! Tex Rowland wrote that note. The sheriff has the note now. He--he----”

“Who stole note from Tucson Charley?” demanded Pablo. “Sheriff not steal it. You stole it. Tex Rowland never wrote note.”

“How in ---- do you know that?” asked Big Jim hoarsely.

“Tex Rowland not have to write note. Tex Rowland not have to write note to girl when he can see girl.”

“What do you mean?”

Pablo laughed hoarsely, triumphantly.

“Pablo know. Injun see things, Big Jim. Man have ’nother face, but same body. Injun sees man’s hands, man’s legs. Pablo know Tex Rowland. First time no _sabe_. See man roll cigaret, see man smoke. See man get on horse. Man ride same with one face same as ’nother. Injun see much; white man ---- fool.”

“What do you mean, Pablo?” Della Marsh spoke for the first time since she had entered the room.

Pablo laughed softly.

“You know Bill Smith? Mebbe horse kick him, I dunno. Got new face--same body, same hands. Bill Smith same as Tex Rowland. By ----, I laugh all time. Tex Rowland come back to find out.”

“Bill Smith?” Big Jim almost screamed. “You lie! Why, they don’t----”

“Pancho knew him!” cried Della. “That big dog knew him. Where is he, Pablo?”

“And Big Jim killed Tucson Charley,” said Pablo slowly. “I let Alice Spotted Horse know. She come here to pay Big Jim for kill Tucson Charley. She know how. Mike John, you get rope.”

The shock of exposure had over-balanced Bill Smith and Slim Whelan. They had leaned far out, so as not to miss a single word of Pablo’s expose, and the rickety bunk swayed away from the wall.

And before they could throw themselves back, the whole thing ripped away from the wall, swayed outward and came down with a splintering crash on the dirt floor.

Both men were thrown almost across the room, rolling into the wall and clawing wildly for their balance. The crash of the fall had come as a complete surprise to those in the next room; but Big Jim saw in a flash that this was his supreme chance.

Swiftly he dived across the space between himself and Pablo, knocking the breed aside and securing a rifle. He slithered sidewise against the wall, but fell on his knees, striving to swing the gun into position.

But as quick as a cat Pablo flashed through the partition doorway, drawing his gun and knocking Della flat on the floor as he went past her. Pokey Speed threw himself into a crouching position against the wall, his six-shooter spouting lead at the two figures in the other room; while Mike John dropped behind the stunned McHague and tugged at the six-shooter, which had caught in the waist-band of his overalls.

Bullets from Pokey Speed’s gun thudded into the logs over Bill Smith’s head as fast as Pokey could pull the trigger. Pablo had flung himself against the wall, out of line with Pokey Speed’s bullets, and now he swayed back and shot twice at Big Jim in the other room, before the gun went spinning out of his hand when Bill Smith’s first bullet crashed into his elbow.

It was all happening in split seconds. Pablo staggered sidewise and went down against the wall, helpless and harmless. Both Slim and Bill were shooting at Pokey Speed, and he pitched forward on his face. The room was hazy with smoke now. Another gun was still working. Bill rushed to the doorway just as Big Jim’s rifle shot shook the room. Mike John had got to his feet, his back against the wall, his face twisted with pain. Then his head dropped forward and he crumpled.

The smoke blew into Bill Smith’s face as he ducked low and darted into the room. McHague was sprawled face down in the middle of the floor and the door was wide open. Alice Spotted Horse had not moved from her position during the shooting and Della was still sprawled on the floor where Pablo’s shove had landed her.

Bill Smith ran to the door and looked out. There was no sign of Big Jim. He whirled and ran back, meeting Slim in the doorway. The lanky cowboy had been shot through the arm, and his ankle was sprained from his fall; but he had shifted his gun to his left hand and was looking for more trouble.

“Big Jim got away!” panted Bill.

“Out there!” Pablo raised himself up and pointed toward the rear door. “He go up cliff! Hurry up--fast!”

Bill ran out the rear door, looking wildly around. Just to the left was a rocky crevice, which broke in angles up the side of the sheer cliffs. About sixty feet up this crevice was Big Bill, while below him swayed a crude rope ladder. It was Pablo’s getaway to the top of the cliffs.

Big Bill still clung to his rifle. He was having difficulty with the tangled ropes. Bill steadied himself against the back of the cabin and lifted his gun.

“Stop!” he yelled hoarsely. “Don’t move, Big Jim!”

The big man twisted around and looked at the man below him. Big Jim had been shot, but there was still fight left in him. He swung his back against the side of the cliff and fired the rifle in one hand; but the bullet merely screamed off the rocks twenty feet away from his target.

Bill Smith lifted his gun slowly as Big Jim worked frantically to lever another cartridge into the chamber of his rifle. But before Bill could pull the trigger of his six-shooter his ears were almost deafened by the crash of a shot, fired just past his head. He whirled quickly. In the doorway beside him stood Alice Spotted Horse, a smoking rifle in her hands, looking up at Big Jim, who slowly let go with his hands and fell out his entire length and crashed against the cliff, hanging by one foot which had become entangled in the ropes.

Bill Smith shut his eyes for a moment, and to his ears came Alice Spotted Horse’s soft exclamation--

“I be ----!”

There were other voices now. Some one was shouting his name. A big, blue dog came rushing through the doorway and almost knocked him down. It was Pancho, his big jaws slavering as he fairly moaned with excitement.

A moment later Biddy Toole and Dick Clarey almost fell out through the doorway and behind them came Lohman, the sheriff.

“My ----, what a clean-up!” exclaimed Lohman. “There’s Big Jim! Holy smoke, tell us about it, Smith.”

“Bill Smith, ----!” Thus Slim painfully, but with a grin on his lips. “Pablo knew him. That’s old Tex, I tell yuh! Where he got his face--I dunno; but it’s old Tex.”

The others stared at him, as at a ghost; their faces showing their unbelief.

“Yeah, I’m Tex Rowland,” said Bill Smith. “I got in a wreck and the doctors made me a new face.”

Della Marsh came out to him, wonderingly, half-afraid. He held out his hand to her, a smile on his face.

“Pancho knew you,” she said slowly. “You can’t fool a dog.”

“Nor a half-breed,” added Slim painfully.

“But what is it all about?” demanded Lohman. “What was all this killing about, Tex?”

Tex turned and walked into the cabin, followed by the questioning three. He looked over the victims. Pokey Speed was dead--riddled with bullets. Mike John’s soul had fled to the happy hunting grounds of his ancestors; but Pablo was able to sit up and scowl defiance at every one.

As they looked at him, McHague rolled over and tried to get up. Biddy Toole helped him to a sitting position against the wall, where he sat limply and goggled at every one.

“Somebody must ’a’ belted him over the head with a gun,” said Biddy. “He’s sure got a lumpy-lookin’ cranium.”

“Mike John hit um,” offered Alice Spotted Horse.

McHague spat painfully and looked around. It took him some time to remember what had happened. Then:

“My ----, that was awful,” he said wearily. “Where’s Big Jim?”

“Big Jim is dead,” said some one.

“Did Pablo kill him?”

“The Injun woman killed him,” said Tex.

“I suppose it’s just as well,” said McHague painfully, as he squinted up at Lohman. “You’re the sheriff?”

“How did you fellers find the way in here?” queried Tex.

“We’ve got Mose Dickey tied up down the hill,” grinned Lohman. “We hunted with the big dog from the RMP and accidentally ran into Mose. He was on his way here, and between what he’d tell us, and what the dog knew about tracks, we got into this hole in the world in time to hear the battle start.”

“Rory told us that Pablo and Pokey shot him and took Della,” said Dick Clarey. “So that’s how we happened to trail Mose. My ----, I can’t hardly believe that you’re Tex.”

“Old Pancho found them bloodhounds,” grinned Biddy. “There ain’t no bloodhounds now. Must be a grudge between Pancho’s breed and them sad-faced animals.”

“Well, who do I arrest, Tex?” queried Lohman foolishly. “I’m still thinkin’ in circles.”

As swiftly as possible, Tex sketched out what had happened, while McHague nodded dismally.

“That’s all true, I reckon,” he agreed. “Big Jim got the job for me at the penitentiary, and he made me hold up Tex’s mail. He said there was a movement on foot to get Tex pardoned, and he wanted me to fix it so that Tex would never come out. And like a ---- fool, I tried it. Old Hump Sherrill ruined the game.”

“I knew that Big Jim was a crook; but I didn’t know he was as bad as this. When I had that trouble with Tex the other day, I had a feelin’ that he--well, I didn’t think he was Tex; but I felt that somethin’ was wrong.”

“I know him,” grinned Pablo. “I’m Injun.”

Lohman jerked his head toward Alice Spotted Horse--

“What about her, Tex?”

“Big Jim killed her sweetheart, Lohman. She only made him pay. I knew that Big Jim was a crook. McHague gave the snap away that night I made my getaway. Big Jim was the only one who could have had that much influence. We’ll consider that Pablo turned State’s evidence, Lohman, and let the law go as easy as possible.”

“But he shot Rory McPherson and kidnapped Miss Marsh.”

“Rory will get well,” said Biddy. “He’s tough.”

“And Pablo didn’t hurt me,” added Della. “He told me that he was just taking me to a place where only Big Jim knew, and that I had nothing to fear. He wanted to trap Big Jim. He thought I was Big Jim’s girl.”

“I think Tex no want her,” explained Pablo quickly. “I’m ---- fool, I t’ink.”

“Yuh sure are, Pablo,” smiled Tex, throwing his arm around Della’s shoulders. “You’re a smart Injun; but there’s some things yuh don’t know much about. I’m goin’ to marry her, Pablo. I’m goin’ to do my dangest to get you out of trouble and then I’m goin’ to hire Alice Spotted Horse to cook for us.”

“Another thing,” offered McHague hoarsely. “I happen to know that Big Jim palmed that thousand dollars and only left fifteen hundred in that envelope, Miss. When Crane failed to count it in the bank, it kinda soured his game. He had no way of provin’ that Crane didn’t take it. You can be crooked for a while, but you’re crazy when yuh think that you can get away with it forever.”

Alice Spotted Horse moved in closer to Tex, squinting at him curiously.

“You hire me for cook?” she asked. “I put much sody in biscuit and I kill Big Jim. I plenty bad Injun.”

“I’ll hide the soda and the rifle,” said Tex seriously.

“Um-m-m!”

Alice Spotted Horse looked around at the grinning faces, squinting at each one. Then she rubbed her moccasined toe on the dirt floor and heaved a mighty sigh of relief--

“I be ----!”

Slim limped up to Tex and held out his good hand. For several moments they looked at each other seriously. Then a grin came to their faces and Slim said slowly:

“You know how I felt about it, pardner. Me and Bill Smith will kinda side-step and let old Tex have what belongs to him.”

* * * * *

Their hands gripped tightly for a moment and Slim limped away. Della was looking at him as if she understood, and the other cowpunchers turned away to assist the sheriff in his work. Old Pancho nuzzled Tex’s hand and walked stiffly to the door, where he turned and looked at Tex and Della, as much as to say--

“There’s too many folks looking on.”

“Yuh can take the two pinto horses,” offered Slim. “I’ll use one of the extra ones.”

Tex nodded and they walked out of the door, going down the rocky slope, while ahead of them stalked old Pancho, the dog who was not fooled by a strange face. In the doorway of the cabin stood Pablo, the crippled half-breed, who, like the dog, recognized more than a face. He was grinning in spite of his wounds and what he must face in the future.

Alice Spotted Horse moved in beside him, squinting down the trail. Pablo looked at her closely and touched her on the arm with his uninjured hand.

“You all right,” he said softly. “Bimeby I come to see you, Alice. Sheriff say I no get hung--mebbe. You no got Tucson Charley--I got nobody. You _sabe_?”

The big Indian woman turned her eyes from the trail and looked intently at the little half-breed. She did not understand at first. She was not very quick to grasp things. Then the ghost of a smile crossed her lips and she half-nodded an affirmative.

“I be ----,” she said.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 30, 1924 issue of Adventure magazine.]