Chapter III: Part 3

"For a show-down," interrupted McShay nervously, anxious to get down to business.

"Well, that poker expression seems to cover it," said the clergyman, smiling--"a show-down."

"Before you go any further," said Captain Baker, "I want it understood that I don't know anything about this matter, that I am here in nobody's interest, merely on the invitation of the agent."

"That is correct." Ladd spoke with condescension and as one far removed from undignified strife, with a lofty and impersonal note; indeed, as one divinely appointed to the task of pouring oil on troubled waters, an attitude intended to put greedy self-seekers in their proper light, an attitude very exasperating to McShay who chafed under the genial implication.

"That is correct," he repeated. "The captain is here by my invitation. I thought he should be present as I may be forced to ask for troops to remove from Government lands all interlopers who----"

"Interlopers is good. It's a glad word. It's all right about interlopers," broke in McShay, feeling that Ladd had made him look greedy long enough. "You brought Captain Baker here as a bluff, but it don't go. We ain't got any quarrel with him or his soldier boys, and we're glad he's here."

"And, like Captain Baker, I have no axe to grind," beamed the lofty one. "I am here just as----"

"--the paid representative of the Asphalt Trust."

It came like lightning. The big man had tired of the fancy sparring and had stepped in with one straight from the shoulder that caught his opponent and staggered him with its directness. McShay didn't know any other way but to take and give punishment. It served its purpose. It knocked the tactics and amenities out of Ladd with a single punch, and he stood revealed, his jaw set, his eyes blazing, a fighter, dangerous and implacable. Every one present gasped.

"You'll have to retract that statement," he said after a moment's pause in which he struggled to control himself. "It's false."

Every one got to his feet and every man's hand went to his gun. McShay had forgotten that he had planned to shoot from a sitting position. He couldn't resist the simultaneous impulse.

"Wait a moment, please!"

It was the minister who spoke. McCloud spoke as one sure of himself. It wasn't the first time he had exercised control over men. It had been his life work. He had swayed thousands as one man. He had held out both hands to avarice and men had given him the money they loved dearer than their souls. He had faced the frenzied mob and taken the human torch from their mad vengeance. Men had submitted to this power without knowing what it was or whence it came. Perhaps it was the same force which stilled the tempest on the Sea of Galilee and made men say: "Even the winds and the waves obey Him."

"Wait a moment, please," he said, and they waited. As they turned to him, something shone in his face. Perhaps it was the radiance of the dying sun sinking behind the Moquitch Mountains; perhaps it was the light of another world. Whatever it was, human passion became self-conscious before it and shrank back abashed.

"You are forgetting _me_. You have honored me by making me your chairman. As long as I am acting for you and as your servant I will not allow you to ignore me. Your own self-respect should teach you to respect me. I won't be a figure-head. If I am not in control here, absolute control, get another chairman."

It was not what he said, but it was the man himself, that made this cogent.

"Well, that's no more than fair," said McShay frankly.

"Why, of course," said Ladd, not to be outdone and greatly relieved to have the occasion drift into still water.

"Good," said McCloud heartily. "That's understood. And when I say absolute control, I mean just that. Each man has his own pet methods, but for the present it is _my_ way."

"Your way goes, Parson," announced McShay grandly.

"I'm glad that is agreed upon. Very well, gentlemen, this being a peace conference we will begin by a general disarmament."

There was a momentous pause before McShay's mind groped its way through the bewildering chaos conjured up by this cataclysm.

"A what?" he gasped.

Quite unobtrusively and without attracting the notice of any one engaged in the powwow, Wah-na-gi had glided into the background, crept up the steps of the store, glanced furtively into the open window, taken a survey of the interior of the store, and then crouched on the steps where, without appearing to, she had been a most intent observer of the scene.

"There's Wah-na-gi," said McCloud, seeing her strategic position for his purposes. "Every man present will oblige me by handing over his weapons to her. They can be reclaimed later."

"Ain't that a bit unusual?" said Orson Lee awkwardly.

"Ain't fashionable in our set, Orson. Don't you think, Parson," said the Irishman, turning to McCloud with his most ingratiating manner, and McShay could be very winning when he wanted to; "don't you think a gun is a kind of civilizen inflooence, as it were? Ain't it a check on intemperate speech and reckless statement?"

"Are you going to begin by appealing from the decisions of the chair?" asked the chairman.

"Not me. Me and my men will deposit our hardware and git a rain check." And he began to unbuckle his belt slowly, his example being followed by his retainers in a helpless, bewildered way.

"Mind you, I think you're wrong. There bein' no proper sense of restraint, I'll bet this ends up in the damnedest row! You know, Parson," holding it out, "God made the gun to put every man on an equality!"

He paused for a moment, almost expecting that the preacher might be moved by this powerful almost unanswerable argument, but as he saw no sign of any weakening he put his gun before Wah-na-gi.

Hal had been the first to comply with the request of the chairman, and as he put his weapon before her, gave her a smile, to which she responded with a look in which love and terror struggled for the mastery.

"Make some excuse and get away," she whispered. "He's armed," and she tossed her head in the direction of the store.

"Don't worry, little woman," he said and walked back to the others.

"By the way," said McCloud casually. "Perhaps I didn't make it quite plain. I meant all weapons."

McShay looked at the parson with a smile that was touching in its frank admiration.

"Boys, the parson's on. He's on. There can't be no trumps held out in this discard."

It now appeared that the McShay crowd was a walking arsenal. Weapons made their appearance from the most innocent places. The big man drew a gun from a pocket holster underneath each arm. They were so disposed that he could fold his arms in the most natural way and have each hand rest on the butt of a gun, which he could draw simultaneously and very quickly. Orson Lee seemed to have a preference for the knife as an auxiliary weapon, for he drew one from the leg of his boot and another from the back of his neck, the two extremes.

Silent Smith, the expert, wore a coat, and had a magazine gun of moderate size in each pocket, so that he could sit or stand with his hands in his pockets and shoot through the pockets. It saved a lot of time not to have to draw and aim. It looked as if the cowboy contingent had come prepared for trouble.

While this was in progress McShay said:

"Don't suppose you have political asperations, Parson, but if you ever git locoed that-a-way, you can put a rope around any office we got runnin' around loose down our way. Now, Brother Ladd, we'd like a contribution from you. Can't let you overlook the plate that-a-way."

"As I'm not armed--" said Ladd, but the minute he said it he knew it was a mistake.

"Guess ag'in," said McShay with a provoking smile.

"Oh, I had forgotten this," corrected Ladd, removing a magazine gun from his pockets. "This is an old hunting coat of mine and I had neglected to remove it."

The cowman looked a quizzical "How careless!" but refrained from further comment.

"Would you like to make sure that is all?" said Ladd to the other.

Much to the disappointment of the preacher, McShay rejoined: "If you don't mind," and proceeded to tap him for further concealed weapons. Ladd submitted to this with a good grace that pleased the chairman, particularly when no further artillery was in evidence.

"I'm not armed," said Baker.

"I'll take the captain's word for that," said the chairman.

"You have no other weapons, Mr. Calthorpe?"

"None," said Hal; "but any one is at liberty to make sure."

"I'll take your word," said McShay.

The inferential insult of this was not lost on Ladd, but he had made up his mind not again to lose his temper, and to let McShay rattle on and expose his hand.

"Oh, by the way," observed the chairman, looking around; "oughtn't the Indians to have a representative here?"

"_I_ represent the Indians," said Ladd laconically.

"Never mind the Injins," agreed McShay.

The chairman made a note of the fact that no one thought it worth while to consult the Indians about lands presumably belonging to them. Both parties to the dispute were agreed in this, so the clergyman let it pass without further comment.

"Now we will sit down," he said, "and listen to each other calmly. First, Mr. McShay, we will hear from you. Don't rise. This is informal. We will try to avoid provocation and also try to be patient under provocation. Go on." McShay fired the first shot.

"Mr. Chairman, gentlemen, and--Injin agent."

The slight pause before "Injin agent" did not promise well for the avoidance of provocation, but Ladd ignored it.

"I represent the cowboys and settlers who are in present possession of these lands. Possession is usually considered nine points of the law, and when backed up by repeatin' rifles it sometimes tallies up to ten."

"You mean that you are in forcible possession," said the chairman, "but of course you don't insist that might is right."

"Well, might comes mighty near bein' right, Parson. In my experience it's the best argument I'm acquainted with."

"You've 'jumped' these lands and, unless you get off, I shall be forced to get Captain Baker to assist my Indian police in putting you off."

Ladd had regained his composure and said this without feeling.

"You ain't agoin' to put us off, Mr. Agent, 'cause we've a right to be there. We hold two tracts under two separate titles--first, the lands formerly belonging to the Red Butte Ranch, we own them----"

"Under what sort of title?"

Every one turned to the speaker. It was the young chief of police who spoke, and even Ladd showed plainly his surprise at this obvious meddling in matters which did not concern him. McShay was about to ask him what business it was of his, but a second glance at the youngster made him think better of it, so he only remarked:

"By purchase. Bought 'em from the owner."

"The owner? Meaning?"

"The Earl of Kerhill."

"You bought them from the Earl of Kerhill?" persisted the other, but he pronounced the name as if it were spelled "Karhill," and Mike corrected him with obvious patience.

"Surest thing you know. We bought 'em from Charley Short and Andy Openheim, two of his old cowboys, who bought 'em from the earl direct."

"I'm afraid you've been taken in, Mr. McShay."

"Taken in? Not me. Not a take-in. Never been took in--wouldn't know how."

"I'm afraid you were a bit too eager to get these lands. For once your rapacity got the better of your caution."

The muscles around the Irishman's eyes contracted.

"Parson, I don't care much for the word rapacity."

"It isn't parliamentary," said the chairman, amused in spite of himself. "I declare it out of order. I hope Mr. Calthorpe will----"

"I withdraw it," said Hal good-humoredly. "Sorry! What I meant was they sold you something they didn't have, Mr. McShay."

"It's giving our hand away," said the cowman with an assumed serenity he did not feel, for there was something about the manner and speech of the other which made him uneasy in spite of himself.

"It's a-giving our hand away, but I don't mind puttin' you wise. There's a deed!"--and he took a paper from his wallet--"and it's signed, 'James Wynnegate, Earl of KERhill.'"

"_Kar_hill," corrected the boy.

"_Kerr_hill," insisted Mike, and then spelled it--"Kay-arr-hell."

"May I see that?"

"Sure! Strictly speakin', I don't know as it's any of your business, but maybe it'll be good for what ails you."

Hal looked at it, read it, examined it swiftly but carefully, amid a silence which was intense! The interest had shifted from the agent to the chief of police, and every one present was wondering how it happened and what it could mean. While the document was under examination, Big Bill sauntered in, trying to look absent and desultory, and failing completely. He tried to appear on his way to the store, but his open face showed plainly his anxiety to know what was going on.

"The signature is a forgery," said Calthorpe simply.

"What?" bellowed McShay, jumping into the air and feeling for his gun. His dismay on realizing that he didn't have this final argument was pathetic.

"I told you, Parson," he said to the chairman bitterly; "I told you it was a mistake."

"No unsupported statement need bother you, Mr. McShay," suggested the preacher, his eyes, twinkling, for now that he felt that he had the situation well in hand he was amused at the play of human emotions going on before him.

"That's right, Parson," said McShay. "That's right, 'unsupported' is a glad word and it epitomizes the situation. But the young feller'll have to make this good some other time and place."

"I'll make it good now, Mr. McShay. Bill, come here, will you?"

As the big foreman sauntered over to him, the young man went on:

"As you all know, Bill was the Earl's foreman for years, and knows his signature as well as he knows his own. Will you let me submit this signature to Bill?"

As Mr. McShay did not refuse, being by this time somewhat bewildered, Hal passed the paper up to the cattle-boss, who looked it over and over, and then, thinking Of other things, looked at the back of the paper.

"He didn't sign it on both sides of the paper, Bill," growled McShay impatiently, "and it ain't leaked through."

"'Tain't Jim's--the Earl's, I mean," said Bill decisively.

"This is a put-up job, that's what it is, a put-up job," and the representative of the cowboys, now thoroughly enraged, made a movement in the direction of the pile of guns nestling in front of Wah-na-gi.

"McShay!" cried Ladd imperatively; "I wouldn't advise you to try to get your gun. My Indian police are within call and they have orders to put down violence."

The baffled fury of the cowman was a pleasant sight to the agent and he smiled broadly as he explained:

"You know this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you," and this was strictly true; "but I am endeavoring to take it calmly," he added with an irritating grin. "You don't see me getting excited."

"Well, boys," said McShay to his followers, "the wheel is crooked and the cards are marked, but we'll sit through the game out of respect for the chairman."

McCloud bowed, pleased and flattered by the deference of the rough man whose sincerity was unmistakable.

"Thank you. I'm sure the agent will have no excuse for using the police even to keep the peace." And he felt grateful to McShay that the latter did not for a moment suspect him of being connected in any way with what he was pleased to regard as a crooked game.

"I thought it best to be on the safe side," explained the agent. "And now I think it only fair, also in the interests of peace, to make my position plain. The rest of the lands you cowboys are illegally holding are on the Reservation and you've got to get off."

"Don't think so," said McShay, having now in a measure regained his poise. "No, don't think so. They were thrown open by Act of Congress and we hold 'em as original discoverers and locators. We hold 'em under the mineral laws."

"This isn't your day at home, McShay. You're wrong all the way round. Calthorpe here is a surveyor----"

"Say, he's all sorts of cute and convenient things, ain't he?"

McShay was getting himself in hand once more.

"All right, Parson," he said in response to a gesture of protest by the chairman; "all right, I ain't a-sayin' what they are. I'm a-sayin' it."

"Mr. McShay," said the preacher with good-humored forbearance, "a wise man once said: 'Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood, so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife.'"

Cadger appeared at the window of his store and he was busy cleaning a Colt's 48. Ladd did not look at him, but he knew he was there.

"Now let's get down to business," he said sharply. "My chief of police here has surveyed these lands and boundaries and finds the original monuments have been moved."

"Oh, he's a handy man to have about the house, ain't he?" insinuated McShay. "Well, useful," he said, turning to Hal with an ominous sneer. "Get on. Don't you see your master's waitin' fer you. Let's see just how much of a fancy liar you really are."

Every man got to his feet and there was an instinctive impulse which demonstrated the wisdom of the chairman's point of order. This was followed by a simultaneous movement to get between the two men, which was checked by the perfect calmness of the younger who raised his hand in a deprecatory way.

"I let the word liar pass for the present," said Hal coolly. "We can take that up later, Mr. McShay and I. You see the agent isn't quite accurate. I did make a survey."

Before the quiet young man could finish his sentence Ladd slipped his leash.

"And you're on Government lands, McShay, and, by God, you've got to get off." It was an explosion. The austere official went up in smoke, leaving fierce self-interest showing its teeth. It was unmistakable that Ladd meant what he said. His jaws were set and his clenched fist quivered in the Irishman's face.

"Wait a moment, wait a moment, Mr. Agent," said Hal with a soft, soothing menace. "You're going too fast. You must let me tell my own story and in my own way. On the contrary, I told you these lands were _not_ on the Reservation."

Ladd turned gray and for a moment could not speak. His eyes contracted in a fierce deadly glitter. Then quite naturally, as a bewildered man might, _he took off his hat_ and passed his other hand over his brow. Cadger glanced up from the cleaning of his gun. The movement seemed to arrest his attention.

"What?" gasped Ladd, finding his voice at last.

"Isn't that what I reported?" asked the youngster calmly.

"You? Why, there, there, there must be some mistake."

The agent began to falter, stutter, grope his way. What could it mean? Was the boy crazy? Would he throw away his chances? Had the other side bought him too and paid him more? And there were all these men, all these hostile eyes glaring at him, searching him, gloating over his confusion. There was McShay hovering near like an eagle about to swoop. He could hear the Irishman's mocking voice, like a mischievous boy, playing about him.

"This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you," it jibed, "but I'm trying to take it calmly. You don't see _me_ gittin' excited." Ladd realized that they were his own words thrown back in his face like dirty water. His surprise, confusion, shame were being swallowed up in a murderous hate. He would hurt, tear, rend, kill. There was Cadger in the background. All these men faced him, the agent. Their backs were turned to the store. It was easy, so easy it gave him a moment's pause. He must be careful. He must make no mistake. He would be sure. If this boy betrayed him, why then-- The only thing he missed in his rapid mental survey of the situation was a little girl crouching on the steps over the discarded weapons, her fierce little black eyes following his every movement, searching his face for every thought. Yes, there was Cadger cleaning his gun, and--waiting for the signal, the _second_ signal!

"He means," he heard himself say with a fair assumption of serenity; "he means he told me they were on the Reservation." He addressed this to McShay. Then he turned directly to Hal, looked him straight in the eye, and said:

"And the monuments--the landmarks?"

Before Hal replied he saw what the answer would be, saw it in the relentless face, the mocking eye.

"That was _your_ idea, that they had been moved, _not mine_."

Any hesitation the agent may have felt was gone. Irresolution vanished. _He put on his hat_! And he put it on with decision, as if in his opinion the conference was over. Then for the first time he noticed that Wah-na-gi had left her position as custodian of the armory, had mounted the steps of the store, and stood for a moment by the window like a cat waiting to spring, every nerve and muscle tense, and as Cadger raised his gun she stepped in front of him. The trader drew back swiftly and tried to step to one side. She followed him.

"Git out of my light! Can't you see I can't see?"

He executed a rapid movement to push her aside. Again she covered him.

"Git away from my store winder or I'll break your face, you----" and Cadger called her a name not used in good society.

All those present got up and turned at this sudden and untoward disturbance. Hal was the only one who did not look back. He could see what was happening in the agent's face.

"Have Cadger step here a moment, will you?" said Hal to Ladd.

"What for?"

"Bill," said Hal to the cattle-boss who was manoeuvring in the background, greatly puzzled by what was going on at the window. "Ask the Indian trader to step here?"

"Stop," called Ladd to Bill. "Cadger don't want to be mixed up in this. Besides, he can't leave the store."

The agent was conscious that this sounded hurried and feeble, and it seemed not to impress Bill, for he went on directly into the store. Hal reassured the agent--with the suggestion that Bill would look after the store for the trader. Indeed, one per cent. of small boy would have been able to take care of the trade just at that moment.

"Things are coming my way to-day, Mr. Ladd; better let me have my way."

Whether the agent would have consented to this or not, the chief of police had his way, for Bill appeared with Cadger in charge.

In fact, Cadger knew that Bill would bring him bodily, so he thought it more dignified to come of his own accord.

"Just put your weapon with the others, Cadger," said Calthorpe, "and come here."

The little furtive man glanced swiftly at Ladd for guidance and Bill took his gun and rags out of his hands before he could determine on what course he ought to pursue. Bill broke the gun, then glanced curiously over the little man:

"Cleanin' a _loaded_ gun, too! Ain't you careless?"

"Wah-na-gi, come here, please," said Hal, never taking his eyes from Ladd's face.

She had remained in the background as Cadger came down. Now she came to Hal who was standing with the trader in easy reach. Cadger seemed to shrink and get smaller as he blinked feebly. The business of the meeting was forgotten. Again the young man diverted the interest and every one wondered what would happen next.

"Wah-na-gi, Mr. Cadger wants to tell you before these gentlemen that he made a mistake, that he would like to beg your pardon. Mr. Cadger wants to apologize."

"Like hell I do," growled the trader.

"Calthorpe," called out the agent; "you're the one that's making the mistake. You're going too far. I won't stand for this."

"Oh, yes, I think you will," asserted the boy quietly.

The agent gave him a swift look, trying to determine how far he had gone or would go. Something had gone wrong. The machinery had slipped a cog, but how far wrong was it? Could it be repaired? Could it be fixed up? Was it a strike for higher pay? Or was it the eternal woman interfering and putting them at cross purposes? His own interest in the woman, guarded with the greatest care, kept under lock and key, in the dark, had this boy seen a furtive glance, the flash of a hidden desire? He must proceed cautiously until he saw the other's hand and knew his cards. Still, this boy must be taught his place.

"I want you to understand I'm the agent, Calthorpe."

"Yes, that's why you'll protect this woman from insult."

"You leave that to me. This is outside our business, and----"

"As the insult became a part of our proceedings," said McCloud calmly, "it seems right for the apology to be included."

"Parson," exclaimed McShay, delighted; "you're a sport, and I'll back any play you make."

"I think you would facilitate matters, Mr. Ladd," added the preacher, "if you instructed your man to comply with Mr. Calthorpe's request."

"Please don't make him," begged Wah-na-gi timidly.

"Come on, little man," said Hal coaxingly.

"Oh, well, apologize, Cadger, and get it over with. We're wasting time." And Ladd walked away. Hal applied a sharp squeeze to the back of the trader's neck, just under the ears, and he squirmed with pain.

"Oh, hell, I apologize," he blithered.

"She accepts your apology," said Hal graciously, and every one except Cadger breathed a sigh of relief. _That_ was a closed incident.

"Now sit down here where I can see you," and he tossed him lightly on a bale of goods that was leaning against the steps waiting to be unpacked, and he brushed his hands as if they had been soiled. "Now I feel more comfortable in my mind"--and added to himself--"and in my back."

"Now see here, Calthorpe," said Ladd, coming down swiftly and gripping the situation with at least the show of authority. "What do you mean by this? Didn't you tell me these lands were on the Reservation?"

"I did not!"

The issue was joined. For a moment the agent's mind refused to face the situation. His jaw dropped and he looked at the other blankly.

"You, you, you mean to say--" he stammered. Then he gazed into the unrelenting face opposite and fell back and cowered like a whipped dog, white with fear. "You mean to say you didn't tell me? Why, why you're going back on your word, why, you scoundrel, you have, you have----"

"I have your money," said Hal, picking the words out of his mouth and completing the unspoken thought. "That's right, I have. And there it is," and he took some papers from his pocket. "Fifteen thousand dollars' worth of gilt-edged securities in the Asphalt Trust. And here is a receipt for the fifteen thousand dollars I _didn't_ pay for them. I took your money because it was the only way to make you show your hand. Every one knows you're a crook and grafter, but nobody could prove it. It's my sworn duty to catch thieves and everybody knows you're robbing these helpless people, and that you're the paid agent of the Asphalt Trust. I've been camping on your trail, David Ladd, and I'm going to camp on it until I have your official head."

The words cut the tense silence like lightning flashes. No one spoke or moved.

The appearance of the agent was pitiable, but only for a moment. As he realized that the young chief of police had not only caught him "with the goods" but, what was worse, had made him look "easy," he felt the agony of unspeakable hate, and it brought him to himself.

"Why, you rotten traitor--" he screamed and threw himself upon Hal to tear him to pieces. The latter caught his right arm by the wrist and threw his own left across the other's throat, forcing back his head and stopping his wind. Ladd was a quick, muscular, wiry man. The boy drew him close for a second and then he threw him off. As soon as Ladd recovered his balance he made for the pile of guns. Hal blew upon a shrill, sharp whistle that dangled at his wrist. Before the agent could reach the weapons a half-dozen Indian police appeared like magic on the scene. They had been hidden behind the trader's store.

"Shoot any man who moves toward those guns," said their chief to them, pointing. Ladd was phased. He fell back.

"You order my own men to fire on me?"

"Your own orders, Mr. Agent, to preserve the peace."

"Say, Parson," exclaimed McShay; "that gun order of yourn was a inspiration. It sure was a inspiration."

"Calthorpe, you're removed. You're no longer my chief of police." Hal smiled.

"It'll take my men a couple of days to get that through their heads. In the meantime, don't forget that they will act under my orders."

Then he turned to them and said:

"Don't let any one put a finger on those guns until I'm out of sight. You savey me all right. And you, McShay," he said, turning sharply to that exultant citizen; "you and your men must get off my ranch."

"Your ranch? What the hell! Your ranch? What next?"

"My ranch. My name is Effington. The Earl of Kerhill is my father. The Red Butte Ranch is mine. I'm going over now to take possession of it. Better come over and see me do it. Come on, Bill."

As he jumped on "Calico" and rode off on the run, followed by Big Bill, McShay exclaimed:

"Say, Parson, the kid's on the level. He's on the level."

*CHAPTER VIII*

Hal and Bill were well mounted, had an excellent start, and before the members of the peace conference had recovered from their astonishment the two horsemen were out of sight and night had fallen. As they left the Agency behind the heart of Big Bill grew lighter. The fact that Hal had not taken him into his confidence did not worry the simple-minded Bill, but he rejoiced that at last they were on the straight and narrow way and had left behind them the world, the flesh, and the devil, always and everywhere of the female gender. The fact that they had a dangerous job ahead of them did not worry Bill, for it involved nothing more serious than just men. Bill had dealt with men as men and in a straight and fearless way had found himself capable, but where woman was involved, with nothing like the experience to justify it, he had arrived at the conclusion of the wise man who said: "Can a man take fire into his bosom and his clothes not be burned?" Indeed, greater minds than gentle Bill's have felt bewildered by "the way of a man with a maid." In his role of parent and guardian he had several times started to speak to his companion in words of commendation and encouragement, but impenetrable gloom enveloped the boy and the words died unborn. He essayed blithesome song, but even this personal expression degenerated into a whistle and dribbled feebly away, so, finally, the big man shook himself down into his saddle and they rode in silence--a silence that seemed to drip with a chilling mist. So they rode on into the radiant night indifferent to its splendors. They knew that the horses' stride was steady and strong in the clean, cool air that romped down from the snows, laden with the perfume of the pines, and that a matchless moon made it possible for them to leave the road at every opportunity and hit the trails and short cuts, but the poem of the night was not for them, its melody and its mystery.

Wah-na-gi--"the soul when separated from the body!" That was the meaning of her name. The young man had a queer feeling that _his_ body was riding away from his soul into the night, into the unknown, into the far away. All of a sudden it came to him that he had been very happy at the Agency. Why was he riding away? What was this asphalt that made men lie and steal and jump at each other's throats? What was it to him?

What did he care for the Red Butte Ranch, except that his mother was buried there? That it was rich in minerals which could be exchanged for money, wealth, was outside his purposes. It was not the legal but the spiritual ownership which determined him. When we understand more about psychical phenomena we shall know more about our Indians. It wasn't only that the big appeal of the open was here intensified. Half memories, vague instincts, ghostly and subliminal concords met him here, took him by the hand, and said: "Come apart and be at peace." But all this was there, would wait. He never doubted his ultimate possession of the ranch. The Shades who owned it would eventually hand it over to him, their rightful heir. All that was only a matter of time. It could wait. Meantime, what was he doing? He was riding into the future unwillingly. He had left the Agency, and knew it was forever. He knew in a dull way that he had finished a chapter in his life, and that it would never be quite the same again. How did it happen? Ought he to have prevented it?

His thought wandered back over the devious ways he had come. His life seemed so impersonal, his own will and purpose had had so little to do with it. He could only think of a boat swept from its moorings, floating about on the waves of circumstance, driven before this wind, twisted by that current, tossed on the shore to be caught up again in the high tide and taken back to the deeps, back to the wanton winds and waves. He knew it would be useless to turn the horses' heads and try to go back. Always before he had submitted; what did it matter? Now it mattered. When was it he first cared? Swiftly his thought travelled back until it focussed on those two rough men in the library at Portman Square--awkward, shy, fumbling their broad-brimmed hats in their hands, dressed in their "store clothes"; all the more unmistakable for the London setting and for the contrast with his father with whom they were talking! He recalled his own wonder that the high-bred, delicate man with his distinguished face could ever have been tanned and weather-stained like these uncouth men and been their companion on the frontier. He recalled his own surprise at the familiarity of his father with them. The Earl had called them "Andy" and "Shorty," and he was rather punctilious about the forms and ceremonies. It was a revelation of a hitherto unsuspected talent for unbending. How his father had plied them with cigars and liquors, and their astonishing capacity! The amount of neat liquor they had taken at a gulp!

These men, so different from all the types with which he had been familiar, and each so unlike the other! "Andy," an Austrian Jew, was so determined to be conciliatory and ingratiating that he had developed a conservative stutter which, with its saving clauses and roundabout phrases, enabled him to estimate the effect upon his listener even before he had actually committed himself to the proposition in hand. "Shorty," quick, sharp, explosive, going direct to the point and disarming suspicion by a method the reverse of the other! There was something about these men that had interested him from the first, then amused him, then fascinated him. The subject of the talk did not immediately claim his attention. Every one knew that the ranch had been an expensive experience to the Earl, and it was a foregone conclusion that he would jump at the chance to sell it. The negotiations had gone quickly to a conclusion. The Earl had accepted their first offer and a deed had been prepared and was about to be signed. Then the young man interposed for the first time. He had suddenly received an impression, a "hunch," as the cowboys say, that seemed later to be clairvoyant. At first it was only a vague sentiment, too vague to be expressed, too vague to be used as an argument, or to influence practical men, so he only asked that the matter might be postponed until the following morning. His father and the Westerners were annoyed by this freak of eccentricity, but humored him as we humor children, or the irresponsible, for he remembered that he had been drinking, was perhaps drunk, as he often was in those evil days. The following morning a cable came from Big Bill saying: "Don't sell ranch. Have sent letter." The letter which followed explained what we already know, that asphalt had been found, that in Bill's opinion a lot of this valuable mineral was on the ranch, which had been "jumped" by the cowboys, and he strongly advised the Earl to send some one out there to investigate the matter; he suggested that this investigation should be conducted as secretly as possible; that he was himself too well known, and his former affiliations with the Earl were too well known, to permit of his doing this successfully. There was a job open at the Agency, the chief of Indian police, and Bill offered to use his influence to get it for any one the Earl would send out to look after his interests.

Then something in the young man's soul rose up and said: "Here am I." And when he turned his face to the West the winds and the waves beckoned to him and recognized him and led him to his own. Then for the first time he recognized purpose in his life. Ladd had seen in him only the usual adventurer trying to hide away from his past and one likely to be amenable and useful. It would have been difficult to find any one more suitable to the position of chief of police. In a country where men required initiative, self-reliance, and courage he had found conditions suitable to his temperament and abilities. He had felt "at home" and had been a success from the start. About the time that he took charge of the police, Wah-na-gi returned from Carlisle, and every phase of her struggle with her environment and heredity was obvious to him. He saw at once what she did not see, that it was hopeless, but it lent to her the charm of poetry and romance, and she was pretty enough not to require such assistance. For a long time he was very cunning in concealing and disguising his interest in the girl, and he continued to fool himself long after he had ceased to fool any one else. And now he was riding away from everything that made life worth living, and the fact that he had just come successfully through a big fight meant nothing to him. He would have liked to go back, but that was impossible, and he rode in bitterness and rebellion.

The cowboys had found the holding of the asphalt territory rather irksome. At first it had been all hurrah, but as week followed week and month followed month, and no armed conflict took place, they grew very tired. The Trust had entered upon the long siege with bomb-proof galleries and an elaborate system of underground approaches. No isolated fort ever successfully withstood such a siege. The asphalt vein stretched across considerable country and to police it all and hold it by force of arms against an invisible enemy that did not materialize but might at any moment do so, and at some unexpected place, was a nerve-racking job for a time, and then grew monotonous, and with monotony came carelessness. The Red Butte Ranch was their base of supplies and operations, and in possession of this they felt legally and morally secure, having been held up for it by two robbers in the usual and conventional way of the business world.

The majority of their men were therefore, as Hal knew, distributed along the asphalt vein, but he also knew that there were more than enough left at the ranch to put up a winning fight against two men. So it was necessary to exercise caution and strategy, and fight only if cornered and compelled to.

In his capacity of chief of police, Hal had ridden over every foot of the country and knew it as well as Bill. It was therefore greatly to the surprise of the latter when the young man, after crossing a spur of the Bad Lands, left the trail and struck into the hills.

"Where you goin', son?" he asked with obvious disapproval.

"We got to do this on the jump, Bill, or not at all. Time is the important thing, particularly if any of those bandits try to follow us. It's an awful bluff, but we'll get away with it."

"You can't git through that-a-way. You'll just run up against the 'Knife-edge'!"

"That's right. I'm going to cross it."

"Why, you're crazy. You can't do it."

"I've done it."

"Gosh! Honest? I never heard of any one fool enough to try it."

"My Indian police and I have done it."

"But, gosh-a-mighty, not at night!"

"No; but it's almost as light as day. My horse saveys it. Just shut your eyes, leave the reins on your horse's neck, and let him follow me."

"All right, son. I've had my innings. A Big Bill more or less don't matter. Go ahead."

The Knife-edge was a narrow ledge of sandstone that crossed a deep gash in the hills. It was not over one hundred yards in length, but its negotiation was apparently impossible. A single false step meant precipitation into the arid abyss, a thousand feet below. It was wonderful the way these Indian ponies felt their way across, a sort of equine tight-rope performance. Hal was right. The rider had nothing to do with it, except to sit straight and easily, without strain or fear, and let the pony do the rest. It was a test of nerves, and Bill, whose avoirdupois was not adjustable to tight-rope niceties, was in a profuse perspiration when his pony had taken the last careful step that put the Knife-edge into the background of things one would willingly forget. Bill had spent the best days of his life as foreman at the ranch, and could have found his way about blindfold, so when they were about a mile from the ranch Bill took the lead.

After riding a few moments over some bare clay hills they descended into an arroyo and followed its tortuous course unseen and unheard, for the horses' footfalls made no noise on the silent sands. It was necessary to dismount and lead the horses, and it was slow work. Suddenly Bill stopped short and pointed. It was an effulgent night and there against the skyline was limned the figure of a sentry, sitting before a little camp-fire, serenely smoking. He was perched on a little elevation just where the arroyo took a sharp bend, his rifle leaning against some greasewood near at hand. Bill unlimbered his gun, but Hal put his hand out and made a sign to stay him. The young man then uncoiled his lariat from his saddle and, hugging the walls of the dead stream, he crept to within reach of the dark figure and, with a hand that had become more than expert, coiled the deadly loop, then sent it into the silent air, where it poised for a moment like a snake about to strike, then it settled down about the body of its victim with the incredible squeeze of a constrictor. With a swift jerk the figure tumbled into the dry gulch and, before he realized what had happened to him, Hal's knee was on his chest and his gun-barrel at his head. Bill immediately disarmed the prostrate figure, taking his pistol from its holster as Hal said: "Don't speak." Indeed, there was really no need for this injunction. It had happened so quickly and the sentry was so unprepared that he hadn't a sound in him. It took him several valuable seconds to realize just what had happened, and by that time it was obvious that he was a prisoner. Bill took a hitch knot in the lariat and Hal ordered the man to stand up.

"Do as you're told and no harm'll come to you," he said quietly. Then he turned to Bill and said: "Shall we go on or shall we wait for the others? They must have the ranch surrounded by this time."

"I guess you and I can persuade 'em resistance would be useless."

This was to impress the prisoner who was by this time in an impressionable frame of mind.

"All right. Now, Curley," he said to the man whom he recognized; "we got the drop on you fellows. While McShay and your crowd have been gabbing over at the Agency we've got you cornered. Now I want you to walk ahead of us to the house, then call Coyote Kal out and we'll do the rest. Bill will have you covered from the stable and I will have you covered from behind the rock (meaning the rock that marked Nat-u-ritch's grave). If you give us away, neither of us could miss you. You're a dead man twice," he added with a laugh. His ill-humor always vanished in action. When the three men reached the barns, Hal made a short detour, crawling on his hands and knees until he was in the shelter of the rough, undressed bowlder which his father had hauled down from the canyons to mark the grave of the little Indian woman who had been his wife and the mother of the son who now crouched behind it, oblivious for the moment of everything except the dangerous business in hand. Then Bill untied Curley and pointed to the house opposite. The space over which Curley walked slowly was bathed in a flood of light. There didn't seem any way out of the predicament, so Curley stood before the adobe house and called softly: "Kal--Kal."

As this was repeated a sleepy voice within growled: "What the hell?" Then a tousled head appeared at the window and said: "That you, Curley? What's up? Has a messenger come from the Agency?"

"Yes. Come on out," urged Curley. "It's important."

The other man drew his trousers on and came out into the moonlight.

"What is it?" Then he noticed. "Where's your gun?"

"They took it away from me."

"They? What are you talking about?"

"It's no use, Kal; they got us surrounded."

With an oath the man addressed as Kal backed toward the house. Instantly Bill and Hal stepped into the light and covered him.

"Don't move," said Hal, and Coyote Kal had a solemn moment when the issue was uncertain.

Curley decided for him.

"Don't be a damn fool, Kal; they got us. What's the use?"

"Why didn't you ring the bell," said Kal surlily, "and call the men in?"

"Ring the bell?" sneered Curley. "Ring the bell? Say, wake up. Ring the bell with a couple of cannon up against your bowels? Does it take you a week to tumble? It didn't me. They stole up the dry crik and lassoed me; jerked me into the middle of next week before I knowed what ailed me. Ring the bell! I'll wring your neck if you say that to me ag'in."

"Bill, get that bench against the wall and put it there," indicating the middle of the court-yard. Bill did this with alacrity.

"Now, gentlemen, we're not going to fatigue you. We're going to treat you with distinguished consideration. Please be seated side by side on that bench. You can hold each other's hands if you get lonesome."

The two men obeyed in an apologetic way. Kal growled: "Why don't you tell us what you're up to and be done with it?"

"Now, Bill, ring that anxious bell for Coyote Kal."

Bill stepped over to the barn and rung a small bell affixed to its outer wall.

"Now, Kal, I want you to tell your men that they are trespassers on this property, and that you will be graciously permitted to withdraw if you do so at once and without trouble. If they stop to discuss the matter, there'll be a fight, and I don't think there'll be enough of you left to get away. Bill will occupy the stable and I will occupy the house, and if there is any show of resistance by your men you and Curley will be the first to meet your Maker; and I think you need more time for preparation."

"You sure ain't prepared," ejaculated Bill. "You sure ain't."

The ranch house was a mixture of styles. A log-cabin met an adobe addition at right angles. Each was supplied with a door, flanked by a window, and a portico leaned wearily against the house in various attitudes of discouragement. Hal took his stand in the shelter of the angle. He had the house on two sides of him. His position was exposed to the stable, where Bill was secreted, and the space between the house and stable was completely dominated by them both. One could have read a paper in the moonlight.

"My, it's clear to-night," said Hal, surveying the situation with a grin of satisfaction. "Anyway it happens it looks to me as if you two out there were a sure thing."

This was perfectly plain to Kal and Curley, but outside the purely physical situation they were completely dazed. McShay and his men were supposed to be looking out for their interests at the conference at the Agency, and here was Ladd's chief of police claiming their ranch and putting them forcibly off the ground they had bought and paid for.

They merely got a vague impression that this was just an effort on the part of Ladd to shift the battle ground. But as their brains worked slowly over it nothing seemed to fit into this theory. And it was part of Hal's plan to leave them no time to think. He realized that his only chance of success was in rushing them off their feet. It was a perilous game in which time was to be a deciding factor.

As suggested by Kal, the bell was an alarm that called all the men on the ranch in for instructions. They came, and quickly, and all armed; some fifteen men. As they came into view their amazement was comic at the sight of Curley and their boss sitting on a bench side by side in the moonlight like two naughty boys kept in at school.

"Speak your little piece, Kal," urged Hal.

"Well, boys," said their leader, shamefaced; "I don't know how it happened, but the Agency folks got the bulge on us, got us corralled, Curley says, and it's fight or surrender. As they got a bead on me from the house and the stable, surrender looks a whole lot better to me. We can come back and fight 'em for it afterwards."

Instinctively there was a simultaneous movement for cover. The dilapidated sheds leaning against the barn with their bags, barrels, bales of hay, etc., were selected by those nearest to them. Carroll and the rest put the rock that marked Nat-u-ritch's grave in front of them. "Humpy" Carroll, as his name indicated, was a humpbacked little man with ambitions. He had always fallen just short of being a leader and it made him a chronic insurgent. His insubordination had brought him into frequent conflict with Kal, whose place he coveted, and the latter's uncomfortable position afforded him keen satisfaction. In fact, Kal's taking off would not have appealed to Humpy as an irreparable loss.

Kal knew this and it filled him with helpless rage.

"Surrender without a fight?" inquired Humpy in a tone that made Kal squirm.

But he replied calmly with a slow drawl: "You got a nice fat rock in front of you, Humpy."

"I don't mind kickin' the bucket with a gun in my hand," chimed in Curley; "but give us a _chance_ to fight, Humpy?"

"'Tain't our fault if you let 'em rope you."

"Say," said Kal, "if these fellers'll give me a gun, and will stand by, I'll fight _you_, Humpy; and the feller that gits over it--his word goes."