The "Wild West" Collection. William MacLeod Raine
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dad. It's Mr. Norris," she cried.
Morse, who had not yet recognized him, swung to the saddle, his heart full of bitterness. Every man's hand was against his, and every woman's. What was there in his nature that turned people against him so inevitably? There seemed to be some taint in him that corroded all natural human kindness.
A startled oath brought him from his somber reflections. He looked up, to see the face of a man with whom in the dead years of the past he had been in bitter feud.
Neither of them spoke. Morse looked at him with a face cold as chiselled marble and as hard. The devil's own passion burned in the storm-tossed one of the other.
Norris was the first to break the silence.
"So it was all a lie about your being killed, Dick Bellamy."
The mine owner did not speak, but the rigor of his eyes did not relax.
"Gave it out to throw me off your trail, did you? Knew mighty well I'd cut the heart out of the man who shot poor Shep." The voice of the cattle detective rang out in malignant triumph. "You guessed it c'rect, seh. Right here's where the Boone-Bellamy feud claims another victim."
The men were sitting face to face, so close that their knees almost touched. As Norris jerked out his gun Bellamy caught his wrist. They struggled for an instant, the one to free his arm, the other to retain his grip. Bellamy spurred his horse closer. The more powerful of the two, he slowly twisted around the imprisoned wrist. Inch by inch the revolver swung in a jerky, spasmodic circle. There was a moment when it pointed directly at the mine owner's heart. His enemy's finger crooked on the trigger, eyes passionate with the stark lust to kill. But the pressure on the wrist had numbed the hand. The weapon jumped out of line, went clattering down into the dust from the palsied fingers.
Lee ran forward and pushed between the men.
"Here. Ain't you boys got ary bettah sense than to clinch like wildcats?" he demanded, jerking one of the horses away by the bridle. "No, you don't, Phil. I'll take keer of this gun for the present." It was noticeable that Beauchamp Lee's speech grew more after the manner of the plantations when he became excited.
The cowpuncher, white with anger, glared at his enemy and poured curses at him, the while he nursed his strained wrist. For the moment he was impotent, but he promised himself vengeance in full when they should meet again.
"That'll be enough from you now, Phil," said the old ex-Confederate good-naturedly, leading him toward the house and trying to soothe his malevolent chagrin.
Bellamy turned and rode away. At the corner of the corral he met Jack Flatray riding up.
"Been having a little difference of opinion with our friend, haven't you, seh?" the deputy asked pleasantly.
"Yes." Bellamy gave him only the crisp monosyllable and changed the subject immediately. "What about this stage robbery? Have you been able to make anything of it, Mr. Flatray?"
"Why, yes. I reckon we'll be able to land the miscreant mebbe, if things come our way," drawled the deputy. "Wouldn't it be a good idea to offer a reward, though, to keep things warm?"
"I thought of that. I made it a thousand dollars. The posters ought to be out to-day on the stage."
"Good enough!"
"Whom do you suspect?"
Jack looked at him with amiable imperturbability. "I reckon I better certify my suspicions, seh, before I go to shouting them out."
"All right, sir. Since I'm paying the shot, it ought to entitle me to some confidence. But it's up to you. Get back the twenty thousand dollars, that's all I ask, except that you put the fellow behind the bars of the penitentiary for a few years."
Flatray gave him an odd smile which he did not understand.
"I hope to be able to accommodate you, seh, about this time to-morrow, so far as getting the gold goes. You'll have to wait a week or two before the rest of your expectations get gratified."
"Any reasonable time. I want to see him there eventually. That's all."
Jack laughed again, without giving any reason for his mirth. That ironic smile continued to decorate his face for some time. He seemed to have some inner source of mirth he did not care to disclose.
CHAPTER IX
THE DANGER LINE
Though Champ Lee had business in Mesa next day that would not be denied, he was singularly loath to leave the ranch. He wanted to stay close to Melissy until the dnouement of the hunt for the stage robber. On the other hand, it was well known that his contest with Morse for the Monte Cristo was up for a hearing. To stay at home would have been a confession of his anxiety that he did not want to make. But it was only after repeated charges to his daughter to call him up by telephone immediately if anything happened that he could bring himself to ride away.
He was scarcely out of sight when a Mexican vaquero rode in with the information that old Antonio, on his way to the post at Three Pines with a second drove of sheep, had twisted his ankle badly about fifteen miles from the ranch. After trying in vain to pick up a herder at Mesa by telephone, Melissy was driven to the only feasible course left her, to make the drive herself in place of Antonio. There were fifteen hundred sheep in the bunch, and they must be taken care of at once by somebody competent for the task. She knew she could handle them, for it had amused her to take charge of a herd often for an hour or two at a time. The long stretch over the desert would be wearisome and monotonous, but she had the slim, muscular tenacity of a half-grown boy. It did not matter what she wanted to do. The thing to which she came back always was that the sheep must be taken care of.
She left directions with Jim for taking care of the place, changed to a khaki skirt and jacket, slapped a saddle on her bronco, and disappeared across country among the undulations of the sandhills. A tenderfoot would have been hopelessly lost in the sameness of these hills and washes, but Melissy knew them as a city dweller does his streets. Straight as an arrow she went to her mark. The tinkle of distant sheep-bells greeted her after some hours' travel, and soon the low, ceaseless bleating of the herd.
The girl found Antonio propped against a pion tree, solacing himself philosophically with cigarettes. He was surprised to see her, but made only a slight objection to her taking his place. His ankle was paining him a good deal, and he was very glad to get the chance to pull himself to her saddle and ride back to the ranch.
A few quick words sent the dog Colin out among the sheep, by now scattered far and wide over the hill. They presently came pouring toward her, diverged westward, and massed at the base of a butte rising from a dry arroyo. The journey had begun, and hour after hour it continued through the hot day, always in a cloud of dust flung up by the sheep, sometimes through the heavy sand of a wash, often over slopes of shale, not seldom through thick cactus beds that shredded her skirt and tore like fierce, sharp fingers at her legging-protected ankles. The great gray desert still stretched before her to the horizon's edge, and still she flung the miles behind her with the long, rhythmic stride that was her birthright from the hills. A strong man, unused to it, would have been staggering with stiff fatigue, but this slender girl held the trail with light grace, her weight still carried springily on her small ankles.
Once she rested for a few minutes, flinging herself down into the sand at length, her head thrown back from the full brown throat so that she could gaze into the unstained sky of blue. Presently the claims of this planet made themselves heard, for she, too, was elemental and a creature of instinct. The earth was awake and palpitating with life, the low, indefatigable life of creeping things and vegetation persisting even in this waste of rock and sand.
But she could not rest long, for Diablo Caon must be reached before dark. The sheep would be very thirsty by the time they arrived, and she could not risk letting them tear down the precipitous edge among the sharp rocks in the dark. Already over the sand stretches a peculiar liquid glow was flooding, so that the whole desert seemed afire. The burning sun had slipped behind a saddle of the purple peaks, leaving a brilliant horizon of many mingled shades.
It was as she came forward