"Well, yu've shore bin askin' for trouble, an' now yu got it," he said. "I'm guessin' this will put yu in the pen."
"Better guess again, sheriff, an' mebbe yu'll be right," suggested the drawling voice of the Lazy M foreman.
He had come in unobserved, and now stood leaning idly against the bar, his thumbs hooked in his belt, and a look of mingled amusement and contempt on his face. Tyler jerked round, his hand flying to his gun-butt.
"Don't yu," urged the newcomer gently. "Yu ain't no more fit to die than yu are to live."
Tyler's face turned a pasty yellow; his gesture had been a bluff, and he was conscious that the other man knew it. He had no intentionofforcing a fight with this cold-blooded, mocking devil. The entryofthe Bar B owner heartened him, and he tried to gathen together the shattered fragments of his dignity.
"As sheriff o' thisyer town--" he began.
"Yo're a hopeless failure--yu needn't tell us," Severn interposed. "Now, see here, sheriff. Our distinguished citizen, Mister Bartholomew, has joined us. He don't know nothin' o' this ruckus, o' course. S'pose yu ask his opinion."
By this time Bartholomew had elbowed his way through the company, and Severn had not failed to note his fleeting expressionofchagrin when he saw Devint's body, nor the poisonous flashofhatred directed at Larry. But he instantly got controlofhis features again, and listened unmoved while the sheriff, anxious to transfer his burden of responsibility, related the facts. He saw at once the position into which Severn had so astutely jockeyed him. As a friendofPhil Masters he could not condemn the action of her defender. He did not hesitate.
"The skunk deserved to die, an' if this fella hadn't rubbed him out I'd 'a' done it myself," he said, with a savage emphasis which convinced many of his hearers. "If there's a man here who ain't satisfied that Devint was lyin', p'raps he'll step forward." No one responding to the invitation, he turned to the sheriff. "Yu say it was an even break?"
"I didn't see the scrap, but I'm told so," Tyler had to admit.
"There ain't nothin' to do then," the rancher said, and with a sneer to Severn, "Yu can take yore man away, but he'd better watch out; mebbe he won't be so lucky next time."
"I reckon the Lazy M can take care of itself," the foreman told him.
With the help of Ridge and his two riders, the wounded man was conveyed to the ranch. This time Phil, hearing them arrive, thrust aside her scruples and went to meet them. At the sightofLarry held on his horse by twoofthe others, her heart seemed to turn over.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Barton had a run-in with Devint, an' is drilled through the shoulder--nothin' serious," Severn assured her.
"And Devint?"
"Cashed," was the brief reply.
The girl shuddered and asked no more. Larry had killed a man. Barton was carried to the ranch-house and installed in Philip Master's bed. As she explained to Severn, it would be easier for Dinah and herself to tend him there than in the bunkhouse. The invalid himself, though weak and in pain, made lightofhis injury. What hurt him much more was the cold and alof attitudeofthe girl. When his wound had been re-dressed, he seized a moment when he was alone with her.
"I'm right distressed to give yu all this trouble," he said. "Yu oughta let the boys look after me."
She shook her head, and then, "Oh, why did you do it? To cold-bloodedly go in search of a fellow-creature to kill him; it is horrible."
She saw his pale face flush and the lines about his mouth harden.
"Devint's kind ain't fellow-creatures no more than a rattler is," he said slowly. "Let me tell yu somethin' about him. He an' some others once hanged an old man on a charge they knew he was innocent f. Devint put the noose round his neck, an' because he spoke, struck him in the face. That's a true story."
"But why should you punish him--there's a law to do that," she protested.
"What I've told yu happened ten years ago; the law is a mite slow," he said, and after a pause, "I would do the same again."
She knew that he was right; but she would not admit it. She knew, too, that had anyone but Larry done the killing it would not have affected her so deeply, but this again she would not admit, even to herself.
It was not until the following morning that she heard the real story of the shooting. She had ridden in to Hope, and had justdismounted in frontofCallahan's store when Bartholomew came along. His face grew darker at the sightofher.
"'Lo, Phil," he said. "Reckon yu'll allow now that I was right. Yu see what's come o' yore foolishness, ridin' around with a hand; one man dead an' another perforated."
"But that had nothing to do with it," she cried.
"It had everythin' to do with it," Bartholomew said angrily. "Devint's in the `Come Again' shootin' off his mouth 'bout seein' yu an' that pup kissin' an' cuddlin' in Snake Coulee, an' Barton tells him he is a liar."
Phil's heart sang within her. Larry had fought for her good name; he was not a cold-blooded slayer.
"I got there too late, or I'd 'a' wiped the houn' out myself," the Bar B owner went on. "O' course I don't believe it, but it ain't a very nice tale for a fella to hear about his future wife."
The girl looked up quickly. "I am not that, Mr. Bartholomew," she said. "If I have ever given you any reason to think I might be, I am sorry. You must forget it."
Her tone was cold and decisive, and a spasm of rage contracted the rancher's features. He knew that she meant every word, but he would not allow himself to think so. With an effort he forced a smile.
"Aw, don't get sore at me, Phil," he said placatingly. "I haven't got the trick o' makin' pretty speeches, but I want yu, girl, an' I ain't takin' that as yore final answer."
"I shall not change," she said quietly, and walked away.
Bartholomew stared after her for a moment, his rage again uppermost, and then turned and strode up the street. Blind with passion, he blundered into a pedestrian coming the other way, and with an oath and a sweepofhis fist, hurled him from the board sidewalk into the dusty roadway. The victimofhis wrath, a smallish man who wore a stubbleofgrey beard and a patch over one eye, picked himself up and glared malevolently. He was wearing a gun, and Phil fully expected to see the bully shot down, but with a rumbled threat the stranger went on his way, directing a curious glance at the girl as he passed her.
Chapter XIII
THE discoveryofPhil's real stateofmind regarding him was a bitter blow to Bartholomew's hopes and his vanity. So that for the restofthe day his outfit had a trying time, and when Penton dropped in at the Bar B ranch-house in the evening, he found the owner in anything but a pleasant frame of mind. The foreman, who had not seen him for twenty-four hours, came to the point at once.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Damn near everythin'," was the surly reply. "Heard about Devint?"
"I just met up with him," Penton said.
"What? Devint's dead. Yu ain't drunk are yu?" snapped he rancher.
"Not so as yu'd notice it," Penton told him. "Like I said, I met up with Devint--he's hangin' on the tree by Forby's shack, an' there's a fourth notch cut."
Bartholomew glared at him. "Severn's still playin' thatofof game, is he?" he growled.
"Yu oughta done what I said an' burnped Severn off right away," Penton told him. "The girl would 'a' found some means o' gettin' round Embley. It ain't too late now--she'd soon forget, him."
"Damnation! She don't care no more for Severn than a cat likes swimmin'," Bart burst out. "It's that cursed pup what downed Devint."
He related his meeting with Phil in the morning.
"So she gave you the frozen mitt, eh?" Penton said. "That's a hoss with a different brand, ain't it? I reckon yu gotta say farewell to the Lazy M, Bart, an' be content to be second-best man at the weddin'."
The big man looked at the bitter, sarcastic faceofthe speaker, and his own grew blacker.
"I ain't feelin' funny, Penton," he warned.
"I don't see nothin' humorous about it my own self," his foreman rejoined. "I tho
ught mebbe I was expressin' yore own sentiments, though I gotta admit I ain't ever found yu a quitter before."
"An' I don't aim to be now," the Bar B owner said harshly. "What I go after, I get, come hell or high water. It ain't goin' to be as easy as I hoped, that's all. We gotta take chances."
"Well, we've done that afore an' got away with it," Penton allowed. "No means o' gettin' Embley on our side, I s'pose?" Bartholomew's smile was satanic. "Yu must be a blighted thought-reader, Pent," he said. "Yes, there is a way, but I ain't got it worked out yet. For now, just keep on puttin' it about that Severn likely rubbed out Masters."
Penton nodded. "Can't pin Stevens on him too, eh?" he asked.
"It wouldn't do," Bart said. "He could easy prove he warn't in the neighbourhood then."
"Gettin' rid o' Stevens to make room for Severn didn't do us no good," the foreman remarked.
"Yo're damn right, it didn't, but who'd 'a' thought Masters would bring in a stranger?" Bartholomew growled. "We reckoned on his givin' the job to Devint."
"Masters warn't quite so dumb as we figured," Penton said as he went out.
Bartholomew's grunt was one of affirmation; he was beginning to realise that he had underrated the late ownerofthe Lazy M.
It was a message from Ridge, conveyed by oneofhis riders, that brought Severn into Hope several days after the shooting. On his way to Bent's, where the XT man had arranged to meet him, the foreman sensed a difference in the attitude of the inhabitants towards himself. Several men to whom he had nodded or spoke before, passed without apparently seeing him. Ridge, who was waiting, soon explained the reason for this.
"Ain't wantin' to make more trouble for yu, but I reckon yu oughta know that it's bein' generally spread around that yu downed Masters," the rancher said bluntly.
"Bart's men seem to be doin' the talkin'," Bent added. "Me an' Ridge thought yu might have a word to say about it." Severn's eyes darkened. "I have," he said quietly. "I'm agoin' up to the `Come Again' right now to say it--to Mister Bartholomew."
"Yu ain't goin' alone, neither," the XT man put in.
"If I could leave here--" the saloon-keeper began, but Severn waved him to silence.
"I'm obliged, but stay put, old-timer," he said. "No call for yu to mix in this."
The big bar-room at the "Come Again" was well patronised, and had Severn needed confirmationofthe rumour about himself, the fact that only one or two men returned his greeting would have provided it. Bartholomew, Penton, Martin and several others were standing in a group. The Lazy M foreman walked straight up to them.
"Bartholomew," he said. "I hear yo're accusin' me o' murderin' Masters."
The big man was obviously nonplussed for a moment; he had not expected such a direct challenge. But he soon recovered his poise, and with a sneering grin at those about him, retorted :
"Well, s'pos'n it's so; what about it?"
"On'y this," Severn said coolly. "Yu will produce any evidence yu got, eat yore words, or--fight."
"I ain't takin' orders from yu," Bartholomew replied.
"No? Well, yo're takin' this, yu dirty coward," Severn flashed back.
With the words, he stepped forward and his open hand slapped the Bar B owner smartly across the cheek. The force of the blow was such that the recipient staggered back, his face livid. With an inarticulate growloffury he snatched at his gun. He had got it half outofthe holster when a drawling voice warned:
"I wouldn't."
Bartholomew hesitated, glaring. Severn's right hand Colt was covering him, though no man had seen him pull it. A gasp of astonishment came from the onlookers; Black Bart was esteemed the quickest on the draw for miles round, and he had been hopelessly beaten. For perhaps thirty seconds there was a tense heart-stopping silence, and then the man who had the drop spoke :
"Yu went for yore gun, Bartholomew, an' I got every right to down yu, but--stand awful still; a moveofone inch'll land yu plumb in hell."
The acid in the voice bit into the big man's brain. His hand was still on his gun, but he dared not draw. That crouching figure with the narrowed implacable eyes would not hesitate.
Helpless as a tied steer, Bartholomew stood waiting the willofthe man he hated, beadsofperspiration on his brow, his eyes like live coals.
"I've shown yu how easy it would be for me to kill yu," Severn said quietly. "But for reasons o' my own, I'm agoin' to let yu live a bit longer."
The foreman's pronouncement relaxed the terrific tensionofthe room in some degree, but all knew the incident was not over. The reprieve from what appeared to be certain death brought back a lintle of his habitual insolence to Bartholomew, and he waited with a bitter sneer on his face for the next move. When the foreman spoke again, his voice was low, vibrant.
"I've been told, Bartholomew, that yu are anxious to get yore hands on me," he stated. "I'm givin' yu the opportunity now. Shuck yore belt."
For an instant the rancher stared in surprise, and then a gleamofunholy joy shone in his eyes. There was no man in the Territory who could live with him in a rough and tumble encounter; the lamb had come willingly to the slaughter. His astonishment was shared by the others in the room, allofwhom knew the big man's reputation. Ridge's expression betrayed deep concern.
"Yu must be loco, Severn," he whispered. "They say he killed a fella with his bare hands in Desert Edge."
"Don't yu worry, old-timer," was the quiet reply.
Both men removed their vests, belts and spurs, while eager hands pushed aside tables and chairs, clearing a space round which Muger's customers, drinks and games forgotten, ranged themselves in close-pressed ranks. Every moment the door opened to admit newcomers as the tidings of the impending battle spread, until nearly the entire male population was congregated around the arena. A clamourofarguing voices had succeeded the silence.
Amidst it all stood Severn, watching his man, a surgeofsatisfaction in his heart. He knew that he was taking a great risk--his opponent was bigger-built, heavier, and though older, still in the primeoflife--but he did not care.
To the onlookers the contest seemed almost unfair. They saw the great bulkofthe rancher, whose every movement brought the muscles rippling into ridges beneath his shirt, and contrasted it with the slim, wiry figureofthe puncher. Fewofthem had any doubt as to the issue. It would be brute force against brains.
"Bart'll eat him, without salt," said one.
"He'll find him a tough mouthful," retorted his neighbour, who had been eyeing the puncher closely. "Barb-wire an' rawhide is what that fella's made of, an' he's fit."
"Allasame, I'm layin' two to one on the big 'un," the first speaker said loudly.
"Take that--to fifty," snapped Ridge instantly.
One or two otherofSevern's friends supported him, but they were few, and Bartholomew laughed when the odds were increased and still there were no takers.
"Too bad yu can't get no bets, boys, for it's goin' to be easy money," he called out. "I'll break every bone in his body."
"Chatter is cheap," Severn retorted. "Come an' do it, Mister --Mask."
He had not raised his voice, and probably few, if any,ofthe jostling, excited crowd caught the epithet. But Bartholomew heard it, was guiltyofa little startofsurprise, and swore when he saw the foreman's grin of comprehension.
For a short moment the two men faced one another, and then Severn, determined to get in the first punch, darted in like lightning, drove a right and left just above Bartholomew's belt-line and was out of reach before the other had recovered his breath. With a bellow of rage--for he had figured on commencing the combat--the rancher rushed in, swinging his formidable fists, dealing blows which had they landed might well have ended the battle then and there. But the foreman was wary; he knew that at close quarters he would be at a disadvantage; his only hope was to keep his opponent on the move, jumping in when opportunity offered to strike. Bartholomewfell into the trap; believing that his man was afraid, he went after him eagerly, only to find that the light, quick-footed puncher was somewhere el
se. The tactics irritated not only the rancher but his friends, and shouts of derision, mingled with entreaties to "stand an' fight like a man" came from the spectators.
Severn took no notice; he knew perfectly well what he was about; it was not the firsn time he had fought a bigger man than himself. Time after time he darted in, slammed one fist and then the other into his opponent's body, and got away laughing. The shouting crowd, thrusting and squirming to get a good view, swayed back and forth, gradually narrowing the space cleared for the combatants. Dust rose in clouds from the boards under the stamping, scuffling feetoffighters and followers. Tobacco smoke hung like a haze over the room; the smell of kerosene, and an intolerable heat added to the discomfort. Shouts of encouragement, mostly for Bartholomew, mingled with the cursesofthose unfortunate enough to get hurt in the melee.
Despite all that Ridge and one or two others could do, the ring soon grew smaller again, and Severn found himself forced into close quarters winh the big man who, quick to see his advantage, rushed in, flailing the air with his great arms. The puncher, unable to retreat, dodged what blows he could, took the remainder, and fought back doggedly, aiming for the body, which he had already selected as Bartholomew's weak spot. His lips drawn back in a snarling smile, his jaws clenched and narrowed eyes alert, he endured a shower of blows which would have beaten a less agile man to the ground, and every now and then his fists thudded into the bigger man's midriff. The successionofpunches in one place was beginning to have its effect, the Bar B man was breathing gustily, and he winced obviously when Severn gon a hit home.
The Lazy M man, too, was being severely punished; he could not evade all the blows, and presently a whirling right caught and sent him to his knees. Amidst a howlofjubilation from his supporters, Bart jumped forward and aimed a venomous kick at the puncher's head. Severn, on his feet but not upright, twisted aside, caught the big man's ankle and stood up. Thrown off his balance, Bartholomew crashed to the floor and lay there breathless and half stunned. Severn stood wanching him, gladofthe respine. In similar circumstances, the Bar B owner would have stamped the life out of his foe, but the cowboy did not fight that way. A tense silence gripped the spectators as they waited, and then someone said satirically :
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