Miles lay for a moment, propped on an elbow, and a switch seemed to turn in his brain. He rose and charged, head low, fists battering.
In the dining room, standing on one of the tables, Norah Young watched the fight, and it sickened her. Because Paul had sided a helpless old man, because he had done the right and decent thing, he was forced to suffer. Aaron was her friend and her father's friend.
Paul waited for Miles' lowered head to come close; then he brought his knee up into the man's face. At the same time he swung his fist, sending Miles down upon his buttocks. Miles swayed there, dazed. With a queer look on his face, he crawled desperately away and stumbled out the back door.
Paul was unable to comprehend that it was over. The miners were jostling and cheering him. As the heat and fury drained away, pain flooded in. He moved unsteadily, held upright by the packed bodies. Then, miraculously, Addie was by his side, taking his arm, leading him through a side door into the kitchen.
There was a small room off the kitchen containing a cot, on which the night cook cat-napped between orders, and on this cot Addie forced Paul to lie. Not until his beaten and bruised body relaxed did he realize how spent he was. Yet he didn't like being fussed over by Addie. A cold dunking would clear his head and stop the bleeding.
"Here, drink this," Addie said, her arm under his head.
The whiskey burned his cut lips like fire but caused a warm glow in his stomach.
"Thanks," he said, lying back.
There was the sound of quick footsteps, and Norah appeared at the foot of the bed. Tears glistened in her eyes.
"Oh, Paul, Paul—" she began.
Addie stepped between them. "You'd better leave, Norah. Don't burden him with dramatics now."
"Burden?" Norah said vaguely. "I want to help him."
"How? By pushing your way in here?"
Enmity hung in the air. Paul could feel it, and he didn't want to cope with it just then. He wanted no grief, no pity.
"Let her alone, Addie," he said. Then to Norah, "You'd better go home, Norah. This is no place for you."
"I've been here before," she pleaded.
"Today is pay day, and the men will play rough. Go on home."
"If that's what you want," Norah said stiffly, and he knew she felt thrust out and discarded. She turned, unable to control the sob that shook her. Paul felt something twist in him at the sound.
Addie had warm water and cloths, and she was washing the blood off his face and out of his hair. The warm water dulled the pain which was simmering down into one big hurt. He lay with his eyes closed, trying to piece things together.
Addie, gently salving his cuts, said firmly, "This particular quarrel is ended—at least the fighting part of it."
"Miles ran out, but he wasn't licked," Paul said, feeling his face smart when he talked.
"But I tell you you'll never have to use your fists on those two again. I know."
Paul frowned. "I whipped them yesterday, and they came back."
"They were drunk. They wanted another chance, and now they've had it. They'll accept the decision as far as fists go."
"What do you mean by that, Addie?"
"There are lots of ways to get back at a man without getting hurt. You'll have to watch yourself from now on," Addie warned him.
"How did you ever get dragged into this business, Addie?" Paul asked.
"I wasn't dragged in," she said. "I came in with my eyes open because I wanted to. I was luckier than most."
"How?" he asked, leading her on.
"Aren't you prying?"
"You don't have to tell me anything."
"I know it, but I feel myself wanting to tell you. I'm afraid it would bore you."
"Try me."
"Well, I was raised in Colorado on a homestead on which my folks tried to ranch. The earth there God made for other things, lizards and rocks mostly. We all worked so hard for practically nothing that I vowed as a small girl to find some way, any way, to get free of such a life. My mother killed herself with work, and I couldn't stand it any more."
"I was sixteen then. The next time we drove to town for supplies, I looked up Mike Pugmire, who owned the fanciest saloon in town, and asked him for a job. Mike eyed me familiarly to see if I'd wince, but I gritted my teeth and took it. I showed him my legs; they were all right. So he gave me a job and advised me to learn to dance. I had a rather appealing voice, and the men liked my singing."
"Then I met Carter Grievy. There was a man! He was older than me by quite a bit, but he did things in grand style. You know, I never was sure if we were legally married. We were hitched by a wandering preacher. It worked out all right, though, and Carter taught me how to take care of myself and this business. We lost a horse one day not long after we started the Lone Chance. Carter went down to the Ute village to inquire about it. He never came back, and no trace of him could be found. The only proof we had he was dead were his watch and a fancy belt he always wore. They were later found in a tribe in New Mexico by a man who recognized them."
"You make it sound very simple. And now?"
"Now what?" Addie asked.
"Well, a person's life doesn't end—not while they're alive."
"Look, my friend," Addie said softly, "life is doled out to us in slices and morsels. A day's ration at a time, and no one knows what tomorrow's fare might be."
"I heard the name Severs," Paul said, his eyes closed. "Your man?"
"I don't know," she admitted slowly. "Right now he's not even his own man. Alonzo Finch has some kind of power over him, I don't know what."
"Finch is a weasel—a sucker, stealing others' lives to live by. He did side me in the fight out there, though."
"His type of man would do that," Addie agreed. "In the first place, it built him up in the eyes of the crowd. In the second, he owed you a favor for what you did the other day. Now the score is evened, watch him!"
"I'm here to watch him, and take him back with me. If you ever hear of him leaving, Addie, let me know at once."
The sun was setting now, sending a shaft of light across the room from the high, small window. In that shaft of light the dust in the air roiled and flowed like quicksilver.
"I'd better get back to business," Addie said. "It looks like a big night."
Paul lay for a time, getting used to the soreness of his body. At last he rose, put on his hat and went out through the dining room to the front porch. The sun had gone down, and the dusk was thickening, but a huge fire leaped and roared in front of the building.
The light of the flames, mixing with the gray dusk, cast a strange pinkish glow upon the faces of the men. It seemed to flow from the sky, where the sun had left a banner of color, streaked and furbished with red and orange and yellow. The warmth of the day still lingered, vying with the heat of the fire.
The circling men, some with bottles in their hands, one or two with hands on the shoulders of Addie's girls, watched the moving drama. There was an outcropping of limestone that had been blasted and shaped into a platform with a solid rock wall at the back. Upon this platform labored the drilling teams. Holes from other contests pierced the rock. The crowd cheered and strained to help their favorites.
Paul watched the drilling teams swinging their hammers in relentless, ringing blows. Stripped to the waist, their sweaty bodies appeared oily in the firelight; their biceps bulged and stretched, and the muscles of their backs writhed like snakes. One man crouched beside the holes, turning the long drill that bit its way into the rock, while the man with the double jack swung the heavy hammer faster and faster!
There was a steady ring of steel upon steel; pause to pour water into the hole to muddy the drillings; a swift change of steel as the mud was scooped from the hole with a scraper. There was an earnestness and precision about the two teams of drillers that was amazing.
Paul was conscious of another person close to him in the darkening shadows of the porch.
"Quite a big commotion here tonight," Morgan's gruff voice sai
d.
Paul tensed. From Morgan he expected nothing but enmity.
"Yeah, big," he said, thinking of his own contribution to the fun.
"I won a nice little bet on you this afternoon," Morgan went on affably, his tone even. "I'm a betting man, but I like a square deal. I still think your friend Finch is a cheat, but I'm glad I didn't kill him. Thanks for butting in."
"He's not my friend. I figured you might hate my guts for what I did," Paul said.
"I never hold a grudge unless the cause keeps galling me: I could use a man like you."
"I'm already bought," Paul said shortly. "Besides, I could never do that work." He indicated the drillers still moving like well-oiled machines in the flickering firelight. It was getting quite dark by now, and most of the light came from the flames. "It beats me how they can see what they're doing."
Morgan grunted. "Look at 'em, working like mad to drill a hole into nowhere. They never break their backs when they're really working underground. I ought to know; I'm the daylight shift boss. That firelight is more than enough for them to drill by. They're used to a couple of candles stuck in the wall when they drill in the mine."
"What they're doing looks like quite an achievement to me," Paul confessed.
"There are some good men there," Morgan said. "Fewker and Migallo, the team on the left, have won matches in most of the camps of the territory. Calder and Tanner are riding them hard, though. If they don't get tricked out of it, they might win this match."
"Tricked out of it?" Paul asked. "How?"
"Watch the men crowding in close around the rock. They'll try to slip in a dull steel on them if they can. Calder's backers are watching them, though. I've got a hundred riding on Calder and Tanner," Morgan said. "Had to give three to five odds."
The longest of the set of drills was nearly buried in the rock now, and the men began to shout in a frenzy of encouragement to their favorites. Even from the porch it could be seen that the match was close. Then, across the yard, Paul saw Norah standing in the front rank of the men. Beside her, his hand possessively on her arm, stood Alonzo Finch.
He started off the porch, but Morgan kept him from going.
"Wait a minute, Scott," Morgan said. "The fun is just beginning. You see the miners have to put on a big enough show so the railroad hands can't top it. You should see them perform on pay day."
"Certainly they don't drill holes?" Paul asked, keeping his eyes on Norah and Finch.
"No, but they have their own battle. They drive rail spikes. I've seen them start twenty of them the length of a tie, and drive the lot of them with twenty strokes. That's what I call swinging a maul."
There was a fresh outburst from the crowd now as the drilling match ended. Paul saw the double-jackers standing on their spread legs, the big hammers slack in their tired hands. He heard a new shout from the men as the holes were measured.
"Attention! Attention!" a man shouted. He stood on the rock between the two drilling teams. "The winners are Fewker and Migallo!"
Paul grinned at Morgan, "You lost some skin there," he said.
Morgan shrugged. "I'll get it back before the night's over," he promised without changing expression.
Then Paul saw a new commotion in the crowd nearer the porch. He caught sight of "Big-head" Larson, his shambling, stooped body being pushed and badgered by a bunch of men who were yelling at him, offering to give him a cut of bets if he did something or other. Larson appeared disinterested. Then Paul saw that one of the men in the crowd carried a rifle, and his interest increased.
"What's going on there?"
"Big-head gets his moment of glory. Watch him. He always makes them argue with him; he has to be begged. In the end he'll do just what they want him to."
As though at a signal, the crowd melted away at the end of the yard, leaving a clear path to the small hill not far off. Somebody rolled a stump to the drilling platform. Paul saw the men near the porch force a rifle into Big-head's paw-like hands.
The rifle looked dangerous in the possession of Big-head. But once he had the gun, Big-head appeared to grow straighter; his head came up and he looked about with a curious grin on his thick lips. He had the dedicated, inspired look of a child with a long-coveted toy. But this was no toy; it was a rifle of the latest type, a Winchester repeater!
The gun alone was enough to create interest, but something Big-head was going to do with the gun appeared to be the important thing. Paul had never fired a repeater himself.
"The six—put up the six!" somebody yelled.
At the same time somebody added dry fuel to the fire, causing it to leap and surge, washing the gathering in a bright yellow light. Paul could see the men fifty yards away fastening a six of hearts to the butt end of the stump. Paul realized it was a target.
Paul was still not sure whether this whole affair was a joke or not. Even in daylight, the small playing card would have made a difficult target. In the uncertain light of the fire, it would be almost impossible to hit. As though in answer to his thought, two men stepped forward and placed a burning candle in the rock on either side of the card, close enough to illuminate it.
"It's a ritual," Morgan said suddenly.
Paul was startled by the interruption, because he, like the others, was watching Big-head, fascinated by the man's changed appearance. Big-head waved the men back and braced the rifle against his bullish shoulder. His slitted eye glittered on the sight, and the rifle jumped into roaring, flaming life.
The men near the target chanted as the shots flared forth, "One, Two! Three! Four! Five! Six!" The rest of the crowd had taken up the chant and, as the echo of the last shot died, a tense silence fell upon the men. Then the card was removed and passed with expressions of awe from hand to hand. When Paul finally saw it, he was impressed. The six bullets had struck the card, not completely obliterating the six hearts, but following their pattern.
The crowd began to break up now, paying off bets and moving into the bar to quench their thirsts. Paul suddenly remembered Norah, but she was not there. Neither was Alonzo Finch. He heard Morgan mumble something at his side and drift away, but he did not follow. He hurried across the yard, squirming his way through the flowing crowd, still unable to see Norah. He went to the rack where the horses were tied. When he saw Norah's pinto there his misgivings increased. Somebody had kicked the fire into new life, and as the light reached out, Paul caught a glimpse of figures in the shadows at the side of the building.
He moved over so the corner of the building would shield him and then quietly approached the spot. As he turned the corner, he was close enough to see them clearly. Norah was standing with her back against the wall, and Finch stood in front of her, an arm against the wall on either side of her. Paul couldn't tell what they were saying, but when he heard Norah's nervous laugh, he realized that Finch was impressing her.
Paul stepped toward them, caught Finch's shoulder and forced him around.
"All right, Alonzo," Paul said. "It's time I took Norah home."
Alonzo Finch glared at him, his face sharp with anger, but the next moment he had regained his composure.
"Paul," he said, "you're getting to be a nuisance. I don't intend to put up with you forever. You came to take me back to Oklahoma. Well, fill your brag, or quit bothering me. Frankly, you look terrible with your face puffed and cut like it is. I'm sure Norah would find me better company. I'll take her home."
"Alonzo, I've had enough fighting for one day," Paul said gravely, "but if I have to, I'll fight again. This is no place for Norah, and you're not fit company for her."
Finch backed off a step, his head cocked a little to the side. Norah pushed herself away from the building. The sight of Paul's cut and battered face hurt her deeply. Realizing that he must not incur more punishment, she stepped between them.
"I'm going home with Paul, Alonzo," she said quietly, but with a hint of apology in her voice. "Good night."
"Good night, Norah," Finch said politely. "Uriah should teach his 'ha
nds' to keep in their place."
Paul grimly refused to honor the remark with a reply. He took Norah's arm and led her quietly toward the line of horses.
Chapter 4
Addie Grievy, stepping from the wooden tub, rubbed herself vigorously with the towel. She inspected her flawless skin in the long mirror and felt her old discontent rise. Why had she picked up with Lieth Severs? Perhaps it was his need for her that held her to him. Why couldn't she have waited for a man like Paul?
She dressed nervously. She was older than Paul, but that made no difference. She brushed her hair, piled it on top of her head. Now that she had made up her mind, there was no time to lose. Even tonight might be too late. She must warn Paul of danger, and see that he acted on her advice.
What sort of danger? She wasn't sure herself. Paul was not wanted in the valley by certain elements, and he still had the enmity of the two troopers he had whipped. Major Hornaby had made some very pointed remarks the last time he had visited her.
She dressed in her riding habit. Paul had not come back to the Lone Chance since the night of the fight, so she would have to swallow her pride and go to him. Giving herself a last satisfied inspection, she went downstairs, where she asked Big-head Larson to saddle her horse and bring him around front. Since Grievy had died, she had not done much riding. The business had required too much of her time, and then, too, Lieth did not care to ride.
She approached the Young ranch with some trepidation, because she had never met Helen Young. She had seen her, to be sure, but there had never been any word spoken between them. If Norah was there, it would be easier. It amused her somewhat to discover that she was nervous.
She dismounted and walked to the porch, looking eagerly around, hoping to see Paul. Her hand trembled as she raised it; then her delicate knuckles rapped sharply on the panel. At first there was no response, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched.
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