This was the country of which she had heard, the country that was almost unknown to the outside world. She pressed on, forgetful of the dwindling afternoon, and thinking only of the beauty of the landscape. She forded the Laird again, a swift, silent stream this time, and her-road came out under great trees, turning the afternoon into a dim twilight as though she rode through a magnificent cathedral of towering columns.
Roxie was as interested as she herself, the mare's ears forward, twitching and curious. They continued, came out in a steep-walled canyon, and forded the stream for the third time. Again it was white water, but slower than below. The trail took her out of the canyon then, and across a valley of some fifty acres, the river, wider and deeper, was backed up behind a natural dam until there was a small lake among the trees. A bird flew up from the water, but she caught only a glimpse and could not identify it.
Then suddenly the trail channeled again and she was in another narrow-mouthed canyon. Great crags leaned over the trail here, and the river was no longer near, but had taken a turn away to the right. Then, riding out of the canyon, she stopped, staring across the first of the dreaded shale banks.
Evening had come, although it was still light, and there was no sound but the soft whisper of the wind in the trees. This was a lonely land, a land where nothing seemed to move, nothing seemed to stir, not even a leaf.
Looking up, she saw the long, steep slide of shale, and looking down, she saw that the shale disappeared in growing darkness below. But when she looked off to the right now, there was no canyon wall, no river. There was only a vast and empty silence, and the somber shadows of twilight lying over a gloomy desert. These were the lava pits, a trackless, lifeless region of blowholes and jagged rock. It lay below her, something like a hundred feet below.
Roxie shied at the bank, and backed away nervously. There was a route across. That much Remy knew. Yet how it went, or how one knew where to enter, she could not guess. Hopelessness overwhelmed her, and anger, too. Anger at herself for failing now, and for persisting so long.
Fortunately, they would not be worried at home. She often rode to the Mclnnis ranch, or to Brewster's. Occasionally, she stayed all night. But the thought of staying in this lonely place at night frightened her. She did not want to turn around, yet the slate bank was appalling in its silent uncertainty.
Dismounting, she walked up to it, and stepped in with a tentative foot. Her boot sank, and almost at once the shale began to slide under her feet. She drew back, pale and disturbed.
Roxie pulled back nervously; the mare was obviously afraid and wanted none of it. Standing there, trying to make up her mind, Remy was suddenly startled.
A horseman was riding out of the darkness on the far side, and he rode now up to the edge of the awful dropoff into the lava pits. From across the distance she could hear he was singing, some low, melancholy song.
Remy stood still, her heart caught suddenly by the loneliness of the man, and the low, dreaming voice made the night seem suddenly alive with sadness. Stirred, she stood still, her lips parted as though to call, watching, and listening. It was only when he turned his horse to ride on that she became aware of herself.
She called out, and the man reined in his horse suddenly, and turned, listening. Then she called again. "Hey, over there! How do I get across?"
"What the devil?" It was Mahone. The realization made her eyes widen a little. "Who is it?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"
"It's Remy Kastelle!" she said. "I started for a look at Crystal Valley! Can you help me over?"
He sat his horse, staring across the way, his face no more than a light spot in the darkness. She could almost imagine him swearing, and then he moved his horse to a new position. "All right," he called, "start toward me. Come straight along until I tell you to stop. How's that mare of yours? Is she skittish?"
"A little," Remy admitted, "but I think she'll be all right."
"Then come on."
Roxie hesitated, put a hoof into the shale, and snorted. Remy spoke soothingly, and the mare quieted. Mahone called again, and the sight of the stallion on the other side of the bank seemed to encourage the white mare. Gingerly she moved into the slate. It sank sickeningly, then seemed to reach solid footing. Stepping with infinite care, the mare moved on.
When they had gone something over twenty yards, Mahone called to her, and she reined in.
"Now be very careful!" he shouted. "See that tall pine up there? Turn her head and ride that way. Count her steps, and when she has gone thirty steps, stop her again."
Her heart pounding, Remy spoke to the mare, and Roxie moved out, very slowly. This was a climb, and the shale slid around her hooves. Once the mare slipped and seemed about to fall, but scrambled and got her feet under her once more.
When they had gone thirty steps, Mahone called again. When she looked, she saw he had shifted position. "Now ride right to me!" he said.
It was so dark now she could make him out only by his face and the brightness of some of the studs on the stallion's bridle. She turned again, and after stumbling and sliding for another fifty yards, the mare scrambled onto solid earth and stopped, trembling in every limb.
Remy slid to the ground and her knees melted under her. "I wouldn't do that again," she protested, "for all the money in the world! How do you ever live in such a place?"
Mahone laughed. "I like it!" he said. "Wait until you see Crystal Valley!"
She started to get up and he helped her. The touch of his hand made her start, and she looked up at him in the darkness, just distinguishing the outline of his face. She sensed his nearness and moved back, strangely disturbed. Something about this man did things to her, and she was angered by it.
"But what will we do?" she protested. "Isn't there another slide? Longer than this?"
He grinned and nodded. She saw his white teeth in the darkness. "Yes, there is, but I'll put a rope on your saddle horn for luck and lead the mare by the bridle reins."
"Are you trying to frighten me?" she flared.
"No, not a bit. If you were riding ahead of me, and my horse didn't know the trail, I'd want your rope on my saddle horn. This next slide is a dilly!"
They started on, and he rode rapidly, eager to get the last of the dim light. The sky was still a little gray. When they reached the edge of the slide it was abysmally dark. He reined in abruptly. "Too dark," he told her. "We'll get off and wait until the moon comes up. It should be over the rim in about an hour. By moonlight we can make it."
He walked over to some trees and tied the two horses loosely. Gathering some sticks, he built a fire. When the dry sticks blazed up, he looked across at her and grinned. "Seems sort of strange. This is the first time a woman's ever crossed that slate bank, unless it was some Indian.-"
Remy looked at him gravely, then stretched her hands toward the fire. Surprisingly, the evening was quite cool, and the air was damp. Mahone knelt beside the fire and fed dry sticks into it, then looked up at her. "Your name is Kastelle?" he said. "It's an odd name. It has a ring to it, somehow."
"Perhaps you knew my father?" she suggested. "Before we came here we lived in Texas, and before that he was a gambler in San Francisco, what used to be called the Barbary Coast. They called him Frenchy."
He was looking at the fire. "Frenchy Kastelle?" He shook his head thoughtfully. "Seems like I would remember."
"I gathered from what my foreman said today that you know him." Remy leaned back, looking at the fire. "His name is Texas Dowd."
"Did this Dowd say he knew me?"
"No, he didn't, but he won money on your fight. He won a bet from Pierce Logan. Logan was sure Leibman would win."
"This Pierce Logan must know Leibman," Mahone commented. "No man risks his money on a stranger."
It was something she had not considered. Still, Logan got around a good deal, and he might have met the big German. But she was not to be turned from her main interest. "That's why I thought Dowd knew you. He seemed so sure."
"H
e might know me. In cattle country men get to know others by name lots of times, or maybe you meet in a bar, or in passing."
"Were you ever in Mexico?" It was a shot in the dark, but she noticed that Finn picked up a stick and began poking Ilhe fire. Why, she could not have guessed, but suddenly she felt she had touched the nerve of the whole story.
"Mexico? I reckon most every man who lives along the border gets into Mexico. Right pretty country ... some of it. Fine folks, too."
They were silent for a moment.
"What's it like in there?" Remy indicated the trail toward Crystal Valley.
"Like a little bit of heaven," he said. "Quiet, peaceful, green ... the most beautiful spot I ever saw. There's something about living back in these hills that gives a man time to think, to consider. Then, I like to read. Back there I can sit on my porch for hours, or over a fire in the cabin, and read all I like."
"How about your cattle? Don't you ever work them?"
He shrugged, and poked thoughtfully at the fire. "They aren't much trouble," he said. "No other cattle can get to them. I brand the calves while out riding around.
Carry a running iron with me all the time. That way the work never gets much behind."
He stood up. "The moon's higher. We'd better go."
Remy knew one thing. She would never forget that night ride across that mile of treacherous shale. It was a ride she would never want to make alone, even by day. Yet she was dozing in her saddle and half asleep when they pulled up at the cabin.
"Go on in," he said. "I'll put up the horses."
She went up the steps and opened the door. It was dark but warm inside. She was struck at once by that warmth. An empty house, empty for hours on a chill night, shouldn't have been warm. She struck a light, and saw the candle on the table. When she lighted it, she turned slowly, half expecting to see someone in the room, but it was empty.
Puzzled, she walked to the fireplace and, with the poker, stirred the coals. They glowed red. Then she saw the coffeepot and, stooping, touched it with her hand. It was warm, almost hot.
She straightened then, and looked around. The room-was small, but comfortable, having none of the usual marks of bachelor quarters. Surprisingly, it was neat. The few clothes she saw were hung on pegs, the pots and pans were polished and shining, the dishes on the shelves were neatly stacked, and all was clean. Only one cup stood on the table. In it were a few coffee grounds.
Remy was standing there looking at that cup when Finn came in. He tossed his hat to a peg across the room and it caught. He glanced at the cup, then at her eyes. "We'll warm the coffee up," he said, "and then have something to eat."
She turned and looked at him thoughtfully. "The coffee," she said, and there was a question in her voice, "is warm. Almost hot!"
"Good," he said. She stared at him while he stirred the fire. "We'll eat right away, then."
"Can I help?"
"If you like." He got some plates down and put them on the table.
Why she should be disturbed, she didn't know. Obviously, there was someone else around. She had understood that Finn Mahone lived alone in the valley. Who was here with him? Where was she now?
Why must it be a woman? Remy didn't know why, but she wondered if it was. There was nothing effeminate about the room, yet it was almost too neat, too perfect. From her experience with cattlemen and cowhands, they usually lived in something that resembled a boar's nest. This was anything but that.
She looked up suddenly to see him watching her with a covert smile. "Would you like to see the rest of the house?" he suggested. She had the feeling that she amused him, and her spine stiffened.
"No, I don't think I'd care to! It isn't at all necessary!"
He grinned and picked up the candle. "Come on," he said.
She hesitated, then followed. She was curious.
The next room was a bedroom with a wide, spacious bed, much resembling an old four-poster. She thought it was, but when she drew nearer she could see it was homemade. On the floor was an Indian rug, and here, too, there were pegs on the walls. There were three pictures.
She started toward them, but he turned away and went into a third room. She followed him, then stopped. Here was a wide, homemade writing desk, and around her the walls were lined with books. The candlelight gleamed on the gold lettering, and she looked at them curiously. How her father would love this room! She could imagine his eyes lighting up at the sight of so many books. /
They returned to the other room and he got the coffee and filled two new cups. They ate, almost in silence, but Remy found her eyes straying again and again to that empty cup. If Finn Mahone noticed, he gave no sign.
When they had finished eating, she helped him stack the few dishes. Somewhere not far-off a wolf howled, a weird, yapping chorus that sounded like more than a dozen.
She stopped in the act of putting away the last of the food. "It's nice here," she said, "but so quiet. How do you ever stand it ... alone?"
"I manage." His smile was exasperating. "It is quiet, but I like the stillness."
The problem of the night was before them, but Remy avoided the thought, trying to appear quiet, assured. She should have been frightened or worried. She told herself that would be the maidenly thing. Yet she wasn't. She-was curious, and a little disturbed.
Sometimes she saw his eyes on her, calm and amused, and she wondered what he was thinking. No other man had ever upset her so much, nor had she met any other who was so difficult to read. Dowd was older, a simple? quiet man, and if he did not talk about some things, it was something she could understand. Somewhere he had been hurt, deeply hurt.
There was none of that in Finn Mahone. He was simply unreadable.
"You're going to have trouble, you know," she said suddenly.
"Trouble?" He accepted the word, seemed to revolve it in his mind. "I think so. It's been coming for some time.
But don't be sure it will only be for me. Before this is over, there will be trouble for all of us."
She looked at him, surprised. "How do you mean?"
He tossed a stick on the fire. "How long has this rustling been going on? They say some five thousand cattle have disappeared. I would say that is about ten percent of what there is on the range around here, yet who has actually seen any rustlers?
"Who has seen any cattle being moved? Who has heard of any being shipped? Why were there always cattle on the lower ranges, and none up in the canyons?"
"Why?" Remy watched him, curious and alert.
He looked up at her, and his eyes, she noted, were a strange darkish green. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Why? Because the rustlers have taken cattle slowly, carefully, a few at a time, and when they have taken them they have moved other cattle down from the canyons where they could be seen, so no suspicion would be aroused."
He looked at her with a wry smile. "Five thousand cattle are a lot of cattle! And they are gone. Gone like shadows or a bunch of ghosts. You think that doesn't take planning?"
"You know who is behind it?"
"No. But now that people are accusing me, I aim to find out!"
"We haven't lost many, Dowd says."
Finn nodded. "Want to know why? Because that foreman of yours is a right restless hombre. He keeps moving around. He's up in every canyon and draw on your range. He knows it like the back of his hand. They don't dare take any chances with him. Whoever is behind this rustling doesn't aim to get caught. He means to go on, handling as many cows as he can without suspicion."
"You're a strange man," Remy said suddenly.
He turned his head and looked at her, the firelight dancing and flickering on his cheek. "Why?"
"Oh, living here all alone. Having all those books, and yet fighting like you did down there in the street."
He shrugged. "It's not so strange. Many men who fight also read. As for living alone, it's better that way." His face darkened, and he got to his feet. "It saves trouble. I don't like killing."
"Have you killed so
many?" Somehow she didn't believe so. Somehow it didn't seem possible.
"No, but there's one I don't want to kill," he said. "That's one reason I'm back here. That's one reason I'll stay here unless I have to come out."
Remy arose and stood facing him. How tall he was! He stood over her, and looked down, and for an instant their eyes met. She felt hot color rising over her face, and his hands lifted as if to take her by the arms. She stood very still, and her knees were trembling. Suddenly the room seemed to tilt, and she swayed, her eyes wide and dark.
He dropped his hands abruptly and went around the chairs toward the porch. "You sleep in there." He jerked a thumb toward the wide bed. "I'll stay out there with the horses for a while, then sleep in here by the fire."
He was gone. Remy stared after him, her lips parted, her heart beating fast. She knew with an awful lost and empty feeling that if he had taken hold of her at that moment he could have done as he pleased with her. She passed a hand over her brow, and hurried into the other room, closing the door.
Chapter 3
Pierce Logan had made his decision. A long conference with Sonntag and Frank Salter had convinced him that the time had come to make a definite move.
He disliked definite moves, yet had planned for them if it became necessary. His way had always been the careful way, to weed the range of cattle by taking a few here and a few there, until his own wealth grew, and the others were weakened. Then, bit by bit, to take what he wanted.
All in all the Rawhide outfit were making more money than they had ever made, but none of them were content. They wanted a lot of money quick, and they wanted action.
"If they don't git what they want, Pierce," Sonntag said, "they'll begin to drift. I know every man jack of 'em! They don't like none o' this piecin' along."
"Dowd's getting' suspicious," Salter said. His eyes were cold gray. Pierce Logan had an idea that the old guerrilla didn't like him. "We got t' git rid of Dowd!"
"That's been seen to," Sonntag said. "Any day now."
Pierce Logan had returned to Laird filled with disquiet and anger at his plans deliberately being altered, but it was an anger that slowly seeped away as a plan began to evolve in his mind. A plan whereby he could come out with most of the profits himself. If those fools insisted on starting an out-and-out war, he would appear to be an innocent bystander. His cowhands were men known on the range. None of them were rustlers. Logan had been careful to see to that, and to keep the rustlers off his ranch except when they were getting some of his own cattle. When that happened, he managed to see that his hands were busy elsewhere.
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