Sundown Slim

CHAPTER VII

FADEAWAY'S HAND

Fadeaway, one of the Concho riders, urged his cayuse through the ford, reined short, and turned to watch Chance, who accompanied him. The dog drew back from the edge of the stream and bunching himself, shot up and over the muddy water, nor did the jump break his stride as he leaped to overtake the rider, who had spurred out of his way. Fadeaway cursed joyously and put his pony to a lope. Stride for stride Chance ran beside him. The cowboy, swaying easily, turned and looked down upon the dog. Chance was enjoying himself. "Wonder how fast the cuss can run?" And Fadeaway swung his quirt. The stride quickened to the rhythmic beat of the cow-horse at top speed. The dog kept abreast without apparent effort. A half-mile beyond the ford the pace slackened as the pony took the hill across which the trail led to the open mesas. As they topped the rise Fadeaway again urged his cayuse to a run, for the puncher had enjoyed the hospitality of his companions of "The Blue," a distant cattle ranch, a day longer than had been set for his return to the Concho. Just then a startled jack rabbit leaped up and bounced down the trail ahead of them. Fadeaway jerked his horse to a stop. "Now we'll see some real speed!" he said. There was a flash of the dog's long body, which grew smaller and smaller in the distance; then a puff of dust spurted up. Fadeaway saw the dog turn end over end, regain his feet and toss something in the air.

"The fastest dog in Arizona," remarked the cowboy. "And you, you glass-eyed son of a mistake, you're about as fast as a fence-post!" This to his patient and willing pony, that again swung into a run and ran steadily despite his fatigue, for he feared the instant slash of the quirt should he slacken pace.

Round a bend in the trail, where an arm of the distant forest ran out into the mesa. Fadeaway again set his horse up viciously. Chance stopped and looked up at the rider. The cowboy pointed through the thin rim of timber beyond which a herd of sheep was grazing. "Take 'em!" he whispered. Chance hesitated, not because he was unfamiliar with sheep, but because he had been punished for chasing and worrying them. "Go to it! Take 'em, Chance!"

The dog slunk through the timber and disappeared. The cowboy rode slowly, peering through the timber. Presently came the trample of frightened sheep—a shrill bleating, and then silence. Fadeaway loped out into the open. The sheep were running in all directions. He whistled the dog to him. Chance's muzzle dripped red. The dog slunk round behind the horse, knowing that he had done wrong, despite the fact that he had been set upon the sheep.

From the edge of the timber some one shouted. The cowboy turned and saw a herder running toward him. He reined around and sat waiting grimly. When the herder was within speaking distance. Fadeaway's hand dropped to his hip and the herder stopped. He gesticulated and spoke rapidly in Spanish. Fadeaway answered, but in a kind of Spanish not taught in schools or heard in indoor conversation.

The herder pressed forward. "Why, how! Fernando. Now what's bitin' you?"

"The sheep! He kill the lamb!" cried the herder.

Fadeaway laughed. "Did, eh? Well, I tried to call him off. Reckon you heard me whistle him, didn't you?"

The cowboy's assertion was so palpably an insult that old Fernando's anger overcame his caution. He stepped forward threateningly. Fadeaway's gun was out and a splash of dust leaped up at Fernando's feet. The herder turned and ran. Fadeaway laughed and swung away at a lope.

When he arrived at the Concho he unsaddled, turned his pony into the corral, and called to Chance. He was at the water-trough washing the dog's muzzle when John Corliss appeared. Fadeaway straightened up. He knew what was coming and knew that he deserved it. The effects of his conviviality at the Blue had worn off, leaving him in an ugly mood.

Corliss looked him over from head to heel. Then he glanced at the dog. Chance turned his head down and sideways, avoiding his master's eye. Fadeaway laughed.

"You get your time!" said Corliss.

"You're dam' right!" retorted Fadeaway.

"And you're damned wrong! Chance knows better than to tackle sheep unless he's put up to it. You needn't explain. Bud will give you your time."

Then Corliss turned to Shoop who had just ridden in.

"Chain that dog up and keep him chained up! And give Fadeaway his time, right up to the minute!"

Shoop dropped easily from the saddle, led his horse toward the corral, and whistled a sprightly ditty as he unsaddled him.

Fadeaway rolled a cigarette and strolled over to the bunk-house where he retailed his visit and its climax to a group of interested punchers.

"So he tied the can onto you, eh? And for settin' Chance on the sheep? He ought to be much obliged to you, Fade. They ain't room for sheep and cattle both on this here range. We're gettin' backed plumb into the sunset."

Fadeaway nodded to the puncher who had spoken.

"And ole man Loring's just run in twenty thousand head from New Mex.," continued the puncher. "Wonder how Corliss likes that?"

"Don' know—and dam' 'f I care. If a guy can't have a little sport without gettin' fired for it, why, that guy don't work for the Concho. The Blue's good enough for me and I can get a job ridin' for the Blue any time I want to cinch up."

"Well, Fade, I reckon you better cinch up pronto, then," said Shoop who had just entered. "Here's your time. Jack's some sore, believe me!"

"Sore, eh? Well, before he gets through with me he'll be sorer. You can tell him for me."

"'Course I can—but I ain't goin' to. And I wouldn't if I was you. No use showin' your hand so early in the game." And Shoop laughed.

"Well, she's full—six aces," said Fadeaway, touching his holster significantly.

"And Jack throws the fastest gun on the Concho," said Shoop, his genial smile gone; his face flushed. "I been your friend, if I do say it, Fade. But don't you go away with any little ole idea that I ain't workin' for Jack Corliss."

"What's that to me? I'm fired, ain't I?"

"Correct. Only I was thinkin' your cayuse is all in. You couldn't get out of sight on him tonight. But you can take one of my string and send it back when you get ready."

"Oh, I ain't sweatin' to hit the trail," said Fadeaway, for the benefit of his audience.

"All right, Fade. But the boss is. It's up to you."

After he had eaten, Fadeaway rolled his few belongings in his slicker and tied it to the saddle. He was not afraid of Corliss, but like men of his stamp he wanted Corliss to know that he was not alone unafraid, but willing to be aggressive. He mounted and rode up to the ranch-house. Corliss, who had seen him approach through the window, sat at his desk, waiting for the cow-boy to dismount and come in. But Fadeaway sat his horse, determined to make the rancher come outside.

Corliss understood, and pushing back his chair, strode to the doorway. "Want to see me?" he asked.

Fadeaway noticed that Corliss was unarmed, and he twisted the circumstance to suit a false interpretation of the fact. "Playin' safe!" he sneered.

Corliss flushed and the veins swelled on his neck, but he kept silent. He looked the cowboy in the eye and was met by a gaze as steady as his own; an aggressive and insolent gaze that had for its backing sheer physical courage and nothing more. It became a battle of mental endurance and Corliss eventually won.

After the lapse of several seconds, the cowboy spoke to his horse. "Come on, Doc! The son-of-a——- is loco."

Corliss heard, but held his peace. He stood watching the cowboy until the latter was out on the road. He noticed that he took the northern branch, toward Antelope. Then the rancher entered the house, picked up his hat, buckled on his gun, and hastened to the corral. He saddled Chinook and took the trail to the Loring rancho.

He rode slowly, trying to arrive at the best method of presenting his side of the sheep-killing to Loring. He hoped that Eleanor Loring would not be present during the interview with her father. He was disappointed, for she came from the wide veranda as he rode up and greeted him.

"Won't you come in?" she asked.

"I guess not. I'd like to see your father."

She knew that her father had forbidden Corliss the house, and, indeed, the premises. She wondered what urgency brought him to the rancho. "I'll call him, then."

Corliss answered the grave questioning in her eyes briefly. "The sheep," he said.

"Oh!" She turned and stepped to the veranda. "Dad, John is here."

David Loring came to the doorway and stood blinking at Corliss. He did not speak.

"Mr. Loring, one of my men set Chance on a band of your sheep. My foreman tells me that Chance killed a lamb. I want to pay for it."

Loring had expected something of the kind. "Mighty proud of it, I reckon?"

"No, I'm not proud of it. I apologize—for the Concho."

"You say it easy."

"No, it isn't easy to say—to you. I'll pay the damage. How much?"

"Your dog, eh? Well, if you'll shoot the dam' dog the lamb won't cost you a cent."

"No, I won't shoot the dog. He was put up to it. I fired the man that set him on to the sheep."

"That's your business. But that don't square you with me."

"I'll settle, if you'll fix the price," said Corliss.

"You will, eh? Then, mebby you'd think you was square with ole man Loring and come foolin' around here like that tramp brother of yours. Fine doin's in Antelope, from what I hear."

"Dad!" exclaimed the girl, stepping to her father. "Dad!"

"You go in the house, Nellie! We'll settle this."

Corliss dismounted and strode up to Loring. "If you weren't an old man I'd give you the licking of your life! I've offered to settle with you and I've apologized. You don't belong in a white man's country."

"I got a pup that barks jest like that—and he's afraid of his own bark," said Loring.

"Have it your way. I'm through." And Corliss stepped to his horse.

"Well, I ain't!" cried Loring. "I'm jest startin' in! You better crawl your cayuse and eat the wind for home, Mr. Concho Jack! And lemme tell you this: they's twenty thousand head of my sheep goin' to cross the Concho, and the first puncher that runs any of my sheep is goin' to finish in smoke!"

"All right, Loring. Glad you put me on to your scheme. I don't want trouble with you, but if you're set on having trouble, you can find it."

The old man straightened and shook his fist at the rancher. "Fust time you ever talked like a man in your life. Nex' thing is to see if you got sand enough to back it up. There's the gate."

Corliss mounted and wheeled his horse. The girl, who stood beside her father, started forward as though to speak to the rancher. Loring seized her arm. Her face flamed and she turned on her father. "Dad! Let me go!"

He shrunk beneath her steady gaze. He released her arm and she stepped up to Corliss. "I'm sorry, John," she said, and offered her hand.

"You heard it all, Nell. I'd do anything to save you all this, if I could."

"Anything?"

"Yes."

"Well, try and get Will—to—stop drinking. He—I heard all about it. I can't do anything to help. You ought to look after him. He's your brother. He's telling folks in Antelope that you refused to help him. Is that so?"

"I refused to give him two hundred dollars to blow in if that's what you mean."

"Did you quarrel with Will?"

"No. I asked him to come home. I knew he wouldn't."

"Yes. And I think I know how you went at it. I wish I could talk to him."

"I wish you would. You can do more with him than anybody."

Loring strode toward Corliss. The girl turned to her father. He raised his arm and pointed toward the road. "You git!" he said. She reached up and patted his grizzled cheek. Then she clung to him, sobbing.

CHAPTER VIII

AT "THE LAST CHANCE"

The afternoon following the day of his discharge from the Concho, Fadeaway rode into Antelope, tied his pony to the hitching-rail in front of "The Last Chance," and entered the saloon. Several men loafed at the bar. The cowboy, known as "a good spender when flush," was made welcome. He said nothing about being out of employment, craftily anticipating the possibility of having to ask for credit later, as he had but a half-month's pay with him. He was discussing the probability of early rains with a companion when Will Corliss entered the place.

Fadeaway greeted him with loud, counterfeit heartiness, and they drank together. Their talk centered on the Concho. Gradually they drew away from the group at the bar. Finally Corliss mentioned his brother. Fadeaway at once became taciturn.

Corliss noticed this and questioned the puncher. "Had a row with Jack?" he asked.

"Between you and me, I did. He fired me, couple of days ago."

"Full?"

"Nope. Chance killed one of Loring's sheep. John hung it onto me, seein' Chance was with me. Guess John's gettin' religion."

Corliss laughed, and his lips twisted to a sneer. "Guess he is. I tried to touch him for two hundred of my own money and he turned me down. Maybe I like it."

"Turned you down, eh! That's what I call nerve! And you been away three year and more. Reckon, by the way the Concho is makin' good, you got more'n two hundred comin'. She's half yours, ain't she?"

"Yes. And I'm going to get my share. He told me I could have a job—that he was short-handed. What do you think of that! And I own half the Concho! I guess I'd like to ride range with a lot of—well, you understand, Fade. I never liked the Concho and I never will. Let's have another. No. This is on me."

Again they drank and Corliss became more talkative. He posed as one wronged by society in general and his brother especially.

As his talk grew louder, Fadeaway cautioned him. "Easy, Billy. No use advertisin'. Come on over here." And Fadeaway gestured toward one of the tables in the rear of the room.

Corliss was about to retort to the other's apparently good-natured interference with his right to free speech, when he caught Fadeaway's glance. "Well?" he exclaimed.

The cowboy evidently had something to say in confidence. Corliss followed him to one of the tables.

"It's this way," began the cowboy. "You're sore at Jack. Now Jack's got friends here and it won't help you any to let 'em know you're sore at him. I ain't feelin' like kissin' him myself—right now. But I ain't advertisin' it. What you want to do is—"

"What's that got to do with me?" interrupted Corliss.

Fadeaway laughed. "Nothin'—if you like. Only there's been doin's since you lit out." And he paused to let the inference sink in.

"You mean—?"

"Look here, Billy. I been your friend ever since you was a kid. And seein' you're kind of out of luck makes me sore—when I think what's yours by rights. Mebby I'm ridin' over the line some to say it, but from what I seen since you been gone, Jack ain't goin' to cry any if you never come back. Old man Loring ain't goin' to live more'n a thousand years. Mebby Jack don't jest love him—but Jack ain't been losin' any time since you been gone."

Corliss flushed. "I suppose I don't know that! But he hasn't seen the last of me yet."

"If I had what's comin' to you, you bet I wouldn't work on no cattle-ranch, either. I'd sure hire a law-shark and find out where I got off."

Fadeaway's suggestion had its intended effect. The younger man knew that an appeal to the law would be futile so long as he chose to ignore that clause in the will which covered the contingency he was illustrating by his conduct. Fadeaway again cautioned him as he became loud in his invective against his brother. The cowboy, while posing as friend and adviser, was in reality working out a subtle plan of his own, a plan of which Corliss had not the slightest inkling.

"And the Concho's makin' good," said Fadeaway, helping himself to a drink. He shoved the bottle toward Corliss. "Take a little 'Forget-it,' Billy. That's her! Here's to what's yours!" They drank together. The cowboy rolled a cigarette, tilted back his chair, and puffed thoughtfully. "Yes, she's makin' good. Why, Bud is gettin' a hundred and twenty-five, now. Old Hi Wingle's drawin' down eighty—Jack's payin' the best wages in this country. Must of cleaned up four or five thousand last year. And here you're settin', broke."

"Well, you needn't rub it in," said Corliss, frowning.

Fadeaway grinned. "I ain't, Billy. I'm out of a job myself: and nothin' comin'—like you."

Corliss felt that there was something in his companion's easy drift that had not as yet come to the surface. Fadeaway's hard-lined face was unreadable. The cowboy saw a question in the other's eyes and cleverly ignored it. Since meeting the brother he had arrived at a plan to revenge himself on John Corliss and he intended that the brother should take the initiative.

He got up and proffered his hand. "So long, Billy. If you ever need a friend, you know where to find him."

"Hold on, Fade. What's your rush?"

"Got to see a fella. Mebby I'll drop in later."

Corliss rose.

Fadeaway leaned across the table. "I'm broke, and you're broke. The Concho pays off Monday, next week. The boys got three months comin'—close to eighteen hundred—and gold."

"Gold? Thought John paid by check?"

"He's tryin' to keep the boys from cashin' in, here. Things are goin' to be lively between Loring and the Concho before long. Jack needs all the hands he's got."

"But I don't see what that's got to do with it, Fade."

"Nothing 'ceptin' I'm game to stand by a pal—any time."

"You mean—?"

"Jest a josh, Billy. I was only thinkin' what could be pulled off by a couple of wise ones. So-long!"

And the cowboy departed wondering just how far his covert suggestion had carried with Will Corliss. As for Will Corliss, Fadeaway cared nothing whatever. Nor did he intend to risk getting caught with a share of the money in his possession, provided his plan was carried to a conclusion. He anticipated that John Corliss would be away from the ranch frequently, owing to the threatened encroachment of Loring's sheep on the west side of the Concho River. Tony, the Mexican, would be left in charge of the ranch. Will Corliss knew the combination of the safe—of that Fadeaway was pretty certain. Should they get the money, people in the valley would most naturally suspect the brother. And Fadeaway reasoned that John Corliss would take no steps to recover the money should suspicion point to his brother having stolen it. Meanwhile he would wait.

Shortly after Fadeaway had gone out, Will Corliss got up and sauntered to the street. He gazed up and down the straggling length of Antelope and cursed. Then he walked across to the sheriff's office.

The sheriff motioned him to a chair, which he declined. "Better sit down, Billy. I want to talk to you."

"Haven't got time," said Corliss. "You know what I came for."

"That's just what I want to talk about. See here, Billy, you've been hitting it up pretty steady this week. Here's the prospect. John told me to hand you five a day for a week. You got clothes, grub, and a place to sleep and all paid for. You could go out to the ranch if you wanted to. The week is up and you're goin' it just the same. If you want any more money you'll have to see John. I give you all he left with me."

"By God, that's the limit!" exclaimed Corliss.

"I guess it is, Billy. Have a cigar?"

Corliss flung out of the office and tramped across to the saloon. He called for whiskey and, seating himself at one of the tables, drank steadily. Fadeaway wasn't such a fool, after all. But robbery! Was it robbery? Eighteen hundred dollars would mean San Francisco… Corliss closed his eyes. Out of the red mist of remembrance a girl's face appeared. The heavy-lidded eyes and vivid lips smiled. Then other faces, and the sound of music and laughter. He nodded to them and raised his glass.… As the raw whiskey touched his lips the red mist swirled away. The dingy interior of the saloon, the booted and belted riders, the grimy floor littered with cigarette-ends, the hanging oil-lamp with its blackened chimney, flashed up and spread before him like the speeding film of a picture, stationary upon the screen of his vision, yet trembling toward a change of scene. A blur appeared in the doorway. In the nightmare of his intoxication he welcomed the change. Why didn't some one say something or do something? And the figure that had appeared, why should it pause and speak to one of the men at the bar, and not come at once to him. They were laughing. He grew silently furious. Why should they laugh and talk and keep him waiting? He knew who had come in. Of course he knew! Did Fadeaway think to hide himself behind the man at the bar? Then Fadeaway should not wear chaps with silver conchas that glittered and gleamed as he shifted his leg and turned his back. "Said he was my friend," mumbled Corliss. "My friend! Huh!" Was it a friend that would leave him sitting there, alone?

He rose and lurched to the bar. Some one steadied him as he swayed. He stiffened and struck the man in the face. He felt himself jerked backward and the shock cleared his vision. Opposite him two men held Fadeaway, whose mouth was bleeding. The puncher was struggling to get at his gun.

Corliss laughed. "Got you that time, you thief!"

"He's crazy drunk," said one of the men. "Don't get het up, Fade. He ain't packin' a gun."

Fadeaway cursed and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was playing his part well. Accident had helped him. To all intents and purposes they were open enemies.

Still, he was afraid Corliss would talk, so he laughed and extended his hand. "Shake, Billy. I guess you didn't know what you were doin'. I was tryin' to keep you from fallin'."

Corliss stared at the other with unwinking eyes.

Fadeaway laughed and turned toward the bar. "Ought to hand him one, but he's all in now, I reckon. That's what a fella gets for mixin' up with kids. Set 'em up, Joe."

Left to himself Corliss stared about stupidly. Then he started for the doorway.

As he passed Fadeaway, the latter turned and seized his arm. "Come on up and forget it, Billy. You and me's friends, ain't we?"

The cowboy, by sheer force of his personality, dominated the now repentant Corliss, whose stubbornness had given way to tearful retraction and reiterated apology. Of course they were friends!

They drank and Fadeaway noticed the other's increasing pallor. "Jest about one more and he'll take a sleep," soliloquized the cowboy. "In the mornin' 's when I ketch him, raw, sore, and ready for anything."

One of the cowboys helped Corliss to his room at the Palace. Later Fadeaway entered the hotel, asked for a room, and clumped upstairs. He rose early and knocked at Corliss's door, then entered without waiting for a response.

He wakened Corliss, who sat up and stared at him stupidly. "Mornin', Billy. How's the head?"

"I don't know yet. Got any cash, Fade? I'm broke."

"Sure. What you want?"

Corliss made a gesture, at which the other laughed. "All right, pardner. I'll fan it for the medicine."

When he returned to the room, Corliss was up and dressed. Contrary to Fadeaway's expectations, the other was apparently himself, although a little too bright and active to be normal.

"Guess I got noisy last night," said Corliss, glancing at Fadeaway's swollen lip.

"Forget it! Have some of this. Then I got to fan it."

"Where are you going?"

"Me? Over to the Blue. Got a job waitin' for me."

Corliss's fingers worked nervously. "When did you say the Concho paid off?" he queried, avoiding the other's eye.

Fadeaway's face expressed surprise. "The Concho? Why, next Monday. Why?"

"Oh—nothing. I was just wondering…"

"Want to send any word to Jack?" asked the cowboy.

"No, I don't. Thanks, just the same, Fade."

"Sure! Well, I guess I'll be goin'."

"Wait a minute. Don't be in a rush. I was thinking…"

Fadeaway strode to the window and stood looking out on the street. His apparent indifference was effective.

"Say, Fade, do you think we could—could get away with it?"

"With what?" exclaimed the cowboy, turning.

"Oh, you know! What you said yesterday."

"Guess I said a whole lot yesterday that I forgot this mornin'. I get to joshin' when I'm drinkin' bug-juice. What you gettin' at?"

"The money—at the Concho."

"Oh, that! Why, Billy, I was jest stringin' you! Supposin' somebody was to make a try for it; there's Chance like to be prowlin' around and the safe ain't standin' open nights. Besides, Jack sleeps next to the office. That was a josh."

"Well, I could handle Chance," said Corliss. "And I know the combination to the safe, if it hasn't been changed. You said Jack was likely to be away nights, now."

Fadeaway shook his head. "You're dreamin', Bill. 'Sides, I wouldn't touch a job like that for less'n five hundred."

"Would you—for five hundred?"

"I dunno. Depends on who I was ridin' with."

"Well, I'll divvy up—give you five hundred if you'll come in on it."

Again Fadeaway shook his head. "It's too risky, Billy. 'Course you mean all right—but I reckon you ain't got nerve enough to put her through."

"I haven't!" flashed Corliss. "Try me!"

"And make a get-away," continued the cowboy. "I wouldn't want to see you pinched."

"I'll take a chance, if you will," said Corliss, now assuming, as Fadeaway had intended, the rôle of leader in the proposed robbery.

"How you expect to get clear—when they find it out?"

"I could get old man Soper to hide me out till I could get to Sagetown. He'll do anything for money. I could be on the Limited before the news would get to Antelope."

"And if you got pinched, first thing you'd sing out 'Fadeaway,' and then me for over the road, eh?"

"Honest, Fade. I'll swear that I won't give you away, even if I get caught. Here's my hand on it."

"Give me nine hundred and I'll go you," said Fadeaway, shaking hands with his companion.

Corliss hesitated. Was the risk worth but half the money involved? "Five's a whole lot, Fade."

"Well, seein' you're goin' to do the gettin' at it, why, mebby I'd risk it for five hundred. I dunno."

"You said you'd stand by a pal, Fade. Now's your chance."

"All right. See here, Bill. You cut out the booze all you can to-day. Foot it out to the Beaver Dam to-night and I'll have a hoss for you. We can ride up the old cañon trail. Nobody takes her nowadays, so we'll be under cover till we hit the ford. We can camp there back in the brush and tackle her next evenin'. So-long."

Fadeaway was downstairs and out on the street before Corliss realized that he had committed himself to a desperate and dangerous undertaking. He recalled the expression in Fadeaway's eyes when they had shaken hands. Unquestionably the cowboy meant business.

CHAPTER IX

SUNDOWN'S FRIEND

Bud Shoop was illustrating, with quaint and humorous gestures and adjectives, one of his early experiences as Ranger on the Apache Reservation. The men, grouped around the night-fire, smoked and helped the tale along with reminiscent suggestions and ejaculations of interest and curiosity. In the midst of a vivid account of the juxtaposition of a telephone battery and a curious yet unsuspicious Apache, Shoop paused in the recital and gazed out across the mesa. "It's the boss," he said, getting to his feet. "Wonder what's up?"

Corliss rode into camp, swung from the saddle, and called to Shoop. The men gazed at each other, nodded, and the words "Loring" and "sheep," punctuated their mutterings.

Shoop and Corliss talked together. Then the foreman called to Hi Wingle, asking him how the "chuck" was holding out.

"Runnin' short on flour and beans, Bud. Figured on makin' the Concho to-morrow."

Corliss and his foreman came to the fire. "Boss says we're goin' to bush here the rest of this week," and Corliss nodded.

"I'm expecting company on the west side," explained Corliss,

The men gazed at each other knowingly.

"All right," said Wingle. "Four sacks of flour and a sack of frijoles'll see us through. Got enough other stuff."

"Send some one in for it," ordered Corliss. "I'm going to stay with the outfit, from now on."

The men cheered. That was the kind of a boss to work for! No settin' back and lettin' the men do the fightin'! Some style to Jack Corliss! All of which was subtly expressed in their applause, although unspoken.

"To see that you boys don't get into mischief," continued Corliss, smiling.

"Which means keepin' other folks out of mischief, eh, patron?" said a cow-puncher.

At the word "patron" the men laughed. "They're talkin' of turnin' this outfit into a sheep-camp," remarked another. "Ba-a-ah!" And again they laughed.

Shoop motioned to Sundown who rose from beside the fire. "You can saddle up, Sun."

Sundown caught up his horse and stood waiting while one of the men saddled two pack-animals. "Tony has the keys. He'll pack the stuff for you," said Corliss. "Keep jogging and you ought to be back here by sunup."

The assistant cook mounted and took the lead-rope of the pack-horses. He was not altogether pleased with the prospect of an all-night ride, but he knew that he had been chosen as the one whose services could most easily be dispensed with at the camp. Silently he rode away, the empty kyacks clattering as the pack-horses trotted unwillingly behind him. Too busy with the unaccustomed lead-rope to roll cigarettes, he whistled, and, in turn, recited verse to keep up his spirits.

About midnight he discerned the outline of the low ranch-buildings and urged his horse to a faster gait. As he passed a clump of cottonwoods, his horse snorted and shied. Sundown reined him in and leaned peering ahead. The pack-animals tugged back on the rope. Finally he coaxed them past the cottonwoods and up to the gate. It was open, an unusual circumstance which did not escape his notice. He drifted through the shadows toward the corral, where he tied the horses. Then he stepped to the bunk-house, found a lantern and lighted it. He hallooed. There was no response. He stalked across to the ranch-house. He found the door unlocked. "Hi! Tony!" he called. No one answered. He pushed the door open and entered. Holding the lantern above his head he peered around the room.

In the dim light of the lantern vague outlines took shape. He noticed that the small safe in the corner was open. He became alarmed and again called. He heard a slight movement behind him and turned to see the door close. From behind stepped a figure, a slender figure that seemed unreal, yet familiar. With a cry of surprise he jumped back and stood facing his old friend and companion of the road, Will Corliss.

"Billy!" he ejaculated, backing away and staring.

"Yes, it's Billy." And Corliss extended his hand.

"But—what, where—?" Sundown hesitated and glanced at the safe. His eyes widened and he lowered the lantern. "Billy!" he said, ignoring the other's proffered hand, "what you doin' here?"

Corliss assumed a nonchalant air. "Shake, pal! It's a long time since we been in a wreck, eh?"

Sundown was silent, studying the other's hardened features. "Billy!" he reiterated, "what you doin' here?"

Corliss laughed nervously. "What are you doing here?" he retorted,—"in the office of the Concho, at midnight?"

"I was comin' to get flour and beans for the camp—" he began.

Corliss interrupted him. "Sounds good, that! But they don't keep the grub here. Guess you made a mistake."

Sundown's face was expressionless. "Guess you made the mistake, Billy. I thought you was—dead."

"Not on your tin-type, Sun."

"I never thought you was crooked, Billy."

"Crooked!" flashed Corliss. "Say, you—you forget it. I'm here to get what's coming to me. Jack turned me down, so I'm going to take what's mine."

"Mebby it's yours, but you ain't gettin' it right," said Sundown. "I—I—never thought you was—"

"Oh, cut that out! You didn't used to be so dam' particular."

"I never swiped a cent in me life, Billy."

"Well, forget it. I'm in a hurry. You go ahead and get the chuck. Here are the keys to the store-room—and beat it. Just forget that you saw me; that's all."

Sundown shook his head. "I ain't forgettin' that easy, Billy. 'Sides, I'm workin' for the Concho, now. They're treatin' me fine—and I reckon I got to be square."

"You mean you're going to squeal—going back on your old pal, eh?"

Sundown's face expressed conflicting emotions. He straightened his lean shoulders. "I tell you, Billy; if you beat it now, they won't be nothin' to squeal about."

"I'm going to." And Corliss stepped toward the safe. "Just hold that light this way a minute."

Sundown complied, and Corliss thought that the other had overcome his scruples. Corliss hastily drew a small canvas sack from the safe and stuffed it into his pocket. Sundown backed toward the door.

Corliss got to his feet. "Well, so-long, Sun. Guess I'll light out."

"Not with that," said Sundown. "I ain't no preacher, but I ain't goin' to see you go straight to hell and me do nothin'. Mebby some of that dough is yourn. I dunno. But somebody's goin' to get pinched for takin' it. Bein' a Bo, it'll be me."

"So that's what's worrying you, eh? Scared you'll get sent over for this. Well, you won't. You haven't got anything on you."

"'T ain't that, Billy. It's you."

Corliss laughed. "You're getting religion, too. Well, I never thought you'd go back on me."

"I ain't. I was always your friend, Billy."

Corliss hesitated. The door behind Sundown moved ever so little. Corliss's eyes held Sundown with unwinking gaze. Slowly the door swung open. Sundown felt rather than heard a presence behind him. Before he could turn, something crashed down on his head. The face of his old friend, intense, hard, desperate, was the last thing imaged upon his mind as the room swung round and he dropped limply to the floor.

"Just in time," said Fadeaway, bending over the prostrate figure. "Get a move, Bill. I followed him from the cottonwoods and heard his talk. I was waitin' to get him when he come out, but I seen what he was up to and I fixed him."

Corliss backed against the wall, trembling and white. "Is he—did you—?"

Fadeaway grinned. "No, just chloroformed him. Get a move, Bill. No tellin' who'll come moseyin' along. Got the stuff?"

Corliss nodded.

Fadeaway blew out the light. "Come on, Bill. She worked slick."

"But—he knows me," said Corliss. "He'll squeal."

"And I reckon Jack'll believe him. Why, it's easy, Bill. They find the Bo on the job and the money gone. Who did it? Ask me."

At the cottonwoods they mounted. "Now, you fan it for Soper's," said Fadeaway. "I'll keep on for the Blue. To-morrow evenin' I'll ride over and get my divvy."

Corliss hesitated.

"You better travel," said Fadeaway, reining his horse around. "So-long."

Chance, a prisoner in the stable, whined and gnawed at the rope with which Corliss had tied him. The rope was hard-twisted and tough. Finally the last strand gave way. The dog leaped through the doorway and ran sniffing around the enclosure. He found Sundown's trail and followed it to the ranch-house. At the threshold the dog stopped. His neck bristled and he crooked one foreleg. Slowly he stalked to the prone figure on the floor. He sniffed at Sundown's hands and pawed at him. Slowly Sundown's eyes opened. He tried to rise and sank back groaning. Chance frisked around him playfully coaxing. Finally Sundown managed to sit up. With pain-heavy eyes he gazed around the room. Slowly he got to his feet and staggered to the doorway. He leaned against the lintel and breathed deeply of the fresh morning air. The clear cold tang of the storm that had passed, lingered, giving a keen edge to the morning. "We're sure in wrong," he muttered, gazing at Chance, who stood watching him with head cocked and eyes eager for something to happen—preferably action. Sundown studied the dog dully. "Say, Chance," he said finally, "do you think you could take a little word to the camp? I heard of dogs doin' such things. Mebby you could. Somebody's got to do 'somethin' and I can't." Painfully he stooped and pointed toward the south. "Go tell the boss!" he commanded. Chance whined. "No, that way. The camp!"

Chance nosed across the yard toward the gate. Then he stopped and looked back. Sundown encouraged him by waving his arm toward the south. "Go ahead, Chance. The boss wants you."

Chance trotted toward the cottonwood, nosed among them, and finally took Sundown's trail to the knoll.

Sundown crept to the bunk-house, wondering what had become of the Mexican, Tony. He determined to search for him, but became dizzy, and, crawling to a bunk, lay back groaning as the dull pain in his head leaped intermittently to blinding stabs of agony. It seemed ages before he heard the quick staccato of hoofs on the road. He raised himself on his elbow as Shoop and Corliss rode up on their mud-spattered and steaming ponies. Sundown called as they dismounted at the corral.

Corliss and Shoop stamped in, breathing hard. "What's up?" questioned Corliss.

"They—they got the money," muttered Sundown, pointing toward the office.

"Who? See what's up, Bud."

Shoop swung out and across the enclosure.

Corliss stooped over Sundown. "What's wrong, Sun? Why, Great God, you're hurt!"

The rancher brought water and bathed Sundown's head. "Who did it?" he questioned.

"I dunno, boss. I come and caught 'em at it. Two of 'em, I guess. I was tryin' to stop one fella from takin' it when the other slips me one on the head, and I takes a sleep. I was lookin' for Tony in the office."

"Where's Tony?"

"I dunno. I was goin' to see—but—my head…"

"That's all right. You take it easy as you can. I'll find out."

And Corliss left the room. With Chance he explored the outbuildings and finally discovered the Mexican bound and gagged in the stable. He released him, but could make nothing of his answers save that some one had come at night, tied his hands and feet, and carried him from the ranch-house.

Corliss returned to Sundown. In the bunkhouse he encountered Shoop.

"They robbed the safe," said Shoop, and he spoke with a strange quietness. "Better come and take a look, Jack."

"Didn't blow her," said Shoop, pointing toward the corner as they entered the office.

Corliss knelt and examined the safe. "The man that did it knew the combination," he said. "There isn't a mark on the door."

He rose, and Shoop met his eye. Corliss shook his head. "I don't know," he said, as if in answer to a silent questioning. Then he told Shoop to look for tracks.

"The rain's fixed the tracks," said Shoop, turning in the doorway. "But it ain't drowned out my guess on this proposition."

"Well, keep guessing, Bud, till I talk to Sundown." And Corliss walked slowly to the bunkhouse. He sat on the edge of the bunk and laid his hand on Sundown's sleeve. "Look here, Sun, if you know anything about this, just tell me. The money's gone and you didn't get that cut on the head trying to take it. I guess you're straight, all right, but I think you know something."

Sundown blinked and set his jaw.

Corliss observed and wisely forbore to threaten or command. "Did you recognize either of the men?" he asked, presently.

"No!" lied Sundown. "Wasn't I hit in the back of me head?"

Corliss smiled grimly. "What were you doing when you got hit?"

"Tryin' to stop the other guy—"

"What did he look like?"

"I dunno. Me lantern was on the floor. He was a hefty guy, bigger 'n you. Mebby six feet and pow'ful built. Had whiskers so's I couldn't pipe his face. Big puncher hat down over his eyes and a handkerchief tied like a mask. I was scared of him, you bet!"

Corliss slowly drew a sack of tobacco and papers from his pocket. He rolled a cigarette and puffed reflectively. Then he laughed. "I'm out about eighteen hundred. That's the first thing. Next, you're used up pretty bad and we're short-handed. Then, we're losing time trying to track the thieves. But I'm not riled up a little bit. Don't think I'm mad at you. I'm mighty glad you didn't get put out in this deal. That's where I stand. I want to find out who took the money. I don't say that I'll lift a rein to follow them. Depends on who did it."

Sundown winced, and gazed up helplessly. He felt oppressed by the broad-chested figure near him. He felt that he could not get away from—what? Not Corliss, for Corliss was undoubtedly friendly. In a flash he saw that he could not get away from the truth. Yet he determined to shield his old pal of the road. "You're sure givin' me the third degree," he said with an attempt at humor. "I reckon I got to come through. Boss, are you believin' I didn't take the cash?"

"Sure I am! But that isn't enough. Are you working for the Concho, Sun, or for some other outfit?"

"The Concho," muttered Sundown stubbornly.

"And I'm the Concho. You're working for me. Listen. I've got a yarn to spin. The man that took the money—or one of them—was short, and slim, and clean-shaved, and he didn't wear a puncher hat. You weren't scared of him because he was a coward. You tried to get him to play square and he talked to you while the other man got you from behind. That's just a guess, but you furnished the meat for it."

"Me hands are up," said Sundown.

"All right. I'm not going to get after Billy for this. You lied to me, but you lied to save your pal. Shake!"