The man-killers

THE MAN-KILLERS

BY

DANE COOLIDGE

AUTHOR OF "THE FIGHTING FOOL,"
"WUNPOST," ETC.

NEW YORK

E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 FIFTH AVENUE

COPYRIGHT, 1921,

BY E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

First printing March, 1921
Second " April, 1921

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

THE MAN-KILLERS

[CHAPTER I]

THE TRAP

There was a hush, a boding silence, in Deadman Canyon, and skirling hawks, flying high against the cliffs, settled down and watched expectantly. A man was riding warily up the Maverick Basin trail, and ahead, like hunting animals, two men were skulking forth to cut him off at the creek. Above them, stuck tight as mud-wasp's nests to the shelves of sun-blackened crags, the white houses of cliff-dwellers, now desolate and tenantless, gazed down upon the age-old tragedy; but the man rode on, his rifle beneath his knee, and at the stalking place of the Scarboroughs he stopped. A stream of cold water, gushing out of a deep side chasm, formed a swirl in the tepid waters of the creek; and close to its edge a flat stone had been laid, where a man could kneel and drink. He knelt, and when he rose up he was looking down a gun.

"Put 'em up!" commanded a voice, and he started back defiantly, at which a second voice came from the side.

"Right quick!" it added, and as the stranger obeyed Isham Scarborough stepped out from behind his rock.

He was tall and slim, as befitted a Texan, with a red, freckled face, lips swollen by the sun, and eyelashes bleached yellowish white. A huge, black hat made him tower like a giant as he glowered down insolently upon his captive and after a long, searching look he jabbed him in the ribs and reached out to take his gun. But the stranger stepped away with waspish quickness and at the look in his eyes Isham flinched and drew back while his brother rose up to shoot. Red Scarborough was short and chunky, with flaming red hair and eyes with a piggish glint; and when he shouted out a warning the stranger's hands shot up, for he, too, had learned to read eyes. Red strode forth wrathfully and twitched away the prisoner's gun, then whirled on the startled Isham.

"You're going to get killed," he warned, "if you don't quit monkeying with these fellers."

"Huh, huh!" scoffed Isham, and swaggered up to the man, he regarded him with his head on one side. "You're bad, now; ain't ye?" he demanded. "Well, we'll soon break you of that. Where d'ye think you're going with that horse?"

The stranger blinked and regarded him intently, then drew down his lips to a line. He was dark and slender, with flashing black eyes and the high cheek-bones of a fighter, but now he was ominously calm.

"I am going," he said, "to Maverick Basin. Is this a hold-up, or what?"

"It's a hold-up," replied Isham, "and you're dad-burned lucky it didn't turn out a killing. I had my six-shooter on your heart and if you'd ever went for that gun—we'd've left you here for the buzzards. What takes you over into Maverick Basin?"

"That is my business," replied the prisoner, suddenly matching his arrogance, and Isham glanced meaningly at his brother.

"Oh, it is, eh?" he observed, reaching over behind a rock and fetching out a rawhide rope. "Well, I'll damn soon show you that it's mine!"

He shook out a loop, flipped it back into the sand and then, with the practiced skill of a cowboy, snapped it over his prisoner's head. Before he could move, the stranger's arms were pinioned; and as the rope was jerked taut Red caught him from behind and tied his hands hard and fast.

"Now!" cursed Red, "come through, Mister Man—are you going in to join them Sorry Blacks?"

"Never heard of 'em," answered the man, and Red's sunburned lips drew back in a hateful, distorted grin.

"I know that's a lie," he said, "so we'll jest cut you off right here."

He motioned to Isham, and, with their prisoner between them, they toiled up a trail to the east. The canyon wall was low on that side of the creek and at the base of the cliff there was a row of cliff-dwellings, strung along under the overhang of the rim.

It was from behind their loopholed walls that the Scarboroughs watched the trail, to cut off such chance travelers as he, and as the prisoner climbed up his lip curled scornfully at the sight of their elaborate precautions. In spite of their bluster something still seemed to tell him that they were not as bad as they looked; although often, as he knew, the most hideous crimes have been committed by cravens at heart. They entered a low door and passed on from room to room until at last he was thrust into a dark and noisome space and bound with his back against a post.

It was one of those black holes which the cliff-dwellers themselves had apparently used as a prison and against the square of light which poured in from above he saw the heavy lattice of bars. Wooden bars, and something else—and as he looked again he saw the sinister outlines of a loop. It hung from a beam like the slack body of a snake, and there was a hangman's knot on the end!

"Now," began Isham Scarborough, "perhaps you can talk. You ain't the first Sorry horse-thief that has tried to hold out on us, but they danged sure talked—or hung. So you never even heard of the Sorry Blacks?"

"No, I never did," answered the prisoner stoutly, and Isham shook down the loop.

"Say, now listen," he warned, "we know doggoned well that you ain't no friend of ours. We're from Texas, see, and back where we come from no white man rides a saddle like that. So you're ditched at the start by that center-fire rigging and the danged fresh way you've got, but before we stretch your neck we'll give you a chance to tell where you got that horse."

He paused and opened up the hangman's loop, and the prisoner found his tongue.

"I bought him in Bowie," he declared in a passion, "and I've got the bill of sale in my pocket. But I swear I never heard of the Blacks in my life—and I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, the Bassett gang, then!" broke in Red Scarborough roughly, "ain't you never heerd tell of the Dirty Black Bassetts? Well, that's the outfit we're talking about!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" demanded the prisoner resentfully. "Of course I've heard of the Bassetts. But is that any reason for holding a man up and threatening to hang him for a horse-thief? You must be some of the Scarboroughs, but they informed me back in Tonto——"

"Well, what did they inform you?" prompted Isham hectoringly, and the prisoner drew himself up.

"I was informed," he said, "that the Scarboroughs were Southern gentlemen."

"Uhr," jeered Red, but Isham stood silent.

"Well?" he inquired.

"And as a Southerner myself," went on the prisoner, but Isham cut him off short.

"You ignorant, black rascal," he burst out in a fury, "don't you dare to open your mouth and say a word agin the Scarboroughs or I'll kick your doggoned head off. You've got Injun blood yourse'f, if I'm any judge, and I know for a certainty you're going into the Basin to throw in with them dirty, black Bassetts!"

"No, you are mistaken," answered the prisoner firmly. "I'm just looking for a certain party that I know."

"Oho!" exclaimed Red, stooping to feel for his badge, "so we've picked up an officer, have we?"

"No, again," replied the prisoner. "I am looking for a friend, and your quarrels are nothing to me."

"Well, er—who is this friend?" inquired Isham suspiciously, but the stranger shook his head.

"I cannot tell you that, but I give you my word of honor I am not going in to join the Bassetts. And now, if you'll kindly untie these ropes——"

"Don't you think it!" raged Isham, "not after what you did! You murdering black hound, you started to grab your gun and gut-shoot me before I could pull. You're a Bassett gunman and you'll never git past here, so you might as well say your prayers. Come on, Red; let's string him up!"

"Naw, leave him wait!" answered Red impatiently. "I want to keep my eye on that trail. Let's git that other jasper and throw him in here too; and then, if they don't come through, we can hang 'em!"

They withdrew hurriedly and as he listened to their footsteps the prisoner ventured the ghost of a smile. It was very impressive, with the hangman's knot and all, but in spite of their bluster he still doubted their big words and their threats to take his life. And as for this other prisoner—he dismissed him with a shrug and turned to inspect his cell. But as he gazed at the blank walls he heard a scuffle without and the thud of heavy blows, and then a hoarse voice burst out in frightful oaths which were smothered as the struggles increased.

"You ain't man enough!" it roared, suddenly blaring out again. "No, you can't put me in there, the two of you!"

There was a rush and a slapping of feet, choking curses and a chorus of grunts, and then Isham plunged through the doorway, heaving away at a rope, while his brother fought the prisoner from behind. The rope, which had once been thrown about the prisoner's neck, was clutched back by a huge, hairy hand; and as Red pushed him in the other hand swept out in a last, bearlike swipe at his head. But the Scarboroughs were powerful men, accustomed to roping and tying steers, and despite his efforts they dragged him to a post and tied his hands together behind it.

"Oh, we cain't, hey?" they taunted, and the prisoner panted angrily as he shook back his tumbled black hair.

"You danged, ornery cow-thieves," he began in measured tones, "I know what's the matter with you—you're jealous. You want all the stealing for yourselves. You ain't satisfied with taking what comes your way; you want to hog it all. But I'll see you in hell first, you low-down Texican polecats, before I'll——"

"Shut up!" broke in Isham, giving him a boot in the ribs, and as he burst out in wicked curses they crawled out the doorway and closed it with a huge flat stone. There was a hush, as their footsteps clumped away into silence, and then, beneath the shadow of the hangman's knot, the prisoners sat and stared at each other.

[CHAPTER II]

MESHACKATEE

The man-trap of the Scarboroughs had caught a wampus when it snared this second rider of the trails. He was huge, and bearded like Olympian Zeus—a black, curling beard which stood out in bunches beneath strands of long, towsled hair. His nose was small and snubbed, his mouth a cavern of noise, and the rolling blue eyes revealed a depth of ferocity which argued him near to the brutes; yet as he gazed at his fellow prisoner the savagery fell away from him and his smile was almost human.

"Hello there, pardner," he greeted with a nod, "so they've got you in here, too. Well by grab, I never thought, after all I been through, to git caught with a bait like that; but when I sees that rock I piles off my horse and drops down to git me a drink, and I'll be shot if Isham Scarborough wasn't right behind that boulder with his Winchester ready to shoot. I surrendered—I had to or the dirty, Texas cowards would have killed me like beefing a steer—but you wait till I git out of here and if I don't lift their hair my name ain't Meshackatee, that's all! I'll throw in with 'em if I have to—because the Bassetts are no better and I don't aim to die by hanging—but it's gitting pretty rank when a man can't ride this canyon without being roped and tied. How'd they work it to pick you up?"

"The same way they caught you," confessed the other. "I got down to take a drink and when I looked up I was covered. If there hadn't been two of them——"

"Yes," nodded Meshackatee, "I know how you feel—I reckon you're a man of some nerve. But them boys would've killed you without batting an eye—by the way, what'd you say your name was?"

"My name is Hall," replied the stranger after a silence, and the giant bowed to him gravely.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Hall," he responded cordially. "You might've heard of Meshackatee? No? Well, that's the name I go by, the same as yours is Hall—I got it among the A-paches. Wahoo Meshackatee, but some ignorant old wallopers still insist on calling me Jinglebob. Name I had in New Mexico—got mixed up in a range war—but out here they all call me Meshackatee. Kind of an Injun name—or maybe it's Irish—the circumstances was something like this.

"I got run out of New Mexico—or maybe I moved—anyhow, I come away, dragging my tracks out behind me, and I butted right into some cavalry. They was out trailing Injuns—a bunch of A-paches that had left the Reservation on a raid—and the lieutenant in command, seeing that my hair was kinder long, inquires if I could talk A-pache. Well, to tell you the truth now I couldn't speak a word of it, but in order to git my teeth into some of that Army grub I told him I could habla it fine. He took me on as scout and Injun interpreter at five dollars a day and found; but at the end of two days we ran spang into them Injuns, and the lieut, he sent me out.

"Well, I rode up on a hill where they could see me good and held up my hand for a talk, and when the old chief and a couple of bucks rode out I hollers:

"Wahoo meshackatee!"

"The old chief then, he r'ars back on his hanches and cuts loose with a bunch of A-pache; and finally the lieutenant, who was fresh from West Point, rides up and asks what he says. Well, it was up to me then to make good or bust; so, knowing the dirty dastards, I made a bold guess and by grab it turned out I was right.

"'He says, sir,' I reports, 'that his men want to fight; but if you'll give him some grub, and some coffee and tobacco-smokum, they'll think about coming in.'

"Well, we brought up the grub and the tobacco-smokum and when them bucks saw it they laid down their guns and come into camp on the lope. I was a hero, by crackey, until we got back to San Carlos and rustled up a real interpreter; but the colonel was so tickled that he kept me on the payroll, under the name of Wahoo Meshackatee. Never could speak the lingo but them A-paches all know me and we git along somehow, by signs; but say, where you going—on your way to join the Bassetts—or was you jest passing through?"

"No, I was just passing through," answered Hall uneasily, "and by the way, who are these men, anyway? I'm a stranger in this country and I can't make out yet why they take so much interest in my business."

"Who, these fellers? Why, them's Isham and Red John Scarborough, two of the dangest cow-thieves unhung; and, as I told 'em just now, they're jealous. There's three brothers of 'em, altogether, and three of the Bassetts; and they used to be hand in glove. They throwed in together to steal old Jensen blind, but now it's dog eat dog. The Bassetts are part Injun and don't want no trouble, but these biggoty Texicans are crowding 'em so hard that I look for the fireworks any time. The Scarboroughs are hiring gunmen—you might git a job yourself—and fixing to run the Bassetts out of the country; and the Bassetts, for revenge, are going to bring in some sheep, and that sure will start a war. They're just watching each other now, and guarding the trails, but there ain't no use of your trying to git in there unless you join one of the gangs. If these boys'd let you pass, the Bassetts would sure git you; and so on, plumb through the Basin. We're all split up, and I've favored the Bassetts; but under the circumstances, and considering how we're fixed, I think we'd better join the Scarboroughs."

He glanced up at the loop of the hangman's knot and winked with a knowing leer, but the back of the other prisoner suddenly straightened against the post and fire flashed up in his eyes.

"What, join these men after they've held me up and accused me of being a horse-thief? I'd die first—I'd let them hang me, before I'd even consider it. They're nothing but a pair of criminals!"

"Well, suit yourself," observed Meshackatee, glancing uneasily towards the door, "but you don't need to holler quite so loud."

"I'll say it to their faces!" cried Hall in a passion. "They're a disgrace to the name of Southerners. I'm from the South myself, and back in Kentucky a man holds his honor above his life. Do you think I'll submit to being branded a horse-thief and not call them out, if I live?"

"From Kentucky, eh?" grinned Meshackatee, "well this is Arizona, a whole lot further west; and over in the Basin, where they're all from Uvalde, the term 'hawse-thief' is jest a pet name."

"'Uvalde'?" repeated Hall. "I don't quite understand you."

"Uvalde University! Didn't you ever hear of Uvalde? That's a school for Texas cow-thieves. The teacher in this college is an old, busted-down cow-puncher that's spent half his life in the Pen., and his school-house is a corralful of dust. He starts them boys off at drawing brands in the dirt, and then he puts 'em to work altering 'em; and when a boy can burn every cow-brand in Texas he sends him out west with his diplomy. The diplomy? Oh, that's jest one of these here running-irons, to use on his neighbor's cows."

"Yes, I see," responded Hall, smiling absently, and fell into a ruminative silence. "Is it a fact," he asked at last, "that over in Maverick Basin the people are as desperate as you say? I can understand this feud but I can't conceive of a community where a man will let you call him a thief."

"Well, they're Texicans, you know," explained Meshackatee glibly, "ain't supposed to have no morals, nohow. They're a cowardly bunch, too—jest look how they roped me—I never did see but one brave one. He's dead now, the rascal, but they called him One-eyed Tex—I was there when he got his name. It was over in New Mexico and he got into a shooting-scrape and the other feller plugged him through the eye. Bullet went plumb through his head and blew out part of his brains—made him feel kinder dizzy for a spell. Then he come to himself and drilled his man dead center, after which they took him to the doctor. The doctor wouldn't touch him till they told him it was Tex, and then he sewed him right up. Said a feller from Texas never would miss his brains nohow and he'd heal up and grow hair in a week.

"Well, Tex he got well, and I will say for him that there was one sure-enough brave Texan. He'd take on anybody and give 'em the first two shots and git off for self-defense. He come on over to Bowie, or I believe it was Lordsburg, but anyway his reputation had preceded him. He was known to be bad, and he shore run it over them Mexicans. You couldn't kill the scoundrel and there warn't no way to stop him, until some of them Rawhides chopped his head plumb off one night and hid it out in the brush. He starved to death in about a week—but there was one brave Texican."

"But he's dead, eh?" grinned Hall, and then they both laughed while Meshackatee leered at the door.

"Ever spent much time exploring these cliff-dwellings?" he inquired, suddenly changing the subject, "well they sure are an interesting study. Supposed to have been built about a thousand years ago by the ancestors of the Aztecs or the Hopis; but let me tell you, pardner, they ain't all vanished yet—I found some, up here in a cave. I was riding along one time when I seen an old man, with his beard plumb down to his knees; and he was sitting down outside of a cliff-dwelling and crying like his heart would break.

"'What's the matter, old man?' I says, and he bursts out worse than ever.

"'My daddy whipped me!' he says, and I seen right there he was touched. He was a hundred years old if he was a day and his back-bone was sticking through like a fish's, and of course he didn't have no daddy; but I was kind of sorry, the way he took on, and I gits down and pats him on the head.

"'Well, don't cry,' I says, 'what did he whip you for?'

"'Fer throwing stones at grand-pap!' he says, and cries like his heart would break.

"'Aw hell,' I says, 'you ain't got no grand-pap!'

"'Yes I have!' he sobs, 'he's right up in that house!' And he points to one of these dwellings.

"'Well, don't cry,' I says, 'mebbe I can fix it up for you. Is your daddy up there, too?'

"'Yes,' he says, 'he's in that first room, gitting ready to trim his corns.'

"Well, of course I knowed he didn't have no dad—or at least it didn't seem possible—but jest to snoop into things and git to look around I went up the trail to the house. It was one jest like this, with the doors and windows sealed, but when I looked in there was an old, old man, sharpening a butcher-knife across his shin. He was so old and dried up there warn't no skin on his shin bone and his back was bent plumb to his knees. By grab, I was skeered—it didn't look natural—but of course I never let on.

"'Hello!' I says, 'what are you whipping your kid for? He's down there crying his heart out.'

"'Well, I don't keer,' he says, 'he's got to quit pestering his grand-pap. The old man is gitting feeble and don't like to be disturbed, and that boy is always pelting him with stones.'

"'Where is the old man?' I asks at last, and he points to a room in behind.

"It was one jest like this—you couldn't hardly see and it smelled kind of dead-like and close—and when I looked around I couldn't find nothing but an old, dried-up bundle of bones. Well, I tiptoed my way out of there and I says to the old timer—the one that was trimming his corns:

"'Your father ain't alive—he's dead!'

"'No he ain't!' he says, 'he only seems that way. But you take him down and throw him into the crick and let him soak for a while and he'll tell you about things that happened a thousand years ago!'"

Meshackatee threw back his head and joined in the laugh which followed his chef-d'œuvre and then he leaned over and nodded at Hall while he took him into confidence with a wink.

"On the level, now," he said, "ain't you an officer of the law? You've sure got that man-hunter look. No? Nothing like that? Well, all right then, I'll quit guessing—you was going in to join the Bassetts."

He nodded again, wisely, but the stranger shook his head and tugged at his bonds impatiently.

"No," he said, "I never heard of the Bassetts till I asked about the Basin in Tonto. And I never heard of the Scarboroughs until the livery-stable keeper recommended them highly as Southern gentlemen. It appears he was mistaken, for I never met men yet who were their match for out-and-out insolence; but did it ever occur to you that a man might be going through here on business that concerned no one but himself? You have been connected with the Bassetts, and the Scarboroughs have trapped you—very well, join whichever side you will. But I for one will never join either, for I know what these family feuds lead to. I have seen whole counties plunged into a war that has lasted for twenty years; I have seen brave men—yes, and women and children, too—shot down and their murderers unpunished. I left my own home to escape just such conditions as these Scarboroughs are trying to bring on, and, without professing any knowledge of the rights of the matter, I maintain that both sides are wrong. Whatever their differences they should endeavor to reconcile them before things have gone too far; for after the first shot, after the first man has been killed, his blood will cry out for more. Then brother must avenge brother and fathers their sons; and so on forever, as far as I know, or until God performs some miracle. And you, my friend, if you will take my advice, will withdraw from this quarrel now; because after the first bloodshed it will be too late—you cannot desert your friends. I know whereof I speak, for I come from Kentucky where there is never an end to these wars; and so I entreat you, for you seem a good man, to flee from this feud while you can."

"For cripes' sake," muttered Meshackatee, "we must have caught a preacher." And then he raised his voice.

"It's all right, boys!" he bellowed. "Come on in and turn us loose. He's nothing but a Christian gentleman."

The stone against the doorway was thrown back with a thud and the Scarboroughs stepped in again, grinning.

[CHAPTER III]

THE NEUTRALS

It was the evident purpose of the Scarboroughs to gloss over their misdemeanors by an affectation of jovial good-humor, but the victim of the jest sat back with narrowed eyes while he glanced from them to Meshackatee.

"Oh, I see," he said, with a mirthless smile, "this is supposed to be a joke."

"That's the idea," responded Meshackatee, "but it didn't work out. We thought all the time you was a Bassett."

"And if I had been?" inquired Hall, and Isham looked up from where he was untying the ropes.

"We'd a stretched your damned neck," he replied succinctly. "Plain shooting is too good for them rascals."

"And what now?" went on the stranger, "do I get my horse back, with an apology for all this rough treatment; or must I——"

"You do not!" returned Isham. "We don't apologize to nobody. You're lucky to git off alive."

"Very well," answered Hall, and the tone of his voice suggested reprisals to come.

"What d'ye mean?" flared up Isham. "You're pretty danged fresh for a man that's jest saved his neck."

"Perhaps so," he assented. "Am I still your prisoner, or am I free to go?"

"You'll wait until I ask you a few more questions." And Isham beckoned his brother to one side. They talked together with their eyes on their prisoner, and then Isham Scarborough returned. Though he was the leader of the gang, both Red and Meshackatee seemed to regard him with scant respect; yet he was their spokesman, being by nature loud and boastful, while Red was watchful and silent, and he began with some general remarks.

"Now lookee here, my friend," he said, stepping closer and looking his prisoner in the eye, "you don't want to think, jest because you're bad, that anybody around here's afraid of you. The hombre don't live that can make me apologize, and you'd better not make any threats; but if you'll answer a few questions and act like a gentleman we'll let you go into the Basin. Now, who is this feller that you're looking for so hard—and does he belong to the Bassetts or the Scarboroughs?"

"Not to either, that I know of—he may not be in the Basin—but I give you my word that this mission of mine has nothing to do with your quarrel."

"Yes, but what's his name?" persisted Isham shrewdly. "If we knowed who he was we could danged soon find out for you——"

"I cannot give his name," answered the stranger firmly, and Isham reared up his head.

"Aw, let 'im go on," broke in Red John impatiently. "But say, what about that horse?"

"Well, make your own talk," replied Isham sulkily, and Red came over with a grin.

"That's all right, pardner," he said, "sorry to make you any trouble but we've got to keep watch of these trails. Now about that horse, he's got a New Mexico brand on him and that's liable to git you into trouble; but I've got a big bay that everybody knows, and jest to ride him will git you by anywhere. I'll trade you the bay and ten dollars to boot——"

"No, I'm sorry," returned Hall, "but my horse is a pet and I couldn't consider a trade."

"Give you twenty-five dollars!" urged Red John eagerly, but the stranger shook his head.

"No," he said. "And now can I go?"

"You can go," spoke up Isham, "but I'll have to send along a guide to protect you against the Bassetts. Because if they ketch you now, after you've been stopping with us——"

"I can protect myself," answered the stranger shortly, and Red broke into a laugh.

"Why didn't you do it, then?" he taunted, "when we nabbed you by the spring? I reckon you're pretty green in these parts."

"Yes, I'm green," admitted Hall, "but I'm beginning to learn—and I'm willing to take a chance on the Bassetts."

"Oh, you think they ain't so bad, eh?" broke in Isham intolerantly. "Well, let me tell you a few things about the Bassetts. They're a cross between a horsethief and a Digger Injun squaw, and they's more than one man that's dropped suddenly out of sight while he was riding across their range. They're the most treacherous dastards that ever was born and them that knows 'em best trusts 'em least. They're jest naturally bad with a yaller stripe down their belly as broad as the flat of your hand. They'll do everything but fight, and you can't crowd 'em to it—not if you call 'em every name you can lay your tongue to. And they're the orneriest-looking rascals that a white man ever seen—like an Injun, but black as niggers. You ain't going to throw in with an outfit like that—and call yourself a Southerner?"

"Whoever said I was going to throw in with them?" demanded Hall with outraged dignity. "Haven't I told you distinctly that I am just going through the country and that I don't give that for your quarrels?"

"Yes, you've told me," retorted Isham, "but perhaps I don't believe you. I wasn't born yesterday, and if you don't want to join them why do you object to going in with Meshackatee?"

"I don't object!" replied the prisoner tartly, "and if that's a condition I agree to it. But since my word of honor means nothing to you gentlemen I must ask permission to withdraw it."

"W'y, sure!" mocked Isham, bowing low and with a smirk. "By grab, boys; we've sure caught a preacher."

"Nope, he ain't no preacher," corrected Meshackatee grimly. "And say, if we're going, let's start."

"Take him over to the Rock House, then," ordered Isham gruffly, "and don't let him git away."

"Very well, sir," answered Meshackatee, and with a half-mocking salute he led his prisoner away.

They were well up the trail before either of them spoke and then Meshackatee broke the silence.

"I'll take your word of honor," he said, "that you won't try to quit me on the trail. They'll hold me responsible, now."

"You have it," replied Hall at length, "but I must say I'm surprised to find a man like you in the company of such unprincipled hounds."

"Oh, they ain't so bad," responded Meshackatee cheerfully, "except when Isham runs off at the head. He makes more enemies by shooting off his mouth than he can hire gunmen at ten dollars a day. That's me, you understand—I'm a hired bravo, as they call us in the Geronimo Blade—but when a man buys my services he doesn't buy me, and I think what I dad-blamed please."

"Well, what do you think, then, of the Scarboroughs' methods of holding up strangers on the trail? I've seen some rough work but the way they treated me made the blood fairly boil in my veins!"

"It sure makes 'em sore," observed Meshackatee philosophically, "to be roped that way at the spring. And that hangman's knot and all, it's downright insulting—a man never quite gits over it."

"No, he doesn't," assented Hall, and rode on in brooding silence, for he was still in the hands of his enemies.

"And yet," went on Meshackatee, "it ain't what they do so much as the way they do it. You can take a man's gun without jabbing him in the belly and threatening to leave him for the buzzards; and if you'd give 'em a few drinks and kinder jolly 'em along the chances are that most of 'em would join. But that's the Scarboroughs—overbearing as hell, and nobody but a Teehanno will stand for 'em. Jest the minute they see your rigging they was dead set agin ye, because a Texican won't admit that a single-cinch saddle can be rode by a scholar and a gentleman. It's all double-rig with them, and tie to the horn; and any man that comes by with a dallywelta outfit is due to get a hazing. But I'm broadminded myself and I sure throwed the hooks into 'em when I was telling about One-eyed Tex. I was looking for Red to come through that stone door when I made that last crack about Texicans, and I still maintain that you can't hurt a Teehanno by hitting him on the 'haid.' I've heard 'em admit it themselves. And what I was telling you about them being from Uvalde is true as gospel script. They're the prize cow-thieves in the world, bar none."

"Then how can you reconcile the matter with your conscience, if you accept money which has been gotten by stealing cows?"

Meshackatee grinned and scratched his shaggy beard; after a sudden, searching glance at his prisoner.

"Well, in the first place," he said, "my conscience ain't the kind that worries much over trifles; and in the second place this money never come from stealing cows—it's all in brand-new bills."

"New bills!" repeated Hall, and then, after silence, "well, where do they get these bills?"

"Search me," shrugged Meshackatee, still watching him narrowly, "is that what you come to find out?"

"Why—why no!" exclaimed Hall. "Why certainly not. What gave you such a curious idea?"

"Ain't you an officer?" challenged Meshackatee. "I won't hold it agin ye—might even be an officer myself! No? Honest? Gimme your word of honor? Well, somehow I can't hardly believe it. I go by hunches, see; and the first time I saw you I says: 'There goes an officer!' But if you ain't, you ain't—and I know it's danged unhealthy for an officer that's caught in these parts—but it's the common report that this money of the Scarboroughs' was taken from a Government paymaster."

"I see!" nodded Hall, and his eyes flashed sudden fire though his face remained fixed like a mask.

"Yes," went on Meshackatee after waiting for him to speak, "and the Government never forgets. Somebody robbed the ambulance and shot two or three soldiers, right up on the Camp Verde road; and you're the kind of man, if I was picking 'em out, that I'd send in to look the matter up."

"Nevertheless," returned Hall, "I must beg you to believe that I have nothing to do with such work. I am a private citizen and the mission I am on will not injure a human being in the world. I admit there was a time when I was drawn into a struggle that left a certain mark on my face; but that time is past, and some day, I trust, the marks will be less apparent. In brief, while I may have the look of a fighter, I come into this country with malice towards no man. I intend to remain strictly neutral."

"H'm; 'neutral,' eh?" sniffed Meshackatee, shifting his ponderous bulk and striking back the hair from one ear, "do you see that little mark on my ear? Well, that broke me of being neutral."

Hall looked, and the lower lobe of the ear had been sliced down and left dangling by a segment—that's what the cowmen call a "jinglebob."

"I got that," went on Meshackatee, "in the Lincoln County War, when Billy the Kid was still working for Chisholm and branding every cow-brute he could rope. He'd ride along the road with a bunch of them tough cowboys, take the oxen out of them Mexican freight-teams and brand 'em while they was still in the yoke. That was Billy the Kid; but me, I was neutral—I wouldn't have no truck with such doings. Well, one night I was camping with another outsider when this outfit rode up—drunk.

"'Who ye fur?'" they says, and I speaks my little piece.

"'I'm neutral,' I says, and they ropes me.

"'A neutral's a maverick on this here range,' they says, and I'm a doggoned Mexican if they didn't jinglebob my ears and burn a big fence-rail on my ribs. Don't believe it, hey? Well, take a look at that and tell me if you're still a neutral!"

He tore open his shirt and exposed a long, red line, burned deep into the tender flesh—then struck back the hair from his ears.

"That's the old Chisholm brand," he nodded grimly, "and they ran it on my pardner, too. He was a revengeful sort of cuss and tapped two of 'em, later; but me, I jest let my hair grow long and moved on to Arizona. But I've switched my system now, and whichever side is on the prod I throw right in with them. It's the only way to do—ain't it the innocent bystander that always gits shot in the neck? There's no principle involved—one's as bad as the other—so what's the use of being a fool? I'm out for the ready money. I'm a hired bravo, drawing my ten dollars a day and doing the heavy thinking for the gang; and if you want to join in with us while you're looking for this party I'll see that you get a job. Don't even have to stay with us if you don't like Isham's ways—go over and join the Bassetts and you'd be worth that much more than you would be sticking around with the gang. But whatever you do, for cripes' sake don't stay neutral. You can see what happened to me!"

He brushed back the hair over his slit and mangled ears and a steely look came into his eyes.

"I'm looking for a certain party myself," he said. "Reckon we all are—would you like to come in?"

"With you—yes," assented Hall, "but never with the Scarboroughs. I have taken a great dislike to Isham and his kind—and the ills which come to a man who stays neutral are nothing to what happens to a partisan. The partisan must fight whether he is right or wrong or be branded a traitor by his clan; and if for one moment he shows kindness to an enemy he is hounded by both sides alike. That is the unforgivable sin—any sign of humanity, any suggestion that the butchery should cease—and as the fighting goes on the worst element takes the lead while men of finer feeling drop out. And to drop out is to be branded a coward. But no man is truly brave until, for a principle, he is willing to be called a coward. And here—since you have shown me the rewards of being neutral, there is mine for being a partisan!"

He stripped back his shirt—from the same left side that Meshackatee had bared to show his brand—and there, between two ribs, was a smooth round hole, where a bullet had passed through his body. It was a mere pit of red against the white skin, and just above the scar his heart beat on rhythmically as if nothing could still its pulse. Meshackatee stared, then leaned over closer and glanced up with a scared look in his eyes.

"How'd you happen to live?" he asked at last, and the stranger pointed solemnly to the sky.

"A miracle!" he said, "if miracles still happen to men as unworthy as I am. I was left for dead—and so I still remain to those who sought my life—but I crawled to a cave and recovered from my wound without medicine or care of any kind. In the mountains my name is added to the list of those who have died in the feud; but God has spared me—or so I think—to bring peace once more to Tug Fork."

"And where's that?" demanded Meshackatee, still staring at him curiously; and the stranger seemed to wake from a trance.

"I shouldn't have said that!" he burst out regretfully, "I shouldn't have mentioned Tug Fork. But as you are a gentleman——" He paused expectantly and Meshackatee held out his hand.

"Enough said!" he exclaimed, and they clasped hands in silence. For between gentlemen what need is there for words?

[CHAPTER IV]

MAVERICK BASIN

The trail to Maverick Basin led north up Turkey Creek; and on both sides of the canyon, in caverns and beneath huge crags, the white houses of the cliff-dwellers caught the eye. The mountains rose up in jumbled and shattered terraces, split here and there by dark and jagged chasms which revealed the far heights beyond. These were covered with black pines and Douglas spruce, clinging close to the shelving slopes; and below them the oaks and junipers crept in, while at the bottom there was cactus and mesquite. It was a rough and thorny trail, winding in and out and up over brushy benches, then down again to the creek. Startled deer rose up timorously from their beds along the hillside, wild turkeys ran flapping across the path; and along the bluffs the tracks of mountain lion and bear told of others who prowled by night. But the scarcest track of all was that of man, the conqueror, who claims dominion over the birds and beasts. Like the lions and bears, men traveled by night or kept off the beaten trails.

Meshackatee rode ahead on a buckskin Indian pony which seemed to totter beneath his great weight, and, across the saddle in front of him, he balanced a repeating rifle with a bore like a buffalo gun. Behind followed Hall, still mounted on the blue roan which had so taken Red Scarborough's eye; and, scouting on before them, went Meshackatee's spotted dog, always seeking yet silent as a specter. The canyon opened out into wide, oak-clad flats with sycamores along the banks of the creek; and then the hills fell away to the east, giving a view of lone pinnacles beyond. They rode further and the flats opened out into parks where deer and wild cattle grazed; and the high cliffs to the west came down nearer and nearer, as if to cut off their way. Then the trail left the creek and swung over towards the cliff and at Jump-off Point it climbed the western rim and led north across Juniper Flats. They set off at a gallop, heading for a distant divide, and as the sun was sinking low they topped the last ridge and the Basin lay smiling before them.

It was a wide and grassy valley, circled about with oak-crowned hills; and beyond it like a line the great Rim of the Mogollons stood out blue against the reddening sky. Tall pines, like half-stript sticks, marked the edge of the unseen forest which covered the sloping plains beyond; and under the Rim all the caved-off, lesser rims were smothered in a dense growth of trees. All else seemed shut in, overwhelmed and obscured; but Maverick Basin lay set like a jewel within the curve of the golden-brown hills. It was a cowman's paradise, well watered with meandering streams and sheltered from north winds by the Rim; its grass was all aripple, a wooded river-bottom flanked the east and live-oaks made shade along its slopes. Yet here was where the Scarboroughs had settled down to make a little hell of their own.

Hall looked at it in silence, taking in its placid beauty and the roofs of peaceful houses among the trees, and as he followed down the slope he sighed.

"Gitting tired?" inquired Meshackatee, "well, it ain't far, now. See that long house, off to the west? That's the famous Rock House that the first settlers built to stand off the bloodthirsty A-paches; and now, by grab, it's got a bunch of Texas gunmen that could give 'em cards and spades. It's the Scarborough headquarters, and over to the east is the big log house of the Bassetts. It was built for Injuns too—with loop-holes and all—but it's too doggoned close to that hill. The Rock House stands out in the middle of the plain, where you can't shoot it up from cover; but sure as hell, if they's ever any trouble, the Bassetts are going to git ambushed. They're right on the bank of Turkey Crick, too—where you see all them cottonwood trees—and a bunch of men could slip up through that brush and ketch 'em in the door at dawn. The other house, over north, it's the old Jensen place—they're using it now for a store.

"That's the first real house that was built in the Basin," he went on with garrulous pride, "and it's sure seen doings in its day. Right there is where Jens Jensen made his start in the cow business and give the Basin its name. Them first ones might have been mavericks, but the kind they're gitting now have been stole from as far as New Mexico. Old Jens was an honest old jasper, in a way—as honest as they let 'em git in these parts—but the bunch that come in later would rather steal a cow than have their breakfast in bed. They was so good with a running-iron they could write their names with it, and every one registered a brand that would burn spang over Jensen's. His iron was JJ and the Scarboroughs put pot-hooks on it that made it look like SS; the Bassetts jest altered the last J to JB connected and changed the first J to suit. Sharps Bassett worked it over into an S, like the Scarboroughs, and Winchester changed it to a W; and Bill, the black rascal, burned as pretty a WB connected as you ever see in your life. Oh, these boys git so good they take a pride in blotching brands and figuring out real elaborate bums—like that feller back in Texas that altered XIT into a five-pointed star and a cross. He was offered ten thousand dollars to show how he done it, and now they ain't a cotton-picker this side of Uvalde that can't burn it over in his sleep. But that was back in Texas where the competition is strong—out here they was still in the ABC class, where a man used his initials for the brand. Well, they pulled off of Jens until they got halfway ashamed of themselves, he was such a peaceable old duck; and then Judge Malcolm comes driving into the Basin with fifteen hundred head of cows. The judge had bought this stuff up in the San Juan country somewhere, or traded for it someway with them Mormons; and he come right in here, without 'By your leave' or nothing, and turned them out on the range.

"A-all right, here was where the big doings began, because the Bassetts and the Scarboroughs claimed to control the whole Basin and wouldn't let no settlers come in. That is, not unless they acknowledged their authority and gave 'em a hundred or so; but the Judge—say, he was a freeborn American citizen and knowed it was public land. It was open to anybody and he turned his cows out on it, hiring a gunman or two to take charge—and the whole cussed outfit tied into him. The Scarboroughs and Bassetts was thick as thieves while they was running off the Judge's cows; and the first thing he knowed he couldn't gather five hundred, and not a one of 'em under two years old. Say, the picking was so good they heard about it back in Texas; and ever since that time, going onto two years now, these tough Texicans have been drifting in. Are they tough? They're so bad they'd have me scared if I hadn't seen Billy the Kid; but there was a killer that had 'em all beat—and he come from New York City. Never said nothing either, always smiling and polite; and yet the doggoned little shrimp had them ba-ad Texans all buffaloed when he onlimbered and went to shooting.

"Oh, the Judge? Well, he was a lawyer, all right. When he see he couldn't stop 'em, and a couple of his gunmen got shot, he took the matter into court; but the whole Basin rode down there, drunk and disorderly and loaded for bear, and swore out a warrant for him. That made the court judge sore, because the county was poor and he see it was a neighborhood row, so he dismissed all the charges against everybody. This county is about as big as the state of Pennsylvania and mileage fees pile up quick: and the whole doggoned outfit was nothing but a bunch of cow-thieves, so what was the use of it, anyhow?

"Well—so far, so good—the wild bunch comes home and Malcolm he takes the big think. He's a lawyer, like I says, and them are the boys that know how to pull the right string. He sends for the Scarboroughs and offers 'em a hundred head more, if they'll turn state's evidence and railroad the Bassetts. Well, the Bassetts are Injuns—and they'd made a little trouble when the Scarboroughs tried to run off some cows—so Isham and Red seen their chance to git shut of them and they took the hundred cows. They went down to Tonto and turned in their testimony, enough to send the Bassetts plumb to hell; but they talked so much they incriminated themselves and the judge throwed the case out of court. But by now the Bassetts had got blood in their eyes and they come back a charging, spent all their money on a lawyer, and had the Scarboroughs up for perjury. That sent Tonto County broke and court adjourned, but before they left town the judge or somebody gave the Maverick Basin crowd a quiet tip: the county was bankrupt, it was three days' hard hiring for an officer to come up from Tonto, and the idee was they'd better keep out of court and settle their little differences with a Winchester."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Hall, "surely they didn't say that!"

"Mebbe not," shrugged Meshackatee, "but they's one thing I know—there hasn't been an officer up here since."

Hall shook his head sadly and they rode on in silence, Meshackatee with his eyes on the Rock House far below them and Hall with his head bowed in thought. In his mind he was picturing the two contending factions and the battle that seemed certain to come, and when he looked up there was a strange light in his eyes and he gazed far away across the plain.

"But the other people," he suggested, "there are other settlers, too—could nothing be done with them?"

"What d'ye mean?" inquired Meshackatee, and Hall threw out his hands in a gesture of sudden appeal.

"Can't you see?" he cried. "This quarrel must be stopped before it has gone too far!"

"Oh—them!" responded Meshackatee, tossing his head contemptuously, "they're afraid to call their souls their own. All that lives to the west, mostly, are friends of Isham's; and to the east and up Turkey Crick they're for the Bassetts; but they ain't ary one of 'em would stand up for his own rights, let alone throw a skeer into Isham. Because Isham is the man that's behind all this devilment—he's got ten hired gunmen, right now—and unless he's connected up with the United States mint he'll have to start something pretty soon."

"Yes, but what about the Bassetts? How can they expect to resist him unless they, too, hire more men?"

"They're broke," explained Meshackatee, "the lawyers got their money, and they ain't had the nerve to steal more. And then, being Injuns, they don't worry. They're three danged snakey hombres, to tell you the truth, and I don't want no trouble with none of 'em. Sharps is slow, but he's sure; and Winchester is quick and sure; and Bill, he's a fighting fool. He's whiter than the rest of 'em and he's jest naturally bad, proud of it and don't care who knows it. That boy would fight a buzzsaw with his hands tied behind him, if you'd listen to what he says. But ain't you heard the news—they've throwed in with Grimes, the big sheepman from up over the Rim. He's a holy, fighting terror that ain't afraid of nobody, or he wouldn't be up on that range. The Slash-knife outfit has got cows there by the thousand, but that don't make no difference with Grimes. Every time he meets a cowboy or a bunch of these here rustlers he drops down off his mule and commences to shoot and—well, anyhow, he's promised to come down. He's going to bring his sheep and a bunch of fighting Mexicans and sheep these bad Teehannos plumb out. Well, you wait; and if he comes he'd better come a-shooting, because we got no use for sheep!"

He shut his jaws down grimly and it was easy to see that he shared the cowman's prejudice against sheep.

"He ought to be kept out!" exclaimed Hall, after a silence, and Meshackatee nodded approvingly.

"That's the talk!" he praised, "I knowed you had it in you. Come on, and we'll turn the woollies back."

"No, I don't mean that," protested Hall, "what I mean is, a man has no business to stir up trouble by deliberately invading a new range."

"W'y sure!" agreed Meshackatee heartily, "I'm with you, as big as a wolf. We'll jest go up that way to-morrow and talk reason to Mr. Grimes, and maybe he'll decide not to come. No, I mean it, by grab—and say, down at the house, I'll tell 'em you're jest a new man. They're ranicky as the devil when they ketch some outsider—and of course you ain't a Texan—so I'll jest tell Miz Zoolah, that's Isham's wife, that you've come up to help with the sheep."

He spurred up his lagging mount and went galloping across the plain, but as they drew near the Rock House he reined in suddenly, yet with his pony dancing nervously to go.

"Your name was Hall, wasn't it?" he inquired with a flourish. "All right, I'll fix it up. And say—where you going, horse?—what's you say that other name was? You know, that feller you was looking for?"

"I didn't say," replied Hall and, meeting his calm eyes, Meshackatee broke into a grin.

"Oh, that's right!" he exclaimed. "My mistake—excuse me!" And he jumped his dancing pony into a lope.

[CHAPTER V]

THE CASUIST

The Rock House of the Scarboroughs was windowless and almost doorless, a long port-holed fort built of square-edged stone retrieved from an Indian ruin. In prehistoric days each stone had been quarried and carried on men's backs from the hills, but now their ancient city was a mound of tumbled rocks and its walls did new duty for the white man. The fort was built in frontier style, with narrow loop-holes in place of windows and doorways just wide enough to pass—two rooms opening south and two opening north, with solid stone partitions between. Beneath the floor of the kitchen a well had been dug, to supply water in case of a siege; and the huge square chimney was loopholed near the top, making a watchtower to command the level plain.

In Indian days the old Rock House had served to protect the settlers from Apaches; but now the Scarboroughs, like robber barons of old, had turned it into a castle. Behind its thick walls they had grown prosperous and arrogant, and a big bunk-house by the stable and corrals was swarming with feudal retainers. These were Texans to a man, and as Hall rode up they strolled over and eyed him coldly. That fatal single-cinch on his California-rigged saddle had already aroused their antagonism, but their first fleering remarks were cut short by Miz Zoolah, who came bustling out of the kitchen. She was a dark, lanky woman with pale blue eyes which seemed to dart forth venom; and after a single glance at Hall she turned to Meshackatee who greeted her with deceptive meekness.

"Did you pass an Injun with a message for Isham?" she demanded in a threatening voice.

"No, ma'am," returned Meshackatee, "we didn't pass nobody. What's the news—have the sheep come in?"

"Yes, the sheep have come in!" she burst out angrily, "and Elmo and these trifling cowboys have let 'em. They just watched the main trail and Grimes made another one and came in across the Reservation. He's halfway down Canyon Crick, now!"

"Well?" inquired Meshackatee, rolling his eyes at the Texans, and Miz Zoolah flew into a tantrum.

"They're afraid!" she cried, "Elmo and all the rest of 'em! They're afraid to go out and move him. But just wait till Isham comes back and I'll bet there'll be a scattering of sheep."

"Very likely," observed Meshackatee. "This is Mr. Hall, Mrs. Scarborough. He's a new man we picked up down below."

"Well, if he don't turn out any better than some that we've got, you might as well tell him to go. I declare, when this Grimes and his Mexicans began shooting, Elmo and all of them gave him the trail."

"Shooting?" repeated Meshackatee, arching his eyebrows inquiringly, and Mrs. Scarborough nodded her head.

"Yes—shooting!" she said, "the minute he saw them he dropped down and emptied his Winchester. And him a dirty sheepman, with nothing but Mexicans, and these boys all claim they're from Texas. I'd just like to know what we've been paying them for if it isn't to stand up and fight; but they turned tail and ran and I'm going to tell Isham that he ought to fire them—all!"

"Oh, I don't know," murmured Meshackatee, glancing at the shamefaced cowboys, "you'd jest have to hire some more. What's the chances for something to eat?"

"You can eat with the rest of them," she answered impatiently, "and not a minute before. Now you worthless cowboys go away from that kitchen and quit making eyes at the cook. And if you want to hurry supper somebody take the ax and chop up a little wood."

There was a rush for the ax and the cowboys slouched away, laughing hectoringly at the man who had won.

"Well, git down," said Mrs. Scarborough with a grudging sigh, "that makes fourteen men we're cooking for."

They dismounted stiffly and she drew Meshackatee aside, talking rapidly as he inclined his curly head; and then, as Hall stood awkwardly by, a girl hurried out the kitchen door. In one hand was a huge bucket and she had started for the well when she met the newcomer's startled eyes. For a moment she stood still, then the bucket fell clattering and was clutched up with a trembling hand.

"Let me help you!" said Hall, raising his hat and advancing swiftly; and while Meshackatee looked on he filled the bucket with practiced hand and carried it back to the kitchen. There was a murmur of disapproval from the gunmen by the bunkhouse as he did not emerge immediately, and Mrs. Scarborough glanced around suspiciously; but he returned to his horse without meeting her eyes and Meshackatee grinned to himself.

The kitchen was forbidden ground at the ranch, hence the rush to chop and bring in the wood; but this stranger had shown himself adept indeed at invading the sanctum sanctorum. He had met Mrs. Scarborough's niece, and filled her bucket and whisked it back into the house, in about the time it would take a Texan to spit out his chew of tobacco. But that dropping of the bucket—was Miss Allifair so flustered, or had it been done with a purpose? He listened gravely to Miz Zoolah as she asked him questions and then guessed at the answers herself, but all the while his keen eyes were on Hall and his mind was seeking out the cause. For there is a reason for everything, if one can piece facts together or even jump at the facts, and Meshackatee was by nature a casuist. But something of the furor that was going on in his mind seemed to be communicated to the vigilant Miz Zoolah, for she stopped in the middle of a spiteful tirade and turned her pale eyes on the stranger.

"Who is that man?" she demanded suddenly, and then she advanced and faced him.

"Haven't I seen you before somewhere?" she questioned sharply, and Hall seemed to rouse from some dream.

"No, ma'am," he replied in soft, reassuring tones, "or at least, ma'am, not to my knowledge. I am a stranger in these parts and——"

"Where'd you come from?" she put in, and he hesitated a moment before he made an answer.

"I am sorry," he said, "but I can't answer that question. I am just passing through and——"

"Who is this man?" she demanded of Meshackatee; and as she repeated the question a swift look passed between them and the two men joined forces against her.

"I don't know," returned Meshackatee, "but he's a stranger in this country—the boys picked him up at Cold Spring. Isham told me to bring him up here, but there's nothing against him. It was jest to protect him from the Bassetts."

"Yes, the Bassetts!" she snapped. "He must be a weakling if he needs any protection from them."

"Well, he's my prisoner, then," spoke up Meshackatee bluffly. "Anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yes, I'd just like to know why you allowed him in that kitchen if Isham sent him over for a prisoner. He might have stepped out that farther door and been halfway over to the Bassetts."

"He gave me his word of honor," answered Meshackatee defiantly. "I guess there's such a thing as a gentleman!"

"A gentleman!" she shrilled. "He gave you his word of honor! Since when have you got these idees into your head? I'm going to report this to Isham."

"Well, report and be blowed!" burst out Meshackatee rudely, and led his prisoner away.

But, even in a world where honor is not dead and the word "gentleman" is more than a name, there is such a thing as a reasonable precaution and Meshackatee slept by his man that night. They threw down their saddle-blankets beneath the towering cottonwood that stood just north of the house, and he slept with his dog at his back. It was the way they always slept, back to back on the scant blanket, and if anything moved 'Pache would raise his head and give voice to a rumbling growl.

The night was well along when there was a stir at his back and the vibrations of a noiseless growl. Meshackatee opened his eyes and moved gently in answer and a strange sight met his eyes. His prisoner had risen up without a sound and tiptoed back towards the house, and as he stood in the starlight a white form glided out and she met him in passionate embrace. Meshackatee moved again and his dog sank down obediently—there was a silence, and the prisoner came back—but far into the night the man who had turned casuist lay and speculated on the Ultimate Cause.

[CHAPTER VI]

THE ULTIMATE CAUSE

It is easy to find a probable cause for any given act, but when one seeks the Ultimate Cause—the reason behind it all—that calls for deep thinking, and finesse. Human conduct is not so variable in many of its phases as to call for extended scrutiny, but the problem before Meshackatee was both so baffling and so disquieting that it left his brains in a whirl. That a girl as modest as Allifair Randolph, a woman who for months had received the attentions of scores of cowboys without one answering smile, should suddenly and for no reason throw aside all decorum and rush into the arms of a stranger—that was beyond the bounds of reason. It was so unreasonable it was foolish, and the great Cause must be sought for somewhere else. Then, surely, they had met before. Yes, met and learned to love and this was the reunion of two souls that had drifted far apart Allifair was that "certain party" for whom Hall had been seeking, and he had found her in the kitchen of the Scarboroughs.

Yet this comforting conclusion, plain and obvious as it was, merely opened up new fields of thought. Who was Allifair Randolph and who was this man Hall, and why did they make concealment of their love; and what would he do now, since he had discovered his beloved in the house of the man he despised? Would he cast aside his scruples against feuds and cattle wars and join the gang to be near her, or would he go his way and devise other means of winning the woman of his heart? Meshackatee thought it over and then his scheming mind began to turn the facts to his own purpose; and when the morning came he beckoned to his prisoner and led him across the creek to the mound. Here, beneath a gnarled oak which had grown up near the summit, drawing its strength from the dust of ancient dead, Meshackatee took out his field glasses and gazed long to the east before he broached the matter on his mind.

To the east lay Turkey Creek and the log fort of the Bassetts—and Grimes and his Mexicans as well—and it was to them fully as much as to the winning over of this stranger that his thoughts were turned that day. He had a dual mind, one part taking cognizance of the facts and the other busily using them to work his will; and when he spoke it was all to fit his program, though disguised in the mock-solemnity of a jest.

"Mr. Hall," he began, "I make it a principle never to interfere in the private affairs of any gentleman; but I saw something last night which pained me very much and I jest want to ask a few questions. Now in the first place, Mr. Hall, I want you to understand that Miss Allifair holds a high place in my regard; and I jest want to ask—as a friend, you understand—if your intentions are perfectly honorable?"

"My intentions!" faltered Hall, and then he went white and turned his face away. "Don't tell anybody!" he pleaded, clutching Meshackatee by the leg, "it would ruin our happiness forever. Oh, I was mad—insane—I should never have done it! But Meshackatee—she had thought I was dead!"

"Oh, dead, eh?" rumbled Meshackatee, squinting his calculating eyes and regarding him from beneath his long hair, "well, that makes a difference, of course. She'd heard about that shooting, and the bullet-hole under your heart and——"

"That's it—they told her I was dead!"

"'They'?"

"Yes. Her folks, and Mrs. Scarborough. She was a Randolph, you know, before her marriage; and she told Allifair I was dead."

"I—see!" observed Meshackatee, nodding his head and spitting wisely, "and was you young folks engaged to git married?"

"That was it—that's what caused it. We were engaged to be married, but we belonged to opposing clans. She was a Randolph, you see, and I'm a McIvor——"

"Ah!" exclaimed Meshackatee, "I'm beginning to savvy. The Randolph-McIvor feud—back in Kaintuck!"

"Yes, that's it," went on McIvor feverishly, "but let me explain it to you. Our families have been at war for over twenty years, and each year the feud becomes worse. It's cost the Randolph faction over four hundred dead and the McIvors over three hundred that we know of. Men are found dead in the woods, just as I was left for dead, and others are never found. All our relatives are engaged in it, and hundreds of outsiders who hardly know what they're fighting for. All they think of is free whiskey and midnight raids and a chance to get revenge on some enemy; and so it goes until the mountains are a battle-ground and men have turned to brutes. And there's no power that can stop it, neither the courts nor the militia, because we live far back in the hills; but if I could marry Allifair, then the blood-feud would be ended and the Randolphs and McIvors would be friends."

"I understand," murmured Meshackatee, and sat smiling benevolently as the young man gazed off into space.

"We met by accident," he went on at last, "while I was scouting in their country. But she spared my life, she did not report me, and the next time we met we were friends. She's such a gentle creature—and I had turned rough, from living out and fighting for years—but somehow she learned to love me and the dream came to both of us to marry and end the feud. I was building a cabin, far up in the hills where no one would ever find us, when a dirty little spy discovered our meeting place and the Randolphs became aware of our plans. They watched us—and the next time I went to our tree there was no one there, she was gone. They reported her dead—shot down by the McIvors, for our womenfolks make war among themselves—but I asked all our women and none of them had done it, though many of them would gladly have done so.

"Can you imagine such conditions—gentle women, well-educated, going out like wild animals to strike down a woman like Allifair? I must have gone mad, for I went back to our meeting place, and there this dirty spy shot me. He shot me clean through the heart, or so it appeared, but the bullet went low and after they had left me I came to life and crept to a cave. There I lived on pure water for eleven days and as my body became purified I had visions and dreams, such as no man ever had before. And when I was well I crept up by night and listened at a camp of the Randolphs. That was where I heard that Allifair still lived and had been sent out to her aunt in Arizona.

"But what her aunt's name was, or where her husband lived, was something I never could learn; so I left and came out here, determined to find her if it took the rest of my life."

"Well, you've found her," observed Meshackatee, apparently unruffled by the harrowing tale of his friend, "so what's the next thing now?"

"They'll kill her!" he groaned, "they'll actually kill her before they'll consent to her marrying a McIvor. So if you want to kill me too and ruin both our lives, just tell who I am to the Scarboroughs."

"Oh, no! Oh, no!" replied Meshackatee reassuringly, "that won't be necessary at all. Of course I'm working for Isham, and when I take a man's money, I aim to give him my best; but it won't be necessary—that is, always provided you're willing to help me out?"

"I'll do anything!" promised McIvor, "if you'll just keep our secret and help me to meet her again. Oh, since I have seen her and learned she still loves me I feel I could do anything—anything!"

"Hm, a meeting ain't so easy," said Meshackatee after a silence. "Miz Zoolah sure keeps a close watch. But you leave it to me, boy, and meanwhile stay away from her—I ain't the only man that has eyes. Them Texas toughs are jealous—they see you go in there yesterday—so keep plumb out of that kitchen. And the look in that gal's eyes when she see you at the well gave the whole business away, to me. You're kind of daffy now, don't notice where you're going or answer when other people speak to you, so the best thing for you is to go away a few days and let this excitement die down. Now I've got a little job, if you think you can do it——"

"Oh, I can't leave her, now!" protested McIvor broken-heartedly, but Meshackatee tapped him sharply on the knee.

"You're going to leave, see? Right now and no danged fooling. You're going over to hunt up them sheep."

"The sheep?" repeated McIvor, and Meshackatee smiled grimly as he took him gently by the arm.

"Take my advice," he warned, "and git away from Zoolah—she came almighty close to recognizing you. Now about this sheepman, Grimes, he knows these boys by sight and they can't any of 'em git near him; but that saddle of yours will tell any one you're no Texan and I believe you can ride plumb up to him. You're a stranger, see, and you can cuss out the Scarboroughs and tell him all the things they done to you; and after you've got next to him and found out all his plans—you come back here and tell me. Do that, and you'll git to see Allifair."

"Well, it's treacherous," observed McIvor at last, "but I've been that, and worse, before now. And if this man is coming in to stir up a war perhaps I can turn him back."

"This is what will turn him back," returned Meshackatee, patting his pistol, "and, believe me, nothing else. That hombre is a fighter, he comes on a-charging, and nothing but a bullet will stop him. But leave that to me and this bunch of inbred Texans—and by the way, that's Isham coming."

He pointed to the canyon down which they had come and two horsemen, riding fast, flashed around a point and came galloping across the plain.