And so Purdy had joined the Grimshaw gang, and had prospered. Raids were planned and, under the leadership of the crafty Cass Grimshaw whole bands of horses were run across the line and disposed of, and always the gang returned to the bad lands unbroken. For nearly a year things went well, and then came a change. Where absolute unity of purpose, and unswerving loyalty to their leader were essential, dissension crept in—and Purdy was at the bottom of it. The first intimation of discord came to Cass Grimshaw one night in the hang-out where the six sat smoking. Purdy casually mentioned that it was getting along towards shearing time and that the Wolf River bank ought to be heavily stocked with cash. The leader blew a double plume of smoke from his nostrils and abruptly asked: "Well, what if it is?" "Oh, nothin'," Purdy answered with a show of indifference, "only—I was just thinkin'." "Thinkin', mebbe, to slip over an' pull a hold-up?" "Well, they's more dinero in one haul there than "Be'n talkin' it over, eh?" there was a sneer in Grimshaw's voice. "Figure because you've helped pull off a few good horse deals, you're a regular outlaw? Want to tackle banks, an' express boxes? The horse game's got too slow, eh? Tired of follerin' my lead?" Purdy interrupted with a gesture of impatience: "Hell—no! We thought, maybe, you'd——" "Thought I'd turn bank robber, eh? Thought I'd quit a game where I hold all the aces, an' horn in on one where I don't hold even a deuce to draw to? Bitin' off more'n he c'n chaw has choked more'n one feller. Right here in Choteau County they's some several of 'em choked out on the end of a tight one, because they overplayed their hand. I'm a horse-thief—an' a damn good one. You fellers is good horse-thieves, too—long as you've got me to do yer thinkin'. My business is runnin' off horses an' sellin' 'em—an' I ain't holdin' up no banks fer a side line. If I ain't able to pull a bank job, how in hell be you forty-dollar-a-month cow hands goin' to do it? So don't go lettin' me hear any more of that talk." He paused and looked his hearers over with narrowed eyes: "An' if any of you feel like trying it on yer own hook—if you don't git away with it, the sheriff'll git you—an' if you do, I'll git you—so, take yer pick." There was no more talk of bank robbery. Grimshaw planned a horse raid that was successful, The next friction between them came one evening when Grimshaw announced that there was a new nester over on Red Sand Creek. "Is he—right?" asked Bill. The leader nodded: "Yeh, it's Cinnabar Joe, that used to tend bar in the Headquarters saloon in Wolf River. Him an' that there Jennie Dodds that used to work in the hotel's got married an' filed along the crick, 'bout four mile above McWhorter's." Purdy laughed harshly: "Cinnabar, eh? Well, when the time comes, I'll just naturally tap him fer his pile. I've got somethin' on that bird. He's mine." Cass Grimshaw eyed Purdy coldly: "I said he's right. D'you git that? Meanin' that him, an' his stock, an' his wife, an' everything he's got is safe an' sound fer as this gang's concerned. He ain't in on nothin'—same as McWhorter. Only—he don't know nothin'—see? An' if any of us wants anythin' an' he's goin' to town—all right." "But, I've be'n aimin' to make him come acrost for over a year, an'——" "An', now you c'n fergit it! Friends is worth It was not long, however, before Purdy once more fell in the way of Grimshaw's displeasure. He came into the hang-out late one evening. The five were playing poker upon a blanket spread upon the floor between the swinging lamps, but instead of joining them, Purdy seated himself with his back to the wall, rolled a cigarette, and smoked in silence. A few deals went around, bets were made, and pots raked in. Grimshaw shuffled the deck slowly with a sidewise glance toward Purdy: "They say McWhorter's gal's to home," he announced, casually. Purdy said nothing. "You seem to know," answered the other, surlily. "Yes," answered the leader, without even glancing in his direction, "I generally know what's goin' on in the bad lands, an' out of 'em fer a ways. Mighty good lookin', they say." No answer from Purdy, and a deal or two went by. Again Grimshaw tossed away his cards: "Ain't she good lookin', Purdy?" Purdy scowled: "Well, what if she is? What you drivin' at? If you got somethin' to say, why the hell don't you say it?" Grimshaw cleared his throat: "They ain't never no good comes from mixin' up with women—in our business. If they're good women they ain't goin' to have no truck with such as us, nohow—an' if they ain't, they'll double-cross you sure as hell sometime or other. I've read where most of the crooks an' outlaws that's caught, is caught 'cause they was stuck on some woman—either the woman double-crossed 'em, or the sheriffs or officers watches the woman, an' nabs the man when he goes to see her. 'Twas a woman got Billy the Kid caught—an' I could name some more right here in Montana." "Guess ridin' over to git McWhorter to fetch me out some tobacco from town ain't goin' to hurt none." "No. Only McWhorter won't be goin' to town Purdy's anger flared up: "Keep pretty close cases, don't you? Whose business is it if I was over there sixteen times? I ain't in jail, am I?" "No—not yet, you ain't." Grimshaw's voice was low and hard. The game had ceased, and the four others were watching the two. "An', by the way things is framin', I don't expect you'll ever git there." There was something ominous in the man's words, and Purdy shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't s'pose it mattered what a man done—between jobs," he muttered. "It don't—so long as he leaves women alone, an' don't do nothin' that puts this gang in bad." "I never told her nothin' about the gang. I ain't goin' to marry her." "I know damned well you ain't. She despises you because yer a horse-thief." Grimshaw's voice suddenly dropped lower, "an', if she know'd what I know—an' what all Wolf River knows she'd know that yer horse-thievin' is the best thing about you." Purdy laughed nastily: "Cinnabar Joe spilled a mouthful, did he? I fell down on that job—maybe I'll have better luck, next time." Grimshaw nodded: "Mebbe you will. But, McWhorter's like Cinnabar Joe, an' all the rest that's friends of mine—he's safe, an' his stock's |