Clarence Edward Mulford

WHOM THE GODS WOULD DESTROY

In Gunsight, Dailey rubbed his eyes and cursed the slowness of his breakfast fire, and then padded in his stocking feet to the window and looked out in time to see a black horse go past with a reach and swinging smoothness which brought an appreciative glow into his blinking eyes. The rider sat his saddle with a supple grace and erectness which harmonized with the beautiful leg action of his mount.

"He ain't stoppin'," muttered Dailey. "Must 'a' been up to Juniper. I'm sayin' again that if that pack of coyotes lets him start ahead of 'em out of rifle range, there ain't nobody from down here as will ever get close enough to see him again. There's mebby purtier things on earth than a hoss like that, but I'm admittin' I never saw 'em. Cuss that fire—it's smokin' again!"

The Doc heard the rhythmic beat pass his shack, muttered drowsily, and turned over to go to sleep again. "Hope it's that Smitty, blast him!" and his snores grew steadily louder.

Leaving the Double X quite some time before daylight. Pepper had been sent over the upper trail, which joined the Juniper trail north of town. Now she spurned the Highbank-Gunsight road beneath her flying hoofs with an eagerness and power that belittled the twenty-five miles she already had put behind her.

Johnny stroked the satin skin under which the powerful muscles of her sloping shoulders rippled and bunched, and pride surged through him.

"I used to think Hoppy's Red Eagle, an' Red's Ginger was th' real thing in hossflesh," he told her, "but they was cows compared to you, Pepper Girl. There ain't nothin' on four laigs has any right to look at you—an' some few on two laigs, too." Swinging around the hill where Green Valley met the trail he patted her again. "There they are, little hoss, ridin' off to comb th' range. See that tied-in pinto Slim's a-ridin'? Show it what runnin' is—I want to talk to him."

Slim glanced around, drew rein and had a brief argument with the pinto, which did not like Slim, or his habit of stopping suddenly. "Changed yore mind?" he asked, smiling.

"In quite some ways," replied Johnny, forthwith explaining the situation in terse sentences. Slim's mouth opened and forgot to close until his groping mind at last mastered what his ears fed to it, when the mouth opened wider and gave vent to loud, sustaining laughter. Finally subsiding, he demanded the story in detail, but Johnny wheeled around.

"I'm warnin' you, not amusin' you, you human rope," retorted Johnny. "If Wolf comes back he'll mebby come a-shootin'—pass th' word along."

Slim shoved his hat well back on his head and jammed his gloved hands against his sides. "Th' h—l he will!" he rejoined. "Let him, then. He ain't th' only man out here as packs a gun; I mebby got one, myself. Havin' been kindly warned, now I'm all ready to be amused. Tell it slow. If you can't talk it, sing it. Wait! Here comes Cimarron."

The round-up boss rode up wearing a grin, in sympathy with Slim's far-reaching guffaws. "What's th' scandal?" he demanded.

"Th' cussedest thing you ever heard," laughed Slim, putting his hand on Pepper's bridle. "Nelson is in a hurry to go somewhere, but he's got to give us all of it now that he's whetted my appetite with th' mustard."

"I want to get to town an' give Wolf his chance," objected Johnny.

"If he's achin' to smoke up he'll come here, won't he?" demanded Slim. "This is th' place to wait for him—right here."

"All of which I admits is interestin'," said Cimarron; "but what is it all about?"

"Slow now," prompted Slim. He looked around. "Would you listen to that dickey bird up on th' hill?" he asked.

The dickey bird was Larry Hallock, whose voice barely reached them. "What do you reckon yo're doin'?" demanded Larry, but in far different language. "Gettin' married?" Further inquiries not receiving the attention he felt they were entitled to, he suspected trouble and made haste to get where he could hear about it. "Hello, Nelson!" he smiled as he joined them. "Lookin' for Two-Spot?"

"No; where is he?" demanded Johnny.

"I reckon he's downin' liquor in Dave's about now," answered Cimarron. "He's been raisin' th' devil for a drink which he didn't get. Slim, th' fool, owns up that he gave him a dollar last night—an' when we woke up this mornin' our tally man had disappeared. But that ain't tellin' me what Slim was hee-hawin' about, or about Wolf."

"Slow, an' deliberate, with everythin' in," chuckled Slim. "Go ahead."

Johnny complied, to their hilarious enjoyment, and when the tale was ended, Slim wiped his eyes, pointed out over the range, and said: "You can stay right here an' do somethin' worth while. Not one man in a thousand would come back with that pinned on his shirt tail—an' I'm sayin' Wolf ain't that man. He blames th' Double X—an' there's only twelve of us. He's shore about four bein' in town that night, but I ain't lettin' my modesty stop me from sayin' that, barrin' Cimarron here, he knows that th' four who was there are th' best six-gun men on our ranch; an' that we ain't takin' lessons from nobody when it comes to throwin' lead. He might get one of us, mebby two, an' I'll stretch h—l out of that word probability an' say he might get three; but he won't get us all, an' he knows it. But worse than shootin' it out is what he'll have to face; an' he hates ridicule worse than a rattler hates a king snake. You ain't goin' to set in Dave's, takin' it easy, while we're sweatin' out here—I got a nice little place where you'll fit in an' stop th' gaps that Larry is allus leavin' open."

"Gaps!" snorted Larry, indignantly. "Trouble is, you drive 'em so hard they gets stubborn an' go on th' prod. Anybody'd think you never saw a cow before, th' way you acts. You ought to know you can't crowd 'em too hard."

Cimarron cogitated. "If yo're aimin' to meet with Wolf, Nelson," he said, judicially, "I reckon you'd do better to stay here. He ain't got no reason to want anybody in town—nobody there has done anythin' to him. An' he knows none of us boys hang out there, except once in a while. What's more, he ain't likely to want to face Gunsight till he's squared up for his kidnappin'. As to him comin' back, I ain't nowise shore he won't. Some fellers are so full of th' idea of revenge that everythin' else plays second fiddle when they go on th' prod. They go fair mad an' don't care about nothin' else. Wolf's bad—bad as a mad rattler. I figger this is th' place for you. I'm sayin' this, too: If Slim had worked that razzle on him I wouldn't take a hand; but, knowin' Slim didn't, if that venomous reptile comes tearin' around here with his guns cocked, I'll just nat'rally puncture him at long range with my Remington. I ain't sympathizin' with no man that shoots till he knows why he's doin' it."

"Stay here till this afternoon, anyhow," said Slim. "We'll be needin' our tally man before night, an' you can ride to town, look around, an' bring Two-Spot back with you. I'm sayin' Wolf won't come back—I'm cussed shore I wouldn't in his place."

"Shore," endorsed Larry. "Turn yore cayuse loose an' get one from Arch—take that bay gelding—he's near human at this kind of work. Anyhow, he's got more sense than Slim."

Dawn in Highbank found a sobered Wolf, unarmed, penniless, and hectic, with a steadily growing rage. He went to place after place in search of a horse, finally borrowing one from a saloon-keeper who knew the foreman of the Bar H. Promising to use the animal only as far as the ranch, and to send it back behind the freight wagon, he threw the saddle on it and then rode around in search of a gun. Knowing about the joke, and feeling the man's murderous rage, no one would lend him a weapon. He had about decided to leave without one when he chanced to pass the small horse corral and shed behind Pete Wiggins' hotel, and espied a sodden figure asleep against the palings. Stealing the puncher's gun he rode away and in a few minutes was cursing the ford, of which a few yards was swimming water. Emerging on the other bank he pushed up the bluff trail at a walk and then, reaching level ground, set off for his ranch at a pace which might have killed a poorer horse.

As he rode, his mind became clearer and clearer, and he began to unravel the tangled skein of his abduction. Like his kind who, accustomed to hours of solitude, often talked their thoughts, he did his thinking aloud.

"Double X, says Buffalo. Mebby. First we'll accuse everybody else in town. Dave?" he laughed sneeringly at the thought. "Dailey? Fanning? Jerry? George? Why them? They ain't th' kind to stack up ag'in' such a risk for th' fun of it; an' they ain't none of 'em got any other reason. Dailey an' Fanning was in Dave's all evenin'—they never left th' table. Jerry was snoring in his shop when I went around th' buildin's, an' he wouldn't dare try to kidnap a blind pup. George is another without nerve, an' he was snorin' worse than Jerry. Nelson? He was with th' others. Mebby he did it, but I'm thinkin' there was more'n one man mixed up in that. If my senses hadn't been knocked out of me I'd know more about it. We'll put him aside as a possibility.

"Them Double X coyotes ain't lovin' me, 'specially since I've been ridin' sign along their line. There was four of 'em, an' they was all primed for a good time; an' from what I heard 'em say about th' Doc an' Squint an' me an' th' rest of our outfit, they wasn't needin' much urgin' to tackle a job like that. But they was in Dave's too; still, they left before I did.

"That leaves my own gang of practical jokers. They knowed that I was in town, but they didn't know I was goin' to ride home that night because I didn't know it myself. They might 'a' done it, but I'll find that out cussed quick when I get back.

"Who else was there? Dailey, Fanning, Jerry, Dave, Nelson—Two-Spot! He wasn't in sight at all. Dave was raisin' th' roof about him not bein' around. But h—l! Twenty Two-Spots wouldn't 'a' tackled a play like that; an' he couldn't sling a rope, nor carry a man as heavy as me that distance. Slim can rope—he's the best down here. I don't remember much about it till I was put down near th' waggin; but I'm shore that th' man that throwed that rope was an expert.

"Two-Spot? I don't see how he could fit in—cuss him! I got it! Somebody must 'a' seen me movin' 'round or else nobody would 'a' knowed I was in town. None of them fellers could 'a' seen me; but Two-Spot could have. Whoever did that job had to be told I was there; an' I'm sayin' they was told. That bum hates me; he'll never forget my kickin' him off'n th' tie-rail an' makin' him dance th' tenderfoot's fandango. I'm goin' to see Two-Spot after I stop at th' ranch—an' if he don't talk fast and straight, he'll dance to h—l this time!"

It was not yet noon when Wolf swept up to his bunkhouse and rode in through the door, leaning forward in the saddle to clear the rafters, his gun freezing Big Tom and Dick Carson as stiff as statues.

"Don't you move till I says so!" he snarled. "Who was in town th' night Buffalo stopped there on his way home? Think quick; an' talk straight!"

"What are you doin'? Goin' loco?" demanded the foreman. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the look on his puncher's face.

"I'm askin' th' questions!" snapped Wolf, his rage climbing anew. "You answer 'em, an' pronto! Who was there that night?"

"Don't know; but none of our boys was."

"Nobody left here at all that night?" demanded Wolf.

"Not one."

"How do you know? That was near a week ago. How do you know they was all here?"

"That was th' first night you went on Nelson's trail," answered the foreman somewhat angrily. "I told them to stay home, an' give you plenty of room. They did it."

"I reckon they was glad to do it," sneered Wolf. "Coyotes don't go cougar hunting less'n th' pack is big."

"They might as well stay home as go on a drunk in Highbank," retorted Big Tom, coldly.

For a moment Wolf was balanced on a narrow edge, but controlled himself because of genuine liking for his foreman. "Don't you ever come that close again," he said, almost in a whisper. "Do you know why I went to Highbank? You ought to, for I reckon everybody does by this time," he grated.

"I'm listenin' to you," answered Big Tom. "I don't know why you went."

Wolf dismounted, drove the horse out of the house, and paced up and down the long room in a frenzy of energy.

"I was roped off my cayuse ridin' home that night. I must 'a' fell on my head, for I don't know nothin' about it till I got to town. When I came to my senses I was bound, blindfolded, an' gagged, an' my head was spinnin' an' near bustin' with pain. I was dumped into Buffalo's wagon, pushed in among a load of hides, an' staked out so I couldn't move. All that day I lay there under that tarp, joltin' over that long trail, near faintin' with th' pain of th' lashin's an' th' gag, swelterin' in th' heat an' stink, sick with th' pain in my head, parched an' burnin' with thirst, ragin' with my thoughts, mile after mile. There was times I must 'a' lost consciousness; but I can remember a-plenty!

"Down in Highbank I was hauled out by a gang of cacklin' sage hens who thought it was a joke. If I'd had a gun an' could 'a' used it, I'd 'a' showed 'em what kind of a joke it was!" He flew into a burst of rage which awed his companions, and he nearly wrecked the room before he subsided, his words one quivering stream of profanity. "An' what have I got to face?" he shouted. "What have I got to live down? I'll be th' laughin' stock of this whole country till I die, an' after! But I can show 'em that it costs somethin' to make a fool of Wolf Forbes; an' I will, if I dies for it! I want a six-gun, an' a rifle, an' yore pet hoss. I'm ridin' to town to see th' one man who can tell me where to start, an' I'm ridin' alone."

"Think it was Nelson?" asked Carson.

"Mebby; but I'm not sayin' till I know," snapped Wolf, pacing again. "I'm askin' you: Do you figger ropin' an' kidnappin' Wolf Forbes was any one-man job? Is there any man in this country that would tackle that job, alone, for th' fun of it? Yo're right. I says not, too. An' if he didn't do it for th' fun of it, would he 'a' dared tackle it, at all? What I mean is, if he did it to get rid of me, wouldn't he 'a' killed me from that ambush. I'm tellin' you he'd 'a' figgered it would be a lot safer to shoot me, for there wouldn't be th' risk at th' time, an' th' dead shore danger of th' comeback. One man, alone, would 'a' shot; three or four might 'a' took a chance with th' rope. I'm ridin' to town to learn for shore; an' I'm ridin' now. Carson, saddle me that hoss, while I get th' guns I want. Gimme a drink of yore flask, Tom."

"You shore you want it?"

"Gimme a drink. I know what I want."

In a few minutes he rode north at a dead run, headed for the over-mountain trail, and it was not until he was gone that the foreman realized that he had not told his puncher a word about the events which had taken place during his absence.

Wolf crossed the mountain, turned to the left, and went around Gunsight on the west, heading back toward town to approach it on its blind side. He rode up behind the hotel shed, dismounted and crept along it, and as he passed a crack in the warped boards his eye caught a movement, and he stopped to peer through the crack. Two-Spot was crawling out from under the saloon. Arising to his feet, the tramp looked carefully around for signs of any of Cimarron's outfit who might have come after him, and then slipped through Dave's rear door.

The watcher stiffened, and a sudden thought sent his rage up to the border line of madness. Two-Spot's mysterious sleeping quarters were no longer a mystery to him. His eyes swept the side of the saloon, and the narrow space between its foundation sills and the ground. This open space ran along three sides of the building and he knew that a man under the floor could see the feet and ankles of anyone who passed along the building. Returning to his horse he mounted and rode off the way he had come, careful to keep the shed between him and Dave's rear wall. Reaching an arroyo, he dropped into it and followed it until far enough from town, and then, keeping under the cover of hills and brush, he emerged upon the trail and loped along it into Gunsight. Dismounting in front of Dailey's, he walked swiftly and quietly toward Dave's, bending low to keep under the two front windows, and paused at the door to listen.

"He! He! He!" shrilled Two-Spot, warming to the liquor he had taken. "I'd 'a' liked to died when Jerry told about him. I could smell them hides before they turned th' corner of th' hotel that night. They was so odorous they near made me sick. An' if he went into 'em a Wolf, I'm sayin' he come out a Polecat; this range never will forget it. He can't never live it down—never! An' Jerry's tellin' it all along th' way, too. I'm wonderin' if he'll come back."

Dailey laughed sarcastically. "I'm bettin' he won't. No man would."

"I'm shore I wouldn't," chuckled Fanning. "I'd ship off to South Americky, pronto—an' I wouldn't care what happened to th' ship while I was on it, neither."

"I'll take three to one he does come back," said Dave.

"Is twenty dollars too much?" asked Dailey.

"Twenty to my seven suits me," replied Dave. "I'll take th' same from Jim, too."

"Yo're on," chuckled Dailey.

"Me, too," replied Fanning.

A man slipped through the door, a gun in each hand. "Dave wins!" he snarled. "Keep 'em both on th' bar!" he snapped at Dave, who forthwith forgot, for the moment, all about the cap-and-ball. The little group in front of the bar stiffened into whatever postures they had been caught in, their eyes on the muzzles of the steady guns. Death hung poised on Wolf's thumbs like a hawk balanced in the blue, ready to strike. The only sounds in the room were the hushed breathing of four men facing destruction for the slightest slip, the insistent buzzing of a bee cruising across the ceiling and the soft slip! slip! of the gunman's feet as he slid them forward a few inches at a time. His face was ghastly and working with rage, his power concentrated in his dull, threatening weapons. He jabbed one of them at Two-Spot.

"Step over there, on th' end!" he snapped. "I'll shoot at th' first move," he warned them all, feeling the hostility which he faced. Three of them were armed and needed only an instant's carelessness or indecision on his part to prove that their courage was only held in leash by calculating reason. "Not a move, cuss you!" he warned, his eyes not for a moment leaving the three armed men. Dailey's face was tense, but his body had slouched into a relaxation, the danger of which was well known to Wolf. Fanning's eyes were glinting and his lips were hard and thin, while enmity peered out of his eyes as though it were a living thing. Dave, his face paling after the redness of his first flush of anger, stood as a cat stands in the presence of a foe. Not for a fleeting instant did Wolf dare to take his eyes from this crouched danger.

"You'd 'a' done better if you hadn't come back," said Dave, quietly, but the timbre of his voice sent a chill up Two-Spot's spine.

"Don't move yore paws," snarled Wolf. "Two-Spot, come over here, by th' bar."

Two-Spot obeyed, sullen and fearful, taking a place which shortened the arc of danger for Wolf.

"Where was you that night?" demanded the gunman.

Two-Spot stared at him and tried to moisten his throat.

"Where was you?" snapped Wolf, venomously. "Talk fast!"

"I don't remember," answered Two-Spot.

"You was in yore hang-out under this floor," accused Wolf. "Did you see me?"

"It was too dark," answered the tramp, flashing an appealing look at Dave, whose face was growing red again.

"Not with th' light streamin' out of them side windows! Who did you tell?"

"I didn't see you."

"Who did you tell? Th' Double X?"

"No; it was too dark."

Warned by a premonition of impending disaster, and feeling that they were unawed, and restrained only by reason, Wolf ordered the three armed men to turn their backs to him, which they did with a slowness which in itself was an insult. He took the guns of Dailey and Fanning and ordered Dave to come out and join them. Dave took time enough to keep his dignity unsmirched. Free from the necessity of keeping a high-tension vigilance, Wolf walked up to Two-Spot and struck him on the face with the heel of his hand.

"Did you tell th' Double X?" he demanded. "D—n you, answer me!"

"No," whispered Two-Spot, and in his bleared eyes there smouldered the sparks of a fire long dormant.

"Did you tell Nelson? Quick!"

Dailey and Fanning hung on the slow answer, for they remembered that little incident with startling clearness.

"No!" snarled Two-Spot.

Wolf kicked him on the shins and, dropping one gun into its sheath, grabbed the skinny throat, gripping it cruelly. "Who did you tell?" he growled, shaking his victim, and quivering with rage at such resistance where he had expected to encounter none.

Some ghost of a former stalwart courage, shaken awake by desperation and rage, came back to its forsaken habitation and spoke through a mouthpiece for too long a stranger to it. Two-Spot tried to speak and Wolf, a gleam of triumph burning through the madness in his eyes, loosened his grip and stepped back.

The voice which answered him was not Two-Spot's, although it came through his lips. It was level, cold, self-possessed, and biting. "You ask somebody who's a-scared of you, you three-card flush. An' keep yore paws off'n me—they stink of hides an' maggots."

The crashing roar sounded like a thunderbolt and the acrid cloud of smoke swept forward and shrouded the falling man. Wolf leaped back, out of it, and stopped the instinctive advance of the horrified and enraged onlookers, who had turned at the shot, his two guns barely sufficient for the task. Dave's expression took his instant attention and he snapped a warning, venomous as the jet from a copperhead's fangs: "Don't you try it, Green!" He flashed a look at the other two, and nearly fired in instinctive answer to the malevolent looks in their eyes.

"Anybody that itches to take this up will get their chance: I'll be back!" he promised, and retreated swiftly to the door. Shoving his guns forward in a silent, final warning, he slipped from their sight and dashed for his horse, firing several shots behind him past the windows and door. Leaping into the saddle, he wheeled around the store and rode at a dead run for the cover of an arroyo several hundred yards beyond.

Dave started toward his bedroom for the rifle hanging on the wall, reconsidered and looked at the huddled heap on the floor. "We'll take care of th' best man first," he said, picking up the limp figure and carrying it to the base of the front wall. Getting a blanket, he went back again, and as he stood up he drew a deep breath and faced his companions, a look almost reverent coming to his face and softening the malignancy of its expression.

"He died like a man—I hope I do as good. Let's liquor."

The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen when the low voices in the saloon ceased to allow the speakers to catch the sounds of a horse coming up the trail. Dave, moving with surprising celerity for one of his build and habits, grabbed a rifle and hastened to the front window, where he peered out cautiously, and then, walking to the bar, he reached over it, stood the weapon behind it, and replied to the unspoken inquiries of his companions.

"It's Nelson," he said, quietly.

The hoofbeats ceased abruptly and Johnny's voice was heard promising the horse some sugar. He entered and strode straight for the bar, nodding cheerily at the three, and then smiled quizzically.

"You shore look glum," he remarked, "glum as a funeral. Come up an' take somethin' for it. Well, th' SV is bein' cleaned neat an' proper. Cimarron knows his business, an' that crew of his is goin' at full speed. I come in to get Two-Spot. They're needin' a tally man, an' he ought to go through with it. Seen him around, or is he hidin' out, layin' low?"

"He's layin' low," replied Dave.

Johnny looked at him curiously, puzzled by the proprietor's manner. "Meanin'?"

"He's dead," said Dailey, bluntly, staring fixedly at the front wall.

Johnny flashed him a glance and looked back at Dave, who nodded significantly at the front of the room. Johnny turned quickly and followed the other's stare. He straightened and walked slowly to the blanket, drew it back a little and then replaced it with reverent care. Arising to his full height, he turned and looked at them. The silence was oppressive, crowded with potentials. They could feel a tension which fairly crackled, and which made them shrink, guiltless though they were. The erect figure radiated a ferocity which numbed them and caused Fanning to lick his dry lips. Overhead the bee, which had buzzed monotonously for so long a time, increased its buzzing and bounced from point to point, its wings striking the ceiling with a dry whirring not greatly unlike the angry whir of a rattler. From an unrinsed glass on the bar came a buzzing from drunken flies renewing their efforts to escape from it. The measured breathing of four men sounded loud and unnatural, and from Dailey's forehead rolled a bead of sweat. They stared at the cold, motionless puncher, fascinated by what emanated from him, unable to look away from the glinting eyes which peered out between narrowed lids at each in turn, and back again. Outside a horse pawed restlessly and the intermittent sound of striking metal reminded them of the slow pealing of a bell. A board cracked suddenly as it contracted from the encroachment of a cooling shadow and sent a shiver up their backs. Fanning's nerves were on edge and seemed about to snap, and his clenching fingers cut into his palms. He suddenly slumped down into his chair.

"It was Wolf!" he shouted. "Two-Spot wouldn't tell!"

The others sat rigid, not heeding the words.

Slowly the puncher's hand went to his sombrero and slowly readjusted it with deliberate care and precision. He turned slowly, and slowly departed, the sound of the diminishing hoofbeats echoing in their brains long after the sound had ceased. The unrinsed glass became quiet, the bee blundered out through an open window, and a great peace, soothing and enfolding, stole over them. Fanning stirred, arose to his feet, and stumbled toward the door.

"Christ!" he whispered.

"Amen," said Dave. "Death's flyin' low."

The Bar H outfit, loafing near the bunkhouse, were deep in discussion when they heard a horse. Looking up, they saw Johnny Nelson coming toward them at an amble. He nodded gravely and soon stopped near them. Carelessly throwing the reins over Pepper's head, he lazily swung down, pushed his hat back on his head, and sauntered up to them, stopping when only an arm's length away, Wolf stirring restlessly and not taking his eyes from the visitor's face.

"Two-Spot was my friend," said Johnny in a matter-of-fact voice.

Wolf's slouching frame shifted slightly and froze.

"He never went heeled," continued Johnny's even, dispassionate voice. The open palm of his right hand struck Wolf's face with vicious force. There came two roars which sounded almost as one, and Johnny, leaping pantherishly aside out of the rolling smoke, held two guns on the paralyzed group.

"Wolf shot him," he explained, backing away behind his ominous guns. He whistled softly, and Pepper, despite the dangling reins, lifted her head high and came to him.

Big Tom recovered himself first and took his eyes from the figure sprawled on the ground. He was beginning to believe them. He glanced at Johnny and back to the prostrate figure. It was incredible that a man with Wolf's courage, and ability with weapons, should shoot down an old, helpless tramp, whose greatest offense could hardly be more than a verbal one, especially against a two-gun killer. Bad as he was, and hardened, the foreman could not stomach such a murder, and, snapping a warning to his companions, who still stared at what had been Wolf Forbes, he looked at Johnny, who was preparing to mount, and he called out in a voice ringing with sincerity: "Put 'em up, Nelson; an' ride off. I'll knock th' man down that pulls a gun!"

Johnny slipped the guns into their sheaths, swung up into the saddle, wheeled, and pushed Pepper at a lope over the trail toward town without a single backward glance.

Big Tom watched him for a moment and then wheeled and glanced down at the ground. "Wolf, huh? All right." He turned to the thoughtful group. "Dig a hole somewhere out on th' range an' dump that into it," he said contemptuously, and strode toward the ranchhouse.