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Show nmM0 Ernest Haycox Release jfljb m THE STORY SO FAR: Clay Morgan has decided to play a lone hand against Ben Berendeen, a rancher bent on run ning the cattle country his own way. The two men have been enemies for years, having first fought over Clay's wife, Lila, who died hating him and believing she should have married Herendeen. Morgan is a solitary figure, devoted to his nine-year-old daughter, Janet. Although Al-though two women, Catherine Grant and Ann McGarrah, are In love with bim, they know he cannot forget Llla. Of his former friends, only Hack Breathitt has not gone over to Herendeen's side. Gurd Grant, Catherine's brother, hesitated hesi-tated about joining Herendeen, but became be-came Morgan's sworn enemy when he discovered that Catherine had been to his ranch. When he learns that Herendeen Heren-deen has sent a party out to find Hack and kill him. Clay starts out to find him first. He finds him at Freeport. Then Herendeen arrives and there is a free-for-all fight. Herendeen's men are driven driv-en off, but Hack Is forced to hide in the bills. Clay is talking to Catherine Grant and Janet when Fox Willing, a "nester" he once befriended, rides up, saying, "Mr. Morgan, I rode over to tell you something." Now continue with the story. CHAPTER XIII Morgan watched Janet come over to the porch to Catherine. She paused there, the polite disinterest gone from her small face. She moved her hands across her dress and suddenly sat in front of Catherine. Cather-ine. "Tell me about the time you went to your first dance." "It was with your father," said Catherine. "I was just sixteen . : ." Morgan turned his back to them, astonished at the relief he felt. Willing Will-ing said: "I was down at the south edge of Government Valley last night. Coming Com-ing up from a gulley I saw a man bunchin' some of your beef. I got down and watched. It was a pretty bright night but this fellow was a mile away and I wasn't sure. Might have been one of your crew. So I waited till I saw him drive the beef over the ridge, headin' south. I figured to take a shot then, only it looked like he had some friends farther far-ther down toward the Potholes, so I didn't risk it." He seemed to be troubled about that, and quietly explained. ex-plained. "I've got a wife, you see." Morgan said: "Thanks, Fox." "Well," said Willing, "you gave us a break." Harry Jump said: "We're wastin' time." "Yes," said Morgan, "we'll have a look." Morgan got back on his horse. He interrupted Catherine's talk. "Janet, we'll be gone awhile. But Mose and Pancho will be here." Harry Jump said some impatient word under his breath, moving away with Fox Willing and Cap Vermilye. Morgan followed, and thus these four headed down the flats in the warm-brisk air of middle morning. Breaking a "lonely night's camp in the Cache Mountains, Parr Gentry entered Freeport quite early that morning. Smoke eddied up from the street, from still-hot piles of rubbish, from brush and blackened pines adjoining town; there wasn't anything left except one log cabin at the head of the gulch. Parr Gentry sympathetically clucked his tongue at Kern Case. "Mighty shameful thing to happen. hap-pen. For a fact. Hard on you, too. Kern. If there's anything I can do for you, just drop the word. Meanwhile, I been lookin' for a band of horses up thisaway. Seen anything any-thing of 'em?" Taciturn from a sleepless night, Case said he hadn't, and walked away from Gentry. Gentry took the Burnt Ranch road out of Freeport, riding the up-and-down grades with his soft body loosely shaking, his toes pointed outward and his moon-face moon-face tipped. His whole shape was idle and seemed without energy but his eyes showed a lively interest in the tracks on the road and presently, entirely governed by what he saw, he entered the Potholes. Later, Parr Gentry found another trail and left the Potholes by a circling detour, reaching Herendeen's Heren-deen's valley. The ranch quarters were a mile or more behind him and for a little while he paused indecisively in-decisively in the road. While he seemed to debate a course in his head, his quick-rummaging glance saw a file of riders come down the slope of Mogul, through the scattered scat-tered pines. This apparently determined deter-mined his direction, for he turned northward on the road, heading for War Pass and eventually, twenty minutes later, was abreast the party as it reached the valley. From a distance dis-tance he recognized Charley Hill-house. Hill-house. By arranging the gait of his horse he met Hillhouse as the latter brought his men toward the river, apparently bound into the Cache Mountains. There were four m the party, Hill-house, Hill-house, two other Herendeen riders, and Gurd Grant. Parr Gentry's presence stopped the group. He removed his hat to dash the sweat from his egglike forehead and said "Warm for a man of my bulk, ain't seen any horses, have you?" "Haven't seen a thing," said Hill-house. Hill-house. "You seen anything?" Parr Gentry murmured affably, "Just a couple of jackrabbits." "What's up. Parr?" "Wastin' your time around here, Charley," said Gentry. "He's in the Potholes by the little meadow on Fro? Creek." 13 Trouble had crept behind Vance Ketchell. He saw It on their faces. From a viewpoint high on the side of the Cache Mountains, Vance Ketchell watched the land below with the eyes of a man whose own fortune was pretty much in balance; and this was how he happened to see Parr Gentry come along the Freeport road, disappear into the Potholes, and later emerge from them. At this elevation he had a complete sweep of the valley below, a sight of the south-running road halfway to Freeport, and a bird's-eye bird's-eye view of the small meadows In the Potholes. All movement in so wide and lonely lone-ly a stretch of country at once caught his glance, and though he did not immediately identify Parr Gentry he followed the man's erratic course. There were other riders abroad this morning, creeping slowly slow-ly in and out of sight on the various trails looping below. He noticed Hillhouse's party come around Dell Lake, and was pretty certain of their purpose from the way they scouted the land as they moved. Catherine Grant and the man with her had reached the top of the Mogul Mo-gul rim. There was nothing much left to see, and no particular activity activi-ty around Herendeen's, whereupon Vance Ketchell got on his horse, took the upward trail into timber and reached his own small ranch less than an hour later. The moment mo-ment he eame into his meadow he discovered visitors. Herendeen and Bones McGeen were dismounted by his door. McGeen said irritably: "Where the hell you been?' Trouble had crept behind Vance Ketchell. He saw it on the faces of both these men and heard it in the domineering voice of McGeen. Mc-Geen. Vance Ketchell had his shadowed moment of dismal certainty. Before another word had been spoken he knew he had lost his ranch. Riding before these two, he stepped from the saddle, a distinct chill threading his nerves. "Morgan was up here last night wasn't he?" "Sure," answered Ketchell. "What of it?" "You're through around here," said Herendeen. Facing Herendeen, Vance Ketchell suddenly remembered that Bones McGeen was behind him and for a moment he thought he was a dead man; something in Herendeen's voice had been like a sharp signal to McGeen. Vance Ketchell had meanwhile backed off a good twenty feet and now he saw them both before him clearly. They didn't have him flanked any more. "All right boys," he told them, very calm about it, "just fly right at U. I know damned well I can beat one of you to the pull." Bones McGeen drew away from the horse. He set his legs wide apart in the dust. A crease ran across his forehead and he stood with his chin lifted, staring at Herendeen Heren-deen as though something had gone wrong. He called to Herendeen: "You want me to go ahead?" Herendeen studied Vance Ketchell over the stretching moments; he had the impulse in his mind Ketchell saw that pretty clearly. McGeen rasped out: "I never saw the time I was afraid to bust into you, Vance. Say the word, Ben. Hell, he's only got two arms." "Both good," said Ketchell pointedly. point-edly. Herendeen shook his head. "Shut up. Bones. Listen, Vance. You be out of here by morning." Vance didn't answer. He watched Herendeen limp over to his horse and step up, making a second try before be-fore he hit the saddle. Bones McGeen Mc-Geen didn't want to leave it like this; he was reckless and sure of himself and hated to see Herendeen back down. He called to Vance. "If it was me, I'd see that hole card, sonny. son-ny. And damn you, I'll see it yet, if you stick around." Ketchell laughed at McGeen. "A couple of tinhorn pikers that fits both of you jaspers. Come on come on. I'm right' here. Just have a try. McGeen, you're a yellow-bellied jackass workin' for a man with putty guts." He let that sink in, quietly turning wild. He wasn't laughing any more. He settled his boots in the dust of the yard and spoke again, naming off with biting precision the things he thought they were; it went like this, the list lengthening out until he could think of nothing else suitable. He lifted his right hand, knocking back the brim of his hat. Black hair fell across his forehead and sunlight glittered glit-tered on the quick film of sweat creeping through his skin. He said as a parting shot, "You're pretty tough on old men and women and babies. If I'm in hell when you boys come along, you can bet your last dollar I'll put the blackball on both of you." "Herendeen," said McGeen, in a begging voice, "just ride along for a minute." Herendeen took his tongue-lash- -ing with a smart; unmoved coolness. cool-ness. He spoke to Ketchell. "Be out of here by daylight," and turned his horse away, calling up the reluctant reluc-tant McGeen. "Come here, you damned fool." The two crossed the meadow, McGeen staring behind him with a dry, thin look of regret Ketchell moved along the wall of his shanty to keep them in view. When they passed into timber he stepped back to shield his body, only his head showing. He saw McGeen wheel and lift his gun; a bullet ripped the corner of the cabin, three feet above Ketchell's head, and another an-other shot dropped Ketchell's horse. Ketchell had to step away from the cabin to clear his own gun for an answer. He threw a pair of bullets at McGeen and watched the latter fade back, compelled by Herendeen's Heren-deen's yelling authority. Ketchell squatted by the shelter of the wall, listening to their horses fade on the trail. He stared at his own pony, dead in the sunshine, and spoke to himself, "Kind of close, Vance kind of close." His arms shook a little bit. As soon as Charley Hillhouse entered en-tered the Potholes he halted the party to explain what was in his mind. "Now we'll take up this trail quietly quiet-ly for echoes run a long way through this timber and Hack has got mighty sharp ears. There's a couple places I used to camp with him and it is likely he'll be at one of them, if he's here at alL If any of you boys see him before I do, draw right down on him. Do not fire. Just draw down. I want to talk to him." Gurd Grant threw Charley a very odd glance. "You two were pretty close friends once." "Close as they come, I guess," assented as-sented Charley. Gurd said, "I don't get it at all." Hillhouse shrugged his shoulders. Gravity pulled his face together; his expression was matter-of-fact, seeming seem-ing to hold away imagination, and his coolness was something that never nev-er left him. As they went on single file, Gurd Grant thought about his own part in this affair with a growing grow-ing unease. He had joined Hillhouse much in the cheerful spirit a man goes out on a hunting party; now, for the first time on this trip, he began to understand what they were hunting and what might come when they found Hack. It gave him a distinct chill when he reasoned it out this way. It put a different light on the affair. "Charley," he said, "I don't want any rough stuff." Charley rode in front of him, not turning and not answering. Gurd Grant got the impression of a will in Hillhouse as hard as rock. More and more disturbed, he had his fervent fer-vent wish that he were out of the whole thing. By disposition a sunny and agreeable man, he had never in his life lifted a gun at anybody; and though he had joined this group because of anger toward Morgan an anger he still nursed he could not, now that he thought of it seriously, seri-ously, see himself in the role of Hack Breathitt's captor. Squirming around the saddle, he was on the edge of dropping out of the party, when Charley's voice drifted dryly back at him. "You don't have to go on, Mr Grant." The tone of it affronted Gurd's pride. He said stiffly: "Just do your own thinking, Charley, and I'll do mine." An instant later he wished he hadn't said it. Gloomy and ex tremely troubled, he fell silent. (TO BE CONTIXIEUI |