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Show The Fighting Tenderfoot rN,o,' he answered harshly. "Let him come to me if he feels thataway. Stop Litis foolishness, girl. Leave my business lay. I'll run it. Stick to this one thing an' chew on It, that I'm to he yore man an' you're to be my mate. The Bible says a woman is to leave her fatlier an' her mother an' his kin and cleave to her husband." "You're not my husband. You never will be if you feel thatawaj-. I wouldn't marry you if if you were the last man on earth," she Hung passionately pas-sionately at hiui. "No sense In sayin' that." He caught her wrists in his strong ringers. "What has drawn us together in spite of h I an' high water? Why do you come to meet me, though you always fight an' quarrel against me because I'm like I am? You come because I'm the man you want for yore mate, because be-cause you get hungry to see me." "No such thing." she flamed. "I s'pose you think you're so wonderful that any woman " lie snatched her Into his arms and kissed her. crushing her body to His. To OTIara it seemed that the girl lay there a moment relaxed, drinking in his savage kiss, before she pushed him from her with all the energy of her strong arms. She flung one flaming look at him, then turned and ran toward the horses. Ingram did not pursue her. He stood in his tracks, laughing triura- judged her so after what they had seen. He mumbled something Inarticulate and turned to saddle his horse.- She waited for him and they rode side by side along the hill shoulder. From the rocks above a high cheerful call floated down to them. "Greeting and salutations, likewise rousing cheers. Eh, what?" The Englishman was clambering over boulders toward them. During his first week at the ranch Smith-Beresford had several long private pri-vate talks with Wes Steelman. After the last of these O'Hara was Invited Into conference. The ranchman drew a cigar from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to the young man. "Take a chair, O'Hara. Make yorself comfortable. You've been with us now a week. What d'you think of ranch life?" "Never enjoyed myself' as much In my life before. It was good of you to ask me out." Steelman waved that aside. "Question "Ques-tion is, would you like to go into it as a business? You've got a little money, I understand. Here's the proposition. proposi-tion. We've bought the Widow Cress place, our friend here an' I. Would you like to go in with us? I'll be a silent pardner. If you throw In with us I'll turn Jack Phillips over to you for a foreman. Jack knows cows. "Touche," he laughed. "The answer Is that we're both prodigal in our admiration ad-miration of Miss Steelman." Beneath the tan in the girl's cheeks the color moved. This young man's compliments were a little too pointed. She called to a red-headed cowboy who was passing: "Will you take these gentlemen to the lower cabin, Ked, and see they're made comfortable?" To her guests she udded: "Supper at six If dad doesn't see you before them. He's out somewhere just now with Jack Phillips, I think. Please make yore-selves yore-selves at home." The days that followed were pleasant pleas-ant ones to both the tenderfeet enjoying enjoy-ing the hospitality of the ranch. The life they led was a stimulating outdoor out-door one. With the Hashknife cowboys cow-boys they rode the range, chasing wild longhorns through the fragrant chaparral chapar-ral thickets. They assisted at branding brand-ing and cutting out. They tried ttieir hands at night-herding and trail-driving. Sometimes Wes Steelman and one of his long-bodied sons, or perhaps per-haps Barbara, rode with them and explained ex-plained this unique society which cat- By William MacLeod Raine Copyright by William MacLeod Italne WNXI Service THE STORY Garrett O'Hara, young lawyer, on his way to practice at Concho, ' wild western town, la shot at from ambush by Khep Sanderson, who mlatakeH him for JudKe Warner, whom certain cuttle Interests wl.sh to prevent holding" court. Barbara Steelman, who thought the shot was directed di-rected at her, warns Garrett not to go to Concho because of the blfr cattle war. In town Sanderson San-derson picks a flKht with Garrett and Is (jetting: the worst of it when Ingrum, cattle baron, interrupts. in-terrupts. Steve Worrall tells Oarrett about the cattle war between be-tween Ingram and Steelman, fatlier fa-tlier of Barbara. Garrett tells Ingram he desires to remain neutral, but the latter declares there can be no neutrality. Hob Quantrell, young killer for Ingram, In-gram, saves Garrett and an Englishman, Eng-lishman, Smith-Beresford, from being shot by Sanderson. The three become friends. "-ft tie had created In the semi-arid West. And every day, no matter what else they did, the two guests found time to practice with their Colts. It cannot be said that O'Hara was easy In bis mind. He had the temperament tem-perament which found exhilaration In Immediate danger, but the thought of peril deferred brought disturbing moments. mo-ments. Though he was learning how to use a six-shooter, there was no use deceiving himself into the error of thinking be stood an even chance with Sanderson. Moreover, It was likely enough that the man would shoot him down from ambush as he had tried to do once before. The knowledge that one Is marked for death in the mind of a callous killer makes for depression. de-pression. His personal feud with Sanderson began to merge itself in the general one between the houses of Steelman and Ingram. He had promised himself him-self not to become a partisan, but he was one already in feeling. The Steel-mans Steel-mans had thrown wide open to him the door of their home. He had partaken par-taken of their generous hospitality. Why deny to himself that he wished them well in the conflict with Ingram and his supporters? CHAPTER IV A Rendezvous Smith-Beresford was watching Barbara Bar-bara Steelman. She was saddling her pony, though a wrangler was at hand doing nothing. A minute before she had roped the animal. That was like her. She had a self-reliant, independent inde-pendent streak in her. Usually she preferred to do her own catching and cinching. In this case the Britisher had offered to saddle for her and also to join her on the ride, and she had contrived without hurting his feelings to reject both proffers. The Englishman called to O'Hara, CHAPTER III Continued 4 "Which will be three weeks from today. to-day. Send me a front-seat ticket, Bhep." Quantrell's voice drawled on Insolently. "Did you say you had to light a shuck outa here? Well, so long, Shep. We mustn't keep you from any pressin' engagement that's shout-In' shout-In' for you. Adios, compadre." Sanderson slouched out. The boy turned to O'Hara. "You've done wished on yoreself a man-size Job. If you asked me personal I'd Bay you were gonna camp with Old Man Trouble." "How long will It take me to learn to shoot?'' O'Hara asked. "If you practice real constant you'd ought to be a medium good shot in maybe twenty years. That is, if ever. Some fellows jest naturally never could be." "But you're not that old, and they say " "I've got a gift thataway," Quan-trell Quan-trell admitted modestly. Smith-Beresford cut Into the con-iversution con-iversution : "Will you tell me, laddie, how you cut the crest of that big turkey cock? He's big enough to eat you In two mouthfuls." "I've heard It said the Lord made us In many sizes but Colonel Colt made us all equal," the youngster replied. re-plied. "Only some of us more equal than others, you might say." "If this Sanderson is just a bully who won't fight " "Don't make any mistake about that, sir. He'll fight," Quantrell said carelessly. care-lessly. The bartender leaned forward and spoke to Smith-Beresford. "He's killed two-three men." "But bless my soul, if he's so dangerous, dan-gerous, why did he take that talk from you, my lad?" the Englishman asked, much perplexed. "After all you know, you're only a boy." I ' " town. That's what I hear. Cant prove It by me." "Much talK buzzln' around town since the shootin'?" Phillips asked. The cowboy's eyes met those of the foreman. "Why, I slept late this morn-In morn-In Jack, haviu' bad cousid'rable of a bun on, an' I left Concho almost right away, as you might say." Phillips took occasion to report the result of this conversation to O'Hara and Smith-Beresford next morning. "H 1 will start poppln', looks like. Banks, the sheriff, is swearin" In a posse to run down Tom Fitch. If they catch him he'll never reach Concho alive, not with the posse Banks is sendin' out. Ingram warriors, the whole caboodle. I'm sendin' word over to the Old Man by Shorty. I dunno as there's anything he can do nbout It, but I want him to know what's go-In' go-In' on." After breakfast the two partners left their riders and returned to the cabin which was their ranch headquarters. head-quarters. As they rode up to the corral they noticed a strange horse tied to the fence. "Some one here already," O'Hara said. "Don't ' see him. Must be In the house," bis partner answered. It was 'the custom of the country that if nobody was at home any rider who passed that way might cook himself him-self a meal in the cabins used by the cowboys in temporary sleeping quarters on the range. By an extension of this right some cowboy might have made himself comfortable at the home ranch house. The partners were talking together as they passed the window of the house and turned In at the front door. Abruptly ttiey stopped on the threshold. A man stood in the room, revolver In hand. The weapon covered them. "Far enough," the man gnarled. "Stop right where you're at." He was a young man, almost a boy, but for the moment at least the look on his face was almost wolfish. His body was poised and crouched, knees bent, head thrust forward. "Who are you?" he demanded. Probably O'Hara did not think of the maxim : When In doubt tell the truth. He told it instinctively. "My name Is O'Hara. This gentleman is. Mr. Smith-Beresford. We've bought this place." The point of the revolver dropped toward the floor. "You're the tenderfoots tender-foots I been hearin' about. Stayin' with Old Man Steelman, wasn't you?" "Yes. Till a week ago. What's the matter?" "Sorry. I had to cover you, gents. Couldn't take a chance. My name's Tom Fitch, though that don't mean a thing to you." "We've heard that you killed Two-Ace Two-Ace Burke yesterday." "Heard that, have you ; '-Vhat's the story they're tellin'?" "The story we heard is that you had a quarrel with this Burke and later killed him from ambush," O'Hara said, looking straight at the man. "I knew doggoned well they'd tell it thataway," Fitch broke out vehemently. vehement-ly. "Nothin' like that. I don't claim I hadn't been drinkin'. I had. So when Two-Ace began rldin' me because be-cause I was a Hashknife waddy I come right back at him. Well, one thing led to another, an' I knocked him cold with my fist, me havin' given up my six-shooter at the bar. He tried to gun me from where he lay, but some of the boys stopped him. I was stayin,' at old Manuel Chavez' house, an' on the way there I had to pass the Long-horn Long-horn corral. It was dark as the inside in-side of Jonah's whale. That's how-come how-come he to miss me, I reckon, for he was close as that window. I could see him by the flash -of his gun, an' got Old Tried an' True into action muy pronto. My first shot hit him, an' two of the others I've been told since, I was too busy to know whether he got a second shot at me or not, an' I hadn't time to stick around, seeing as folks were headin' that way fast. So I lit outa town, lay doggo at Old Man Cowdery's in a haystack, till I found out Two-Ace was sure enough dead, an' headed for the hills." "You'd better eat your breakfast and ride across to Steelman's," O'Hara said. "If he thinks it's true he'll advise ad-vise you what is best to do." "You're shoutin'. The Old Man will tell me what to do. I been drug into this. If I'd started trouble I wouldn't make no holler, but I didn't do any such thing. Still an' all, I expect I'd better hive out for parts unknown." Fitch ate his breakfast, rolled and smoked a cigarette, and said he reckoned reck-oned he would be going. He swung to the saddle, waved a hand in farewell, fare-well, and rode over the hill. Not one of the three had any premonition of the desperate adventure into which they would be driven within the hour. (TO BE CONTINUED.) The Englishman Was Clambering Over Boulders Toward Them. You'd ought to do well, though of course it's a gamble. I'm not givin' you any guarantee. I'll be riskin' my money along with you boys." "You've got me Interested," O'Hara admitted. "Then I'll get down to cases." Steelman Steel-man drew up to a table and gave facts and figures as to the cost of the land and cattle with which to stock the range. Briefly and clearly he explained' ex-plained' the situation. O'Hara smiled. "I know what my answer is going to be, but I don't want to say 'Yes' until I pretend to myself that I've thought It all over carefully. Will you give me an hour or two to digest your offer?" "Take yore time, boy," the brown cattle man told him. "I've spent several years preparing to be a lawyer. If I go with you on the ranch it must be understood that I'm to have the right to continue with my legal work. I may later want to set up an office at Concho." "Suits me," acceded Steelman. "I can sometimes use a bright young-lawyer young-lawyer in my business." "And "above all I'm a law-abiding citizen. I don't intend to get into tills trouble with Ingram and his friends." The ranchman's blue eyes crinkled to a smile. "You're all right, boy. But don't make any mistake about this thing. You're in wrong with Ingram right now. If you stay in this country the only question is whether you play a lone hand an' get bumped off or throw in with us an' get a run for yore money." "I'm not ready to accept that view of it. I've done Ingram no harm." "Been livin' here a week, haven't you? Talkin' about going into pardner-ship pardner-ship with me, aren't you? Garrett, don't fool yoreself. They've got you labeled right now, an' you can't talk 'em out of It." The young lawyer drew up the papers pa-pers of partnership and they were signed by the three parties to it. O'Hara and Smith-Beresford bad their belongings moved from town to the log cabin vacated by the Widow Cress. Steelman shifted a bunch of cows to the range contiguous to Three Springs creek and the two tenderfeet busied themselves helping their cowboys burn on the Circle S. O. brand. A young fellow drifted up the creek one day looking for-a job. He reached the round-up ground at supper time and was invited by Jack Phillips to fall off and rest. "Anything doing down Concho way?" Phillips asked casually of the visiting cowboy. The lad hesitated, then spoke non-committally. non-committally. "There was a killin' last night. Fellow called Fitch shot Two-Ace Two-Ace Burke." "Not Tom Fitch," the foreman said quickly. "Yep." "He's one of the waddies at our lower ranch," Phillips explained to O'Hara before he asked the cowboy what the trouble was. "Some says one thing, some another. They had a rookus at the Gold Nugget Nug-get an' bawled each other out. Friends interfered. Burke was shot on the way home at the corner of the Long-horn Long-horn corral." "Shot from ambush, you mean?" "So they claim. Fitch was seen runnin' from the spot an' was recognized. recog-nized. He forked a bronc an' lit outu phantly. "Wipe that out if you can," he called to her. Barbara Steelman did not answer. She pulled the slip knot of her horse's bridle rein and climbed to the saddle. Swinging the animal around, she put it at the steep rock ascent which led circuitously to the top of the bluff. O'Hara woke up to action. Presently, Pres-ently, emerging from the draw, she would reach the clump of pines where he had tied his horse. He was caught. He could not get away without being discovered. Perhaps he could deceive her into thinking that he had not known of her presence. Swiftly he ran for the pines. Just before he reached his horse he could see her head and shoulders riding Into view. With fingers all thumbs he un-cinched un-cinched and dragged the saddle from the cow pony's back. He did not look around, but made himself very busy examining a galled spot on the animal's ani-mal's back. A stifled little cry made him turn. Barbara had apparently come1 almost upon him before becoming aware of him." She had drawn up her mount instinctively and was looking at him. That she had been weeping was so' plain that he thought it better not to pretend to ignore it. "What is it, Miss Steelman? Can I do anything for you?" he stammered. "Where did you come from? Where have you been?" she demanded. "We've been hunting. I left Mr. Smith-Beresford to see if there was a mule deer in the hollow maybe." "And what did you see there?" "I I stopped to to look at my horse's back," he said, turning a fiery red. "You're a poor liar," she told him bluntly. "Y'ou saw us down there in the head of the hollow, Dave Ingram an' I. Now you know what kind of a girl I am, that I rode nine miles to throw myself at the head of my father's fa-ther's enemy." He was acutely distressed, at her proud shame. Desperately he took the bit between his teeth and trod down his shyness. "Yes, Miss Barbara, I know what kind of a girl you are, how bravely you've- tried to keep peace between your father and Ingram. I I honor you for everything I heard and saw." Amazed, she looked at him, the stains of the tears still on her brown cheeks. "You don't think I came because because I had to see Dave Ingram, because be-cause I couldn't live without seeing hi in ?" she demanded. "No, I don't think that." "Then you're a fool, for that's exactly ex-actly why I came," Barbara blurted out in self-abasement. Her humiliation, the scornful expression expres-sion of it, shocked him. He could guess how much her pride was hurt. "I don't know why you came. That doesn't make any difference. All I know is that you are good and and fine and that I'd want my sister to be like you." Tears swam in her eyes. His words had gone to her heart as rain does to the roots of thirsty grass. 'Tou're good," she said simply. She knew that some men would not have who had just come out of their bunk-house. bunk-house. "If you're ready, old chap, we'll be off," he called. O'Hara was ready. Ten minutes later they took the trail up the creek. The wagon road ended at the ranch, but a zigzag path was well defined along the stream. They followed It out of the park to the rugged hills beyond. Toward noon they separated, Smith-Beresford Smith-Beresford working up toward the divide di-vide and his companion taking the shoulder of a hill that presently brought him above a wooded draw. O'Hara dismounted and tied his horse. Rifle In hand, he crept forward through the brush. For he had heard the sound of breaking twigs. There was the chance of finding a deer feeding feed-ing in the hill pocket below. What he saw was even more surprising: sur-prising: two saddled horses grazing among the pines. Voices drifted to him from just below. He was on a bluff and he moved cautiously to the edge of it and looked down. A woman was talking. He could not at first see her face, but the figure was slender and graceful, the voice young and vibrant, just now passionately reproachful. re-proachful. "I don't," she cried. "I don't. I don't. How could I when you're so so hateful?" "I'm hateful, am I? But you love me just the same." A man laughed, slowly, contentedly, as though he relished rel-ished the fact. "That's what you'd like to make me love you anyhow," she went on resentfully. re-sentfully. "It has to be all take an' no give with you, hasn't it? I'm just to be another triumph for you over my father. You want to take even his own daughter from him so as to gloat over him. Sometimes I hate you for being the kind of man you are." The man looked down at her, his eyes close to hers. "An' sometimes you're wild about me for being like I am. Don't pull on yore picket pin. Barbara. Be reasonable. A man has got to play the hand that's dealt him. I'm not gonna lie down to Wes Steelman Steel-man because he's yore dad. You know better than to ask it. Now listen. It'll be like this when we're married. Y'ou'U be Dave Ingram's wife. I won't be Barbara Steelman's husband. I'm no stray cat for you to drag home. What kind of a man would I be if I knuckled down to yore dad because you asked me to quit an' throw down all my friends? You'd despise me for it." "I don't ask that," she cried. "All I want Is for you to let him see that you're ready to compromise." j The man behind the bar coughed warnlngly. This was dangerous ground. But Quantrell only laughed. "Oh, I reckon he didn't have his fightln' clothes on today," he said. "What have his clothes got to do with it? I'm dashed If I understand you." O'Hara laughed. "That's only an expression, ex-pression, Mr. Smith-Beresford. What Mr. Quantrell could tell you, If he were not too modest, is that Sanderson does not want to fight with him. The fellow would probably have killed us both If It hadn't been for Mr. Quantrell's Quan-trell's Interference. We both owe him our lives." The young desperado shrugged this aside, a little annoyed, a good deal embarrassed. "Babes In the wood, pt both of you. An' anyhow, I happened to want to ride Shep some. He's too biggity. Let's drink." This ceremony concluded, the lad sauntered out of the place. Then everybody began to speak to the Englishman Eng-lishman at once. He learned that eighteen-year-old Bob Quantrell was the most notorious killer in the territory. ter-ritory. Next morning the two tenderfeet bought some shells, saddled their horses, and rode out of town to a wooded draw where they used up fifty rounds of ammunition each. After that, O'Hara and the Englishman English-man packed their saddlebags. They rode with rifles strapped beside them. It was still a wild country. Occa- j sionally Apaches left the reservation and went raiding. Others as bad as Indians had come In recently. But the real reason they carried rifles was that they expected to go hunting while at the ranch. . They struck Dead Horse creek and turned up it, following a wagon road that meandered back and forth with the winding of the stream. The ranch houses lay below them, a cluster of a dozen buildings set back fifty yards from the stream. Two or three men were In a corral working a dozen calves that blatted protest. At the blacksmith shop, which was outdoors under a tree, a young fellow was shoeing shoe-ing a horse. The main house was a thick-walled Spanish house built of adobe bricks. A young woman was standing on the porch. She called a greeting to them. Smith-Beresford swung to the ground and went forward with the peculiar ptrut that characterized his walk. "Well, we're here, Miss Steelman," he beamed. "All ready for the fatted calf, don't you know?" "Are you the prodigal son or Mr. O'Hara?" she asked |