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Show i 'jEik I By Ernest Haycox el " I THE STORY SO FAR: Clay Morgan I i decided to play a lone hand acalnst Ren Herendeen. a rancher bent on run-' run-' tins " cattle country his own way. The two nien have been enemies for arJi bavins Brst fouclit over Clay's ,rlfe, LHa, who died haling him and bettering be-ttering she should have married Heren- deen. Morgan Is a solitary Ocure, de- S ntti to his nine-year-old daughter. Jan- I et. Although two women, Catherine I GraDt and Ann McGarrah, are in love f with blm, they know he cannot forget Ula. Of his former friends, only Hack I Breathitt has not gone over to Heren deen's side. Gurd Grant, Catherine's ' brother, hesitated about Joining Heren deen, but became Morgan's sworn enemy ene-my when be discovered that Catherine bad been to his ranch. Hack Breathitt, seen camping with Pete Borders, a rustler, rus-tler, Is being watched by Herendeen's men. Now Clay has just learned that Government Valley is to be auctioned at Sage City, 190 miles away. Morgan knows Herendeen will be bidding for the land, and he Is determined to get it. Meanwhile Hack Breathitt has encountered , some of Herendeen's men. j Now continue with the story. The sound of Hack Breathitt's gun pounded between the walls of the street. out full length, fingers touching the gun's butt. Hack Breathitt felt McGeen's shots breathe by. He snapped an answer across the street, meanwhile plunging plung-ing past the open mouth of Gentry's toward his horse. The shadows sheltered shel-tered him and McGeen's shots crushed through the soft wood of the stable wall, wide of their mark. Men's boots pounded down the Odd Fellows' stairway; somewhere a woman screamed. Breathitt was on his horse, racing along the Burnt Ranch road, when, looking back, he saw four Herendeen men rush from the side of the courthouse. McGeen was in front of him, but fading back from Breathitt's fire, into the shallow shal-low alleyway beside the bank. Low-bent, Low-bent, Breathitt went by him, pounding pound-ing the pony with his spurs. There was a short following fire and afterwards, after-wards, in the safe darkness beyond town, Breathitt's Indian yell sailed up. He was a fugitive then, and knew it; and this was his way of telling them so. Morgan took the desert road as soon as he left War Pass, heading northeast into the open flats. At midnight, from a summit point he looked down upon the breaks of the Crooked River, whose rounded peaks and shale pinnacles and bare ravines lay tangled and disheveled in the moonlight. From this elevation eleva-tion he saw one lone light buried in a far pocket, which was the location of Vane Walrad's ranch, and went downgrade into the river canyon. Beyond one in the morning, he sighted a close row of poplar trees beyond the stream. He passed over a swaying cable bridge, the gelding's geld-ing's feet booming up enormous echoes ech-oes from the planking. Before he found a tin plate and .cup at the tail gate of the chuck wagon and helped himself to the pan of short ribs and Dutch-oven bread by the fire. He crouched here, drinking down two hot strong cups of coffee without delay, before touching the solid food. The mark of the long ride was on him and on the big jaded horse, and Morgan knew that the crew, sprawled idly under the sun, saw all this and were making their guesses. A man on the run, they would be thinking. He finished his meal and tapered a cigarette and lay back on the ground, propped up by an elbow. This food hit him like a shot of whisky. It took the heaviness out of his muscles, it made him cheerful. But he was increasingly pushed by the sense of wasting time. He said: "Which way to Sage City?" The wagon boss drawled: "There's a trail about five miles over yonder. Keep on it. I hear old man Lowry ain't in good health." Morgan thought about that. The brand on the big white horse was Running L. Maybe that was what the puncher was talking about. He said: "Never met him. I've been on the trail since last night at nine o'clock, from War Pass. I swapped horses at Crooked River, and roped this one off the grasslands. grass-lands. What I need is a fresh horse for the ride into Sage City. I'll be back this way day after tomorrow." "Not a bad ride," said the wagon boss idly, and let the silence come on. The wagon boss had made up his mind. He said: "No, not a bad ride at all. Take that strawberry." Morgan rose at once. His upper legs had gone stiff; he stamped his feet on the ground and limped over CHAPTER VII Hack Breathitt held himself in the thick shadows by the courthouse cor-) cor-) ner and saw McGeen and Liard Connor Con-nor leave the Long Grade saloon. The two of them immediately separated, sepa-rated, McGeen turning toward Old Town while Connor traveled to Gentry's Gen-try's stable. More Three Pines riders rid-ers drifted from the saloon, moving toward the dance hall. Instead of 'going up the stairs they turned down the black alley between the Odd Fel- lows' Hall and the adjoining saddle shop. Meanwhile Clay Morgan walked down Stage Street with Har-ley Har-ley Stewart, these two going into the bank. A light flashed on. Jesse Rusey appeared from the darkness, at once crossing to the bank and looking through the window. Lige and Mrs. White left the dance hall and passed Hack, on the way to the hotel. Hack heard Lige say. in his light, courteous voice: "I'll have a drink or two with the boys, then we'll go home." Presently Lige returned re-turned from the hotel, passed the saloon and followed the Burnt Ranch road, disappearing toward Mrs. Benson's Ben-son's house. Hack clucked his tongue in disapproval, saw Morgan come out of the bank, and went at once toward his partner. "Stayin' around, Clay?" "No," said Morgan, "I'm riding out." He saw the glitter of Hack's gunbelt buckle. "What's up?" "Nothin'. Nothin' at all." Morgan said: "Don't let anybody push you into the wrong stall, Hack," and turned across the street to his horse. Morgan stepped into the saddle; he kicked his feet into the stirrups, sat there a moment looking ahead of him, and went out of War Pass at a long-reaching gallop. gal-lop. Hack thought, "I ought to be with him." Liard Connor appeared at the bank corner, exactly opposite the point he had disappeared from a few minutes before; whereupon Hack Breathitt crossed Stage Street, passed the hotel and ducked down an alley. He threshed around the broken boxes and tin cans and bottles behind Shevlin's pool hall, made a wide sweep of this completely com-pletely black area and came into the street again near Old Town. At this same moment McGeen stepped from the shadows of the blacksmith shop. He had his head turned, watching the up-street direction, direc-tion, but whipped around when he heard the strike of Breathitt's boots. The two stood here, face to face with half the street between them. Hack didn't say anything. He held ' his ground, showing McGeen his" swift, malicious grin. McGeen . pulled up both hands and caught the lapel of his coat, which was his way of showing Hack he didn't want to draw, and afterwards he rolled up the street toward the saloon. sa-loon. Connor was near the door of the Long Grade; he saw McGeen Mc-Geen and started down to join him. Breathitt's laughter was a soft bubble in his throat. He crossed the street and circled the blacksmith shop at a short, jumpy run. He trotted trot-ted on around the Odd Fellows' building into a small vacant lot adjoining ad-joining Gentry's saloon. The dance-hall dance-hall lights fell on the street and, hugging the side of the wall. Hack saw Liard Connor step from Gentry's. Gen-try's. Hack was softly laughing again, at Connor's back. He said: "Wrong way, Liard," and watched Connor jerk around. Connor said: "All right - all right." But he wasn't talking to Breathitt. Bones McGeen broke out of the shadows near the bank. Somebody Some-body kicked out a window in the dance hall, the glass splattering around Breathitt. McGeen had quit advancing. Liard Connor, no longer long-er in motion, said again, "All right," and dropped his hands. They had him hipped. Drawing, he had his one single moment's choice McGeen on his left or Connor Con-nor in front of him; knowing Connor to be the tougher man, he threw his shot that way. Connor's head flew up and The sound of Hack Breathitt's gun pounded between the walls of the street. And was drowned out by Bones McGeen's quick-following fire. Connor Con-nor fell on the walk and pulled himself to his knees; his gun had dropped on the walk and now he crawled forward, trying to reach it. nd fell again with his arm stretched saw the house definitely he began calling: "Hello there hello, Wal-rad!" Wal-rad!" There was a yard behind the poplars pop-lars and the blurred skeletal outline of corrals and wagons and hayracks, and a house almost hidden by the trees. A door slammed. He passed through the pop,lars to reach a front porch, and held his seat here until Walrad's voice came at him, sleepy and uncharitable. "Well, who is it?" "Clay Morgan. I'm riding straight through to Sage City, Vane. My horse is going bad." "Morgan?" said the man, and was still. Morgan heard a pair of horses stirring in the adjoining corral. cor-ral. One of them softly whinnied, and then the rancher said with a reviving re-viving cordiality, "Sure, Clay." "I'll be back to pick up my horse in two days." Moonlight put a silver, phosphorescent phosphor-escent glow to the road's dust. Pulling in for a walk, Morgan looked at his watch and found it to be half-past two; one hour later with the moonlight changing and day not far away, he knew his horse was done. Nor could he see the shadow of ranch or house ahead. He let the pony drop to a walk and in this time-eating way covered the next half-hour. The road climbed to a long roll of land, tipped over the crest and point into a shallow meadow mead-ow through which a creek ran with a pale glowing. There was a box elder grove here. Coming to the water he let his horse drink; and heard a rustling in the low tree branches. A tall white horse, followed fol-lowed by three others, came out of the covert and stopped He roped the white horse, saddled it, and left his worn out pony to gITen' hours out of War Pass found him threading the pine timber. Here and there a woodcutter's road led away, and occasionally he saw cattle cat-tle grazing. At noon the country changed aaain, the pines dropping behind and a canyon taking him down a rocky draw. Shortly thereafter a desert of scab rock and sage, smoky With fall's heat and fall's distant brush fires, unrolled before him. Nowhere did he see a break-other the shape of a ranch, or a town, or f moving object. He had his moment mo-ment of tremendous disappointment; disappoint-ment; and then, completely clear-Eg clear-Eg the canyon, he discovered, on his riht a chuck wagon and a half-dozen half-dozen riders seated around it He pulled over at once, but remained re-mained in the saddle until thewag-Tboss thewag-Tboss said: "Get off and p.tch m . He stepped stiffly from me saddle. to the Svhite horse. He put his gear on the strawberry and hit the saddle. sad-dle. At three thirty, with eighteen hours of steady riding behind him, he came upon a main' break in the road. One fork led into the southeast, south-east, the other swung toward the north. It was now within a half hour of the land office deadline; paused at this junction, scanning the forward haze with an anxious eye, he made out no kind of a blur on the horizon. This land ran straight into the cloudy mists, flat as a board. A few fresh prints showed either road; they were alike, these roads, as to the wear and tear of usage, and nothing gave him a hunch except that the northern north-ern fork seemed to head more nearly near-ly toward the spot he thought Sage City ought to be. And so he took it, but two miles later this road brought up before the burnt ruin of a ranch house. He wheeled around, backtracked to the junction and followed the other oth-er route. Wagon tracks came from the desert and dropped into the road, a wavering wheel-and-hoof pattern coming out of nowhere and leading apparently nowhere. It was then four o'clock and he thought he had lost his race. Twenty minutes later the desert marched to a rim that fell downward three hundred feet into a valley. The road descended de-scended a sharp grade. At the bottom bot-tom of the grade, straddling the silver sil-ver streak of a shallow river, lay Sage City, its gray housetops and dusty streets making a toy town's pattern from this elevation. He set the tiring pony into its last run, came down the grade and crossed a wooden bridge. He saw the half-empty half-empty street, the false-fronted build ings and the once-white spire of a courthouse sitting athwart the far end of the street. When he reached the courthouse and stepped down, a pail' of men came out of the door. Morgan said: "Land office in there?" They nodded. He passed Into a shadowed hall, heard voices through a half-closed doorway, and pushed that door- before him. There was a man standing by a desk; this man was saying: "Seventy-eight hundred. hun-dred. That's the bid. Another bid, gentlemen? Another bid?" There were only four other men in the room. One of them, standing by the room's side-wall with his face turned from Morgan at the moment, mo-ment, was Charley Hillhouse. Charley Hillhouse said: "Eight thousand." and came about and discovered dis-covered Morgan. (TO Br. COSTIXIED) J |