of Texas beef." Paused, Townsite stared at the others with a sudden angry energy. "I knew the fine men that made this range, and I'll be damned if I'll stand by and let the crooks make an outlaw strip of it!"
"I wish I could see what there was in it for St. Cloud," fretted Jubilee.
Bellew came to a stand. "Three years ago he had half a dozen cowhands up in Smoky Draw. Maybe three thousand head of stock. Today nobody knows how many riders are hiding back in that timber. I've checked twenty or better. As for the beef, it has grown out of all proportions to the natural increase."
"I know," agreed Jubilee. "But there's a limit to thievin'. What will political control of the county buy him?"
"I've told you before the man has a restless, fertile brain. He's got some plan."
"We're ruined if he does gain control," grumbled Townsite.
"Well—" began Jubilee.
Dan said "Careful," in a flat voice; and all three turned toward the doorway and toward the man framed in it. "Gasteen," muttered Dan, "you have a poor habit of eavesdropping."
Ruel Gasteen remained still. Beneath the shadowing brim of his hat lay features scarcely conforming with one another. A lantern jaw threw the lower lip beyond the upper and so created a plain impression of brutality. The man's skin was yery dark, tightly bound across broad blunt bones; his eyes were secretively inset and somehow suggested the predatory. Inordinately long arms hung straight and motionless beside him.
"What do you want?" challenged Townsite.
Gasteen shifted. "If I was sheriff, Bellew," said he in a strange softness, "you'd be in jail for that shootin'."
"We'll wait till you are," countered Bellew evenly.
Gasteen nodded. "It will be my first official act—to put you there."
"Thanks for the warning."
Gasteen stepped backwards, out of sight, as discreetly as he had entered. The three presently heard his pony drumming down the street, northward.
"Gone to report the bad luck to St. Cloud," growled Townsite.
Bellew said, "Just so."
Townsite thought of something else. "By the way, that Eastern girl came to see me. Name's Nan Avery. She wanted me to get her a homestead somewhere beyond town."
Bellew displayed a quick interest. "You told her that was impossible, didn't you?"
"It did me no good," chuckled Townsite. "I talked to her like a beloved uncle. When I got through she went right on as if she hadn't heard. That girl has been accustomed to giving orders."
"You should have mentioned the danger of a woman living alone on the prairie."
"She waved that aside, too. The girl's got courage, Dan. And I think she's been in trouble. Anyhow, she was so downright about it I had to give in. As much as told me she'd go ahead anyhow if I didn't see fit to do the dickering for her."
"And she would," mused Bellew.
"Well," Townsite wanted to know, "where'll we put her?"
After a moment Dan said: "Tanner's old cabin."
Townsite was dubious. "Too close to St. Cloud's wild boys."
"I know. But Henry Mitchell's only half a mile from it, and I'm just west of the coulees a couple miles."
"All right," said Townsite. "Now I've got to arrange everything tonight. Guess she never heard about the values of procrastinatin'. Who'll show her up there?"
"It's on my way," said Dan. "I'm going home in the morning."
Both men looked oddly at him. Jubilee's question was faintly ironic: "After she gives you a lacin'?"
"She didn't understand," said Dan gently.
Townsite repeated his conviction: "She's been in trouble."
Dan nodded indifferently and left the place, obviously thinking of other things. He took his horse to the stable and afterwards headed for the Golden Bull, there locating Solano. "Go on home tonight," he told Solano. "Early in the morning take a broom and a hammer over to the Tanner cabin and clean it up."
Back in the store Townsite said: "The shootin' hurt him pretty hard."
Jubilee morosely assented. "A lot of things hurt him. What worries me is the future. You realize that Dan will sure be the chief target in this fight? You'll never organize the respectable ranchers under anybody else. St. Cloud knows it, too. His aim will be to get Dan out of the way."
When Nan came from the hotel next morning early, she had for a moment the sensation of definitely beginning another existence. A hard, bright sunlight washed the unlovely walls of Trail to create crisp black and white contrasts. All the buildings stood before her with a gaunt angularity. In another hour it would be hot, but there was yet a coolness to the air and a kind of winelike vigor that woke in her some little sense of buoyancy. Surprisingly, the night and its terrible, scene absorbed less of her imagination than she had thought possible. Crossing the yellow dust of the square, she found a flat-bed wagon and team waiting there, loaded with supplies. Tethered behind was a pair of saddled horses.
Townsite came out of the store.
"I have a cashier's check," she said and held it out to him, "Please settle the account and let the balance stand in your bank."
Townsite grinned openly. "I don't believe," he drawled, "I ever run up against anybody like you. But I got everything fixed."
"What are the saddle horses for?"
"One's yours. Hereabouts you need a horse worse than you need shoes. It's the little strawberry there—very gentle. Other one belongs to the man that's taking you out. Mama, come out here."
A gray, quick-moving little woman appeared from the store. She had, Nan realized, been watching. Townsite said: "This is Miss Avery, Mama."
Mrs. Townsite had snapping, inquisitive eyes; but a kindly mouth and a ready smile. "If you'd just stay over a day," she offered, "I'd like to introduce you to the women of the town."
"Thank you—I'm afraid not."
"Here's your teamster for the trip," drawled Townsite. "Dan Bellew—owner of the Broken Stirrup."
Nan turned quickly, saw Bellew strolling over the dust; and for a moment most of her self-possession deserted her. It was a situation she didn't know how to meet. Half angered, she felt color come to her cheeks. Townsite was speaking: "Dan's ranch ain't far from your cabin, Miss Avery. He's goin' home and agreed to take care of you."
There was no use of pretending, she thought, and met Bellew's glance directly. "I believe you understand how little I like to put you to this trouble."
The challenge was there, as she meant it to be. But once again she was left helpless in front of his manner. He only nodded, the same remote amusement in his eyes—they were a darker hazel than she had first imagined—and went directly to the wagon. Obviously he waited for her, and so she followed, accepting his hand-up. He went around, climbed to the seat, and took the reins.
"You're carryin' a sack of flour for Henry Mitchell," called Townsite.
Bellew kicked off the brake, leaned down to Townsite. "If anything comes up suddenly," he murmured, "get the news to me." Then the team moved away.
Townsite chuckled at the departing pair. "She's mad enough at him to chew nails, Mama."
Mrs. Townsite said firmly:
"Jackson, she's got a past—you mark my word. I'll bet she's a remittance girl."
Townsite went stoutly to Nan's defense: "I like her."
Mrs. Townsite flashed a humorously understanding glance at her husband. "You'd like anything that was helpless. She won't last out here, Jackson."
"I wouldn't bet on that," said Townsite. "She's a fighter."
The