He swerved, climbed the bench on his left and presently was threading his way among the pines. Shade here, but no coolness. He struck a trail that slanted upward into deeper recesses of the forest and of a sudden all things immaterial to the chase left his head. The tracks of two horses were in the sandy course before him. Not fresh tracks, but recent enough to still show a clear imprint. These he followed, resorting to trailing tactics, for he had followed men before and understood their slyness.
At intervals he left the trail and dived into the trees, going a hundred yards or more before reappearing. Sometimes, confronted by a barrier of rock or deadfall, he made a considerable detour and came to a halt, sweeping the vistas, listening for out of the way sounds. But the forest was silent, save for the drone of heat and small insects. So, he pushed on until his eyes saw a thinning of the pines directly ahead and when he dismounted and crawled forward flat on his stomach, he saw a miniature meadow in which sat a cabin and a small corral. Lush grass stood ankle-high; a small path was beaten through it from the trees to the door. And on the threshold of the door, squatted down like a massive, sullen spider, was Theed Trono. The sun slanted against his face, bringing into bold relief the cleft chin, the columnar neck; shaded by the wide hat-brim his upper features were obscured. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth and he played idly with his lariat, making loops on the ground.
He seemed so much off guard, so little expecting danger that Tom Lilly tarried a while in his covert, shooting glances to all corners of the clearing, seeking some manner of a trap. But though he waited a good ten minutes, he could find nothing to justify his caution. The girl was not to be seen; doubtless she was inside the cabin.
He parted the grass before him, gun forward, and rose to one knee. "Trono," said he, in a quiet voice, "you'll stay right there. Hoist yore hands."
Trono's body stiffened. The hand holding the lariat stopped its circular movement and the Stetson jerked upward, revealing the flash of his green eyes. By and by he dropped the rope and hunched his shoulders, moving his big arms above his head. Lilly stepped from his shelter and walked half way across the meadow. The burly one watching him from half closed eyes; an almost lifeless tone emerged from his enormous chest—the tone of a man discouraged and defeated.
"Knew yuh'd git here soon er late. Shore a persistent fella, ain't yuh, Red?"
"Expectin' me?"
"Yeh." The green eyes flared. "I've had too much time to think. Thinkin' ain't good fer a critter. A fack. Bust outa jail?"
"That's right," agreed Lilly, watching his man closely "No fooling, now. You know what I'll do."
"I reckon," said Trono, wearily. "Nex' time Stubbins c'n do his own chores. What a hell of a time I've had. Well, le's git this over with."
Looking beyond the man, Lilly saw Jill Breck half-risen, dimly visible, in the semi-darkness of the cabin. He saw some movement of her lips and shook his head at her; whereupon she disappeared, leaving him with his great problem. Trono was smiling slightly. "Don't yuh know what to do with me, kid?"
"I see trouble in yore face, Trono. Turn around, face against the logs. I came here to get you—bear it in mind, amigo. If you want to take the chance, all right. I'm just warnin' you."
Trono turned, muttering, "Oh, I've had plenty. I been thinkin' Stubbins double crossed me. What would I do with this gal, anyhow? Ain't it a hell of a chore fer a man? Him a-sittin' back an' lettin' me run the danger. No, I won't raise a rumpus. I'm a- goin' back with you an' turn state's evidence on that beef- eatin', mealy-mouth fool. A fack."
"Change of heart, eh?" grunted Lilly, moving closer, distrusting all this talk. Trono was a bundle of dynamite; a vicious cross-grained man who liked to lull an opponent and strike unawares. So he moved cautiously, arm reaching out for Trono's revolver.
"Well, call it that," said Trono, his great body as straight and rigid as he could carry it. The massive shoulders seemed to fill and threaten the seams of his coat. "But what'd happen to me when a posse got on my trail? I'll go with yuh, an' be thankful it ain't a worse proposition. That gun don't slide out easy, Red. Pull hard. Oh, pull harder!"
Lilly, his fingers touching Trono's gun felt the big body tremble. He had jammed his own weapon into Trono's back. But the feeling came over him all of a sudden that the man meant to make a play; desperate as the case was, Trono had decided to fight. And so, dropping his fingers, Lilly stepped back. Trono waited an instant then swung about. The change in his face was striking. Sweat poured down his swart cheeks and the glitter of evil was in those green, sparkling eyes. Once more he carried the high, triumphant, gloating grin.
"Nerve a-failin' yuh, Red? Caught on to my leetle trick, eh? All right, I'm a-tellin' yuh, I won't go."
"I can't shoot you in the back, Trono," said Lilly. "And I'd have to if you turned on me like that."
"I knew yuh didn't have no nerve," said Trono. "What yuh goin' to do?"
Lilly nodded his head. "Walk over there ten yards. I'll give you an even break."
"Fight it square?" bellowed Trono.
"Fight it square, or drop yore gun belt," announced Lilly.
Trono, without a word, backed away from the log house and stopped. "Red, I shore take my hat off to yuh. But I ain't goin to go back, see? Say when."
"Drop yore arms, slow, until they're to yore belt. All right, that's good. Now I'm puttin' my gun in the holster. We're even." Lilly's hand rose clear of the gun butt. "Last warnin', amigo. You'd better give in."
Trono only shook his head. He was a sinister figure, this man, with his thin lips but a white line in the dark face and the nostrils contracted from inner excitement. Beads of sweat stood out on his upper lip; he was swaying slightly, leaning forward, arms spreading away from his body. Lilly felt the full impact of that deadly gaze and there flashed across his mind the picture of a rattlesnake coiled and about to strike. Trono the killer stood forth in full panoply.
"No signal," said Lilly. His own nerves had jangled a moment and then stopped. He was cold—very cold in this bright sun- drenched clearing. Cold with the premonition of death. All his senses focused themselves on the bulky figure ten yards away; he heard nothing but the drone of his own words; saw nothing but a patch of Trono's shirt where his eyes had centered; felt nothing but the flexing of his right arm. "No signal," he repeated. "Go to it when yore ready."
The world was remote. Time ceased to be. Trono seemed to grow larger, bulk tremendously against the light. The patch of shirt wrinkled and the man's right arm dropped. Lilly had no notion what his own gun arm was doing; it appeared to be detached from whatever mental motor guided it. Fretfully, he wondered why he wasn't matching that swift, cat-like draw. The blue metal barrel gleamed in the afternoon sun. As from a distance he heard a heavy explosion—no, there was a double explosion and instantly the world and all its bustling noises, its cheerful warmth, its grateful light, flooded back. Trono was squinting across the space, the tip of his gun slightly deflected. Lilly, watching the weapon with a queer fascination, saw it dip, jerk upward, and dip again. It dropped to the ground and Trono began to droop. The starch of life was going out of him; quite slowly at first he sagged, then, as if his will power had snapped, he collapsed and lay sprawled, face turned toward Lilly. His thin lips were fashioning words.
"I'll cash my chips, mister. Yuh c'n never tell—what a redhead will do."
He was dead. It seemed altogether ridiculous to Lilly until he looked down and saw his own gun in his hand. Why, he never knew he had drawn, never had felt the recoil of firing! He returned it to his holster and in a moment of thoughtfulness extended his arm to full length. It seemed ice-cold; not a tremor moved his fingers.
"Tom Lilly didn't fire that shot," he murmured. "I guess the Lord shorely is providin' protection."
Jill Breck's voice issued from the cabin, high and electrical. "Red—Red, did he touch you?"
Tom was at the door at one stride. "Lord bless you, no. I'm a fool meant for a different end. Why, what's the matter with you?" Rage jumbled his words together. "Did that swine hurt you?"
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