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?"
Her voice was of a sudden faint. For a moment he saw only an outline in the semi-darkness. "No, Red. I'm all right. All right. But he's kept me tied to this bunk most of the time."
His eyes, becoming accustomed to the shadows, saw that she was half sitting, half lying on the bunk. Her feet were loosely tied to the frame and her hands were bound behind her. She could move two or three feet, no more. Lilly got his knife and cut the rope, his hand beginning to tremble. Her arms went around him and he lifted her up as if she were an invalid. It was then his opportunity came and again his guiding angel helped him to do something that he would never have been able to do otherwise. In short, he kissed her, called her "Jill kid!"
Her body quivered. She was saying over and over again, "I thought you'd never come. I knew you would, but it was so long waiting. It was so long waiting!"
Dusk had settled around the 3Cross. Close harmonies emerged from the bunkhouse, that is to say, harmonies as close as the ensembled voices of the happy H-H crew could manage. It had been a full day and a satisfying one; now they reclined on alien bunks, sustained by 3Cross chuck. In the main house Joe Breedlove was playing a close game of checkers with Lancelot Stubbins, his mild eyes holding no greater care than a concern for the next move. Stubbins seemed to have forgotten his own tangled, troubled affairs. Pipe smoke curled high in the room and the mellow light of the fireplace shimmered over the floor. Remington's bighorn looked down from his high perch with a smug, defiant glance of safety.
"Checkers," observed Joe Breedlove, "is a pastime from which due observations regardin' life might be made. Yuh advance, then yuh stop. Mebbe yuh are taken. But yuh don't go back unless yuh reach the king row. Same in a man's life—only they ain't no king row."
"Mr.," said Lancelot Stubbins. "D'ye know, you're a queer cuss."
"It's been told me before," replied Joe, "only in less elegant terms. Don't I hear hawsses?"
He abandoned his game and went to the door. And when he saw Jill and Tom advancing out of the night he began to smile that rare, sweet smile. He saw them dismount and observed the careful manner in which Lilly lifted down the girl. At that he turned back. "Guess JIB will have good management from now on."
The pair came into the room. Tom Lilly walked straight over to Stubbins. "I'll keep my promise, amigo. Yore free as the air. But I'm yore nex' door neighbor from now on and you'll shoot square with the JIB."
"I guess," said Joe, "us boys won't have much more to do in these parts."
"Oh yes, you will," replied Tom. "Yore goin' to conduct a roundup on 3Cross an' ketch JIB critters. Also I'll be needin' a man to go to Powder an', have the sher'ff come out. He'll find Trono in the line rider's cabin."
"Is that all?" asked Joe.
"No, you son o' Satan, it ain't. Yore hired permanent as foreman o' the JIB. I'd like the boys to stay with us, too. We got to run the present crew off the range. Then we got to make a skookum ranch of it. What'd you do with Mr. Stubbins' men?"
Stubbins slammed down the handful of checkers he carried and rose, exploding a brief word. "Ran them to the county line, by Gad!"
"Fair enough."
"Is that all?" persisted Joe, smiling.
Tom Lilly looked to Jill soberly; she had nothing to say. "Well, you can be best man," he replied.
Joe's arm fell across his partner's shoulder. Nothing was said, but a glance passed between the two of them such as only loyal abiding friends would exchange.
CHAFFEE OF ROARING HORS
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