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"Can't, or won't?" Her lips thinned even more and color rose to her cheeks.

"Does it matter?"

"Tom was man enough to admit he treated you unfairly and to apologize. Aren't you man enough to accept his apology and forget the past?"

"Do you think that's all there is to it—a simple matter of forgetting the past?"

"What more could there be?" she snapped, then seemed to regret the display of temper as she caught her lower lip in her teeth. Danner settled deeper in the couch.

"Let me explain it this way," he said, wondering why he should want her to understand, and irritated with himself for wanting it. "We quarreled, not so much because he treated me unfairly, mostly, it was because we are different, with a different set of values on things. Then, there's the matter of his warped personality. If I went back to work for him, it wouldn't be forty-eight hours until we clashed again. We just can't work together in any sort of harmony, because we just aren't the same kind of people."

Deep feeling moved her bosom. She said, "Can you blame him for the way he has acted in the past when you know the reasons? Can you condemn him forever because of what he was for a little while?"

"I'm not condemning him," Danner replied. "Just avoiding him, in order to avoid trouble with him. A man like that gives you no other choice."

With a sharp cry she jumped to her feet. "You are still judging him by what's happened in the past. I was engaged to him once and returned his ring when he became so hard to get along with. But he's changed these past few weeks. He's more like the man he used to be."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Do you have any idea what it cost him in pride to come to you for help?"

"He can afford to lose a little."

"So can you."

Her piercing stare assailed him. With deliberate slowness he eased up from the couch and returned her stare impassively. The cold ruthlessness reaching out at him reminded him of her father. No amount of argument had ever changed the Colonel once he had set his mind along a certain path and Danner knew it would be as foolish to argue now with Melinda as it always had been with her father.

"We seem to have said it all," he said.

She stiffened, drawing herself up to the full measure of her five feet in height. "You won't help Tom?"

"No."

"Then he's a better man than you are. I'm glad to know that—about both of you."

Wordlessly, Danner turned away and crossed the lobby to the front door. The raw edge of temper tinged with ruffled pride added a stiffness to his step.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The hotel stable seemed deserted; yet Danner hesitated before entering. Early afternoon just wasn't the proper time for the stable to be completely deserted.

Danner strode to the left, then leaned against the back wall of the hotel, never taking his eyes off the entrance to the stable. Absently he rubbed his hand against his thigh where his Colts usually rested. He could borrow a gun from the sheriff before going in for his horse, but that would make him look mighty foolish if he was guessing wrong. The minutes ticked by with a stillness broken by the occasional sounds of travel along the street and faint horse sounds from the stable. Twice his gaze moved to a pitchfork protruding from some hay piled against the front of the stable. The pitchfork just might be insurance enough, Danner thought.

Idly, as if he intended feeding his horse, he strolled over and caught the pitchfork, scooped it full of hay, then moved inside. Some of the stalls were empty, others contained horses and apparently nothing more. Danner's mount moved about in the fourth stall to his left. Danner dumped the hay on the ground in front of the animal and leaned the pitchfork against the side of the stall. From under his lowered hatbrim his glance swept the length of the stable, finding nothing. Yet the uneasy feeling persisted.

The well-fed horse showed no interest in the hay. Danner saddled him swiftly. He pulled the cinch tight, then stiffened with a premonition born of years along troubled trails. Slowly he turned, to find Tuso grinning at him from fifteen feet away. A pair of tall, thin strangers flanked Tuso, one on each side. Low-slung holsters showed plainly the profession of the unkempt pair, just as a blankness in their narrowed eyes left little doubt about the men's depravity. Tuso leaned forward slightly on the balls of his feet, still grinning broadly.

"You're in a wee bit of a spot, big man," Tuso gloated. "I never dreamed it'd be so easy, especially finding you without your six-gun."

Danner fixed an impassive stare on the swarthy face. "Your companions get worse all the time, Tuso."

"You mean the Grell brothers here?" He inclined his head with a sly grin. "They ain't much, for sure. But they're a right handy pair to have around in times like this—do just what they're told and never a question. Say hello to Mr. Danner, boys. He's a big man around here." Then Tuso laughed, deep from within his tremendous chest. Neither of the Grells made a sound or movement. Like specters they looked through him, completely devoid of any indication that they were capable of humor.

"I had you figured wrong, Tuso." Danner leaned back against the stall, groping for the pitchfork with his left hand.

"How's that, big man?"

"I always figured that when you and I finally got around to tangling, it'd just be the two of us."

"That's the way it'll be when killing time rolls around." Relish shined from the small black eyes on each side of the broad flat nose. "But right now the boss says no killing. You're too good a patsy for what he's got planned. All he wants us to do is crack a few ribs for you, and maybe a jawbone and leg. Nothing serious. Just enough to keep you layed up until after those sodbusters finish their wheat harvest. I'd even handle this alone, except that I bunged up my hand a couple of days ago on a sodbuster's iron jaw." He held up his left hand to reveal a dirty bandage and splint. Danner waited silently, resisting the temptation to bring out the pitchfork.

Tuso nodded to the Grell on his right and the wraithlike creature stepped back into one of the stalls. He returned carrying three singletrees and handed one to his brother, one to Tuso. Holding up his club, Tuso glanced from it to Danner, grinning.

"A right nice rib-breaker, don't you think, big man?"

Danner moved the pitchfork over to his right hand. The trio began moving toward him slowly, clubs ready. With a swift motion Danner stepped away from the stall and raised the pitchfork to waist level, prongs aimed at Tuso's great chest. The three stopped, hardly twice the length of the pitchfork away from Danner. Tuso continued to grin with anticipation, but he held his distance.

"Aw, come on, big man," Tuso chided. "You know that pronged broomstick ain't no defense against six-guns."

"What type of six-gun, Tuso?" Danner asked softly. "A pin-fire, maybe?"

The grin vanished, replaced first by a puzzled look, then a wariness. "What about a pin-fire?"

Jubilation touched Danner briefly. A long shot had hit paydirt. "You do own a pin-fire, don't you?"

Slowly Tuso shook his head, still wary, still puzzled. "What's it going to be, big man? If you don't get rid of that sticker, we'll just have to stand off and shoot you, instead of breaking you up a little."

"The Grells, maybe," Danner conceded, staring directly into the small, round eyes of Tuso, "but not you. If I'm to take the big ride, you'll be just ahead of me on a runaway horse."

Tuso leaned forward a little while his animal instincts sought a solution to the stand-off. Danner could see his mind working, casting about, considering, rejecting. And behind it all a puzzlement lurked, nagging at him as he tried to figure out what Danner had meant by the remark about a pin-fire. Danner realized he shouldn't have mentioned the gun, for eventually Tuso would figure out that the weapon would tie him in with the Spaulding robbery. Then he would get rid of it and Danner could go whistle for evidence to clear his name.