"Tell the boys we'll make the drive to-morrow 'stead o' today," Severn said.
"One day's good as another, I guess," the man replied, anc his expression told the foreman nothing.
Severn nodded, got his horse, and followed by Quirt, rod( away on the northern trail; he meant to have a look at the ground himself. The XT was twenty miles from the Lazy M and for nearly half the distance the trail passed over the open range; then, as Darby had said, it took a turn and plunged intc a network of low wooded slopes, ridges and ravines. It was however, well-defined, wide and practicable for cattle, being itfact the route used by Ridge when he drove his herds to Desert Edge.
Severn had left the open country, and was passing through a shallow basin, when from a point in the brush covering the upper rims came the flat report of a rifle, and a bullet whistled viciously past his ear. Tnstantly he swung his horse, raced up the opposite slope and dived into the undergrowth, followed by another bullet, which clipped the brim of his hat. Dismounting, he tied the animal where a questing shot would be unlikely to find it, ordered the dog to lie down, and, taking his rifle, made his way back to the open. His face was grirn, and promised little mercy for the bushwhacker. Flinging himself at full length in a slight hollow, he poked his rifle forward and fired at the spot the shots had come from, which he had/ taken care to mark down. An answering shot from a point ten yards away showed that the unknown assailant was taking no /chances.
"Still there, huh?" Severn grunted. "Well, friend, we'll try a little trick on yu. P'raps yu ain't so smart, after all."
Wriggling backwards until he was/ able to stand up without disturbing the foliage, he went and/ fetched the rope from his saddle. Tying one end to the root of a small, thick bush, he crept away and lay down, rifle cuddled to his cheek in readiness to fire. Then with his right hand he twitched the rope, shaking the bush to which it was attached. Instantly a shot came from across the basin, and with the speed of thought itself he pumped three bullets into the thinning smoke, aiming each a shade to the left of the preceding one. No reply came, and he shook the bush again without eliciting any. Suspecting that the other man might have tumbled to the ruse and be playing a trick on him in turn, he lay quiet for a while, and then fired again. Nothing happened, and Severn got up and went to his horse.
"I either got him or scared him off, Quirt," he said. "We'll go an' see, but not bein' of a confidin' nature, we'll go cautious-like."
Leading the horse through the brush, he skirted round the basin until he came to the spot from whence the ambusher had last fired. A horse tied to a tree whinnied as they approached, and a dozen yards away a man lay, face downwards and arms asprawl, behind a clump of brush. In the upturned heel of one boot was a cross formed with nails. Turning the body over, Severn saw that it was Ignacio. A bullet had perforated his throat.
"Masters was right, an' I kinda thought it my own self," Severn muttered. "Well, yu won't go rattler-huntin' no more, yu coyote. Wonder if yu was layin' for me, or if yu just grabbed Mister Opportunity?"
Methodically he searched the dead man, but found only a fewcoins, some tobacco and a scrap of paper. Half of this had been torn away, but on the remainder he read the words:
"... yore last chance. I got no use for Bunglers.
THE MASK."
"Huh ! Seems I may 've been steppin' on nhe toes o' these folk without knowin' it," Severn commented. "He didn't oughta use that capital B, 'specially when he makes 'em thataway."
Putting the paper carefully in a pocket, he picked up the ambusher's rifle. It was a Winchester repeater, and on one side of the stock were the letters P. M., made of tiny silver nails driven into the wood.
"Philip Masters," muttered the finder. "Now how in Hades did the Mexican get this?"
He examined the dead man's pistol and found that it was a .45. In all probability Masters used a .44, which would take the same cartridge as his rifle. Severn shook his head dubiously; he did not like the look of things. With a puzzled frown he mounted and continued his journey to Skull Canyon. He soon recognised it--a deep, narrow gulch, with sharply-sloping, rocky sides covered with clumps of stunted shrubs. It was an ideal spot to waylay the herd, for the cattle could not spread, there was plenty of cover for the attackers, and practically none for the attacked. One glance was enough; the foreman turned his horse and rode slowly back.
That evening, in the seclusion of his own quarters, he told Larry of the day's events, omitting the name of the would-be assassin. His friend's comment was characteristic.
"Well, they say fools is lucky," he said.
"They must be, or yu would 'a' been wearin' wings long ago," Severn retorted.
"Two shots at yu in the open, an' missed," Sunset went on. "Course yu was jumpin' when he fired the second."
"I shore wasn't stoppin' to pick flowers," grinned the other. "I didn't look to be bushwhacked there, neither."
"D'yu reckon Stevens an' Masters did?" asked Larry sarcastically.
"Masters may turn up again," the foreman stated, though without much conviction in his tone.
"Did you know that bushwhackin' skunk?"
"Yeah, it was Ignacio," was the reply.
Larry whistled. "S'pose yu left him there," he suggested.
"No, I put him where he helped to put yore dad, an' cut a coupla notches on the tree," Severn said. "That'll get 'em guessin'."
"Tally two for the 4B," the boy said caustically. "I'm thankin'yu, Jim."
"Shucks! He was shootin' at me," the foreman reminded him. "What yu got to tell me about the outfit?"
"I reckon they're all pretty straight bar one--that fella Geevor, just in from ridin' the line. He's one o' Bart's men, an' I've seen him af ore." Severn nodded understandingly. "How many yu takin' to-morrow?"
"Six, includin' myself; oughta be enough to swing a little herd like that."
A reminder that an early start had to be made in the morning sent the guest back to the bunkhouse, his curiosity unsatisfied. "Bloomin' clam," he muttered disgustedly. "But he's got an ace in the hole all right, I'll betcha."
Soon after daybreak the drive started. Severn gave instructions that the cattle were to be permitted to go their own pace, being merely kept on the move; he did not want the beasts tired in case it should be necessary to push them hard towards the end of the journey. With such a small herd and an easy trail, he reckoned on reaching the XT during the afternoon. Mile after mile dropped behind them, and nearly half the distance was accomplished without incident.
A couple of miles from Skull Canyon Severn called a halt for rest and a meal. When the journey was resumed, the foreman, riding ahead, turned into a growth-cluttered gully almost at right angles to the trail they had been following. Gecvor, stationed on the left front of the herd, spurred across.
"Hey, boss, this ain't the way," he cried. "The trail to the XT goes right through Skull Canyon."
"I know, but I reckon this is safer, Geevor," the foreman replied, and did not fail to note that the shifty eyes fell before his own.
"Well, it's yore say-so, but this is one hell of a place to get cows through," came the sullen retort.
"Yu think Skull Canyon would 'a' been easier, eh?" Severn asked meaningly.
The man muttered something about its being an open trail, and subsided. The next few miles justified his criticism, for the cattle had to be driven over ground bristling with natural obstacles. Dense undergrowth, thickets of young trees, streams, rocky ridges, and declivities all had to be overcome, and the riders had their work cut out to hold the herd together. They had got over the worst of it and emerged into an open, grassy stretch when two pistol shots rang out, and Severn turned to see Geevor staring stupidly at the smoking gun he was holding. Angrily he rode over.