The puncher shrugged. `Fella can't allus score, specially with long shots,' he said. `I expect yu've lost cases yoreself.'
`A few--long shots,' Seale admitted. `Staying in town?'
`I guess we'll mosey along,' Sudden replied, as he called for a second round. `That boy should show up soon.'
`He'll be all right--the place is quiet at this time of the day. Why, there he is, at the door.'
Yorky was outside, with the horses, and having parted from the lawyer, they mounted and rode out of the town. Sudden asked no questions until they were clear, and then: `What's the hurry, son?' For Yorky was casting an anxious eye to the rear from time to time.
`That fella was lyin', Jim.'
`Yo're tellin' me. Why did yu wanta see that fool letter?'
`I didn't, but I wanted to know where he kept his keys,' was the surprising answer.
Sudden looked at him severely. `Yu been drinkin'?'
`No--thinkin',' Yorky replied. `You see, Jim, I had a hunch there was somethin' in th' safe he wouldn't show us, an' I figured if I could get at th' right pocket....'
He paused, furtively scanning his companion's face, but it told him nothing. Sudden was remembering that slip on the stairs, the long, slim fingers of this waif from the underworld of a big city--fingers which could manipulate cards with the dexterity of a magician. But he was not one to probe into the murky past of a friend; there had been episodes in his own....
`I was a pretty good "dip" but I give it up after I run into Clancy,' the boy went on, rather shamedly. `I could 'a' cleaned him, but honest, Jim, I on'y borried th' keys.' He was obviously scared that the man he most admired in all the world would not approve.
Sudden's slow smile was back again. `Shucks, I ain't blamin' yu. Anythin' goes, when yo're fightin' a rogue. What did yu find?'
`A letter from a woman livin' at Deepridge, offerin' information 'bout Mary Pavitt; 'peared to be in answer to an advertisement. In was signed "Sarah Wilson".'
`Thought he warn't exactly emptyin' his bag,' was Sudden's comment. `Yu left the letter?'
`Figured it was wiser. But here's one I fetched away.'
The document was brief and to the point. Sudden whistled softly as he read it:
`Dear Seale,
Confirming our conversation this morning, I am prepared to pay five thousand dollars for the S P ranch, and to take the stock at eight dollars per head. If you can arrange this your fee will be one thousand, cash. This is my final offer.
Gregory Cullin.'
The puncher folded the letter and stowed it away. `Great work, son,' he complimented. `I'd give somethin' to see Seale's face when he discovers his keys is missin'. What you do with 'em?'
`Left 'em on th' stairs where we tumbled; he may think they just dropped out'n his pocket.'
`Mebbe, if he don't search his safe too careful. Anyway, the sooner we get this in a good hiding-place, the better. I've a notion it'll come in mighty useful, but for the present we'll keep it under our hats; it's sound policy sometimes to let the other fella move first.'
`I saw somebody we know in Rideout, an' he didn't wanta be seen,' Yorky said. `Beau Lamond.'
The devil yu did?' `Yeah, just after I left Seale's place; he was comin' towards it an' a'most jumped into a store when he catched sight o' me.' `Didn't strike me as sufferin' from modesty,' Sudden said. `If he don't mention it, we won't neither.'
Chapter VII
THE Big C ranch was the most important of those in the neighbourhood of Midway. This was due, not to its size, but to the forceful personality of its owner. Gregory Cullin, not yet forty, and unmarried, possessed a profound contempt for humanity, and an equally deep belief that everything comes to he who takes. His tall, compactly-built, powerful frame, frowning brows and thick, pouting lips gave him an aggressive appearance. He was subject to violent fits of rage, but few suspected he used them as a weapon to gain an end, and that beneath the wildest was a cold calculating brain, functioning as usual.
The ranch-house resembled the man, roughly but strongly fashioned. It was not large, but roomy inside, and the plain furniture was comfortable, but only that. It was said that Cullin, asked why he did not indulge in a more luxurious home, replied : `This ain't a home, on'y the workshop in which to make my pile.'
On the evening of the day after Sudden's visit to Rideout, a meeting took place at the Big C. Gilman, Bardoe, and the sheriff had arrived, and they awaited one other. Despite the blazing fire, whisky and cigars on the table, the guests did not seem to be at ease, and Cullin's face had an expression little like that of a genial host.
`Where in hell's Vic?' he asked petulantly.
This being the third time he had put the question, no one had any answer to offer. A moment later came the tramp of a horse outside, a heavy step in the passage, and the owner of the Double V entered, flung his hat and quirt into one chair, and seated himself in another.
`Howdy, fellas,' he greeted, poured himself a drink, and reached for a smoke.
`What's been keepin' you?' Cullin demanded.
`Business--my business,' Vasco replied curtly. `Why are we meetin'?'
`Somethin' has to be done about that fella Drait.'
`Is he doin' any harm?'
`He's a nester, an' therefore a cattle-thief,' Bardoe put in.
`You say so,' Vasco retorted. `But all cattle-thieves ain't nesters.'
Bardoe scowled but was silent, and Cullin's impatient voice dismissed the argument : `What he is or does don't matter, he's been told to go, an' has gotta go. Any suggestions Vic?'
`Yeah, leave him alone. He's bought the land an' is entitled to live on it, so long as he don't interfere. How much o' yore range do you own, Greg?'
The Big C man flushed at this home-thrust, for, as Vasco well knew, he had no title even to the ground his buildings occupied. `What's that gotta do with it, an' is it any o' yore affair what I own?' he snarled. `God damn yore impudence, I've a mind--'
Vasco's eyes narrowed. `Then use it, an' keep yore temper,' he said. `These fits o' yores may impress the scum on yore pay-roll, but I ain't ridin' for you an' you can't ride me. As for drivin' Drait out, hangin' a crippled cowboy ain't the way.'
`That was a mistake,' Cullin said, aware that he had gone too far. `The men exceeded their instructions.'
Vasco's laugh was contemptuous. `Don't try to tell me you weren't there, because I know different. You an' the same brave fellas who shot down the Rawlin kid. You ain't listenin', o' course, Camort.'
`I ain't believin' it,' the sheriff said doggedly.
`I take it you ain't helpin' us in this,' Bardoe remarked.
`You take it correct,' was the quiet reply. `Prove to me that Drait is stealing my cows an' mebbe I'll take another view.'
`He has a hundred head, calves an' yearlin's, in the Valley. Any o' you know where he got 'em?' Cullin asked, and getting no reply, went on, `There's a gal, too; know anythin' about that?' Bardoe looked black and Gilman laughed meaningly, but no one answered. `Hell,' Cullin continued, `Do I have to gather news as well as think for you all?'
`Don't trouble on my account,' Vasco said bluntly. `For the rest, I'm with you in any move which doesn't break the Law.'
`We got the Law--such as it is--on our side,' Gilman pointed out, with a jeering grin at the sheriff.
`Which is one damned good thing for some o' you,' that worthy summoned up courage to say.
The Big C man's brows came together. `Camort,' he said, and there was the rasp of a file in his tone. `who do you think would be the best man to fill yore place?'
Camort collapsed like a punctured bladder. `Why, Mister Cullin, I ain't done nothin'.' he stammered.
`You said it,' the rancher snapped. `An' a man who does nothin' is no use to us; we want results.'
`I had it all fixed,' the sheriff protested, with a malevolent glare at Bardoe.