The girl's welcome seemed less cordial than usual, and though the possibility angered him, there was no sign of it. After a compliment on her appearance, he asked casually, `Have you been partin' with cows lately?'
The question rubbed a sore spot. Sudden's failure to run down the raiders had been a sharp disappointment, and Mary had a vision of continued losses, and an end to her hopes of making the S P a success.
`Yes,' she replied ruefully. `Parting with them, but not willingly; they've been spirited away--in the night.'
`My, that's tough,' he said, in a shocked tone. `Lost many?' `More than five score, Sturm estimates.'
`I'm terribly sorry. The rustler is the bane o' the cattle busi- ness; there's on'y one cure--the rope. I'd hang every one caught with the goods.'
He spoke with vehemence, and the girl, smarting under her sense of loss, was disposed to agree. `I hate violence, but crime must be checked, and certainly these wretches deserve no mercy,' she said.
`Come for a ride,' he suggested, and when she was about to refuse, added, `I've somethin' to show you.'
He took her in a westerly direction, away from his own range. After nearly an hour, they reached a line of high bushes, pierced here and there with grotesquely-shaped spires and pinnacles of stone which appeared oddly familiar.
`We have a few yards to walk now,' Cullin told her.
He went ahead, making a path for her, paused, and pointed to a sapling. Put an arm round that and look down,' he said, drawing aside a branch.
`Why, this is Shadow Valley!' she cried.
`True'. What do you see down there?'
`Only cattle grazing.'
He passed her a pair of binoculars. `Try these.'
She did so, and the powerful lenses seemed to fling the nearest cow in her face. On its rump were the letters S P--her own brand. Wonderingly she directed the glasses to others of the herd; all bore the same mark. She turned to her companion.
`What does it mean?'
`I can't say. By chance I learned that over a hundred head, wearing yore iron, had been driven into the Valley yesterday evenin', an' when you told me you hadn't sold any, I guessed you oughta know about it.'
`Thank you,' she said, her face like pale marble, and returned the binoculars.
`Look again, an' make sure,' he urged. `Mebbe there's just a few strays.'
`I saw several dozen of my three-year-olds, picked animals,' she replied harshly. `I wouldn't have believed a man could stoop so low.'
`It looks bad, but seems incredible,' Cullin mused. `I wish I could help you.'
The ride to the S P was made in silence, and Cullin was content it should be so. He had sown the seed; solitude, and the outraged pride of a woman would bring fruition. When they reached the ranch, she did not invite him to remain. He played the hypocrite once more.
`Don't think too hardly of Nick,' he begged. `This is a lawless land, an' he is hot-blooded, impulsive--'
`It was a mean, cruel act,' she interrupted icily, and then her voice broke a little. `He could have had them for the asking.'
With these words ringing in his ears, he went away. Somehow, he did not quite like the sound of them, but he had done a good morning's work, and things were going well.
The girl he had left was far from sharing his satisfaction. Puzzled, angry, and utterly miserable, she sought her bedroom, to be alone her one desire. Her husband had behaved vilely, Green and Yorky had helped him. In all the world she had no one to whom she could turn for aid or counsel. Cullin had been kind--even to the point of pleading for the offender; he seemed to be her only friend. To confide in Lindy would be useless; the black woman would not hear a word against `Massa Nick.'
Why had he done it? she asked, over and over again, and always it was the same answer: because of a ruthless, masterful nature which took what it wanted, regardless of who might suffer.
Another explanation suggested itself. Drait resented her taking charge of the S P, and this was his revenge--the planning of a humiliating failure which would drag her pride in the dust, and bring her to him, disillusioned, begging for aid. Instinctively she looked at the portrait on the wall, and in the hard eyes and grim lips read a message : `Fight.' As though she had actually heard the word, she replied : `Yes, you had troubles too,and fought them. I am of your blood. If Drait has done this despicable deed, he shall answer for it.'
**
On leaving the S P Cullin had ridden at a sharp pace to the 8 B, the owner of which welcomed him with a grin.
"Lo, Greg, I shore hope you've fetched yore roll along; I got a li'l bill for you.'
`You don't have to worry,' the visitor returned. `What's the tally so far, an' where are they?'
`Six score, an' they're in the Devil's Pocket.'
`I'll stake the amount I owe you they ain't.'
Bull's glance was one of suspicion. `If you've fetched 'em away--' he began.
`Don't talk foolish,' Cullin said. `In the first place I didn't want 'em--yet; in the second, I'd no notion where yore cache was; in the third, I shouldn't 'a' taken 'em to Shadow Valley.'
Bardoe's eyes oulged. `Shadow Valley? What'n hell they doin' there?'
`Grazin', I shouldn't wonder,' Cullin replied. He liked to irritate, and the other's volley of oaths merely amused him. `Drait an' his men drove 'em in yesterday.'
`How'd they know where to look?'
`Green an' his young friend trailed you, is my guess.'
Bull damned the pair at length--he could see his li'l bill becoming waste paper; Greg Cullin was not the roan to pay for nothing. For once he was mistaken. The rancher must have divined his thought, for producing a big wad of currency, he pushed a portion of it across the table.
`I'm payin' just the same,' he said. `It so happens that Drait has stepped right into the loop that's goin' to hang him.' The rustler pouched the money. `How come?'
`You wouldn't care to be found with stolen stock in yore possession, I expect,' Cullin replied ironically.
`By God, yo're right, an' o' course, he stole 'em straight from the S P.'
`He an' his men'll tell a different tale, but who's goin' to swallow it? Besides, he could 'a' hidden 'em in the Pocket; found there, he'd never oe suspected, but you would.'
Bardoe scowled. `That's so. Allasame, I owe Green somethin'.'
`Better let the debt run--Finger-shy was no slouch,' Cullin reminded drily. 'Listen: the sheriff will pull Drait in tomorrow mornin' an' shove him in the calaboose to await trial. Now, in case the girl turns soft, I want her out o' the way till the whole affair is over, an' that's where you come in. Get the idea?'
`I'm to carry her off an' keep her hid,' Bardoe said.
`It's a pleasure to work with you,' Cullin complimented. `Where can you take her?'
`My cabin on Black Ridge, the other side o' the Big Quake. She'll be safe enough--ain't many know of it.'
The Big C man nodded. He had seen the place, an extensive and wide strip of morass which had proved a death-trap to many hundreds of cattle. An expanse of brilliant green, dotted with tussocks of coarse grass and reeds, it appeared innocent enough. But the pressure of a foot brought the moisture squelching up, and to stand still even on the brink for a few moments was to court disaster.
`It must be done tonight,' Cullin went on. `In a little while, when Drait has been dealt with, I shall discover where she is and rescue her, payin' you a ransom of three thousand dollars.'
Bardoe was too cunning to jump at the proposition. `I shall have to split with my fellas,' he objected.