"Shorely the gods are good to me since they send the very person my mind was full of," King Burdette said, swinging his hat in a wide sweep. "The spot was pretty before; now, it is beautiful."
The girl's proud little head came up, the blue eyes regarded him coldly, and she rode on. King Burdette stepped towards her.
"Come now, Nan, you gotta talk with me," he urged. "I've somethin' important to say 'bout somebody yo're interested in; it'll go hard with him if yu don't listen."
"If you're threatening my father" she began stormily.
"Yu got me wrong," he replied. "It ain't him--it's Luce."
He saw her flush, and smothered a curse. "I am not interested in any of your family, Mister Burdette," she said, and shook her reins.
The man laughed. "No use runnin' away, girl," he pointed out. "I can catch yu in two-three minutes."
She looked at the big, rangy roan standing with drooping head but a few yards distant and knew it was no vain boast; her mount--game as it was--could not keep ahead of that powerful, long-striding animal. What a fool she had been not to notice the horse! Luce always rode Silver, his grey. She pulled in her pony.
"What have you to say?" she asked.
"Aw, Nan, get down an' be sociable," King smiled.
"I prefer to stay where I am," she replied. "And there is no need for you to come nearer--my hearing is quite good."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Suspicious, ain't yu?" he said. "Well, have it yore own way; someday yo're goin' to know me better. Now, see here, Nan"
"You are not to call me that," she interrupted.
"Awright, if yu'd rather I made it--sweetheart," he retorted, and laughed when he saw her eyes flash. "My, yo're awfully pretty when yu rear up--Nan."
The girl's scornful expression showed him that he was on the wrong track and, dropping his bantering air, he said seriously, "I got a proposal to make."
Her look of surprise made him grin. "No, it ain't what yu guessed--yet." His face sobered again. "I want peace; I was in dead earnest when I come to the C P that time, but yore father wouldn't listen; he holds the Burdettes is pizen, seemin'ly."
"Can you wonder, with poor Kit scarcely cold in his grave?" she said, a break in her voice.
"But yu don't lay that to Luce," he countered.
"No, but I do lay it to the Circle B," she told him.
"Yo're wrong, Nan," he said. "The Circle B has condemned it. We've disowned Luce--done with him."
"Thereby showing yourselves to be curs," she cried. "Why, if Kit had committed a crime, even murder, I'd have stood by and shielded him to the last, if I knew he was guilty. But you..."
The contempt in her tone flailed him, and the open avowal of interest in the suspected man brought his brows together in a heavy frown. He realized that she meant just what she said; that was her creed; for one she loved there was no limit, and--he bit back an oath--she loved Luce. The knowledge stirred his brigand nature, but he kept an iron hand on himself; only his eyes betrayed the fires flaming within.
"If yu think thataway, yu oughta be willin' to talk to yore dad," he said. "He's got his head down an' is runnin' hell-bent for trouble like an angry steer."
"That's not true, and if it were, I couldn't stop him," the girl replied. "Dad is not the sort of man to be dictated to; I thought he made that plain to you."
Despite his self-control, the blood stained King Burdette's cheeks as he recalled his ignominious dismissal from the C P. He was of the type to whom opposition is a spur to anger. His proffer of peace had been a mere pretext, but its rejection, coupled with the girl's beauty and disdain, were rousing the worst in him. Jeering at him, huh? Well, she needed a lesson, and once he got hold of her, he'd make those pretty lips pay for what they had uttered. During the conversation he had been gradually edging nearer, and now he suddenly sprang forward, his long arms clutching her waist in an effort to drag her from the saddle. Nan saw the movement too late to avoid it, but King swore as the lash of her quirt seared his cheek.
"Yu damn little wildcat," he gritted. "I'll learn yu."
He had almost succeeded in unseating her when a silver streak flashed across the clearing and the shoulder of a grey horse sent him spinning to the ground. He was up again in an instant, his right hand darting to his hip, when a warning voice reached him.
"Stick 'em up, yu skunk, or I'll drill yu."
King Burdette looked into the levelled gun and furious eyes of the newcomer, and impudently folded his arms.
"Blaze away, brother," he mocked, and to the girl, "Yu will now see the Bible story of Cain an' Abel brought right up to date."
"Brother! " Luce retorted. "Yu've taken mighty good care to show me I ain't that--till it saves yore hide. Unbuckle that belt an' step away from it, or I'll break a leg for yu." For a bare moment the other hesitated, but he knew Luce, saw the boy's jaw harden, and obeyed; he had no wish to be crippled. "Now climb yore bronc an' fade," came the further order, and again he had no choice.
"I'll get yu for this, kin or no kin," he snarled. "As for that girl, keep away from her; she's goin' to be mine."
"I'd rather die than marry a Burdette," Nan flashed.
King grinned hatefully."Did I mention marriage?" he asked. "Well, it don't matter. Marchin' orders for the both of us Luce."
"Yo're takin' 'em from me," the young man rasped. "I'll leave yore belt at `The Lucky Chance.' If yu pester Miss Purdie again yu'll not get off so easy."
With a laugh of disdain King rode out of the glade, turning at the entrance to wave an insolent farewell. They watched him go, and for some moments there was an awkward silence. Then the girl stretched out an impulsive hand.
"Thank you, Luce," she said. "I never in my life was so pleased to see anyone."
The boy flushed. "He didn't hurt yu?" he asked, and she thrilled at the anxiety in his voice.
"No, I was scared--he sprang at me like a tiger," she explained. "He had lost his temper completely. You are so different from your brothers that it is difficult to believe you belong to the same family."
"I wish to God we didn't," Luce said bitterly. "Nan, did yu mean what yu said about--the Burdettes?"
He put the question haltingly, and it required all her courage to meet his pleading look; but Nan Purdie was no shirker; subterfuge or evasion played no part in her straightforward nature.
"I am sorry, Luce, but--yes, I meant it," she said gently. "I like you, and I will always be your friend, but it would break Dad's heart to learn I was even that, and so --there can never be anything more. You understand, don't you?"
He nodded miserably. "Yo're dad's right. What man would care to see his daughter linked up with a crowd like ours? Time was when I was proud o' bein' a Burdette; now, I'm ashamed."
"You must go away, Luce; leave the country," she urged, and the thought that she cared what happened to him was sweet.
"I ain't runnin'," he told her. "Yu'll let me see yu sometimes, Nan?"
"We are sure to meet, Luce," she said, and he had to be content with that.
When she had gone he loped his horse past the spot where King's belt lay, and without dismounting, leant over, scooped it up, and headed the animal for Windy. Despite the girl's statement that nothing could come of their friendship, now that he had seen her again he would not despair; hope is a hardy growth in a young heart. King's attack he regarded as an attempt to frighten her, with the object of provoking her father to a reprisal.