"Damnation! Yu lost him," the cowboy cried, and there was consternation in his voice. "Then he'll know ..."
"Shucks, anybody could use that shack, an' he thinks it was Green put him there," King said mendaciously, unwilling to let the man know too much. "Point is, who's got him now? He ain't showed up in Windy. Sim reckons it was Luce--claims he recognized a footprint. Yu better keep tabs on him; we gotta find the of devil."
He swung away. Riley waited until he saw him riding the eastern trail, and then dived into Slype's quarters. The marshal heard his story in silence, and then said.
"Wonder if he's double-crossin' yu?"
The same suspicion had already occurred to the Circle B rider--it was what he would have done himself--but he shook his head.
"My hunch is he was givin' me the goods," he said. "Someone has stole a march on him, an' likely enough it was Luce. I'm a-goin' to sleep on that young fella's trail."
The marshal nodded. "If yu find out anythin', Riley, come to me," he urged. "King Burdette couldn't act straight if he wanted to, which he never does. Yu an' me can put this through together. Sabe?"
Riley agreed, not that he had any illusions regarding the honesty of the marshal, but he believed that, of two rogues, he was choosing the lesser. Also, he wanted the officer's protection against Green, who might, at any moment, become actively hostile. Riley had courage, but it was the kind that requires the odds to be slightly in its favour, and he knew his limitations. For instance, he would never have dreamed of drawing a gun upon Whitey, and therefore the prospect of a "run in" with the slayer of the Circle B gunman aroused no enthusiasm in his breast.
Chapter XIX
To Nan Purdie, loping along the trail to the valley, the world would have looked very good indeed had it not been for the shadow of the recent tragedy and the trouble likely to come of it. The slanting rays of the sun were not yet too hot for comfort, and a light breeze, spicy with the odour of the pines, stirred the foliage and dappled her pathway with moving patches of shade. Birds twittered in the trees, squirrels chattered, and a tiny stream sang as it merrily danced down the hillside.
Conscious as she was of the beauty around her--for she loved the land she lived in, and its many phases were a never-ending source of delight--yet she was not thinking of it. Her mind was dwelling on a certain glade, and a man she sometimes met there. She had not visited the spot since the day Luce had delivered her from his brother. Somehow this morning the handsome, insolent, debonair face of the eldest Burdette would intrude. The warm glow which filled her heart when she thought of Luce changed to a cold fear when her mind reverted to the other. A shrill, treble voice from behind brought her back to realities.
"Hi, Miss Nan ! "
She pulled up her pony and turned; shambling along the trail in pursuit of her came a boy of twelve. Speed was a matter of difficulty, for the trodden-over boots into which the tops of his ragged pants were thrust had been originally the property of a grown man. Nan recognized the broad, freckled face, with its tousled head of tow-coloured hair, as belonging to a lad who did odd jobs at the hotel.
"Why, Timmie, what has brought you into this neck o' the woods?" she smiled.
"I was headin' for the ranch," the boy explained, "An' was havin' a rest--guess I dozed some"--rather sheepishly. "See yu go by an' took out after yu. These blame' boots warn't made for runnin'--none whatever."
"But you haven't walked, have you?"
"No'm, got the of mare back in the brush--Turkey said for me to borry her." "Turkey" was the name by which McTurk, the proprietor of Windy's one hotel, was universally known. "She ain't much, but she was a good cow-hoss once, an' we all gotta git old, I reckon," the boy added philosophically.
Nan divined the working of the youthful mind. "Quite right of you to give her a rest," she told him. "But why were you going to the ranch?"
Timmie's face opened in an expansive grin. "Well, darn my whiskers if I warn't near forgettin'; I've brung this for yu." He dived into his one sound pocket and produced a somewhat crumpled and soiled envelope. "Turkey tol' me to give it when yu was alone; I reckon I'm some lucky meetin' up with yu."
The girl took the missive, saw that it bore her name and was marked "Private." A suspicion as to the identity of the sender fetched a warm flush to her cheeks, the effect of which the boy noted.
"She's as purty as a spotted pup," was his unspoken criticism.
Somewhat to his disappointment, she tucked the letter unopened into the pocket of her shirt-waist.
"Mebbe there's an answer," he suggested.
"Then I'll send one of the boys in with it," Nan smiled. "Now, Timmie, you must thank Mister McTurk for the trouble he has taken, and..."
The boy looked at the coin she slid into his hand.
"Shucks, Miss Nan, I don't want no pay doin' things for yu," he protested manfully, for the sum was more than he earned in a week.
"That isn't pay, Timmie," the girl explained. "It's just a little present--something to buy cartridges with, so that you can kill that thieving old coyote I've heard about."
For Timmie's mother was trying to raise chickens, a difficult proposition in a land where those lean grey prowlers of the night were prevalent. The boy brightened up--this altered the case; the money was bestowed where the letter had been.
"Yessir--miss, I mean; an' I bet I'll git that of pirut nex' time," he said, and pulling a lock of hair--he had no hat--he went whistling cheerfully in search of the mare.
Nan rode on and presently pulled out the mysterious missive, studying it. She did not know the writing, but then, the man she had instantly thought of had never written to her. Tremulously she tore upon the envelope; the note inside appeared to be no more than a hurried scrawl, in pencil.
"DEAR NAN,
I am leaving the country--can't stand it any longer. Will you be at the old place to-morrow morning? Please come; I got to see you before I go.
LuCE."
For a moment the girl thought her heart had ceased to function. He was going away--she would never see him again. In that instant she comprehended what this enemy of the Purdie family had come to mean to her. Though he had never spoken of it, she knew that Luce cared, and now, she too.... Hopeless as it all was, Nan felt that she must see him. Impulsively she swung off the trail, turning her pony's head in the direction of the glade.
It did not take her long to reach the place; one glance told her no one was there, and her feeling of disappointment frightened her; life without Luce was going to be harder than she had feared. Trying to account for his absence, she remembered that no time had been specified. Also, the writer could not have foreseen that his messenger would meet her on the way, thus enabling her to reach the glade earlier than he might expect. She decided to wait; that such an act might be unmaidenly did not occur to her frank, open nature.
Seated upon the fallen tree, she took out the note again; it was the nearest approach to a love-letter she had ever received, and a sad little smile trembled upon her lips as she read and re-read it. So absorbed was she that a faint rustling of the bushes behind failed to attract her attention --until too late. She turned only to encounter a blackness which blotted out the sunshine, and the suffocating folds of a blanket which was being drawn around her head. At the same moment her wrists were gripped, forced together, and tied. Then, despite her resistance, she was dragged along the ground, lifted to the back of a horse, which, following a gruff command, began to move.
With a sinking heart she divined that she had fallen into a trap, baited by a letter which was not from Luce. Who were the abductors? A sudden chill came over her as she remembered that only one man knew of their meetings in the glade. King Burdette! She recalled his threats and his hatred for her father; it could be no other. One grain of comfort presented itself--her lover was not leaving the country.