"Yu know California, ze miner, he vanish, senor?" he began.
The marshal glared at him. "Yeah, an' George Washington's dead they tell me," he said with savage sarcasm. "Yu bin asleep the last two-three weeks?"
Ramon was unperturbed. "Yu know where he go?" he went on.
"King Burdette collared him an' somebody snaked him away," Slype retorted; and with a sneer, "P'raps yu can tell me where he is?"
Ramon shook his head; he was a little surprised to find that some of his news was not news, but he replied confidently enough, "I don't know--yet, but I shall. Yu know King Burdette have keednap Miss Purdie, huh?"
This time he scored a bull; the marshal sat up with a jolt, staring unbelievingly. His informant nodded.
"It ees true; she is at ze Circle B now," he said.
"Hell's bells! " the marshal exploded. "What does King expect to git by that?"
"He get ze girl, ze C P ranch, an' mebbe ze gol'-mine California deescover," Ramon pointed out.
"There's Purdie an' his outfit to be reckoned with first," Slype argued.
"King holds ze girl," the other said softly, with an expression which gave the words an ugly significance.
The marshal sat silent, brooding over the astounding information. He recognized that by this daring move Burdette had made himself master of the situation; with Nan in his power he could dictate what terms he chose, and his crew of cut-throats was strong enough to protect him. The owner of the two big ranches would practically rule the town, and he, Slype, would remain the nonentity he had always been. The sudden crumbling of his own cherished scheme brought a bitter curse to his lips. The Mexican watched him narrowly, a little smile of satisfaction on his sinister features; this was a man he could mould, evil, but lacking the usual dominant quality of the "Gringo."
"King Burdette play ze beeg game, but Meester Slype play a beeger one, huh?" he asked slyly.
"What the hell yu drivin' at?" the marshal snapped.
"I tell one leetle story," Ramon replied. "Once I see two mountain lion fight over ze carcase of a deer. It was one great battle, senor, an' when it was feenish both ze lion was dead. Si, zey keel each other, yu sabe. An' zen a coyote sleenk outa ze brush, where he been watchin', an' he get ze meat."
The little parable produced an almost audible chuckle from the unsuspected listeners on the rock-rim above.
"Take a peep at what Slippery calls his face," whispered Yago. "I'm damned if he don't look like a coyote, an' a poor specimen at that."
In fact, the officer's snarling lips and savage little eyes were sufficiently animal-like to justify the companion.
"Yu tryin' to be funny?" he growled. "Talk straight, yu yeller dawg."
The Mexican raised his shoulders. "I t'ink I make it ver' plain," he said quietly, though his eyes had gleamed wickedly at the epithet. "Ze Circle B an' ze C P are ze lion an'"
"I'm the coyote, huh?" rasped the marshal. "Yu dirty"
Ramon lifted a hand, palm outward. "Merely a--how yu say--feeger of speech, senor," he explained. "Now, in my leetle story, ze coyote did not keel Ol' Man Burdette."
He saw the start of surprise, the flash of fear in his listener's eyes, and exulted inwardly; the chance shot had gone home. He coolly continued, "An' make out it was ze work of ze C P. Yu know why King shoot Kit Purdie an' try to peen ze deed on his brother Luce, senor?"
With an effort the marshal got control of himself. "I dunno nothin' ahout it," he said sullenly.
"Luce in hees way," Ramon resumed. "I t'ink King deescover Nan Purdie look kindly at hees brother an' he want her heemself. Almos' yu help heem when yu nearly hang Luce for bushwhackin' Green; Mart do that. Shall I tell yu who keel heem too?"
The marshal shivered; this fleering devil with the soft purring voice had him in his power; he, a white man, was at the mercy of a "Greaser"--his own paid hand. Mingled with his fear was a cold rage which was growing steadily stronger.
"Yu seem to know a hell of a lot," was all he could find to say.
"I make it my beesness to know--everyt'ing," Ramon replied. He leant forward and the taunt vanished from his tone. "I put my cards on ze table, senor; ze game is too beeg for one man, but wit' me, yu can win."
Slype's crafty eyes narrowed. "An' yore price?" he asked, and folded his arms.
"We split ze profit two ways--feefty-feefty," the Mexican said. "My share to include--Nan Purdie."
For a long moment the marshal sat silent, and then suddenly his arms fell apart, a gun in the right hand spat viciously--once; Ramon fell back with a bullet through his chest. Shaking with passion, the assassin scrambled to his feet and bent over his victim, who, twisting in agony on the sand, was making feeble efforts to reach his own weapon. Then he fired again, and the Mexican's body shuddered and was still.
"Know every'ting, huh?" the marshal mimicked. "One 'ting yu didn't savvy anyways, an' that was when to keep yore mouth shut."
With trembling fingers he untied his horse, flung himself into the saddle, and with never a backward glance, galloped up the gorge. The shots might have been heard, and though the slaying of a Mexican was no great matter, he had no wish to be seen in the vicinity. The deed itself caused him little uneasiness; his explanation that the fellow had threatened him would be accepted. Upon the two spectators of the drama, the killing had come like a clap of thunder. As the marshal fled, Yago's hand went to his pistol, but his foreman stopped him.
"Let the reptile go--we can get him any time," he said. "Mebbe the Greaser ain't cashed."
A hundred yards further along they found a spot where the bank was less vertical, and the horses made the descent safely, mostly on their rumps.
"We'd oughta fetched skids, my bronc has damn near rubbed his tail off," Bill complained.
When they reached the Mexican they found that Sud-den's surmise was correct--he was not yet dead, though it was obviously only a matter of moments. He opened his eyes when Yago raised his head and gasped, "Water!"
"This'll do him more good," Bill, said, and passed over a small flask of whisky. "Carry it in case o' snake-bite," he explained with a wink, when his foreman's eyebrows went up.
The raw spirit put a little strength into the wounded man, and with it came a desire for vengeance; a spark of hatred shone in the glazing eyes.
"The marshal--do--this," he muttered. "Write--write --I put name."
Sudden searched, found pencil and a fragment of paper, and took down the dying man's statement, which they had already heard. Gasping for breath, every word a conscious effort, Ramon told his story, and gripping the pencil in nerveless fingers, scrawled his signature. Then a dreadful smile contorted his features and his head fell forward. They caught a last whisper.
"Gracias, senores. Adios."
Yago laid the dead man gently on the ground, stood up, and said slowly, "Well, amigo, yu was a Greaser, but yu shore died fightin', an' I'd sooner call yu `brother' than the vermin what put yore light out."
"Fightin' an' bitin'," the foreman agreed. "I reckon he's earned a quiet grave."
With hands and knives they scooped out a shallow trench, wrapped the corpse in a blanket, and heaped rocks above to prevent a prowling coyote from disturbing the murdered man's last rest.
"Saves us a journey," Sudden said. "No need to go snoopin' round Slype's place now."
"What we goin' to do 'bout that jasper?" Bill inquired, as they rode south along the ravine.
"Nothin'--yet," his friend decided. "We'll let him play his hand a bit longer. If he's double-crossin' Burdette, he's on our side, that far."
"Sufferin' snakes, if King knowed that Slippery bumped off his Ol' Man there'd be proceedin's."
"Shore would, but until the girl is back at the C P again, King has us where the hair's short."