Sudden headed for the scene of the conflict. Around him birds were chirping, the slanting rays of the early suntrickled through the trees, a tiny rivulet bubbled with mirth as he stepped across it, and his lips set in a wry smile as he reflected that only a few hundred yards away men were striving to slay their kind. Far up in the sky a great hawk swept in a wide circle.
"Another killer," he mused. "But he's gotta live. Well, so've we, an' if Burdette's sort ... Shucks! Mebbe it's hard to justify, but it's gotta be did."
Which sage conclusion brought him to a little rise from whence he could see the ranch-house verandah. Even as he looked, a stick with a soiled white rag tied to it was thrust from a shattered window, and a voice called out.
"Hey, Purdie, I got somethin' to say. Yu willin' to listen?"
"Speak yore piece," came the rancher's reply.
Sim Burdette stepped into view. He carried no gun, and there was much of his elder brother's jaunty impudence in his attitude as he rested his hands on the verandah rail and coolly faced the foes he could not see. There was a smear of blood on his dark, sneering face, and his voice, when he spoke, had the harsh, dominant note characteristic of the Black Burdettes.
"We've got yore foreman, Green, hawg-tied upstairs," he began. "If yu wanta see him again--alive--yu better call this fight off right now. That's--"
Somewhere in the scrub a rifle barked, and the slim figure on the verandah staggered as from a blow and fell forward across the rail, sagging limply, head down, arms swinging. A howl of rage came from the ranch-house, and above it the voice of Chris Purdie rang out:
"Who fired? By God, I'll hang the skunk who did that with my own hands!"
With the spring of a panther, King Burdette leapt through the window, lifted the body of his brother, and shook a furious fist.
"Purdie, yu've signed Green's death-warrant," he shouted. "Do yore damnedest, yu dirty coward."
Savagely he struck down the white flag and slowly bore his burden back into the building.
"King, I had nothin' to do with it," the cattleman called out. "I'd 'a' give my right hand sooner than it should 'a' happened." A jeering laugh was the only answer he received. Turning helplessly to Yago, he said, "What in hell am I to do?"
The appalling tragedy had produced a paralysing effect on all save two of the spectators. One of these was the assassin, and the other, Sudden himself. The fatal shot had been fired but a bare dozen yards from where he was standing. He had seen the sun glinting on the gun-barrel without a suspicion of what was to follow. The foul deed stirred him to instant action, and he hurried towards the spot. A natural hedge of prickly pear, with its shining armour of spines, forced him to circle round, and he arrived only in time to see the killer, a wisp of smoke still curling from the muzzle of his weapon, vanish in the thick brush. Sudden stared.
"The marshal," he ejaculated. "What the devil...?"
He did not pursue the man; it was of more immediate importance to let Purdie know he was at liberty. He hurried along the slope and appeared on the scene just as the rancher asked his despairing question.
"Burdette is four-flushin', Purdie," he said quietly. "The card he thinks he has up his sleeve is here. Yu can call his bluff."
The effect of his arrival was ludicrous. Yago slapped his back, swore in sheer delight, and turned triumphantly to his employer.
"Didn't I tell yu he'd make it?" he crowed. "Got as many lives as a cat, this fella."
Purdie wiped beads of cold sweat from his brow. All he could say was, "Jim, I'm damned glad to see yu," but his hand-clasp spoke volumes. "An' Nan?"
"Safe somewheres with Luce," the foreman told him.
The rancher's face clouded for a moment, and then, as he realized what the news meant, he said grimly, "Then we can finish the job. Bill, tell the boys to give 'em hell."
"So yu fetched the marshal along after all," Sudden remarked.
"I certainly did not--gave particular orders to prevent his knowin'."
"Somebody's got a loose tongue; it was Slype who shot Sim Burdette."
"Slype?" ejaculated the rancher. "But he's a Burdette man hisself. If he'd downed me now ..."
"There's depths to that fella yu ain't plumbed yet," Sudden told him. "When we've cleaned up here there's another mess waitin' in Windy."
Purdie was hardly listening; his mind was puzzling over what he had just heard. "Can't see why he should kill Sim," he muttered.
"He wanted the ruckus to go on, an' he figured it would mean my finish--which it shorely would if I'd waited," the foreman pointed out. "He don't like me a lot."
"The cowardly coyote," Purdie growled. "I said I'd hang the cur, an' I will, star an' all."
Meanwhile, in the Circle B ranch-house, King was also getting a surprise. Having laid his brother's body on a form, he strode from the room, his handsome face distorted to that of a devil. His men watched him in stern silence. Only when he had vanished did one of them speak:
"Good-bye, Mister Green," he said, and added an ugly laugh.
As King raced up the stairs the firing outside recommenced, a perfect hail of lead spattering the building. He shouted a scornful gibe:
"Shoot, yu fools; yu won't save him thataway."
On the threshold of the room into which Sudden had been thrown he paused in bewilderment. Then he saw the thongs lying on the floor and snatched them up. One look told him they had been cut, and he guessed the truth.
"That black bitch has turned him loose," he stormed. "I'll..."
Mad with rage and disappointment, he sprang down the stairs in search of the Negress, only to find that she too had gone. For a few moments he went berserk, kicking the kitchen furniture to kindling wood and smashing everything within reach; had he laid hands on Mandy then he would have killed her. His violence served its purpose; the fit passed, and he began to remember that if he was beaten now, to-morrow was another day. He had control of himself again when he re-entered the big room. Looking round, he saw that eight men only were left on their legs, and of these, two had slight wounds. With hard, reckless, smoke-grimed faces they waited for their leader's orders. They knew they were fighting a losing battle. To approach the windows meant death or disablement, for the lynx-eyed marksmen in the brush allowed no movement to escape their attention.
"Green's gone, boys, an' the jig's up," King said curtly. "No sense in stayin' here to be wiped out. We can beat it up the Butte--there's hosses in the corral at the top an' some cattle we can take along. They needn't know we've vamoosed till we're well on our way, an' I guess they won't follow. Anyhody got other ideas?"
"Reckon yo're right, King," one of them said. "We lose this time, but we can allus come back."
"Yo're shoutin', Dandy," Burdette said darkly. "I aim to come back; don't doubt it."
Their preparations did not take long, and soon, one by one, they crossed the cleared space at the rear of the ranch-house and disappeared in the undergrowth. King was the last to leave, his set face showing no sign of the raging fire which burned within him.
The shots from the slope became less frequent and presently ceased altogether when the attackers realized that no response was coming from the battered building. Silence ensued for a time, and then Strip Levens, who had been creeping nearer and nearer, suddenly made a dash for the verandah. One look confirmed what he had suspected.
"Come ahead, fellas," he yelled. "They've skedaddled."
The place presented a picture of death and destruction. Glass had disappeared from the windows and the frames hung in fragments. The walls of the living-room were scored and pitted by bullets, and on the floor were the huddled, twisted forms of the fallen. Yago counted them.
"Five, includin' Sim, an' the two outside who dropped at the first rattle," he said. "Must be some more upstairs."