"I reckon Sam'll want to see the last of his boss," Weldon said grimly, little dreaming how near he was to the literal truth.
So it was decided. King Burdette made his last journey to Windy slung over the back of his pony, and Sudden, pacing behind the gruesome burden, remembered that he had brought young Purdie home in just the same fashion. And King had bushwhacked Purdie! His mind reverted to "The Plaza," and a gust of anger moved him.
"He died too easy," came the bitter reflection.
Chapter XXVI
THAT evening, behind the bolted door of his quarters, the marshal and his deputy had a lengthy conversation. The death of King Burdette was not all that Slype had hoped for.
"That cursed cow-punch is still blockin' the trail; we gotta git rid o' him," he said. "I guess it's up to yu, Riley."
"Yu can guess again," Riley replied unhesitatingly. "I pass. That fella's too damn lucky, an' likewise, too spry with his guns."
"Scared, huh?" his chief sneered.
"Shore I am," the other admitted, adding bluntly, "An' so are yu."
Slype scowled, but did not deny the imputation. "We'll have to find some way," he said, and sat thinking. Presently he looked up. "Reckon I got it. How about this?"
The deputy smiled crookedly when he had heard the scheme. "She's a great notion," he agreed. "Won't nobody be able to heave rocks at yu neither. Yu certainly have got a headpiece, Slippery."
"I figure it will work--for us," the marshal said. "If it does, the game's our'n. Cal's back an' we can make him come clean when we want."
"Yu ain't forgettin' Purdie?"
Slype snapped his fingers. "Without Green he'll be easy," he replied. "Git a-movin'."
"The Plaza" was closed. Because of that, and the exciting events of the day, "The Lucky Chance" and smaller drinking-places were crowded. From one to another of these the marshal and his deputy severally gravitated, mixing with group after group of the customers and joining in the conversation. Naturally there was only one topic--the day's doings--and the opinions of Slype and his assistant were singularly alike. Burdette was dead, and there was no harm in hanging a halo on him. The marshal did not state it in that way, but he voiced a doubt as to whether the Circle B boss was quite so blameworthy as appeared. He put forward a somewhat altered explanation of the kidnapping .Burdette believed he had a legitimate claim against the C P and was holding the girl to enforce it in order to avoid bloodshed--a laudable object.
"Bit high-handed o' King, I'm willin' to say," Slype admitted, in the tone of one anxious to be fair to both sides, "but that don't justify Purdie wipin' out the Circle B like he done."
The slaying of Lu Lavigne was an obvious accident for which, according to the marshal, Green was really responsible. He had announced that he would shoot Burdette on sight, and naturally the menaced man, finding his enemy in "The Plaza," had got the drop on him. When King, half demented at having killed the woman he worshipped Slype inwardly smirked when he used the word--rushed away, the puncher followed, and having the better horse, caught him.
"An' what happens?" the marshal asked, and proceeded to answer his own question: " 'Stead o' shootin' it out man to man as any fair-minded gent would, Green knocks him off his busted bronc an' lets that black brute o' his tromp King to death."
All of which, when backed up by liberal doses of free liquor, sounded plausible enough, especially to the turbulent faction of the community, to whom the spectacular lawlessness of the Black Burdettes had appealed. There was further talk of strangers who drifted in and tried to "run the town." By midnight, such is the mercurial quality of public opinion, the late owner of the Circle B was being almost regretted and the man who had beaten him correspondingly condemned.
The result of the marshal's activities was evidenced early next morning when a freckled-faced lad rode up to the C P and in a shrill treble yelled, "Hello, the house."
Sudden, on his way to his employer, stopped short and surveyed the young visitor and his aged mount with a good-natured grin.
"We ain't takin' on hands for the round-up yet, son," he remarked.
The boy squirmed in his saddle. "I warn't ..." And then, with a rush, "Slippery sent me up to git yu."
The foreman flung up his hands in mock alarm. "Don't shoot; I'll come quiet," he promised. "Middlin' young for a deppity, ain't yu, Timmie?"
"Aw, quit yore joshin'," the boy expostulated, and pulled the brim of his battered hat as Purdie stepped from the house. "They's holdin' a inquiry on King an' Mrs. Lavigne this mornin'; I ain't grievin' none 'bout him, but" --there was a little break in the childish voice--"she was mighty kind to me."
"That's all right, sonny, we'll be along," the rancher told him. "Fed yet?"
"Shore seems a while ago, seh," Timmie confessed.
"Cut along an' see the cook," Purdie smiled. "Two breakfasts never did hurt a boy yet." He turned to his foreman. "What's back o' this caper?"
Sudden's face was set. "I sort of expected it," he said. "Slippery is puttin' up his last bluff, an' I aim to call it."
"Get Bill an' half a dozen o' the boys," the cattleman said. "Where's Luce?"
"Gone ridin' with Miss Nan," Sudden replied, and waited for the explosion.
It did not come. Purdie just nodded, and said, "Reckon we can manage without him. I had that boy figured up all wrong, Jim; there's times he reminds me powerful o' Kit."
Whereat the foreman smiled covertly and was wisely dumb.
Windy had not attained the dignity of a court-house, and meetings of any public importance took place in a large room adjoining "The Lucky Chance" which had been originally created for a dance-hall. Here, lolling on forms or leaning against the walls, the C P contingent found most of the citizens. Seated behind a table borrowed from the bar was the marshal, with his deputy near at hand. His face darkened when he saw that Sudden had not come unsupported.
"Mornin', Purdie," he greeted. "Was there any need to fetch along a young army?"
The rancher looked around. "Where is it?" he asked. "My boys got as much right to be here as yu have. What's the fuss about?"
"No fuss a-tall," Slype returned. "Just a friendly meetin' to investigate the passin' o' two prominent citizens."
"One bein' a common thief an' hold-up," Purdie said caustically.
"That ain't no way to speak o' the dead," the marshal reproved. "Fact is, the evidence 'pears to show Burdette warn't as bad as his reputation."
"Huh! He musta had a hell of a reputation, then," the rancher retorted. "All right; get on with the whitewashin'."
"This meetin' would like to hear yore foreman's account o' what happened yestiddy," Slype began.
Sudden told the story, plainly and briefly. The marshal's cunning eyes glinted with satisfaction when it was finished.
"Yo're admittin' that the killin' o' the woman warn't intentional?"
"Shore--the shot was meant for me. She ran into it."
The marshal nodded sagely. "I knowed it," he said. "So did everyone else, yu damn fool," Purdie told him, and several of those present smiled audibly.
"Why should she protect yu, Green?" was the next question.
"She cared for King, an' I figure she didn't want to see him commit murder. His guns were out when he came into the saloon, so he had the drop on me from the start."
"Yu had threatened to shoot him on sight."
"That's not true."
The questioner shrugged his shoulders. "Yu claim King's hoss throwed him--one o' the best riders hereabouts," he went on, incredulity patent in his tone.
"He was twisted in his saddle to fire at me when his bronc went down."
"An' instead o' givin' him a chance, yu rode over him?"
"What chance was he givin' me in `The Plaza'?" the puncher retorted. "An' he buzzed four bullets at me when I overtook him, without waitin' to warn me too. Allasame, I tried to avoid the tramplin'; I wanted to shoot him."