"It ain't conclusive," Slype insisted. "If yu want me to deal with this"
The other whirled fiercely upon him. "I ain't askin' yu to, Slype; keep out of it. The C P can fight its own battles an' pay its own scores. By God! it'll settle this one in full."
"That ain't no way to talk, Chris," the marshal remonstrated. "I'm here to administer the law"
"Yo're here to do what the Circle B murderers tell yu," was the angry retort. "Yu can save yore breath; I ain't a-goin' to back down before all the Burdettes that ever was pupped, an' that goes."
There was no passion in the challenge--it was the stark defiance of one whose life had been a battle; who had faced indomitably all the difficulties and disasters which the early pioneer in a savage untamed region must expect. Nature in her wildest moods, Indians, rustlers, starvation, thirst--Chris Purdie had fought and beaten them all. And now, in his mellowing years, when Fate had dealt him the bitterest blow of all, he was still unsubdued, still full of fight. There were many such men among the early pioneers; their names are forgotten, but their work survives; they made Western America.
Chapter IV
SUDDEN passed the night at the hotel, and in the morning attended the sorry farce of an inquiry into the death of young Purdie. The verdict that deceased met his end in a gun-fight with a person or persons unknown appeared to satisfy the marshal, though it aroused murmurs in some quarters. None of the Burdettes was present, a citizen informed the puncher, but when that young man suggested that this was perhaps good policy on their part, he was quickly corrected.
"Don't yu get no wrong ideas about them fellas," his informant observed. "Ain't none of 'em lackin' sand, an' if they done it an' took the notion, they'd be here brazenin' it out, yu betcha. Bad? Shore they're bad, but there ain't a smidgin o' fear in the whole bilin', no sir."
Then came the interment; the puncher followed the procession to the little cemetery less than half a mile to the north of the town. There, on a grassy slope shaded by cottonwoods and birches, in a silence broken only by the gay chirping of the birds and a few remembered fragments of the burial service pronounced by the doctor, the boy was laid to rest. When the two miners who officiated had filled in the grave, the spectators resumed their hats and melted away. Sudden was the last to leave, save for the sturdy figure with folded arms and bowed head gazing with unseeing eyes at the newly-made mound which held all his hopes. The puncher would have liked to utter a word of comfort, but he did not know what to say, and his cowboy's inherent dread of emotion in any form kept him tongue-tied. At length he too turned to retrace his steps to Windy. He had not gone far when Purdie caught him up.
"Stranger," the cattleman said in a deep voice, "I reckon I ain't thanked yu right for what yu did."
Sudden gripped the outstretched hand. "Why, there ain't any need," he returned. "I wish I could 've ..." He paused awkwardly, and the other man nodded his comprehension. "It's shore tough, but life is like that," he said, and despite his iron control there was a tremor in his tone. "Yu see, he was pretty near all I had--I lost his mother when he was no more'n a li'l trick; there's on'y Nan now."
He was silent for some moments, and then he straightened up, squaring his shoulders as though making a conscious effort to free them of a burden. "Yu aimin' to stay around here?" he asked bluntly.
"I ain't decided," the other replied. "I'm kind o' footloose about now. Got tired o' Texas an' New Mexico, an' figured I'd have a look at Arizona; heard there was gold here too."
The elder man shot a quick look at him. "There is if a fella knowed where to search," he said.
They were entering the town when a young man came striding rapidly towards them; it was Luce Burdette. Sudden's eyes went to his companion, but the ranch-owner's features had the fixity of stone itself. Burdette did not hesitate; he stopped square in front of them.
"I've just struck town, Purdie, an' heard of yore loss," he said. "I want yu to know that I'm terrible sorry."
The cattleman looked at him, his eyes like chilled steel, his lips clamped tightly. "Murder is one o' the things that bein' sorry for don't excuse," lie said harshly.
Burdette's eyes opened in bewilderment and then, as understanding came to him, his cheeks flushed redly under the tan.
"Yu tryin' to tell me I killed yore son?" he cried.
"Nothin' less," was the stern reply. "He was found in Echo Valley with a .38 slug through his back, fired by a fella who rode a grey; there's yore hoss an' gun, an' you was seen headin' that way a bit before. If yu wasn't a Bur-dette, or if we had a marshal worth a busted nickel, yu'd be stretchin' hemp right now."
"It's a damnable lie," the young man said hotly. "I never had any grudge against Kit--in fact ..." He hesitated and then burst out, "It's absurd. Why, if things had been different, him an' me might 'a' been good friends. I give yu my word, Purdie, I had nothin' to do with his death."
Sudden, watching him closely, believed he was speaking the truth, but the cattleman's face expressed nothing hut incredulity.
"O' course yu'd say so," he sneered. "I wouldn't take the word of a Burdette at the Throne of Heaven." His eyes, mad with misery, glared at this lad who had all his own son had lost--youth, vigour, the vista of life--and a savage spate of anger swept away his control. "Pull yore gun, yu cur, an' we'll settle it here an' now," he cried.
The boy's face flushed at the insult, but he made no move towards his weapon. His gaze did not waver as he replied :
"If yu want to kill me, Purdie, go ahead; there's a reason why I can't draw on yu."
The elder man's lips twisted into a furious snarl. "Yu bet there's a reason--yo're yellow, like the rest o' yore scaly, shoot-from-cover family," he rasped. "Well, yu get away with it for now, but paste this in yore hat : I'm goin' to find the fella who murdered my boy, an' when I do--he dies."
"I'll help yu," Luce replied, and walked slowly away. Purdie looked at the puncher. "What d'yu make o' that?"
"I don't think he did it."
"Yu don't know the breed--lyin's as natural as breathin' with them," the rancher replied.
"I'm backin' my judgment, seh," the puncher persisted.
"Weil, mebbe, but I'm bettin' it was a Burdette any-ways," the old man said. "What I was goin' to ask yu when that houn' showed up was to see me before yu make any plans. Will yu do that?"
"Pleased to," Sudden said.
It was agreed that he should ride over to the C P on the following morning, and the cattleman departed. Sudden went in search of a meal, his mind full of the encounter he had just witnessed. He liked Purdie, recognized him for a white man, and admired the sturdy pluck with which he was facing a crushing misfortune. Regarding Burdette his mind was in a curious condition. As at their first meeting, he felt attracted to the boy, and found it difficult to conceive him guilty of a cowardly murder. Certainly it was not lack of courage that made him refuse the older man's challenge, at the risk of being shot down where he stood. If all the Burdettes were like this one .. .
Meanwhile, the subject of his speculations had gone straight to the marshal's office. Slype, lounging in a tilted-back chair, his heels on his desk, chuckled inwardly when he saw the visitor's pale, furious face.
"'Lo, Luce, what's bitin' yu?" he inquired.
"I've just seen Purdie, an' he's accusin' me o' shootin' Kit," the boy blurted out.
The marshal grinned. "Well, didn't yu?" he asked.
"Yu know damn well I didn't," Luce retorted hotly. "An' yu gotta get busy an' find out who did; I ain't goin' to have a thing like that pinned on me." *
"Orders, huh?" the officer sneered. "Well, I ain't takin' 'em. Ol' Man Purdie has served notice that him an' his outfit is goin' to handle the job, an' that lets me out. Sabe?"