His little eyes squinted at the youth in malignant enjoyment; he would not have dared to take that tone with any other of the Burdettes.
"Playin' safe, huh?" Luce said scornfully. "They shore don't call yu `Slippery' for nothin'," and stamped out of the office before any adequate reply occurred to its owner.
Getting his horse, he mounted and rode slowly out of town, taking the westerly trail which was the direct line to Old Stormy. Sitting listlessly in the saddle, head down, he had an air of dejection utterly foreign to his nature. In truth, Luce Burdette was in the depths of despair, for the events of the last two days had wrecked the secret cherished hopes of months. How would Nan Purdie regard him now --the reputed slayer of her brother? Despite the dormant enmity between the two families, he had dared to dream, and even after the mysterious taking-off of Old Burdette had nearly provoked an open rupture, had gone on doing so. But this latest killing, so obviously a reprisal, must be the end of everything--for him. And the dream had been so sweet! Unknown to all others, they had met at intervals--accidentally, as they both pretended--and though no word of love had been uttered, eyes spoke to eyes and told what the lips dared not say. And now, in the faint hope that he would see her, and be able to deny this damnable thing that was being said of him, he was going to a spot where he had already seen her several times, a sheltered little glade on the lower slopes of Old Stormy.
It was an ideal place for a lovers' tryst--a tiny circle of grass, mosaiced with flowers, almost entirely walled in by scrub-oak and other trees, with an undergrowth of catclaw, prickly pear, and smaller shrubs. Burdette's face fell when he found that the glade was empty, though he had expected to find it so. Dismounting, he trailed the reins and dropped on a prostrate tree-trunk which had served them as a seat on happier occasions. With bowed head he sat there, wondering. Would she come, and if she did, would she believe him? he asked himself over and over again. It did not seem possible; she would take her father's view, and he had to admit that Purdie was justified--the evidence was damning.
A whinny from his horse apprised him that someone was approaching, and he looked up to see the girl he was waiting for. At the sight of him she checked her pony for a moment and then came slowly on. Despite the very evident signs of grief, she made a picture to fill the eye of a man. She rode astride, with the long stirrup of the Arizona cowboy, and her mount--a mettlesome mustang--knew better than to try any tricks. A dark shirt-waist, and divided skirt which reached to the tops of her trim riding-boots, showed the curves of her slim figure, and her honey-coloured hair, cut short almost like a boy's, curled crisply beneath the black wide-brimmed hat. Burdette saw the shadows under the deep blue eyes which had always smiled at him, and choked down a curse. Hat in hand, he rose to his feet.
"I was hopin' to see yu," he said.
"I didn't expect " the girl began, and then, "I couldn't stay in the house; I had to come out--just to convince myself that the world isn't all ugly and wicked."
The poignant note of misery made him writhe. "Nan ! " he cried, and his heart was in his voice, "Yu don't believe I did it, do yu?"
The tear-laden eyes met his bravely. "If I thought that I wouldn't even look at you," their owner said.
The boy's face lighted for a moment. "Then I don't care who does think it," he said impulsively.
"It makes no difference," she told him. "you are a Bur-dette, I am a Purdie; no good can come of our--meeting."
"But if yu don't believe the Burdettes did this thing," he protested.
"I didn't say that, Luce," she reminded him, and though she spoke softly there was an underlying bitterness which told him only too plainly what she did believe. Hopelessness again claimed him.
"I'll find the skunk," he gritted. "If my people had any-thin' to do with it, I'll disown the lot of 'em."
He meant it--the savage intensity of his voice showed that--but the girl shook her head.
"It is no use, Luce," she said sadly. "That would only mean more trouble. We belong in different camps, and this must be the end of our--friendship. We both have to be loyal to our own kin."
The finality with which she spoke silenced him. Miserably he watched as she wheeled her pony and rode away, the proud little head bent, and--though he did not know this--the blue eyes well-nigh blind with unshed tears. When the trees had hidden her, a bitter laugh broke from his lips.
"Loyal to our own kin," he repeated harshly. "If the Burdettes shoot men in the back they're no kin o' mine, an' that's somethin' they've gotta learn mighty soon."
With a grim look on his young face he stepped into his saddle and loped off in the direction of the Circle B ranch.
No sooner was he out of sight than a man rose from behind a clump of undergrowth on the outskirts of the glade. He was tall, nearing the middle thirties in age, with broad shoulders and a powerful frame. His black hair, eyes, and moustache, added to perfectly-formed features, produced a face at which most women would look more than once. Even his own sex had to admit that Kingley Burdette was "a handsome devil," and this Mephistophelian attractiveness was accompanied by a haughty, insolent bearing which made his first name singularly appropriate. Just now his thin lips were set in a saturnine sneer.
"So that's the way of it, huh?" he almost hissed. "Readyto round on his own folk for the sake of a skirt, but mebbe he won't get the chance." His dark eyes narrowed. "Damn him! He's got ahead o' me. Who'd 'a' thought 'o him shinin' up to that Purdie gal?--not that she ain't worth it." He pondered for a moment, and then an ugly smile lit his lowering face. "I reckon that'll fix yu, my friend, fix yu good an' plenty," he muttered.
He too mounted and trotted leisurely away, his mind full of a young, slim girl with curly, honey-coloured hair and wide blue eyes, who now would one day own the C P ranch.
Sudden spent the evening in "The Lucky Chance." It was a fair-sized place, with a sanded, boarded floor on which tables and chairs were dotted about, and a long bar which faced the swing-doors. Light was afforded by three big kerosene lamps slung from the roof, and a few gaudy chromos formed the only decoration save for a large tarnished mirror immediately facing the entrance. Behind the har stood the proprietor, Mick Magee, whose squat, turned-up nose and twinkling blue eyes proclaimed his nationality before he opened his mouth. A genial man until roused, and then he was a tornado. Tough as the frequenters of "The Lucky Chance" were, few of them had any desire to tangle with the sturdy Irishman when he "went on the prod."
Just now he was all smiles, for business was brisk; most of the tables were occupied and the faro, monte, and other games were being well supported. The crowd presented the usual medley to be found in any cow town at that time, save that there were more miners, oldish men for the most part, with craggy, weather-scarred features, bent backs, and fingers calloused by constant contact with pick and shovel. Lured on by the will-o'-the-wisp of a "big strike," they spent their days grubbing in the earth for gold and their nights in dissipating what little they found. There were those among them who remembered the hectic days of '49, others who had sneaked into the Black Hills, dodging the troops sent by the Government to keep them out, and risking a horrible death by torture at the hands of the Indians; days of feverish toil, with a rifle always within reach, and the knowledge that at any moment they might hear the dread war-whoop. They had found fortunes in a day and lost them in a night--and still hoped.
There was a constant hum of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter, and an occasional oath as the goddess of chance favoured or flouted a gambler.
Lounging carelessly at one end of the bar, Sudden's eyes were busy, not that the scene was any novelty, but he had come to live amongst these people for a time, and he wanted to know something of them. Presently the proprietor noticed the solitary stranger and spoke to him.