"Someone a'comin' an' ain't losin' time neither," Dutch called out.
Jake glanced down the trail; one man only, but he was taking no chances. "Haul on that rope," he ordered.
The burly fellow holding it was bracing himself to obey when a hard round object was jammed into the small of his back and a harsh voice whispered, "If you do, you'll die before he does." A half turn of the head told him that the owner of the Red Light was standing behind him, and being well aware that Nippert was no bluffer, he froze. Before Jake could investigate, the newcomer arrived, leapt from the saddle, and shouldered his way unceremoniously through the onlookers.
"Jim ! " he cried.
Sudden stared at him in utter bewilderment, unable to believe his eyes. The face of one other betrayed a like incredulity, that of Javert, who gazed open-mouthed at this man who had apparently risen from the grave to defeat him.
"Dave," the marshal breathed. "It can't be--yo're dead."
"Not very," the other returned lightly.
"But--I killed yu."
"Skittles! It was a pore shot--on'y creased me." Hepushed his hat back, showing a scarcely-healed wound along the side of his head. "I didn't bat an eyelid for most twenty-four hours--concussion, the doc said. Soon as I was able to climb a hoss, I set out in search o' yu, an' I seem to 'a' got here at the right moment." He stepped to the condemned man and lifted the loop from his neck.
"Who the devil are you to come buttin' into our business?" Mullins rasped.
The young man grinned at him. "I'm Dave Masters, the corpse in this case, an' if anybody wants to argue, he'll find me the livest corpse he ever tackled." The challenge passed unheeded, but Nippert joined the two men beneath the tree. "Here's yore belt, marshal," he said. "Mebbe you'll feel more comfortable wearin' it." The act aroused Sark's malignity. "Hold on there," he growled. "We've on'y got this fella's word that he's Masters." The cowboy's face grew bleak. "I'll remember that, Mister Whatever-yore-name-is," he retorted, and looked around. "Ask the skunk who came to yu with a lyin' tale to hang the man he had failed to murder; there he stands--Javert; he's the one yu oughta swing." A threatening murmur warned the Pinetown citizen that he might be in danger--mobs were mercurial, easily swayed. In his anxiety to save his neck, he fell into the trap.
"It warn't no lie," he blurted out. "I left with the posse an' we all figured you was cashed. I ain't bin in Pinetown since, so how would I know?" Dave's grin was back again. "Well, gents, Mister Javert havin' admitted I'm me--which a'most makes me doubt it myself--I guess that settles the cat-hop," he remarked.
"Not any," Sark snapped. "That fella"--pointing to the marshal--"is a notorious outlaw, an' I'm going to turn him over to the sheriff at Drywash."
"You gotta git him first," Nippert said. "Loose yore dawgs as soon as you like, Sark." The defiance brought a deeper frown to the rancher's face.
Many of the Welcome men were stepping aside and would take no part in an affray, but he would have two for one. Nevertheless, lives would be lost, and there was that cursed gunman. Sark had an uneasy feeling that the marshal's first bullet would render the result of the fight a matter of indifference to him. Then Providence intervened. A growing thunder of hammering hooves, and along the trail a compact body of riders raced into view. Nippert drew a deep breath of relief; the Bar O had come. A few more seconds and they were at the scene.
"What's goin' on here?" Owen asked, and when he had heard the story, turned to Sark. "Sore at havin' failed to hang a man for somethin' he didn't do, huh?" he said contemptuously.
"He's an outlaw--wanted in Texas "
"He's wanted a damn' sight more in Welcome, judging by this precious gathering; the on'y thing I'm surprised at is that they had the pluck to try it in daylight," came the scathing answer. "I s'pose you made 'em good an' drunk first. Got any proof of what you say?"
"That fella knows him." The Bar O owner regarded Javert with distinct disapproval. "I wouldn't destroy a dawg on his evidence," he said bluntly. "What's it gotta do with you, Sark, anyways?"
"I was invited by the citizens o' Welcome to come in----"
"Meanin' Mullins an' the lousy loafers from Dirty Dick's?" Owen interrupted. "Well, you are now invited to get out, pronto." The Dumb-bell man writhed under the lash of that bitter tongue. "yo're takin' a high hand," he said. "I ain't here alone."
"I'd noticed it, an' if you want trouble . . ." Sark was not eager--the odds were no longer in his favour; the majority of the townsfolk would side with the Bar O, whose custom was of moment to many of them. Also, the riders from that ranch were known to be willing fighters, ready to storm the gates of Hell itself at the bidding of theirboss. And the marshal ... Sark reckoned up the chances and made his decision.
"That'll come later," he promised. "For now, I'm pullin' out." He swung his horse towards the hills where his own ranch lay, and his men followed him in silence.
John Owen turned to Masters. "I'm obliged to you, young man," he said. "We were delayed, an' if you hadn't got here when you did . . ."
"I'd be hearin' harps right now," Sudden finished. "Yo're flatterin' yoreself, ol'-timer," Dave laughed. "When did you get religion?"
"Jim's a methodis', an' he has Welcome mighty near convened," Nippen said solemnly.
"There goes some who ain't converted yet," Gowdy remarked ironically, indicating another group heading for town. "Don't you make the mistake o' thinkin' you've finished with them, marshal."
"I won't," Sudden smiled. "But I feel like forgivin' even Jake and Javert to-day." It was true; relief from the intolerable and ever-present burden of grief was so great that he could harbour no rancour against any. But someone was missing--Sloppy.
"Had to leave him in town--said his feet was wore off to the knees," Owen explained. "My idea is that he reckoned we'd be too late an' he couldn't face it."
"There's a good deal of a man hid somewhere in that fella," Sudden observed. "Welcome ain't troubled to look for it." A mount was found for the marshal and he rode with his friend, almost in silence. But each knew the other's mind, and was content; sentiment would have made both uncomfortable. At length, Dave said:
"Ain't nothin' wrong with yore eyes, Jim?" Sudden removed his spectacles and stowed them in a pocket. "No," he replied. "They was just a notion. My, this trail looks purtier'n it did a while back." The westering sun was casting long shadows as they loped into the town, and passing the Widow Gray's, Sudden had an idea which he communicated to his companion.
"First come, first served, is a right good motto," he concluded. "O' course, she's a widow, an' ain't as young as she was, but yu'll like her--cookin'." When Dave entered the little dining-room, its owner was wiping her eyes; he could not know that they were tears of thankfulness. She had seen the prisoner taken away, and heard the purpose; now she had witnessed his safe return. She became aware that the stranger was staring at her, nervously running the brim of his big hat through finger and thumb. The sight of this slim young woman had him guessing--wrongly.
"S'cuse me, miss, but Jim--the marshal--said for me to tell yore mother that four hungry men is aimin' to pay yu a visit an' mebbe she could sling a meal for us," he said awkwardly.
It was her turn to stare. "My mother?" she queried. "There must be some mistake; I am Mrs. Gray."
"Well, of all the scaly reptiles ! " Dave gasped. "No, miss --ma'am, I mean, that ain't for yu, but that marshal fella He fooled me--said yu warn't as young as yu was once." She laughed happily. "But that's true of us all, isn't it? Now, with four men to feed, I must get busy."