"Get a-goin'," Green cut in. "Yu can sing yore little song on the way."
A low whistle brought Nigger stepping sedately towards them. The marshal climbed into the saddle and with his drawn pistol motioned the prisoner to proceed. They found the horse, and Leeson mounted.
"Seth'll have a word to say 'bout this," he growled, and for the rest of the journey maintained a sullen silence. On reaching town, the marshal handed the captive over to his assistant and went in search of Raven. He found him in his private room at the saloon.
"Leeson tried to bushwhack me this afternoon," he said bluntly. "I fetched him in--alive."
For one fleeting second the man's face betrayed an emotion, but whether it was surprise, anger, or disappointment, the marshal could not determine; then it was gone, and the cold, passionless mask was back again.
"Leeson shot at yu? Whatever for?" he asked.
"Pure affection, don't you reckon?" Green returned flippantly, and then, "He claims he took me for Sudden."
"Well, that's likely enough too," Raven returned. "Yu better get rid o' that black hoss. As for Leeson, I'd turn him loose, in yore place."
"If yu want I should--" the marshal began.
"I don't give a damn; the fella's just one o' my hands--not too good a one at that," Raven retorted, adding carelessly, "His tale will clear him with most."
Green nodded and came away. At the office he found Pete and the prisoner chatting amiably. When handed his weapons and informed that he was at liberty to depart, a sneering grin further disfigured Leeson's features.
"Got yore orders from Seth, huh?" he said.
"Don't push yore luck too hard, fella," the marshal replied caustically.
When he had gone Barsay burst into a roar of merriment, and it was some moments before he could explain.
"He's bin tellin' me how yu turned the tables on him," he said. "An' he was as solemn as an undertaker at his own funeral; reckons yu got no right to monkey with citizens thataway, an' I had to listen without a smile; I near died."
"It was shorely funny," the marshal grinned. "Just the same, he damn near got me."
"You oughta abolished him right away," Pete said disgustedly. "Where's the sense in totin' him in?"
"Wanted to see what line Raven would take," Green replied. "But he warn't makin' presents to-day. As hard to catch as a greased snake, that fella. The 88 is rustlin' Double S cows. What yu make o' that?"
"I ain't surprised a-tall," Pete told him. "That gang at the 88 ain't got enough honesty to protect a plugged peso, I've a hunch Mister Raven is swingin' a wide loop."
In which conjecture Pete was undoubtedly correct, but as to how wide the said loop was neither of them had, as yet, the smallest conception.
CHAPTER XIV
Seth Raven was paying a visit, and though attired as usual, a careful observer might have noted that his sallow face was newly shaven, his shirt and collar clean, and his black coat and boots brushed. Slumped in his saddle, with a loose rein, he jogged steadily along the eastern trail on his way to the Double S. From every tree and shrub came the chatter and piping of the birds.
For the saloon-keeper the beauties of Nature had no appeal; his mind was wholly absorbed by material considerations. The move he was about to make was one he had long deliberated, being, in fact, the coping-stone of all his plannings. He would have to walk warily--to-day's expedition was merely the first step--but Raven had the patience of the red woman who had borne him; he could plant seed and wait, uncomplainingly, for it to mature and flower. Over-eagerness was the fault of a fool, and therefore, as he reflected sardonically, the weakness of the majority of mankind. Money, and the power that money provides, would put him in the position to treat white men as they had so often treated him--like dirt. And he thirsted for it. Cold, calculating, ruthless, this passion of prolonged hate made him inhuman.
By the time he had covered the open range and reached the ranch-house the sun's rays were slanting down like beams of flame and the shaded veranda was a comforting sight. An even more pleasant one was the girl standing upon it, though there was no welcoming smile on her face; she had early discovered the identity of the visitor.
"Mornin', Miss Tonia. No need to ask after yore health," the saloon-keeper greeted, as he got down and tied his steed.
The girl returned the salutation, adding, "You want to see my uncle, of course."
"No, 'of course' about it when yo're around," Raven replied with clumsy gallantry. "But, as a matter o' fact, there's a bit o' business I wanta talk over with him. Ah, here he is. 'Lo, Reub, how are yu?"
"Mornin', Seth. Hot, ain't it? Here, have a seat an' a 'smile.' Too bad I can't offer yu a decent drink. Tonia, fetch this fella some of his own poison."
The saloon-keeper was only half-listening. He was watching the girl, admiring the lithe grace of her every movement, savouring the appeal of her slim, rounded form, and feeling again the fury of hate stir in him as he reflected that she would regard him as little better than a full-blooded Apache, and somewhat lower in the scale of humanity than Moraga. Having set the liquor on the table she went away.
"Here's how," Sarel said, adding with a shade of anxiety in his tone, "What's brung yu, Seth?"
Raven did not reply at once; he was taking in his surroundings, noting the solidity and apparent comfort of the ranch buildings, and the good grazing which extended as far as the eye could reach, and farther. He had seen it all before, but to-day it took on a fresh aspect.
"Anthony knowed what he was about when he hit on this place--I reckon there ain't a better ranch in a hundred mile," he said slowly. "How much stock yu runnin', Reub?"
"Can't tell till round-up," the fat man replied. "Oughta be around four thousand head, I guess."
"An' if it all belongs to Tonia. She's of age, ain't she?"
Reuben Sarel nodded, trying to fathom what the other was driving at.
"It's a big property for a gal to manage," Raven said reflectively.
"She's got me," Sarel pointed out.
"Yeah, an' she had her dad," the saloon-keeper reminded him. "Somethin' might happen to yu too, Reub; we're all mortal."
The stout man's face lost a little of its colour and he took a swallow of whisky rather hastily. He did not like the suggestion, or the tone in which it was made.
"Cheerful chap, ain't you?" he said, with an attempt at jocularity. "Anyways, I s'pose Tonia will be gettin' married sooner or later."
"To Andy Bordene?"
"Looks like, though I dunno as anythin' is fixed."
"An' what happens to yu then, Reub?"
Sarel stared in surprise. "Why, I hadn't give it a thought," he said. "S'pose I'd stay put, or perhaps Andy would let me run the Box B if they decided to live here."
"Don't yu gamble on that," the visitor said quietly. "I happen to know that Andy don't think much o' yore business capacity--heard him say once that yu hadn't savvy enough to sell cold water in hell. Young blood, yu know, is apt to have ideas of its own an' ain't very patient with age. I'm bettin' yu get yore time."
The statement was made with conviction, and, moreover, though he had denied it, confirmed a fear that had already assailed Tonia's relation more than once. Raven's crafty eyes read all this, saw that the man was shaken to the core, and sneered inwardly.
"Tonia wouldn't turn me out," Reuben protested.
"Mebbe not, but her husband might, an' I figure she'll be a dutiful wife," Raven replied, and struck again, "I'm hopin' not, seein' yu still owe me four thousand."
"It ain't so much, Seth; yu had fifty cows."
"Which I gave yu twenty a head for--good price too for stolen stock," the saloon-keeper retorted, sneering when the other winced. "It was five thou., warn't it? More than I can afford to drop, Reub. If yu lose out here I'll have to go to Tonia."