Frawley dealt. He gave Cash the king of spades and himself the nine spot of the same suit. With a curse he flung the deck on the table, sending half the cards slithering to the floor. The scar on his face stood out livid and ragged.
Cash wiped the tiny sweat beads from his forehead. He was tremendously relieved at having escaped.
'It's a nice bonus, Jim,' he tittered, 'for doing only what you've been bragging you meant to do anyhow.'
Frawley's big fist crashed into the man's face and flung him against the wall. 'You'll laugh at me, will you?' he roared. 'God damn you all to hell!'
'No use getting so goosey, Jim,' Fenwick chided. 'It might have been one of us, and anyhow it's only a dirty chore soon finished.'
'There's another dirty chore,' Hanford reminded them. 'What about the kid — Frank?'
They had forgotten Frank. The name came to them with a little shock. Something had to be done about him. In one way he was more dangerous than Stevens. They were not sure how much he knew, but it was plenty. Since he was now under the influence of the M K owner, it was sure that he would tell enough to bring trouble knocking at their doors.
Cash groaned. He dabbed with a handkerchief tenderly at his bruised cheek. 'I hate to have the kid hurt. Still and all—'
'He's nothing but a spoiled brat,' Frawley said, with reminiscent venom. 'Several times I've come near beating his fool head in.'
'That wouldn't be enough now,' Brick said, puffing at the cigarette he was lighting. His shallow eyes were cold and hard, quite without anger or pity. The mouth was a thin, cruel slit in a face that evil long ago had furrowed. 'He'll have to be rubbed out. Long as he is alive, we'll not feel safe.'
The beady eyes of Cash slid slyly over his confederates. 'He's going to be inducted into the army soon. Maybe if Jim was to talk to him—'
The hooded, dead-cod gaze of Hanford rested on Polk. 'You voting to turn the kid loose, Cash?' he sneered.
'Why, no — no. We dassent do that.'
'What then?'
'I wouldn't exactly know. It's a tough proposition.'
'Well, I know.' There was an ugly malicious grin on the mouth of Hanford. 'You know he has to be rubbed out, just like the rest of us do. But you think, if you hint around about going easy on him, you could claim later, in case you get yore tail in a crack, that you stood up to us and tried to save him.'
'Nothing like that, Cad,' protested Cash. 'You hadn't ought to talk to me thataway.'
'Too bad you can't have yore bread buttered on both sides, Cash.' Brick let the ghost of a tormenting smile rest on his immobile face. 'Might be a good idea for us to have Cash take over this little task of sending Frank west. We would have the dead wood on him then.'
'No. No.' The voice of Cash was shrill with fright. 'I never killed a man in my life. I couldn't do it.'
'You'll find it easy.' Brick's voice was smoothly ironic. 'All you have to do is get him where you want him and cut loose the blast. Boys, what say we let Cash have this experience? He'll learn there is no sport like man-hunting. It's tops.'
Cash was voluble, but so excited by fear that his speech lacked coherence. 'Now see here, Brick. I ain't — I ain't — I'm peaceful. No gun-fighter. I wouldn't have any idea how — I just couldn't do it.'
Fenwick borrowed his revolver. 'I'll show you how, Cash. Watch how I do this, and you'll never need another lesson.'
He turned the gun on the little man, pressing the end of the barrel against his belly. The unwavering eyes that bored into those of Polk were filled with a strange, vicious excitement. The lust to kill burned up in them like evil lights.
'Don't, Brick, don't!' the victim screamed. 'For God's sake—'
Fenwick laughed, but the sound of his mirth was brittle. There had been one uncertain moment when death had been very near. He gave the revolver back to the shaking hand of its owner. 'You see how easy it is, Cash. The other fellow is the one who has to worry.'
'If you fellows are going to draw straws, get at it,' the foreman said impatiently.
'What do you mean us fellows?' Brick demanded. 'You're in it, too. We took our chance with Stevens. You take yours now.'
'Not on your life,' Frawley flung back at him. 'I'm out of it. And don't think you can scare me. I'm not Cash.'
They faced each other for a moment, the big red-faced arrogant bully and the slim neat deadly killer.
Hanford interposed. 'Go easy, Brick. I think Jim is right. One of the rest of us can take care of the boy.'
Brick shrugged his shoulders. The point was not worth fighting about. Except for the principle of the thing, he would just as soon take on the killing as not.
They let the cards decide a second time. Hanford drew the high spade the first round. The ace of that suit fell to Fenwick on the next try. Cash stood looking down at the ace of hearts which lay in front of him, his face and lips ashen pale. There was no pity in his heart for the doomed boy. He was thinking wholly of his own safety.
CHAPTER 7
Polite Allies
WHEN FRANK AND HAL walked into the living-room before breakfast, they found Dale reading the market quotations for cattle in the Tucson Star. She was dressed in short-leg boots, levis, and a gray flannel shirt. A feeder from Greeley, Colorado, had telephoned her that he would be out soon after breakfast, and she expected to inspect some of the ranch beef stuff with him with the view to a sale. Frawley would go along and give his advice, but the final decision would be hers.
At sight of Hal Stevens, her face set. He smiled at her with the cheerful impudence she so much disliked.
'Sorry, Miss Lovell,' he said. 'The bad penny has turned up again.'
She held the newspaper in her hands resting on the thighs encased in the levis, looked Stevens over resentfully, and turned to her brother.
'Listen, Dale,' Frank broke out. 'This is important. You won't like it, but you've got to hear it. Hal and I are in a jam, and it concerns you.'
'What do you mean that you are in a jam with him?' Dale asked coldly.
'I mean he got me out of it, far as I am out of it, and that's not saying much.'
'Maybe you had better tell me what the trouble is.'
'Part of it is that Frawley is in cahoots with Black's gang to rob us of our stock.'
'Did Mr. Stevens tell you that?' Dale asked bitingly.
'No. I told him.'
'And when did you find it out?'
Her brother told her the whole story — his gambling losses and suspicions, the fear they had drilled into him, his inability to escape from the strangle-hold they had on him, and the chance of deliverance Hal Stevens had unexpectedly offered.
'Very interesting,' the girl commented bitterly. 'Mr. Stevens is the hero of your ignoble adventure. And you — you are not even the villain, but the poor fool the thieves led by the nose.'
The boy flushed. 'Go ahead,' he said, with sullen anger. 'Say anything you like. I reckon I deserve it.'
Hal took part in the discussion for the first time. 'Frank isn't the only boy who has sowed a few wild oats. When he knew what he had got into and wanted to pull up, it was too late. He was in trouble up to his neck. Black's killers would not have let him break away alive. The first chance he had — and that was last night when I put it up to him to declare himself on one side or the other — he came through clean as a whistle, backed my play at once, disarmed them, and started my car so that I could get out of there alive. If you have the sense I think you have, Miss Lovell, you won't let your silly pride play any part in this. You'll start with us here from scratch. First off, get this. Frank is marked for death by these scoundrels, and it's your job to see that they don't find a chance to get him. If we're going to smash this thieving gang, we all have to stand together. That's point number two. We don't need to like each other to be allies until the enemy is licked.'