Crane said, “Shut up, Tim. Lasher isn’t here,” he went on to Pat in an unnaturally loud voice, directing his words more at Tim than at Pat. “If Lasher was here he’d take care of things.”

  Pat considered this statement gravely. “You mean Lasher sorta acts nursemaid for O’Connor when he’s drunk like this?”

  “That’s it,” Crane agreed quickly. “You just sit back and take it easy, Tim. I don’t think Sheriff Stevens aims to arrest you this time.” He turned an inquiring look toward Pat.

  “Nope.” Pat shook his head. “This is between you an’ me, Crane. I’m thinkin’ about buyin’ some hawses.”

  Crane wrinkled his broad forehead. “I’ve only got my breeding stock. I won’t be ready to start selling for a couple of years.”

  “You got me int’rested,” Pat told him, “in what you said about cross-breedin’ Morgans for saddle stuff. Like that black colt, f’rinstance.”

  “The one I gave your son?”

  “The one Dock picked out an’ thought he wanted,” Pat corrected him mildly. “Out of a Mexican mare by a Morgan stud, didn’t you say?”

  “That’s right. The boy showed real appreciation of horseflesh when he picked that particular colt, Stevens. I’m glad you’ve decided to let Dock have him.”

  “What’s yore price?”

  “For the black colt?”

  “Yeh.”

  Gilbert Crane shook his head and said stiffly, “That colt isn’t for sale, Stevens. As far as I’m concerned he already belongs to Dock.”

  “You heard me tell him this afternoon that he couldn’t have the colt,” Pat rumbled.

  “That isn’t fair. It pleased me to give it to him.”

  “It didn’t please me, Crane.”

  Crane shrugged his shoulders and avoided Pat’s angry eyes. “It doesn’t seem very neighborly.”

  “I’ll take it neighborly if you’ll sell me the colt.”

  Crane drew in a long breath. “You don’t understand. That colt isn’t for sale. I’m not ready to start selling any of my stuff. I’m just getting started here.”

  Pat asked, “Can you afford to refuse a hundred dollars?”

  Crane looked startled. That was a big price for a full-grown horse—three or four times what the black colt was worth. His mouth tightened suddenly. “The colt’s not for sale. Tell Dock he can come and get him any time he likes.”

  Timothy O’Connor tottered to his feet, glaring bale-fully at Pat Stevens. “Gonna git me ’nother gun,” he announced thickly. “Gonna git me a gun an’ blasht yore guts tuh hell-an’-gone.”

  “Get on back to bed,” Crane ordered sharply. “Shut up your drooling.”

  “But you tol’ me I could,” O’Connor said plaintively. “You promished me. You an’ the judge. You tol’ me jesh as plain ash day that—”

  Crane roared, “Shut up and get out.” He strode forward and got behind Timothy, rushed the tottering old fellow out through a door into the rear of the house. He returned, shaking his head anxiously. “I don’t know what to do with him, sheriff. He’s a wonderful hand with horses and I thought if I brought him out to a ranch he might straighten up and stop drinking. I guess he used to be quite a gunman in his younger days, and now when he gets a few drinks he thinks he still is.”

  “You brought him from Denver, huh?”

  Crane nodded. “He used to work for me years ago, and when I found him there, down and out, I thought I’d be doing him a favor by giving him a job.” He sighed and shook his head.

  Pat said, “Two hundred.”

  “Look here, Stevens. You’re making it mighty hard on me. You know the colt isn’t worth anything near that.”

  “It is to me—if my boy wants him.”

  “But I’ve already given him to Dock.”

  “No you haven’t. If there’s any givin’ done, I’ll do it.” Pat’s face was grim and set.

  Crane shrugged and said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. But if you’re dead-set on buying the colt I’ll make the price right. Forty dollars?”

  Pat said, “I take that as bein’ right friendly, Crane.” He got out his wallet and began counting out the money.

  “I want to be friendly,” Crane said smoothly. “I don’t want to start out in Powder Valley with any hard feelings.” He looked inquiringly at Pat’s money. “You want to take the colt with you tonight?”

  “No need of that. I’ll let Dock ride over for him tomorrow.” Pat passed the forty dollars over. “And keep that old coot out of my hair, Crane. I’ll lock him up next time he’s in town drunk an’ throwin’ lead around.”

  “I won’t blame you any.” Crane accompanied the sheriff to the door and held out his hand. “I hope this doesn’t mean that Dock won’t keep on dropping in to see me. He’s a mighty fine boy, Stevens.”

  Pat said, “I don’t mind him bein’ neighborly.” He went out without shaking hands. He had a feeling that he had acted foolishly, but he wasn’t sorry. Crane had been entirely to eager to give the colt to Dock, though Pat couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Crane was so anxious to make friends with the boy. It would have been different if Crane had been angling after his friendship. A newcomer in the Valley might very well want to make friends with the sheriff, but Crane had made it clear that he didn’t care whether Pat liked him or not. It didn’t make sense any way you looked at it.

  The big Lazy Mare ranch house was blazing with light when Pat approached it an hour later. It gave him a good feeling to see it like that, though he felt a tinge of remorse also, for he knew it indicated that Sally was worried about him. She always stayed up and kept all the lamps burning when Pat was out late and she had cause to be worried about him.

  It was funny about Sally. Pat couldn’t fool her at all. She could always tell when something was bothering him. That little chance meeting in town that afternoon had been enough to start her worrying. When he didn’t even know himself what was at the bottom of it.

  Pat rode down to the barn and unsaddled his horse before going to the house. He was beginning to feel a little foolish about the way he’d acted that afternoon and evening. Maybe he was making a lot out of nothing. He didn’t have any proof of the vague suspicions that were beginning to form in his mind. He was beginning to get like an old woman—seeing things in the dark that weren’t there. There wasn’t anything really to go on. People had a right to come to Powder Valley if they wanted to. You really couldn’t blame a man like Judge Prink for telling his friends about the Valley after he’d discovered it.

  Pat was in pretty good spirits when he went up to the house and opened the front door into the long cheerful living room. He grinned at Sally when she jumped up from her chair in front of the fire and whirled on him with a startled look.

  She said, “Oh! It’s you, Pat?” as though she were disappointed, as though she had sort of hoped it would be someone else. She came toward him swiftly. “I didn’t hear you ride in. I’ve been so worried.”

  He put his arms about her and laughed down into her bright blond hair. “Nothin’ to worry about, old lady. I’d have been home sooner but I wasted some time fixin’ things up for Dock.”

  “Oh, Pat. I’m so glad.” She swayed back against his arms and looked up at him with blue eyes that were misty with tears. “I’ve been terribly worried about him—after what you told me in town about sending him home from the K Bar.”

  “I never thought about how hard he’d take it,” Pat confessed. He bent down and kissed Sally and then released her with a little shove. “I bought that colt for him tonight from Mr. Crane at the K Bar. I reckon he’ll know from here on out that he can ask his daddy when he gets to wantin’ something like he wanted that black hawse.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Sally smiled happily. “Some day he’ll learn he’s got the best father in the world.”

  “An’ the purtiest mama,” Pat told her. “How’s the coffee pot?”

  “I think it’ll still be warm. I left it on the back of the stove.” Sally started for the kitchen. “How about a sandwich? I had some steaks left over.”

  “That’ll taste mighty good after a dinner at the Jewel Hotel.” Pat stripped off his jacket and went to the fireplace to warm himself.

  Sally brought a bright red and white cloth and spread it over a low table by the fire, humming happily to herself. As she went back into the kitchen, she asked over her shoulder, “Do you know whether Dock had any supper?”

  Pat frowned at her and shook his head. “How’d I know? I just got back from town.”

  Sally turned slowly in the doorway. All the happiness went out of her face. She sagged against the door frame and her fingers clung to the pine boards. “But I thought—you said that he—Didn’t he come home with you, Pat?”

  “Come home with me?” Pat went toward her swiftly when he saw the look of panic spreading over her features. “What’re you talkin’ about, hon? Did he go into town?”

  Sally slowly waggled her head from side to side. She tried to speak, then moistened her lips and formed the words carefully. “I thought you meant Dock was bringing the colt back from the K Bar. I thought he was out at the corral putting up the horses now.”

  Pat caught both her arms and asked hoarsely, “What do you mean? I ain’t seen Dock. Not since noon. I stopped by and bought the colt, shore. Where is Dock?”

  She whispered in a stricken voice, “I don’t know, Pat. He wasn’t here when I got back from Dutch Springs. There was a note in his room. He said he was going off where people wouldn’t treat him like a little boy. Oh, Pat! Where is he?”

  “I dunno,” Pat said huskily. He drew his wife closer, stared over her head at the wall.

  “He’s so little to go off alone. You’ve got to find him and bring him back, Pat. I thought maybe he’d gone over to the K Bar. Then, when you came home and said you’d been there and had fixed everything up, I just supposed you meant you’d found him there.”

  Pat put Sally aside gently. He said, “I’ll get Ezra to start trailin’ him. Don’t worry, honey. You know Ezra. He can follow a puma’s trail over solid rock. We’ll find out what hawse Dock rode—”

  “Ezra’s already trying to trail him,” Sally told her husband in a dead voice. “He went out as soon as I told him. And that’s been hours ago. You know Ezra can’t trail a horse at night in the dark.”

  “I’ve seen him do it,” Pat told her grimly. “He don’t have to see. It’s instinct. Don’t worry none. Ezra’ll bring him back for shore.”

  Sally wiped away the tears in her eyes. She admitted, “I know it’s foolish to worry. Dock is old enough to take care of himself. He’ll probably ride out to one of the line camps and then come home in a day or so. Nothing can happen to him in Powder Valley.”

  “Shore there can’t,” Pat encouraged her heavily. “Dock’s been ridin’ the range since he was eight years old. But I shore don’t see what possessed the young ’un to traipse off like that.”

  Sally went past him into the kitchen to slice bread and make a thick steak sandwich. With her face averted, she asked quietly, “Were you terribly harsh with him at the K Bar this noon?”

  “I don’t think so, Sally.” Pat spoke honestly. “I was a mite put out, but shucks, I’ve bawled him out lots worse’n that. An’ he’d done wrong, slippin’ off like that away from his work. He knew it was wrong.”

  Sally said quickly, “I’m not blaming you, Pat. No matter what happens. No boy ever had a better father. But—” She bit her underlip and two tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the slice of bread she was buttering.

  Pat started toward her. He whirled back into the living room at the sound of the door opening. Sally dropped her knife and ran to his side.

  Both of them stood there and watched Ezra come in. Dejection was written on his scarred features. His one eye looked at them mournfully as he slowly dragged off his hat.

  “I reckon mebby I’ve lost the knack,” he said, his voice husky with shame. “I lost Dock’s trail south about five miles. Been makin’ circles tryin’ to pick it up again, but I reckon I’ll hafta wait till mornin’.”

  Pat said, “Shore. We’ll pick it up in the mornin’.” He caught hold of Sally’s hand and pressed it hard, and his voice was very gentle as he told her, “Make an extra sandwich for Ezra, honey.”

  10

  It wasn’t more than half an hour after Pat Stevens left the K Bar ranch when Gut-Luck Lasher came stamping into the house. Crane turned on him angrily as soon as he walked in, and demanded, “Where’ve you been all evening?”

  “Out around.” Lasher made a nonchalant gesture. His lean face held a look of suppressed excitement and he gave the impression of being very well satisfied with himself as he strolled forward to the stove.

  “That’s fine,” said Crane with cutting sarcasm. “Out around, eh? Just when you should have been here tending to business.”

  Lasher shrugged his shoulders. “Mebby I was tendin’ to bizniss.”

  “Monkey business,” Crane shouted angrily. “The sheriff was here not more than half an hour ago.”

  “That so?” Lasher didn’t seem perturbed. He got out a sack of tobacco and a book of cigarette papers, began rolling a cigarette.

  “And you were out somewhere just when you should have been here. Pat Stevens walked right into the trap but you weren’t here to spring it.” Crane’s voice was thick with frustration and rage.

  “Ain’t that too bad?” Lasher licked his cigarette and crimped one end between strong fingers.

  “It may be weeks before we get another set-up like tonight. He had a run-in with Tim in town—just like we’d planned. He took Tim’s gun off him and sent him home drunk. A whole saloonful of men saw and heard the whole thing. Then he came riding out here with a gun on his hip. And Tim was drunk enough to be wringy. If you’d been here where you belonged you could have gunned him down and I’d have killed Tim. No one would ever know but what Stevens had come here to arrest Tim and got shot by him. There’d only have been you and me to tell the story—just like the judge planned it out in Denver.”

  Gut-Luck shrugged his broad shoulders. “I reckon there’ll be other times.”

  “Not near so perfect. We’ll have to work it all up again now. Like the judge told us, we’ve got to have it so folks will believe us when we say Tim did the shooting. Like as not Stevens won’t come back here to the ranch again with a gun on.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” Lasher grinned at his employer. “Mebby I’ve been busy too.”

  “Chasing after some rancher’s daughter?”

  “Nope.” Lasher blew out a puff of blue smoke. He retained his irritating calm. “I met up with the Stevens boy in the east pasture just a little after dark.”

  “What was Dock doing out there at night?”

  “Runnin’ away from home,” Gut-Luck Lasher told him laconically.

  Crane’s jaw dropped. “Running away?”

  “Yep. Headed fer Mexico. That’s what he tol’ me. Figgers he’s growed up an’ don’t have to take orders from his sheriffin’ daddy no more. But he was worried about that one-eyed galoot trailin’ him an’ bringin’ him back home.” Lasher paused to frown at the glowing tip of his cigarette.

  “Fellow they call Ezra,” Crane nodded. “I’ve heard he’s better than any Indian on a cold trail. What of it? We don’t care. It just works in good with our plans.” He smiled broadly. “It’ll make the boy’s mama mad at Pat for driving him away from home. She’ll remember that after Pat’s dead and the boy turns to me more and more. Judge Prink is smart, all right. Quickest way to a widow woman’s heart is through her boy.”

  “But I don’t reckon Ezra’ll toiler this trail,” Lasher put in casually.

  “Why not? They say he can smell one out.”

  “I fixed that,” Lasher told him triumphantly. “Dock an’ me gave him somethin’ to smell over for a good long time. We did a heap of circlin’ with Dock’s hawse, an’ then I took the boy up behind me an’ turned his hawse loose. I carried him up in the bills to that ol’ shack on Beaver Crik where I’m bettin’ Ezra nor nobody else don’t find him.”

  Crane shook his head in perplexity. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Seemed like a good idee. I knowed you were out to worry Pat Stevens any way you can. Don’t you want to get him riled up so’s he’ll come here an’ jump me with his guns on?”

  “You fool,” moaned Crane. “You dod-blasted fool! You’ve ruined everything. We don’t want Stevens to come gunning for you. We want him to come after Timothy—or have people think he came after Tim. Because we’re going to tell it that Tim killed him—after you do the job—and after we’ve got rid of Tim so he can’t deny it.”

  “You don’t need to get so all-fired tough,” Lasher muttered sullenly. “I thought it’d be a good idee to help the kid hide out.”

  “But when he does go home he’ll tell about you helping him,” Crane pointed out angrily. “That’ll bring Pat Stevens helling it over here after you instead of Tim. You’ll have to kill him and nobody will ever believe us if we try to lay it onto Tim.”

  “I never thought about that,” Lasher admitted uncomfortably.

  “You didn’t think.”

  “Mebby I better fix the kid so he can’t never tell it was me that he’ped him. I can ride out to that shack tonight—”

  “No,” said Crane angrily. “That would make it worse. I plan on Dock being my leverage to get in with the widow after Pat’s out of the way.” He got up and reached for his coat. “Saddle me up a horse,” he ordered. “I’ll ride in and talk to the judge right now. Maybe he’ll be able to figure a way for us to get out of the damn-fool mess you’ve got us into.”

  Sam Sloan was having a final nightcap at the bar in the Jewel Hotel when he saw Gilbert Crane come in. The poker game had broken up, with Windy Rivers a small winner, and the gambler was down at the end of the bar also having a drink before he turned in, and there were a couple of other drinkers between Sam and Windy.

  Sam noticed that Crane looked excited and worried as he came in. Sam paid particular attention to the new owner of the K Bar because of the things Pat had said to him that night: talking about all the strangers being in town all at once—about them being from Denver and mostly friends of Judge Prink’s—asking him if Windy Rivers was a friend of the judge’s too, and all that stuff.