At last the cold night wind reminded
Pan that he had not yet rolled in his blankets, which
he had intended to do until Mac New’s significant
statement had roused somber misgiving. He went
to bed, yet despite the exertions of the long day,
slumber was a contrary thing that he could not woo.
He lay under the transparent roof
of a makeshift shelter of boughs through which the
stars showed white and brilliant. For ten years
and more he had lain out on most nights under the
open sky, with wind and rain and snow working their
will on him, and the bright stars, like strange eyes,
watching him. During the early years of his range
life he used to watch the stars in return and wonder
what was their message. And now, since his return
home, he seemed so much closer to his beloved boyhood.
Tonight the stars haunted him. Over the ridge
tops a few miles, they were shining in the window
of Lucy’s tiny room, perhaps lighting her fair
face. It seemed that these stars were telling
him all was not well in Lucy’s mind and heart.
He could not shake the insidious vague haunting thought,
and longed for dawn, so that in the sunlight he could
dispel all morbid doubts and the shadows that came
in the night.
So for hours he lay there, absorbed
in mind. It was not so silent a night as usual.
The horses were restless, as if some animal were
prowling about. He could hear the sudden trampling
of hoofs as a number of horses swiftly changed their
location. The coyotes were in full chorus out
in the valley. A cold wind fitfully stirred the
branches, whipped across his face. One of his
comrades, Blinky he thought, was snoring heavily.
Pan grew unaccountably full of dread
of unknown things. His sensitive mind had magnified
the menace hinted at by Mac New. It was a matter
of feeling which no intelligent reasoning could dispel.
Midnight came before he finally dropped into restless
slumber.
At four o’clock Lying Juan called
the men to get up. He had breakfast almost ready.
With groans and grunts and curses the hunters rolled
out, heavy with sleep, stiff of joints, vacant of mind.
Blinky required two calls.
They ate in the cold gray dawn, silent
and glum. A hot breakfast acted favorably upon
their mental and physical make-ups, and some brisk
action in catching and saddling horses brought them
back to normal. Still there was not much time
for talk.
The morning star was going down in
an intense dark blue sky when the seven men rode out
upon their long-planned drive. The valley was
a great obscure void, gray, silent, betraying nothing
of its treasure to the hunters. They crossed
the wash below the fence, where they had dug entrance
and exit, and turned west at a brisk trot. Daylight
came lingeringly. The valley cleared of opaque
light. Like a gentle rolling sea it swept away
to west and north, divided by its thin dark line,
and faintly dotted by bands of wild horses.
In the eastern sky, over the far low
gap where the valley failed, the pink light deepened
to rose, and then to red. A disk of golden fire
tipped the bleak horizon. The whole country became
transformed as if with life. The sun had risen
on this memorable day for Pan Smith and his father,
and for Blinky Somers. Nothing of the black shadows
and doubts and fears of night! Pan could have
laughed at himself in scorn. Here was the sunrise.
How beautiful the valley! There were the wild
horses grazing near and far, innumerable hundreds and
thousands of them. The thought of the wonderful
drive gripped Pan in thrilling fascination.
Horses! Horses! Horses! The time,
the scene, the impending ride called to him as nothing
ever had. The thrilling capture of wild horses
would alone have raised him to the heights. How
much more tremendous, then, an issue that meant a chance
of happiness for all his loved ones.
It was seven o’clock when Pan
and his men reached the western elevation of the valley,
something over a dozen miles from their fence and trap.
From this vantage point Pan could sweep the whole country
with far-sighted eyes. What he saw made them
glisten.
Wild horses everywhere, like dots
of brush on a bare green rolling prairie!
“Boys, we’ll ride down
the valley now and pick a place where we split to
begin the drive,” said Pan.
“Hosses way down there look
to me like they was movin’ this way,”
observed Blinky, who had eyes like a hawk.
Pan had keen eyes, too, but he did
not believe his could compare with Blinky’s.
That worthy had the finest of all instruments of human
vision clear light-gray eyes, like that
of an eagle. Dark eyes were not as far-seeing
on range and desert as the gray or blue. And
it was a fact that Pan had to ride down the valley
a mile or more before he could detect a movement of
wild horses toward him.
“Wal, reckon mebbe thet don’t
mean nothin’,” said Blinky. “An’
then agin mebbe it does. Hosses run around a
lot of their own accord. An’ agin they
get scared of somethin’. If we run into
some bunches haidin’ this way we’ll turn
them back an’ thet’s work for us.”
Pan called a halt there, and after
sweeping his gaze over all the valley ahead, he said:
“We split here.... Mac, you and Brown ride
straight toward the slope. Mac, take a stand
a half mile or so out. Brown, you go clear to
the slope and build a fire so we can see your smoke.
Give us five minutes, say, to see your smoke, and
then start the drive. Reckon we’ll hold
our line all right till they get to charging us.
And when we close in down there by the gate it’ll
be every man for himself. I’ll bet it’ll
be a stampede.”
Pan sent Lying Juan to take up a stand
a mile or more outside of Mac New. Gus and Blinky
were instructed to place equal distances between themselves
and Juan. Pan’s father left with them and
rode to a ridge top in plain sight a mile away.
Pan remained where he had reined his horse.
“Sort of work for them, even
to Dad,” soliloquized Pan, half amused at his
own tremendous boyish eagerness. All his life
he had dreamed of some such great experience with
horses.
He could see about half of the valley
floor which was to be driven. The other half
lay over the rolling ridges and obscured by the haze
and yellow clouds of dust rising here and there.
Those dust clouds had not appeared until the last
quarter of an hour or so, and they caused Pan curiosity
that almost amounted to anxiety. Surely bands
of horses were running.
Suddenly a shot rang out over to Pan’s
left. His father was waving hat and gun.
Far over against the green background of slope curled
up a thin column of blue smoke. Brown’s
signal! In a few moments the drive would be
on.
Pan got off to tighten cinches.
“Well, Sorrel, old boy, you
look fit for the drive,” said Pan, patting the
glossy neck. “But I’ll bet you’ll
not be so slick and fat tonight.”
When he got astride again he saw his
father and the next driver heading their horses south.
So he started Sorrel and the drive had begun.
He waved his sombrero at his father. And he
waved it in the direction of home, with a message
to Lucy.
Pan rode at a trot. It was not
easy to hold in Sorrel. He wanted to go.
He scented the wild horses. He knew there was
something afoot, and he had been given a long rest.
Soon Pan was riding down into one of the shallow
depressions, the hollows that gave the valley its
resemblance to a ridged sea. Thus he lost sight
of the foreground. When, half a mile below, he
reached a wave crest of ground he saw bands of wild
horses, enough to make a broken line half across the
valley, traveling toward him. They had their
heads north, and were moving prettily, probably a
couple of miles distant. Beyond them other bands
scattered and indistinct, but all in motion, convinced
Pan that something had startled the horses, or they
had sensed the drive.
“No difference now,” shouted
Pan aloud. “We’re going to run your
legs off, and catch a lot of you.”
The long black line of horses did
not keep intact. It broke into sections, and
then into bands, most of which sheered to the left.
But one herd of about twenty kept on toward Pan.
He halted Sorrel. They came within a hundred
yards before they stopped as if frozen. How
plump and shiny they were! The lean wild heads
and ears all stood up.
A mouse-colored mare was leading this
bunch. She whistled shrilly, and then a big
roan stallion trotted out from behind. He jumped
as if he had been struck, and taking the lead swung
to Pan’s left, manifestly to get by him.
But they had to run up hill while Pan had only to
keep to a level. He turned them before they
got halfway to a point even with the next driver.
Away they swept, running wild, a beautiful sight,
the roan and mare leading, with the others massed
behind, manes and tails flying, dust rolling from
under their clattering hoofs.
Then Pan turned ahead again, working
back toward his place in the driving line. He
had a better view here. He saw his father and
Gus and Blinky ride toward each other to head off
a scattered string of horses. The leaders were
too swift for the drivers and got through the line,
but most of the several herds were headed and turned.
Gun shots helped to send them scurrying down the
valley.
Two small bands of horses appeared
coming west along the wash. Pan loped Sorrel
across to intercept them. They were ragged and
motley, altogether a score or more of the broomtails
that had earned that unflattering epithet. They
had no leader and showed it in their indecision.
They were as wild as jack rabbits, and upon sighting
Pan they wheeled in their tracks and fled like the
wind, down the valley. Pan saw them turn a larger
darker-colored herd. This feature was what he
had mainly relied upon. Wonderful luck of this
kind might attend the drive: even a broken line
running the right way would sweep the valley from
wash to slope. But that was too much for even
Pan’s most extravagant hopes.
Again he lost sight of the horses
and his comrades, as he rode down a long swell of
the valley sea. The slope ahead was long and
gradual, and it mounted fairly high. Pan was
keen to see the field from that vantage point.
Still he did not hurry. Any moment a band of
horses might appear, and he wanted always to have
plenty of spare room to ride across to left or right.
Once they got the lead of him or even with him it
would be almost impossible to turn them.
Not, however, until he had surmounted
the next ridge did he catch sight of any more wild
horses. Then he faced several miles of almost
level valley, with the only perceptible slope toward
the left. For the first time he saw all the
drivers. They were holding a fairly straight
line. As Pan had anticipated, the drive was slowly
leading away from the wash, diagonally toward the
great basin that constituted the bottom of the valley
floor. Bands of horses were running south, bobbing
under the dust clouds. There were none within
a mile of Pan. The other men, beyond the position
of Pan’s father, would soon be called upon to
do some riding.
As Pan kept on at a fast trot, he
watched in all directions, expecting to see horses
come up out of a hollow or over a ridge; also he took
a quick glance every now and then in the direction
of his comrades. They were working ahead of
him, more and more to the left. Therefore a wide
gap soon separated Pan from his father.
This occasioned him uneasiness because
they would soon be down on a level, where palls of
dust threatened to close over the whole valley, and
it would be impossible to see any considerable distance.
If the wild horses then took a notion to wheel and
run back up the valley the drive would yield great
results.
Suddenly, way over close to the wash
Pan espied a string of horses emerging from the thin
haze of dust. He galloped down and across to
intercept them. As he drew closer he was surprised
to see they were in a dead run. These horses
were unusually wild, as if they had been frightened.
They appeared bent on running Pan down, and he had
to resort to firing his gun to turn them. It
was a heavy forty-five caliber, the report of which
was loud. Then after they had veered, he had
to race back across a good deal more than his territory
to keep them from going round him.
At last they headed back into the
dusty-curtained, black-streaked zone which constituted
the bowl of the valley. This little race had
warmed Sorrel. He had entered into the spirit
of the drive. Pan found that the horse sighted
wild horses more quickly than he, and wanted to chase
them all.
Pan rode a mile to the left, somewhat
up hill and also forward. He caught sight of
his father, and two other riders, rather far ahead,
riding, shooting either behind or in front of a waving
pall of dust. The ground down there was dry,
and though covered with grass and sage, it had equally
as much bare surface, from which the plunging hoofs
kicked up the yellow smoke.
Pan had a front of two miles and more
to guard, and the distance was increasing every moment.
The drive swept down to the left, massing toward
the apex where the fence and slope met. This
was still miles away. Pan could see landmarks
he recognized, high up on the horizon. Many bands
of horses were now in motion. They streaked to
and fro across lighter places in the dust cloud.
Pan wanted to stay out in the clear, so that he could
see distinctly, but he was already behind his comrades.
No horses were running up the wash. So he worked
over toward where he had last observed his father,
and gave up any attempt at further orderly driving.
It was plain that his comrades had
soon broken the line. Probably in such a case,
where so many horses were running, it was not possible
to keep a uniform front. But Pan thought they
could have done better. He saw strings of horses
passing him to the left. They had broken through.
This was to be expected. No doubt the main solid
mass was now on a stampede toward the south.
Pan let stragglers and small bunches
go by him. There were, however, no large bands
of horses running back, at least that he could see.
He rode to and fro, at a fast clip, across this dust-clouded
basin, heading what horses happened to come near him.
The melee of dust and animals thickened. He
now heard the clip-clop of hoofs, here, there, everywhere,
with the mass of sound to the fore. Presently
he appeared surrounded by circles of dust and stringing
horses. It was like a huge corral full of frightened
animals running wild through dust so thick that they
could not be seen a hundred feet distant. Pan
turned horses back, but he could not tell how quickly
they would wheel again and elude him.
Once he thought he saw a rider on
a white mount, yet could not be sure. Then he
decided he was mistaken, for none of Blinky’s
horses were white.
This melee down in the dusty basin
was bad. Driving was hampered by the obscurity.
Pan could only hope the main line of wild horses was
sweeping on as it had started.
After a long patrol in the dust and
heat of that valley flat, Pan emerged, it seemed,
into clearer atmosphere. He was working up.
Horses were everywhere, and it was ridiculous to try
to drive all those he encountered. At length
there were none running back. All were heading
across, to and fro, or down the valley. And when
Pan reached the long ascent of that bowl he saw a
magnificent spectacle.
A long black mass of horses was sweeping
onward toward the gateway to the corrals, and to the
fence. Dust columns, like smoke, curled up from
behind them and swung low on the breeze. Pan
saw riders behind them, and to the left. He
had perhaps been the only one to go through that valley
bowl. The many bands of horses, now converged
into one great herd, had no doubt crossed it.
They were fully four miles distant. Pan saw
his opportunity to cut across and down to the right
toward where the fence met the wash. If the horses
swerved, as surely some or all of them would do, he
could head them off. To that end he gave Sorrel
free rein and had a splendid run of several miles to
the point halfway between the fence and the wash.
Here from a high point of ground he
observed the moving pace of dust and saw the black
wheel-shaped mass of horses sweep down the valley
like a storm. The spectacle was worth all the
toil and time he had given, even if not one beast
was captured. But Pan, with swelling heart and
beaming eye, felt assured of greater success than he
had hoped for. There were five thousand horses
in that band, more by ten times than he had ever before
seen driven. They could not all get through
that narrow gateway to the corrals. Pan wondered
how his few riders could have done so well.
Luck! The topography of the valley! The
wild horses took the lanes of least resistance; and
the level or downhill ground favored a broad direct
line toward the fence trap Pan and his men had contrived.
“Looks like Dad and all the
rest of them have swung round on this side,”
soliloquized Pan, straining his eyes.
That was good, but Pan could not understand
how they had ever accomplished it. Perhaps they
had been keen enough to see that the wild horses would
now have to go through the gateway or turn south along
the fence.
Pan watched eagerly. Whatever
was going to happen must come very soon, as swiftly
as those fast wild horses could run another mile.
He saw them sweep down on the bluff and round it,
and then begin to spread, to disintegrate. Again
dust clouds settled over one place. It was in
the apex. What a vortex of furious horses must
be there! Pan lost sight of them for some moments.
Then out of the yellow curtain streaked black strings,
traveling down the fence toward Pan, across the valley,
back up the way they had come. Pan let out a
stentorian yell of victory. He knew the action
indicated that the horses had poured in a mass into
the apex between bluff and fence.
“Whoopee!” yelled
Pan, to relieve his surcharged emotions. “It’s
a sure bet we’ve got a bunch!”
Then he spurred Sorrel to meet the
horses fleeing down along the fence. They came
in bunches, in lines, stringing for a mile or more
along the barrier of cedars.
Pan met them with yells and shouts.
Frantic now, the animals wheeled back. But
few of them ran up out of the winding shallow ground
along which the fence had been cunningly built.
He drove them back, up over the slow ascent, toward
the great dusty swarm of horses that ran helter-skelter
under the dust haze.
Suddenly Pan espied a black stallion
racing toward him. He remembered the horse.
And the desire to capture this individual took strong
hold upon him. The advantage lay all with Pan.
So he held back to stop this stallion.
At the most favorable moment Pan spurred
Sorrel to intercept the stallion. But the black,
maddened with terror and instinct to rage, would not
swerve out of Pan’s way. On he came, swift
as the wind, lean black head out, mane flying, a wild
creature at once beautiful and fearful. Pan
had to jerk Sorrel out of his way. Then Pan,
having the black between himself and the fence, turned
Sorrel loose. The race began with
Pan still holding the advantage. It did not,
however, last long that way. The black ran away
from Pan. He wanted to shoot but thought it
best not to use his last shells. What a stride!
He was a big horse, too, ragged, rangy, with action
and power that delighted Pan. Knowing he could
not catch the black Pan cut across toward the wash.
Then the stallion, seeing the yawning gulf ahead,
turned toward the fence, and quickening that marvelous
stride he made a magnificent leap right at the top
of the obstruction. He cleared the heavy wood
and crashed through the branches to freedom.
“You black son-of-a-gun!”
yelled Pan in sheer admiration, and halting the sorrel
he watched the stallion disappear.
Dust begrimed and wet, Pan once more
headed toward the goal. His horse was tired
and so was he. Far as he could view in a fan-shaped
spread, wild horses were running back up the valley.
Pan estimated he saw thousands, but there were no
heavy black masses, no sweeping stormlike clouds of
horses, such as had borne down on that corner of the
valley.
He was weary, but he could have sung
for very joy. Happily his thoughts reverted
to Lucy and the future. He would pick out a couple
of beautiful ponies for her, and break them gently.
He would find some swift sturdy horses for himself.
Then, as many thousands of times, he thought of his
first horse Curly. None could ever take his place.
But how he would have loved to own the black stallion!
“I’m just as glad, though, he got away,”
mused Pan.
The afternoon was half gone and hazy,
owing to the drifting clouds of dust that had risen
from the valley. As Pan neared the end of the
fence, which was still a goodly distance from the gateway,
he was surprised that he did not see any horses or
men. The wide brush gates had been closed.
Beyond them and over the bluff he saw clouds of dust,
like smoke, rising lazily, as if just stirred.
“Horses in the corrals!”
he exclaimed. “I’ll bet they’re
full.... Gee! now comes the problem. But
we could hold a thousand head there for a week maybe
ten days. There’s water and grass.
Reckon, though, I’ll sell tomorrow.”
He would have hurried on but for the
fact that Sorrel had begun to limp. Pan remembered
going over a steep soft bank where the horse had stumbled.
Dismounting, Pan walked the rest of the way to the
bluff, beginning to think it strange he did not see
or hear any of his comrades. No doubt they were
back revelling in the corrals full of wild horses.
“It’s been a great day.
If only I could get word to Lucy!”
Pan opened the small gate, and led
Sorrel into the lane. Still he did not see anything
of the men. He did hear, however, a snorting,
trampling of many horses, over in the direction of
the farther corral.
At the end of the bluff, where the
line of slope curved in deep, Pan suddenly saw a number
of saddled horses, without riders.
With a violent start he halted.
There were men, strange men, standing
in groups, lounging on the rocks, sitting down, all
as if waiting.
A little to the left of these Pan’s
lightning swift gaze took in another group.
His men! Not lounging, not conversing, but aloof
from each other, lax and abject, or strung motionless!
Bewildered, shocked, Pan swept his
eyes back upon the strangers.
“Hardman! Purcell!”
he gasped, starting back as if struck.
Then his mind leaped to conclusions.
He did not need to see Blinky approach him with hard
sullen face. Hardman and outfit had timed the
wild-horse drive. No doubt they had participated
in it, and meant to profit by that, or worse, they
meant to claim the drive, and by superior numbers
force that issue.
Such a terrible fury possessed Pan
that he burned and shook all over. He dropped
his bridle and made a dragging step to meet Blinky.
But so great was his emotion that he had no physical
control. He waited. After that bursting
of his heart, he slowly changed. This then was
the strange untoward thing that had haunted him.
All the time fate had held this horrible crisis in
abeyance, waiting to crush at the last moment his
marvelous good fortune. That had been the doubt,
the misgiving, the inscrutable something which had
opposed all Pan’s optimism, his hope, his love.
An icy sickening misery convulsed him for a moment.
But that could not exist in the white heat of his
wrath.
Blinky did not stride up to Pan.
He hated this necessity. His will was forcing
his steps, and they were slow.
“Blink Blink,”
whispered Pan, hoarsely. “It’s come!
That damned hunch we feared, but wouldn’t believe!”
“By Gawd, I I couldn’t
hev told you,” replied Blinky, just as hoarsely.
“An’ it couldn’t be worse.”
“Blink then we made a good haul?”
“Cowboy, nobody ever heerd of
such a haul. We could moonshine wild hosses
fer a hundred years an’ never ketch as many.”
“How many?”
queried Pan, sharply, his voice breaking clear.
“Reckon we don’t agree
on figgerin’ thet. I say fifteen hundred
haid. Your dad, who’s aboot crazy, reckons
two thousand. An’ the other fellars come
in between.”
“Fifteen hundred horses!”
ejaculated Pan intensely. “Heavens, but
it’s great!”
“Pan, I wish to Gawd we hadn’t
ketched any,” declared Blinky, in hard fierce
voice.
That brought Pan back to earth.
“What’s their game?”
he asked swiftly, indicating the watching whispering
group.
“I had only a few words with
Hardman. Your dad went out of his haid.
Reckon he’d have done fer Hardman with his
bare hands, if Purcell hadn’t knocked him down
with the butt of a gun.”
Again there was a violent leap of
Pan’s blood. It jerked his whole frame.
“Blink, did that big brute? ”
asked Pan hoarsely, suddenly breaking off.
“He shore did. Your dad’s
got a nasty knock over the eye.... No, I hadn’t
any chance to talk to Hardman. But his game’s
as plain as that big nose of his.”
“Well, what is it?” snapped Pan.
“Shore he’ll grab our hosses, or most
of them,” returned Blinky.
“You mean straight horse stealing?”
“Shore, thet’s what it’ll
be. But the hell of it is, Hardman’s outfit
helped make the drive.”
“No!”
“You bet they did. Thet’s
what galls me. Either they was layin’ fer
the day or just happened to ride up on us, an’
figgered it out. Mebbe thet’s where Mac
New comes in.”
“Blink, I don’t believe he’s double-crossed
us,” declared Pan stoutly.
“Wal, he’s an outlaw.”
“No difference. I just
don’t believe it. But we’ll find
out.... So you think Hardman will claim most
of our horses or take them all?”
“I shore do.”
“Blink, if he gets one
of our horses it’ll be over my dead body.
You fellows sure showed yellow clear through to
let them ride in here without a fight.”
“Hellsfire!” cried Blinky,
as if stung. “What you think? ...
There wasn’t a one of us thet had a single
lead left fer our guns. Thet’s where
the rub comes in. We played their game.
Wasted a lot of shells on them damn broomies!
So how could we fight?”
“Ah-huh!” groaned Pan,
appalled at the fatality of the whole incident.
“Pan, I reckon you’d better
swaller the dose, bitter as it is, an’ bluff
Hardman into leavin’ us a share of the hosses.”
“Say, man, are you drunk or
loco?” flashed Pan scornfully.
With that he whirled on his heel and
strode toward where Hardman, Purcell, and another
man stood somewhat apart from the lounging riders.
Slowly Blinky followed in Pan’s
footsteps, and then Mac New left the group in the
shade of the wall, and shuffled out into the sunlight.
His action was that of a forceful man, dangerous to
encounter.
In the dozen rods or more that Pan
traversed to get to Hardman he had reverted to the
old wild spirit of the Cimarron. That cold dark
wind which had at times swept his soul returned with
his realization of the only recourse here. When
he had walked the streets of Marco waiting for Matthews
to prove his mettle or show his cowardice, he had gambled
on the latter. He had an uncanny certainty that
he had only to bluff the sheriff. Here was a
different proposition. It would take bloodshed
to halt this gang.
As Pan approached, Purcell swung around
square with his hands low, a significant posture.
Hardman evinced signs of extreme nervous tension.
The third man walked apart from them. All the
others suddenly abandoned their lounging attitude.
“Hardman, what’s your
game?” queried Pan bluntly, as he halted.
The words, the pause manifestly relieved
Hardman, for he swallowed hard and braced himself.
“Game?” he parried gruffly.
“There’s no game about drivin’ a
million wild hosses through the dust. It was
work.”
“Don’t try to twist words
with me,” replied Pan fiercely. “What’s
your game? Do you mean a straight out and out
horse-thief deal? Or a share and share divvy
on the strength of your riding in where you weren’t
asked?”
“Young man, I’m warnin’
you not to call me a hoss thief,” shouted Hardman,
growing red under his beard.
“I’ll call you one, damn
quick, if you don’t tell your game.”
“We made the drive, Smith,”
returned Hardman. “You’d never made
it without us. An’ that gives us the biggest
share. Say two-thirds, I’ll buy your third
at ten dollars a head.”
“Hardman, that’s a rotten
deal,” burst out Pan. “Haven’t
you any sense? If you could make it, you’d
be outlawed in this country. Men won’t
stand for such things. You may be strong in Marco
but I tell you even there you can’t go too far.
We planned this trap. We worked like dogs.
And we made the drive. You might account for
more horses trapped, but no difference. You
had no business here. We can prove it.”
“Wal, if I’ve got the
hosses I don’t care what you say,”
retorted Hardman, finding bravado as the interview
progressed.
It was no use to try to appeal to
any sense of fairness in this man. Pan saw that
and his passionate eloquence died in his throat.
Coldly he eyed Hardman and then the greasy dust-caked
face of Purcell. He could catch only the steely
speculation in Purcell’s evil eyes. He
read there that, if the man had possessed the nerve,
he would have drawn on him at the first.
Meanwhile Blinky had come up beside
Pan and a moment later Mac New. Neither had anything
to say but their actions, especially Mac New’s,
were not to be misunderstood. The situation became
intense. Hardman suddenly showed the strain.
Pan’s demeanor, however, might
have been deceiving, except to the keenest of men,
long versed in such encounters.
“Jard Hardman, you’re
a low-down horse thief,” said Pan deliberately.
The taunt, thrown in Hardman’s
face, added to the tension of the moment. He
had lost the ruddy color under his beard. His
eyes stood out. He recognized at last something
beyond his power to change or stop.
“Smith, reckon you’ve
cause for temper,” he said, huskily. “I’ll
take half the hosses an’ buy your
half.”
“No! Not one damn broomtail
do you get,” returned Pan in a voice that cut.
“Look out, Hardman! I can prove you hatched
up this deal to rob me.”
“How, I’d like to know?”
blustered the rancher, relaxing again.
“Mac New can prove it.”
“Who’s he?”
“Hurd here. His real name
is Mac New. You hired him to get in with me to
keep you posted on my movements.”
Again Hardman showed his kind of fiber under extreme
provocation:
“Yes, I hired him an’ he’s
double-crossed you as well as me.”
“Did he? Well, now you
prove that,” flashed Pan who had read the furious
falseness of the man.
“Purcell here,” replied
Hardman hoarsely, “he’s been camped below.
Hurd met him at night kept him posted on
your work. Then, when all was ready for the
drive Purcell sent for me. Ask him yourself.”
Pan did not answer to the suggestion.
“Mac, what do you say to that?” he queried,
sharply, but he never took his eyes off Purcell.
“Hardman, you’re a
liar!” roared Mac New, sonorously.
If ever Pan heard menace in a voice, it was then.
“Take it back!”
went on the outlaw, now with a hiss. “Square
me with Panhandle Smith!”
“Mac, he doesn’t have
to square you. Anyone could see he’s a
liar,” called Pan derisively.
“Hurd, I I’ll
have you shot I’ll shoot you myself,”
burst out Hardman, wrestling his arm toward his hip.
A thundering report close beside Pan
almost deafened him. Hardman uttered a loud
gasp. His eyes rolled fixed in awful
stony stare. Then like a flung sack he fell heavily.
“Thar, Jard Hardman,”
declared the outlaw, “I had one bullet left.”
And he threw his empty gun with violence at the prostrate
body.
Purcell’s long taut body jerked
into swift action. His gun spurted red as it
leaped out. Pan, quick as he drew and shot, was
too late to save Mac New. Both men fell without
a cry, their heads almost meeting.
“Blink, grab their guns!”
yelled Pan piercingly, and leaping over the bodies
he confronted the stricken group of men with leveled
weapon.
“Hands up! Quick, damn you!” he
ordered, fiercely.
His swiftness, his tremendous passion,
following instantly upon tragedy, had shocked Hardman’s
men. Up went their hands.
Then Blinky ran in with a gun in each
hand, and his wild aspect most powerfully supplemented
Pan’s furious energy and menace.
“Fork them hosses, you
!” yelled
Blinky. Death for more of them quivered in the
balance. As one man, Hardman’s riders rushed
with thudding boots and tinkling spurs to mount their
horses. Several did not wait for further orders,
but plunged away down the lane toward the outlet.
“Rustle, hoss thieves,”
added Blinky, with something of the old drawl in his
voice, that yet seemed the more deadly for it.
With quick strides he had gotten behind most of the
riders. “Get out of heah!”
With shuffling, creaking of leather,
and suddenly cracking hoofs the order was obeyed.
The riders soon disappeared around the corner of the
bluff.