Gregory Jackson - Six Feet Four

8/12/2019 Gregory Jackson - Six Feet Four

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Six FeetFour, by Jackson Gregory

This eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and with almost norestrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,give it away or re-use it under the terms o

he Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.net

Title: Six Feet Four

Author: Jackson Gregory

Release Date: February 22, 2005 [EBook#15148]

Language: English


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*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK SIX FEET FOUR***

Produced by Suzanne Shell, BeginnersProjects, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.


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SIX FEET FOUR

by Jackson Gregory

1917


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TO E. M. GREGORY

"HERE'S YOUR BOOK"


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CHAPTER

The Storm

I The Devil's Own Night

II Buck Thornton, Man's Man

V The Ford

V The Man from Poison Hole Ranch

VI Winifred Judges a Man

VII An Invitation to Supper

VIII In Harte's Cabin


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X The Double Theft

X In the Moonlight

XI The Bedloe Boys

XII Rattlesnake Pollard

XIII The Ranch on Big Little River

XIV In the Name of Friendship

XV The Kid

XVI A Guarded Conference

XVII Suspicion

XVIII The Dance at Deer Creek

Schoolhouse


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XIX Six Feet Four!

XX Pollard Talks "Business"

XXI The Girl and the Game

XXII The Yellow Envelope Again!

XXIII Warning

XXIV The Gentleman from New Mexico

XXV In the Dark

XXVI The Frame-Up

XXVII Jimmie Squares Himself

XXVIII The Show Down


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CHAPTER I

THE STORM

All day long, from an hour before the paledawn until now after the thick dark, thestorm had raged through the mountains.Before midday it had grown dark in the

caons. In the driving blast of the windmany a tall pine had snapped, broken atast after long valiant years of victorious

buffeting with the seasons, while countlesossing branches had been riven away

from the parent boles and hurled far out inall directions. Through the narrow caons

he wet wind went shrieking fearsomely,


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driving the slant rain like countless thinspears of glistening steel.

At the wan daybreak the sound filling theair was one of many-voiced but subduedumult, like the faraway growling of

fierce, hungry, imprisoned beasts. As the

sodden hours dragged by the noiseseverywhere increased steadily, so thatbefore noon the whole of the wildernessseemed to be shouting; narrow creek beds

were filled with gushing, muddy water;he trees on the mountainsides shook and

snapped and creaked and hissed to thehissing of the racing wind; at intervals thehunder echoing ominously added its booo the general uproar. Not for a score of

years and upward had such a storm visited

he mountains in the vicinity of the old


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road house in Big Pine Flat.

ight, as though it had leaped upon the

back of the storm and had riddenhitherward on the wings of the wind allmpatience to defy the laws of daylight,

was in truth mistress of the mountains a

full hour or more before the invisible sun'allotted time of setting. In the storm-smitten, lonely building at the foot of therocky slope, shivering as though with the

cold, rocking crazily as though in startledfear at each gust, the roaring log fire in theopen fireplace made an uncertain twilightand innumerable ghostlike shadows. Thewind whistling down the chimney, makinghat eerie sound known locally as the

voice of William Henry, came and went

fitfully. Poke Drury, the cheerful, one-


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egged keeper of the road house, swungback and forth up and down on his onecrutch, whistling blithely with his guest of

he chimney and lighting the last of hiscoal oil lamps and candles.

"She's a Lu-lu bird, all right,"

acknowledged Poke Drury. He swungacross his long "general room" to thefireplace, balanced on his crutch while heshifted and kicked at a fallen burning log

with his one boot, and then hooked hiselbows on his mantel. His very black,smiling eyes took cheerful stock of hisguests whom the storm had brought him.They were many, more than had ever atone time honoured the Big Pine roadhouse. And still others were coming.


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"If Hap Smith ain't forgot how to sling afour horse team through the dark, huh?"continued the landlord as he placed still

another candle at the south window.

n architectural design Poke Drury's roadhouse was as simple an affair as Poke

Drury himself. There was but one story:he whole front of the house facing the

country road was devoted to the "generalroom." Here was a bar, occupying the far

end. Then there were two or three rudepine tables, oil-cloth covered. The chairswere plentiful and all of the rawhidebottom species, austere looking, butcomfortable enough. And, at the other endof the barn like chamber was the longdining table. Beyond it a door leading to

he kitchen at the back of the house. Next


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o the kitchen the family bed room wherePoke Drury and his dreary looking spouseslept. Adjoining this was the one spare

bed room, with a couple of broken leggedcots and a wash-stand without any bowlor pitcher. If one wished to lave his handsand face or comb his hair let him step out

on the back porch under the shoulder ofhe mountain and utilize the road houseoilet facilities there: they were a tin

basin, a water pipe leading from a springand a broken comb stuck after the fashionof the country in the long hairs of the ox'sail nailed to the porch post.

"You gents is sure right welcome," theone-legged proprietor went on, havingpaused a moment to listen to the wind

howling through the narrow pass and


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battling at his door and windows. "I gotplenty to eat an' more'n plenty to drink,same as usual. But when it comes to

sleepin', well, you got to make floors an'chairs an' tables do. You see this hereittle shower has filled me all up. The

Lew Yates place up the river got itself

pretty well washed out; Lew's young wifean' ol' mother-in-law," and Poke's voicewas properly modified, "got scared cleano pieces. Not bein' used to our ways out

here," he added brightly. "Any wayhey've got the spare bed room. An' my

room an' Ma's well, Ma's got a real

bad cold an' she's camped there for thenight. But, shucks, boys, what's the odds,when there's fire in the fire place an' grubn the grub box an' as fine a line of licker

as you can find any place I know of. An' a


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deck or two of cards an' the bones to rattlfor them that's anxious to make or breakquick Hap Smith oughtto been here

before now. You wouldn't suppose."

He broke off and looked at those of thefaces which had been turned his way. His

hought was plain to read, at least forhose who understood recent local

conditions. Hap Smith had been drivinghe stage over the mountains for only

something less than three weeks; which iso say since the violent taking off of his

predecessor, Bill Varney.

Before any one spoke the dozen men in theroom had had ample time to consider thissuggestion. One or two of them glanced upat the clock swinging its pendulum over


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he chimney piece. Then they went on withwhat they were doing, glancing throughold newspapers, dealing at cards, smokin

or just sitting and staring at nothing inparticular.

"The last week has put lots of water in all

he cricks," offered old man Adams fromhis place by the fire. "Then with thiscloud-bust an' downpour today, it ain'treal nice travellin'. That would be about

all that's holdin' Hap up. An' I'm tellin' yowhy: Did you ever hear a man tell of astick-up party on a night like this? No, sirThese here stick-up gents got more sensehan that; they'd be settin' nice an' snug an'

dry like us fellers, right now."

As usual, old man Adams had stated a


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heory with emphasis and utterly withoutany previous reflection, being a positivesoul, but never a brilliant. And, again

quite as usual, a theory stated wasnaturally to be combated with more oress violence. Out of the innocent enough

statement there grew a long, devious

argument. An argument which was at itsheight and evincing no signs of evergetting anywhere at all, when from thenight without came the rattle of wheels,he jingle of harness chains and Hap

Smith's voice shouting out the tidings ofhis tardy arrival.

The front door was flung open, lamps andcandles and log fire all danced in thesudden draft and some of the flickering

flames went out, and the first one of Hap


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Smith's belated passengers, a young girl,was fairly blown into the room. She, likehe rest, was drenched and as she hastened

across the floor to the welcome firerailed rain water from her cape and

dress. But her eyes were sparkling, hercheeks rosy with the rude wooing of the

outside night. After her, stamping noisily,glad of the light and warmth and aprospect of food and drink, came HapSmith's other passengers, four booted menfrom the mines and the cattle country.

To the last man of them in the road househey gave her their immediate and

exclusive attention. Briefly suspendedwere all such operations as smoking,drinking, newspaper reading or card

playing. They looked at her gravely,


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speculatively and with frankly unhiddennterest. One man who had laid a wet coat

aside donned it again swiftly and

surreptitiously. Another in awkwardfashion, as she passed close to him, halfrose and then sank back into his chair.Still others merely narrowed the gaze that

was bent upon her steadily.

She went straight to the fireplace, threwoff her wraps and extended her hands to

he blaze. So for a moment she stood, hershoulders stirring to the shiver which randown her whole body. Then she turned hehead a little and for the first time took inall of the rude appointments of the room.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I."


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"It's all right, Miss," said Poke Drury,swinging toward her, his hand lifted ashough to stop one in full flight. "You see

just that end there is the bar room," heexplained nodding at her reassuringly."The middle of the room here is the theparlour; an' down at that end, where the

ong table is, that's the dinin' room. I ain'tever got aroun' to the partitions yet, but I'goin' to some day. An' Ahem!"

He had said it all and, all thingsconsidered, had done rather well with anmpossible job. The clearing of the throat

and a glare to go with it were not for thestartled girl but for that part of the roomwhere the bar and card tables were beingused.


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"Oh," said the girl again. And then, turningher back upon the bar and so allowing thefirelight to add to the sparkle of her eyes

and the flush on her cheeks, "Of course.One mustn't expect everything. And pleasedon't ask the gentlemen to to stopwhatever they are doing on my account.

'm quite warm now." She smiled brightlyat her host and shivered again.

"May I go right to my room?"

n the days when Poke Drury's road housestood lone and aloof from the world inBig Pine Flat, very little of the world fro

which such as Poke Drury had retreatedhad ever peered into these mountain-bound fastnesses; certainly less than fewwomen of the type of this girl had ever


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come here in the memory of the men whonow, some boldly and some shyly,regarded her drying herself and seeking

warmth in front of the blazing fire. True, ahe time there were in the house three

others of her sex. But they were different.

"May I go right to my room?" she repeatedas the landlord stood gaping at her ratherfoolishly. She imagined that he had not

heard, being a little deaf or that,possibly, the poor chap was a trifle slowwitted. And again she smiled on himkindly and again he noted the shiverbespeaking both chill and fatigue.

But to Poke Drury there had come annspiration. Not much of one, perhaps, yet


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he quickly availed himself of it. Hangingn a dusty corner near the long diningable, was an old and long disused guest's

book, the official road house register.Drury's wandering eye lighted upon it.

"If you'll sign up, Miss," he suggested, "I'l

go have Ma get your room ready."

And away he scurried on his crutch,casting a last look over his shoulder at his

ruder male guests.

The girl went hastily as directed and satdown at the table, her back to the room.

The book she lifted down from its hangingplace; there was a stub of pencil tied tohe string. She took it stiffly into her

fingers and wrote, "Winifred Waverly."


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Her pencil in the space reserved for thesigner's home town, she hesitated. Onlybriefly, however. With a little shrug, she

completed the legend, inscribing swiftly,"Hill's Corners." Then she sat still, feelinhat many eyes were upon her and waitedhe return of the road house keeper. When

finally he came back into the room, hisslow hesitating gait and puckered facegave her a suspicion of the truth.

"I'm downright sorry, Miss," he beganamely. "Ma's got somethin' bad cold

or pneumonia an' she won't budge.There's only one more bed room an' LewYates's wife has got one cot an Lew'smother-in-law has got the other. An' theywon't budge. An' "


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He ended there abruptly.

"I see," said the girl wearily. "There isn't

any place for me."

"Unless," offered Drury withoutenthusiasm and equally without

expectation of his offer being of any greatvalue, "you'd care to crawl in with Ma"

"No, thank you!" said Miss Waverlyhastily. "I can sit up somewhere; after allt won't be long until morning and we star

on again. Or, if I might have a blanket to

hrow down in a corner "

Again Poke Drury left her abruptly. Shesat still at the table, without turning, again


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conscious of many eyes steadily on her.Presently from an adjoining room cameDrury's voice, subdued to a low mutter.

Then a woman's voice, snapping andquerrulous. And a moment later the returnof Drury, his haste savouring somewhat oflight from the connubial chamber, but

certain spoils of victory with him; fromhis arm trailed a crazy-quilt which it wasperfectly clear he had snatched from hiswife's bed.

He led the way to the kitchen, stuck acandle in a bottle on the table, spread thequilt on the floor in the corner, made averitable ceremony of fastening the backdoor and left her. The girl shivered andwent slowly to her uninviting couch.


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Poke Drury, in his big general room againstood staring with troubled face at theother men. With common consent and to

he last man of them they had alreadyiptoed to the register and were seeking tonform themselves as to the name and

habitat of the prettiest girl who had ever

found herself within the four walls ofPoke Drury's road house.

"Nice name," offered old man Adams

whose curiosity had kept stride with hisyears and who, lacking all youthfulhesitation, had been first to get to thebook. "Kind of stylish soundin'. But, Hill'Corners?" He shook his head. "I ain't beeno the Corners for a right smart spell, but I

didn't know such as herlived there."


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"They don't," growled the heavy set manwho had snatched the register from oldman Adams' fingers. "An' I been there

recent. Only last week. The Corners ain'tso all-fired big as a female like her isgoin' to be livin' there an' it not be knowedall over."

Poke Drury descended upon them, jerkedhe book away and with a screwed up fac

and many gestures toward the kitchen

recalled to them that a flimsy partition,hough it may shut out the vision, is hardlyo be counted on to stop the passage of an

unguarded voice.

"Step down this way, gents," he saidactfully. "Where the bar is. Bein' it's a

right winterish sort of night I don't reckon


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a little drop o' kindness would go bad,huh? Name your poison, gents. It's on me.

n her corner just beyond the flimsypartition, Winifred Waverly, of Hill'sCorners or elsewhere, drew the manycoloured patch work quilt about her and

shivered again.


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CHAPTER II

THE DEVIL'S OWN NIGHT

Hap Smith, the last to come in, opened thefront door which the wind snatched fromhis hands and slammed violently againsthe wall. In the sudden draft the old

newspapers on one of the oil-clothcovered tables went flying across theroom, while the rain drove in andblackened the floor. Hap Smith got thedoor shut and for a moment stood with hisback against it, his two mail bags, a leanand a fat, tied together and flung over his

shoulder, while he smote his hands


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ogether and laughed.

"A night for the devil to go skylarkin' in!"

he cried jovially. "A night for murder an'arson an' robbin' graveyards! Listen toher, boys! Hear her roar! Poke Drury, I'mellin' you, I'm glad your shack's right

where it is instead of seventeen milesfu'ther on. An' Where's the girl?" Hehad swept the room with his roving eye;now, dropping his voice a little he came

on down the room and to the bar. "Gone tobed?"

As one thoroughly at home here he went

for a moment behind the bar, dropped thebags into a corner for safety and threw offhis heavy outer coat, frankly exposing thebig revolver which dragged openly at his


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right hip. Bill Varney had always carrieda rifle and had been unable to availhimself of it in time; Hap Smith in

assuming the responsibilities of the UnitedStates Mail had forthwith invested heavilyof his cash on hand for a Colt forty-fiveand wore it frankly in the open. His, by th

way, was the only gun in sight, althoughhere were perhaps a half dozen in the

room.

"She ain't exactly gone to bed," giggled thgarrulous old man Adams, "bein' as thereain't no bed for her to go to. Ma Drury isnhabitin' one right now, while the otherwo is pre-empted by Lew Yates' wife an

his mother-in-law."

"Pshaw," muttered Hap Smith. "That ain't


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right. She's an awful nice girl an' she'sclean tuckered out an' cold an' wet. She'dought to have a bed to creep into." His

eyes reproachfully trailed off to PokeDrury. The one-legged man made agrimace and shrugged.

"I can't drag Lew's folks out, can I?" hedemanded. "An' I'd like to see the jasperas would try pryin' Ma loose from thecovers right now. It can't be did, Hap."

Hap sighed, seeming to agree, and sighingreached out a big hairy hand for the bottle

"She's an awful nice girl, jus' the same,"he repeated with head-nodding emphasis.And then, feeling no doubt that he haddone his chivalrous duty, he tossed off his


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iquor, stretched his thick arms high overhis head, squared his shoulderscomfortably in his blue flannel shirt and

grinned in wide good humour. "This herecampoody of yours ain't a terrible badplace to be right bow, Poke, old scout.

ot a bad place a-tall."

"You said twice, she was nice," put in oldman Adams, his bleary, red rimmed ferreteyes gimleting at the stage driver. "But

you ain't said who she was? Now"

Hap Smith stared at him and chuckled.

"Ain't that jus' like Adams for you?" hewanted to know. "Who is she, he says! Anhere I been ridin' alongside her all day annever once does it pop into my head to ask


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whether she minds the name of Daisy orSweet Marie!"

"Name's Winifred Waverly," chirped uphe old man. "But a name don't mean much

not in this end of the world least ways.But us boys finds it kind of interestin' how

she hangs out to Dead Man's Alley. Thatbein' kind of strange an' "

"Poh!" snorted Hap Smith disdainfully.

"Her hang out in that little town of Hill'sCorners? Seein' as she ain't ever beenhere, havin' tol' me so on the stage less'nwo hours ago, what's the sense of sayin' a

fool thing like that? She ain't the kind asdwells in the likes of that nest of polecatsan' sidewinders. Poh!"


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"Poh, is it?" jeered old man Adamsremulously. "Clap your peep sight on that

Hap Smith. Poh at me, will you?" and

close up to the driver's eyes he thrust theroad house register with its newlypencilled inscription so close that HapSmith dodged and was some time

deciphering the brief legend.

"Beats me," he grunted, when he had doneHe tossed the book to a table as a matter

of no moment and shrugged. "Anywaysshe's a nice girl, I don't care where sheabides, so to speak. An' me an' these otherboys," with a sweeping glance at the fourof his recent male passengers, "is hungriehan wolves. How about it, Poke? Late

hours, but considerin' the kind of night the

devil's dealin' we're lucky to be here a-


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all. I could eat the hind leg off a ten yearol' steer."

"Jus' because a girl's got a red mouth an'purty eyes " began old man Adamsknowingly. But Smith snorted "Poh!" athim again and clapped him good naturedly

on the thin old shoulders after such afashion as to double the old man up andsend him coughing and catching at hisbreath back to his chair by the fire.

Poke Drury, staring strangely at Smith,showed unmistakable signs of hisembarrassment. Slowly under several

pairs of interested eyes his face went aflaming red.

"I don't know what's got into me tonight,"


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he muttered, slapping a very high andshining forehead with a very soft, flabbyhand. "I clean forgot you boys hadn't had

supper. An' now the grub's all in thekitchen an' she'sin there, all curled upn a quilt an' mos' likely asleep."

Several mouths dropped. As for HapSmith he again smote his big handsogether and laughed.

"Drinks on Poke Drury," he announcedcheerfully. "For havin' got so excited overa pretty girl he forgot we hadn't hadsupper! Bein' that's what's got into him."

Drury hastily set forth bottles and glassesMore than that, being tactful, he startedHap Smith talking. He asked of the roads,


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called attention to the fact that the stagewas several hours late, hinted at dangerfrom the same gentleman who had taken

off Bill Varney only recently, and sosucceeded in attaining the desired result.Hap Smith, a glass twisting slowly in hishand, declaimed long and loudly.

But in the midst of his dissertation thekitchen door opened and the girl, her quiltabout her shoulders like a shawl, came in

"I heard," she said quietly. "You are allhungry and the food is in there." She cameon to the fireplace and sat down. "I am

hungry, too. And cold." She looked uponhe broad genial face of Hap Smith as

upon the visage of an old friend. "I am notgoing to be stupid," she announced with a


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ittle air of taking the situation in hand. "Iwould be, if I stayed in there and caughtcold. Tell them," and it was still Hap

Smith whom she addressed, "to go on withwhatever they are doing."

Again she came in for a close general

scrutiny, one of serious, frank and matterof fact appraisal. Conscious of it, as shecould not help being, she for a little liftedher head and turned her eyes gravely to

meet the eyes directed upon her. Herswere clear, untroubled, a deep grey andeminently pleasant to look into; especiallynow that she put into them a little friendlysmile. But in another moment and with ahalf sigh of weariness, she settled into achair at the fireside and let her gaze

wander back to the blazing fire.


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Again among themselves they conceded,what by glances and covert nods, that shewas most decidedly worth a man's second

ook and another after that. "Pretty, like apicture," offered Joe Hamby in a guardedwhisper to one of the recent arrivals, whowas standing with him at the bar. "Or,"

amended Joe with a flash of inspiration,"like a flower; one of them nice blueflowers on a long stem down by thecrick."

"Nice to talk to, too," returned Joe'scompanion, something of the pride ofownership in his tone and look. For,during the day on the stage had he not oncsummoned the courage for a stammeringremark to her, and had she not replied

pleasantly? "Never travelled with a nicer


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ady." Whereupon Joe Hamby regardedhim enviously. And old man Adams, witha sly look out of his senile old eyes,

erked his thin old body across the floor,dragging a chair after him, and sat down tentertain the lady. Who, it would seemfrom the twitching of her lips, had been in

reality wooed out of herself and highlyamused, when the interruption to the quiethour came, abruptly and without warning.

Poke Drury, willingly aided by thehungrier of his guests, had brought in thecold dishes; a big roast of beef, boiledpotatoes, quantities of bread and butterand the last of Ma Drury's dried-applepies. The long dining table had begun toake on a truly festive air. The coffee was

boiling in the coals of the fireplace. Then


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he front door, the knob turned andreleased from without, was blown wideopen by the gusty wind and a tall man

stood in the black rectangle of thedoorway. His appearance and attitudewere significant, making useless allconjecture. A faded red bandana

handkerchief was knotted about his facewith rude slits for the eyes. A broad blackhat with flapping, dripping brim wasdown over his forehead. In his two handshe barrel thrust forward into the room,

was a sawed-off shotgun.

He did not speak, it being plain that wordwere utterly superfluous and that he knewt. Nor was there any outcry in the room.

At first the girl had not seen, her back

being to the door. Nor had old man


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Adams, his red rimmed eyes being on thegirl. They turned together. The old man'saw dropped; the girl's eyes widened,

rather to a lively interest, it would seem,han to alarm. One had but to sit tight atimes like this and obey orders.

The intruder's eyes were everywhere. Hischief concern, however, from the startappeared to be Hap Smith. The stagedriver's hand had gone to the butt of his

revolver and now rested there. The muzzlof the short barrelled shotgun made a shorquick arc and came to bear on Hap Smith.Slowly his fingers dropped from his belt.

Bert Stone, a quick eyed little man fromBarstow's Springs, whipped out arevolver from its hidden place on his


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person and fired. But he had been overhasty and the man in the doorway had seenhe gesture. The roar of the shotgun there

n the house sounded like that of a cannonhe smoke lifted and spread and swirled ihe draft. Bert Stone went down with a

scream of pain as a load of buckshot flung

him about and half tore off his outer arm.Only the fact that Stone, in firing, hadwisely thrown his body a little to the sidesaved the head upon his body.

The wind swept through the open doorwith fresh fury. Here a lamp went out,here the unsteady flame of a candle was

extinguished. The smoke from the shotgunwas mingled with much wood smokewhipped out of the fireplace. The man in

he doorway, neither hesitating nor


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hurrying, eminently cool and confident,came into the room. The girl studied himcuriously, marking each trifling detail of

his costume: the shaggy black chaps likehose of a cowboy off for a gay holiday;he soft grey shirt and silk handkerchief to

match knotted loosely about a brown

hroat. He was very tall and wore bootswith tall heels; his black hat had a crownwhich added to the impression of greatheight. To the fascinated eyes of the girlhe appeared little less than a giant.

He stopped and for a moment remainedensely, watchfully still. She felt his eyes

on her; she could not see them in theshadow of his hat, but had an unpleasantsensation of a pair of sinister eyes

narrowing in their keen regard of her. She


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shivered as though cold.

Moving again he made his away along the

wall and to the bar. He stepped behind it,still with neither hesitation nor haste, andfound the two mail bags with his feet. Andwith his feet he pushed them out to the

open, along the wall, toward the door.Hap Smith snarled; his face no longer oneof broad good humour. The shotgun barrelbore upon him steadily, warningly. Hap's

rising hand dropped again.

Then suddenly all was uproar andconfusion, those who had been chained to

heir chairs or places on the floorspringing into action. The man had backedo the door, swept up the mail bags and

now suddenly leaped backward into the


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outside night. Hap Smith and four or fiveother men had drawn their guns and werefiring after him. There were outcries,

above them surging the curses of the stagedriver. Bert Stone was moaning on thefloor. The girl wanted to go to him but fora little merely regarded him with wide

eyes; there was a spreading pool on thebare floor at his side, looking in theuncertain light like spilled ink. A thud ofbare feet, and Ma Drury came running intohe room, her night dress flying after her.

"Pa!" she cried wildly. "You ain't killed,are you, Pa?"

"Bert is, most likely," he answered,swinging across the room to the fallenman. Then it was that the girl by the fire


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sprang to her feet and ran to Bert Stone'sside.

"Who was it? What happened?" Ma Druryasked shrilly.

The men looked from one to another of

heir set-faced crowd. Getting only silencfor her answer Ma Drury withcharacteristic irritation demanded again tobe told full particulars and in the same

breath ordered the door shut. A tardysqueal and another like an echo came frohe room which harboured Lew Yates's

wife and mother-in-law. Perhaps they had

ust come out from under the covers for aiand squealed and dived back again notbeing used to the customs obtaining in thevicinity of Drury's road house as Poke


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himself had remarked.

Hap Smith was the first one of the men

who had dashed outside to return. Hecarried a mail bag in each hand, muddyand wet, having stumbled over them in thewild chase. He dropped them to the floor

and stared angrily at them.

The bulky mail bag, save for the damp andmud, was untouched. The lean bag

however had been slit open. Hap Smithkicked it in a sudden access of rage.

"There was ten thousan' dollars in there,

n green backs," he said heavily. "Theyrusted it to me an' Bert Stone to get acros

with it. An' now "


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His face was puckered with rage andshame. He went slowly to where BertStone lay. His friend was white and

unconscious perhaps already his talewas told. Hap Smith looked from him tohe girl who, her face as white as Bert's,

was trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"I said it," he muttered lugubriously; "thedevil's own night."


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CHAPTER III

BUCK THORNTON, MAN'S MAN

Those who had rushed into the outerdarkness in the wake of the highwaymanreturned presently. Mere impulse andswift natural reaction from their former

enforced inactivity rather than any hope osuccess had sent them hot-foot on thepursuit. The noisy, windy night, theabsolute dark, obviated all possibility ofcoming up with him. Grumbling andheorising, they returned to the room and

closed the door behind them.


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ow that the tense moment of the actualrobbery had passed there was a generalbuzzing talk, voices lifted in surmise, a

ively excitement replacing the cosy quietof a few moments ago. Voices from thespare bed room urged Ma Drury to bringan account of the adventure, and Poke's

wife, having first escorted the woundedman to her own bed and donned a wrappeand shoes and stockings, gave to LewYates's women folk as circumstantial adescription of the whole affair as thoughshe herself had witnessed it.

After a while a man here and there begano eat, taking a slab of bread and meat in

one hand and a cup of black coffee in theother, walking back and forth and talking

hickly. The girl at the fireplace sat stiff


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and still, staring at the flames; she had losher appetite, had quite forgotten it in fact.At first from under the hand shading her

eyes she watched the men going for onedrink after another, the strong drink of thefrontier; but after a little, as though thishad been a novel sight in the beginning bu

soon lost interest for her, she let her lookdroop to the fire. Fresh dry fuel had beenpiled on the back log and at last a gratefulsense of warmth and sleepiness pervadedher being. She no longer felt hunger; shewas too tired, her eyelids had grown tooheavy for her to harbour the thought of

food. She settled forward in her chair andnodded. The talk of the men, though ashey ate and drank their voices wereifted, grew fainter and fainter in her ears

further and further away. Finally they


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were blended in an indistinguishablemurmur that meant nothing. In a dozeshe caught herself wondering if the

wounded man in the next room would livet was terribly still in there.

She was in that mental and physical

condition when, the body tired and thebrain betwixt dozing and waking, thoughtbecomes a feverish process, the mindsnatching vivid pictures from the day's

experience and weaving them into asllogical a pattern as that of the crazy quil

over her shoulders. All day long she hadridden in the swaying, lurching, jerkingstage until now in her chair, as she slippea little forward, she experienced thesensations of the day. Many a time that da

as the racing horses obeying the


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experienced hand of the driver sweptaround a sharp turn in the road she hadooked down a sheer cliff that had made

her flesh quiver so that it had been hardnot to draw back and cry out. She had seehe horses leaping forward scamper like

mad runaways down a long slope, dashing

hrough the spray of a rising creek to takehe uphill climb on the run. And tonight

she had seen a masked man shoot downone of her day's companions and loot theUnited States mail. And in a registersomewhere she had written down thename of Hill's Corners. The place men

called Dead Man's Alley. She had neverheard the name until today. Tomorrow shewould ask the exact significance of it.

At last she was sound asleep. She had


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found comfort by twisting sideways in herchair and resting her shoulder against thewarm rock-masonry of the outer edge of

he fireplace. She awoke with a start.What had recalled her to consciousnessshe did not know. Perhaps a new voice inher ears, perhaps Poke Drury's tones

become suddenly shrill. Or it may be thatust a sudden sinking and falling away into

utter silence of all voices, the growingstill of hands upon dice cups, all eloquentof a new breathless atmosphere in theroom had succeeded in impressing uponher sleep-drugged brain the fact of still

another vital, electrically chargedmoment. She turned in her chair. Then shesettled back, wondering.

The door was open; the wind was


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sweeping in; again old newspapers wentflying wildly as though in panicky fear.The men in the room were staring even as

she stared, in bewilderment. She heardold man Adams's tongue clicking in hisoothless old mouth. She saw Hap Smith,

his expression one of pure amazement,

standing, half crouching as though tospring, his hands like claws at his sides.And all of this because of the man whostood in the open doorway, looking in.

The man who had shot Bert Stone, whohad looted a mail bag, had returned! Thatwas her instant thought. And clearlyenough it was the thought shared by all ofPoke Drury's guests. To be sure he carriedno visible gun and his face was unhidden.

But there was the hugeness of him, bulking


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big in the doorway, the spare, sinewyheight made the taller by his tall bootheels, the wide black hat with the

drooping brim from which rain dropsrickled in a quick flashing chain, the

shaggy black chaps of a cowboy inholiday attire, the soft grey shirt, the grey

neck handkerchief about a brown throat,even the end of a faded bandana trailingfrom a hip pocket.

He stood stone-still a moment, looking inat them with that queer expression in hiseyes. Then he stepped forward swiftly andclosed the door. He had glanced sharply ahe girl by the fire; she had shaded her

eyes with her hand, the shadow of whichay across her face. He turned again from

her to the men, his regard chiefly for Hap


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Smith.

"Well?" he said lightly, being the first to

break the silence. "What's wrong?"

There are moments in which it seems as ifime itself stood still. During the

spellbound fragment of time a girl, lookinout from under a cupped hand, noted aman and marvelled at him. By his sheerphysical bigness, first, he fascinated her.

He was like the night and the storm itself,big, powerful, not the kind born to knowand suffer restraint; but rather the type ofman to dwell in such lands as stretched

mile after unfenced mile "out yonder"beyond the mountains. As he moved hegave forth a vital impression of immenseanimal power; standing still he was


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dynamic. A sculptor might have carvedhim in stone and named the result"Masculinity."

The brief moment in which souls balancedand muscles were chained passed swiftlyStrangely enough it was old man Adams

who precipitated action. The old man wasnervous; more than that, bred here, he wasfearless. Also fortune had given him aplace of vantage. His body was half

screened by that of Hap Smith and by acorner of the bar. His eager old handsnatched out Hap Smith's draggingrevolver, levelled it and steadied it acroshe bar, the muzzle seeking the young gian

who had come a step forward.

"Hands up!" clacked the old man in


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remulous triumph. "I got you, dad burnyou!" And at the same instant Hap Smithcried out wonderingly:

"Buck Thornton! You!"

The big man stood very still, only his head

urning quickly so that his eyes were uponhe feverish eyes of old man Adams.

"Yes," he returned coolly. "I'm Thornton."

And, "Got me, have you?" he added just acoolly.

Winifred Waverly stiffened in her chair;

already tonight had she heard gunshots andsmelled powder and seen spurting redblood. A little surge of sick horror broughts tinge of vertigo and left her clear


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houghted and afraid.

"Hands up, I say," repeated the old man

sharply. "I got you."

"You go to hell," returned Thornton, andhis coolness had grown into curt

nsolence. "I never saw the man yet that'm going to do that for." He came on two

more quick, long strides, thrust his faceforward and cried in a voice that rang out

commandingly above the crash of thewind, "Drop that gun! Drop it!"

Old man Adams had no intention of

obeying; he had played poker himself forsome fifty odd years and knew what bluffmeant. But for just one brief instant he waaken aback, fairly shocked into a


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fluttering indecision by the thunderousvoice. Then, before he could recoverhimself the big man had flung a heavy wet

coat into Adams's face, a gun had beenfired wildly, the bullet ripping into theceiling, and Buck Thornton had sprungforward and whipped the smoking weapo

from an uncertain grasp. WinifredWaverly, without breathing and withoutstirring, saw Buck Thornton's strong whiteeeth in a wide, good humoured smile.

"I know you were just joking but"

He whirled and fired, never lifting the gun

from his side. And a man across the roomfrom him cried out and dropped his owngun and grasped his shoulder with a handwhich slowly went red.


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ow again she saw Buck Thornton's teethBut no longer in a smile. He had seemedo condone the act of old Adams as a bit

of senility; the look in his eyes was one ofblazing rage as this other man drew backand back from him, muttering.

"I'd have killed you then," said Thorntoncoldly, his rage the cold wrath that begetsmurder in men's souls. "But I shot just ashade too quick. Try it again, or any other

man here draw, and by God, I'll show youa dead man in ten seconds."

He drew back and put the bar just behind

him. Then with a sudden gesture, he flungdown the revolver which had come fromHap Smith's holster and more recentlyfrom old man Adams's fingers, and his


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hand flashed to his arm pit and back intoplain sight, his own weapon in it.

"I don't savvy your game, sports," he saidwith the same cool insolence."But if you want me to play just go aheadand deal me a hand."

To the last man of them they looked at himand hesitated. It was written in large boldscript upon the faces of them that the girl's

hought was their thought. And yet, thoughhere were upward a dozen of them andhough Poke Drury's firelight flickered on

several gun barrels and though here were

men who were not cowards and who didnot lack initiative, to the last man of themhey hesitated. As his glance sped here

and there it seemed to stab at them like a


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knife blade. He challenged them and stoodquietly waiting for the first move. And thegirl by the fire knew almost from the first

hat no hostile move was forthcoming.And she knew further that had a man thereifted his hand Buck Thornton's promise

would have been kept and he'd show them

a dead man in ten seconds.

"Suppose," said Thornton suddenly, "youexplain. Poke Drury, this being your

shack. What's the play?"

Drury moistened his lips. But it was HapSmith who spoke up.

"I've knowed you some time, Buck," hesaid bluntly. "An' I never knowed you togo wrong. But Well, not an hour ago a


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man your build an' size an' with a bandanaacross his face stuck this place up."

"Well?" said Thornton coolly.

"At first," went on the stage driver heavilyand a bit defiantly, "we thought it was him

come back when you come in." His eyemet Thornton's in a long unwavering look"We ain't certain yet," he ended briefly.

Thornton pondered the matter, his thumbsoftly caressing the hammer of hisrevolver.

"So that's it, is it?" he said finally.

"That's it," returned Hap Smith.

"And what have you decided to do in the


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matter?"

Smith shrugged. "We acted like a pack of

kids," he said. "Lettin' you get the drop onus like this. Oh, you're twice as quick onhe draw as the best two of us an' we

know it. An' an' we ain't dead sure as

we ain't made a mistake."

His candidly honest face was troubled. Hwas not sure that Thornton was the same

man who so short a time ago had shot BerStone. It did not seem reasonable to HapSmith that a man, having successfullymade his play, would return just to court

rouble.

"If you're on the square, Buck," he said ina moment, "throw down your gun an' let's


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see the linin' of your pockets!"

"Yes?" retorted Thornton. "What else, Mr

Smith?"

"Let us take a squint at that bandanarailin' out'n your back pocket," said Smith

crisply. "If it ain't got deep holes cut in it!

ow that was stupid, thought Winifred.othing could be more stupid, in fact. If

his man had committed the crime and hadhus voluntarily returned to the road house

he would be prepared. He would haveemptied his pockets, he certainly would

have had enough brains to dispose of soell-tale a bit of evidence as a

handkerchief with slits let into it.


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"Maybe," said Thornton quietly, and shedid not detect the contemptuous insolenceunder the slow words until he had nearly

completed his meaning, "you'd like tohave me tell you where I'm riding fromand why? And maybe you'd like to haveme take off my shoes so you can look in

hem for your lost treasures?" Now washis contempt unhidden. He strode quicklyacross the room, coming to the fireplacewhere the girl sat. He took thehandkerchief from his pocket, keeping itrolled up in his hand; stooping forward hedropped it into the fire, well behind the

back log.

Then for the first time he saw her faceplainly. As he had come close to her she

had slipped from her chair and stood now


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her face lifted, looking at him. His gazewas arrested as his eyes met hers. Hestood very still, plainly showing the

surprise which he made no slightest efforto disguise. She flushed, bit her lip, went

fiery red. He put up his hand and removedhis hat.

"I didn't expect," he said, still looking ather with that intent, openly admiringacknowledgment of her beauty, "to see a

girl like you. Here."

The thing which struck her was that stillhere were men in the room who were

armed and distrustful of him and that hehad forgotten them. What she could notgauge was the full of the effect she hadhad upon him. He had marked a female


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form at the fireside, shawled by ashapeless patchwork quilt; out of it,magically it seemed to his startled fancies

here had stepped a superb creature witheyes on fire with her youth, a superlativelovely creature, essentially feminine.

From the flash of her eyes to the curl of

her hair, she was all girl. And to BuckThornton, man's man of the wide opencountry beyond the mountains, who had sehis eyes upon no woman for a half year,who had looked on no woman of herobvious class and type for two years, whohad seen the woman of one half her

physical loveliness and tugging charmnever, the effect was instant andremendous. A little shiver went through

him; his eyes caught fire.


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CHAPTER IV

THE FORD

"These little cotton-tail rabbits," he saido her slowly, without turning his eyes

from hers to those of whom he spoke,"haven't any more sense than you'd think to

ook at them. Once let them get a notion inheir heads. Look here!" he broke off

sharply. "You don't think the same wayhey do, do you?"

"No!" she said hurriedly.

Hurriedly, because for the moment her


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poise had fled from her and she knew thathe must note the high colour in her cheeksAnd the colour had come not in response

o his words but in quick answer to hisook. A young giant of a man, he stood

staring at her like some artless boy who aa bend in the road had stopped, breathless

o widen his eyes to the smile of a fairyfresh from fairy land.

And her "No," was the true reply to his

question and burst spontaneously from herips. Her first swift suspicion when she

had seen the bulk of him framed againsthe bleak night had been quite natural. But

now that she had marked the man'scarriage and had seen his face and lookedfor one instant deep into his clear eyes,

she set her conjecture aside as an


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absurdity. It was not so much that herreason had risen to demand why asuccessful highwayman should return into

danger and the likelihood of swiftpunishment. It was rather and simplybecause she felt that this bronzed youngstranger, seeming to her woman's instinct

a sort of breezy incarnation of theoutdoors, partook of none of thecharacteristics of the footpad, sneak thiefor nocturnal gentleman of the road. Anessential attribute of the boldest and mostpicturesque of that gentry was the qualityof deceit and subterfuge and hypocrisy.

Consecutive logical thought being, afterall, a tedious process, she had had no timeo progress from step to step of deduction

and inference; he had asked his question

with a startling abruptness and as abruptly


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she had given him her answer. The restmight believe what they chose to believe.She for her part, held Buck Thornton,

whoever he might be, guiltless of theearlier affair of the evening. And,moreover, she could quite understand thempulse that sent an innocent man to toss a

handkerchief into the fire and let themponder on the act's significance. The actmay have been foolhardy and certainlyhad the youthful flavour of bravado; nonehe less in her eyes the man achievedhrough it a sort of magnificence.

He stood looking at her very gravely andgravely she returned the look. And it wasborne in upon the girl's innerconsciousness that now and for the first

ime in her life she had come face to face


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with a man absolutely without guile or theneed thereof. He was in character as hewas in physique, or she read him wrongly

He thought his thought straight out andmade no pretence of hiding it for thesimple and sufficient reason that there wan all the universe no slightest need of

hiding it. As she looked straight back intohis eyes little flashes of impressionswhich had fastened upon her mind duringhe day came back to her, things which he

suggested, which were like him. She wasvery tired and further she wasoverwrought from the nervous excitement

of the evening; hence her mental processewere the quicker and more prone to fly ofat wild tangents. She had seen a tall,rugged cedar on a rocky ridge blown

hrough by the tempest, standing out in


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clear relief against the sky; this manrecalled the scene, the very atmosphere.She had seen a wild swollen torrent

hurtling on its way down themountainside; the man had threatened tobecome like that, headlong withunbounded passion, fierce and destructive

when a moment ago they opposed him.Again she bit her lip; she was thinking ofhis huge male creature in hyperboles.

Yes; she was overwrought; it was notwell to think thusly of any mere malecreature.

And yet she but liked him the better andher fancies were smitten anew by what hedid now. Having filled his eyes with heras a man athirst may fill himself with

water from a brook, he turned abruptly


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away and left her. He did not tarry to say"Thank you," that she had been almosteager in asserting her belief in his

nnocence. He did not go back to a futileand perhaps quarrelsome discussion withHap Smith and old man Adams and therest. He simply dropped everything where

t was, shoved his big revolver out ofsight under his left arm-pit and went to theong dining table. There, his back to the

room, he helped himself generously tocold meat, bread and luke-warm coffeeand ate hungrily.

She sank back into her chair and let hereyes wander to his breadth of shoulder,straightness of back and even to the curl ohis hair that cast its dancing shadows upo

he wall in front of him. She had never had


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a man turn his back on her this way, andyet now the accomplished deed struck hern nowise as boorish or rude. He had paid

her the tribute of a deep admiration, asclear and strong and unsullied as a racingmountain stream in spring time. The fewwords which he deemed necessary had

passed between them. Then he hadwithdrawn himself from her attention. Norude, the act savoured somehow of thedownright free bigness of unconvention.

"It's silly, jumping to conclusions, anyway," she informed herself. "Why suspecthim just because he wears the costume ofhe country, has the usual red handkerchien his possession and is tall? There are

half a dozen big red handkerchiefs in this

room right now and this would seem to


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be the land of tall men."

Only once again did he speak to her that

night and then just to say in plain matter-of-fact style: "You'd better lie down thereand get some sleep. Good night." And thisremark had come only after fifteen minute

of busy preparation on his part andcuriosity on hers. He had gone out of theroom into the night with no offeredexplanation and with many eyes following

him; men began to show rising signs ofexcitement and to regret audibly that theyhad not "gathered him in." But in a fewminutes he was back, his arms filled withoose hay from the barn. He spread it outn a corner, down by the long table. Theable itself he drew out of the way. On the

hay he smoothed out her quilt. Then, after


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a brief word with Poke Drury, he madeanother expedition into the night, returningwith a strip of weather beaten, patched

canvas; this he hung by the corners fromhe nails he hammered into a beam of theow ceiling, letting the thing drop

partition-wise across the room. It had

been then that he said quietly: "You'dbetter lie down there and get some sleep.Good night."

"Good night," she answered him. And as iwas with his eyes that again he told herfrankly what he thought of her, so was itwith her eyes that she thanked him.

The night passed somehow. She lay downand slept, awoke, moved her body formore comfort, slept again. And through


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her sleep and dreams and wakefulmoments she heard the quiet voices of themen who had no beds to go to; that

monotonous sound and an occasional clinof glass and bottle neck or the rustling ofshuffled cards. Once she got up andooked through a hole in the canvas; she

had taken off her shoes and made no noiseo draw attention to her spying. It must

have been chance, therefore, whichprompted Thornton to lift his head quicklyand look toward her. The light was all onhis side of the room; she knew that he hadnot heard her and could not see her; the

ear in her flimsy wall was scarcely morehan a pin-hole. He was playing cards;furthermore he was winning, there being ahigh stack of blue and red and white chips

n front of him and a sprinkling of gold.


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But she saw no sign of the gambling fevern his eyes. Rather, there was in them aook which made her draw back guiltily;

which sent her creeping back to her rudebed with suffused cheeks. He was stillhinking of her, solely of her, despite the

spoils of chance at his hand.

All night the storm beat at the lone housen the mountain pass, rattling at doors and

windows, whistling down the chimney,

shaking the building with its fierce gusts.The rain ceased only briefly when thecold congealed it into a flurry of beatinghail stones; thereafter came the rain againscarcely less noisy. And in the morningwhen she awoke with a start and smelledboiling coffee the wind was still raging,

he rain was falling heavily and steadily.


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n the dark and with the lamps burning onpalely into the dim day she breakfasted.Together with several of the men she ate

n the kitchen where a fire roared in an olstove, and where a table was placedconveniently. Ma Drury was about,sniffling with her cold, but cooking and

serving her guests sourly, slamming downhe enamelled ware in front of them and

challenging them with a look to find faultanywhere. She reported that in somemysterious way, for which God behanked, there were no dead men in her

house this morning. Bert Stone was alive

and showed signs of continuing to live, ahing to marvel at. And the man whomBuck Thornton had winged, beyonddisplaying a sore arm and disposition,

was for the present a mere negligible and


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disagreeable quantity.

Hap Smith came in from the barn while

she was eating. He was going to start righaway. There was no use, however, in herattempting to make the rest of the trip withhim. His other passengers would lie over

here for a day or two. She looked at himcuriously: why should she not go on? Itcertainly was not pleasant to think ofremaining in these cramped quarters

ndefinitely.

Hap Smith, hastily eating hot cakes andham, answered briefly and to the point.

Mountain streams were all up, filling theinarrow beds, spilling over. A rain likehis downpour brought them up in a few

hours; it would stop raining presently and


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hey'd go down as fast as they had risen.Just two miles from the road house washe biggest stream of all to negotiate,

being the upper waters of Alder Creek. Itwas up to Hap to make it because herepresented a certain Uncle Samuel whowas not to be stopped by hell or high

water; literally that. He'd tie his mail bagsn; leave all extras at Poke Drury's, drive

his horses into the turbulent river highabove the ford and make it somehow. Iwas up to her to stay here.

He gobbled down his breakfast, rolled afat brown cigarette, buttoned up his coatand went out to his stage. Before he couldsnap back his brake she was at his side.

"My business is as important to me as


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Uncle Samuel's is to him," she told him ina steady, matter-of-fact voice. "What ismore, I have paid my fare and mean to go

hrough with you."

He saw that she did mean it. Heexpostulated, but briefly. He was behind

ime, he knew that already they had sougho argue with her in the house, he

recognized the futility of further argumentHe had a wife of his own, had Hap Smith.

He grunted his displeasure with thearrangement, informed her curtly that itwas up to her and that, if they went under,his mail bags would require all of hisattention, shrugged his two shoulders atonce and high up, released his brake andwent clattering down the rocky road. The

girl cast a quick look behind her as they


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drew away from the road house; she hadnot seen Buck Thornton this morning andwondered if he had been loitering about

he barn or had turned back into themountains or had ridden ahead.

Alder Creek was a mad rush and swirl of

muddy water; the swish and hiss of itsmote their ears five minutes before theysaw the brown, writhing thing itself. Thegirl tensed on her seat; her breathing was

momentarily suspended; her cheek went aittle pale. Then, conscious of a quick

measuring look from the stage driver, shesaid as quietly as she could:

"It doesn't look inviting, does it?"

Hap Smith grunted and gave his attention


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forthwith and solely to the dexteroushandling of his tugging reins. He knew thecrossing; had made it with one sort of a

eam and another many times in his life.But he had never seen it so swollen andhreatening and he had never heard its

hissing sound upgathered into such a

booming roar as now greeted them. Hestopped his team and looked from underdrawn brows at the water.

"You'd better get out," he said shortly.

"But I won't!" she retorted hurriedly."And, since we are going to make the

crossing go ahead, quick!"

He winked both eyes at the rain drivingnto his face and sat still, measuring his


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chances. While he did so she looked upand down; not a hundred paces from themupstream on the near bank, the figure of a

man loomed unnaturally large in the wetair. He was mounted upon a tall, rangyhorse that might have been foaled just forhe purpose of carrying a man of his ilk, a

pale yellow-sorrel whose two forefeet,had it not been for the mud, would haveshone whitely. She wondered what he wadoing there. His attitude was that of onewho was patiently waiting.

"Hold on good an' tight," said Smithsuddenly. "I'm goin' to tackle it."

She gripped the back of the seat firmly,braced her feet, set her teeth together, aittle in quick fear, a great deal in


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determination. Smith swung his teamupstream fifty paces, then in a short arcout and away from the creek; then, getting

heir heads again to the stream he called tohem, one by one, each of the four in turn,

saying crisply: "You, Babe! Charlie! that'he boy! Baldy! You Tom, you Tom! Into

t; into it;get up!"

With shaking heads that flung theraindrops from tossing manes, with

gingerly lifted forefeet, with a snort hereand a crablike sidling dance there, theycame down to the water's edge at a briskrot. The off-lead, Charlie, fought shy and

snorted again; the long whip in HapSmith's hand shot out, uncurled, flickedCharlie's side, and with a last defiant

shake of the head the big bay drove his


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obedient neck into his collar and splashedmightily in the muddy current. Babeplunged forward at his side; the two other

horses followed as they were in the habitof following.

The girl, fascinated, saw the water curl

and eddy and whiten about their knees; shsaw it surge onward and rise about thehubs of the slow turning wheels. Higher itcame and higher until the rushing sound of

t filled her ears, the dark yellow flash oft filled her eyes and she sat breathless

and rigid. A quick glance showed herhe man, Thornton, still above them on the

bank of the stream. She noted that he haddrawn a little closer to the water's edge.

They were half way across, fairly in


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midstream, and Hap Smith, utterlyoblivious of his one passenger, cursingmightily, when the mishap came. The mad

stream, rolling its rocks and boulders andagged tree trunks, had gouged holes in the

bank here and there and had diggedsimilar holes in the uneven bed itself. Into

such a hole the two horses on the lowerside floundered, with no warning and withdisastrous suddenness. Then went down,until only their heads were above thecurrent. They lost all solid ground underheir threshing hoofs and, as they rose aittle, began to swim, flailing about

desperately. Hap Smith yelled at them,yanked at his reins, seeking to turn themstraight down stream for a spell until thehole be passed. But already another horse

was in and engulfed, the wagon careened,


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was whipped about in the furious strugglea wheel struck a submerged boulder andHap Smith leaped one way while

Winifred Waverly sprang the other as theawkward stage tipped and went on itsside.

She knew on the instant that one had nochance to swim here, no matter how stronhe swimmer. For the current was strongehan the mere strength of a human being.

She knew that if Hap Smith clung tight tohis reins he might be pulled ashore in dueime, if all went well for him. She knewhat Winifred Waverly had never been in

such desperate straits. And finally sheunderstood, and the knowledge wasnfinitely sweet to her in her moment of

need, why the man yonder had been sitting


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his horse so idly in the rain, and just whyhe had been waiting.

She did not see him as his horse, strikingout valiantly, swimming and findingprecarious foothold by turns, bore downupon her; she saw only the yellow, dirty

current when she saw anything at all. Shecould not know when, the first time, heeaned far out and snatched at her and

missed. For at the moment a sucking

maelstrom had caught her and whippedher out of his reach and flung her onward,for a little piling the churning water aboveher head. She did not see when finally hesucceeded in that which he had attemptedBut she felt his two arms about her and inher heart there was a sudden glow and,

hough the water battled with the two of


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hem, strangely enough a feeling of safety.

Perhaps it was only because he had

planned on the possibility of just this andwas ready for it that she came out of AldeCreek alive. He had slipped the loop ofhis rope about the horn of his saddle,

making it secure with an additional halfhitch; when he was sure of her he flunghimself from the saddle, still keeping therope in his hand as he took her into his

arms. Then, swimming as best he could,seeking to keep her head and his above thwater, he left the rest to a certain rangy,yellow-sorrel saddle horse. And as HapSmith and his struggling team made shoreust below the ford, Buck Thornton and

Winifred Waverly were drawn to safety

by Buck Thornton's horse.


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Just as there had been no spoken thanksast night for a kindness rendered, so now

on this larger occasion there was no gush

of grateful words. He released her slowlyand their eyes met. As he turned to helpHap Smith with the frightened horsesentangled in their harness, the only words

were his:

"A couple of miles farther on you'll pass aranch house. You can get warm and dry

your clothes there. This is the last badcrossing."

And so, lifting his hat, he left her.


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CHAPTER V

THE MAN FROM POISON HOLE RANCH

Dry Town never looked less dry. As BuckThornton drew rein in front of the onebrick building of which the ugly littlevillage could boast, the mud was above

his yellow-sorrel's fetlocks. But the rainwas over, the sun was out glorious andwarm above the level lands and in the airwas a miraculous feeling as of spring. It ihe way of Dry Town in the matter of

seasons to rival in abruptness its denizensways in other matters. The last great storm

had come and gone and seeds would be


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bursting on every hand and eagerly now.

Because he loved a good horse, and this

rangy sorrel above others, and becausefurther he had been forced to ride thewilling animal unusually hard all dayyesterday, Thornton today had travelled

slowly. So, long ago, he had watched thestage out of sight and now, when finally hdrew up in front of the bank, he saw HapSmith's lumbering vehicle standing down

by the stable. From it he let his eyes travealong the double row of ill kept, unpaintehouses. Fifty yards away a stranger wouldhave marked only his great height, theean, clean, powerful physique. But from

near by one might have forgotten thismatter of physical bigness for another,

noting just the man's eyes alone. Very


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keen, piercing, quick eyes just now,watchful and suspicious of every cornerand alley, they more than hinted at a stern

vigilance that was more than half positiveexpectancy.

Only for a moment he sat so. Then he

swung down from the saddle and withspurs clanking noisily upon the boardsidewalk went into the bank building.

"I want to see Mr. Templeton," he saidabruptly to the clerkly looking individualbehind the new lattice work. The wordswere very quietly spoken, the voice rather

soft and gentle for so big a man. And yethe cashier turned quickly, looking at him

curiously.


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"Who shall I say it is?" he demanded.

"This man's town is getting citified mighty

fast," the tall man grunted."I should have brought my cards! Well,ust tell him it's Thornton."

"Thornton?"

"You got it. Buck Thornton, from thePoison Hole ranch."

He spoke lightly, his voice hinting at avast store of good nature, his eyes,however, losing meanwhile no glint of

heir stern light as they looked at the mano whom he was talking and beyond him

watched the door through which he hadentered. The cashier regarded him with


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new interest.

"You are early, Mr. Thornton," he said,

rather more warmly than he had spokenbefore. "But Mr. Templeton will be glado see you. He is in his private office.

Walk right in."

Thornton stooped, his back to the wall,and swiftly unbuckled his spurs. Carryinghem in his left hand he passed along the

attice work partition which shut off thecashier with his books and till, and threwopen the door at the end of the shorthallway. Here was a sort of waiting room

o judge from the two or three chairs, thesquare topped table strewn with financialournals and illustrated magazinesndiscriminately mixed. He closed the


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door behind him, standing again for amoment as he had stood out in the street,his eyes keen and watchful as they took

swift inventory of the room and itsfurnishings.

Before him was a second door upon the

frosted glass top of which were thestencilled words: J.W. TEMPLETON,President, Private. He took a step towardhe door and then stopped suddenly as

hough the very vehemence of the voicebursting out upon the other side of it hadhalted him.

"I tell you, Miss Waverly," it wasTempleton's voice, snappy and irritable, "this thing is madness! Pure andsimple, unadulterated madness! It's as


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devoid of sense as a last year's nest ofbirds; it's as full of danger as a a "

"Never mind exhausting your similes, Mr.Templeton," came the answer, the girl'svoice young and fresh and yet withal firmand a little cool. "I didn't come to ask you

advice, you know. And you haven't givenme what I did come for. If you "

Thornton pushed the door open, sweeping

off his hat as he came in, and said bluntly,

"I don't know what you folks are talkingabout, but I judge it's important. And

here's no sense in loose-endish talk whenyou don't know who's listening."

The square built, square faced man


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apping with big square finger ends at theable in front of him whirled about

suddenly, his gesture and eyes alike

showing his keen annoyance at thenterruption. Then when he saw who it

was he got to his feet, saying crisply:

"I'm glad it's you. This young woman hasgot it into her head "

"You will remember, Mr. Templeton, that

his is in strict confidence?"

Templeton's teeth shut with a click.Thornton turned from him and, with his

spurs in one hand, his hat caught in theother, stood looking down upon the ownerof the voice that was at once so fresh andyoung, so coolly determined and vaguely


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defiant. And as he looked at her there wasmuch speculation in his grave eyes. Oddhat he should stumble upon her the first

hing. Odd andnatural.

The girl's back was to him. For a momentshe did not shift her position the least

fraction of an inch, but sat very still,eaning forward in her chair, facing the

banker. Then after a little when it wasevident that Templeton was going to say

nothing more she turned slowly to the newcomer, her lashes sweeping upwardswiftly as her eyes met his full and steadyAnd the man from the Poison Hole ranch,his own eyes looking down into hers verygravely, noted many things in the quick,keen way characteristic of him.


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He saw that her mouth, red lips about verywhite teeth, was smiling softly,confidently; and yet that the brown-flecke

grey of her eyes was as unsmiling, asgravely speculative as his own eyes wereHe saw that her skin was a golden brownfrom life in the open outdoors, that she ha

upon the heels of her boots a pair of tiny,sharp rowelled spurs, that a riding quirthung from her right wrist by its rawhidehong, that her cheeks were a little flushed

as though from excitement but that sheknew the trick of forbidding her eyes toell what her excitement was. He saw that

her throat, where her neck scarf felloosely away from it, was very round andwhite. He saw that while her grey ridinghabit covered her body it hid none of her

body's grace and strength and slender


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youthfulness.

While his eyes left hers to note these

hings her eyes had been as busy, runningfrom the man's close cropped dark hair tohis mud-spattered boots. And there camento her look just a hint of admiration

which the man did not see as she in herswift examination noted the breadth ofshoulder, the straight tallness of him, theclean, supple, sinewy form which his

oose attire of soft shirt, unbuttoned vestgrey with dust, and shaggy chaps, blackand much worn, in no way concealed.

"I have come," he was saying now toTempleton, speaking abruptly although hisvoice was as gentle and low-toned andpleasant as when he had spoken with the


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cashier, "three days ahead of time. It wonake me a minute to get through. And if you

and the young lady will excuse me I'll say

my little speech and drift, giving you afree swing for your business. Besides, I'mn a fair sized hurry."

"Certainly," said Templeton immediately,while the girl, smiling now with eyes andips together, unconcernedly, made no

answer. "Miss Waverly is planning to.

Well, I want to talk with her a little more.Well, Thornton," and only now he put outhis hand to be gripped quickly and warmlby the other's, "what is it? I'm glad to seeyou. Everything's all right?"

"Yes. I just dropped in to fix up thatsecond payment."


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"Shall I go out while you talk?" The girlhad gotten to her feet swiftly. "If you aregoing to say anything important "

"No, you'd better stay," Thornton said, andadded jestingly: "I've got nothingconfidential on my mind, and since I'm jus

going to hand Mr. Templeton some moneyan almighty big pile of money for me to becarrying around, maybe we'd better have awitness to the transaction."

The banker looked at him in surprise.

"You don't mean that you've got it with

you now? That you've just ridden in fromhe range and have brought it with you n cash!"


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For answer the cattle man slipped abronzed hand into his shirt and brought oua small packet done up in a piece of

buckskin and tied with a string. He tossedt to the shining table top, where it fell

heavily.

"There she is," he said lightly. "Gold anda few pieces of paper. The whole thing.Count it."

Templeton sank back into his chair andstared at him. He put out his hand, liftedhe packet, dropped it back upon the table

stared again, and then burst out irritably:

"Of all the reckless young fools in thecounty you two are without equals. BuckThornton, I thoughtyouhad some sense!"


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"You never can tell," came the quietrejoinder from unsmiling lips. "I saw aman once I thought had sense and I found

out afterwards he ran sheep. Now, ifyou'll see my bet I'll travel."

Templeton's desk shears were already

busy. He jerked the packet open flat on theable. There were many twenty dollar

pieces, some fives and tens and a littlebundle of bank notes. He counted swiftly.

"It's all right. Five thousand dollars," hesaid crisply. "In full for second paymentdue, as you say, in three days. I'll note it

on the two agreements. And I'll give you areceipt."

The tall man's deep chest rose and fell to


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sigh as of relief at having done his errandhe placed his spurs in his hat and his hatupon a chair and began to roll a cigarette.

The banker wrote quickly with sputteringpen in a book of receipt blanks, tore outhe leaf and passed it across the table.

"There you are, Buck Thornton of thePoison Hole," he said with an increase ofrritability in his curt tones. "And now youisten to me; you're a fool! Or else you're

so far out of the world over on your ranchhat you don't know what's going on.

Which is it?"

"I hear a good deal of what's happening,"returned Thornton drily.

"Then I suppose you realize that a man


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who rides day and night, through thatcountry, carrying five thousand dollarswith him, and when everybody in the

country knows that according to contracthe is about due to make a five thousanddollar payment, is acting like a fool with asuicidal mania?"

For a moment Thornton did not answer.He seemed so engrossed in hiscigarette building that one might almost

suppose that he had not heard.And then, lifting his head suddenly, hiseyes keen and hard uponTempleton's, he said casually,

"I dropped in three days ahead of time,didn't I?"


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"And the wonder is," snapped Templeton"that you haven't dropped clean out of theworld! If you do a fool thing like this,

Buck Thornton, when your last payment isdue, you can do it. But I won't go nearyour funeral!"

Thornton laughed easily, tucked thereceipt into his vest pocket, and reachedfor his hat and spurs.

"I'm obliged, Mr. Templeton," heacknowledged lightly. "But we've got toadmit that I got across all right this time.And, as you've heard, I suppose, right

under Mr. Bad Man's nose, since I wascarrying that little wad last night whenHap Smith got cleaned at Poke Drury's.Well, I'll be going. Just give that


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rattlesnake Pollard the five thousand andan invitation from me to keep off myranch, remembering that it doesn't happen

o belong to him any more."

He nodded and went to the door. There heurned and looked back at the girl. She had

risen swiftly, even coming a step towardhim.

"I haven't thanked you I "

Templeton looked on curiously, an oddwitching at the corners of his large mouth

Thornton threw up a sudden hand.

"No," he said hastily. "You haven'tspoiled things by thanking me. And.We'll see each other again," he concluded


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n his quietly matter-of-fact way. And, hisnod for both of them, he went out.


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CHAPTER VI

WINIFRED JUDGES A MAN

There was a puzzled frown in her eyes, afaint flush tingeing her cheeks as,withdrawing her regard from Thornton'sdeparture, she looked to Templeton and

asked quickly:

"Why did he call Henry Pollard arattlesnake?"

A faint smile for a moment threatened todrive the sternness away fromTempleton's lips. But it was gone in a


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quick tightening of the mouth, and heanswered briefly.

"He didn't know that you knew Pollard."

"I don't know him," she reminded himcoolly. "You will remember that I haven't

seen him since I was six years old. Ihardly know what he looks like. But youhaven't answered me; why did yourmprudent giant call him a rattlesnake?"

"They have had business dealingsogether," he told her vaguely. "Maybehey have disagreed about something. Men

out there are a little given to hard words, hink."

She sat silent, leaning forward, tapping at


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her boot with her quirt. Then quickly, justas the banker was opening his lips tospeak of the other matter, she demanded:

"Why did you call him a fool for bringinghe money here? It had to be brought,

hadn't it?"

"Yes! That's just it. It had to be broughtand there is not a man in all of the cattlecountry here who does not know all about

he terms of the contract Thornton andPollard made. Ten thousand down, fivehousand in three days from now, the other

five thousand in six months. Why, right

now I wouldn't attempt to carry fivehousand dollars in cashover that

wilderness trail if there were ten times theamount to come to me at the end of it! It's


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as mad as this thing you want to do."

"He did it."

"Yes," shortly. "He did it." He gathered uhe loose money, pushed a button set in theable, and upon the prompt appearance of

he cashier said crisply, "Five thousand toapply on the Pollard-Thornton agreement.Put it in the big safe immediately."

"He looks as though he could take care ofhimself," the girl said thoughtfully whenhe money had gone.

Templeton whirled about upon her, hiseyes blazing.

"Take care of himself!" he scoffed. "What

chance has a man to take care of himself


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when another man puts a rifle ball throughhis back? What chance had Bill Varney ofhe Twin Dry Diggings stage only three

weeks ago? Varney is dead and the moneyhe was carrying is gone, that's the chancehe had! What chance has any man had forhe last six months if he carried five

hundred dollars on him and any one knewabout it? They chased off a dozen steersfrom Kemble's place not three days ago,you yourself know what happened atDrury's road house last night, and nowBuck Thornton rides through the samecountry with five thousand dollars on

him!"

"He did it," she repeated again very softlyher eyes musing.


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"And one of these days he's going to findout how simple a matter it is for a gangike the gang operating in broad daylight

n this country now to separate a fool andhis money! The Lord knows how a simplerick like coming in three days ahead ofime fooled them. It won't do it again."

"He is the type of man to succeed," shewent on, still musingly.

Templeton shrugged.

"We have our own business on ourhands," he said abruptly, looking at his

watch. "The stage leaves in half an hour.Are you going to be reasonable?"

Then she stood up and smiled at him very


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brightly.

"The stage is going its way, Mr.

Templeton. I am going mine."

Templeton flung down his pen with anaccess of irritation which brought a flicke

of amusement into the bright grey eyes.But the banker's grim mouth did not relax;here was anger in the gesture with which

he slammed a blotter down on the big

yellow envelope on which his wet penhad fallen. After his carefully precisefashion he was reaching for a fresh, cleanenvelope when the girl took the slightly

soiled one from him.

"Thank you," she said, rising and smilingdown at him. "But this will do just as


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well. And now, if you'll wish me gooduck"

She went out followed by a look of muchgrave speculation.

Meanwhile Buck Thornton, leading his

horse after him, crossed the dusty street tohe Last Chance saloon. At the wateringrough he watered his horse, and then,

slackening the cinch a little

Documents

Gregory Jackson - Six Feet Four