“You was kinda on the prod yoreself, wasn’t yuh, Danert?”
“When I came in?” Danert laughed coldly. “Well, I thought you was
getting fresh with the little lady.”
“Shucks!” Peace’s tone was sorrowful. “I never got fresh with no lady,
Danert. You goin’ to marry her?”
Danert laughed and shook his head.
“No, I haven’t any use for a wife--not yet.”
“Pshaw!” breathed Peace. “I never thought about a man havin’ use for
a wife. Kinda sounds like a man packin’ an ax to cut wood with. Say,
Danert, I don’t want to criticize any man’s notions, but--do you like
them pearl-handled six-guns, or do yuh pack one ’cause it’s pretty?”
Danert hesitated for a moment and slowed his walk.
“I do not care to have any one tell me what I should wear. My business
is my business and concerns no one except myself. I hope you understand
what I mean.”
“Sure,” grinned Peace. “Go ahead and pack one of those pretty guns if
yuh want to; but some day she’ll slip in yore hand----”
Danert turned and went into a small restaurant, and Peace followed
him to a booth in the rear. They sat down and gave their order to a
Chinaman. Danert took out the letter and read it again.
“Holman does not give your name,” he remarked meaningly.
“That’s all right,” said Peace slowly. “Just call me Peace.”
“What’s your first name?”
“First name?” Peace pondered solemnly over it for a while and smiled at
Danert. “Ma told me once that they used to call me Little Sunshine, on
account of me havin’ red hair at that time. I reckon that was my first
name. After that they----”
“Oh ----!” Danert exploded his disgust, but Peace’s face broke into a
wide smile.
“You know anything about Chinook Valley?” growled Danert.
Peace’s eyes narrowed and he studied Danert.
Was the man trying to probe into his past?
“Chinook Valley? What about it, Danert?”
“That’s where you’re going to herd sheep.”
Peace was thankful that the Chinaman came in at that moment with their
orders, which gave him a chance to prepare for anything Danert might
say. When he went out Danert continued--
“I’ll tell you something about Chinook Valley, if you care to hear it.”
Peace cut slowly into a juicy steak and nodded without raising his eyes.
“Go ahead, Danert.”
“Chinook Valley is East of here, across the range,” said Danert. “The
only way to get in and out is by Poncho Pass, which is a pretty stiff
climb out of here. There are about ten cattle outfits in this valley.
These ten outfits have controlled the valley for years, although they
do not own more than a few hundred acres apiece.
“The biggest cattle owner in the valley is a man named Marshall, who
owns the Cross L brand. They call him ‘Cross L Marshall.’ The rest of
the brands own about the same amount of stock.
“A little northeast of here is Sun Prairie. Sheep have used that
locality for years, but it is worn out now. It is a case of a new range
or sell out. Some of the sheep-men have sold out--sold out cheap. Those
are the sheep you are going to herd--into--Chinook--Valley.”
Peace ate slowly while Danert talked, and did not look up when Danert
stopped.
“We told Holman to get a man with plenty of nerve and to pay him well,”
continued Danert. “You’ve got the nerve. Holman says he paid you a
month’s salary in advance.”
Peace nodded and cleared his throat.
“You goin’ to only send in what one man can drive?”
“No,” hastily. “It’s like this: You will take a thousand through the
pass at night and have them well down into the valley by daytime.
Get them as far as possible, you understand. Scatter them as much as
possible. If no one stops you at daylight, keep them drifting. Our
idea is to follow up the next day with twenty thousand head. We’ll
flood the valley with sheep.
“We’ll have at least twenty men in there the day after you get in. What
we want to do is to get the first bunch so far down into the valley that
it will take all their time to round ’em up.
“Your small bunch will travel faster at night, whereas a large bunch
would move slowly, and we’re using you to drive a wedge into the place.
The big herd is held just outside of here now. Everybody thinks we are
waiting for cars to ship ’em out. Several train-loads have already been
shipped East.”
“When do yuh aim to send in the first bunch?” asked Peace.
“Tomorrow night. Don’t mention it to a soul, because if a hint of it
was heard by the men from Chinook Valley you couldn’t drive a sheep
through that pass in a covered wagon. We’ve got every cent we own
invested in those sheep and we’re going to graze them in that valley
in spite of ----. Sun Prairie is a land of dust, the Fossilshell is
an impossibility, because they patrol a dead-line, which means a
battle before we can get started. Chinook has both feed and water,
and they’re never looking for any one to attempt to herd sheep into
their tight little place.
“You put that herd through the pass and into the valley, and we’ll do
the rest.” Danert got to his feet. “That hundred a month won’t look
very big to you, if you obey orders, and if you don’t--you won’t need
it.”
Peace got to his feet, smiling. Danert stepped to one side and removed a
chair to let Peace outside. Like a flash Peace grabbed him by both arms
and crashed him against the wall of the booth, where he held Danert
helpless.
“What do you mean?” snarled Danert, glaring at Peace.
“This much.” Peace spoke slowly and without effort.
“I’ve accepted a month’s pay and I’m willin’ to obey orders, but
no ---- man can threaten me, Danert.”
Loosening one hand, Peace lifted Danert’s gun from its holster and then
proceeded to take a handful of cartridges from Danert’s belt-loops.
“I’m doin’ this, ’cause I don’t trust yuh--not because I want this
pretty gun. Holman said you’d give me a Winchester and a six-gun, which
listens good; but I’m goin’ to be heeled until yuh do. _Sabe?_”
Peace released Danert and stepped back, loading the gun. Danert rubbed
his cramped arm and arranged his rumpled clothes. He was boiling,
inwardly, but outwardly cool.
Danert was a large man, but Peace had handled him easily, and it hurt
Danert’s vanity. He knew he was a fighter, knew he was stronger than
the average man, but Peace had made him feel that he was in the grip
of a machine rather than the grip of human muscles.
“Did I hurt yuh?” asked Peace quietly, a bit humorously. “I done it as
easy as I could. Hope you don’t begrudge me the use of the pretty gun.”
“That’s all right,” said Danert, forcing a smile. “You caught me when I
wasn’t looking.”
“Are yuh lookin’ now?” queried Peace meaningly.
“You and I can get along without any trouble,” said Danert hastily.
“We’ll let things go as they lay. Maybe we better not be seen together
after this. We can’t do anything before tomorrow evening. Suppose you
meet me in front of the Palace saloon at seven o’clock tomorrow evening,
and we’ll leave from there. I’ll have the guns for you at the herd, and
we’ll give you all your instructions at that time.”
“I’ll take orders,” nodded Peace. “_Adios._”
Peace walked to the door and watched Danert disappear up the street.
Across the street in front of the stage-station was a watering-trough, a
huge log hollowed and set up on log foundation. Peace crossed the street
and sat down on one end of this, while he tried to think.
From down the street came the tin-panny tinkle of a piano, blended
with the uncertain notes of a worn-out music-box. Wagons creaked
into the light of the oil lamps, men called greetings to each other
as they passed. Riders swung past, melting into the shadows at the
saloon hitch-racks.
Peace gave no heed to the passing night life of Tarp City. It was what
his soul had longed for, dreamed over for five years; but the one
sentence, “Sheep in Chinook,” drove all other thoughts from his mind.
He could see the gray bands sweeping the valley from Poncho Pass to the
Crazy Snake, to the utter ruination of the most wonderful cattle range
in the world.
Peace shook his head slowly. He would not be a party to this.
“Sheep!” he muttered to himself. “I’ve hated the ---- things all my
life, and here I am throwin’ in with ’em.”
He mused over it for a while, and it suddenly came to him: Why should he
protect Chinook Valley? What had Chinook Valley done for him? Nine of
the twelve jurors had been from Chinook Valley. The witnesses for the
prosecution were from Chinook. He was innocent; but they convicted him.
Why not let the sheep clean out the place? Sheep were going to supplant
cattle. It was only a question of time; so why not make it now?
Peace rubbed the palm of his hand over the butt of Danert’s pistol and
stared down at the ground. He had left there, branded as a dangerous
gunman; his homecoming had unfortunately sustained this reputation.
* * * * *
Jefferson Crane was humped on the bunk, spelling out the words of an
old newspaper when Clell Danert rapped at the door. With a flip of the
paper Crane extinguished the lamp, and picked up a Colt pistol, which
was beside him on the worn blanket.
“Come in!” he grunted.
Danert opened the door and peered into the dark interior.
“Danert?” snapped Crane.
“Yes.”
“Come in!”
Danert shut the door behind him and Crane lighted the lamp, cursing at
the hot chimney. He turned and peered at Danert, who sat down on a rough
stool.
“Holman sent us a man,” volunteered Danert, handing the letter to Crane,
who made no move to take it.
“Talk about him,” ordered Crane.
Danert started to describe Peace River Parker, but Crane stopped him.
“Tell me that again, Danert. Yuh say he’s over six feet tall, and kinda
stooped? Homely son of a gun?”
“Holman didn’t say what his name was,” said Danert, ignoring Crane’s
anxious questions. “I asked him what his name was an’ he said it was
Peace.”
“The ---- he did!” Crane’s teeth fairly snapped. “Peace, eh? Danert,
you ---- fool; that’s Peace River Parker!”
“The guy who shot up you and your outfit?”
Crane trembled with anger, and he nodded violently. “I forgot that his
five years were up. What in ---- did he come back here for?”
“Why ask me?” growled Danert. “Not for his health, that’s a cinch. He
filled the Fossilshell stage-driver full of lead in Davey’s restaurant
tonight--with my gun. I took him down to Louie’s place where we could
talk business, and he took my gun away from me again and held me
against the wall while he loaded it from my own belt. Said he would
keep it until I gave him a better one.”
Crane stared at Danert for a moment and broke into a cackling laugh,
which grated on Danert’s nerves.
“Took your gun, eh? He, he, he! Held yuh against the wall. He, he, he!”
“Stop your ---- cackling!” snapped Danert.
Crane stopped his unholy glee and wiped his eyes. It was not often that
Jefferson Crane laughed and the effort was almost too much for his vocal
cords.
“I’m not working for you and I don’t have to take your ---- orders;
so--” Danert was angry.
“Don’t let that itch yuh any,” advised Crane. “I got along before your
handsome carcass hove into view, Danert; and I can do it again.”
For several moments there was silence. Danert realized that the argument
was getting too warm for him, especially as he had no gun, and Crane’s
gun was on his lap. He knew that Crane would not hesitate to kill him if
it came to a show-down, and Clell Danert had no desire to die. Finally
he said slowly--
“Shall we let him take the herd in?”
“I dunno.” Crane fondled his gun. “Peace Parker is a wolf when he
hates; but the ---- fool comin’ back here kinda makes me wonder. Did
the penitentiary make him scared of trouble?”
“You can bury that kind of talk,” said Danert. “He is not afraid of
trouble, Crane; and five years in the pen hasn’t spoiled his six-gun
ability. He never lifted that gun from his hip, and I’ll bet that
every shot hit the target.”
Crane stared blankly at the wall, and his lips twitched for a moment.
Down deep in his narrow soul was a great fear--not exactly a fear of
death; and his soul cried out a “Why” for the coming of Peace Parker.
Then a crafty grin came to his lips, and he turned to Danert, who was
watching him closely.
“Clell, I reckon we’ll let him take the sheep in--if he’ll do it; and if
he won’t----”
Danert nodded. He knew what Crane meant.
“He knows what he’s goin’ up against,” said Crane. “It’s almost a
cinch that the first sheepherder into Chinook Valley will get filled
so full of lead that they’ll take him to the smelter instead of to
the undertakers.”
Danert nodded, and Crane continued:
“We’ve got to see that he goes in with them sheep. Post the boys to
trail him and watch every move. If he gets an idea that I’m behind
this deal he will yell it from the street. Tell the boys to stick to
him, Danert; and if he makes a break--kill him. Don’t let him talk
to anybody. _Sabe_ what I mean?”
Danert nodded quickly. “Leave that to me, Crane. I don’t think that
Holman knew who he was hiring. He paid Parker the hundred dollars.”
“I told him to pick a man who looked like he didn’t care what happened
to him,” said Crane, “and ---- bad luck sent Parker to him. Don’t let
on that you suspect him, Clell, and for ----’s sake don’t mention my
name to him. If he knowed I was behind this----”
“He’d give Holman back his money and kill you,” finished Danert.
“That’s none of your ---- business!” exploded Crane. “What’s between me
and Peace Parker is no affair of yours, Danert!”
“For which I give thanks,” grinned Danert. He turned back toward the
door, where he stopped. “I’ll be at Pasiooks when the sheep start into
the pass.”
“What for, Clell?”
“Well, I may be able to hinder some action.”
“Yeah?” drawled Crane sarcastically. “You ain’t afraid of Jess Marshall
hinderin’ us, are yuh?”
Clell Danert’s eyes narrowed, and he took a half-step back towards
Crane.
“My personal business is nothing to you, Crane. What I do in Pasiooks
is none of your ---- business, do you understand? You found that you
couldn’t get that girl; so yuh might as well get used to it.”
Crane’s evil face contorted with anger, and his skinny hands gripped the
heavy gun.
“What about that restaurant girl, Danert? You goin’ to turn her down?”
“None of your ---- business, Crane! I haven’t done her any harm. You
take care of your own morals.”
Crane glared at Danert, but made no reply.
“Marshall ran you out of Chinook Valley,” continued Danert tauntingly.
“I’ve heard it all. You was willing to sell your outfit for about half
what it was worth; so you must have valued your hide pretty highly.
Maybe that’s what Peace River Parker came back for.”
“Danert--” Crane slipped off the bunk and walked half way to him before
he continued--“Danert, we’re into this sheep deal together--pardners,
if yuh feel thataway--but--but your ---- tongue wags too much. You’re
nothin’ but a crook in dude clothes. Yes, I know you’ve got a rep as a
gunman, but that don’t scare me none a-tall. We’ll put our sheep in
Chinook Valley and then we’ll talk business. _Sabe?_”
“Any time,” nodded Danert, but added, “in the mean time I’m goin’ to
Pasiooks, Crane. _Adios._”
Crane did not reply, but he stared at the closed door for several
minutes after Clell Danert had gone into the night. Then he dropped the
heavy gun into his holster, snapping it out--back--in--out--in--out
until the draw was too swift to follow with the eye, and each time the
gun came level with the hammer at full cock. Then he tossed the belt
and gun on the bunk and sat down to think of Peace Parker.
Crane did not fear Clell Danert. He knew that he could shade Clell with
a gun, and that with an even break he would win. He would see that it
was an even break, if he had to start it himself.
Peace Parker was a different proposition. Peace had beat him on the
draw--beat him in a fair fight, and not only that but had whirled and
downed two of Crane’s cowboys, who were not rated as slow gunmen.
Peace had not gone unscratched, but was able to mount his horse and ride
to the sheriff at Tarp City and surrender himself to the law. Crane had
been the chief witness against Peace Parker--lying while under oath to
tell the truth.
Danert’s taunts had bitten deep into Crane’s narrow soul. He had
planned to win Jess Marshall for a wife, after Peace Parker’s exit,
but the wooing had been a dismal failure. He knew that the people of
Chinook Valley were laughing at him, and it had steeped his soul in
bitterness.
He had set his plans to control the valley. Some one had likened him
to Napoleon. Discreet questioning had brought him the information
that Napoleon had aspired to rule the world. Considering Napoleon’s
ultimate failure, Crane decided to cover less territory and play
safe, but a delegation of hard-eyed, sober cattlemen persuaded him
that Chinook Valley was a very poor place to attempt to start an
absolute monarchy.
Exhibit A was a half-inch, hard-twist rope. The jury requested that
Mr. Crane sign his name on a dotted line, accept a fair price for his
holdings in Chinook Valley and go some place where the people hankered
for a monarch. Mr. Crane signed, and he and his four cowboys--Gus
Sinks, Pete Perez, Jud Evers and Rance Wylie--were escorted to Poncho
Pass and ordered to stay away.
Crane’s brand had been a Five Dot. Barr Severn owned the Three Dot
outfit, whose brand is three dots in triangle form. The added two dots
changed it to Crane’s ownership. Such things, while not easy to prove,
are a violation of range etiquette.
Chris Sorensen owned the Bar X Bar. Chris was absolutely honest, and
when he found a Three Dot animal, which had been made over into Bar X
Bar, with four strokes of a running-iron, he took up the matter with
Barr Severn. Some one was trying to start trouble between neighbors.
At any rate Jefferson Crane left Chinook Valley and bought a brand
far out on the Fossilshell range, but he still remained Napoleonic in
his desires.
* * * * *
Peace Parker did not know that Crane was no longer a cattleman in
Chinook Valley, as news of this kind does not penetrate the walls of
a prison. He realized what sheep would mean to the valley, and he
knew how the cattlemen would greet the first man who drove in a band
of sheep.
The men who were going to invade Chinook Valley were determined, and he
knew that they would see that he either obey their orders or never live
to tell what their plans were.
His head was in a noose, especially as soon as they found out who he
was. He slept late and went to Davey’s restaurant for breakfast. The
same girl waited on his table, but she seemed nervous and glanced
often towards the door, as if expecting someone. Finally two men came
in and sat down near the door.
One was a swarthy man, whose features bespoke Mexican parentage. The
other was thin almost to the point of emaciation, with a weak, blond
mustache. Peace studied them for a moment and a half-smile moved his
thin lips.
It was Pete Perez and Gus Sinks, two cowboys who worked for Crane,
when Peace was with the Cross L outfit. Peace did not know either of
them personally, as they had joined Crane’s outfit shortly before
Peace’s conviction. Crane hired them to replace the cripples caused
by Peace’s gun. Peace remembered seeing them in the court-room.
Neither of the men gave Peace more than a passing glance, but he felt
that both of them recognized him. He looked up at the girl as she
placed a cup of coffee on the table, and he noticed that her hands
shook, spilling the coffee.
“What’s the matter, miss?”
Peace’s question was very abrupt, but scarcely above a whisper. The
girl’s hand went to her forehead and she flinched slightly, a look of
pain in her eyes; but she quickly recovered and tried to smile.
“Why--why, it is nothing,” and hurried back to the kitchen.
Peace wondered why the waitress was nervous; but decided that the events
of the night before had made her afraid that his presence meant more
trouble. He busied himself with his food, but studied the two men at the
other end of the room.
He knew the type. Perez, with his scarlet muffler and beaded vest, was
dangerous in his own way--a type which always strikes from behind. Sinks
was the opposite--an unemotional, cold-blooded killer, who does not fear
death, because his imagination pictures nothing beyond the bare word.
Neither of the men was paying any attention to Peace; but he felt that
they were there because of him. He switched his eyes to the door, where
more people were coming in.
It was Jess Marshall and Bart Farley. They were laughing as they went
to a table, on an angle between the table occupied by Perez and Sinks,
and Peace’s table. They had just sat down when the door swung open
again and Cross L Marshall came in. He was talking with some one just
outside the door, but turned and went straight to Jess and Farley, and
sat down beside Jess, facing Peace.
Peace watched them closely, hungrily. He watched the play of emotions
across Jess Marshall’s face as she listened to something her father
was telling Farley. Peace’s mind flashed back to a night in Spring,
five years before, when he and Jess had halted at the top of the pass
and watched the moon come up above the jagged skyline. That was the
night when he had talked haltingly, groping for words; while Jess had
looked up at him and supplied both the question and answer.
He had told Cross L Marshall of it all later on, and the old cattleman
had wrung his hand and said--
“Peace, I was afraid yuh wasn’t never goin’ to get up the nerve to ask
her.”
Peace watched them now as they talked. He wanted to get up and go
outside; but it seemed miles to the door, and he must pass them as he
went out. For the first time in his life, Peace Parker knew fear. He
glanced back and saw the waitress near the door to the kitchen, one
hand against the wall. She was looking past him at Perez and Sinks.
Marshall’s voice boomed out in a laugh as he leaned across the table,
talking earnestly with Farley, but suddenly he looked straight at Peace
Parker. Neither man showed surprize in his face. It was more the sharp
scrutiny that strangers often direct at each other.
Marshall turned back to Farley and continued their conversation. Peace
continued to eat slowly, at the same time watching Perez and Sinks, who
were paying no attention to the Marshall party.
Suddenly Peace glanced at Jess Marshall and found her looking straight
at him, a look of wonderment in her face. Her eyes shifted to her
father, but he was engaged with his food. Peace flashed a glance at
Perez and Sinks and caught them both watching the girl. Their eyes shot
a glance at him and both men began eating again.
Peace glanced up as the waitress came between himself and the Marshall
party and began removing the dishes. Without seeming to move her lips
the waitress said softly:
“Be careful. They are waiting for you to meet that girl and her father
and if they are kind to you, you’ll never leave here alive.”
Peace had begun eating as the girl spoke and did not look up until after
she had taken the dishes and gone away. He could see it now. If Jess
Marshall or her father shook hands with him, either Perez or Sinks would
try to kill him.
The powers that be were taking no chances on having their sheep venture
blocked. Danert had likely told the girl, and she feared gun-play.
Peace smiled at their caution. There was not the remotest chance in the
world that any of the Marshalls would recognize him--an ex-convict.
Hadn’t the jury declared him guilty? The judge had censured him severely
for the shooting at Crane’s ranch, believing that Peace had done it out
of revenge.
Peace wondered who was really behind the sheep deal. Some one who knew
him, that was certain. He felt that Clell Danert was merely one of the
pawns of the game. Jess and her father were not looking at him now, and
Perez and Sinks seemed interested solely in their food.
Peace got to his feet and walked slowly to the counter, where he settled
for his meal, paying no attention to any one.
Farley looked up at him as he passed and started to get to his feet, but
Marshall spoke quickly, and he sat down again. Farley had been a stanch
defender of Peace Parker, and a prison record would not interfere in any
way with his friendship for a man.
A grin passed between Perez and Sinks. Jess Marshall stared down at her
plate until she heard the door shut behind Peace Parker. She looked at
her father as if about to speak, but her glance took in Perez and Sinks
beyond and she shut her lips tightly.
“Five years--” muttered Marshall, staring down at his plate--“five years
is a short time.”
Farley glanced at Jess. He knew it had been a long five years to her,
although she had never mentioned Peace Parker’s name since the day of
his conviction. Other men had paid court to her; but she would have
none of them until Clell Danert came. She was not the kind to mope in
memories; but Farley knew that she had not forgotten Peace Parker.
Perez and Sinks got up, paid for their meal and went outside. Farley
scowled at them as they went out. Jess and her father were both intent
on their own thoughts as Farley turned and said:
“I heard that Crane sold out his outfit on Sandy Fork, and I’m wonderin’
what his cow-rustlin’ punchers are goin’ to do for a livin’. It’s a
cinch that nobody will hire ’em.”
Marshall shook his head.
“I dunno, Bart. Crane is a bad _hombre_, I reckon. Danert told me a lot
of things about him.”
“Danert did, eh?” Farley slowly stirred his coffee. “Clell Danert
worked for him long enough to know a few things, I guess. If Clell is
so ---- upright, why did he work for Crane all this time? If yuh asks
me I’d say that Crane can likely tell a few things about Danert.”
“Don’t say that, Bart,” begged Jess. “You are prejudiced.”
“Yeah, by ----, I am!” Farley snapped his reply. “Clell is educated
and he’s slick enough to make yuh think the moon is a hunk of cheese.
Yeah, sure he can talk the handle off a pump and make it believe it’s
a windmill. He’s got a pretty face and nice hair and don’t wait for
Saturday night to take a bath; but there’s only one difference between
him and a rattlesnake--the snake is honest enough to rattle.”
“Quit it!” snapped Marshall. “If Jess says he’s all right, he’s all
right. If Bart says he’s a bad _hombre_, he’s a bad _hombre_.”
“What is your opinion, Dad?” asked Jess.
“Mine?” Marshall put on his hat and pulled the brim low over his eyes.
“My opinion is that I’d be a ---- fool to throw in with either one of
yuh.”
“Dad plays safe,” said Jess seriously.
“Y’betcha he does,” returned Marshall. “But that don’t mean I’m goin’ to
give three cheers for Clell Danert. Bart is right when he says----”
“Dad, are you going to be a ---- fool?”
“Excuse me.” Marshall got to his feet. “It’s kinda hard to keep neutral.
Mebbe Jess is right, Bart--I dunno. But there’s one thing I do know--”
Marshall placed one hand on Jess’ shoulder and looked down at the table,
speaking softly--“I know it hurt like ---- to have Peace Parker walk
past us thataway.”
Jess looked at her father. He had sworn by Peace Parker. His hard old
face was curiously twisted now. Jess looked at Bart Farley, who had been
Peace Parker’s bunkie. Farley did not look at her as he rubbed his hand
across his stubbled chin and said softly--
“As if he thought that bein’ in the pen made any difference.”
Jess put her hand on his arm, and he looked straight into her eyes.
“Jess, I don’t reckon that Gawd A’mighty himself could convince me that
Peace Parker was a thief.”
Jess did not speak, but turned away as her father went over to the
counter to pay for their meals.
Peace Parker did not ignore the Marshalls and Farley because he did not
want to speak to them, but he felt that they might speak to him out of
sympathy and old friendship, masking their true feelings against him.
After the warning from the waitress he knew that if he talked with
them it would mean a bullet in the back. He sauntered up the street
to the front of the Diamond Flush saloon. Looking back he could see
Perez and Sinks leave the restaurant, but they went in the opposite
direction. Their work was done.
Peace concluded that they knew Marshall was leaving Tarp City
immediately and would have no further chance to meet him again that
day. As he started into the saloon a familiar figure, wearing a faded
green derby hat, met him at the door. For a moment they stared at
each other, and Jefferson Crane tried to smile, but only succeeded in
twisting his face into a painful contortion.
“Huh--howdy, Peace River,” he stammered, holding out his hand.
Peace looked him over carefully. Jefferson Crane had ruined his
life--branded him a thief, caused him to be placed behind prison
walls for five years, cheated him out of the happiness with the girl
he loved--and now he wanted to shake hands. Jefferson Crane swallowed
hard and wished himself many miles away from that spot. Finally Peace
spoke:
“Crane, I ain’t goin’ to curse and swear at yuh and I ain’t goin’ to
shake hands. Yo’re a pizen little sidewinder, Crane.” Peace pointed at
the gun in Crane’s holster. “You’ve got a gun right handy, and you’ve
got a rep for bein’ sudden with it.”
Peace smiled softly and hooked his thumbs over his belt.
“Crane, I reckon I’m goin’ to kill you right away.”
“No!” breathed Crane. “No! Peace River, you can’t----”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to lose,” interrupted Peace. “You put a brand on
me, Crane--the brand of a convict. ---- knows it’s a hard brand to
change. You lied before a judge; but yuh won’t lie before the one I’m
goin’ to send yuh to. No, yuh won’t lie to Him.”
Crane’s hands opened and shut spasmodically and his eyes flashed
sidewise, like the eyes of a trapped animal. He was cold-blooded, hard
as flint, but he knew Peace River was going to kill him.
His gun-hand was nerveless and his stomach was nauseated, as his mind
flashed back to the day when Peace River had dared him to draw and then
downed him before his gun left its holster. Crane wet his lips.
“Peace, they’ll hang yuh,” he whispered thickly. “Think of it, Peace.”
“You dirty little coward,” said Peace coldly. “It won’t hurt yuh--much.
I’ll try not to cripple yuh, Crane. Put up a fight and it won’t hurt yuh
as much as though you stood and took it.”
“----!” Crane’s face contorted with agony as he looked at Peace. “Gimme
a chance, Peace--gimme a chance. Yuh can’t shoot a man down like that.
It--ain’t--human.”
Crane’s nerve was broken, and he whimpered like a child. Peace laughed
aloud, and Crane shrank back; but instead of drawing his gun, Peace’s
arm flashed out and he caught Crane by the collar. Crane’s knees buckled
under him, but Peace yanked him up. For a moment he glared into Crane’s
frightened eyes; then he removed the faded green derby and proceeded to
smash it to shreds over Crane’s head.
The job was very thorough. Crane staggered into the wall, covering his
head with his arms, but Peace jerked them down and only quit when his
hand held nothing but a wisp of the old hat-brim. Peace threw this
aside and stepped to the saloon door, where men were crowding out to
see what was causing the noise. Crane, white-faced, stared at Peace,
his lips moving as though talking to himself.
“That was the only way to ever make yuh get a new hat,” explained Peace.
The crowd laughed nervously, wondering why Crane did not resist Peace’s
act. Crane stared at Peace, amazed. His gaze shifted to the crowd, and
he swallowed painfully. Then without a backward glance, he half-ran,
half-staggered down the street.
“Thank ----!” said a man piously. “I’ve hated the sight of that old
hat.”
Peace smiled and walked on up the street. He had fully intended to kill
Crane--the smashing of the hat was an afterthought. Crane’s whining
cowardice had saved him, but from now on he would be a marked man.
He had shielded his face with his hands, while a man beat him over the
head with his own hat--had made no move toward the gun at his hip, and
went away like a whipped puppy.
Clell Danert had seen everything that happened from where he stood just
inside a store across the street, and he grinned joyfully, as he went
outside and followed Peace to the upper end of town. Danert felt that he
had a good argument to put up to Peace regarding the sheep--an argument
which would help, in case Peace suspected Crane.
He crossed the street and caught up with Peace. Danert was in a jovial
mood and did not seem to harbor any ill feelings for what had happened
the night before.
“I saw you having a run-in with Jefferson Crane,” smiled Danert.
“Yeah?” Peace River seemed indifferent.
“Peculiar character, that man Crane. You didn’t mention anything about
sheep, did you?”
Peace shook his head.
“No, we didn’t talk about sheep--” and then as an afterthought--“Crane
still have a ranch in Chinook Valley?”
Danert smiled, but evaded the question by saying:
“I’m glad you did not mention sheep to him. You know how the cattlemen
feel about sheep?”
“Yeah, I know. I understand that Perez and Gus Sinks are still working
for Crane.”
“Yes,” replied Danert, and immediately wondered why Peace grinned so
widely. He had a sudden suspicion that Peace had a deep reason for
that question; so he said quickly:
“I’m not sure of that either. Come to think of it, I remember hearing
that they left Crane some time ago.”
“This here country,” said Peace softly, “ain’t rid of all its liars yet,
Danert.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Danert nettled.
“I mean that you’re a liar, Danert.”
Peace did not raise his voice above a low conversational tone, and he
smiled as he spoke.
“Why should I lie?” Danert’s voice carried no resentment.
“Mebbe Crane told yuh to.”
“Crane! For Heaven’s sake, why would Crane ask me to lie?”
“I dunno.” Peace shook his head slowly. “I dunno, but I think I’m goin’
to find out pretty soon.”
Danert reflected. He knew what the trouble was between Crane and Peace,
and he was afraid that Peace already knew too much about the sheep. A
word of warning in Tarp City and they would never be able to invade
Chinook Valley with their bands of sheep.
Danert knew there was no use antagonizing Peace, and he also knew that
diplomacy was apt to fail. Peace must be appeased at any cost; so Danert
grew confidential.
“I want you to understand that Crane is no friend of mine. He’d love
to block that sheep deal, and he will do it if he suspicions us for a
moment.”
“Yeah?” Peace was skeptical. He studied Danert for a moment and then--
“Who owns the sheep?”
Danert smiled and shook his head.
“I can’t tell you; if I could you’d be surprized.”
“Yeah?”
Danert knitted his brows as if deep in thought.
“Peace, I think perhaps I had better tell you, after all. I know that
you are Peace River Parker.”
If Danert expected Peace to be surprized over the statement he was
disappointed, because Peace merely nodded seriously.
“And you know Chinook Valley,” added Danert after a pause. “The price
of hides and beef has dropped since you lived here, and there is little
profit in the business. In fact the cattle business is no longer a
paying proposition. Now, suppose a big cattleman had foresight enough
to see that wool is going to be a money maker.”
“Somebody in Chinook Valley?” queried Peace.