“The biggest cattle raiser.”
“Cross L Marshall?”
Danert started to speak, but a man walked in behind them and they both
turned. It was the sheriff, who had been in the restaurant when Peace
and the stage-driver had battled with their guns. Danert spoke to him
and turned to face Peace.
“See you later, old man.”
Peace nodded and turned back to the sheriff.
“Sent the driver to Fossilshell today,” volunteered the sheriff. “He was
kinda bad off, and we ain’t got much of a surgeon around here.”
“Shucks! I’m sorry he acted thataway, sheriff.”
“I ain’t blamin’ you for the shootin’. He got what was comin’ to him.
What I want to talk to you about is the reasons for it. He tells me that
you stole his stage and kicked him off half-way between Fossilshell and
Sandy Fork. He got a horse from a ranch and came on.”
“He ain’t no liar,” smiled Peace. “I just about done that. He was
drivin’ his team with rocks and almost knocked an ear off one of his
leaders. He ain’t fit to drive a nail, sheriff.”
The sheriff nodded.
“I reckoned there was a good excuse. Too danged bad we shipped him out.
Yo’re a stranger, ain’t yuh?”
“Name’s Peace River Parker.”
“Peace River? You the feller that--” the sheriff hesitated.
“And that’s whatever,” agreed Peace.
The sheriff studied Peace. His term of office began long after Peace had
left the country, and he only knew Peace from hearsay.
“Goin’ to work around here, Parker?”
“Mebbe,” softly.
“Well, I reckon yuh can take care of yoreself,” drawled the sheriff
appraisingly. “I ain’t preachin’, yuh understand; but--I’m tryin’ to
stop folks from throwin’ lead around here.”
Peace glanced behind him and saw Jud Evers standing looking in a window.
He was only a few feet away, apparently interested in what was going on
inside the building; but Peace knew that his ears were tuned to catch
every word that was said between himself and the sheriff. Peace turned
to the sheriff and said--
“You know Jeff Crane?”
“Y-e-s, I know him. Owns the Double Circle ranch down on Sandy Fork--did
own it, rather. Just sold it.”
“Ain’t he runnin’ cows in Chinook Valley no more?”
“No-o-o, not for a long time. Heard that he had a run-in with Cross L
Marshall and sold out.”
“That so?” Peace was interested. “Ain’t no money in cows nowdays,
anyway, is there?”
“There ain’t? Buyers in here most every day, Parker. Meat and hides are
worth more right on the range now than they used to be laid down in the
eastern markets. No money! Man, them Chinook cattlemen are gettin’ rich
as----”
“Cross L Marshall sellin’ a lot of stock nowdays?”
“I dunno, Parker. I know he drove two thousand head of feeders through
the pass a week ago and added ’em to his range. Bought ’em from the TF
outfit. That Chinook is one hy-iu range, y’betcha. I seen Marshall a
while ago--him and his daughter. Hear she’s goin’ to marry Clell Danert
pretty soon.”
“Is that so?” asked Peace softly. “What is Danert’s business?”
“He punched cows for Crane for a while and then for Marshall, but I hear
he’s buyin’ stock for some Chicago outfit now.”
“Any sheep botherin’ around here?”
“No-o-o, not much. The Sun Prairie country is sheeped out. Lots of
woolies have been shipped out of here lately, and a big bunch are
waitin’ for trains. I’m ---- glad to see ’em go.”
“I’ve just been wonderin’,” said Peace, “is there any law that keeps
sheep off the range which ain’t actually owned by cattlemen?”
“That is somethin’ for the undertaker to handle--not the law.
Pers’nally, that ain’t in my jurisdiction, and if it was I’d be there
too late to arrest any one.”
Peace grinned and nodded.
“Yeah, I reckon yo’re right, sheriff. I just wondered, that’s all. Too
bad about that stage-driver.”
“Like ---- it was!” snorted the sheriff. He nodded and went on down the
street.
Peace watched him for a moment. He knew the sheriff had not lied to
him, and he knew that Jefferson Crane was the man behind the sheep
deal. Danert was a party to the deal, and Danert was going to marry
Jess Marshall. He was the cat’s-paw. Holman had innocently hired
him, and Crane was more than willing to let him go ahead and drive
the sheep-wedge into Chinook.
Peace knew there were just three things left for him to do--obey orders,
escape from town or fight. He thought of going straight to Pasiooks and
warning the cattlemen, but it was almost a certainty that some of
Crane’s men would be on the watch for just such a move and ambush him.
No, it would be suicide to try to move. He knew that there were at least
four of Crane’s men in town, not including Danert.
He turned slowly and saw Rance Wylie cross the street near him and join
Evers in earnest conversation. Evers and Wylie were the two cowboys he
had crippled in the fight at Crane’s ranch five years ago, and he knew
that they were dangerous. With Perez and Sinks, both gunmen, it made the
odds badly against him.
The fact that Jess Marshall intended to marry Danert did not seem to
annoy him, for the simple reason that he couldn’t believe it. He did
not hate Danert for this, but he did detest him for what he was doing
against her father. The old saying that all is fair in love or war did
not connect with Peace Parker’s philosophy of life.
He would neither love nor fight unfair, because he did not believe in
anything except a square deal. If Jess Marshall wanted to marry
Danert--all well and good; but he was going to see that Danert won
her fair--if they didn’t kill him off before he got the chance. It
was plain to see that the Chinook Valley cattlemen were going to have
trouble.
Sheep travel slowly at night, especially in large bands. The small band
could get well into the valley by morning. This would be discovered and
cause much excitement. While they were rounding up this bunch the valley
entrance to the pass would be spewing its woolly horde uninterrupted.
Once inside and scattered it would be more than the cattlemen could
handle, especially as there would be well-armed men with them.
This would end in the courts, which, according to law, would give the
sheep man an equal right with the cattlemen. The only hope for Chinook
Valley would be to stop them in the pass.
Peace’s impulse was to seek out Crane and Danert. He went up the street
in the direction taken by Danert, but he was nowhere in evidence.
Gus Sinks and Jud Evers were drinking at the bar, Perez was in a poker
game and Rance Wylie was apparently half-asleep, tilted back against the
wall in a chair.
“Four to one,” mused Peace. “They’ll kill me and the sheep game goes
merrily on. I reckon I’m the poor guesser. They’ve kinda got a tail-holt
on yuh, Peace Parker.”
He turned and walked slowly down the street, watching behind him. Wylie
and Evers came out of the saloon and sauntered down the sidewalk behind
him. Sinks came out a moment later, but crossed the street and walked
slowly down the other side.
“Kinda taggin’ me around,” mused Peace to himself. “Goin’ to see that I
don’t open my heart to anybody. Mebbe them jaspers think that five years
of rock-bustin’ has ruined my gun-hand.”
Peace had approached the corner of a general store, and as he turned,
the door opened and Jess Marshall and Clell Danert stepped out. Peace
dropped his head and quickened his pace, as if to walk past them; but
Jess caught him by the sleeve and he looked straight into her face.
“Peace Parker, won’t you speak to me?” she asked wistfully.
Peace blinked his eyes and swallowed hard.
“Yeah, I--uh--Jess, I didn’t reckon yuh--uh----”
“I didn’t think you would turn down an old friend, Peace.”
Peace had not expected this and it shackled his tongue for a moment.
Danert seemed uncomfortable.
“I didn’t want to turn yuh down,” said Peace softly. “I thought that
mebbe--after what happened----”
“That is only the past, Peace,” softly, “and the past is all forgotten
as far as I am concerned. I feel that it was all a terrible mistake,
and--won’t you come to see us? Come out to the old ranch, Peace. I know
dad and Bart would be mighty glad to see you again.”
Peace turned away and glanced across the street. Evers was standing on
the sidewalk, looking across at them. Just beyond them, Perez and Wylie
had stopped and were looking in a window.
Peace turned back to Jess:
“That’s a’mighty nice of yuh, Jess--that is. I’d sure like to talk with
’em again. I hear that yore dad is goin’ in for sheep.”
“Sheep?” Jess’ brown eyes snapped wide in amazement. “Where on earth did
you ever hear such a thing, Peace?”
Peace shifted his eyes to Danert, whose face had flamed scarlet and then
turned gray with anger. He knew that Parker was ruining their scheme,
and he had no way to stop him.
“I heard he was,” said Peace slowly. “Seems a shame to sheep out old
Chinook.”
Jess glanced at Danert and back to Peace.
“Why, Peace--such a thing is ridiculous. I don’t understand why----”
“It is foolish to talk of such a thing,” said Danert. There was a world
of meaning in his words and Peace understood.
“Is yore dad in town, Jess?” asked Peace.
“No. Dad and Bart went home a little while ago.”
“I think we had better be going, Jess,” stated Danert impatiently.
Peace smiled at Danert’s eagerness to get away from him, and said to
Jess--
“Where’s yore horse?”
She pointed down the street, where two horses were tied to a hitch-rack.
“Down there. Mr. Danert is going to ride home with me.”
“Yeah?” Peace smiled widely. He knew that this was his one chance to
spoil the sheep deal--the only one. It was a long shot--four-to-one,
to be exact; but Peace Parker liked odds, and he was banking on Jess
Marshall’s ability to grasp the situation.
Danert started to walk on, but Peace stepped in front of him.
“Danert, you ain’t goin’ for no ride--” and then to Jess, without
turning his head--“Get yore horse and circle west to hit the road, Jess,
and ride like ----. I’ll foller yuh if I can. Tell yore dad that a herd
of sheep is comin’ into Chinook tonight, and----”
Danert lunged forward like a bull, crashing into Peace and they both
floundered off the sidewalk, locked in each other’s arms.
Danert twisted himself on top and tried to get loose, but Peace hugged
him tight and yelled to Jess--
“For ----’s sake, get goin’, can’tcha?”
Then with superhuman effort, Peace twisted from under Danert, and came
up with him in his arms. Jess ran down the street towards the horses,
while Peace, with the cursing Danert in his arms, staggered to the
middle of the street, keeping Danert between himself and Wylie and
Evers, who had come running at the first signs of trouble.
“Stop her!” yelled Danert. “She----”
Peace tightened his elbow and Danert’s vocal cords were too cramped to
function properly.
Jess had got on her horse by this time, and was just swinging around the
corner when Wylie seemed to grasp the purport of Danert’s words.
He whirled and raced for the hitch-rack, calling to Perez, who was
running down the other side of the street. Perez ran out to him and
they both ran for the rack, where their saddle-horses were tied.
Evers seemed undecided what to do as he did not understand what had
happened, but when he saw Wylie and Perez mounting hurriedly, he
started for the other horse at the rack, where Jess Marshall’s horse
had been.
Danert had been kicking and cursing and trying to get his gun, but now
Peace, when the danger from the others had passed, whirled and crashed
Danert against the side of the building, releasing him at the same
time. Danert dropped, stunned, to his hands and knees. Peace tore the
gun loose from Danert’s holster and ran down the sidewalk toward Evers,
who was having trouble mounting.
He managed to swing into the saddle, but the half-broke bronc whirled
against the hitch-rack. Evers saw Peace coming and whipped out his gun,
but Peace’s gun spat once and Evers’ right arm crumpled at the elbow;
his gun discharging from the jerk of tearing muscles.
The horse reared wildly, but Peace caught it by the head-stall and
eased Evers out of the saddle, letting him fall to his knees beside the
rack-post. The horse tried to tear away from Peace, but he grasped the
saddle-horn, cramped the animal’s head against its shoulder and swung
into the saddle.
Danert had got to his feet and was trying to run after him, but his
feet did not seem to track well. Men were running to see what was
going on, and Peace heard the sheriff yell at him from across the
street, demanding that he stop.
Peace swung the horse toward the narrow board sidewalk, and the animal
jumped it like a born hunter. Straight down a narrow alley dashed the
horse, swinging in behind a blacksmith-shop, where a blacksmith was
setting a tire on a wagon-wheel.
Peace caught a flash of the blacksmith dodging sidewise, waving a heavy
pair of tongs, as they vaulted the tire-rack, and then swinging clear
of buildings he circled away from town to strike the road which led to
Poncho Pass.
Peace stood straight in his stirrups and thrilled at the feel of a good
horse under him. It had been over five years since he rode a horse, and
this was a real horse. It was Danert’s, and Danert was as proud of a
good horse as he was of his personal appearance. The animal was only
half-broke, anxious to run, and Peace did not check it.
He thundered around curves, where brush blocked his vision, riding
with Danert’s gun swinging in his hand, and Danert’s other gun in his
holster. Suddenly he noticed that there was a Winchester swinging in a
scabbard under his right leg, and he laughed with joy. It was likely
filled with cartridges--six, to be exact--but six would be enough.
Peace knew that Perez and Wylie were going to capture Jess if possible,
and there was a strong possibility that they would strike the pass ahead
of her, as she had to make a wide circle to get to the road.
His only hope was to overtake her before she reached them, because he
knew they would hesitate at nothing to stop her from reaching home. If
she reached the pass ahead of them they would lose, because Jess was a
good rider and the Cross L horses were no common stock.
Now the road twisted and turned, climbing higher and higher. To the
right the mountain broke sheer for a hundred feet, boulder and brush
at the bottom of the gorge. The upper side was dense with mesquite
and sage.
The horse began to show signs of slowing up. Peace spurred it to further
efforts. The grade was only wide enough for one wagon, with turn-outs at
irregular intervals. Peace swung himself sidewise on the turns, watching
ahead.
Suddenly he whirled around a curve, and saw three horses about a hundred
yards ahead of him. Perez and Wylie had got to the pass ahead of Jess
and had captured her.
Peace threw his horse back on its haunches, but before he could make any
other move Perez fired with a rifle. Peace felt the impact of the bullet
as it struck the horse, but before he could swing out of the saddle, the
horse pitched sidewise and went over the grade with him.
Luckily the horse struck flat on the steep side of the bank, throwing
Peace free of the saddle; otherwise he would have been crushed, as the
horse rolled over and over to the bottom of the ravine. Peace struck on
his side in the brush, out of sight of Perez and Wylie and slid to the
bottom, where he lay in a doubled heap.
It would seem impossible for a man to fall off that grade with a
horse and not be killed, as the first sixty feet was almost sheer
drop. Whether from the bullet or not, the horse was stone dead when
it reached the bottom.
Peace did not move for some little time, and then it was only to open
his eyes and look up at the sky. He did not know how badly he was hurt,
but he was leaving that to be determined when there was no longer danger
from the men up on the grade.
Suddenly he heard several shots fired. The reports echoed in the hills,
making it difficult to tell just where they came from, but Peace felt
sure they were fired from above him on the grade. He did not hear the
bullets, which seemed to imply that some one else had mixed into the
game. He knew that there was nothing he could do for Jess Marshall--at
least not right away.
They would probably hold her a prisoner until tomorrow--but would they?
Chinook Valley would rise _en masse_ and treat the kidnapers to a sample
of swift justice. Jess would know the men who stopped her, and that
knowledge would be fatal to Perez and Wylie.
Peace knew that Crane and Danert would stop at nothing to accomplish
their ends. They were determined to put their sheep into Chinook Valley,
and they would not let Jess Marshall stand in their way.
It was very likely that Jess knew and recognized Perez and Wylie;
but they were merely hired gunmen, who would take their pay for the
deed and escape from the country. Crane and Danert would not show in
this--at least Crane would not. If Peace were killed, and Perez and
Wylie out of reach, it would be hard to prove anything.
Peace knew that Crane was foxy, and that he would have some plan formed
to throw the blame on others. Their one aim was to get the sheep into
the valley. Twenty thousand sheep represented a big sum of money. If
Jess Marshall had escaped them, they might as well let the coyotes and
buzzards have their herds. They were taking a desperate chance in
kidnaping Jess; but it was their only alternative.
Peace drew himself together and began to analyze his different bruises
and strains. He was cut in several places and his whole body seemed
one mass of bruises, but there were no bones broken. His revolvers had
been lost in the fall and were nowhere in evidence. He dragged himself
to where the horse was lying, intending to get the rifle, but found it
minus a stock and with the barrel bent. The saddle was broken and
torn--a useless hull. The rope was still intact, and might be of
assistance in getting back to the road.
He sat down and rolled a cigaret, while he tried to plan some action. He
might try to go on into Pasiooks but it was almost a certainty that some
one was guarding against just such a thing. No, his move would be to get
back to Tarp City as fast as possible. He worked his way into the open,
taking a chance to expose himself; but no one shot at him.
He worked on up the cañon for a distance, and then began his climb. A
narrow hogback afforded him a precarious footing; but he was able to
climb up to within about forty feet of the level of the grade.
He rested a while. Above him, at the edge of the grade, was the stub
of a jackpine. It was a long cast, almost straight up. Peace managed
to brace his feet sufficiently to make a cast with his rope. He had
been a good roper five years before; but his arm and eye had lost
their cunning. Cast after cast he made, swinging the loop almost
straight up, only to have it fall back. Finally it caught and held.
Even with the aid of the rope it was a hard climb. He sprawled beside
the road for a while, his bruised body protesting against such efforts.
His hands were cut--his clothes torn; but he grinned as he rolled a
smoke.
He was near a curve in the road. The sun was still about an hour high
and Peace estimated that it must be about four o’clock. Finally he got
to his feet and began limping down the road toward Tarp City.
As he made the first turn in the road he almost stumbled over the body
of a man, lying face down in the middle of the road. Near the man stood
a saddled horse, its feet tangled in the bridle-reins. Peace stopped and
glanced quickly around. No one else was in sight. He knelt down beside
the man and turned him over.
It was the sheriff--stone dead. Peace examined him quickly. He had
been shot twice. Peace straightened up and looked around. He knew
instinctively what had happened. The sheriff had followed him, had
run into Perez and Wylie with Jess, and one of the men had killed
him. Those were the shots he had heard.
Beyond the body, almost buried in the dust, was the sheriff’s pistol.
Two shots had been fired and the gun was cocked; showing that the
sheriff had been killed before he could pull the trigger for the third
time.
Peace wiped the gun on his sleeve. At least he had a gun and a horse.
“I sure do change weapons and broncs real often,” he grunted aloud.
As he stepped toward the horse, several mounted men swept around the
curve just beyond him, with Clell Danert leading them. They were not
over a hundred feet away and riding fast. The sharpness of the curve
and the heavy dust of the road had muffled the sounds of their
approach.
Peace threw up the gun and pulled the trigger. The hammer barely moved
forward, and Peace realized in a flash that the cocked hammer had let
the action clog with fine dust, leaving the gun useless for the moment.
The riders were almost into him. Peace ducked to one side, as he
hurled the gun straight at Danert; and a moment later a horse struck
him, spinning him against the upper side of the grade and knocking
him unconscious.
* * * * *
The Eastern range and the high foot-hills of the Valley of the Chinook
glowed with the colors of sunset; but the western half of the valley
lay like a vast blue shadowland. The sky-line of the western cliffs
was high-lighted with sweeping splotches of gold and orange, where the
mighty rocks still showed their facets to the dying sun.
Down in the blue shadows, Cross L Marshall and Bart Farley sat on the
ranch-house porch, performing their evening ceremonial smoke. Both men
were very silent. Farley’s pipe was not drawing well and he dug savagely
at it with his pocket-knife.
Marshall slowly knocked the dottle from his pipe and got to his feet,
where he leaned against a porch-post and gazed at the fading sunset.
“I dunno,” muttered Farley looking up at him. “They was to start soon
after we left. It ain’t like Jess to stay like this.”
Marshall shook his head.
“I don’t like it, Bart. Jess knows danged well we’d worry about it. She
said she was goin’ to the store and get some cloth of some kind and then
they was goin’ to come right on.”
Jim Horne came out of the front door, rolling a cigaret. Jim was usually
the last one to quit the supper table. He sat down on the porch and
braced his back against the wall.
“Ain’t Jess come home yet?” he asked in his peculiar drawl. Neither of
the men answered him in words, but he knew that she had not.
“I dunno,” complained Farley nervously. “Peace Parker is in town, and
Crane’s there and----”
“Peace Parker, the cow-thief?” asked Horne.
Farley turned like a flash. “Take that back, Horne! Don’tcha say that!”
Horne’s mouth gawped open and his cigaret fell to a fold of his
shirt-front. It was not like Farley to explode like this.
“I--I takes it back,” stammered Horne, digging into his bosom for the
smoldering cigaret; “I didn’t know----”
“You ain’t never heard him spoken of as such around here,” reminded
Marshall softly.
“I never knowed him,” said Horne, “and I don’t reckon I ever heard any
of yuh mention him. I’ve only heard him spoke about at other places.
He’s been in the pen, ain’t he?”
Farley nodded.
“You don’t know him, Jim--or yuh wouldn’t speak against him.”
“I sure begs yore pardon, Bart. I reckon he’s been done wrong. Lot of
fellers serve time. Did he come back to find out who done him dirt?”
Farley glanced up at Marshall.
“I wonder, Cross L?”