All was still. Sweat trickled down my face. My side throbbed a little from a twist it had taken as I fell from the horse. I dried my sweaty palms and waited.
And then Ball appeared. He was a tall old man with a white handlebar mustache and shrewd eyes. No fool, he studied the layout carefully, and he did not like it. It looked as though he had miscalculated and scored a hit.
He glanced at the strange brand of the buckskin, at the California bridle and bit. Finally, he opened the gate and came out, and as he turned his back was to me.
“Freeze, Ball! You’re dead in my sights!”
He stood perfectly still, taking no chances on an itchy trigger finger.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“Not trouble … I want to talk business.”
“I’ve no business with anybody.”
“With me you’ve business. I’m Matt Brennan. I’ve had trouble with Finder and Maclaren. I’ve taken a beating from Morgan Park.”
Ball chuckled. “Sounds as if you’re the one with trouble. Is it all right to turn around?”
At my word, he turned. I stepped from out of the rocks. He moved back far enough to see the boot and grinned. “I’ll not bite on that one again.”
I sat down and pulled my boot on.
THREE
When I was on my feet I crossed to my hat and picked it up. He watched me, never letting his eyes leave me for an instant.
“You’re bucking a stacked deck,” I said. “The gamblers are offering high odds you won’t last thirty days.”
“I know that.”
He was a hard old man, this one. Yet I could see from the fine lines around his eyes that he’d been missing sleep, and that he was worried. But he wasn’t frightened. Not this man.
“I’m through drifting. I’m going to put down some roots, and there’s only one ranch around here I’d have.”
“This one?”
“Yes.”
He studied me, his hands on his hips. I’d no doubt he would go for a gun if I made a wrong move.
“What do you aim to do about me?”
“Let’s walk up to your place and talk about that.”
“We’ll talk here.”
“All right … There’s two ways. You give me a fighting, working partnership. That’s one way. The other is for you to sell out to me and I’ll pay you when I can. I take over the fight.”
He looked at me carefully. He was not a man to ask foolish questions. He could see the marks of the beating I’d taken, and he’d heard me say there had been trouble with Maclaren and Finder. I knew what I was asking for.
“Come on up. We’ll talk about this.”
And he let me go first, leading my horse. I liked this old man.
Yet I knew the cards were stacked my way. He could not stay awake all night, every night. He could not both work and guard his stock. He could not go to town for supplies and leave the place unguarded. Together we could do all those things.
Two hours later we had reached an agreement. I was getting my fighting, working partnership. One man alone could not do it, the odds were all against any two men doing it … but they’d have a chance.
“When they find out, they’ll be fit to be tied.”
“They won’t find out right away. My first job is grub and ammunition.”
The Two-Bar controlled most of the length of Cottonwood Wash and on its eastern side opened upon a desert wilderness with only occasional patches of grass. Maclaren’s Boxed M and Finder’s CP bordered the ranch on the west, with Maclaren’s land extending to the desert at one place.
Both ranches had pushed back the Two-Bar cattle, usurping the range for their own use. In the process, most of the Two-Bar calves had disappeared under Boxed M and CP brands.
“Mostly CP,” Ball advised. “The Finder boys are mighty mean. They rode with Quantrill, an’ folks say Rollie rode with the James boys some. Jim’s a fast gun, but nothin’ to compare to Rollie.”
At daybreak, with three unbranded mules to carry the supplies, I started for Hattan’s, circling wide around so that I could come into the trail to town from the side opposite the Two-Bar.
It was in my mind that the Two-Bar might be watched, but after scouting the edges of the Wash I decided that they must believe they had Ball safely bottled up and no chance of his getting help. Probably they would be only too glad for him to start to town … for when he returned they could be in possession and waiting for him.
Going down the Wash for several miles, I came out by a narrow, unused trail and cut across country, keeping to low country to escape observation.
The desert greasewood gave way to mesquite and to bunch grass. The morning was bright, and the sun would be warm again. Twice, nearing the skyline, I saw riders in the distance, but none of them could have seen me.
The town was quiet when I rode in, and I came up through the shacks back of the livery stable and left my mules tied to the corral near the back door of the store.
Walking out on the street, I smoked a cigarette and kept my eyes open. Nobody seemed to notice me, nobody seemed to know I was in town. There was no sign of Maclaren or Canaval, or of Moira.
Loading the supplies, I broke into a sweat. The day was warm and still, and my side still pained me. My face was puffed, although both my eyes were now open and the blackness had changed to mottled blue and yellow. When I was through I led the mules into the cottonwoods on the edge of town and picketed them there, ready for a quick move. Then I returned to Mother O’Hara’s. My purpose was double. I wanted a good meal, and I wanted news.
Key Chapin and Canaval were there and they looked up as I entered. Chapin’s eyes took in my face with a quick glance, and there was in his eyes something that might have been sympathy.
Canaval noticed, but it did not show. “That job is still open,” he suggested. “We could use you.”
“Thanks.” There was a bit of recklessness in me. My supplies were packed and ready to go, and there was enough on those mules to last us three months, with a little game shooting on the side and a slaughtered beef or two. “I’m going to run my own outfit.”
Maybe I was a fool to say it. Maybe I should have kept it a secret as long as I could. But just as I started to speak I heard a door open behind me and that light step and the perfume I knew. Maybe that was why I was here, to see Moira, and not for a meal or news.
From the day I first saw her she was never to be near without my knowledge. There was something within me that told me, some feeling in my blood, some perception beyond the usual. This was my woman, and I knew it.
She had come into the restaurant behind me and it may have been that that made me say it, to let her know that I had not cut and run, that I intended to stay, that I had begun to build for the future I had promised her.
“Your own outfit?” Chapin was surprised. “You’re turning nester?”
Canaval said nothing at all, but he looked at me, and I think he knew then. I saw dawning comprehension in his eyes, and perhaps something of respect.
“I’ll be ranching.”
Rising, I faced around. Moira was looking at me, her eyes level and steady.
“Miss Maclaren?” I indicated the seat beside me. “May I have the pleasure?”
She hesitated, then shook her head slightly and went around the table to sit down beside Canaval, her father’s foreman and strong right hand.
“You’re ranching?” Canaval was puzzled. “If there’s any open range around here I haven’t heard of it.”
“It’s a place east of here … the Two-Bar.”
“What about the Two-Bar?” Rud Maclaren had followed his daughter into the restaurant. He rounded the table beside her and looked down at me, a cold, solid man.
Taking a cup from a tray, I filled it with coffee.
“Mr. Brennan was telling us, Father, that he’s ranching on the Two-Bar.”
“What?”
Maclaren looked as if he’d been slapped.
“Ball needed help, and I wanted a ranch. I’ve a working partnership.” Then looking up at Moira, I added, “And a man doesn’t want to go too far from the girl he is to marry.”
“What’s that?” Maclaren was confused.
“Why, Father!” Moira’s eyes widened, and a flicker of deviltry danced in them. “Haven’t you heard? Mr. Brennan has been saying that he is going to marry me!”