Sick at heart, Ann had walked back into her room and stood by the window. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the desire to get away, to escape all this sickening violence, the guns, the killings, the problems of frontier life. Back east, there were lovely homes along quiet streets, slow-running streams, men who walked quietly on Sunday mornings. There were parties, theaters, friends, and homes.
Her long ride had tired her. The touch of Rafe Caradec’s hand, the look in his eyes, had given her a lift. Something had sparked within her, and she felt herself drawn to him, yearning toward him with everything feminine that was within her. Riding away, she had heard the crash of guns, shouts, and yells.
Had she been too late?
There had been no turning back. She had known there was nothing she could do. Her natural good sense had told her that she would only complicate matters if she tried to stay. Nor did she know now what she would have done if she had staved.
Where was her sympathy? With Shute’s riders?
Or with this strange, tall young man who had come to claim half her ranch and tell fantastic stories of knowing her father aboard a ship?
Every iota of intelligence she had told her the man was all wrong, that his story could not be true.
Bruce Barkow’s story of her father’s death had been the true one.
What reason for him to lie?
Why would he want to claim her land when there was so much more to be had for the taking?
Her father had told her, and Gene Baker had agreed, that soon all this country would be open to settlement, and there would be towns and railroads here. Why choose one piece of land, a large section of it worthless, when the hills lay bare for the taking?
Standing by the window and looking out into the darkness, Ann knew suddenly she was sick of it all.
She would get away, go back east.
Bruce was right. It was time she left here, and when he came again, she would tell him she was readv.
He had been thoughtful and considerate. He had protected her, been attentive and affectionate.
He was a man of intelligence, and he was handsome.
She could be proud of him.
She stifled her misgivings with a sudden resolution and hurriedly began to pack.
Vaguely Ann had sensed Barkow’s fear of something, but she believed it was fear of an attack by Indians. Word had come earlier that day that the Oglala were gathering in the hills and that there was much war talk among them. That it could be Dan Shute whom Barkow feared, Ann had no idea. She had completed the packing of the few items she would need for the trip when she heard the sound of gunfire from the National. The shots brought her to her feet with a start, her face pale. Running into the living room, she found that Gene Baker had caught up his rifle.
She ran to Mrs. Baker, and the two women stood together, listening. Baker looked at them. “Can’t be Indians,” he said, after a moment. “Maybe some wild cowhand celebratin’.” They heard excited voices and veils. Baker went to the door, hesitated, and then went out. He was gone several minutes before he returned. His face was grave.
“It was that Texas rider from the Crazy Man,” he said.
“He stepped into the back door of the National and shot it out with Tom Blazer and Fats McCabe.
They are both dead.” “Was he alone?” Ann asked quickly.
Baker nodded, looking at her somberly. “They are huntin’ him now. He won’t get away, I’m afraid.” “You’re afraid he won’t?” “Yes, Ann,” Baker said, “I am. That Blazer outfit’s poison. All of that Shute bunch, far as that goes. Tom killed young Bo Marsh by stickin’ a pistol against him whilst he was h in’ down, was The flat bark of a shot cut across the night air, and they went rigid. Two more shots rang out.
“Guess they got him,” Baker said. “There’s so many of them, I figgered they would.” Before the news reached them of what had actually happened, daylight had come. Ann Rodney was awake after an almost sleepless night.
Tex Brisco, she heard, had killed Joe Gorman when Gorman had caught him at his horse. Tex had escaped, but from all the evidence, he was badly wounded. They were trailing him by the blood from his wounds.
First it had been Bo Marsh, and now Brisco.
Was Johnny Gill alive? Was Rafe? If Rafe was alive, then he must be alone, harried like a rabbit by hounds.
Restless, Ann paced the floor. Shute riders came and went in the store. They were buying supplies and going out in groups of four and five, scouring the hills for Brisco or any of the others of the Crazy Man crowd. Bruce Barkow came shortly after breakfast. He walked into the store. He looked tired and worried.
“Ann,” he said abruptly, “if we’re goin’, it’ll have to be today. This country is goin’ to the wolves. All they think about now is killin’.
Let’s get out.” She hesitated only an instant. Something inside her seemed lost and dead. “All right, Bruce. We’ve planned it for a long time. It might as well be now.” There was no fire in her, no spark. Barkow scarcely heeded that. She would go, and once away from here and married, he would have title to the land, and Dan Shute for all his talk and harsh ways would be helpless. “All right,” he said. “We’ll leave in an hour. Don’t tell anybody. We’ll take the buckboard like we were goin’ for a drive, as we often do.” She was ready, so there was nothing to do after he had gone. Baker seemed older, worried. Twice riders came in, and each time Ann heard that Tex Brisco was still at large. His horse had been trailed, seemingly wandering without guidance, to a place on a mountain creek. There the horse had walked into the water, and no trail had been found to show where he had left it. He was apparently headed for the high ridges, south by west. Nor had anything been found of Marsh or Gill. Shute riders had returned to the Crazy Mate, torn down the corral, and hunted through the woods, but no sign had been found beyond a crude lean-to where the wounded man had evidently been sheltered. Marsh, if dead, had been buried and the grave concealed. Nothing had been found of any of them, although one horse had ridden off to the northeast, mostly east.
One horse had gone east! Ann Rodney’s heart gave a queer leap. East would mean toward the fort! Perhaps . . . . But she was being foolish. Why should it he Caradec rather than Gill, and why to the fort’? She expressed the thought, and Baker looked at her.
“Likely enough one of “em’s gone there. If Marsh ain’t dead, and the riders didn’t find his body, chances are he’s inightv had off: The only doctor around is at the fort.” The door to the store opened, and Baker went in, leaving the living. room. There was a brief altercation, and then the curtain was pushed aside and Ann looked up.
A start of fear went through her.
Dan Shute was standing in the door. For a wonder, he was clean-shaven except for his mustache. He looked at her with his queer, gray-white eyes.
“Don’t you do nothin” foolish,” he said, “like tryin’ to leave here. I don’t aim to let you.” Ann got up, amazed and angry. “You don’t aim to let me’?” she flared. “What business is it of yours?” Shute stood there with his big hands on his hips, staring at her insolently.
“Because I want to make it my business,” he said. “I’ve told Barkow where he stands with you. If he don’t like it he can say so and die. I ain’t particular. I just wanted you should know that from here on you’re my woman.” “Listen here, Shute!” Baker flared. “You can’t talk to a decent woman that way!” “Shut your mouth!” Shute said, staring at Baker.
“I talk the way I please. I’m tellin’ her.
If she tries to get away from here, I’ll take her out to the ranch now. If she waits”-he looked her up and down coolly-was I may marry her.
Don’t know why I should.” He added, glaring at Baker, “You butt into this and I’ll smash you. She ain’t no woman for a weak sister like Barkow. I guess she’ll come to like me all right. Anyway, she’d better.” He turned toward the door.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m the law here, and the only law.” “I’ll appeal to the Army!” Baker declared. “You do,” Shute said, “and I’ll kill you.