Crooked Trails and Straight Part 38

But he watched her closely nevertheless.

"I think I could get him to do as I ask. He nearly always does." Her gaze went swiftly back to him. "Let me talk with him. There's a reason why he ought to be free now, one that would appeal to him."

This was what he had come for, but now that she had met him half way he hesitated. If she should not succeed he would be worse off than before. He could neither hold her a prisoner nor free her to lead the pack of the law to his hiding place. On the other hand if Cullison thought they intended to keep her prisoner he would have to compromise. He dared not leave her in the hands of Lute Blackwell. Fendrick decided to take a chance. At the worst he could turn them both free and leave for Sonora.

"All right. I'll take you to him. But you'll have to do as I say."

"Yes," she agreed.

"I'm taking you to back my play. I tell you straight that Blackwell would like nothing better than to put a bullet through your father. But I've got a hold on the fellow that ties him. He's got to do as I say. But if I'm not there and it comes to a showdown--if Bucky O'Connor for instance happens to stumble in--then it's all off with Luck Cullison. Blackwell won't hesitate a second. He'll kill your father and make a bolt for it.

That's one reason why I'm taking you. I want to pile up witnesses against the fellow so as to make him go slow. But that's not my main object.

You've got to persuade Luck to come through with an agreement to let go of that Del Oro homestead and to promise not to prosecute us. He won't do it to save his own life. He's got to think you come there as my prisoner.

See? He's got to wrestle with the notion that you're in the power of the d.a.m.nedest villain that ever went unhung. I mean Blackwell. Let him chew on that proposition a while and see what he makes of it."

She nodded, white to the lips. "Let us go at once, please. I don't want to leave Father alone with that man." She called across to the corral.

"Manuel, saddle the pinto for me. Hurry!"

They rode together through the wind-swept sunlit land. From time to time his lazy glance embraced her, a supple graceful creature at perfect ease in the saddle. What was it about her that drew the eye so irresistibly?

Prettier girls he had often seen. Her features were irregular, mouth and nose too large, face a little thin. Her contour lacked the softness, the allure that in some women was an unconscious invitation to cuddle. Tough as whipcord she might be, but in her there flowed a life vital and strong; dwelt a spirit brave and unconquerable. She seemed to him as little subtle as any woman he had ever met. This directness came no doubt from living so far from feminine influences. But he had a feeling that if a man once wakened her to love, the instinct of s.e.x would spring full-grown into being.

They talked of the interests common to the country, of how the spring rains had helped the range, of Shorty McCabe's broken leg, of the new school district that was being formed. Before she knew it Kate was listening to his defense of himself in the campaign between him and her father. He found her a partisan beyond chance of conversion. Yet she heard patiently his justification.

"I didn't make the conditions that are here. I have to accept them. The government establishes forest reserves on the range. No use ramming my head against a stone wall. Uncle Sam is bigger than we are. Your father and his friends got stubborn. I didn't."

"No, you were very wise," she admitted dryly.

"You mean because I adapted myself to the conditions and made the best of them. Why shouldn't I?" he flushed.

"Father's cattle had run over that range thirty years almost. What right had you to take it from him?"

"Conditions change. He wouldn't see it. I did. As for the right of it--well, Luck ain't king of the valley just because he thinks he is."

She began to grow angry. A dull flush burned through the tan of her cheeks.

"So you bought sheep and brought them in to ruin the range, knowing that they would cut the feeding ground to pieces, kill the roots of vegetation with their sharp hoofs, and finally fill the country with little gullies to carry off the water that ought to sink into the ground."

"Sheep ain't so bad if they are run right."

"It depends where they run. This is no place for them."

"That's what you hear your father say. He's prejudiced."

"And you're not, I suppose."

"I'm more reasonable than he is."

"Yes, you are," she flung back at him irritably.

Open country lay before them. They had come out from a stretch of heavy underbrush. Catclaw had been s.n.a.t.c.hing at their legs. Cholla had made the traveling bad for the horses. Now she put her pony to a canter that for the time ended conversation.

CHAPTER XI

A COMPROMISE

Luck lay stretched full length on a bunk, his face, to the roof, a wreath of smoke from his cigar traveling slowly toward the ceiling into a filmy blue cloud which hung above him. He looked the personification of vigorous full-blooded manhood at ease. Experience had taught him to take the exigencies of his turbulent life as they came, nonchalantly, to the eye of an observer indifferently, getting all the comfort the situation had to offer.

By the table, facing him squarely, sat Jose Dominguez, a neatly built Mexican with snapping black eyes, a manner of pleasant suavity, and an ever-ready smile that displayed a double row of shining white teeth. That smile did not for an instant deceive Luck. He knew that Jose had no grudge against him, that he was a very respectable citizen, and that he would regretfully shoot him full of holes if occasion called for so drastic a termination to their acquaintanceship. For Dominguez had a third interest in the C. F. ranch, and he was the last man in the world to sacrifice his business for sentiment. Having put the savings of a lifetime into the sheep business, he did not propose to let anybody deprive him of his profits either legally or illegally.

Luck was talking easily, in the most casual and amiable of voices.

"No, Dominguez, the way I look at it you and Ca.s.s got in bad this time.

Here's the point. In this little vendetta of ours both sides were trying to keep inside the law and win out. When you elected Bolt sheriff that was one to you. When you took out that grazing permit and cut me off the reserve that was another time you scored heavy. A third time was when you brought 'steen thousand of Mary's little lambs baaing across the desert.

Well, I come back at you by deeding the Circle C to my girl and taking up the Del Oro homestead. You contest and lose. Good enough. It's up to you to try another move."

"_Si, Senor_, and we move immediate. We persuade you to visit us at our summer mountain home where we can talk at leisure. We suggest a compromise."

Luck grinned. "Your notion of a compromise and mine don't tally, Jose.

Your idea is for me to give you the apple and stand by while you eat it.

Trouble is that both parties to this quarrel are grabbers."

"True, but Senor Cullison must remember his hands are tied behind him. He will perhaps not find the grabbing good," his opponent suggested politely.

"Come to that, your hands are tied too, my friend. You can't hold me here forever. Put me out of business and the kid will surely settle your hash by proving up on the claim. What are you going to do about it?"

"Since you ask me, I can only say that it depends on you. Sign the relinquishment, give us your word not to prosecute, and you may leave in three hours."

Cullison shook his head. "That's where you get in wrong. Buck up against the law and you are sure to lose."

"If we lose you lose too," Dominguez answered significantly.

The tinkle of hoofs from the river bed in the gulch below rose through the clear air. The Mexican moved swiftly to the door and presently waved a handkerchief.

"What gent are you wig-wagging to now?" Luck asked from the bed. "Thought I knew all you bold bad bandits by this time. Or is it Ca.s.s back again?"

"Yes, it's Ca.s.s. There's someone with him too. It is a woman," the Mexican discovered in apparent surprise.

"A woman!" Luck took the cigar from his mouth in vague unease. "What is he doing here with a woman?"

The Mexican smiled behind his open hand. "Your question antic.i.p.ates mine, Senor. I too ask the same."

The sight of his daughter in the doorway went through the cattleman with a chilling shock. She ran forward and with a pathetic cry of joy threw herself upon him where he stood. His hands were tied behind him. Only by the turn of his head and by brushing his unshaven face against hers could he answer her caresses. There was a look of ineffable tenderness on his face, for he loved her more than anything else on earth.

"Mr. Fendrick brought me," she explained when articulate expression was possible.

"He brought you, did he?" Luck looked across her shoulder at his enemy, and his eyes grew hard as jade.