He had saddled his horse, hoping for a break, and instantly he saw it. The two guards had rushed to the scene of action. Quickly, he led his home out of the crevasse, rode at a canter to the canyon's mouth. Seeing dust over the town, he swung right and skirting close to the Butte, slipped out into the open a free man once more.
Chapter VI
KEDRICK did not return toward Mustang. He had come this far for a purpose, and he meant to achieve it. Turning west and north, he rode upstream away from Yellow Butte and Mustang. He wanted actually to see some of the homes of which so muc h had been said. By the way these people lived he could tell the sort they were. It was still morning and all was motionless and warm. Soon he slowed his horse to a walk and studied the terrain.
Certainly, nothing could be farther from swampland. In that, at least, the company had misrepresented. Obviously, they had lied in maintaining that the land was vacant. But if the squatters were a shiftless lot, Kedrick knew he would continue his job. Already he was heartily sick of the whole mess, yet he owed Gunter money, and how to pay it back was a real problem. And then, although the idea lurked almost unthought in the back of his consciousness, there was Connie Duane.
In his fast-moving and active life he had met many women, and a few had interested him, but none so much as this tall girl with the quiet, alert eyes. His desire to get back to Mustang had nothing to do with the company, but only with her. At the same time, Dornie Shaw had acted without his orders, had slain the messenger and attacked the town. For all he knew, Donnie and the others might think him dead.
Turning due north, he rode through the sagebrush and catclaw toward two towering blue mountains. They stood alone this side of the rim that bordered the country to the north. On his left, he saw broken land, and what was evidently a deep arroyo. He swung the appaloosa over and headed it toward the canyon. Suddenly, he reined in.
On the ground before him were the tracks of a trotting horse, and he recognized them. They were the same tracks left by the strange rider on the grulla mustang who had scouted their approach to Yellow Butte. The tracks were fresh.
Riding more slowly, he came to the edge of the canyon and looked down at a long green meadow, fenced and watered by a small stream. At the far side, tucked in a corner, was a stone cottage. It was more attractive and better built than any other he had seen in this section. Ahead of him he saw a trail. Without delay, he rode down it and walked his horse across the meadow toward the house.
It was a pleasant place of sandstone blocks and a thatched roof. Shade trees sheltered the yard, and there were a half-dozen hens pecking about. In the corral there were several horses. His heart jumped as he saw the grulla, saddled and waiting. He drew up in the dooryard and swung down, trailing his reins. The door opened and a girl came out with a pan of water. She started as she saw him, and he recognized her instantly. It was Sue Laine, the girl of the trail, the girl in whom Dornie was reputed to be interested.
"You!" she gasped as she stared at him. "They told me you were dead!"
He shrugged. 'Not dead, just hungry. Could you feed a man?"
She studied him a minute, then nodded. "Come in. Better tie your horse, though. He'll head for that meadow if you don't. And," her voice was dry, "you may need him. This isn't exactly friendly country."
He tied his horse near the grulla and followed her inside. "Isn't it?" he said. "Somehow I gathered you weren't exactly an enemy to the company."
"Don't say that!" she flared. "Don't ever say that!" Her voice lowered. "Not around here, anyway. If my brother ever heard . .
So Pit Lane and his sister did not see alike? That was an interesting point. He washed his hands and face, then combed his hair."
Ruefully, he rubbed his chin. 'Your brother got a razor? I hate to go unshaven."
She brought a razor without
Chapter VI
KEDRICK did not return toward Mustang. He had come this far for a purpose, and he meant to achieve it. Turning west and north, he rode upstream away from Yellow Butte and Mustang. He wanted actually to see some of the homes of which so muc h had been said. By the way these people lived he could tell the sort they were. It was still morning and all was motionless and warm. Soon he slowed his horse to a walk and studied the terrain.
Certainly, nothing could be farther from swampland. In that, at least, the company had misrepresented. Obviously, they had lied in maintaining that the land was vacant. But if the squatters were a shiftless lot, Kedrick knew he would continue his job. Already he was heartily sick of the whole mess, yet he owed Gunter money, and how to pay it back was a real problem. And then, although the idea lurked almost unthought in the back of his consciousness, there was Connie Duane.
In his fast-moving and active life he had met many women, and a few had interested him, but none so much as this tall girl with the quiet, alert eyes. His desire to get back to Mustang had nothing to do with the company, but only with her. At the same time, Dornie Shaw had acted without his orders, had slain the messenger and attacked the town. For all he knew, Donnie and the others might think him dead.
Turning due north, he rode through the sagebrush and catclaw toward two towering blue mountains. They stood alone this side of the rim that bordered the country to the north. On his left, he saw broken land, and what was evidently a deep arroyo. He swung the appaloosa over and headed it toward the canyon. Suddenly, he reined in.
On the ground before him were the tracks of a trotting horse, and he recognized them. They were the same tracks left by the strange rider on the grulla mustang who had scouted their approach to Yellow Butte. The tracks were fresh.
Riding more slowly, he came to the edge of the canyon and looked down at a long green meadow, fenced and watered by a small stream. At the far side, tucked in a corner, was a stone cottage. It was more attractive and better built than any other he had seen in this section. Ahead of him he saw a trail. Without delay, he rode down it and walked his horse across the meadow toward the house.
It was a pleasant place of sandstone blocks and a thatched roof. Shade trees sheltered the yard, and there were a half-dozen hens pecking about. In the corral there were several horses. His heart jumped as he saw the grulla, saddled and waiting. He drew up in the dooryard and swung down, trailing his reins. The door opened and a girl came out with a pan of water. She started as she saw him, and he recognized her instantly. It was Sue Laine, the girl of the trail, the girl in whom Dornie was reputed to be interested.
"You!" she gasped as she stared at him. "They told me you were dead!"
He shrugged. 'Not dead, just hungry. Could you feed a man?"
She studied him a minute, then nodded. "Come in. Better tie your horse, though. He'll head for that meadow if you don't. And," her voice was dry, "you may need him. This isn't exactly friendly country."
He tied his horse near the grulla and followed her inside. "Isn't it?" he said. "Somehow I gathered you weren't exactly an enemy to the company."
"Don't say that!" she flared. "Don't ever say that!" Her voice lowered. "Not around here, anyway. If my brother ever heard . .
So Pit Lane and his sister did not see alike? That was an interesting point. He washed his hands and face, then combed his hair."
Ruefully, he rubbed his chin. 'Your brother got a razor? I hate to go unshaven."
She brought a razor without
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