/far A Man Four-Square yoi'yk BEEN BEEN (Pap 133) A Man Four-Square By William MacLeod Raine Boston and New York Houghton Mifflin Company &&e 0toer#be $reft Cambri&j&e COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE STORY-PRESS CORPORATION COPYRIGHT, 1919, BVT WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Contents Prologue 1 I. "Call Me Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em " . . 17 II. Shoot-a-Buck Canon 27 III. Ranse Roush Pays 37 IV. Pauline Roubideau Says " Thank You " 48 V. No Four-Flusher 54 VI. Billie Asks a Question .... 61 VII. On the Trail 68 VIII. The Fight 73 IX. Billie Stands Pat 83 X. Bud Proctor Lends a Hand ... 90 XI. The Fugitives 97 XII. The Good Samaritan 106 XIII. A Friendly Enemy 114 XIV. The Gun-Barrel Road .... 124 XV. Lee Plays a Leading R6le . . . . 130 XVI. Three Modern Musketeers . . . 140 XVII. "Peg-Leg" Warren 146 XVIII. A Stampede 153 XIX. A Two-Gun Man 165 XX. Exit Mysterious Pete 173 XXI. Jim Receives and Declines an Offer . 179 XXII. The Rustlers' Camp 190 XXIII. Murder from the Chaparral . . . 197 M""OQO BO vi Contents XXIV. Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em Leaves a Note . 204 XXV. The Mal-Pais 213 XXVI. A Dust-Storm 221 XXVII. "A Lucky Guy" 225 XXVIII. Sheriff Prince Functions . . . 232 XXIX. "They can't Hang Me if I ain't There" 244 XXX. Polly has a Plan 249 XXXI. GOODHEART MAKES A PROMISE AND Breaks It 255 XXXII. Jim Takes a Prisoner .... 263 XXXHI. The Round-Up 272 XXXIV. Primrose Paths 28** The frontispiece is from a drawing by Mr. George W. Gage A Man Four-Square A Man Four-Square Prologue A girl sat on the mossy river-bank in the dappled, golden sunlight. Frowning eyes fixed on a sweeping eddy, she watched without seeing the racing cur- rent. Her slim, supple body, crouched and tense, was motionless, but her soul seethed tumultuously. In the bosom of her coarse linsey gown lay hidden a note. Through it destiny called her to the tragic hour of decision. The foliage of the young pawpaws stirred behind her. Furtively a pair of black eyes peered forth and searched the opposite bank of the stream, the thicket of rhododendrons above, the blooming laurels below. Very stealthily a handsome head pushed out through the leaves. "'Lindy," a voice whispered. The girl gave a start, slowly turned her head. She looked at the owner of the voice from steady, deep-lidded eyes. The pulse in her brown throat began to beat. One might have guessed her with entire justice a sullen lass, untutored of life, pas- sionate, and high-spirited, resentful of all restraint. Hers was such beauty as lies in rich blood beneath dark coloring, in dusky hair and eyes, in the soft, warm contours of youth. Already she was slenderly full, an elemental daughter of Eve, primitive as one 2 A Man Four-Square of her fur-clad ancestors. No forest fawn could have been more sensuous or innocent than she. Again the man's glance swept the landscape cau- tiously before he moved out from cover. In the country of the Clantons there was always an open season on any one of his name. "What are you doin' here, Dave Roush?" the girl demanded. "Are you crazy?" "I'm here because you are, 'Lindy Clan ton," he answered promptly. "That's a right good rea- son, ain't it?" The pink splashed into her cheeks like spilled wine. "You'd better go. If dad saw you — " He laughed hardily. "There 'd be one less Roush — or one less Clanton," he finished for her. Dave Roush was a large, well-shouldered man, impressive in spite of his homespun. If he carried himself with a swagger there was no lack of bold- ness in him to back it. His long hair was straight and black and coarse, a derivative from the Indian strain in his blood. "Git my note?" he asked. She nodded sullenly. Xindy had met Dave Roush at a dance up on Lonesome where she had no business to be. At the time she had been visiting a distant cousin in a cove adjacent to that creek. Some craving for adven- ture, some instinct of defiance, had taken her to the frolic where she knew the Roush clan would be in force. From the first sight of her Dave had wooed her with a careless bravado that piqued her pride A Man Four-Square 3 and intrigued her interest. The girl's imagination translated in terms of romance his insolence and audacity. Into her starved existence he brought color and emotion. Did she love him? 'Lindy was not sure. He moved her at times to furious anger, and again to inarticulate longings she did not understand. For though she was heritor of a life full-blooded and undisciplined, every fiber of her was clean and pure. There were hours when she hated him, glimpsed in him points of view that filled her with vague dis- trust. But always he attracted her tremendously. "You're goin' with me, gal," he urged. Close to her hand was a little clump of forget-me- nots which had pushed through the moss. 'Lindy feigned to be busy picking the blossoms. "No," she answered sulkily. "Yes. To-night — at eleven o'clock, 'Lindy, — under the big laurel." While she resented his assurance, it none the less coerced her. She did not want a lover who groveled in the dust before her. She wanted one to sweep her from her feet, a young Lochinvar to compel her by the force of his personality. "I'll not be there," she told him. "We'll git right across the river an' be married inside of an hour." " I tell you I 'm not goin' with you. Quit pesterin' me." His devil-may-care laugh trod on the heels of her refusal. He guessed shrewdly that circumstances were driving her to him. The girl was full of resent- 4 A Man Four-Square ment at her father's harsh treatment of her. Her starved heart craved love. She was daughter of that Clanton who led the feud against the Roush family and its adherents. Dave took his life in his hands every time he crossed the river to meet her. Once he had swum the stream in tjie night to keep an appointment. He knew that his wildness, his reckless courage and contempt of danger, argued potently for him. She was coming to him as reluc- tantly and surely as a wild turkey answers the call of the hunter. The sound of a shot, not distant, startled them. He crouched, wary as a rattlesnake about to strike. The rifle seemed almost to leap forward. "Hit's Bud — my brother Jimmie." She pushed him back toward the pawpaws. "Quick! Burn the wind!" "What about to-night? Will you come?" "Hurry. I tell you hit's Bud. Are you lookin* for trouble?" He stopped stubbornly at the edge of the thicket. "I ain't runnin' away from it. I put a question to ye. When I git my answer mebbe I'll go. But I don't 'low to leave till then." " I '11 meet ye there if I kin git out. Now go," she begged. The man vanished in the pawpaws. He moved as silently as one of his Indian ancestors. 'Lindy waited, breathless lest her brother should catch sight of him. She knew that if Jimmie saw Roush there would be shooting and one or the other would fall. A Man Four-Square 5 A rifle shot rang out scarce a hundred yards from her. The heart of the girl stood still. After what seemed an interminable time there came to her the sound of a care-free whistle. Presently her brother sauntered into view, a dead squirrel in his hand. The tails of several others bulged from the game bag by his side. The sister did not need to be told that four out of five had been shot through the head. "Thought I heard voices. Was some one with you, sis?" the boy asked. "Who'd be with me here?" she countered lazily. A second time she was finding refuge in the for- get-me-nots. He was a barefoot little fellow, slim and hard as a nail. In his hand he carried an old-fashioned rifle almost as long as himself. There was a lingering look of childishness in his tanned, boyish face. His hands and feet were small and shapely as those of a girl. About him hung the stolid imperturbability of the Southern mountaineer. Times were when his blue eyes melted to tenderness or mirth; yet again the cunning of the jungle narrowed them to slits hard as jade. Already, at the age of fourteen, he had been shot at from ambush, had wounded a Roush at long range, had taken part in a pitched battle. The law of the feud was tempering his heart to implacability. The keen gaze of the boy rested on her. Ever since word had reached the Clantons of how 'Lindy had "carried on" with Dave Roush at the dance on Lonesome her people had watched her suspiciously. The thing she had done had been a violation of the 6 A Man Four-Square hill code and old Clay Clanton had thrashed her with a cowhide till she begged for mercy. Jimmie had come home from the still to find her writhing in passionate revolt. The boy had been furious at his father; yet had admitted the substantial justice of the punishment. Its wisdom he doubted. For he knew his sister to be stubborn as old Clay himself, and he feared lest they drive her to the arms of Bad Dave Roush. "I reckon you was talkin' to yo'self, mebbe," he suggested. "I reckon." They walked home together along a path through the rhododendrons. The long, slender legs of the girl moved rhythmically and her arms swung like pendulums. Life in the open had given her the litheness and the grace of a woodland creature. The mountain woman is cheated of her youth al- most before she has learned to enjoy it. But 'Lindy was still under eighteen. Her warm vitality still denied the coming of a day when she would be & sallow, angular snuff -chewer. Within sight of the log cabin the girl lingered for a moment by the sassafras bushes near the spring. Some deep craving for sympathy moved her to alien speech. She turned upon him with an im- perious, fierce tenderness in her eyes. "You'll never forgit me, Bud? No matter what happens, you'll — you'll not hate me?" Her unusual emotion embarrassed and a little alarmed him. "Oh, shucks! They ain't anything goin' to happen, sis. What's ailin' you?" A Man Four-Square 7 "But if anything does. You'll not hate me — you'll remember I alius thought a heap of you, Jimmie?" she insisted. "Doggone it, if you're still thinkin' of that scala- wag Dave Roush — " He broke off, moved by some touch of prescient tragedy in her young face. "Course I ain't ever a-goin' to forgit you none, sis. Hit ain't likely, is it?" It was a comfort to him afterward to recall that he submitted to her impulsive caress without any visible irritability. 'Lindy busied herself preparing supper for her father and brother. Ever since her mother died when the child was eleven she had been the family housekeeper. At dusk Clay Clanton came in and stood his rifle in a corner of the room. His daughter recognized ill-humor in the grim eyes of the old man. He was of a tall, gaunt figure, strongly built, a notable fighter with his fists in the brawling days before he "got religion" at a camp meeting. Now his Cal- vinism was of the sternest. Dancing he held to be of the devil. Card-playing was a sin. If he still drank freely, his drinking was within bounds. But he did not let his piety interfere with the feud. Within the year, pillar of the church though he was, he had been carried home riddled with bullets. Of the four men who had waylaid him two had been buried next day and a third had kept his bed for months. He ate for a time in dour silence before he turned harshly on 'Lindy. 8 A Man Four-Square "You ain't havin' no truck with Dave Roush are you? Not meetin' up with him on the sly?" he de- manded, his deep-set eyes full of menace under the heavy, grizzled brows. "No, I ain't," retorted the girl, and her voice was sullen and defiant. "See you don't, lessen yo' want me to tickle yore back with the bud again. I don't allow to put up with no foolishness." He turned in explanation to the boy. "Brad Nickson seen him this side of the river to-day. He says this ain't the fustest time Roush has been seen hangin' 'round the cove." The boy's wooden face betrayed nothing. He did not look at his sister. But suspicions began to troop through his mind. He thought again of the voices he had heard by the river and he remembered that it had become a habit of the girl to disappear for hours in the afternoon. 'Lindy went to her room early. She nursed against her father not only resentment, but a strong feeling of injustice. He would not let her attend the frolics of the neighborhood because of his scruples against dancing. Yet she had heard him tell how he used to dance till daybreak when he was a young man. What right had he to cut her off from the things that made life tolerable? She was the heritor of lawless, self-willed, pas- sionate ancestors. Their turbulent blood beat in her veins. All the safeguards that should have hedged her were gone. A wise mother, an under- standing father, could have saved her from the tragedy waiting to engulf her. But she had neither A Man Four-Square 9 of these. Instead, her father's inhibitions pushed her toward that doom to which she was moving blindfold. Before her cracked mirror the girl dressed herself bravely in her cheap best. She had no joy in the thing she was going to do. Of her love she was not sure and of her lover very unsure. A bell of warning rang faintly in her heart as she waited for the hours to slip away. A very little would have turned the tide. But she nursed her anger against her father, fed her resentment with the memory of all his wrongs to her. When at last she crept through the window to the dark porch trellised with wild cucumbers, she persuaded herself that she was going only to tell Dave Roush that she would not join him. Her heart beat fast with excitement and dread. Poor, undisciplined daughter of the hills though she was, a rumor of the future whispered in her ears and weighted her bosom. Quietly she stole past the sassafras brake to the big laurel. Her lover took her instantly into his arms and kissed the soft mouth again and again. She tried to put him from her, to protest that she was not going with him. But before his ardor her resolution melted. As always, when he was with her, his influence was paramount. "The boat is under that clump of bushes," he whispered. "Oh, Dave, I'm not goin'," she murmured. "Then I'll go straight to the house an' have it out with the old man," he answered. 10 A Man Four-Square His voice rang gay with the triumph of victory. He did not intend to let her hesitations rob him of it. " Some other night," she promised. " Not now — I don't want to go now. I — I'm not ready." "There's no time like to-night, honey. My brother came with me in the boat. We've got horses waitin' — an' the preacher came ten miles to do the job." Then, with the wisdom born of many flirtations, he dropped argument and wooed her ardently. The anchors that held the girl to safety dragged. The tug of sex, her desire of love and ignorance of life, his eager and passionate demand that she trust him: all these swelled the tide that beat against her prudence. She caught his coat lapels tightly in her clenched fists. "If I go I'll be givin' up everything in the world for you, Dave Roush. My folks '11 hate me. They'd never speak to me again. You'll be good to me. You won't cast it up to me that I ran away with you. You'll — you'll — " Her voice broke and she gulped down a little sob. He laughed. She could not see his face in the darkness, but the sound of his laughter was not reassuring. He should have met her appeal seri- ously. The girl drew back. He sensed at once his mistake. " Good to you ! " he cried. "'Lindy, I'm a-goin' to be the best ever." A Man Four-Square 11 "I ain't got ary mother, Dave." Again she choked in her throat. "You wouldn't take advantage of me, would you?" He protested hotly. Desiring only to be con- vinced, 'Lindy took one last precaution. "Swear you'll do right by me always." He swore it. She put her hand in his and he led her to the boat. Ranse Roush was at the oars. Before he had taken a dozen strokes a wave of terror swept over her. She was leaving behind forever that quiet, sunny cove where she had been brought up. The girl began to shiver against the arm of her lover. She heard again the sound of his low, triumphant laughter. It was too late to turn back now. No hysterical request to be put back on her side of the river would move these men. Instinctively she knew that. From to-night she was to be a Roush. They found horses tied to saplings in a small cove close to the river. The party mounted and rode into the hills. Except for the ring of the horses' hoofs there was no sound for miles. 'Lindy was the first to speak. "Ain't this Quicksand Creek?" she asked of her lover as they forded a stream. He nodded. "The sands are right below us — not more'n seven or eight steps down here Cal Henson was sucked under." After another stretch ridden in silence they turned up a little cove to a light shining in a cabin window. The brothers alighted and Dave helped 12 A Man Four-Square the girl down. He pushed open the door and led the way inside. A man sat by the fireside with his feet on the table. He was reading a newspaper. A jug of whiskey and a glass were within reach of his hand. Without troubling to remove his boots from the table, he looked up with a leer at the trembling girl. Dave spoke at once. "We'll git it over with. The sooner the quicker." 'Lindy's heart was drenched with dread. She shrank from the three pairs of eyes focused upon her as if they had belonged to wolves. She had hoped that the preacher might prove a benevolent old man, but this man with the heavy thatch of unkempt, red hair and furtive eyes set askew of- fered no comfort. If there had been a single friend of her family present, if there had been any woman at all ! If she could even be sure of the man she was about to marry ! It seemed to her that the preacher was sneering when he put the questions to which she answered quaveringly. Vaguely she felt the presence of some cruel, sinister jest of which she was the sport. After the ceremony had been finished the three men drank together while she sat white-faced before the fire. When at last Ranse Roush and the red- headed preacher left the cabin, both of them were under the influence of liquor. Dave had drunk freely himself. 'Lindy would have given her hopes of heaven to be back safely in the little mud-daubed bedroom she had called her own. A Man Four-Square 13 Three days later 'Lindy wakened to find a broad ribbon of sunshine across the floor of the cabin. Her husband had not come home at all the night before. She shivered with self-pity and dressed slowly. Already she knew that her life had gone to wreck, that it would be impossible to live with Dave Roush and hold her self-respect. But she had cut herself off from retreat. All of her friends belonged to the Clanton faction and they would not want to have anything to do with her. She had no home now but this, no refuge against the neglect and insults of this man with whom she had elected to go through life. To her mind came the verdict of old Nance Cunningham on the imprudent marriage of another girl: "'Ran- dy's done made her bed; I reckon she's got to lie on it." A voice hailed the cabin from outside. She went to the door. Ranse Roush and the red-haired preacher had ridden into the clearing and were dismounting. They had with them a led horse. "Fix up some breakfast," ordered Ranse. The young wife flushed. She resented his tone and his manner. Like Dave, he too assumed that she had come to be a drudge for the whole drunken clan, a creature to be sneered at and despised. Silently she cooked a meal for the men. The girl was past tears. She had wept herself out. While they ate the men told of her father's fury when he had discovered the elopement, of how he had gone down to the mill and cast her off with a father's curse, renouncing all relationship with her 14 A Man Four-Square forever. It was a jest that held for them a great savor. They made sport of him and of the other Clantons till she could keep still no longer. "I won't stand this! I don't have to! Where's Dave?" she demanded, eyes flashing with con- tempt and anger. Ranse grinned, then turned to his companion with simulated perplexity. "Where is Dave, Brother Hugh?" "Damfino," replied the red-headed man, and the girl could see that he was gloating over her. "Last night he was at a dance on God-Forgotten Crick. Dave's soft on a widow up there, you know." The color ebbed from the face of the wife. One of her hands clutched at the back of a chair till the knuckles stood out white and bloodless. Her eyes fastened with a growing horror upon those of the red-headed man. She had come to the edge of an awful discovery. " You 're nqo preacher. Who are you? " "Me?" His smile was cruel as death. "You done guessed it, sister. I 'm Hugh Roush — Dave's brother." "An' — an' — my marriage was all a lie?" "Did ye think Dave Roush would marry a Clan- ton? He 's a bad lot, Dave is, but he ain't come that low yet." For the first and last time in her life 'Lindy fainted. Presently she floated back to consciousness and the despair of a soul mortally stricken. She saw it all now. The lies of Dave Roush had enticed her into a trap. He had been working for revenge A Man Four-Square 15 against the family he hated, especially against brave old Clay Clanton who had killed two of his kin within the year. With the craft inherited from savage ancestors he had sent a wound more deadly than any rifle bullet could carry. The Clantons were proud folks, and he had dragged their pride in the mud. If the two brothers expected her to make a scene, they were disappointed. Numb with the shock of the blow, she made no outcry and no reproach. " Git a move on ye, gal," ordered Ranse after he had finished eating. "You're goin' with us, so you better hurry." "What are you goin' to do with me?" she asked dully. "Why, Dave don't want you any more. We're goin' to send you home." "I reckon yore folks will kill the fatted calf for you," jeered Hugh Roush. "They tell me you al- ways been mighty high-heeled, 'Lindy Clanton. Mebbe you won't hold yore head so high now." The girl rode between them down from the hills. Who knows into what an agony of fear and remorse and black despair she fell? She could not go home a cast-off, a soiled creature to be scorned and pointed at. She dared not meet her father. It would be impossible to look her little brother Jim- mie in the face. Would they believe the story she told? And if they were convinced of its truth, what difference would that make? She was what she was, no matter how she had become so. On the pike they met old Nance Cunningham 16 A Man Four-Square returning from the mill with a sack of meal. The story of that meeting was one the old gossip told after the tragedy to many an eager circle of listeners. "She jes' lifted her han' an' stopped me, an' if death was ever writ on a human face it shorely wuz stomped on hers. *I want you to tell my father I'm sorry,' she sez. 'He swore he'd marry me in- side of an hour. This man hyer — his brother — made out like he wuz a preacher an' married us. Tell my father that an' ask him to forgive me if he can.' That wuz all she said. Ranse Roush hit her horse with a switch an' sez, 'Yo' kin tell him all that yore own self soon as you git home.' I reckon I wuz the lastest person she spoke to alive." They left the old woman staring after them with her mouth open. It could have been only a few minutes later that they reached Quicksand Creek. 'Lindy pulled up her horse to let the men precede her through the ford. They splashed into the shal- lows on the other side of the creek and waited for her to join them. Instead, she slipped from the sad- dle, ran down the bank, and plunged into the quicksand. "Goddlemighty!" shrieked Ranse. "She's a. drowndin' herself in the sands." They spurred their horses back across the creek and ran to rescue the girl. But she had flung her- self forward face down far out of their reach. They dared not venture into the quivering bog after her. While they still stared in a frozen horror, the trag- edy was completed. The victim of their revenge had disappeared beneath the surface of the morass. Chapter I "Call Me Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em " The boy had spent the night at a water-hole in a little draw near the foot of the mesa. He had supped on cold rations and slept in his blanket without the comfort of glowing pifion knots. For yesterday he had cut Indian signs and after dark had seen the shadow of Apache camp-fires reflected in the clouds. After eating he swung to the bare back of his pony and climbed to the summit of the butte. His trained eyes searched the plains. A big bunch of antelope was trailing down to water almost within rifle-shot. But he was not looking for game. He sniffed the smoke from the pits where the renegades were roasting mescal and judged the dis- tance to the Apache camp at close to ten miles. His gaze swept toward the sunrise horizon and rested upon a cloud of dust. That probably meant a big herd of cattle crossing to the Pecos Valley on the Chisum Trail that led to Fort Stanton. The riders were likely just throwing the beeves from the bed- ground to the trail. The boy waited to make sure of their line of travel. Presently he spoke aloud, after the fashion of the plainsman who spends much time alone in the sad- dle. "Looks like they'll throw off to-night close to the Tache camp. If they do hell's a-goin' to p©p 18 A Man Four-Square just before sunup to-morrow. I reckon I'll ride over and warn the outfit." From a trapper the boy had learned that a band of Mescalero Apaches had left the reservation three weeks before, crossed into Mexico, gone plundering down the Pecos, and was now heading back toward the Staked Plains. Evidently the drover did not know this, since he was moving his cattle directly toward the Indian camp. The young fellow let his cowpony pick its way down the steep shale hill to the draw. He saddled without a waste motion, packed his supplies deftly, mounted, and was off. In the way he cut across the desert toward the moving herd was the certainty of the frontiersman. He did not hurry, but he wasted no time. His horse circled in and out among the sand dunes, now topped a hill, now followed a wash. Every foot of the devious trail was the most eco- nomical possible. At the end of nearly an hour's travel he pulled up, threw down his bridle reins, and studied the ground carefully. He had cut Indian sign. What he saw would have escaped the notice of a tenderfoot, and if it had been pointed out to him none but an expert trailer would have understood its signifi- cance. Yet certain facts were printed here on the desert for this boy as plainly as if they had been stenciled on a guide-post. He knew that within forty-eight hours a band of about twenty Mescalero bucks had returned to camp this way from an ante- lope hunt and that they carried with them half a dozen pronghorns. It was a safe guess that they A Man Four-Square 19 were part of the large camp the smoke of which he had seen. Long before the young man struck the drive, he knew he was close by the cloud of dust and the bawling of the cattle. His course across country had been so accurate that he hit the herd at the point without deflecting. An old Texan drew up, changed his weight on the saddle to rest himself, and hailed the youngster. "Goin' somewheres, kid, or just ridin'?" he asked genially. "Just takin' my hawss out for a jaunt so's he won't get hog-fat," grinned the boy. The Texan chewed tobacco placidly and eyed the cowpony. The horse had been ridden so far that he was a bag of bones. "Looks some gaunted," he commented. "Four Bits is so thin he won't throw a shadow," admitted the boy. "Come a right smart distance, I reckon?" "You done said it." ' * Where you headin' for ? " "For Deaf Smith County. I got an uncle there. Saw your dust an' dropped over to tell you that a big bunch of 'Paches are camped just ahead of you." The older man looked at him keenly. "How do you know, son?" "Smelt their smoke an' cut their trail." "Know Injuns, do you?" "I trailed with Al Sieber 'most two years." To have served with Sieber for any length of time 20 A Man Four-Square was a certificate of efficiency. He was the ablest scout in the United States Army. Through his skill and energy Geronimo and his war braves were later forced to give themselves up to the troops. " 'Nuff said. Are these Taches liable to make us any trouble?" "Yes, sir. I think they are. They're a bunch of broncos from the reservation an' they have been across the line stealin' horses an' murderin' settlers. They will sure try to stampede your cattle an' run off a lot of 'em." "Hmp! You better go back an' see old man Webb about it. What's yore name, kid?" For just an eye-beat the boy hesitated. "Call me Jim Thursday." A glimmer of a smile rested in the eyes of the Texan. He was willing to bet that this young fellow would not have given him that name if to-day had not happened to be the fifth day of the week. But it was all one to the cowpuncher. To question a man too closely about his former residence and manner of life was not good form on the frontier. "Ill call you Jim from Sunday to Saturday," he said, pulling a tobacco pouch from his hip pocket. "My name is Wrayburn — Dad Wrayburn, the boys call me." The Texan shouted to the man riding second on the swing. "Oh, you, Billie Prince!" A tanned, good-looking young fellow cantered up ' "Meet Jimmie Thursday, Billie," the old-timer said by way of introduction. "This boy says there's A Man Four-Square 21 heap many Injuns on the war-path right ahead of us. I reckon I '11 let you take the point while I ride back with him an* put it up to the old man/' The "old man" turned out to be a short, heavy- set Missourian who had served in the Union Army and won a commission by intelligence and courage. Wherever the name of Homer Webb was known it stood for integrity and square-dealing. His word was as good as a signed bond. Webb had come out of the war without a cent, but with a very definite purpose. During the last year of the Confederacy, while it was tottering to its fall, he had served in Texas. The cattle on the range had for years been running wild, the owners and herdsmen being absent with the Southern army. They had multiplied prodigiously, so that many thousands of mavericks roamed without brand, the property of any one who would round them up and put an iron on their flanks. The money value of them was very little. A standard price for a yearling was a plug of tobacco. But Webb looked to the future. He hired two riders, gathered together a small remuda of culls, and went into the cattle business with energy. To-day the Flying V Y was stamped on forty thousand longhorns. The foreman of the Flying V Y was riding with the owner of the brand at the drag end of the herd. He was a hard-faced citizen known as Joe Yankie. When Wrayburn had finished his story, the fore- man showed a row of tobacco-stained teeth m an unpleasant grin. 22 A Man Four-Square "Same old stuff, Dad. There always is a bunch of bucks off the reservation an' they're always just goin' to run our cattle away. If you ask me there's nothin' to it." Young Thursday flushed. "If you'll ride out with me I'll show you their trail." Yankie looked at him with a sneer. He guessed this boy to be about eighteen. There was a sug- gestion of effeminacy about the lad's small, well- shaped hands and feet. He was a slender, smooth- faced youth with mild blue eyes. It occurred to Webb, too, that the stranger might have imagined the Apaches. But in his motions was something of the lithe grace of the puma. It was part of the business of the cattleman to judge men and he was not convinced that this young fellow was as inoffen- sive as he looked. "Where you from?" asked the drover. "From the San Carlos Agency." " Ever meet a man named Micky Free out there? " " I ' ve slept under the same tarp with him many 's the time when we were f ollowin' Chiricahua 'Paches. He 's the biggest dare-devil that ever forked a horse." "Describe him." "Micky's face is a map of Ireland. He's got only one eye; a buck punched the other out when he was a kid. His hair is red an' he wears it long." "Any beard?" "A bristly little red mustache." "That's Micky to a T." Webb made up his mind swiftly. "The boy's all right, Yankie. He'll do to take along." A Man Four-Square 23 "It's your outfit. Suits me if he does you." The foreman turned insolently to the newcomer. "What'd you say your name was, sissie?" The eyes of the boy, behind narrowed lids, grew hard as steel. " Call me Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em," he drawled in a soft voice, every syllable distinct. There was a moment of chill silence. A swift surprise had flared into the eyes of the foreman, The last thing in the world he had expected was to have his bad temper resented so promptly by this smooth-faced little chap. Since Yankie was the camp bully he bristled up to protect his reputation, "Better not get on the prod with me, young fek low me lad. I'm liable to muss up your hair. Me, I'm from the Strip, where folks grow man-size." The youngster smiled, but there was no mirth in that thin-lipped smile. He knew, as all men did, that the Cherokee Strip was the home of desper- adoes and man-killers. The refuse of the country, driven out by the law of more settled communities, found here a refuge from punishment. But if the announcement of the foreman impressed him, he gave no sign of it. "Why didn't you stay there?" he asked with bland innocence. Yankie grew apoplectic. He did not care to dis- cuss the reasons why he had first gone to the Strip or the reasons why he had come away. This girl- faced boy was the only person who had asked for a bill of particulars. Moreover, the foreman did not know whether the question had been put m ciiild- 24 A Man Four-Square like ignorance of any possible offense or with am impudent purpose to enrage him. "Don't run on the rope when I'm holdin' it, kid," he advised roughly. "You're liable to get thrown hard." "And then again I'm liable not to," lisped the youth from Arizona gently. The bully looked the slim newcomer over again, and as he looked there rang inside him some tocsin of warning. Thursday sat crouched in the saddle, wary as a rattlesnake ready to strike. A sawed-off shotgun lay under his leg within reach of his hand, the butt of a six-gun was even closer to those smooth, girlish fingers. In the immobility of his figure and the steadiness of the blue eyes was a deadly menace. Yankie was no coward. He would go through if he had to. But there was still time to draw back if he chose. He was not exactly afraid; on the other hand, he did not feel at all easy. He contrived a casual, careless laugh. "All right, kid. I don't have to rob the cradle to fill my pri- vate graveyard. Go get your Injuns. It will be all right with me." Webb drew a breath of relief. There was to be no gunplay after all. He had had his own reasons for not interfering sooner, but he knew that the situation had just grazed red tragedy. "I'm goin' to take the boy's advice," he an- nounced to Yankie. "Hide forward an' swing the herd toward that big red butte. We'll give our Meecalero friends a wide berth if we can." fibi Man Four-Square 25 The foreman hung in the saddle a moment before he turned to go. He had to save his face from a public back-down. "Bet you a week's pay there's nothin' to it, Webb." " Hope you 're right, Joe," his employer answered. As soon as Yankie had cantered away, Dad Wrayburn, ex-Confederate trooper, slapped his hand on his thigh and let out a modulated rebel yell. "Dad burn my hide, Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em, you're all right. Fustest time I ever saw Joe take water, but he shorely did splash some this here occasion. I would n't 'a' missed it for a bunch of hog-fat yearlin's." Webb had not been sorry to see his arrogant foreman brought up with a sharp turn, but in the interest of discipline he did not care to say so. "Why can't you boys get along peaceable with Joe, I'd like to know? This snortin' an' pawin' up the ground don't get you anything." "I reckon Joe does most of the snortin' that's done," Wrayburn answered dryly. "I ain't had any trouble with him, because he spends a heap of time lettin' me alone. But there's no manner of doubt that Joe rides the boys too hard." The drover dismissed the subject and turned to Thursday. "Want a job?" "Mebbeso." "I need another man. Since you sabe the ways of the 'Paches I can use you to scout ahead for us." "What you payin'?" 26 A Man Four-Square "Fifty a month." "You've hired a hand." "Good enough. Better pick one of the boys to ride with you while you are out scoutin'." "I'll take Billie Prince," decided the new rider at once. "You know Billie?" "Never saw him before to-day. But I like his looks. He's a man to tie to." "You're right he is." The drover looked at his new employee with a question in his shrewd eyes. The boy was either a man out of a thousand or he was a first-class bluffer. He claimed to have cut Indian sign and to know exactly what was written there. At a single glance he had sized up Prince and knew him for a reliable side partner. Without any bluster he had served notice on Yankie that it would be dan- gerous to pick on him as the butt of his ill-temper. In those days, on the Pecos, law lay in a holster on a man's thigh. The individual was a force only so far as his personality impressed itself upon his fellows. If he made claims he must be prepared to back them to a fighting finish. Was this young Thursday a false alarm? Or was he a good man to let alone when one was looking for trouble? Webb could not be sure yet, though he made a shrewd guess. But he knew it would not he long before he found out. Chapter II Shoot-a-Buck Canon Webb sent for Billie Prince. "Seems there's a bunch of bronco 'Paches camped ahead of us, Billie. Thursday here trailed with Sieber. I want you an' him to scout in front of us an' see we don't run into any ambush. You 're under his orders, y' understand." Prince was a man of few words. He nodded. "You know the horses that the boys claim. Well, take Thursday to the remuda an' help him pick a mount from the extras in place of that broomtail he's ridin'," continued the drover. "Look alive now. I don't want my cattle stampeded because we have n't got sense enough to protect 'em. No 'Paches can touch a hoof of my stock if I can help it." "If they attack at all it will probably be just before daybreak, but it is just as well to be ready for 'em," suggested Thursday. "I brought along some old Sharps an' some Spencers. I reckon 111 have 'em loaded an' dis- tribute 'em among the boys. Billie, tell Yankie to have that done. The rifles are racked up in the calf wagon." Billie delivered the orders of the drover to the foreman as they passed on their way to the remuda. Joe gave a snort of derision, but let it go at that. When Homer Webb was with one of his trail out- fits he was always its boss. 28 A Man Four-Square While Thursday watched him, Prince roped out a cinnamon horse from the remuda. The cow- puncher was a long-bodied man, smooth-muscled and lithe. The boy had liked his level eye and his clean, brown jaw before, just as now he approved the swift economy of his motions. Probably Billie was about twenty years of age, but in that country men ripened young. Both of these lads had been brought up in that rough-and- ready school of life which holds open session every day of the year. Both had already given proofs of their ability to look out for themselves in emergency. A wise, cool head rested on each of these pairs of young shoulders. In this connection it is worth mentioning that the West's most famous outlaw, Billie the Kid, a killer with twenty-one notches on his gun, had just reached his majority when he met his death some years later at the hands of Pat Garrett. The new rider for the Flying V Y outfit did not accept the judgment of Prince without confirming it. He examined the hoofs of the horse and felt its legs carefully. He looked well to its ears to make sure that ticks from the mesquite had not infected the silky inner flesh. "A good bronc, looks like," he commented. "One of the fastest in the remuda — not very gentle, though." Thursday picked the witches' bridles from its mane before he saddled. As his foot found the stir- rup the cinnamon rose into the air, humped its back, and came down with all four legs stiff. The quirt A Man Four-Square 29 burned its flank, and the animal went up again to whirl round in the air. The boy stuck to the saddle and let out a joyous whoop. The battle was on. Suddenly as it had begun the contest ended. With the unreasoning impulse of the half -broken cowpony the cinnamon subsided to gentle obedi- ence. The two riders cantered across the prairie in the direction of the Indian camp. That the Apaches were still there Thursday thought altogether likely, for he knew that it takes a week to make mescal. No doubt the raiders had stopped to hold a jam- boree over the success of their outbreak. The scouts from the cattle herd deflected toward a butte that pushed out as a salient into the plain. From its crest they could get a sweeping view of the valley. " There 's a gulch back of it that leads to old man Roubideau's place," explained Prince. "Last time we were on this Pecos drive the boss stopped an' bought a bunch of three-year-olds from him. He 's got a daughter that's sure a pippin, old man Roubideau has. Shoot, ride, rope — that girl 's got a lot of these alleged bullwhackers beat a mile at any one of 'em." Thursday did not answer. He had left the saddle and was examining the ground carefully. Billie joined him. In the soft sand of the wash were tracks of horses' hoofs. Patiently the trailer fol- lowed them foot by foot to the point where they left the dry creek-bed and swung up the broken bank to a swale. 30 A Man Four-Square "Probably Roubideau and his son Jean after strays," suggested Prince. "No. Notice this track here, how it's broken off at the edge. When I cut Indian sign yesterday, this was one of those I saw." "Then these are 'Paches too?" "Yes." "Goin' to the Roubideau place." The voice of Billie was low and husky. His brown young face had been stricken gray. Bleak fear lay in the gray eyes. His companion knew he was thinking of the girl. "How many of 'em do you make out?" "Six or seven. Not sure which." "How old?" "They passed here not an hour since." It was as if a light of hope had been lit in the face of the young man. "Mebbe there's time to help yet. Kid, I'm goin' in." Jim Thursday made no reply, unless it was one to vault to the saddle and put his horse to the gal- lop. They rode side by side, silently and alertly, rifles across the saddle-horns in their hands. The boy from Arizona looked at his new friend with an increase of respect. This was, of course, a piece of 'magnificent folly. What could two boys do against half a dozen wily savages? But it was the sort of madness that he loved. His soul went out in a gush of warm, boyish admiration to Billie Prince. It was the beginning of a friendship that was to endure, in spite of rivalry and division and misunderstanding, through many turbid years of trouble. This was no affair of theirs. Webb had sent them out to protect A Man Four-Square 31 the cattle drive. They were neglecting his business for the sake of an adventure that might very well mean the death of both of them. But it was char- acteristic of Thursday that it never even occurred to him to let Prince take the chance alone. Even in the days to come, when his name was anathema in the land, nobody ever charged that he would not go through with a comrade. There drifted to them presently the faint sound of a shot. It was followed by a second and a third. "The fight's on," cried Thursday. Billie's quirt stung the flank of his pony. Near the entrance to the canon his companion caught up with him. From the rock walls of the gulch came to them booming echoes of rifles in action. "Roubideau must be standin' 'em off," shouted Prince. "Can we take the 'Paches by surprise? Is there any other way into the canon?" "Don't know. Can't stop to find out. I'mgoin , straight up the road." The younger man offered no protest. It might well be that the ranchman was in desperate case and in need of immediate help to save his family. Anyhow, the decision was out of his hands. The horses pounded forward and swept round a curve of the gulch into sight of the ranch. In a semicircle, crouched behind the shelter of boulders and cottonwoods, the Indian line stretched across the gorge and along one wall. The buildings lay in a little valley, where an arroyo ran down at a right 32 A Man Four-Square angle and broke the rock escarpment. A spurt of smoke came from a window of the stable as the rescuers galloped into view. One of the Apaches caught sight of them and gave a guttural shout of warning. His gun jumped to the shoulder and simultaneously the bullet was on its way. But no living man could throw a shot quicker than Jim Thursday, if the stories still told of him around camp-fires are true. Now he did not wait to take sight, but fired from his hip. The In- dian rose, half-turned, and fell forward across the boulder, his naked body shining in the sun. By a hundredth part of a second the white boy had out- speeded him. The riders flung themselves from their horses and ran for cover. The very audacity of their attack had its effect. The Indians guessed these two were the advance guard of a larger party which had caught them in a trap. Between two fires, with one line of retreat cut off, the bronco Apaches wasted no time in de- liberation. They made a rush for their horses, mounted, and flew headlong toward the arroyo, their bodies lying low on the backs of the ponies. The Indians rode superbly, their bare, sinewy legs gripping even to the moccasined feet the sides of the ponies. Without saddle or bridle, except for the simple nose rope, they guided their mounts surely, the brown bodies rising and falling in per- fect accord with the motion of the horses. A shot from the stable hit one as he galloped past. While his horse was splashing through the creek A Man Four-Square 33 the Mescalero slid slowly down, head first, into the brawling water. Billie took a long, steady aim and fired. A horse stumbled and went down, flinging the rider over its head. With a " Yip — Yip ! " of triumph Thursday drew a bead on the man as he rose and dodged for- ward. Just as the boy fired a sharp pain stung his foot. One of the escaping natives had wounded him. ' The dismounted man ran forward a few steps and pulled himself to the back of a pony already carry- ing one rider. Something in the man's gait and costume struck Prince. "That fellow's no Injun," he called to his friend. "Look!" Thursday was pointing to the saddle- back between two peaks at the head of the arroyo. A girl on horseback had just come over the sum- mit and stood silhouetted against the sky. Even in that moment while they watched her she realized for the first time her danger. She turned to fly, and she and her horse disappeared down the opposite slope. The Mescaleros swept up the hill toward her. "They'll git her! They'll sure git her!" cried Billie, making for his horse. The younger man ran limping to his cinnamon. At every step he winced, and again while his weight rested on the wounded foot as he dragged himself to the saddle. A dozen yards behind his companion he sent his horse splashing through the creek. The cowponies, used to the heavy going in the hills, took the slope in short, quick plunges. Neither of the young men used the spur, for the 34 A Man Four-Square chase might develop into a long one with stamina the deciding factor. The mesquite was heavy and the hill steep, but presently they struck a cattle run which led to the divide. Two of the Apaches stopped at the summit for a shot at their pursuers, but neither of the young men wasted powder in answer. They knew that close- range work would prove far more deadly and that only a chance hit could serve them now. From Billie, who had reached the crest first, came a cry of dismay. His partner, a moment later, knew the reason for it. One of the Apaches, racing across the valley below, was almost at the heels of the girl. The cowpunchers flung their ponies down the sharp incline recklessly. The animals were sure- footed as mountain goats. Otherwise they could never have reached the valley right side up. It was a stretch of broken shale with much loose rubble. The soft sandstone farther along had eroded and there was a great deal of slack debris down which the horses slipped and slid, now on their haunches and again on all fours. The valley stretched for a mile before them and terminated at a rock wall into which, no doubt, one or more caiions cut like sword clefts. The cow- punchers had picked mounts, but it was plain they could not overhaul the Apaches before the Indians captured the girl. Hie, even while galloping at full speed, began u long-distance fire upon the enemy. One of the caleros had caught the bridle of the young A Man Four-Square 35 woman's horse and was stopping the animal. It looked for a moment as if the raiders were going to make a stand, but presently their purpose became clear to those in pursuit. The one that Billie had picked for a renegade white dropped from the horse upon which he was riding double and swung up behind the captive. The huddle of men and ponies opened up and was in motion again toward the head of the valley. But though the transfer had been rapid, it had taken time. The pursuers, thundering across the valley, had gained fast. Rifles barked back and forth angrily. The Indians swerved sharply to the left for the mouth of a canon. Here they pulled up to check the cowboys, who slid from their saddles to use their ponies for protection. "That gorge to the right is called Escondido Canon," explained Prince. "We combed it for cattle last year. About three miles up it runs into the one where the Taches are. Don't remember the name of that one." " I '11 give it a new name," answered the boy. He raised his rifle, rested it across the back of his pony, and took careful aim. An Indian plunged from his horse. " Shoot-a-Buck Canon — how '11 that do for a name?" inquired Thursday with a grin. Prince let out a whoop. "You got him right. He '11 never smile again. Shoot-a-Buck Canon goes." The Indians evidently held a hurried consulta- tion and changed their minds about holding the gorge against such deadly shooting as this. 36 A Man Four-Square " They 're gun-shy/' announced Thursday. "They don't like the way we fog 'em and they're goin' to hit the trail, Billie." After one more shot Prince made the mistake of leaving the shelter of his horse too soon. He swung astride and found the stirrup. A puff of smoke came from the entrance to the gulch. Billie turned to his friend with a puzzled, sickly smile on his face. "They got me, kid." "Bad?" The cowboy began to sag in the saddle. His friend helped him to the ground. The wound was in the thigh. "I'll tie it up for you an' you'll be good as new," promised his friend. The older man looked toward the gorge. No Indians were in sight. "I can wait, but that little girl in the hands of those devils can't. Are you game to play a lone hand, kid?" he asked. "I reckon." "Then ride hell-for-leather up Escondido. It's shorter than the way they took. Where the gulches come together be waitin' an' git 'em from the brush. There's just one slim chance you'll make it an' come back alive." The boy's eyes were shining. "Suits me fine. I '11 go earn that name I christened myself — Jim- mie-Go-Get-'Em." Billie, his face twisted with pain, watched the youngster disappear at a breakneck gallop into Escondido. Chapter III Ranse Roush Pays Jim Thursday knew that his sole chance of suc- cess lay in reaching the fork of the canons before the Indians. So far he had been lucky. Three Apaches had gone to their happy hunting ground* and though both he and Billie were wounded, his hurt at least did not interfere with accurate rifle- fire. But it was not reasonable to expect such good fortune to hold. In the party he was pursuing were four men, all of them used to warfare in the open. Unless he could take them at a disadvantage he could not by any possibility defeat them and rescue their captive. His cinnamon pony took the rising ground at a steady gallop. Its stride did not falter, though its breathing was labored. Occasionally the rider touched its flank with the sharp rowel of a spur. The boy was a lover of horses. He had ridden too many dry desert stretches, had too often kept night watch over a sleeping herd, not to care for the faithful and efficient animal that served him and was a companion to his loneliness. Like many plainsmen he made of his mount a friend. But he dared not spare his pony now. He must ride the heart out of the gallant brute for the sake of that life he had come to save. And while he mrged it on, his hand patted the sweat-stained and his low voice sympathized. 38 A Man Four-Square "You've got to go to it, old fellow, if it kills you," he said aloud. "We got to save that girl for Billie, ain't we? We can't let those red devils take her away, can we?" It was a rough cattle trail he followed, strewn here with boulders and there tilted down at break- neck angle of slippery shale. Sometimes it fell abruptly into washes and more than once rose so sharply that a heather cat could scarce have clam- bered up. But Thursday flung his horse recklessly at the path, taking chances of a fall that might end the mad race. He could not wait to pick a way. His one hope lay in speed, in reaching the fork before the enemy. He sacrificed everything to that. From the top of a sharp pitch he looked down into the twin canon of Escondido. A sharp bend cut off the view to the left, so that he could see for only seventy-five or a hundred yards. But his glance followed the gulch up for half a mile arid found no sign of life. He was in time. Swiftly he made his preparations. First he led the exhausted horse back to a clump of young cot- tonwoods and tied it safely. From its place beside the saddle he took the muley gun and with the rifle in his other hand he limped swiftly back to the trail. Every step was torture, but he could not stop to think of that now. His quick eye picked a per- fect spot for an ambush where a great rock leaned against another at the edge of the bluff. Between the two was a narrow opening through which he could command the bend in the trail below. To A Man Four-Square 39 enlarge this he scooped out the dirt with his fingers, then reloaded the rifle and thrust it into the crev- ice. The sawed-off shotgun lay close to his hand. Till now he had found no time to get nervous, but as the minutes passed he began to tremble vio- lently and to whimper.' In spite of his experience he was only a boy and until to-day had never killed a man. "Doggone it, if I ain't done gone an' got buck fever," he reproached himself. "I reckon it's be- cause Billie Prince ain't here that I 'm so scairt. I wisht I had a drink, so as I 'd be right when the old muley gun gits to barkin'." A faint sound, almost indistinguishable, echoed up the gulch to him. Miraculously his nervousness vanished. Every nerve was keyed up, every muscle tense, but he was cool as water in a mountain stream. The sound repeated itself, a faint tinkle of gravel rolling from a trail beneath the hoof of a horse. At the last moment Thursday changed his mind and substituted the shotgun for the rifle. "Old muley she spatters all over the State of Texas. I might git two at once," he muttered. The light, distant murmur of voices reached him. His trained ear told him just how far away the speakers were. An Apache rounded the bend, a tall, slender young brave wearing only a low-cut breech-cloth and a pair of moccasins. Around his waist was strapped a belt full of cartridges and from it pro- jected the handle of a long Mexican knife. The 40 A Man Four-Square brown body of the youth was lithe and graceful as that of a panther. He was smiling over his shoulder at the next rider in line, a heavy-set, squat figure on a round-bellied pinto. That smile was to go out presently like the flame of a blown candle. A third Mescalero followed. Like that of the others, his coarse, black hair fell to the shoulders, free except for a band that encircled the forehead. Still the boy did not fire. He waited till the last of the party appeared, a man in fringed buckskin breeches and hickory shirt riding pillion behind a young woman. Both of these were white. The sawed-off gun of Thursday covered the sec- ond rider carefully. Before the sound of the shot boomed down the gorge the Apache was lifted from the bare back of the pony. The heavy charge of buckshot had riddled him through and through. Instantly the slim, young brave in the lead dug his heels into the flank of his pony, swung low to the far side so that only a leg was visible, and flew arrow-straight up the canon for safety. Thursday let him go. Twice his rifle rang out. At that distance it was impossible for a good shot to miss. One bullet passed through the head of the third Mescalero. The other brought down the pony upon which the whites were riding. The fall of the horse flung the girl free, but the foot of her captor was caught between the saddle and the ground. Thursday drew a bead on him while he lay there helpless, but some impulse of mercy held his hand. The man was that creature A Man Four-Square 41 accursed in the border land, a renegade who has turned his face against his own race and must to prove his sincerity to the tribe out-Apache an Apache at cruelty. Still, he was white after all — and Jim Thursday was only eighteen. Rifle in hand the boy clambered down the jagged rock wall to the dry river-bed below. The foot of his high-heeled boot was soggy with blood, but for the present he had to ignore the pain messages that throbbed to his brain. The business on hand would not wait. While Thursday was still slipping down from one outcropping ledge of rock to another, a plunge of the wounded horse freed the regenade. The man scrambled to his feet and ran shakily for the shelter of a boulder. In his hurry to reach cover he did not stop to get the rifle that had been flung a few yards from him when he fell. The boy caught one glimpse of that evil, fear- racked face. The blood flushed his veins with a surge of triumph. He was filled with the savage, primitive exultation of the head-hunter. For four years he had slept on the trail of this man and had at last found him. The scout had fought the Apaches impersonally, without rancor, because a call had come to him that he could not ignore. But now the lust of blood was on him. He had become that cold, implacable thing known throughout the West as a "killer." The merciless caution that dictates the methods of a killer animated his movements now. Across the gulch, nearly one hundred and fifty yards from 42 A Man Four-Square him, the renegade lay crouched. A hunched shoul- der was just visible. Thursday edged carefully along the ledge. He felt for holds with his hand and feet, for not once did his gaze lift from that patch of hickory shirt. The eyes of the boy had narrowed to slits of deadly light. He was wary as a hungry wolf and as dan- gerous. That the girl had disappeared around the bend he did not know. His brain functioned for just one purpose — to get the enemy with whom he had come at last to grips. As the boy crept along the rock face for a better view of his victim, the minutes fled. Five of them — ten — a quarter of an hour passed. The rene- gade lay motionless. Perhaps he hoped that his location was unknown. The man-hunter on the ledge flung a bullet against the protecting boulder. His laugh of cruel derision drifted across the canon. "Run to earth at last, Ranse Roush ! " he shouted, "I swore I'd camp on your trail till I got you — you an' the rest of yore poison tribe." From the trapped wretch quavered back a protest. " Goddlemighty , I ain't done no thin' to you-all. Lemme explain." "Before you do any explainin' mebbe you'd bet- ter guess who it is that's goin' to send yore cow- ardly soul to hell inside of five minutes." " If you 're some kin to that gal on the hawss with me, why, I'll tell you the honest-to-God truth. I was aimin' to save her from the 'Paches when I got A Man Four-Square 43 a chanct. Come on down an' let's we-uns talk it over reasonable." The boy laughed again, but there was something very far from mirth in the sound of that chill laughter. "If you won't guess I'll have to tell you^ Ever hear of the Clantons, Ranse Roush? I'm one of 'em. Now you know what chance you got to talk yoreself out of this thing." "I — I'm glad to meet up with you-all. I got to admit that the Roush clan is dirt mean. Tha 's why I broke away from 'em. Tha's why I come out here. You Clantons is all right. I never did go in for this bushwhackin' with Dave an' Hugh. I never — " "You're a born liar like the rest of yore wolf tribe. You come out here because the country got too hot to hold you after what you did to 'Lindy Clanton. I might 'a' knowed I 'd find you with the 'Paches. You alius was low-mixed Injun." The boy had fallen into the hill vernacular to which he had been born. He was once more a tribal feudist of the border land. "I swear I had n't a thing to do with that," the man cried eagerly. "You shore done got that wrong. Dave an' Hugh done that. They 're a bad lot. When I found out about 'Lindy Clanton I quarreled with 'em an' we-all split up company. Tha's the way of it." "You're ce'tainly in bad luck then," the boy shouted back tauntingly. "For I aim to stomp you out like I would a copperhead." Very distinctly he added his explanation. "I'm 'Lindy Clanton's brother." 44 A Man Four-Square Roush begged for his life. He groveled in the dust. He promised to reform, to leave the country, to do anything that was asked of him. "Go ahead. It's meat an' drink to me to hear a Roush whine. I got all day to this job, but I aim to do it thorough," jeered Clanton. A bullet flattened itself against the rock wall ten feet below the boy. In despair the man was shoot- ing wildly with his revolver. He knew there was no use in pleading, that his day of judgment had come. Young Clanton laughed in mockery. "Try again, Roush. You ain't quite got the range." The man made a bolt for the bend in the canon a hundred yards away. Instantly the rifle leaped to the shoulder of the boy. "Right in front of you, Roush," he prophesied. The bullet kicked up the dust at the feet of the running man. The nerve of Roush failed him and he took cover again behind a scrub live-oak. A memory had flashed to him of the day when he had seen a thirteen-year-old boy named Jim Clanton win a turkey shoot against the best marksmen of the hill country. The army Colt spit out once more at the boy on the ledge. Before the echo had died away the boom of an explosion filled the canon. Roush pitched for- ward on his face. Jim Clanton lowered his rifle with an exclama- tion. His face was a picture of amazement. Some one had stolen his vengeance from him by a hair's breadth. A Man Four-Square 45 Two men came round the bend on horseback. Behind them rode a girl. She was mounted on the barebacked pinto of the Indian Clanton had killed with the shotgun. The boy clambered down to the bed of the gulch and limped toward them. The color had ebbed from his lips. At every step a pain shot through his leg. But in spite of his growing weakness anger blazed in the light-blue eyes. "I waited four years to git him. I kept the trail hot from Tucson to Vegas an' back to Santone. An' now, doggone it, when my finger was on the trigger an' the coyote as good as dead, you cut in an' shoot the daylights out of him. By gum, it ain't fair!" The older man looked at him in astonishment. "But he iss only a child, Polly! Cela me passe!" "Mebbe I am only a kid," the boy retorted re- sentfully. "But I reckon I'm man enough to han- dle any Roush that ever lived. I was n't askin' for help from you-uns that I heerd tell of." The younger man laughed. He was six or seven years older than the girl, who could not have been more than seventeen. Both of them bore a marked likeness to the middle-aged man who had spoken. Jim guessed that this was the Roubideau family of whom Billie Prince had told him. "Just out of the cradle, by Christmas, and he's killed four 'Paches inside of an hour an' treed a renegade to boot," said young Roubideau. "I'd call it a day's work, kid, for it sure beats all records ever I knew hung up by one man." 46 A Man Four-Square The admiration of the young rancher was patent. He could not take his eyes from the youthful phenomenon. "He's wounded, father," the girl said in a low voice. The boy looked at her and his anger died away. "Billie sent me up the gulch when he was shot. He 'lowed it was up to me to git you back from those devils, seein' as he could n't go himself." Polly nodded. She seemed to be the kind of girl that understands without being told in detail. Before Thursday could protect himself, Rou- bideau, senior, had seized him in his arms, em- braced him, and kissed first one cheek and then the other. "Eh bien! But you are the brave boy! I count it honor to know you. My little Polly, have you not save her? Ah! But I forget the introduce tions. Myself, I am Pierre Roubideau, a tout pro- pos at your service. My son Jean. Pauline — what you call our babie." "My real name is Jim Clanton," answered the boy. "I've been passin' by that of 'Thursday' so that none of the Roush outfit would know I was in the country till I met up face to face with 'em." "Clanton! It iss a name we shall remember in our prayers, n'est-ce pas, Polly? " Pierre choked up and wrung fervently the hand of the youngster. Clanton was both embarrassed and wary. He did not know at what moment Roubideau would disgrace him by attempting another embrace. There was something in the Frenchman's eye that told of an emotion not yet expended fully. A Man Four-Square 47 "Oh, shucks; you make a heap of fuss about nothin'," he grumbled. "Did n't I tell you it was Billie Prince sent me? An' say, I got a pill in my foot. Kindness of one of them dad-gummed Mes- caleros. I hate to walk on that laig. I wish yore boy would go up on the bluff an' look after my horse. I 'most rode it to death, I reckon, comin' up the canon. An' there's a sawed-off shotgun. He '11 find it..." For a few moments the ground had been going up and down in waves before the eyes of the boy. Now he clutched at a stirrup leather for support, but his fingers could not seem to find it. Before he could steady himself the bed of the dry creek rose up and hit him in the head. Chapter IV Pauline Roubideau Says "Thank You " Jimmie Clanton slid back from unconsciousness to a world the center of which was a girl sitting on a rock with his rifle across her knees. The picture did not at first associate itself with any previous experi- ence. She was a brown, slim young thing in a calico print that fitted snugly the soft lines of her immature figure. The boy watched her shyly and wondered at the quiet self-reliance of her. She was keeping guard over him, and there was about her a cool vigilance that went oddly with the small, piquant face and the tumbled mass of curly chestnut hair that had fallen in a cascade across her shoulders. "Where are yore folks?" he asked presently. She turned her head slowly and looked at him. Southern suns had sprinkled beneath her eyes a myriad of powdered freckles. She met his gaze fairly, with a boyish directness and candor. "Jean has ridden out to tell your friends about you and Mr. Prince. Father has gone back to the house to fix up a travois to carry you." "Sho! I can ride." "There's no need of it. You must have lost a great deal of blood." He looked down at his foot and saw that the boot had been cut away. A bandage of calico had been tied around the wound. He guessed that the girl had sacrificed part of a skirt. A Man Four-Square 49 "And you stayed here to see the Taches did n't play with me whilst yore father was gone," he told her. "There was n't any danger, of course. The only one that escaped is miles away from here. But we did n't like to leave you alone." "That's right good of you." Her soft, brown eyes met his again. They poured upon him the gift of passionate gratitude she could not put into words. It was from something much more horrible than death that he had snatched her. One moment she had been a creature crushed, leaden despair in her heart. Then the miracle had flashed down from the sky. She was free, astride the pinto, galloping for home. "Yes, you owe us much." There was a note of light sarcasm in her clear, young voice, but the feeling in her heart swept it away in an emotional rush of words from the tongue of her father. " Vous avez pris le fait et cause pour moi. Sans vous j'etais perdu." "You're French," he said. "My father is, not my mother. She was from Tennessee." "I'm from the South, too." "You did n't need to tell me that," she answered with a little smile. "Oh, I'm a Westerner now, but you ought to have heerd me talk when I first came out." He broached a grievance. "Say, will you tell yore dad not to do that again? I'm no kid." "Do what?" 50 A Man Four-Square "You know." The red flamed into his face. "If it got out among the boys what he'd done, I'd never hear the last of it." "You mean kissed you?" "Sure I do. That ain't no way to treat a fellow. I 'm past eighteen if I am small for my age. Nobody can pull the pat-you-on-the-head-sonny stuff on me. "But you don't understand. That is n't it at all. My father is French. That makes all the difference. When he kissed you it meant — oh, that he hon- ored and esteemed you because you fought for me." "I been tellin' you right along that Billie Prince is to blame. Let him go an' kiss Billie an' see if he'll stand for it." A flash of roguishness brought out an unexpected dimple near the corner of her insubordinate mouth. "We'll be good, all of us, and never do it again. Cross our hearts." Young Clanton reddened beneath the tan. With- out looking at her he felt the look she tilted side- ways at him from under the long, curved lashes. Of course she was laughing at him. He knew that much, even though he lacked the experience to meet her in kind. Oddly enough, there pricked through his embarrassment a delicious little tingle of delight. So long as she took him in as a partner of her gayety she might make as much fun of him as she pleased. But the owlish dignity of his age would not let him drop the subject without further explanation. "It's all right for yore dad to much you. I reckon A Man Four-Square 81 a girl kinder runs to kisses an' such doggoned fool- ishness. But a man's different. He don't go in for it." "Oh, doesn't he?" asked Polly demurely. She did not think it necessary to mention that every unmarried man who came to the ranch wanted to make love to her before he left. "I'm glad you told me, because I 'm only a girl and I don't know much about it. And since you're a man, of course you know." "That's the way it is," he assured her, solemn as a pouter. She bit her lip to keep from laughing out, but on the heels of her mirth came a swift reproach. In his knowledge of life he might be a boy, but in one way at least he had proved himself a man. He had taken his life in his hands and ridden to save her without a second thought. He had fought a good fight, one that would be a story worth telling when she had become an old woman with grandchildren at her knee. "Does your foot hurt you much?" she asked gently. "It sort o' keeps my memory jogged up. It's a kind of forget-me-not souvenir, for a good boy, compliments of a Mescalero buck, name unknown, probably now permanently retired from his busi- ness of raisin' Cain. But it might be a heap worse. They would 've been glad to collect our scalps if it had n't been onconvenient, I expect." "Yes," she agreed gravely. He sat up abruptly. "Say, what about Billie? I 52 A Man Four-Square left him wounded outside. Did yore folks find him?" "Yes. It seems the Apaches trapped them in the stable. They roped horses and came straight for the caiion. They found Mr. Prince, but they had no time to stop then. Father is looking after him now. He raid he was going to take him to the house in the buekboard." "Is he badly hurt?" "Jean thinks he will be all right. Mr. Prince told him it was only a flesh wound, but the muscles were so paralyzed he could n't get around." "The bullet did not strike an artery, then? M "My brother seemed to think not." "I reckon there's no doctor near." Her eyes twinkled. " Not very near. Our nearest neighbor lives on the Pecos one hundred and seven- teen miles away. But my father is as good as a doctor any day of the week." "Likely you don't borrow coffee next door when you run out of it onexpected. But don't you get lonesome?" "Have n't time," she told him cheerfully. "Be- sides, somebody going through stops off every *hree or four months. Then we learn all the news." Jimmie glanced at her shyly and looked quickly Away. This girl was not like any woman he had known. Most of them were drab creatures with the spirit washed out of them. His sister had been an exception. She had had plenty of vitality, good looks and pride, but the somber shadow of her environment had not made for gayety. It was A Man Four-Square 5S different with Pauline Roubideau. Though she had just escaped from terrible danger, laughter bubbled up in her soft throat, mirth rippled over her mobile little face. She expressed herself with swift, impulsive gestures at times. Then again she suggested an inheritance of slow grace from the Southland of her mother. He did not understand the contradictions of her and they worried him a little. Billie had told him that she could rope and shoot as well as any man. He had seen for himself that she was an expert rider. Her nerves were good enough to sit beside him at quiet ease within a stone's throw of three sprawling bodies from which she had seen the lusty life driven scarce a half-hour since. Already he divined the boyish camaraderie that was so simple and direct an expression of good-will. And yet there was something about her queer little smile he could not make out. It hinted that she was really old enough to be his mother, that she was heiress of wis- dom handed down by her sex through all the gen- erations. As yet he had not found out that he was only a boy and she was a woman. Chapter V No Four-Flusher Pauline Roubideau knew the frontier code. She evinced no curiosity about the past of this boy-man who had come into her life at the nick of time. None the less she was eager to know what connection lay between him and the renegade her brother had killed. She had heard Jim Clanton say that he had waited four years for his revenge and had followed the man all over the West. Why? W T hat motive could be powerful enough with a boy of fourteen to sway so completely his whole life toward vengeance? She set herself to find out without asking. Inside of ten minutes the secret which had been locked so long in his warped soul had been confided to her. The boy broke down when he told her the story of his sister's death. He was greatly ashamed of him- self for his emotion, but the touch of her warm sympathy melted the ice in his heart and set him sobbing. Quickly she came across to him and knelt down by his side. "You poor boy! You poor, poor boy!" she mur- mured. Her arm crept round his shoulders with the in- finitely tender caress of the mother that lies, do*- mant or awake, in all good women. "I — I — I'm nothing but a baby," he gulped* trying desperately to master his sobs. A Man Four-Square 55 "Don't talk foolishness," she scolded to comfort him. " I would n't think much of you if you did n't love your sister enough to cry for her." There were tears in her own eyes. Her lively young imagination pictured vividly the desolation of the young hill girl betrayed so cruelly, the swift decline of her stern, broken-hearted father. The thought of the half-grown boy following the be- trayers of his sister across the continent, his life dedicated for years to vengeance, was a dreadful thing to contemplate. It shocked her sense of all that was fitting. No doubt his mission had become a religion with him. He had lain down at night with that single purpose before him. He had risen with it in the morning. It had been his companion throughout the day. From one season to another he had cherished it when he should have been filled with the happy, healthy play impulses natural to his age. The boy told the story of that man-hunt without a suspicion that there was anything in it to outrage the feelings of the girl. 44 If it had n't been for old Nance Cunningham, I reckon Devil Dave an' his brothers would have fixed up some cock an' bull story about how 'Lindy was drowned by accident. But folks heard Nance an' then would n't believe a word they said. Dad swore us Clantons to wipe out the whole clan of 'em. Every last man in the hills that was decent got to cussin' the Roush outfit. Their own friends turned their backs on all three. Then the sheriff come up from the settlemint an' they jest naturally lit out. 56 A Man Four-Square "I heerd tell they were in Arizona an' after dad died I took after 'em. But seemed like I had no luck. When I struck their trail they had always just gone. To-day I got Ranse — leastways I would 'a' got him if yore brother had n't interfered. I'll meet up with the others one o' these times. I'll git 'em too." He spoke with quiet conviction, as if it were a business matter that had to be looked after. "Did you ever hear this: 'Vengeance is mine; I Will repay, saith the Lord'?" He nodded. "Dad used to read that to me. There 's a heap in the Bible about killin' yore ene- mies. Dad said that vengeance verse meant that we-all was the Lord's deputies, like a sheriff has folks to help him, an' we was certainly to repay the Roushes an' not to forgit interest neither." The girl shook her head vigorously. "I don't think that's what it means at all. If you'll read the verses above and below, you '11 see it does n't. We're to feed our enemies when they are hungry. We're to do them good for evil." "That's all right for common, every-day ene- mies, but the Roush clan ain't that kind," explained the boy stubbornly. "It shore is laid on me to destroy 'em root an' branch, like the Bible says." By the way he wagged his head he might have been a wise little old man. The savage philosophy of the boy had been drawn in with his mother's milk. It had been talked by his elders while as a child he drowsed before the big fireplace on winter nights. After his sister's tragic death it had been A Man Four-Square 57 driven home by Bible texts and by a solemn oath of vengeance. Was it likely that anything she could say would have weight with him? For the present the girl gave up her resolve to convert him to a more Christian point of view. The sun had sunk behind the canon wall when Pierre Roubideau arrived with a travois which he had hastily built. There was no wagon-road up the gulch and it would have been difficult to get the buckboard in as far as the fork over the broken terrain. As a voyageur of the North he had often seen wounded men carried by the Indians in travois across the plains. He knew, too, that the tribes of the Southwest use them. This one was constructed of two sixteen-foot poles with a canvas lashed from one bar to the other. The horse was harnessed be- tween the ends of the shafts, the other ends drag- ging on the ground. Clanton looked at this device distastefully. "I'm no squaw. Whyfor can't I climb on its back an' ride?" "Because you are seeck. It iss of the importance that you do not exert yourself. Voyons ! You will be comfortable here. N'est-ce pas, Polly?" Pierre gesticulated as he explained volubly. He even illus- trated the comfort by lying down in the travois himself and giving a dramatic representation of sleep. The young man grumbled, but gave way reluct- antly. "How's Billie Prince?" he asked presently from the cot where he lay. 58 A Man Four-Square "He will hafe a fever, but soon he will be well again. I, Pierre, promise it. For he iss of a good strength and sound as a dollar." Pauline, rifle in hand, scouted ahead of the tra- vois and picked the smoothest way down the rough ravine. The horse that Roubideau drove was an old and patient one. Its master held it to a slow, even pace, so that the wounded boy was jolted as little as possible. When they had reached the en- trance to the gorge, travel across the valley became less bumpy. The young girl walked as if she loved it. The fine, free swing of the hill woman was in her step. She breasted the slope w T ith the light grace of a forest faun. Presently she dropped back to a place beside the conveyance and smiled encouragement at him. "Pretty bad, is it?" He grinned back. "It's up to me to play the hand I've been dealt." That he was in a good deal of pain was easy tc guess. "We're past the worst of it," Pauline told him» "Up this hill — down the other side — and then we're home." The bawling of thirsty cattle and the Matting of calves could be heard now. "It iss that Monsieur Webb has taken my advice to drive the herd up the cafion and into the park for the night," explained Roubideau. "There iss one way in, one way out. Guard the entrances and the 'Paches cannot stampede the cattle. Voila!" From the hill-top the leaders of the herd could A Man Four-Square 59 be seen drinking at the creek. Cattle behind were pushing forward to get at the water, while the riders on the point and at the swing were directing the movement of the beeves, now checking the steady pressure from the rear and now hastening the pace of those dawdling in the stream. To add to the confusion cows were mooing loudly for their off- spring not yet unloaded from the calf wagon. Near the summit Jean with the buckboard met the party from the canon. He helped Clanton to the seat and drove to the house. Webb cantered up. "What's this I hear about you, Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em? They tell me you've made four good Injuns to-day, shot up a renegade, rescued this young lady here, 'most rode one of my horses to death, an' got stove up in the foot yore own self. It certainly must have been yore busy afternoon." The drover looked at him with a new respect. He had found the answer to the question he had put himself a few hours earlier. This boy was no four-flusher. He not only knew how and when to shoot, was game as a bulldog, and keen as a weasel; he possessed, too, that sixth sense so necessary to a gun-fighter, the instinct which shows him how to take advantage of every factor in the situation so as to come through safely. "I did n't do it all," answered Clanton, flushing. "Billie helped, and the Roubideaus got two of 'em." "That 's not the way Billie tells it. Anyhow, you- all made a great gather between you. Six 'Paches £0 A Man Four-Square that will never smile again ought to give the raiders a pain." "Don't you think we'd better get him to bed?" said Pauline gently. "You're shoutin', ma'am," agreed Webb. "Roubideau, the little boss says Jimmie-Go-Get- 'Em is to be put to bed. I'll tote him in if you'll give my boys directions about throwin' the herd into yore park and loose-herdin' 'em there." The Missourian picked up the wounded boy and followed Pauline into the house. She led the way to her own little bedroom. It was the most com- fortable in the house and that was the one she wanted Jim Clanton to have. Chapter VI Billie Asks a Question Roubideau rounded up next day his beef stock and sold two hundred head to the drover. During the second day the riders were busy putting the road brand on the cattle just bought. "Don't bust yore suspenders on this job, boys/' Webb told his men. "I'd just as lief lie up here for a few days while Uncle Sam is roundin' up his pets camped out there. Old man Roubideau says we 're welcome to stick around. The feed's good. Our cattle are some gaunted with the drive. It won't hurt a mite to let 'em stay right here a spell." But on the third day came news that induced the Missourian to change his mind. Jean, who had been out as a scout, returned with the information that a company of cavalry had come down from the fort and that the Apaches had hastily decamped for parts unknown. "I reckon we'll throw into the trail again to- morrow, Joe," the drover told Yankie. "No use wastin' time here if we don't have to stay. We'll mosey along toward the river. Kinder take it easy an' drift the herd down slow so as to let the cattle put on flesh. Billie an' the kid can join us soon as they're fit to travel." The decision was announced on the porch of the Roubideau house. Its owner and his daughter were 62 A Man Four-Square present. So was Dad Wrayburn. The Texan old- timer snorted as he rolled a cigarette. "Hm! Soft thing those two boys have got sittin' around an' bein' petted by Miss Polly here. I've a notion to go an' bust my laig too. Will you nurse me real tender, ma'am, if I get stove up pullin' off a grand-stand play like they done?" "The hospital is full. We haven 't got room for more invalids, Mr. Wrayburn," laughed the girl. "Well, you let me know when there's a vacancy, Miss Polly. My sister gave me a book to read onct. It was 'most twenty years ago. The name of it was 'Ivanhoe.' I told her I would save it to read when I broke my laig. Looks like I never will git that book read." By daybreak the outfit was on the move. Yankie trailed the cattle out to the plain and started them forward leisurely. Webb had allowed himself plenty of time for the drive. The date set for deliv- ery at the fort was still distant and he wanted the beeves to be in first-class condition for inspection. To reach the Pecos he was allowing three weeks, a programme that would let him bed the herd down emrly and would permit of drifting it slowly to graze for an hour or two a day. The weeks that followed were red-letter ones in the life of Jim Clanton. They gave him his first glimpse of a family life which had for its basis not only affection, but trust and understanding. He had never before seen a household that really en- joyed little jokes shared in common, whose mem- bers were full of kind consideration the one for the A Man Four-Square 63 other. The Roubideaus had more than a touch of the French temperament. They took life gayly and whimsically, and though they poked all kinds of fun at each other there was never any sting to their wit. Pauline was a famous little nurse. It was not long before she was offering herself as a crutch to help young Clanton limp to the sunny porch. Two or three days later Billie joined his fellow invalid. From where they sat the two young men could hear the girl as she went about her work singing. Often she came out with a plate of hot, new-baked cookies for them and a pitcher of milk. Or she would dance out without any excuse except that of her own f rank interest in the youth she shared with her patients. One of the Roubideau jokes was that Polly was the mother of the family and her father and Jean two mischievous little boys she had to scold and pet alternately. Temporarily she took the two cowpunchers into her circle and browbeat them shamefully with an impudent little twinkle in her eyes. Whatever the state of Billie's mind may have been before, there can be no doubt that now he was fathoms deep in love. With hungry ey^s he took in her laughter and raillery, her boyish high spirits, the sweet tenderness of the girl for her father. He loved her wholly — the charm of her comradeship, of her swift, generous impulses, of that touch of coquetry she could not entirely sub- due. Pierre had been a chasseur in the Franco-Prussian War. His daughter was very proud of it, but one 64 A Man Four-Square of her games was to mock him fondly by swagger- ing back and forth while she sang: "Allons, enfants de la patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrive." When she came to the chorus, nothing would do but all of them must join. She taught the words and tune to Prince and Jimmie so that they could fall into line behind the old soldier and his son: "Aux armes, citoyens! formez vos bataillons! Marchons ! Marchons! Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons." It always began in pretended derision, but as she swept her little company down the porch all the gallant, imperishable soul of France spoke in her ringing voice and the flash of her brown eyes. Surely her patriotism was no less sound because the blood of Alsace and that of Tennessee were fused in her ardent veins. The wounds of the young men healed rapidly, and both of them foresaw that the day of their departure could no longer be postponed. Neither of them was yet in condition to walk very far, but on horseback they were fit to travel carefully. " We got all the time there is. No need of pushin* on the reins, but I reckon the old man is n't payin* us fifty dollars a month to hold down the Roubideau porch," said Prince regretfully. "No, we gotta light a shuck," admitted Jim, with no noticeable alacrity. He was in no hurry to leave himself, even if he did not happen to be in love. A Man Four-Square 65 Biliie put his fortune to the touch while he was out with Polly rounding up some calves. They were riding knee to knee in the dust of the drag through a small arroyo. The cowpuncher swallowed once or twice in a dry throat and blurted out, "I got something to tell you before I go, Polly." The girl flashed a look at him. She recognized the symptoms. Her gaze went back to the wave- like motion of the backs of the moving yearlings. "Don't, Biliie," she said gently. Before he spoke again he thought over her advice. He knew he had his answer. But he had to go through with it now. "I reckoned it would be that way. I'm nothin* but a rough vaquero. Whyfor should you like me? " "Oh, but I do!" she cried impulsively. "I like you a great deal. You're one of the best men I know — brave and good and modest. It is n't that,. Biliie." "Is there — some one else? Or oughtn't I to ask that?" "No, there's nobody else. I'm awfully glad you like me. The girl that gets you will be lucky; But I don't care about men that way. I want to stay with dad and Jean." "Mebbe some day you may feel different about it." "Mebbe I will," she agreed. "Anyhow, I want you to stay friends with me. You will, won't you? " "Sure. I'll be there just as long as you want me for a friend," he said simply. 66 A Man Four-Square She gave him her little gauntleted hand. They were close to a bend in the draw. Soon they would be within sight of the house. "I'd say 'Yes' if I could, Billie. I'd rather it would be you than anybody else. You won't feel bad, will you?" "Oh, that's all right." He smiled, and there was something about the pluck of the eyes in the lean, tanned face that touched her. "I'm goin' to keep right on carin' for my little pal even if I can't get what I want." She had not yet fully emerged from her child- hood. There was in her a strong desire to comfort him somehow, to show by a mark of special favor how high she held him in her esteem. "Would you — would you like to kiss me?" she asked simply. He felt a clamor of the blood and subdued it before he answered. It was in accord with the charm she held for him that her frank generosity enhanced his respect for her. If she gave a royal gift it was out of the truth of her heart. Without need of words she read acceptance in his eyes and leaned toward him in the saddle. Their lips met. "You're the first — except dad and Jean," she told him. The feeling in his primitive heart he could not have analyzed. He did not know that his soul was moved to some such consecration as that of a young knight taking his vow of service, though he was aware that all the good in him leaped to instant A Man Four-Square 67 response in her presence, that by some strange spiritual alchemy he had passed through a refining process. "I'm comin' back to see you some day. Mebbe you'll feel different then," he said. "I might," she admitted. They rounded the bend. Clanton, on horseback, caught sight of them. He waved his hat and can- tered forward. "Say, Billie, how much bacon do you reckon we need to take with us?" In front of the house Pauline slipped from her horse and left them discussing the commissary. Chapter VII On the Trail The convalescents rode away into a desert green with spring. The fragrant chaparral thickets were bursting into flower. Spanish bayonets studded the plains. Everywhere about them was the prom- ise of a new life not yet burnt by hot summer suns to a crisp. During the day they ran into a swamp country and crossed a bayou where cypress knees and blue gums showed fantastic in the eerie gloom of the stagnant water. From this they emerged to a more wooded region and made an early camp on the edge of a grove of ash trees bordering a small stream where pecans grew thick. Shortly after daybreak they were jogging on at a walk-trot, the road gait of the Southwest, into the treeless country of the prairie. They nooned at an arroyo seco, and after they had eaten took a siesta during the heat of the day. Night brought with it a thunderstorm and they took refuge in a Mexican hut built of palisades and roofed with grass sod. A widow lived alone in the jacal, but she made them welcome to the best she had. The young men slept in a corner of the hut on a dry cowskin spread upon the mud floor, their saddles for pillows and their blankets rolled about them. While she was cooking their breakfast, Piince A Man Four-Square 69 noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. She was a comely young woman and he asked her gallantly in the bronco Spanish of the border if there was anything he could do to relieve her distress. She shook her head mournfully. "No, senor," she answered in her native tongue. "Only time can do that. I mourn my husband. He was a drunken ne'er-do-well, but he was my man. So I mourn a fitting period. He died in that corner of the room where you slept." "Indeed! When?" asked Billie politely. "Ten days ago. Of smallpox." The young men never ate that breakfast. They fled into the sunlight and put many hurried miles between them and their amazed hostess. At the first stream they stripped, bathed, washed their clothes, dipped the saddles, and lay nude in the warm sand until their wearing apparel was dry. For many days they joked each other about that headlong flight, but underneath their gayety was a dread which persisted. "I'm like Dona Isabel with her grief. Only time can heal me of that scare she threw into Billie Prince," the owner of that name confessed. "Me too," assented Clanton, helping himself to pinole. "I'll bet I lost a year's growth, and me small at that." Prince had been in the employ of Webb for three years. During the long hours when they rode side by side he told his companion much about the Fly- ing V Y outfit and its owner. "He's a straight-up man, Homer Webb is. His 70 A Man Four-Square word is good all over Texas. He '11 sure do to take along," said Billie by way of recommendation. "And Joe Yankie — does he stack up A 1 too?" asked the boy dryly. "I never liked Joe. It ain't only that he'll run a sandy on you if he can or that he 's always ridin' any one that will stand to be picked on. Joe 's sure a bully. But then he's game enough, too, for that matter. I've seen him fight like a pack of cata- mounts. Outside of that I 've got a hunch that he 's crooked as a dog's hind leg. Mebbe I'm wrong. I 'm tellin' you how he strikes me. If I was Homer Webb, right now when trouble is comin' up with the Snaith-McRobert outfit, I 'd feel some dubious about Joe. He 's a sulky, revengeful brute, an' the old man has pulled him up with a tight rein more'n once." u What do you mean — trouble with the Snaith- McRobert outfit?" "That's a long story. The bad feelin' started soon after the war when Snaith an' the old man were brandin' mavericks. It kind of smouldered along for a while, then broke out again when both of them began to bid on Government beef contracts. There's been some shootin' back an' forth an' there's liable to be a whole lot more. The Lazy S M — that's the Snaith-McRobert brand — claims the whole Pecos country by priority. The old man ain't recognizin' any such fool title. He's got more 'n thirty thousand head of cattle there an' he'll fight for the grass if he has to. O' course there's plenty of room for everybody if it wasn't for the beef contracts an' the general bad feelin'." A Man Four-Square 71 "Don't you reckon it will be settled peaceably? They '11 get together an' talk it over like reasonable folks." Billie shook his head. "The Lazy S M pre bringin' in a lot of bad men from Texas an' the Strip. Some of our boys ain't exactly gun-shy either. One of these days there's sure goin' to be sudden trouble." "I'm no gunman," protested Clanton indig- nantly. "I hired out to the old man to punch cows. Whyf or should I take any chances with the Snaith- McRobert outfit when I ain't got a thing in the world against them?" "No, you're no gunman," grinned his friend in amiable derision. "Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em is a quiet little Sunday-go-to-meetin' kid. It was kinder by accident that he bumped off four Apaches an' a halfbreed the other day." "Now don't you blame me for that, Billie. You was hell-bent on goin' into the Roubideau place an' I trailed along. When you got yore pill in the laig you made me ride up the gulch alone. I claim I was n't to blame for them Mescaleros. I was n't either." Prince had made his prophecy about the coming trouble lightly. He could not guess that the most terrible feud in the history of the West was to spring out of the quarrel between Snaith and Webb, a border war so grim and deadly that within three years more than a hundred lusty men were to fall in battle and from assassination. It would have amazed him to know that the bullet which laid low 72 A Man Four-Square the renegade in Shoot-a-Buck Canon had set the spark to the evil passions which resulted in what came to be called the Washington County War. Least of all could he tell that the girl-faced boy riding beside him was to become the best-known character of all the desperate ones engaged in the trouble. Chapter VIII The Fight Half a dozen cowboys cantered up the main street of Los Portales in a cloud of dust. One of them, older than the rest, let out the wild yell he had known in the days when he rode with Quantrell's guerrillas on the infamous raids of that bandit. A second flung into the blue sky three rapid revolver shots. Plainly they were advertising the fact that they had come to paint the town red and did not care who knew it. The riders pulled up abruptly in front of Tolle- son's Gaming Palace & Saloon, swung from their horses, and trailed with jingling spurs into that oasis of refreshment. Each of them carried in his hand a rope. The other end of the rawhide was tied to the horn of a saddle. A heavy-set, bow-legged man led the procession to the bar. He straddled forward with a swagger. The bartender was busy dusting his stock. Before the man had a chance to turn, the butt of a revolver hammered the counter. " Get busy here ! Set 'em up, Mike. And jump ! " snarled the heavy man. The barkeeper took one look at him and filed no demurrer. "Bad man" was writ on every line of the sullen, dissipated face of the bully. It was a safe bet that he was used to having his own way, or fail- ing that was ready to fight at the drop of the hat. 74 A Man Four-Square Swiftly the drinks were prepared. "Here's how!" "How!" Every glass was tilted and emptied. It was high noon by the sun and Tolleson's was practically deserted. No devotees sat round the faro, roulette, and keno tables. The dealers were asleep in bed after their labors. So too were the dance girls. The poker rooms upstairs held only the stale odor of tobacco and whiskey. Except for a sleepy negro roustabout attendant and two young fellows at a table well back from the bar, the cow- boys had the big hall all to themselves. The bar was near the front of the barnlike room and to the right. To the left, along the wall, were small tables. Farther back were those used for gaming. In the rear one corner of the floor held a rostrum with seats for musicians. The center of the hall was kept clear for dancing. Three steps led to a door halfway back on the left-hand side of the building. They communicated with an outer stairway by means of which one could reach the poker rooms. The older of the two young men at the table nodded toward the roisterers and murmured infor- mation. "Some of the Snaith-McRobert crowd." His companion was seated with his back to the bar. He had not turned his head to look at those lined up in front of the mirrors for drinks, but a curious change had come over him. The relaxed body had grown rigid. No longer was he lounging against the back of his chair. From his eyes the A Man Four-Square 75 laughter had been wiped out, as a wet sponge oblit- erates writing on a slate. All his forces were gath- ered as if for instant action. He was tense as a coiled spring. His friend noticed that the boy was listening intently, every faculty concentrated at attention. A man leaning against the other end of the bar was speaking. He had a shock of long red hair and a squint to his eyes. "Sure you're right. A bunch of Webb's gunmen got Ranse — caught him out alone and riddled him. When Webb drove through here two days ago with a herd, his killers bragged of it. Ask Harsha up at the Buffalo Corral if youse don't believe me. Sure as hell's hot we got to go on the war-path. Here, you Mike! Set 'em up again." The boy at the table had drawn back his lips so that the canine teeth stood out like tusks. There was something wolfish about the face, from which all the color had been driven. It expressed some- thing so deadly, so menacing, that the young man across from him felt a shock almost of fear. "We'd better get out of here," he said, glancing toward the group near the front door* The other young man did not answer, but he made no move to leave. He was still taking in every syllable of what the drinkers were saying. The ex-guerrilla was talking. "Tha 's sure say in' something, Hugh. There ain't room in New Mexico for Webb's outfit an' ours too." "Better go slow, boys," advised another. He was a thick-set man in the late thirties, tight-lipped 76 A Man Four-Square and heavy- jawed. His eyes were set so close to- gether that it gave him a sinister expression. "Talkin' don't get us anywhere. If we're goin' to sit in a game with Homer Webb an' his punchers we got to play our hand close." "Buck Sanders, segundo of the Lazy S M ranches," explained again the young man at the table in a low voice. "Say, kid, let's beat it while the goin' is good." The big bow-legged man answered the foreman. "You're right, Buck. So's Hugh. So's the old rebel. I'm jus' servin' notice that no bunch of shorthorn punchers can kill a brother of mine an* get away with it. Un'erstand? I'll meet up with them some day an' I'll sure fog 'em to a fare-you- well." He interlarded his speech with oaths and foul language. "I'll bet you do, Dave," chipped in the man next him, who had had a run-in with the Texas Rangers and was on the outskirts of civilization because the Lone Star State did not suit his health. "I would certainly hate to be one of them when yore old six-gun begins to pop. It sure will be Glory-hallelujah for some one." Dave Roush ordered another drink on the strength of the Texan's admiration. "Mind, I don't say Ranse was n't a good man. Mebbe I 'm a leetle mite better 'n him with a hogleg. Mebbe — " "Ranse was good with a revolver all right, but sho ! you make him look like a plugged nickel when you go to makin' smoke, Dave," interrupted the toady. A Man Four-Square 77 "Well, mebbe I do. Say I do. I ain't yet met up with a man can beat me when I 'm right. But at that Ranse was a mighty good man. They bush- whacked him, I '11 bet a stack of blues. I aim to git busy soon as T find out who done it." The red-headed man raised his voice a trifle. "Say, you kid — there at the table — come here an' hold these ropes ! See you don't let the hawsses at the other end of 'em git away!" Slowly the boy turned, pushing his chair round so that he half -faced the group before the bar. He neither rose nor answered. "Cayn't you-all hear?" demanded the man with the shock of unkempt, red hair. "I hear, but I'm not comin' right away. When I do, you'll wish I had n't." If a bomb had exploded at his feet Hugh Roush could not have been more surprised. He was a big, rough man, muscular and sinewy, and he had been the victor of many a rough-and-tumble fight. On account of his reputation for quarrelsomeness men chose their words carefully when they spoke to him. That this little fellow with the smooth, girlish face and the small, almost womanish hands and feet should defy him was hard to believe. "Come a-runnin', kid, or I'll whale the life out of you! " he roared. "You did n't get me right," answered the boy in a low, clear voice. " I 'm not comin' till I get ready, Hugh Roush." The wolf snap of the boy's jaw, the cold glitter in his eyes, might have warned Roush and perhaps 78 A Man Four-Square did. He wondered, too, how this stranger knew his name so well. "Where are you from?" he demanded. "From anywhere but here." "Meanin' that you're here to stay?" "Meanin' that I'm here to stay." "Even if I tell you to git out of the country?" "You won't be alive to tell me unless you talk right sudden." They watched each other, the man and the boy. Neither as yet made any motion to draw his gun, the younger one because he was not ready, Roush because he did not want to show any premature alarm before the men taking in the scene. Nor could he yet convince himself, in spite of the chal- lenge that rang in the words of the boy, of serious danger from so unlikely a source. Dave Roush had been watching the boy closely. A likeness to some one whom he could not place stirred faintly his memory. " Who are you? What 's yore name? " he snapped out. The boy had risen from the chair. His hand rested on his hip as if casually. But Dave had ob- served the sureness of his motions and he accepted nothing as of chance. The experience of Roush was that a gunman lives longer if he is cautious. His fingers closed on the butt of the revolver at his side. "My name is James Clanton." Roush let fall a surprised oath. "It's Tandy Clanton you look like! You're her brother — the kid, Jimmie." A Man Four-Square 79 "You've guessed it, Devil Dave." The eyes of the two crossed like rapiers. "Howcome you here? Whad you want?" asked Roush thickly. Already he had made up his mind to kill, but he wanted to choose his own moment. The instinct of the killer is always to take his enemy at advantage. CJanton, with that sixth sense which serves the fighter, read his purpose as if he had printed it on a sign. "You know why I'm here — to stomp the life out of you an' yore brother for what you done to my sister. I've listened to yore brags about what you would do when you met up with them that killed Ranse Roush. Fine! Now let 's see you make good. I'm the man that ran him down an' put an end to him. Go through, you four-flushin' coward! Come a-shootin' whenever you're ready." The young Southerner had a definite motive in his jeering. He wanted to drive his enemies to at- tack him before they could come at him from two sides. "You — you killed Ranse?" "You heard me say it once." The eyes of the boy flashed for a moment to the red-headed man. "Whyfor are you dodgin' back of the bar, Hugh Roush? Ain't odds of two to one good enough for you — an' that one only a kid — without you run- nin' to cover like the coyote you are? Looks like you'll soon be whinin' for me not to shoot, just like Ranse did." If any one had cared to notice, the colored roust- 80 A Man Four-Square about might have been seen at that moment van- ishing out of the back door to a zone of safety. He showed no evidence whatever of being sleepy. The silence that followed the words of the boy was broken by Quantrell's old gray back. Dave Roush was a bad man — a killer. He had three notches on his gun. Perhaps he had killed others before coming West. At any rate, he was no fair match for this undersized boy. "He's a kid, Dave. You don't want to gun a kid. You, Clanton — whatever you call yourself — light a shuck pronto — git out!" It is the habit of the killer to look for easy game. Out of the corner of his eye the man who had be- trayed 'Lindy Clanton saw that Hugh was edging back of the bar and dragging out his gun. This boy could be killed safely now, since they were two to one, both of them experts with the revolver. To let him escape would be to live in constant danger for the future. "He's askin' for it, Reb. He's goin' to get it." Dave Roush pulled his gun, but before he could use it two shots rang out almost simultaneously. The man at the corner of the bar had the advan- tage. His revolver was in the clear before that of Clanton, but Jim fired from the hip without appar- ent aim. The bullet was flung from the barrel an imperceptible second before that of Roush. The gunman, hit in the wrist of the right hand, gave a grunt and took shelter back of the bar. The bystanders scurried for safety while explo- sion followed explosion. Young Clanton, light- A Man Four-Square 31 footed as a cat, side-stepped and danced about as he fired. The first shot of the red-headed man had hit him and the shock of it interfered with his ac- curacy. Hugh had disappeared, but above the smoke the youngster still saw the cruel face of Devil Dave leering triumphantly at him behind the pumping gun. The boy kept moving, so that his body did not offer a static target. He concentrated his attention on Dave, throwing shot after shot at him. That he would kill his enemy Clanton never had a doubt. It was firmly fixed in his mind that he had been sent as the appointed executioner of the man. It was no surprise to Jim when the face of his sister's betrayer lurched forward into the smoke. He heard Roush fall heavily to the floor and saw the weapon hurled out of reach. The fellow lay limp and still. Clanton did not waste a second look at the fallen man. He knew that the other Roush, crouched be- hind the bar, had been firing at him through the woodwork. Now a bullet struck the wall back of his head. The red-headed man had fired looking through a knot-hole. The boy's weapon covered a spot three inches above this. He fired instantly. A splinter flew from a second hole just above the first. Three long, noiseless strides brought Clanton to the end of the bar. The red-headed man lay dead on the floor. The bullet had struck him just above and between the eyes. "I reckon that ends the job." 82 A Man Four-Square It was Jim's voice that said the words, though he hardly recognized it. Overcome by a sudden nausea, he leaned against the bar for support. He felt sick through and through. Chapter IX Billie Stands Pat Clanton came back out of the haze to find his friend's arm around his waist, the sound of his strong, cheerful voice in his ears. "Steady, old fellow, steady. Where did they hit you, Jim?" " In the shoulder. I'm sick." Billie supported him to a chair and called to the bartender, who was cautiously rising from a prone position behind the bar. "Bring a glass of water, Mike." The wounded man drank the water, and pres- ently the sickness passed. He saw a little crowd gather. Some of them carried out the body of Hugh Roush. They returned for that of his brother. "Dave ain't dead yet. He's still breathing," one of the men said. "Not dead!" exclaimed Clanton. "Did you say he wasn't dead?" "Now, don't you worry about that," cautioned Prince. "Looks to me like you sure got him. Any- how, it ain't your fault. You were that quiet and game and cool. I never saw the beat." The admiration of his partner did not comfort Jim. He was suspiciously near a breakdown. " Why did n't I take another crack at him when I had the chance?" he whimpered. "I been waitin' all these years, an' now — " 84 A Man Four-Square "I tell you he hasn't a chance in a thousand, Jim. You did the job thorough. He's got his." Prince had been intending to say more, but he changed his mind. Half a dozen men were coming toward them from the front door. Buck Sanders was one of them, Quantrell's trooper another. Their manner looked like business. Sanders was the spokesman. "You boys ride for the Flying V Y, don't you?" he asked curtly. "We do," answered Billie, and his voice was just as cold. It had in it the snap of a whiplash. "You came in here to pick trouble with us. Your pardner — Clanton, whatever his name is — gave it out straight that he was goin' to kill Roush." "He did n't mention you, did he?" "The Roush brothers were in our party. We ride for the Lazy S M. We don't make distinctions." "Don't you? Listen," advised Prince. In five sentences he sketched the cause of the trouble be- tween Jim Clanton and the Roush brothers. "My bunkie did n't kill any of the Roush clan because they worked for Snaith and McRobert. He shot them for the reason I 've just given you. That 's his business. It was a private feud of his own. You heard what was said before the shootin' began," he concluded. " Tha's what you say. You'll tell us, too, that he got Ranse Roush in a fair fight. But you've got to show us proof," Sanders said with a sneer. "I expect just now you'll have to take my word and his. I'll tell you this. Ranse Roush was a rene- gade. He was ridin' with a bunch of bronco bucks. A Man Four-Square 85 They attacked the Roubideau place an' we rode — Jim an' I did — to help Pierre an' his family. We drove the Taches off, but they picked up Miss Pauline while she was out ridin' alone. We took after 'em. I got wounded an' Jim here went up a gulch lickety-split to catch the red devils. He got four 'Paches an' one hell-hound of a rene- gade. Is there a white man here that blames him for it?" Wlien all is said, the prince of deadly weapons at close range is the human eye. Billie was standing beside his friend, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The cowpuncher was as lithe and clean of build as a mastiff, but it was the steady candor of his honest eye that spoke most potently. "Naturally you tell a good story," retorted the foreman with dry incredulity. "It's up to you ttf come through with an explanation of why Webb's men have just gunned three of our friends. Your story does n't make any hit with me. I don't be- lieve a word of it." "You can take it or let it alone. It goes as I've told it," Prince cut back shortly. Another man spoke up. He was a tinhorn gam- bler of Los Portales and for reasons of his own foregathered with the Snaith-McRobert faction. "Look here, young fellow. You may or may not be in this thing deep. I 'm willin' to give you the bene- fit of the doubt if my friends are. I'd hate to see you bumped off when you did n't do any of the killin'. All we want is justice. This is a square town. When bad men go too far we plant 'em on 86 A Man Four-Square Boot Hill. Understand? Now you slide out of the back door, slap a saddle on your bronc, an' hit the high spots out of here." "And Clanton?" asked Billie. "We'll attend to Clanton's case." A faint smile touched the sardonic face of Prince. "What did you ever see me do to give you the notion that I was yellow, Bancock?" "This ain't your affair. You step aside an' let justice — " "If those that holler for justice loudest had it done to them there would be a lot of squealin' out- side of hogpens." "You won't take that offer, then?" "Not this year of our Lord, thank you." "You've had your chance. If you turn it down you're liable to go out of here feet first." Not a muscle twitched in the lean, brown face of the young cowpuncher. "Cut loose whenever you're ready." "Hold yore hawsses, friend," advised the ex- guerrilla, not unkindly. " There 's no occasion what- ever for you to run on the rope. We are six to two, countin* the kid, who 's got about all he can carry for one day. We're here askin' questions, an' it's reasonable for you to answer 'em." "I have answered 'em. I'll answer all you want to ask. But I'd think you would feel cheap to come kickin' about that fight. My friend fought fair. You know best whether your friends did. He took 'em at odds of two to one, an' at that one of your gunmen hunted cover. What's troublin' you, any- A Man Four-Square 87 how? Did n't you have all the breaks? Do you want an open an' shut cinch?" "You're quite a lawyer," replied Dumont, the man who found the climate of Texas unhealthy. "I reckon it would take a good one to talk himself out of the hole you're in." Billie looked at the man and Dumont decided that he did not have a speaking part in the scene. He was willing to remain one of the mob. In point of fact, after what he had seen in the last few min- utes, he was not at all anxious to force the issue to actual battle. A good strong bluff would suit him a great deal better. Even odds of six to two were not good enough considering the demonstration he had witnessed. "What is it you want? Another showdown?" asked Clanton unexpectedly. QuantrelPs man laughed. "I never did see such a fire-eater." He turned to his companions. "I told you how it would be. We can't prove a thing against the kid except that he was lookin' for a fight an' got it. He played the hand that was dealt him an' he played it good. I reckon we'll have to let him go this time, boys." ''We'll make a mistake if we do," differed San- ders. "You'll make one if you don't," said Prince pointedly. He stood poised, every nerve and muscle set to a hair-trigger for swift action. Of those facing him not one of the six but knew they would have to pay 88 A Man Four-Square the price before they could exact vengeance for the death of the Roush brothers. "What's the use of beefing?" grumbled a one- armed puncher in the rear. "They shot up three of our friends. What more do you want?" "Don't be in a hurry, Albeen," advised Billie. "It's easy to start something. We all know you burn powder quick. You're a sure-enough bad man. But I've got a hunch it's goim' to be your funeral as well as mine if once the band begins to play." "That so?" replied Albeen with heavy sarcasm. "You talk like you was holdin' a royal flush, my friend." "I'm holdin' a six-full an' Clanton has another. We're sittin' in strong." Dumont proposed a compromise. " Why not just arrest 'em an' hold 'em at Bluewater till we find whether their story is true?" "Bring a warrant along before you try that," Billie countered. "Think we were born yesterday? No Lazy S M sheriff, judge, an' jury for me, if you please." The old guerrilla nodded. "That's reasonable, too. We have n't got a leg to stand on, boys. This young fellow's story may be true an' it may not. All we know is what we 've seen. Clanton here took a mighty slim chance of comin' through alive when he tackled Dave an' Hugh Roush. I would n't have give a chew of tobacco against a week's pay for it. He fought fair, did n't he? Now he 's come through I '11 be doggoned if I want to jump on him again.'* A Man Four-Square 89 "You're too soft for this country, Reb," sneered Albeen. "Better go back to Arkansas or wherever you come from." " When I get ready. You don't mean right away, Albeen, do you?" demanded the old-timer sharply. "Well, don't hang around all day," said Prince, his eye full in that of the foreman. "Make up your minds whether you want to jump one man an' a wounded boy. If you don't mean business I'd like to have a doctor look at my friend's shoulder." Sanders's eyes fell at last before the quiet steadi- ness of that gaze. With an oath he turned on his heel and strode from the gambling-hall. His party straggled morosely after him. The old raider lin- gered for a last word. "Take a fool's advice, Prince. There's a gun- barrel road leads out of town for the north. Hit it pronto. Stay with it till you come up with Webb's herd. You won't see his dust any too soon." "I guess you're right, Reb," agreed Prince. "You know I'm right. Just now you've got the boys bluffed, but it is n't going to last. They'll get busy lappin' up drinks. Quite a crowd of town toughs will join 'em. By night they '11 be all primed up for a lynching. I 'd spoil their party if I was you by bein' distant absentees." "Soon as I can get Jim's shoulder fixed up we'll be joggin' along if he's able to travel," promised Billie. " Good enough. And I 'd see he was able if it was me, Chapter X Bud Proctor Lends a Hand After the doctor had dressed the wounded shoul- der he ordered Clanton to go to bed at once and stay there. "What he needs is rest, proper food, and sleep. See he gets them." "I'll try," said Billie dryly. "Sometimes a fel- low can't sleep when he's got a lead pill in him, doctor. Could you give me something to help him forget the pain an' the fever?" The doctor made up some powders. "One every two hours till he gets to sleep. I'll come and see him in the morning. You're at the Proctor House, are n't you?" "Yes." "Is Roush goin' to live?" asked Jim. The professional man looked at the boy specu- latively. He wondered whether the young fellow was suffering qualms of conscience. Since he did not believe in the indiscriminate shooting in vogue on the frontier, he was willing this youngster should worry a bit. "Not one chance for him in a hundred," he re- plied brusquely. "That's good. I'd hate to have to do it all over again. Have you got the makin's with you. Bil- lie?" Clanton asked evenly. "I've got a plain and simple word for such kill- A Man Four-Square 9] ings," the doctor said, flushing. "I find it in my Bible." "That's where my dad found it too, doctor." With which cryptic utterance Clanton led the way out of the office to the hotel. Jimmie lay down dressed on the bed of their joint room while his friend went down to the porch to announce to sundry loafers, from whom the news would spread over town shortly, that Clanton had gone to sleep and was on no account to be disturbed till morning. Later in the afternoon Billie might have been seen fixing a stirrup leather for Bud Proctor, the fourteen-year-old heir of the hotel proprietor. He and the youngster appeared to be having a bully time on the porch, but it was noticeable that the cowpuncher, for all his manner of casual careless- ness, sat close to the wall in the angle of an L so that nobody could approach him unobserved. In an admiring trance Bud had followed the two friends from the office of the doctor. Now he was in the seventh heaven at being taken into friendship by one of these heroes. At last he screwed up his courage to refer to the affair at Tolleson's. "Say, Daniel Boone ain't got a thing on yore friend, has he? Jiminy, I 'd like to go with you both when you leave town." Billie spoke severely. " Get that notion right out of your haid, Bud. You're goin' to stay right here at home. I '11 tell you another thing while we 're on that subject. Don't you get to thinkin' that killers are fine people. They ain't. Some of 'em are n't 92 A Man Four-Square even game. They take all kinds of advantage an* they're a cruel, cold-blooded lot. Never forget that. I'm not talkin' about Jim Clanton, under- stand. He did what he thought he had to do. I don't say he was right. I don't say he was wrong. But I will say that this country would be a whole lot better off if we'd all put our guns away." Bud sniffed. "If you had n't had yore guns this mornin' I'd like to know where you'd 'a' been." "True enough. I can't travel unarmed because of Indians an' bad men. What I say is that some day we'll all be brave enough to go without our hog- legs. I'll be glad when that day comes." \ i "An' when you two went up Escondido Canon after the Mescaleros that had captured Miss Roubi- deau? I heard Dad Wrayburn tellin' all about it at supper here one night. Well, what if you had n't had any guns?" persisted Bud. "That would have been tough luck," admitted Prince, holding up the leather to examine his work. "Learn to shoot if you like, Bud, but remember that guns are n't made to kill folks with. They 're for buffaloes an' antelope an' coyotes." "Did n't you ever kill any one?" "Haven't you had any bringin' up?" Billie wanted to know indignantly " I 've a good mind to put you across my knee an' whale you with this leather. I've a notion to quit you here an' now. Don't you know better than to ask such questions? " "It — it slipped out," whimpered Bud. "I'll never do it again." "See you don't. Now I'm goin' to give you a A Man Four-Square 93 chance to make good with me an' my friend, Bud. Can you keep a secret?" The eyes of the boy began to shine. "Crickey. You just try me, Mr. Prince." "All right. I will. But first I must know that you are our friend." "Cross my heart an' hope to die. Honest, I am." "I believe you, Bud. Well, the Snaith-McRobert outfit intend to lynch me an' my friend to-night." The face of the boy became all eyes. He was too astonished to speak. "Our only chance is to get out of town. Jim is supposed to be so bad I can't move him. But if you can find an' saddle horses for us we'll slip out the back door at dusk an' make our get-away. Do you think you can get us horses an' some food without tellin' anybody what for? " asked the cow- boy. "I'll get yore own horses from the corral." * "No. That won't do. If you saddled them, that would arouse suspicion at once. You must bring two horses an' tie 'em to the back fence just as if you were goin' ridin' yourself. Then we'll take 'em when you come into the house. Make the tie with a slip knot. We may be in a hurry." "Gee! This beats 'Hal Hiccup, the Boy De- mon,'" crowed Bud, referring to a famous hero of Nickel Library fame. "I'll sure get you horses all right." "I'll make arrangements to have the horses sent back. Bring 'em round just as it begins to get dark 94 A Man Four-Square an* whistle a bar of 'Yankee Doodle' when you get here. Now cut your stick, Bud. Don't be seen near me any more." The boy decamped. His face, unable to conceal his excitement at this blessed adventure which had fallen from heaven upon him, was trying to say "Golly!" without the use of words. During the next hour or two Bud was a pest. Twenty times he asked different men mysteriously what o'clock it was. When he was sent to the store for pickles he brought back canned tomatoes. Set to weeding onions, he pulled up weeds and vege- tables impartially. A hundred times he cast a long- ing glance at the westering sun. So impatient was he that he could not quite wait till dusk. He slipped around to the Elephant Corral by a back way and picked out two horses that suited him. Then he went boldly to the owner of the stable. "Mr. Sanders sent me to bring to him that sorrel and the white-foot bay. Said you'd know his saddle. It does n't matter which of the other saddles you use." Ten minutes later Bud was walking through the back yard of the hotel whistling shrilly "Yankee Doodle." It happened that his father was an ex- Confederate and "Dixie" was more to the boy's taste, but he enjoyed the flavor of the camouflage he was employing. It fitted into his new rdle of Bud Proctor, Scout of the Pecos. The fugitives slipped down the back stairway of the Proctor House and into the garden. In another A Man Four-Square 95 moment they were astride and moving out. to the sparsely settled suburbs of town. "Did you notice the brand on the horse you're ridin', Jim?" asked Prince with a grin. "Same brand's on your bay, Billie — the Lazy S M. Did you tell that kid to steal us two horses? " "No, but you've said it. I'm on the bronc Sanders rides, and you an' I are horse-thieves now as well as killers. This certainly gets us in bad." "I've a notion to turn back yet," said Jim, with the irritability of a sick man. "How in Mexico did he happen to light on Snaith-McRobert stock? Looks like he might have found somethin' else for us." "Bud has too much imagination," admitted Prince ruefully. " I 'd bet a stack of blues he picked these hawsses on purpose — probably thought it would be a great joke on Sanders an' his crew." " Well, I don't like it. They 've got us where they want us now." Billie did not like it either. To kill a man on the frontier then in fair fight was a misdemeanor. To steal a horse was a capital offense. Many a bronco thief ended his life at the end of a rope in the hands of respectable citizens who had in the way of busi- ness snuffed out the lives of other respectable citi- zens. Both of the Flying V Y riders knew that if they were caught with the stock, it would be of no avail with Sanders to plead that they had no inten- tion of stealing. Possession would be prima facie evidence of guilt. "It's too late to go back now," Prince decided. 96 A Man Four-Square "We'll travel night an* day till we reach the old man an' have him send the broncs back. I hate to do it, but we have no choice. Anyhow, we might as well be hanged for stealin' a horse as for anything else." They topped a hill and came face to face with a rider traveling townward. His gaze took in the ani- mals carrying the fugitives and jumped to the face of Billie. In the eyes of the man was an expression blended of suspicion and surprise. He passed with a nod and a surly "'Evenin'." "Fine luck we're havin', Billie," commented his friend with a little laugh. "I give Sanders twenty minutes to be on our trail." Chapter XI The Fugitives Through the gathering darkness Prince watched the figure of his companion droop. The slim, lithe body sagged and the shoulders were heavy with exhaustion. Both small hands clung to the pommel of the saddle. It took no prophet to see that in his present condition the wounded man would never travel the gun-barrel road as far as the dust of the Flying V Y herd. Even by easy stages he could not do it, and with pursuit thundering at their heels the ride would be a cruel, grilling one. "How about pullin' a little strategy on Sanders, Jim? Instead of hittin' the long trail, let's circle back around the town, strike the river, make camp, an' lie low in the chaparral. Does that listen good to you?" Young Clanton looked at his friend suspiciously. The younger man was fagged out and in a good deal of pain. The jolting of the pony's movements jarred the bandages on the wound. Already his fever was high and he had moments of light-head- edness. He knew that his partner was proposing to jeopardize his own chances of escape in order to take care of him. "No, sir. We'll keep goin' right ahead." he said irritably. "Think I'm a quitter? Think I'm goin' to lie down on you?" "Would I be likely to think that?" asked Billie 98 A Man Four-Square gently. "What I'm thinkin' is that both of us would be better for a good night's rest. Why not throw off an* camp in the darkness? While we're sleepin' Sanders an' his posse will be ridin' the hearts out of their horses. It looks like good busi- ness to me to let 'em go to it." "No," said Jim obstinately. "No. We'll keep ridin'." Prince knew that the other understood what he was trying to do, and that his pride — and perhaps something better than pride — would not accept such a sacrifice. Billie said no more, but his mind still wrestled with the problem before him. It was impossible, while his comrade was so badly hurt, to hold a pace that would keep them ahead of the Lazy S M riders. Already Sanders must be gaining on them, and to make matters worse Clanton drew down to a walk. His high-pitched voice and dis- jointed expressions told the older man that he was at the beginning of delirium. " WTiat do you mean, standin' there and grinnin* at me like a wolf, Dave Roush? I killed you once. You're dead an' buried. How come you alive again? Then shoot, both of you! Come out from cover, Hugh Roush." He stopped, and took the matter up from another angle. "You're a liar, you coyote. I'm not runnin' away. Two to one . . . two to one ... I'll ride back an' gun you both. I'm a-comin' now." He pulled up and turned his horse. Faintly there came to Billie the thudding of horses' hoofs. In five minutes it would be too late to save either the A Man Four-Square 99 sick man or himself. It never occurred to him for a moment to desert Clanton. Somehow he must get him into the chaparral, and without an instant's delay. His mind seized on the delirious fancy of the young fellow. "You're sure right, Jim," he said quietly. "I'd go an' gun them too. I '11 ride with you an' see fair play. They're out here in the brush. Come on." "No. They're back in town. Leave 'em to me. Don't you draw, Billie." "All right. But they're over here to our right. I saw 'em there. Come. We '11 sneak up on 'em so that they can't run when they hear you." Billie turned. He swung his horse into the mes- quite. His heart was heavy with anxiety. Would the wounded man accept his lead? Or would his obstinacy prevail? "Here they are. Right ahead here," continued Prince. Followed a moment of suspense, then came the erashing of brush as Clanton moved after him. "S-sh! Ride softly, Jim. We don't want 'em to hear us an' get away." "Tha 's right. Tha 's sure right. You said some- thin' then, Billie. But they'll not get away. Haven't I slept on their trail four years? They're mine at last." Prince was drawing him farther from the road. But the danger was not yet over. As the posse passed, some member of it might hear them, or young Clanton might hear it and gallop out to the road under the impression he was going to meet 100 A Man Four-Square Dave Roush. Billie twisted in and out of the brush, never for an instant letting his friend pull up. On a moving horse one cannot hear so distinctly as on one standing still. At last Billie began to breathe more easily. The pursuers must have passed before this. He could give his attention to the sick man. Jim was clutching desperately to the saddle-horn. The fever was gaining on him and the delirium worse. He talked incessantly, sometimes incoher- ently. From one subject to another he went, but always he came back to Dave Roush and his brother. He dared them to stand up and fight. He called on them to stop running, to wait for him. Then he trailed off into a string of epithets usually ending in sobs of rage. The sickness of the young man tore the heart of his companion. Every instinct of kindness urged him to stop, make up a bed for the wounded boy, and let him rest from the agony of travel. But he dared not stop yet. He had to keep going till they reached a place of temporary safety. With artful promises of immediate vengeance upon his enemies, by means of taunts at him as f) quitter, through urgent proddings that reached momentarily the diseased mind, Prince kept hiro moving through the brush. The sweat stood out on the white face of the young fellow shining ghastly in the moonlight. After what seemed an interminable time they could see from a mesa the lights of Los Portales. Billie left the town well to his right, skirted the A Man Four-Square 101 pastures on the outskirts, and struck the river icui miles farther down. While they were still a long way from it the' boy collapsed completely and slid from the saddle to which he had so long clung. His friend uncinched and freed the sorrel, lifted the slack body to his own horse, and walked beside the animal to steady the lurching figure. At the bank of the river he stopped and lifted the body to the ground. It lay limp and slack where the cowpuncher set it down. Through the white shoulder dressings a stain of red had soaked. For a moment Billie was shaken by the fear that the Arizonian might be dead, but he rejected it as not at all likely. Yet when he held his hand against the heart of the wounded man he was not sure that he could detect a beating. From the river he brought water in his hat and splashed it into the white face. He undid the shoulder bandages, soaked them in cold water, and rebound the wound. Between the clenched teeth he forced a few drops of whiskey from his flask. The eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. " Where are we, Billie? " the sick man asked; then added: "How did we get away from 'em?" "W 7 ent into the brush an' doubled back to the river. I'm goin' to hunt a place where we can lie hid for a few days." "Oh, I'll be all right by mornin'. Did I fall off my hawss?" "Yes. I had to turn your sorrel loose. Soon as I 've picked a permanent camp I '11 have to let mine 102 A Man Four-Square go too. Some one would be sure to stumble on it an' go to gues.sin'." : After a moment' the sick man spoke quietly. "You're a good pal, Billie. I have n't known many men would take a long chance like this for a fellow they had n't met a month ago." "I'm not forgettin' how you rode up Escondido when I asked you to go." "You got a lot of sabe, too. You don't go bullin' into a fight when there's a good reason for stayin' out. At Tolleson's if you had drawn yore gun when the shootin' was on, the whole Lazy S M would have pitched in an' riddled us both. They kept out because you did. That gave me a chance to come through alive." The Texan registered embarrassment with a grin. "Yes, I'm the boy wonder of the Brazos," he admitted. A faint, unexpected gleam of humor lay for a moment in the eyes of the sick man. "I got you where the wool 's short, Billie. I can throw bouquets at you an' you got to stand hitched because I'm sick. Doc says to humor me. If I holler for the moon you climb up an' get it." "I'll rope it for you," assented the cowpuncher. "How's the game shoulder?" "Hurts like Heligoland. Say, ain't I due for one of them sleep powders Doc fixed up so careful?" His companion gave him one, after which he folded his coat and put it under the head of Clanton. Over him he threw a saddle blanket. "Back soon," he promised. A Man Four-Square 103 The sick man nodded weakly. Billie swung to the saddle and turned down the river. Unfortunately the country here was an open one. Along the sandy shore of the stream the mes- quite was thin. There was no soap weed and very little cactus. The terrain of the hill country farther back was rougher, more full of pockets, and covered with heavier brush. But it was necessary for the fugitives to remain close to water. What Prince hoped to find was some sort of cave or overhanging ledge of shale under which they could lie hidden until Jim's strength returned suffi- ciently to permit of travel. The problem would be at best a difficult one. They had little food, scarce dared light a fire, and Clanton was in no condition to stand exposure .in case the weather grew bad. Even if the boy weathered the sickness, it would not be possible for him to walk hundreds of miles in his weakened condition. But this was a matter which did not press for an answer. Billie intended to cross no bridges until he came to them. Just now he must focus his mind on keeping the wounded man alive and out of the hands of his enemies. Beyond a bend he came upon a jutting bank that for lack of better might serve his purpose. He could scoop out a cave in which his partner might lie protected from the hot midday sun. If he filled the mouth with tumble weeds during the day they might escape observation for a time. When the Texan returned to his friend, he found him in restless slumber. He tossed to and fro, mut- tering snatches of iiHsoherent talk. The wound 104 A Man Four-Square seemed to pain him even in his sleep, for he moved impatiently as though trying to throw off some weight lying heavy upon it. But when he awoke his mind was apparently clear. He met Billie's anxious look with a faint, white-lipped smile. To his friend the young fellow had the signs of a very sick man. It was a debat- able question whether to risk moving him now or take the almost hopeless chance of escaping detec- tion where they were. Prince put the decision'on Jim himself. The an- swer came feebly, but promptly. "Sure, move me. What's one little — bullet m the shoulder, Billie? Gimme some sleep — an' I'll be up an' kickin'." Yet the older man noticed that his white lips could scarcely find strength to make the indomi- table boast. Very gently Billie lifted the wounded man and put him on the back of the cowpony. He held him there and guided the animal through the sand to the bend. Clanton hung on with clenched teeth, calling on the last ounce of power in his exhausted body with his strong will. "Just a hundred yards more," urged the walk- ing man as they rounded the bend. "We're 'most there now." He lifted the slack body down and put it in the sand. The hands of the boy were ice cold. The sap of life was low in him. Prince covered him with the blankets and his coat. He gave him a sup or two of whiskey, then gathered buffalo chips and made A Man Four-Square 105 a fire in which he heated some large rocks. These he tucked in beneath the blankets beside the shiv- ering body. Slowly the heat warmed the invalid. After a time he fell once more into troubled sleep. Billie drove his horse away and pelted it with stones to a trot. He could not keep it with him without risking discovery, but he was almost as much afraid that its arrival in Los Portales might start a search for the hidden fugitives. There was always a chance, of course, that the bay would stop to graze on the plains and not be found for a day or two. The rest of the night the Texan put in digging a cave with a piece of slaty shale. The clay of the bank was soft and he made fair progress. The dirt he scooped out was thrown by him into the river. Chapter XII .The Good Samaritan A girl astride a buckskin pony rode down to the river to water her mount. She carried across the pommel of her saddle a small rifle. Hanging from the cantle strings was a wild turkey she had shot. It was getting along toward evening and she was on her way back to Los Portales. The girl was a lover of the outdoors and she had been hunting alone. In the clear, amber light of afternoon the smoke of the town rose high into the sky, though the trading post itself could not be seen until she rounded the bend. As her horse drank, a strange thing happened. At a point directly opposite her a bunch of tum- ble weeds had gathered against the bank of the shrunken stream. Something agitated them, and from among the brush the head and shoulders of a man projected. Without an instant of delay the girl slipped from the pony and led it behind a clump of mesquite. Through this she peered intently, watching every move of the man, who had by this time come out into the open. He went down to the river, filled his hat with water, and disappeared among the tumble weeds, gathering them closely to conceal the entrance of his cave. The young woman remounted, rode downstream an eighth of a mile, splashed through to the other A Man Four-Square 107 side, and tied her pony to a stunted live-oak. Rifle in hand she crept cautiously along the bank and came to a halt behind a cottonwood thirty yards from the cave. Here she waited, patiently, silently, as many a time she had done while stalking the game she was used to hunting. The minutes passed, ran into an hour. The westering sun slid down close to the horizon's edge. Still the girl held her vigil. At last the brush moved once more and the man reappeared. His glance swept the landscape, the river-bank, the opposite shore. Apparently satisfied, he came out from his hiding-place, and began to gather brush for a fire. He was stooped, his back toward her, when the voice of the girl startled him to rigidity. "Hands in the air!" He did not at once obey. His head turned to see who this Amazon might be. "Can't you hear? Reach for the sky!" she or- dered sharply. She had risen and stepped from behind the tree. He could see that she was dark, of a full, fine figure, and that her steady black eyes watched him with- out the least fear. The rifle in her hands covered him very steadily. His hands went up, but he could not keep a little, sardonic smile from his face. The young woman lowered the rifle from her shoulder and moved warily forward. "Lie down on the sand, face to the ground, hands outstretched!" came her next command. Billie did as he was told. A little tug at his side 108 A Man Four-Square gave notice to him that she had deftly removed his revolver. "Sit up!" The cowpuncher sat up and took notice. Stars of excitement snapped in the eyes of this very com- petent young woman. The color beat warmly through her dark skin. She was very well worth looking at. "What's your name?" she demanded. "My road brand is Billie Prince," he answered. "Thought so. Where's the other man?" He nodded toward the cave. "Call him out," she said curtly. "I hate to wake him. He's been wounded. All day he's been in a high fever and he's asleep at last." For the first time her confidence seemed a little shaken. She hesitated. "Is he badly hurt?" "He'd get well if he could have proper attention, but a wounded man can't stand to be jolted around the way he's been since he was shot." " Do you mean that you think he 's going to die? " "I don't know." After a moment he added: "He's mighty sick." "He ought never to have left town." "Ought n't he?" said Prince dryly. "If you'll in- quire you'll find we had a good reason for leavin'." "Well, you're going to have another good reason for going back," she told him crisply. "I'll send a buckboard for him." "Aren't you takin' a heap of trouble on our account? " he inquired ironically. A Man Four-Square 109 "That's my business." "And mine. Are you the sheriff of Washington County, ma'am?" A pulse of anger beat in her throat. Her long- lashed eyes flashed imperiously at him. "It does n't matter who I am. You'll march to town in front of my horse." "Maybe so." The voice of the sick man began to babble queru- lously. Both of those outside listened. "He's awake," the girl said. "Bring him out here and let me see him." Billie had an instinct that sometimes served him well. He rose promptly. " Para sirvir usted " ("At your service ") , he mur- mured. "Don't try to start anything. I'll have you cov- ered every second." " I believe you. It won't be necessary to demon- strate, ma'am." The cowpuncher carried his friend out from the cave and put him down gently in the sand. "Why, he's only a boy!" she cried in surprise. "He was man enough to go up against half a dozen 'Paches alone to save Pauline Roubideau," Billie said simply. She looked up with quick interest. "I've heard that story. Is it true?" "It's true. And he was man enough to fight it out to a finish against two bad men yesterday." "But he can't be more than eighteen." She vatehed for a moment the flush of fever in his soft 110 A Man Four-Square cheeks. " Did he really kill Dave and Hugh Boush? Or was it you?" "He did it." "I hate a killer!" she blazed unexpectedly. "Does he look like a killer? " asked Prince gently. "No, he does n't. That makes it worse." "Did you know that Dave Roush ruined his sis- ter's life in a fiendish way?" "I expect there's another side to that story," she retorted. "This boy was fourteen at the time. His father swore him to vengeance an' Jim followed his ene- mies for years. He never had a doubt but that he was doin' right." She put her rifle down impulsively. "Why don't you keep his face sponged? Bring me water." The Texan put his hat into requisition again for a bucket. With her handkerchief the girl sponged the face and the hands. The cold water stopped for a moment the delirious muttering of the young man. But the big eyes that stared into hers did not associate his nurse with the present. "I done remembered you, 'Lindy, like I promised. I'm a-followin' them scalawags yet," he murmured. "His sister's name was Melindy," explained Prince. The girl nodded. She was rubbing gently the boy's wrist with her wet handkerchief. "It's getting dark," she told Billie in her sharp, decisive way. " Get your fire lit — a big one. I 've got some cooking to do." Further orders were waiting for him as soon as A Man Four-Square ill he had the camp-fire going. "You'll find my horse tied to a live-oak down the river a bit. Bring it u p-". . Billie smiled as he moved away into the darkness. This imperious girl belonged, of course, in the camp of the enemy. She had held him up with the in- tention of driving them back to town before her in triumph. But she was, after all, a very tender- hearted foe to a man stricken with sickness. It occurred to the Texan that through her might lie a way of salvation for them both. Until he saw the turkey the cowpuncher won- dered what cooking she could have in mind, but while he cantered back through the sand he guessed what she meant to do. "Draw the turkey. Don't pick it," she gave instructions. Her own hands were busy trying to make her patient comfortable. After he had drawn the bird, which was a young, plump one, he made under direction of the young woman a cement of mud. This he daubed in a three-inch coating over the turkey, then prepared the fire to make of it an oven. He covered the bird with ashes, raked live coals over these, and piled upon the red-hot coals pinon knots and juniper boughs. "Keep your fire going till about two or three o'clock, then let it die out. In the morning the turkey will be baked," the young Diana gave as- surance. The cowpuncher omitted to tell her that he had baked a dozen more or less and knew all about it. 112 A Man Four-Square She rose and drew on her gauntlets in a business- like manner. "I'm going home now. After the fever passes keep him warm and let him sleep if he will." "Yes, ma'am," promised Billie with suspicious meekness. The girl looked at him sharply, as if she dis- trusted his humility. Was he laughing at her? Did he dare to find amusement in her? "I have n't changed my mind about you. Folks that come to town and start killing deserve all they get. But I'd look after a yellow dog if it was sick," she said contemptuously, little devils of defiance in her eyes. "I'm not questionin' your motives, ma'am, so long as your actions are friendly." "I haven't any use for any of Homer Webb's outfit. He's got no business here. If he runs into trouble he has only himself to blame." "I'll mention to him that you said so." Picking up the rifle, she turned and walked to the horse. There was a little devil-may-care touch to her walk, just as in her manner, that suggested a girl spoiled by over-much indulgence. She was im- perious, high-spirited, full of courage and insolence, because her environment had moulded her to inde- pendence. It was impossible for the young cow puncher to help admiring the girl. "I'll be back," she called over her shoulder. The pony jumped to a canter at the touch of her heel. She disappeared in a gallop around the bend. Already the fever of the boy was beginning to A Man Four-Square 113 pass. He shivered with the chill of night. Billie wrapped around him his own coat, a linsey-woolen one lined with yellow flannel. He packed him up in the two blankets and heated stones for his feet and hands. Presently the boy fell into sound sleep for the first time since he was wounded. He had slept before, but always uneasily and restlessly. Now he did not mutter between clenched teeth nor toss to and fro. His friend accepted it as a good omen. Since he had not slept a wink himself for forty hours, he lay down before the fire and made himself comfortable His eyes closed almost immediately. Chapter XIII A Friendly Enemy "Law sakes, Miss Bertie Lee, yo' suppah done been ready an hour. Hit sure am discommodin' the way you go gallumphin' around. Don't you-all nevah git tired?" Aunt Becky was large and black and bulgy. To say that she was fat fails entirely of doing her jus- tice. She overflowed from her clothes in waves at all possible points. When she moved she waddled. Just now she was trying to be cross, but the smile of welcome on the broad face would have its way. "Set down an' rest yo' weary bones, honey. I'll have yo' suppah dished up in no time a-tall. Yore paw was axin' where is you awhile ago." "Where's dad?" asked Miss Bertie Lee Snaith carelessly as she flung her gloves on a chair. "He done gone down to the store to see if any- thing been heerd o' them vilyainous killers of Mr. Webb." When Bertie Lee returned from washing her hands and face and giving a touch or two to her hair, she sat down and did justice to the fried chicken and biscuits of Aunt Becky. She had had a long day of it and she ate with the keen appetite of youth. Her father returned while she was still at the table. He was a big sandy man dressed in a cor- A Man Four-Square 115 duroy suit. He was broad of shoulder and his legs were bowed. "Any news, dad?" she asked. "Not a thing, Lee. I reckon they've made their get-away. They must have slipped off the road somewhere. The wounded one never could have traveled all night. Maybe we'll git 'em yet." "What will you do with them, if you do?" "Hang 'em to a sour apple tree," answered Wal- lace Snaith promptly. His daughter made no comment. She knew that her father's resentment was based on no abstract love of law and order. It had back of it no feeling that crime had been committed or justice outraged. The frontier was in its roistering youth, full of such effervescing spirits that life was the cheapest thing it knew. Every few days some unfortunate was buried on Boot Hill, a victim of his own inexpert- ness with the six-shooter. The longhorned cattle of Texas were wearing broad trails to the north and the northwest and such towns as Los Portales were on the boom. Chap-clad punchers galloped through the streets at all hours of the day and night letting out their joyous "Eee-yip-eee." The keys of Tolleson's and half a dozen other gambling places had long since been lost, for the doors were never closed to patrons. At games of chance the roof was the limit, in the expressive phrase of the country. Guns cracked at the slightest difference of opinion. It was bad form to use the word "mur- der." The correct way to speak of the result of a disagreement was to refer to it as "a killing." 116 A Man Four-Square Law lay for every man in a holster on his own Ship. Snaith recognized this and accepted it. He was ready to "bend a gun" himself if occasion called for it. What he objected to in this particular killing was the personal affront to him. One of Webb's men had deliberately and defiantly killed two of his riders when the town was full of his employees. The man had walked into Tolleson's — a place which he, Snaith, practically owned him- self — and flung down the gauntlet to the whole Lazy S M outfit. It was a flagrant insult and Wallace Snaith proposed to see that it was avenged. "I'm going duck-hunting to-morrow, dad," Lee told him. "I'll likely be up before daylight, but I '11 try not to disturb you. If you hear me rummag- ing around in the pantry, you'll know what for." He grunted assent, full of the grievance that was rankling in his mind. Lee came and went as she pleased. She was her own mistress and he made no attempt to chaperon her activities. The light had not yet begun to sift into the sky next morning when Lee dressed and tiptoed to the kitchen. She carried saddlebags with her and into the capacious pockets went tea, coffee, flour, corn meal, a flask of brandy, a plate of cookies, and a slab of bacon. An old frying-pan and a small stew kettle joined the supplies; also a little package of "verb" medicine prepared by Aunt Becky as a specific for fevers. Lee walked through the silent, pre-dawn dark- ness to the stable and saddled her pony, blanketing and cinching as deftly as her father could have A Man Four-Square 117 done it. With her she carried an extra blanket for the wounded man. The gray light of dawn was beginning to sift into the sky when she reached the camp of the fugitives. Prince came forward to meet her. She saw that the fire was now only a bed of coals from which no smoke would rise to betray them. The girl swung from the saddle and gave a little jerk of her head toward Clanton. "How is he?" "Slept like a log all night. Feels a heap better this mo'nin'. Wants to know if he can't have somethin' to eat." "I killed a couple of prairie plover on the way. We'll make some soup for him." The girl walked straight to her patient and looked down at him with direct and searching eyes. She found no glaze of fever in the ones that gazed back into hers. "Hungry, are you?" "I could eat a mail sack, ma'am." She stripped the gauntlets from her hands and set about making breakfast. Jim watched her with alert interest. He was still weak, but life this morning began to renew itself in him. The pain and the fever had gone and left him at peace with a world just emerging from darkness into a rosily flushed dawn. Not the least attractive feature of it was this stunning, dark-eyed girl who was prov- ing such a friendly enemy. Her manner to Billie was crisp and curt. She ordered him to fetch and carry. Something in his 118 A Man Four-Square slow drawl — some hint of hidden amusement ir his manner — struck a spark of resentment from her quick eye. But toward Jim she was all kindness. No trouble was too much to take for his comfort. If he had a whim it must be gratified. Prince was merely a servant to wait upon him. The education of Jim Clanton was progressing. As he ate his plover broth he could not keep his eyes from her. She was so full of vital life. The color beat through her dark skin warm and rich. The abundant blue-black hair, the flashing eyes, the fine poise of the head, the little jaunty swagger of her, so wholly a matter of unconscious faith in her place in the sun: all of these charmed and delighted him. He had never dreamed of a girl of such spirit and fire. It was inevitable that both he and Billie should recall by contrast another girl who had given them generously of her service not long since. There were in the country then very few women of any kind. Certainly within a radius of two hundred miles there was no other girl so popular and so attractive as these two. Many a puncher would have been willing to break an arm for the sake of such kindness as had been lavished upon these boys. By sunup the three of them had finished break- fast. Billie put out the fire and scattered the ashes in the river. He went into a committee of ways and means with Lee Snaith just before she returned to town. "You can't stay here long. Some one is sure to A Man Four-Square 119 stumble on you just as I did. What plan have you to get away?" "If I could get our horses in three or four days mebbe Jim could make out to ride a little at a time." "He could n't — and you can't get your horses," she vetoed. "Then I '11 have to leave him, steal another horse, and ride through to Webb for help." "No. You must n't leave him. I'll see if I can get a man to take a message to your friends." A smile came out on his lean, strong face. "You're a good friend." • "I'm no friend of yours," she flashed back. "But I won't have my father spoiling the view by hanging you where I might see you when I ride." "You're Wallace Snaith's daughter, I reckon." "Yes. And no man that rides for Homer Webb can be a friend of mine." "Sorry. Anyhow, you can't keep me from being mighty grateful to my littlest enemy." He did not intend to smile, but just a hint of it leaped to his eyes. She flushed angrily, suspect- ing that he was mocking her, and swung her pony toward town. On the way she shot a brace of ducks for the sake of appearances. The country was a paradise for the hunter. On the river could be found great numbers of ducks, geese, swans, and pelicans. Of quail and prairie chicken there was no limit. Thou- sands of turkeys roosted in the timber that bor- dered the streams. There were times when the 120 A Man Four-Square noise of pigeons returning to their night haunt was like thunder and the sight of them almost hid the sky. Bands of antelope could be seen silhouetted against the skyline. As for buffalo, numbers of them still ranged the plains, though the day of their extinction was close at hand. No country in the world's history ever offered such a field for the sportsman as the Southwest did in the days of the first great cattle drives. Miss Bertie Lee dismounted at a store which bore the sign SNAITH & McROBERT General Merchandise Though a large building, it was not one of the most recent in town. It was what is known as a "dug- out" in the West, a big cellar roofed over, with side walls rising above the level of the ground. In a country where timber was scarce and the railroad was not within two hundred miles, a sod structure of this sort was the most practicable possible. The girl sauntered in and glanced carelessly about her. Two or three chap-clad cowboys were lounging against the counter watching another buy a suit of clothes. The wide-brimmed hats of all of^them came off instantly at sight of her. The frontier was ram- pantly lawless, but nowhere in the world did a good woman meet with more unquestioning respect. "What's this hyer garment?" asked the brick- red customer of the clerk, holding up the waistcoat that went with the suit. A Man Four-Square 121 "That's a vest," explained the salesman. "You wear it under the coat." "You don't say!" The vaquero examined the article curiously and disdainfully. "I've heard tell of these didoes, but I never did see one before. Well, I '11 take this suit. Wrop it up. You keep the vest proposition and give it to a tenderfoot." No cowpuncher ever wore a waistcoat. The local dealers of the Southwest had been utterly unable to impress this fact upon the mind of the Eastern manufacturer. The result was that every suit came in three parts, one of which always remained upon the shelf of the store. Some of the supply merchants had several thousand of these articles de luxe in their stock. In later years they gave them away to Indians and Mexicans. "Do you know where Jack Goodheart is?" asked Lee of the nearest youth. "No, ma'am, but I'll go hunt him for you," an- swered the puncher promptly. "Thank you." Ten minutes later a bronzed rider swung down in front of the Snaith home. Miss Bertie Lee was on the porch. "You sent for me," he said simply. "Do you want to do something for me?" "Try me." "Will you ride after Webb's outfit and tell him that two of his men are in hiding on the river just below town. One of them is wounded and can't sit a horse. So he 'd better send a buckboard for him. Let Homer Webb know that if dad or Sanders finds 122 A Man Four-Square these men, the cottonwoods will be bearing a new kind of fruit. Tell him to burn the wind getting here. The men are in a cave on the left-hand side of the river going down. It is just below the bend." Jack Goodheart did not ask her how she knew this or what difference it made to her whether Webb rescued his riders or not. He said, "I'll be on the road inside of twenty minutes." Goodheart was a splendid specimen of the fron- tiersman. He was the best roper in the country, of proved gameness, popular, keen as an Italian stiletto, and absolutely trustworthy. Since the first day he had seen her Jack had been devoted to the service of Bertie Lee Snaith. No dog could have been humbler or less critical of her shortcomings. The girl despised his wooing, but she was forced to respect the man. As a lover she had no use for Goodheart; as a friend she was always calling upon him. "I knew you'd go, Jack," she told him. "Yes, I'd lie down and make of myself a door- mat for you to tromple on," he retorted with a touch of self -contempt. "Would you like me to do it now?" Lee looked at him in surprise. This was the first evidence he had ever given that he resented the position in which he stood to her. "If you don't want to go I'll ask some one else," she replied. "Oh, I'll go." He turned and strode to his horse. For years he had been her faithful cavalier and he knew he was A Man Four-Square 123 no closer to his heart's desire than when he began to serve. The first faint stirrings of rebellion were moving in him. It was not that he blamed her iii the least. She was scarcely nineteen, the magnet for the eyes of all the unattached men in the dis- trict. Was it reasonable to suppose that she would give her love to a penniless puncher of twenty- eight, lank as a shad, with no recommendation but honesty? None the less, Jack began to doubt whether eternal patience was a virtue. Chapter XIV The Gun-Barrel Road Jack Goodheart followed the gun-barrel road into a desert green and beautiful with vegetation. Now he passed a blooming azalea or a yucca with clus- tering bellflowers. The prickly pear and the cat- claw clutched at his chaps. The arrowweed and the soapweed were everywhere, as was also the stunted creosote. The details were not lovely, but in the sunset light of late afternoon the silvery sheen of the mesquite had its own charm for the rider. Back of the saddle he carried a "hot roll" of blankets and supplies, for he would have to camp out three or four nights. Flour, coffee, and a can of tomatoes made the substance of his provisions. His rifle would bring him all the meat he needed. The one he used was a seventy-three because the bullets fired from it fitted the cylinder of his forty- four revolver. Solitude engulfed him. Once a mule deer stared at him in surprise from an escarpment back of the mesa. A rattlesnake buzzed its ominous warning. He left the road to follow the broad trail made by the Flying V Y herd. A horizon of deep purple marked the afterglow of sunset and preceded a des- ert night of stars. Well into the evening he rode, then hobbled his horse before he built a camp-fire. Darkness was still thick over the plains when he left the buffalo wallow in which he had camped. A Man Four-Square i£5 All day he held a steady course northward till the stars were out again. Late the next afternoon he struck the dust of the drag in the ground swells of a more broken country. The drag-driver directed Goodheart to the left point. He found there two men. One of them — Dad Wrayburn — he knew. The other was a man of sandy complexion, hard-faced, and fishy of eye. "Whad you want?" the second demanded. "I want to see Webb." "Can't see him. He ain't here." "Where is he?" "He's ridden on to the Fort to make arrange- ments for receiving the herd," answered the man sulkily. "Who's the big auger left?" "I'm the foreman, if that's what you mean?" "Well, I've come to tell you that two of yore men are hidin' in the chaparral below Los Portales. There was trouble at Tolleson's. Two of the Lazy S M men were gunned an' one of yours was wounded." "Which one was wounded?" "I heard his name was Clanton." "Suits me fine," grinned the foreman, showing two rows of broken, stained teeth. "Hope the Lazy S M boys gunned him proper." Dad Wrayburn broke in softly. "Chieto, com- padre!" ("Hush, partner!") He turned to Good- heart. "The other man with Clanton must be Billie Prince." "Yes." 126 A Man Four-Square I reckon the Lazy S M boys are lookin' for em. "You guessed right first crack out of the box." "Where are our boys holed up?" "In a cave the other side of town. They 're just beyond the big bend of the river. I'll take you there." "You've seen 'em." "No." Goodheart hesitated just a moment be- fore he went on. "I was sent by the person who has seen 'em." "Listens to me like a plant," jeered Yankie. "Meanin' that I'm a liar?" asked Goodheart coldly. "I wasn't born yesterday. Come clean. Who is yore friend that saw the boys?" "I can't tell you that." "Then yore story doesn't interest me a whole lot." "Different here," dissented Wrayburn. " Do you know how badly Clanton is hurt, Jack?" "No. He was able to ride out of town, but my friend told me to say he was n't able to ride now. You'll have to send a wagon for him." Wrayburn turned to the foreman. "Joe, we've got to go back an' help the boys." "Not on yore topknot, Dad. I'm here to move these beeves along to the Fort. Prince an' that Clanton may have gone on a tear an' got into trou- ble or they may not. I don't care a plugged nickel which way it is. I 'm not keepin' herd on them, an' what's more I don't intend to." "We can't leave 'em thataway. Dad gum it, we A Man Four-Square 127 got to stand by the boys, Joe. That's what Webb would tell us if he was here." "But he ain't here, Dad. An' while he's gone I'm major-domo of this outfit. We're headed north, not south." "You may be. I'm not. An' I reckon you '11 find several of the boys got the same notion I have. I taken a fancy to both those young fellows, an' if I had n't I'd go help 'em just the same." "You ain't expectin' to ride our stock on this fool chase, are you?" "I'll ride the first good bronc I get my knees clamped to, Joe." "As regards that, you'll get my answer like shot off'n a shovel. None of the Flyin' V Y remuda is goin\" Wrayburn cantered around the point of the herd to the swing, from the swing back to the drag, and then forward to the left point. In the circuit he had stopped to sound out each rider. " We-all have decided that ten of us will go back, Joe," he announced serenely. "That leaves enough to loose-herd the beeves whilst we're away." Yankie grew purple with rage. "If you go you'll walk. I'll show you who 's foreman here." "No use raisin' a rookus, Joe," replied the old Confederate mildly. "We're goin'. Yore authority does n't stretch far enough to hold us here." "I'll show you!" stormed the foreman. "Some of you will go to sleep in smoke if you try to take any of my remuda." "Now don't you-all be onreasonable, Joe. We 128 A Man Four-Square got to go. Cay n't you get it through yore cocoa- nut that we've got to stand by our pardners?" "That killer Clanton is no pardner of mine. I meant to burn powder with him one of these days myself. If Wally Snaith beats me to it I'm not goin' to wear black," retorted Yankie. "Sho! The kid's got good stuff in him. An' no- body could ask for a squarer pal than Billie Prince. You know that yore own self." "You heard what I said, Dad. The Flyin' V Y horses don't take the back trail to-day," insisted the foreman stubbornly. The wrinkled eyes of Wrayburn narrowed a little. He looked straight at Yankie. "Don't get biggety, Joe. I'm not askin' you or any other man whether I can ride to rescue a friend when he 's in trouble. You don't own these broncs, an' if you did we'd take 'em just the same." The voice of Wrayburn was still gentle, but it no longer pleaded for understanding. The words were clean-cut and crisp. "I'll show you!" flung back the foreman with an oath. When the little group of cavalry was gathered for the start, Yankie, rifle in hand, barred the way. His face was ugly with the fury of his anger. Dad Wrayburn rode forward in front of his party. " Don't git promiscuous with that cannon of yours, Joe. You've done yore level best to keep us here. But we're goin' just the same. We-all will tell the old man how tender you was of his remuda stock. That will let you out." A Man Four-Square 129 "Don't you come another step closeter, Dad Wrayburn!" the foreman shouted. "I'll let you know who is boss here." Wrayburn did not raise his voice. The drawl in it was just as pronounced, but every man present read in it a warning. "This old sawed-off shotgun of mine spatters like hell, Joe. It always did shoot all over the United States an' Texas." There was an instant of dead silence. Each man watched the other intently, the one cool and deter- mined, the other full of a volcanic fury. The cur- tain had been rung up for tragedy. A man stepped between them, twirling carelessly a rawhide rope. "Just a moment, gentlemen. I think I know a way to settle this without bloodshed." Jack Good- heart looked first at the ex-Confederate, then at the foreman. He was still whirling as if from absent- minded habit the loop of his reata. "We're here to listen, Jack. That would suit me down to the ground," answered Wrayburn. The loop of the lariat snaked forward, whistled through the air, dropped over the head of Yankie, and tightened around his neck. A shot went wildly into the air as the rifle was jerked out of the hands of its owner, who came to the earth with sprawling arms. Goodheart ran forward swiftly, made a dozen expert passes with his fingers, and rose without a word. Yankie had been hog-tied by the champion roper of the Southwest. Chapter XV Lee Plays a Leading Role A man on horseback clattered up the street and drew up at the Snaith house. He was a sandy- complexioned man with a furtive-eyed, apologetic manner. Miss Bertie Lee recognized him as one of the company riders named Dumont. "Is yore paw home, Miss Lee?" he asked breath- lessly. "Some one to see you, dad," called the girl over her shoulder. Wallace Snaith sauntered out to the porch. " 'Lo, Dumont!" "I claim that hundred dollars reward. I done found 'em, Mr. Snaith." Lee, about to enter the house, stopped in her tracks. "Where?" demanded the cattleman jubilantly. "Down the river — hid in a dugout they done built. I'll take you-all there." "I knew they could n't be far away when that first hawss came in all blood-stained. Hustle up four or five of the boys, Dumont. Get 'em here on the jump." In the face of the big drover could be read a grim elation. His daughter confronted him. "What are you going to do, dad?" "None o' yore business, Lee. You ain't in this/* he answered promptly. A Man Four-Square 131 "You're going out to kill those men," she charged, white to the lips. "They'll git a trial if they surrender peaceable." "What kind of a trial?" she asked scornfully. "They know better than to surrender. They'll fight." "That'll suit me too." "Don't, dad. Don't do it," the girl begged. "They're game men. They fought fair. I've made inquiries. You must n't kill them like wolves." "Mustn't I?" he said stubbornly. "I reckon that's just what I'm goin' to do. I'll learn Homer Webb to send his bad men to Los Portales lookin* for trouble. He can't kill my riders an' get away with it." "You know he didn't do that. This boy — • Clanton, if that's his name — had a feud with the Roush family. One of them betrayed his sister. Far as I can find out these Roush brothers were the scum of the earth." Her bosom rose and fell fast with excitement. "Howcome you to know so much about it, girl? Not that it makes any difference. They may have been hellhounds, but they were my riders. These gunmen went into my own place an' shot 'em down. They picked the fight. There's no manner o' doubt about that." "They did n't do it on your account. I tell you there was an old feud." "Webb thinks he's got the world by the tail for a downhill pull. I'll show him." "Dad, you're starting war. Don't you see that? 132 A Man Four-Square If you shoot these men he'll get back by killing some of yours. And so it will go on." "I reckon. But I'm not startin' the war. He did that. It was the boldest piece of cheek I ever heard tell of — those two gunmen goin' into Tolleson's and shootin' up my riders. They got to pay the price." Lee cried out in passionate protest. " It '11 be just plain murder, dad. That's all." "What's got into you, girl?" he demanded, seizing her by the arms. The chill of anger and sus- picion filmed his light-blue eyes. "I won't stand for this kind of talk. You go right into the house an' 'tend to yore own knittin'. I've heard about enough from you." He swung her round by the shoulders and gave a push. Lee did not go to her room and fling herself upon the bed in an impotent storm of tears. She stood thinking, her little fists clenched and her eyes flashing. Civilization has trained women to feeble- ness of purpose, but this girl stood outside of con- ventional viewpoints. It was her habit to move directly to the thing she wanted. Her decision was swift, the action following upon it immediate. She lifted her rifle down from the deer-horn rack where it rested and buckled the ammunition belt around her waist. Swiftly she ran to the corral, roped her bronco, saddled it, and cinched. As she galloped away she saw her father striding toward the stable. His shout reached her, but she did not wait to hear what he wanted. A Man Four-Square 133 The hoofs of her pony drummed down the street. She flew across the desert and struck the river just below town. The quirt attached to her wrist rose and fell. She made no allowance for prairie-dog holes, but went at racing speed through the rabbit weed and over the slippery salt-grass bumps. In front of the cave she jerked the horse to a halt. "Hello, in there!" The tumble weeds moved and the head of Prince appeared. He pushed the brush aside and came out. "Buenos tardes, senorita. Did n't know you were comin' back again to-day." "You've been seen," she told him hurriedly as she dismounted. "Dad's gathering his men. He means to make you trouble." Billie looked away in the direction of the town. A mile or more away he saw a cloud of dust. It was moving toward them. "I see he does," he answered quietly. "Quick! Get your friend out. Take my horse." He shook his head slowly. "No use. They would see us an' run us down. We'll make a stand here." "But you can't do that. They'll surround you. They'll send for more men if they need 'em." "Likely. But Jim couldn't stand such a ride even if there was a chance — and there is n't, not with yore horse carryin' double. We'll hold the fort, Miss Lee, while you make yore get-away into the hills. An' thank you for comin'. We'll never forget all you've done for us these days." "I'm not going." "Notgoin'?" 134 A Man Four-Square "I'm going to stay right here. They won't dare to shoot at you if I'm here." "I never did see such a girl as you," admitted Prince, smiling at her. "You take the cake. But we can't let you do that for us. We can't skulk be- hind a young lady's skirts to save our hides. It's not etiquette on the Pecos." The red color burned through her dusky skin. "I'm not doing it for you," she said stiffly. "It's dad I'm thinking about. I don't want him mixed up in such a business. I won't have it either." "You'd better go to him and talk it over, then." "No. I '11 stay here. He would n't listen to me a minute." Billie was still patient with her. "I don't think you 'd better stay, Miss Lee. I know just how you Jeel. But there are a lot of folks won't understand howcome you to take up with yore father's enemies. They'll talk a lot of foolishness likely." The cowpuncher blushed at his own awkward phrasing of the situation, yet the thing had to be said and he knew no other way to say it. She flashed a resentful glance at him. Her cheeks, too, flamed. "I don't care what they say since it won't be true," she answered proudly. "You need n't argue. I've staked out a clcdm here." "I wish you'd go. There's still time." The girl turned on him angrily with swift, ani- mal grace. "I tell you it's none of your business whether I go or stay. I'll do just as I please." Prince gave up his attempt to change her mind. A Man Four-Square 135 If she would stay, she would. He set about arrang- ing the defense. Young Clanton crept out to the mouth of the cave and lay down with his rifle beside him. His friend piled up the tumble weeds in front of him. ' We're right enough in front — easy enough to stsnd 'em off there," reflected Billie, aloud. "But I'd like to know what's to prevent us from being attacked in the rear. They can crawl up through the brush till they're right on top of the bank. They can post sharpshooters in the mesquite across the river so that if we come out to check those snakin' forward, the snipers can get us." "I'll sit on the bank above the cave and watch 'em," annoimced Lee. "An' what if they mistook you for one of us?" asked Prince dryly. "They can't, with me wearing a red coat." "You're bound to be in this, are n't you?" His smile was more friendly than the words. It ad- mitted reluctant admiration of her. The party on the other side of the river was in plain sight now. Jim counted four — five — six of them as they deployed,. Presently Prince threw a bullet into the dust at the feet of one of the horses as they moved forward. It was meant as a warning not to come closer and accepted as one. After a minute of consultation a single horseman rode to the bank of the stream. "You over there," he shouted. "It's dad," said Lee, 136 A Man Four-Square " You 'd better surrender peaceable. We 've come to git you alive or dead," shouted Snaith. "What do you want us for?" asked Prince. "You know well enough what for. You killed one of my punchers." Clanton groaned. "Only one?" "An' another may die any day. Come out with yore hands up." "We'd rather stay here, thank you," Billie called back. Snaith leaned forward in the saddle. "Is that you over there, Lee?" "Yes, dad." "Gone back on yore father and taken up with Webb's scalawags, have you?" "No, I haven't," she called back. "But I'm going to see they get fair play." "You git out of there, girl, and on this side of ths river!" Snaith roared angrily. "Pronto! Do you hear?" "There's no use shouting yourself hoarse, dad. I can hear you easily, and I'm not coming." "Not comin'! D' ye mean you've taken up with a pair of killers, of outlaws we 're goin' to put out of business? You talk like a — like a — " "Go slow, Snaith!" cut in Prince sharply. "Can't you see she's tryin' to save you from murder?" "We're goin' to take those boys back to Los Portales with us — or their bodies. I don't care a whole lot which. You light a shuck out of there, Lee." "No," she answered stubbornly. "If you're so A Man Four-Square 13? bent on shooting at some one you can shoot at me." The cattleman stormed and threatened, but in the end he had to give up the point. His daughter was as obstinate as he was. He retired in volcanic humor. "I never could get dad to give up swearing," his daughter told her new friends by way of humorous apology. "Wonder what he'll do now\" "Wait till night an' drive us out of our hole, I expect," replied Prince. "Will he wait? I'm not so sure of that," said Jim. "See. His men are scattering. They're up to somethin'." "They're going down to cross the river to get be- hind us just as you said they would," predicted Lee. She was right. Half an hour later, from her po- sition on the bank above the cave, she caught a glimpse of a man slipping forward through the brush. She called to Prince, who crept out from behind the tumble weeds to join her. A bullet dug into the soft clay not ten inches from his head. He scrambled up and lay down behind a patch of soap- weed a few yards from the girl. Another bullet from across the river whistled past the cowpuncher. Lee rose and walked across to the bushes where he lay crouched. Very deliberately she stood there, shading her eyes from the sun as she looked toward the sharpshooters. Twice they had taken a chance, because of the distance between her and Prince. She intended they should know how close she was to him now. 138 A Man Four-Square Billie could not conceal his anxiety for her. " Why don't you get back where you were? I got as far as I could from you on purpose, What's the sense of you comin' right up to me when you see they're shoot in' at me?" "That's why I came up closer. They'll have to stop it as long as I'm here." "You can't stay there the rest of yore natural life, can you?" he asked with manifest annoyance. Even if he got out of his present danger alive — and Billie had to admit to himself that the chances did not look good — he knew it would be cast up to him some day that he had used Lee Snaith's pres- ence as a shield against his enemies. "Why don't you act reasonable an' ride back to town, like a girl ought to do? You've been a good friend to us. There's nothin' more you can do. It's up to us to fight our way out." He took careful aim and fired. A man in the bushes two hundred yards back of them scuttled to his feet and ran limping off. Billie covered the dodging man with his rifle carefully, then lowered his gun without firing. "Let him go," said Prince aloud. "Mr. Dumont won't bother us a whole lot. He's gun-shy any- how." From across the river came a scatter of bullets. "They've got to hit closeter to that before they worry me," Jim called to the two above. "I don't think they shot to hit. They're tryin' to scare Miss Lee away," called down Billie. "As if I did n't know dad would n't let 'em take A Man Four-Square 139 any chances with me here," the girl said confidently "If we can hold out till night I can stay here and keep shooting while you two slip away and hide. Before morning your friends ought to arrive." " If they got yore message." "Oh, they got it. Jack Goodheart carried it." The riflemen across the river were silent for a time. When they began sniping again, it was from such an angle that they could aim at the cave with- out endangering those above. Both Clanton and Prince returned the fire. Presently Lee touched on the shoulder the man beside her. "Look!" She pointed to a cloud of smoke behind them. From it tongues of fire leaped up into the air. Farther to the right a second puff of smoke could be seen, and beyond it another and still a fourth jet. After a moment of dead silence Prince spoke. "They've fired the prairie. The wind is blowin' toward us. They mean to smoke us out." "Yes." "We'll be driven down into the open bed of the river where they can pick us off." The girl nodded. "Now, will you leave us?" Billie turned on her triumphantly. He could at least choose the condi- tions of the last stand they must make. "They've called our bluff. It's a showdown." "Now I'll go less than ever," she said quietly. Chapter XVI Three Modern Musketeers The fierce crackling of the flames rolled toward them. The wind served at least the one purpose of lifting the smoke so that it did not stifle those on the river-bank. Clanton crept up from the cave and joined them. "Looks like we're goin' out with fireworks, Bil- lie," he grinned. "That's nonsense," said Lee sharply. "There's a way of escape, if only we can find it." "Blamed if I see it," the young fellow answered. As he looked at her the eyes in his pale face glowed. "But I see one thing. You're the best little pilgrim that ever I met up with." The heat of the flames came to them in waves. "You walk out, climb on yore horse, an' ride down the river, Miss Lee. Then we '11 make a break for cover. You can't do anything more for us," insisted Prince. "That 's right," agreed the younger man. " We '11 play this out alone. You cut yore stick an' drift. If we git through I'll sure come back an' thank you proper some day." Recently Lee had read "The Three Musketeers." From it there flashed to her a memory of the pic- ture on the cover. "I know what we'll do," she said, coughing from a swallow of smoke. She stepped between them A Man Four-Square 141 and tucked an arm under the elbow of each. "All for one, and one for all. Forward march!" They moved down the embankment side by side to the sand-bed close to the stream, each of the three carrying a rifle tucked close to the side. From the chaparral keen eyes watched them, covering every step they took with ready weapons. Miss Lee's party turned to the right and followed the river-bed in the direction of Los Portales. For the wind was driving the fire down instead of up. Those in the mesquite held a parallel course to cut off any chance of escape. Some change of wind currents swept the smoke toward them in great billows. It enveloped the fugitives in a dense cloud. "Get yore head down to the water," Billie called into the ear of the girl. They lay on the rocks in the shallow water and let the black smoke waves pour over them. Lee felt herself strangling and tried to rise, but a heavy hand on her shoulder held her face down. She sput- tered and coughed, fighting desperately for breath. A silk handkerchief was slipped over her face and knotted behind. She felt sick and dizzy. The knowledge flashed across her mind that she could not stand this long. In its wake came another dreadful thought. Was she going to die? The hand on her shoulder relaxed. Lee felt her- self lifted to her feet. She caught at Billie's arm to steady herself, for she was still queer in the head. For a few moments she stood there coughing the smoke out of her lungs. His arm slipped around her shoulder. 142 A Man Four-Square "Take yore time," he advised. A second shift of the breeze had swept the smoke away. This had saved their lives, but it had also given Snaith's men another chance at them. A bullet whistled past the head of Clanton, who was for the time a few yards from his friends. Instantly he whipped the rifle up and fired. "No luck," he grumbled. "My eyes are sor^ from the smoke. I can't half see." Lee was not yet quite herself. The experience through which she had just passed had shaken her nerves. "Let's get out of here quick!" she cried. "Take yore time. There's no hurry," Prince iterated. "They won't shoot again, now Jim's close to us." The younger man grinned, as he had a habit of doing when the cards fell against him. " Where 'd we go? Look, they've headed us off. We can't travel forward. We can't go back. I expect we'll have to file on the quarter-section where we are," he drawled. A rider had galloped forward and was dismounting close to the river. He took shelter behind a boulder. Billie swept with a glance the plain to their right. A group of horsemen was approaching. "More good citizens comin' to be in at the finish of this man hunt. They ought to build a grand stand an' invite the whole town," he said sardonically. A water-gutted arroyo broke the line of river- bank. Jim, who was limping heavily, stopped and examined it. A Man Four-Square 113 "Let's stay here, Billie, an* fight it out. No use foolin' ourselves. We're trapped. Might as well call for a showdown here as anywhere." Prince nodded. "Suits me. We '11 make our stand right at the head of the arroyo." He turned ab- ruptly to the girl. "It's got to be good-bye here, Miss Lee." "That's whatever, littlest pilgrim," agreed Clanton promptly. "If you get a chance send word to Webb an' tell him how it was with us." Her lip trembled. She knew that in the shadow of the immediate future red tragedy lurked. She had done her best to avert it and had failed. The very men she was trying to save had dismissed her. "Must I go?" she begged. "You must, Miss Lee. We're both grateful to you. Don't you ever doubt that!" Billie said, his earnest gaze full in hers. The girl turned away and went up through the sand, her eyes filmed with tears so that she could not see where she was going. The two men entered the arroyo. Before they reached the head of it she could hear the crack of exploding rifles. One of the men across the river was firing at them and they were throwing bullets back at him. She wondered, shivering, whether it was her father. It must have been a few seconds later that she heard the joyous " Eee-y ip-eee ! " of Prince. Almost at the same time a rider came splashing through the shallow water of the river toward her. The man was her father. He swung down from 144 A Man Four-Square the saddle and snatched her into his arms. His haggard face showed her how anxious he had been. She began to sob, overcome, perhaps, as much by his emotion as her own. "I'll blacksnake the condemned fool that set fire to the prairie!" he swore, gulping down a lump in his throat. "Tell me you-all aren't hurt, Bertie Lee. . . . God ! I thought you was swallowed up in that fire." "Daddie, daddie, I couldn't help it. I had to do it," she wept. "And — I thought I would choke to death, but Mr. Prince saved me. He kept my face close to the water and made me breathe through a handkerchief." "Did he?" The man's face set grimly again. "Well, that won't save him. As for you, miss — you're goin'^to yore room to live on bread an' wa- ter for a week. I wish you were a boy for about five minutes so's I could wear you to a frazzle with a cowhide." Snaith's intentions toward Clanton and Prince had to be postponed for the present, the cattleman discovered a few minutes later. When he and Lee emerged from the river-bed to the bank above, the first thing he saw was a group of cowpunchers shak- ing hands gayly with the two fugitives. His jaw dropped. "Where in Mexico did they come from?" he asked himself aloud. "I expect they're Webb's riders," his daughter answered with a little sob of joy. "I thought they'd never come." A Man Four-Square 145 "You thought . . . How did you know they were comui r "Oh, I sent for them." The girl's dark eyes met his fearlessly. A flicker of a smile crept into them. "I've had the best of you all round, dad. You'd better make that two weeks on bread and water." Wallace Snaith gathered his forces and retreated from the field of battle. A man on a spent horse met nim at his own gate as he dismounted. He handed the cattleman a note. On the sheet of dirty paper was written: The birds you want are nesting in a dugout on the river four miles below town. You got to hurry or they '11 be flown. J. Y. Snaith read the note, tore it in half, and tossed the pieces away. He turned to the messenger. "Tell Joe he's just a few hours late. His news is n't news any more." Chapter XVII "Peg-Leg" Warren Webb drove his cattle up the river, the Staked Plains on his right. The herd was a little gaunt from the long journey and he took the last part of the trek in easy stages. Since he had been awarded the contract for beeves at the Fort, by Depart- ment orders the old receiving agent had been trans- ferred. The new appointee was a brother-in-law of McRobert and the owner of the Flying V Y did not want to leave any loophole for rejection of the steers. With the clean blood of sturdy youth in him Clanton recovered rapidly from the shoulder wound. In order to rest him as much as possible, Webb put him in charge of the calf wagon which followed the drag and picked up any wobbly-legged bawlers dropped on the trail. During the trip Jim discovered for himself the truth of what Billie had said, that the settlers with small ranches were lined up as allies of the Snaith-McRobert faction. These men, owners of small bunches of cows, claimed that Webb and the other big drovers rounded up their cattle in the drive, ran the road brand of the traveling outfit on these strays, and sold them as their own. The story of the drovers was different. They charged that these "nesters" were practi- cally rustlers preying upon larger interests passing through the country to the Indian reservations, A Man Four-Square 147 Year by year the feeling had grown more bitter, That Snaith and McRobert backed the river set- tlers was an open secret. A night herder had been shot from the mes quite not a month before. The blame had been laid upon a band of bronco Mes- caleros, but the story was whispered that a "bad man " in the employ of the Lazy S M people, a man known as "Mysterious Pete Champa," boasted later while drunk that he had fired the shot. Jim had heard a good deal about this Mysterious Pete. He was a killer of the most deadly kind be- cause he never gave warning of his purpose. The man was said to be a crack shot, quick as chain lightning, without the slightest regard for human life. He moved furtively, spoke little when sober, and had no scruples against assassination from am- bush. Nobody in the Southwest was more feared than he. This man crossed the path of Clanton when the herd was about fifty miles from the Fort. The beeves had been grazing forward slowly all afternoon and were loose-bedded early for the night. Cowpunchers are as full of larks as schoolboys on a holiday. Now they were deciding a bet as to whether Tim McGrath, a red-headed Irish boy, could ride a vicious gelding that had slipped into the remuda. Billie Prince roped the front feet of the horse and threw him. The animal was blindfolded and sad- dled. Doubtful of his own ability to stick to the seat, Tim maneuvered the buckskin over to the heavy sand before he mounted. The gelding went sun- 148 A Man Four-Square fishing into the air, then got his head between his legs and gave his energy to stiff-legged bucking. He whirled as he plunged forward, went round and round furiously, and unluckily for Tim reached the hard ground. The jolts jerked the rider forward and back like a jack-knife without a spring. He went flying over the head of the bronco to the ground. The animal, red-eyed with hate, lunged for the helpless puncher. A second time Billie's rope snaked forward. The loop fell true over the head of the gelding, tightened, and swung the outlaw to one side so that his hoofs missed the Irishman. Tim scrambled to his feet and fled for safety. The cowpunchers whooped joyously. In their lives near-tragedy was too frequent to carry even a warning. Dad Wrayburn hummed a stanza of " Windy Bill" for the benefit of McGrath: