The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

the boys where the Leverage back trail runs into the Henry. I'll be along a couple hours after dark. But tell Lyle not to let 'em out of his sight. If they move, follow. In such a case, leave one man at the junction spot to meet me, and another one or two along the line so I'll know where to come. Get going, and be careful. There's somebody scouting me."

      He spurred along the road to Starlight and went rapidly up. Two miles in from the highway he saw a fresh track across the soft earth and cut down the side of the canyon. The sun was dipping over the western range when he cantered across the D Slash yard and dismounted. He threw his horse into the corral and joined the remnant of his crew at the supper table.

      They had nothing to report, these restless home guards. They had worked the lower corner of D Slash range and found everything proper. Steve Steers had come along during the middle of the afternoon with a small bunch of D Slash strays. They had told him of Steele's death.

      "And I thought he was a-goin' to shoot me when I spilled the news," said Dan Russell. "Never saw a fella stiffen up thataway. He wanted to know where you was, and I said I figgered mebbe yuh'd be home to eat supper. He rode off like a bat outa hell. Didn't bother to take four cows and beavertails we had fer him."

      Denver nodded. "Comes hard on him. He'd bunch any other job in the world to join this chase. But he can't walk out on Nightingale. I bet he's stampin' the earth."

      "Well, now," put in Russell, "ain't it about time us fellas got into this jam? Shucks, we're entitled to some fun. What's the percentage—"

      "Tonight," replied Denver, "you boys stick right here. Burn all the lights on the place. Make lots of noise. Somebody stay in the main house—as if it was me. Baldy, rope out the gelding for me. Also, three-four of you get into the kitchen and help Si slap up a mess of sandwiches. I'll be carryin' 'em back to the bunch in the hills."

      "How about knittin' some mufflers?" grunted Russell, full of discontent. "If this ain't the damnedest—"

      Steve Steers and Al Niland appeared at the dining-room door. Denver got up from the table and walked back into the living room with them, carefully closing the door.

      "Missed you by ten minutes in Sundown," said Steve tersely. "I never stopped ridin', once I got the news."

      "Go back to your business, Steve."

      "Is that all the advice you got for me?" challenged Steers. "You ridin' tonight? Then so am I. And so is Al."

      "Listen to reason. You can't leave Nightingale in the lurch. Do you think this is just a one-night affair? It ain't. Nobody knows when the last of it will come. You've got no business slashin' around the hills, leavin' Nightingale's range wide open to Redmain. You know it."

      "So that's the way I stand by my friends, is it?" was Steve's bitter retort.

      "I guess I've got to hit from the shoulder," stated Denver. "You've always been a wild-eyed buzzard. There never was a job you wouldn't quit in a minute. Well, here's one time when you've got to measure up to your job. It ain't a question of what you want to do. It's a question of what comes first. You're foreman of a ranch—and it's up to you to see it ain't robbed poor."

      "Go ahead, slap the spurs into me," grunted Steve petulantly. "What's one Englishman's cows to me stacked up beside Cal Steele? Oh, damnation, I reckon yore right!"

      "Yeah, he is," broke in Niland. "There's more angles to this Redmain business than just foggin' him. Maybe he wants everybody to go on a wild-goose chase after him. Never any way of tellin' what that quick mind of his is hatchin'."

      "Just so," agreed Denver. "And that lets you out of any ridin' for a while, too. I've got something I want you to do."

      "Me?"

      "I want you to nose around Sundown and find out how long Steele had been sellin' stock to Fear Langdell."

      The other two stared at Denver in an almost startled manner. Steve Steers was puzzled; Al Niland's much sharper mind cut right through to Denver's unspoken reason. But in spite of that and in spite of the fact Denver was one of his closest friends, he parried. "Why? What do you know about those transactions that don't please you?"

      Denver drew a long breath. "What do you know about them, Al?"

      Niland shook his head. "I never pried into Steele's affairs. If you got anything on your mind, let's know it."

      "Get away from bein' a lawyer for a minute," muttered Denver. "I saw somethin' different on your face."

      "I'd never judge a man by unsubstantiated thoughts," was Niland's very slow answer. "Cal had a habit of goin' into fits of depression sometimes. And he'd say a few flimsy things. But that ain't anything to speak about."

      Steve finally caught up with the train of thought. "Here, here, you fellas, what you tryin' to cook up?"

      "What I say must never be repeated," said Denver. "It must die right here, understand? Never to be spoken again—even if it takes perjury to cover it."

      "That's unnecessary for you to say," Niland reminded him.

      Denver came to a stand in front of them. "I found a steer in Langdell's shipment this afternoon. It was one Steele had sold him last week. It had Steele's original brand and Steele's vent mark. No other brand. But last year it was a Fee cow. I recognized it. No chance for mistake."

      To a man in cattle country this needed no explanation at all. Niland and Steers were dumbly silent. It was natural that Steers, being absolutely loyal, should mirror shocked belief; and it was equally natural that Niland, with his knowledge of human error, should slowly nod his head. Through the open doors came a soft wind. The crew strolled along the yard. The bell-like clarity of an owl's hoot floated in. Denver went on: "I have figured this thing backward and forward, and I continually come to a conclusion I despise. There's other ways of explainin' it. There might be a crook in Steele's crew who is plasterin' other critters with the Steele brand for his own profit. But how would such a fellow cash in? I don't see that. It's also possible Redmain might have done the job in the hope it would be discovered and so discredit Steele. Yet I doubt it. That switch from Fee to Steele was absolutely an expert job. I wouldn't have noticed it unless I'd personally hazed the cow last year."

      "Well, then," broke in Niland, "what's the answer?"

      "Whatever the answer," said Denver quickly, "we keep it to ourselves. Forever. Cal Steele is dead, and he's entitled to his clear reputation. He'll have it, if I've got to turn Yellow Hill upside down. But somehow or other Redmain's in this. And I'd like to know more about Fear Langdell's connection. Did he buy from Cal Steele knowing about the blotting or not?"

      Niland's face began to lighten up. "If I could nail that man to the cross after all he's done in the name of justice I'd give my seat in heaven! I wonder if that's why he filed his request with the judge to act as executor to Steele's estate? To cover up—"

      "Never say it," warned Denver. "But you've got to get in there and find out, somehow."

      One of the hands ambled through the front door. "Hawss is ready for yuh, Dave." The owl's sentinel signal echoed again. Denver lifted his head, becoming aware of the sound. "So you've both got your work cut out," he went on. "We won't ever get the whole story straight. Steele will never tell his part. Redmain's beyond the talking stage. There's nothing left but to go after him, never give him peace. That's what I propose to do. As—"

      He broke off and moved for the door. The hoot of the owl had become too insistent. Crossing the porch he descended into the darkness of the yard. The call came again, along the ridge. Advancing toward it, he reached the grade. A question came through the blanket of shadows. "Denver?"

      "Who's that?"

      "It's us—Meems and Wango. We want to see yuh."

      "Then come down here like white men. What's all this hocus- pocus for?"

      "Well," came Meems's solemn answer, "we got a decent respeck fer our hides. We're comin'—but not into the lights. What we got to say is private, is that a go?"

      "All right."

      The