CHAPTER XXI
ONE TOO MANY
To no man in the outfit did Randerson whisper a word concerning theresult of his visit to the ranchhouse--that he would cease to be theFlying W range boss just as soon as Ruth Harkness could find a man toreplace him. He went his way, thoughtful, silent, grave, filled withsomber thoughts and dark passions that sometimes flashed in his eyes, buttaking no man into his confidence. And yet they knew that all was notwell with him. For in other days his dry humor, his love of wholesomefun, had shortened many an hour for them, and his serenity, in ordinarydifficulties, had become a byword to them. And so they knew that thething which was troubling him now was not ordinary.
They thought they knew what was troubling him. Kelso had been hired totake his life. Kelso had lost his own in the effort. That might haveseemed to end it. But it had become known that Kelso had been a mere toolin the hands of an unscrupulous plotter, and until the plotter had beensent on the way that Kelso had gone there could be no end. Already therewere whispers over the country because of Randerson's delay.
Of course, they would wait a reasonable time; they would give him his"chance." But they did not know what was holding him back--that deep inhis heart lurked a hope that one day he might still make his dreams cometrue, and that if he killed Masten, Ruth's abhorrence of him and hisdeeds, already strong, could never be driven from her. If he lost thishope, Masten was doomed.
And during the second week following his latest talk with Ruth, the girlunconsciously killed it. He met her in the open, miles from theranchhouse, and he rode toward her, deeply repentant, resolved to bravepublic scorn by allowing Masten to live.
He smiled gravely at her when he came close--she waiting for him, lookingat him, unmoved. For she had determined to show him that she had meantwhat she had said to him.
"Have you found a new range boss, ma'am?" he said gently. He had hopedthat she might answer lightly, and then he would have known that shewould forgive him, in time.
But her chin went up and she looked coldly at him. "You will be able toleave the Flying W shortly, Randerson," she said. "I am going to leavesuch matters for Mr. Masten to look after."
She urged her pony away and left him, staring somberly after her.
Two hours later he was riding down the declivity toward Chavis' shack, inthe basin. He had ridden first to the outfit, and had talked with Owen.And his appearance had been such that when he left the foreman the lattersought out Blair.
"If I don't miss my reckonin', Masten's goin' to get his'n today."
Randerson rode, straight as Patches could carry him, to the door ofChavis' shack. No one appeared to greet him, but he had seen horses,saddled, hitched to the corral fence, and he knew that some one wasabout. Chavis, Kester, and Hilton were inside the shack, and when theyheard him ride up, they came to the door, curious. And when they saw himthey stiffened and stood rigid, with not a finger moving, for they hadseen men, before, meditating violence, and they saw the signs inRanderson's chilled and narrowed eyes, and in the grim set of his lips.
His lips moved; his teeth hardly parted to allow the words to comethrough them. They writhed through:
"Where's Masten?"
Three pairs of lungs sighed audibly in process of deflation.
It was Chavis who answered; the other two looked at him when the questioncame, silently. Chavis would have lied, but the light in Randerson's eyeswarned him not to trifle, and the truth came from his lips:
"Masten's gone to the Flyin' W ranchhouse."
"I reckon that's all," said Randerson shortly. "I'm thankin' you."
He rode away, grinning coldly back at them, still watchful, for he knewChavis, guiding his pony toward the declivity on the other side of thebasin. The three men watched him until the pony had climbed to the mesa.Then Chavis turned to the others.
"I reckon he's goin' to see Masten about that Kelso deal," he said."Somebody ought to put Masten wise."
Kester grinned. "It's bound to come," he commented. "Let's finish ourgame; it is your deal."
On the mesa, Randerson urged Patches along the edge, over the trail thatRuth had taken when, months before, she had come upon Chavis and Kesterat the declivity.
"Nothin' would have happened, if it hadn't been for Masten," he toldhimself as he rode away. "Pickett wouldn't have got fresh, an' Kelsowould have kept himself mighty shady. We'd have fought it out, square--mean' Masten. I reckon I didn't kill Pickett and Kelso; it was Masten thatdone it."
He came, after a while, to the rock upon whick he had found Ruth lying onthe night of the accident. And he sat and looked long at the grass plotwhere he had laid her when she had fainted.
"She looked like an angel, layin' there," he reminded himself, his eyeseloquent. "She's too blamed good for that sneakin' dude."
He came upon the ruined boot, and memories grimmed his lips. "It'sbusted--like my dreams," he said, surveying it, ripped and rotting. "Ireckon this is as good a place as any," he added, looking around him.
And he dismounted, led Patches out of sight behind some high bushes thatgrew far back from the rocks; came back, stretched himself out on thegrass plot, pulled his hat over his eyes and yielded to his gloomythoughts. But after he had lain there a while, he spoke aloud:
"He'll come this way, if he comes at all."
With the memory of Randerson's threat always before him, "if I ever layeyes on you ag'in, I'll go gunnin' for you," Masten rode slowly andwatchfully. For he had felt that the words had not been idle ones, and ithad been because of them that he had hired Kelso. And he went toward theranchhouse warily, much relieved when he passed the bunkhouse, to findthat Randerson was apparently absent. He intended to make this one trip,present to Ruth his excuses for staying away, and then go back to Chavis'shack, there to remain out of Randerson's sight, until he could deviseanother plan that, he hoped, would put an end to the cowpuncher who wasforever tormenting him.
His excuses had been accepted by Ruth, for she was in the mood to restorehim to that spot in her heart that Randerson had come very near tooccupy. She listened to him calmly, and agreed, without consciousemotion, to his proposal that they ride, on the Monday following, toLazette, to marry. She had reopened the subject a little wearily, for nowthat Randerson was hopeless she wanted to have the marriage over with assoon as possible. She saw now, that it had been the vision of Randerson,always prominent in her mind, that had caused her to put off the date ofher marriage to Masten when he had mentioned it before. That vision hadvanished now, and she did not care how soon she became Masten's wife.
On the porch of the ranchhouse they had reached the agreement, andtriumphantly Masten rode away into the darkness, foreseeing the defeat ofthe man whom he had feared as a possible rival, seeing, too--if he couldnot remove him entirely--his dismissal from the Flying W and his ownascent to power.
"On Monday, then," he said softly to Ruth, as ready to leave, he hadlooked down at her from his horse. "I shall come early, remember, for Ihave waited long."
"Yes, Monday," she had answered. And then, dully: "I have waited, too."
Masten was thinking of this exchange of words as he rode past the fordwhere the Lazette trail crossed into the broken country beyond it. He hadnot liked the tone of her voice when she had answered him; she had notseemed enthusiastic enough to suit him. But he did not feel very greatlydisturbed over her manner, for Monday would end it, and then he would doas he pleased.
He was passing a huge boulder, when from out of the shadow surrounding ita somber figure stepped, the star-shot sky shedding sufficient light forMasten to distinguish its face. He recognized Randerson, and hevoluntarily brought his pony to a halt and stiffened in the saddle, fear,cold and paralyzing, gripping him. He did not speak; he made no soundbeyond a quick gasp as his surprised lungs sought air, and he wasincapable of action.
Randerson, though, did not make a hostile movement and did not present aforeboding figure. His arms were folded over his chest, and
if it had notbeen for Masten's recollection of those grim words, "I'll go gunnin' foryou," Masten would have felt reasonably secure. But he remembered thewords, and his voice caught in his throat and would not come, when heessayed to bluster and ask Randerson the cause for this strange anddramatic appearance.
But there was no thought of the dramatic in Randerson's mind as he stoodthere--nothing but cold hatred and determination--nothing except a bitterwish that the man on the pony would reach for his gun and thus make histask easier for him.
The hoped-for movement did not come, and Randerson spoke shortly:
"Get off your cayuse!"
Masten obeyed silently, his knees shaking under him. Was it to be anotherfist fight? Randerson's voice broke in on this thought:
"I promised to kill you. You're a thing that sneaks around at night onits belly, an' you ought to be killed. But I'm goin' to give you achance--like you give me when you set Kelso on me. That'll let you dielike a man--which you ain't!" He tapped the gun at his right hip. "I'lluse this one. We'll stand close--where we are--to make your chancebetter. When I count three you draw your gun. Show your man now, ifthere's any in you!"
He dropped his hands from his chest and held the right, the fingers bentlike the talons of a bird of prey, about to seize a victim. He waited,his eyes gleaming in the starlight, with cold alertness for Masten'sexpected move toward his gun. But after a long, breathless silence,during which Masten's knees threatened to give way, he leaned forward.
"Flash it! Quick! Or you go out anyway!"
"I'm unarmed!" Masten's voice would not come before. It burst forth now,hysterically, gaspingly, sounding more like a moan than the cry of a manpleading for his life.
But it stung the stern-faced man before him to action, rapid and tense.He sprang forward with a low, savage exclamation, drawing one of his bigweapons and jamming its muzzle deep into Masten's stomach. Then, holdingit there, that the Easterner might not trick him, he ran his other handover the frightened man's clothing, and found no weapon. Then he steppedback with a laugh, low, scornful, and bitter. The discovery that Mastenwas not armed seemed to drive his cold rage from him, and when he spokeagain his voice was steely and contemptuous:
"You can hit the breeze, I reckon--I ain't murderin' anybody. You're saferight now. But I'm tellin' you this: I'm lookin' for you, an' you don'trun no blazer in on me no more! After this, you go heeled--or you hit thebreeze out of the country. One of us has got to go. This country is toocrowded with both of us!"
Masten got on his pony, trembling so that he had trouble in getting hisfeet into the stirrups. He rode on, hundreds of yards, before he dared toturn, so great was his dread that to do so would be to bring upon him thewrath of the man who had spared him. But finally he looked around. He sawRanderson riding out into the darkness of the vast stretch of grass-landthat lay to the south.