Ethel gasped. “Daggett said that! That proves he’s a liar. I saw the whole thing. Daggett and Sutton attacked an unarmed stranger. The man took Daggett’s gun away from him, shot Sutton and drove Daggett away.”
For a moment Eddie Kohl glared at Ethel, then he made an effort and smiled again. “Why should you get all worked up about things? Sutton’s gone and I’ll — dad’ll pull in Daggett’s horns. Uh — let’s talk about you — and me, Ethel.”
“No,” replied Ethel firmly. “Don’t you get on that subject again.”
Eddie flared up. “Why not? You can’t hold on to this ranch much longer and sooner or later you’ve got to come around.”
“When that time comes, Eddie,” Ethel said coldly, “father and I will be traveling.”
“What’s the matter with me?” Eddie demanded bitterly. “I ain’t the worst looking man in the world. My father’s the biggest rancher in the state. He’s going to be even bigger. If you married me you could have anything you liked. Fancy clothes, horses, good times. And a swell house. Dad — dad’s already had some plans made for a house. A big stone house with twenty rooms.”
“The answer’s still no. And I think I’m quite sure it’ll still be no ten years from now.”
Eddie Kohl looked as if he were about to froth at the mouth. “All right,” he said, “stay on your high horse. But I ain’t quittin’ — not yet. I figure my time’ll come. And maybe sooner than you think. You’re going to—”
He stopped. His father and Captain Morgan were approaching, and from the expression on the elder Kohl’s face, he had fared no better with Captain Morgan than Eddie had fared with Ethel.
The two of them mounted their horses, nodded and rode off.
“What’d he want, Father?” Ethel asked when the Kohls were out of hearing.
“The ranch, of course.” Captain Morgan looked searchingly into his daughter’s face, then shrugged. “He wanted to combine it with his own — give me a quarter interest in it. Provided—” He stopped.
“Provided I marry Eddie,” Ethel finished for him. “Well — I think I told Eddie some things, myself.”
IV
Mitch Johnson said to Donny Fletcher, “Let’s go take in the celebration in town tonight. It’ll probably be the last they’ll have around here in a long time.”
“What’s it for?”
“No reason at all. Just a get-together and dance. Fella’s got to see somethin’ around here once in awhile besides a bunch of long-horned cows.”
“But you haven’t got any, Mitch.”
Mitch’s face twisted. “No, but I can’t help seein’ than, can I? They’re all around. Can’t ride a mile without running into a herd.”
“All right,” conceded Donny Fletcher. “We’ll go to that dance. It’s a long time since I attended one.”
So they rode into Spring Valley. They naturally went to a saloon first, but this time they chose The Longhorn, the second of the two saloons in town. They had had their fight at The Texan the day before.
There were kindred spirits at the bar, getting a drink or two before proceeding to the dance, which was to be bone-dry. As they entered the place, Mitch Johnson nudged Fletcher. “There’s the sheriff. He’s givin’ this place his trade tonight.”
“Then perhaps we ought to go to the other saloon,” Fletcher replied. “No use lookin’ for trouble.”
“Hell, he won’t bother us,” snorted Mitch. “Come on — have a drink. Bartender! The bottle.”
The bottle and glasses were brought. Mitch poured for himself, then shoved the bottle to Fletcher. The latter poured and a tall, white-haired man came up beside him.
“You’re Donny Fletcher,” he said.
Deliberately, Fletcher turned. “Yes?”
“My name’s Morgan,” the white-haired man said, “I believe we faced each other in Missouri on a couple of occasions.”
Fletcher nodded slowly. “It’s possible — although I’m sorry I don’t recall your face.”
“Oh, we never met that close. I happened to remember your face because I saw a picture of it. A poster; er—” Captain Morgan coughed, then said quickly, “My error, sir. The war’s over.”
“It is,” replied Fletcher, still unbending.
A little frown creased the captain’s forehead.
“My daughter met you, yesterday. She told me — what happened. I’ve been wondering ever since, Mr. Fletcher — if you’ve, well, if you’re looking for a job.”
Fletcher quickened. “A job? You know me and you’re offering me a job?”
“Why not?”
Sheriff Pendexter came up and said, “I got a job for him. In jail. I’ve been looking for you, Fletcher. You’re the man knocked off Jim Sutton. You’re under arrest!”
“The hell you say!” cut in Mitch Johnson.
Fletcher shook his head at Johnson. “Sutton drew first. Him and Daggett. I took Daggett’s gun away from him and beat Sutton. Everywhere I’ve been, an even break’s enough. Sutton got more than an even break.”
“You lie! You shot down Sutton without giving him a chance. I’ve got Daggett’s statement and—”
“Just a minute, Pendexter,” said Captain Morgan. “My daughter was present during the whole affair. What Mr. Fletcher says is true. Sutton set fire to Karl Hawkinson’s house, then tried to kill this man — probably afraid he would talk.”
“You keep your mouth out of this, Morgan,” snapped Pendexter. “It’s none of your concern. I’m arrestin’ this man for murder, an’—”
Mitch Johnson howled and hurled himself at the sheriff. The big man went back, smashed Johnson in the face with his fist and clawed at his gun. Johnson held to the sheriff’s arm, cursing.
“Here,” said Captain Morgan, “you’re unarmed.”
He pressed the butt of a gun into Donny Fletcher’s hand. Fletcher swore under his breath, gripped the gun and stepped forward.
“Let go, Pendexter!” he commanded.
“Let him have it!” snarled Mitch Johnson. “He’s a dirty, crooked coyote. He’ll shoot you in the back if you let him live.”
The sheriff tore himself away from Mitch Johnson. He stepped back, his hands crooked in front of him. He glared at Fletcher. “You can’t get away with this, Fletcher. I’ll have a posse out for you in five minutes.”
“I’ll take that chance. Come on, Mitch, we’d better be going.”
Fletcher backed to the door, keeping the gun carelessly on the fuming sheriff. At the door, Captain Morgan joined Johnson and Fletcher. “I think I’d better go along with you,” he said.
It was a sensible idea. The sheriff might vent his anger on Morgan for siding with Fletcher.
At the door, Fletcher said, “If I were you, Pendexter, I’d wait awhile before coming through this door. Otherwise you might run into something.”
With that he stepped swiftly outside. He kept one eye on the saloon door while he mounted swiftly.
“I’ve got to pick up my daughter,” Captain Morgan said, as they turned their horses to head out of town. “She’s at the dance”
Donny Fletcher’s pulses quickened. He’d thought of Ethel Morgan several times since the day before. He hadn’t admitted it even to himself, but the reason he had acceded to Mitch Johnson’s desire to attend the dance was the hope of seeing Ethel Morgan again. She was the sort of girl would be at a dance, if it were at all possible.
But now — the girl would be a liability. It wouldn’t be long before the sheriff stormed out of the saloon. He could no doubt pick up a bunch of cohorts in a few moments. And then it would be pursuit. If they lost minutes at the dance hall, getting Ethel Morgan — it would be close.
Yet it had to be done. Johnson and Fletcher remained on their horses outside the big frame building where the dance was being held. Captain Morgan dismounted and rushed inside.