"You might have turned off the trail," he pointed out, and bent his head, thinking. "It comes dimly to me; you met someone from the Double K ranch."
This time he certainly scored. "It is true," she admitted. "I saw the Keith girl, in the store, and she sailed past as though I wasn't there."
Satan smiled. "She probably knows of our--friendship," he said. "And if she still cares for me ..." He noted the tiny crease between her brows. "I haven't seen her for some time," he lied. "She should be quite pretty."
The girl guessed his game--he had played it before; cruelty in any form was an amusement to him.
"She is beautiful," Belle said with studied indifference. "Now that you have disinherited yourself the ranch will go to her, I suppose? Is it a good one?"
"You could ride for two days in any direction and find none to equal it."
"And you threw it away rather than marry her."
"I prefer to choose my own wife." His lips curled maliciously. "It was a mistake, no doubt, but mistakes can be rectified."
His meaning was plain enough, and despite her effort to control herself, a flush of anger stained her cheeks.
"You don't exactly despise yourself, do you, Jeff?" she said. "You think, with your record, that she would take you?"
"Love is all-powerful," he mocked. "It will find a way, and it forgives."
"Some day I may remind you of that," she replied, and picking up her things, left him to his reflections.
That they were not of the pleasantest was evident from his expression. The loss of the man whose dead body would slam the door on Satan the bandit and leave Lafe Lander a free, wealthy, and unsuspected citizen had been a shrewd blow. Either he must get Keith back, or ... Already in that cunning, unscrupulous brain another desperate design, bred of his conversation with Belle Dalroy, was taking shape.
At the Twin Diamond ranch Keith found that he had but moved to another prison; he dared not show himself. The outfit knew there was a visitor whose presence must not be spoken of, but--except the cook--no one saw him. He spent his time reading, and gazing hungrily out over the range. The rancher was shocked at the change two years had wrought: the gay, high-spirited youth he remembered had become a moody man, silent for the most part, brooding over the perilous position in which he was placed. The information he gleaned from Merry only served to deepen his gloom as he realized the net of infamy from which he had yet to escape.
"Who is this cowboy--Jim, you called him--and why is he fighting Hell City if my father fired him?" he asked.
Merry told what he knew of Sudden. "He figures Satan framed him in that cattle raid an' aims to get even," he finished.
"Five hundred head and thirty thousand cash would settle his debt, you'd think, yet he goes back to that hornets' nest," Keith said thoughtfully. "What more does he want?"
"That red-masked devil's hair," Merry replied grimly. "Jim's a good payer. Frosty told me that years gone he promised a dyin' man he'd bring to book a couple o' human skunks. He's still searchin', but I don't reckon he'll ever meet up with 'em." (The rancher was wrong, and the story of the finding has been recorded in another place)) "If that's the kind o' hairpin he is, I'd hate to have him on my trail."
For a day or so, the prisoner bore his confinement with what patience he might, but on the third morning he stopped the rancher as he was going out, and said abruptly: "Mart, I want a pony," and when his host hesitated, added passionately, "I'm not running away, but if you'd been cooped up in a cave for nigh two years wouldn't you want to sling a leg over a horse and feel the spring of him under you?"
The appeal was too much for a man who almost lived in the saddle--the rancher gave in. "But for your own sake, ride south," he warned. "The Double K boys is mighty nervous o' strangers these times an' liable to shoot first an' enquire after."
"I'll keep out of sight," Keith promised.
Nevertheless, an hour later, when he loped away from the ranch-house, an irresistible magnet drew him towards the Double K range. The short, crisp grass sliding beneath his horse's feet, the aromatic tang of the sage in his nostrils, the wide expanse with the purple hills on the far horizon, the rush of warm air on his cheeks as he gathered speed sent a thrill of new life through his veins. Heedlessly he rode on, exulting in the freedom he had lacked so long. Presently familiar landmarks warned him that he was actually on his father's land.
Greedily his eager gaze swept over the miles of open plain, rising and falling like the rolling billows of a greenish-brown sea dotted with timbered islands. It was a view to delight the heart of a cattleman. And he had thrown it away, exiled himself to become a homeless, hunted man !
Suddenly mindful of his promise, he was about to retreat when another actor appeared on the scene. From behind a large clump of cactus and thorn came a racing pony, carrying a woman. Hatless, rocking in the saddle, she appeared to be trying to halt the beast but without avail; a dangling strip of leather told the reason--a rein had snapped. Keith swore; he recognized that slim, swaying figure and saw that the maddened horse was heading for what the cowboys called the Glue-pot, a quaking morass from the clammy clutch of which there was no escape.
A rake of the spurs sent his mount hurtling forward in an attempt to intercept the runaway, and he cursed again as he found no lariat on his saddle-horn. Yard by yard the distance between the animals lessened until at length they were galloping side by side. Leaning over, the young man grabbed the sound rein, wound it round his wrist, and slackened pace. The double rawhide thong stood the strain and slowly but surely the steady drag brought the girl's pony to a standstill.
For one panting moment, Keith looked at her, noting the sun-kissed lovely face, framed in wind-tossed curls, the parted red lips, and the lissom grace of her youth. Here was something else he had thrown away, something--and the realization of it overwhelmed him--worth more than anything in the whole universe.
"You?" she cried, and cuttingly, "What have you done with your mask?"
"I have never worn such a thing," he said quietly. "Is that true?"
"Lying was not one of my faults, Joan,"
"Then you cannot be--"
"The boss of Hell City, as my father believes," he finished bitterly.
"As we all believed," she corrected gently. "Even I, who spoke with him."
"When was this?" he asked sharply.
She told him, and saw his jaw harden as he listened. "Changed as you seemed, I could not doubt," she ended. "He must know you well."
"He has yet to know me better," Keith promised. "At present, I cannot move; my hands are tied." He anticipated her question. "I am wanted for the shooting of young Dealtry at Red Rock."
"Oh, Jeff," she breathed. "You couldn't have ..."
"I don't know," he said miserably. "We'd had words, and I was drunk." He did not spare himself. "I can't remember what happened that night. Lander said I did it, and I could not contradict him. He got me away into hiding. I've been buried alive, Joan, and knew nothing of the foul reputation being foisted upon me. Hell, what a mess I've made of everything."
Her eyes were moist. "It will come right, Jeff," she comforted. "This will be great news for Daddy Ken--he'll help you. He has been terribly hurt, and that has made him hard, but--"
"He must not be told--yet," he broke in. "I got into the mire and must get out. Promise to keep silent, Joan, or I will ride out of the country and never return."
She smiled, albeit a little sadly. This was the old Jeff, dominant, who always got his own way by just such a means when they played together as children. She must give in--it was no empty threat. What had been boastfulness in the boy had become resolution in the man.
"Very well," she said. "Have you any plans?"
"No, I'm rather relying on that cowboy, Green, who took me out of Hell City. A strange fellow; I don't quite know what to make of him."