"What is the name of that song?" she asked. "I don't think I've heard it before."
The deputy was not surprised at this, but he did not say so. Instead, he lied nobly. "I dunno, ma'am; that's all of it I ever learned my own self." He grinned with returning courage. "I guess I'll have to leave that last bit out when yo're around."
"I'm afraid you are a flatterer, Mister--?" the girl said.
"My name's Barsay, an' my friends call me Pete," he volunteered. "I'm bettin' yo're Miss Tonia Sarel."
"You win," she replied. "Do you sing much?"
Pete regarded her with a suspicious eye, but save for a distracting dimple, she seemed quite serious. "I do not," he confessed. "Speakin' general, I on'y inflicts my vocal efforts on longhorns when they're a-beddin' down. Mebbe yu'd call it cruelty to animals, but cows ain't noways critical, an' my voice ain't started a stampede yet. Won't yu set down?"
"I just called to see the marshal," she said. "I suppose he is busy?"
"Not so as yu'd notice it," Pete said gloomily. "The durned town is dead--nothin' happens. Ever since me an' the marshal took office"--he grinned pridefully at the phrase--"folks here has been asleep. Yu'd think we were keepin' Sunday school. I'm tellin' yu, we got this town so tame we'll be losin' our jobs. If suthin' don't bust loose soon--"
He broke off suddenly as a rider dashed into view at the western end of the town. Bent low in the saddle, he was almost invisible in the clouds of dust which rose beneath the hammering hoofs of his horse. Barsay thrust the girl inside the door.
"That gent has pressin' business with somebody, an' mebbe it's me," he apologized. "Bullets ain't got no respect for beauty."
It appeared that he was correct in his surmise, for on reaching the marshal's office, the rider pulled down his panting pony and leapt off. Barsay then saw that it was Andy Bordene, his face grimed with dust and perspiration, drawn and haggard, his eyes wild.
"Where's the marshal?" he cried hoarsely.
At that moment Green came up, having just turned his mount into the Red Ace corral. "Who wants me?" he asked, and then, recognizing the young rancher. "What's the trouble, Bordene?"
"Dad's been shot--murdered!" came the broken answer. "Marshal, I want yu to help me find the dog who did it."
With a pitiful cry Tonia ran to the side of the stricken boy, striving to comfort as she forced him to sit down, for the shock and subsequent punishing ride had taken a heavy toll and he was all in. Green slipped into the saloon and came back with a glass.
"Drink this, and then tell us about it," he said.
The raw spirit gave Andy strength and steadied his shattered nerves. After a moment or two he looked up, and in a dull monotone, told his story.
"Dad started for town early this mornin'," he began. "I suppose he got here?"
"Yeah. I saw him myself, goin' into the bank," Green told him.
The boy. nodded. "He told me he was drawin' some money an' he intended to come back pretty prompt," Andy said. "I set out for Lawless 'bout two hours later, an' when I got to the Old Mine I found him lyin' in the trail. His hoss was grazing close by, an' at first I thought he'd been pitched or had a sunstroke. Then I saw the blood--he'd been shot in the back. Just as I stooped over him, he opened his eyes, said one word, an' was--gone."
His voice tailed away to a whisper, and as he finished his head dropped despairingly. Tonia's arm pressed his shoulders in silent sympathy. She knew how he felt; she herself had faced the same tragic happening.
"What was the word?" the marshal asked.
"Sudden," was the reply. "That damned outlaw has bushwhacked my dad for a few paltry dollars. Marshal, we gotta get him; I'll never rest till--" His voice rose hysterically as he strove to stand up. Green pressed him back into his seat.
"We'll get him, sooner or later," he promised, and his voice was stern. "Yu stay with Miss Tonia till we fetch our bosses."
They returned in a few moments to find Andy sitting tight-lipped, his dull gaze staring into vacancy. The girl stood silently by, her eyes filled with the tears she would not shed until the bereaved boy had gone. Clasping her two hands in his--he could not trust himself to speak--Andy mounted his pony and the three men set out for the scene of the tragedy, first calling at the bank, where they learned that the murdered man had drawn out five thousand dollars.
Slumped in his saddle, Bordene led the way at a fast lope. The shock of this, his first real rebuff in life, had driven the youthfulness from his face, leaving a grimness mingled with the grief. The marshal and his deputy followed in silence.
Less than an hour's riding brought them to the Old Mine, a little group of low, rocky mounds shrouded in small timber and brush through which the trail passed. A saddled horse was tied to a tree, but there was no body.
"I carried him into that hut," Bordene explained, pointing to a rude cabin at the foot of one of the hillocks, the pathway to which was almost obscured by undergrowth.
Pushing their way through they came upon the murdered man. Green stopped and made a quick examination. "Shot in the back--twice," he said. "An' the cash is missin', though there is some small change in the pockets; a Greaser wouldn't 'a' left that." He rose and looked round. Two shining objects attracted his attention--used shells. "Forty-fives," he commented, slipping them into the pocket of his chaps. "Pistol-work. Whereabout did yu find him, Andy?"
The young man pointed to where a bit of the trail lay in plain view, and Green began to examine the floor of the hut, which was of packed sand. Presently he stood up.
"I figure it was this way," he said. "The bushwhacker hid in here by the door--yu can see the marks of his heels--an' when the old man passed, he got him. Musta waited some time too, for he smoked three cigarettes." He picked up the ends and broke one open. "Good Bull Durham," he added, sniffing the tobacco. "No Mexican trash. We gotta find where he left his hoss."
"What's the use of ail this, marshal?" broke in Bordene querulously. "We know who did it."
"Do we? Any fella can call hisself Sudden," Green retorted, and his tone was so harsh that Pete looked at him in surprise. "It would be a damn easy way o' blottin' a trail."
The young man bit his lips. "I didn't think o' that," he admitted.
It did not take them long to find where the killer had hidden his horse. Just behind the hut the lower foliage of a tree had been nibbled, and a branch bore traces of having been chafed. Moreover, in the bark of the trunk, Green's quick eye discerned several hairs and the hoofprints showed that the animal had .. been restive. The hairs were black.
"Sudden is said to ride a black, ain't he?" Andy questioned.
"Yeah," the marshal replied.
He was on his knees, studying the hoofprints carefully. Presently he stood up, and they went to the spot where the body had been found. The ground here was matted with the marks of both men and horses. Green pored over them for some time, gradually picked out the ones he wanted--those of the murderer's mount--and noted that they went south. Then he announced his decision.
"I'm goin' to follow his tracks," he said. "Pete, yu'll stay here while Andy goes to the Box B for a wagon an' some of his boys to take the old man to town: there'll have to be an enquiry."
When the boy had gone, the marshal rolled and lighted a cigarette, and selecting a small rock, squatted and smoked in silence. His deputy stood it for a while, and then:
"Bordene is hard hit," he said.
"He'll get over it," Green replied. "Ol' Man Trouble sits lightly on the shoulders o' youth an' is easy shook off."
Silence again ensued, and presently the deputy tried once more:
"Ever run acrost this jasper, Sudden?" he asked, and this time he got a surprise.
"Yeah, I know him pretty well," the marshal returned. He looked at his assistant reflectively for a moment, and then, with the air of one who has at last come to a decision, he went on, "Pete, yu ain't got no more brain than a sage-hen, but I think yo're white, an' I'm goin' to gamble on it. Yu heard me pull up young Bordene pretty brisk just now an' mebbe wondered why?"