'You've guessed so much that you would be a valuable witness against them, Mr. Lovell,' said Arnold. 'You'll have to be very careful. They may decide that dead men tell no tales.'
'Anyhow, I feel better now I've broken with them,' Frank said, and took a deep free breath. 'It's been hell living with this on my mind.'
'It must have been.' Hal came to another angle of the problem. 'What about Frawley? He must be one of them. It is easy to see now how they could pull off their raids and not get caught.'
'I think Jim told them what pastures they could rob safely on any given night,' Frank replied. 'I hate him more than I do any of the others. He has been with us ten years and now throws us down. And he's a terrible bully.'
Hal lit a cigarette and took a few puffs before he spoke. 'It comes to this,' he summed up. 'We are sure we have spotted the thieves, but we still haven't any proof, nothing that would stand up in court.'
'I suppose you will fire Frawley,' Arnold said to Frank.
'Dale will, with some smoking words that ought to scorch his thick hide.' The boy grinned wryly. 'He'll try to take it out of me later.'
Hal agreed. 'He's a vindictive scoundrel, and he'll have Black's gang with him. Stick close to the ranch, Frank. Don't go to town unless you have three or four armed men with you. Never ride your fences alone. You know too much. The thieves would feel safer if you were out of the way. For Pete's sake, keep away from brush country. Get this in your head and don't forget it. You will be murdered if they can kill you safely.'
Young Lovell was startled at the harsh bluntness of Hal's words. He stared wide-eyed at his neighbor. 'Would they go that far?' he asked doubtfully. He wanted reassurance, though he had often felt as much himself, knowing how carefully they watched him.
'Brick Fenwick would shoot his own brother if the man stood in his way. That man is a killer. So is Hanford. And I wouldn't trust Jim Frawley any farther than I could throw a bull by the tail.'
'They'll be after you more than they will me.'
'After both of us. But they can't get us if we don't give them a chance.' It occurred to Hal that he ought to impress on Dale Lovell's mind the danger in which her brother stood. 'Think I'll change my mind, Frank, and ride home with you. But we won't take the road. We'll go by the hill trail and drop down Frenchy's Draw to your pasture.'
'Fine.' The boy was pleased with this arrangement. He thought it would be a good idea to have somebody else present when he broke the bad news to Dale. In the hearing of a comparative stranger, she would probably modify the blistering epithets she would be ready to pour on him. They drove over the hills in Frank's car to the ridge overlooking the valley and descended into it by way of the wide cañon known as Frenchy's Draw.
CHAPTER 6
The Fall of the Cards
ALMOST BEFORE HAL was out of the cabin, Brick Fenwick plunged across the room for the rifle that stood in the corner. Cash Polk had to take only two steps to reach the revolver beneath the pillow on his bed. They collided at the door. The impact flung Cash against the jamb, but he was in the open first. The car was moving when his gun bucked from the shot aimed at the figure back of the wheel.
Brick blazed away, too fast for an accurate aim. His second shot thudded against the car. The night was dark, and before he could fire again the coupe was a shadowy bulk nearly a hundred yards distant. Yet the crash of the rifle continued to fill the park, though he had now nothing but hope to guide the bullets.
'No use,' Frawley cried savagely. 'He's got away — for this time.'
The young killer lowered the rifle. 'That's right — for this time. I'm heading for the M K tonight to stop his clock.' He started for a car that stood close to the house.
'Hold yore horses a minute, Brick,' Cash objected. 'We got to talk this over. No sense jumpin' the gun. When we settle his hash, I want it to be a sure thing. No finger of the law pointing at us. If we go raring over there hell-for-leather, some of us are liable to be shot. Anyhow, they will know who we are. A nice quiet dry-gulching would be better. Just one crook of the finger from the brush, with nobody wise to whose finger.'
'Cash is right,' Hanford agreed. 'It would be crazy for us to attack the ranch house, with half a dozen of Stevens's punchers ready to pop away at us soon as we show up. Not good enough.'
'Okey!' Frawley snarled. 'But when? When do we bump off this smart aleck? It can't be soon enough to suit me.'
'Nor me. He's got the gall of a pack rat to hold us up and make monkeys of us.' Cash shook his fist at the darkness into which Hal had disappeared. 'The scalawag is living on borrowed time from tonight. Why not tomorrow morning — when he comes out of the house? From the ridge opposite.'
They trooped back into the house, to discuss time and place. Frawley paced up and down the room, restless as a caged panther. The others sat around the table.
'The sooner the better,' Fenwick said. 'Before he has any time to talk this over with other ranchers on the river. Soon as he steps out into the open tomorrow, like Cash said. Whoever does this will have to carry glasses, so as to make sure he is getting the right fellow.'
Other plans were proposed and rejected. The ridge was not too far from the house for an accurate shot, and the killer could make a getaway safely in a car before any pursuit would be possible. If necessary, the other four would testify that he had been with them at the time of the shooting.
Polk raised the question that was in all of their minds. 'Who is the best man to do it?' he asked, his eyes sliding from one to another.
'Frawley is the best shot with a rifle,' Hanford suggested.
'I got to be at the Seven Up,' the foreman objected instantly. 'To look over a beef herd with the boss. She has a buyer from Denver coming out.'
'You can be back there by that time,' Polk said.
The stony eyes of Frawley rested on Polk. 'What's the matter with you doing it?'
'I'm too short-sighted to see that far.'
Fenwick laughed insultingly. 'Time for your excuse now, Cad,' he said to Hanford.
The deadpan face of Hanford was expressionless. 'I haven't heard you offer to do the job, Brick.'
'And you won't. We'll deal cards for it.'
'Suits me,' Hanford assented.
The other two agreed reluctantly.
'Each of us will put fifty dollars in the pot, and it will all go to the guy who loses,' Brick proposed. 'The man who gets the high spade is out. One card to each of us. We'll deal in turn. The bird with the low spade or no spade in the finals is elected. If any time no spade shows, the dealer stays on the job. That clear?'
'Anyone has the privilege of cutting the deck whenever he pleases,' Cash added suspiciously.
They high-spaded for the first deal, and it fell to Hanford. He shuffled the cards and offered them for a cut, an offer that both Frawley and Polk accepted. The eyes of the other three were glued to the dealer. Hanford was an expert with cards, and none of the rest intended to let him pull any shenanigan. He dealt a queen of hearts to Cash, a three of clubs to the foreman, a seven of spades to Fenwick, and a four of spades to himself. The young Texan was out. This was one killing he did not have to do.
On Polk's deal Hanford went out on a ten of spades.
'We're certainly out of luck, Cad,' Fenwick drawled. 'One of the other boys is going to collect this two hundred in the jackpot.'
'After he has collected Mr. Hal Stevens,' Hanford amended.
'If you feel that way, Brick, you can take the two hundred and do the job yourself,' the foreman growled.
'I wouldn't crowd you out of a nice paying job, Jim,' the boy answered, with a sneering laugh. 'One hundred and fifty plunks net, just for crooking a finger.'