marked man
© 0. APPLETON-CENTURY CO. By H. C WIRE WNU SERVICE
CHAPTER XIX—Continued.
—11—
Away westward, twenty miles per
haps, there came a momentary rift
In the overcast sky, and a peak of
the Barricade Mountains, thrust up
like a blunt thumb, threw back an
opalescent glfiw. Sunrise. Walt Gan
dy set his watch. He rode on after
that into a thickening gloom, until
the mist came down about him and
turned to fine drizzle.
He stopped and shrugged into his
black slicker. Steam rose from the
palomino. The little beast shifted
uneasily and tried to wheel back.
“Cut it out!” said Gandy. "I don’t
like this either!”
They moved on, angling into the
southwest.
There was no turning back from
this trail, he knew that; but this
minute he would like to turn back.
His life had never seemed so much
worth holding onto; because that
moment, there in his arms Helen
Cameron had answered his kiss.
He pushed on. And then an abrupt
converging of many cowtrails told
him that a water-hole was not far
off. They came in fanwise from
across the bench top, merging to
gether until they were one deep
rut, and following, he struck un
expectedly down the course of a
ravine. Within twenty minutes aft
er that he was swinging off at the
cabin of Outpost Camp.
It had only the one small build
ing, of weathered boards and an
iron roof, set where the ravine emp
tied into the sink. The water-hole
with a single tall mountaip cedar,
out of place here, was behind the
cabin. A steer hide from an ani
mal butchered in the last round-up
hung stiff and dry from the tree’s
lowest branch.
Hollister had been here. The large
sharp prints of his black showed
at the water-hole. Then inside the
cabin Gandy at once sniffed ciga
rette smoke. The coffee pot, a quar
ter full of grounds, was cold. But
the cast iron stove was faintly
warm. Hollister had left not more
than an hour ago.
Again in the saddle Gandy put
spurs to the palomino, relieved for
a little while by a feeling that Hol
lister might not be too far ahead.
There was a chance of catching up
before Bill encountered any of the
77.
Yet cattle prowling the sink bot
tom had left their maze of tracks,
across which the pock-marks of a
single horse could no be followed.
Herds of the uncomfortable animals
were crowded close against the sink
cliff, trying to find shelter from a
needled wind. The drizzle had
ceased. Back at the cabin Gandy
had peeled out of his slicker and tied
it again behind his seat.
From this distance he saw a
choice of three ways up. Along
the sheer rock face three deep
notches showed within a mile of one
another. The first seemed to bear
too far southward. Either the sec
ond or third appeared more in his
course due west There was no
way to tell into which one Hollister
had gone, and staring hard as he
approached the silent cuts, Walt
Gandy felt for the first time a cold
dread. Then, nearer, he saw some
thing that jerked him to instant
wariness.
A low rock wall had been built
across the first ravine mouth to pre
vent C C cattle from drifting west
out of the sink. That wall now lay
scattered. It was the same in the
second cut. By the time he had
charged on to the third, the sign was
plain; 77 men had thrown these bar
Tiers down to let their cattle
through. The drive of two thou
sand head was coming—even now
some of the 77 guards might be
watching the rims above him. Still,
Kelso and Stoddard had not expect
ed fight from the C C.
Gandy wheeled suddenly up the
third cut.
He shoved around the next bends
at a faster pace, all at once wanting
to be out of this. No wind reached
him down here, and no sound save
the rapid pad of his palomino’s
hoofs. He felt the oppression of
being caged in, and riding blind.
Then when he least expected it, the
cut struck sharply upward; there
was a short scramble on loose rock,
a tunneling away of the walls, and
he rose abruptly upon the open
prairie.
An immediate sweeping glance
took in a circle of flat empty land.
He was alone. But then far west
ward where this top began a long
lift, a dark smudge showed against
gray earth. The 77 drive. Seven
miles off, Gandy judged, though
maybe more. They’d not reach the
watch. Three o’clock; dark in an
other two hours. Hollister? He
rocked up onto his feet, hands on
the saddle horn and stood searching
that sector of prairie west and south
west.
He reined his pony south, seeking
the heads of those other two ra
vines, for surely into one of them
Hollister had started. There was
no other way west. Again as he
rode on, bowed into a cold wind,
there settled upon him a dull con
stant dread, the sense of an inevita
ble ending here which Hollister him
self had predicted.
He had covered less than a quar
ter of a mile when a rider seemed
to leap from the very earth. His
horse was in a tight run, the man
bent forward, and he had shot out
like that, Gandy knew, from one of
the other west cuts. He was headed
for the 77 drive and through the first
minute after his sudden appearance
it was plain that he did not know
there was another on the prairie top.
Gandy clapped spurs to the palo
mino, loosening the thirty-eight in
its belt holster as he quartered to
ward the fleeing man. This party
was getting away from something;
no doubt about that His head
turned, and then in a jerk upon
shortened reins, he set his horse
back with all hoofs sliding. In the
same move his right hand had
crossed over to the left of his sad
dle; smoothly a rifle ran from the
scabbard there and whipped up to
his shoulder.
Things happened then. Distance
was too far for the thirty-eight.
Wheeling his own mount Walt Gan
dy made a vain try with two rapid
shots. He saw dust kick up in front
of the other’s horse. Wind snatched
a white wisp from the rifle barrel
leveled toward him and a hornet
zinged close to his ear. Again he
saw the white wisp and his palo
mino Jumped straight up. He heard
that second report, a third and the
There was chance of catching up
before Bill encountered any of
the 77.
earth rose and slammed him from
the saddle.
Breath went out of him and he
fought a black fog that thickened be
fore his eyes. It could have lasted
only a few seconds. He came out
of it crouched behind the body of
his horse, gun trained across the
bulging side. The other man was
streaking away once more in a head
long run.
Walt Gandy stood up and was not
aware until then that he was shot
in the left leg. It felt as if a red
hot rod was suddenly stabbed into
his flesh near the knee. His knee
was stiff; his blue jeans already be
ginning to stain. But again that
went momentarily out of his mind
as he stared down at the unmoving
palomino. The little beast was dead.
The fact registered now only in a
numbing way; too much impended
for him to feel the full sense of his
loss. Rapidly he stripped off the
saddle, blanket, and bridle, shoul
dered them and turned toward the
ravine out of which the unknown
rider had appeared. On the rim he
looked back. He would never want
to own another pale gold horse.
Now it was a matter of getting
back to Outpost Camp with no time
lost, and searching the ravine on the
way. The rider might have left
him for dead. Still it would be no
good li otners came aneaa ana round
him on 77 ground afoot.
The cut slanted in a sharp descent
at first, then leveled out in a wind
ing sand bottom much like the one
up which he had ridden. High-heeled
boots were never made for rapid
walking. He limped on, shifting the
saddle from shoulder to shoulder. He
was perhaps halfway to the sink
when two brass shells glittered
against the sand. Gandy scooped
them up, put them to his nose.
Next he had let the saddle gear fall
and was stumbling ahead, for the
shells still had in them the rancid
smoke of freshly burned powder.
Within fifty paces the sand showed
that Hollister’s horse had come to
a sudden stop, had wheeled, plunged
sidewise. All the marks of am
bush were here in a tangle of tracks
—and then a spot where a man had
fallen, bleeding.
Gandy ran on, reading signs
where the horse had come to a halt,
and where Hollister had remounted.
Relief swept him. Bill was not
dead. But farther on he was fol
lowing a trail of blood stains
dropped evenly every two paces.
CHAPTER XX
BILL HOLLISTER had clung to his
saddle until within twenty feet
of the cabin at Outpost Camp. Stum
bling up, Gandy saw where he had
pitched to the ground, then dragged
himself on a short distance. He
was lying now on his back, left arm
folded under his head, inert, but
conscious. His eyes opened at the
thud of boots and in them a know
ing smile kindled. He started to
speak.
"Sav* it," said Gandy. "Think J
you’re a swell prophet, don’t youl"
He bent over. "How are you. Bill?
Where are you hit?”
Not until he had moved the man
a little to lift him, did he see the
right arm almost shot away, and a
widening spot of blood from another
wound somewhere in Hollister’s
back. His own injury was nothing
compared to this; a continued stiff
ening of the left knee, but the stain
on his blue jeans was drying. He
picked Bill Hollister up bodily, car
ried him to the cabin and booted the
door inward.
Outpost Camp was the usual range
shack, an overnight stopping-place
for a man riding circle, or the cen
ter of a more lively scene for a week
during fall or spring round-up. In
side was a rough table, half a dozen
boxes for chairs, four double-tier
bunks and a stove. It was no
more barren nor isolated than most,
yet entering with the wounded man.
Walt Gandy felt that a place had
never been so desolate.
He laid Hollister on the straw tick
of a lower bunk near the stove,
pushed back the stove lids and
crammed brush stems in onto ash
that was still warm. There was no
wood here in the bottoms. The
brush flared. Methodically he went
out to the spring for water, brought
in a full bucket, poured some in
a basin to heat, some in the coffee
pot, went out for more fuel—and all
the time he was telling himself that
a tough fellow like that one in there
couldn’t die, knowing that be could.
Hollister lay face down, saying
nothing during the minutes Walt
worked over him, cleaning sand
rrom tne shattered right arm, men
putting on a tight bandage to stop
the blood. The back wound was
only a small neat hole; but what
the bullet had done internally was
beyond Gandy's help, safe for the
ease of coffee and soothing; warmth
from the red-hot stove. In time
someone would come. He could only
wait.
Finished with his first-aid, he
brought the coffee pot, two tin cups
and sat down on a box beside the
bunk. Hollister was over on his
back now, his head propped upon a
folded coat, and that quiet, know
ing smile had never left his eyes.
He managed the cup with his left
hand. They sat there drinking, si
lent.
Not much talk had ever been
needed between these two. For a
time now they did not talk at all.
Hollister opened his mouth and
took a cigarette held out for him.
Then he lay silently smoking. But
there was something he wanted to
talk about and seemed waiting un
til enough strength was stored. His
eyes sobered to their deep-set, study
ing look.
Walt Gandy saw, and felt instinc
tively that he did not want to listen.
He did not want a confession, if
that was what Hollister had on his
mind. What did it matter?
Twice he shook his head to stave
off talk, until with effort the lank
man burst out: "Turn around here!
I’ve got things to tell you. And I
haven’t got much time.”
“They’ll keep,” said Gandy.
“You’re going to pull out of this all
right. The ranch knows where we
are and someone will come trailing
us if we don’t show up. You keep
quiet.” But he drew his eyes from
the pain-ridden face. If they were
coming, they’d better hurry!
“No,” Hollister managed dogged
ly. "I want you to understand some
thing.”
uanay s nead urted and he looked 1
across the flickering light to where
Hollister lay In shadow. "Maybe
I do already. Bill. Never mind.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Let it go, Bill.”
“Well, I don't think you do,” Hol
lister said. "It’s Helen I want to
talk about.”
“Walt? Have you fallen in love
with that girl?”
The question came so pointedly
that Walt Gandy stared. Then he
countered: “What difference does
that make one way or the other?”
“All the difference, in what I say
to you," Hollister answered, and the
grave tone of his voice showed this
deeply important to him. “Have
you?”
Walt Gandy admitted only, “I've
never met anyone like her."
"Good,” said Hollister. “That’s
enough." Though his lean face was
in half dark, he seemed to be smil
ing to himself, pleased with some
thing, and Gandy wondered.
Hollister waited to regain breath.
Unexpectedly he asked: “You must
have an idea by this time, haven’t
you, who killed Chino Drake?”
Walt Gandy’s gaze slid to the
floor. He said nothing. What did
it matter now?
Hollister persisted. “And Ranger
Powell, too. But maybe you haven’t
figured the reason ..."
“Bill! Shut up!”
Gandy was up onto his feet. Out
side, Hollister’s horse had nickered.
He puffed out the candle and cov
ered Ihe open stove hole. Cat-walk
ing to 'the window his first thought
was that no one from the C C could
be here so soon ... it was some
of the 77.
Beyond the window pane was only
solid blackness of night. He shifted
along to the door, put his left hand
on the knob and held it.
For perhaps five minutes after
the first tentative call from Hollis
ter’s horse there was no other sound.
Then in the same instant, boot soles
crunched and someone rapped on
the door.
Gandy waited, thirty-eight aimed
at hip level.
The sharp rap came again, and a
voice, saying, ‘‘Bill! Bill Hollister?”
He Jerked the door inward, sheath
ing the gun. “Helen! Helen, where
are you?"
“Here,” she answered out of the
dark, invisible at only a little more
than arm’s length. Then she gasped
“Walt! Has something happened?
What are you doing?”
He stepped back. “Are you
alone?”
“No. Paul is out there with the
horses.”
Gandy had groped for the candle
in its beer bottle holder, found it and
struck a match. “Come in, Helen.
Bill is over there, on the bunk.”
The girl darted past him, and he
did not turn to look. He heard the
light thud as she flung herself down
beside the wounded man, and a
single fluttering cry of her voice.
Her words came softly after that,
flowing on in tones as soothing as a
caress. He closed the door behind
him and stood outside in the dark.
Time ceased; a long blank age
in which a girl’s words turned from
caressing to pleading, followed by
silence. At last the door opened,
and Helen groped out with the can
dlelight flickering at her back.
“Walt?”
"I’m here.” He caught her out
stretched hands.
Her voice broke. I knew it! I
knew something like this had hap
pened and started early in the after
noon. Oh, why didn’t I come soon
er! Is It too late? Walt, if he dies,
I don’t know what I’ll do!"
"He’s tough," said Gandy.
"You’ve got to go right back, Helen.
I’d go but the 77 has gunmen loose
out here. Phone for a doctor. Tell
Horsethief Fisher to bring on Bailey
and his bunch. We can’t move Hol
lister now.” Her face was close to
him and he saw that she was cry
ing. Her hands gripped his, hard.
"Hurry," he told her. "Ride like
the devil!”
He heard her at the spring talk
ing to Paul Champion. There burst
a rattle of running hoofs as they
plunged oil across the sink, and he
went back inside to Bill Hollister.
At once it seemed as if the girl’s
being here, and what had passed
"So you Hed at the Inquest to
shield Cash Cameron!”
between them was all the man had
wanted. The fight against pain was
gradually distorting his face, yet
deep under that look his expression
was unbelievably peaceful. He
looked up: "God never made an
other one like her, Walt. I've
thought that every minute for two
years, and still do. Now you sit
down here and listen. Don’t you
butt in.”
Gandy hitched his box In close.
“Bill,” he said, "there’s not a darn
thing you need to tell me.”
"Plenty I’ve got to tell you!” Hol
lister answered. “You think I killed
Drake and Ranger Powell. I know.
But I didn’t. Walt.”
‘Then for ... 1”
“Wait. I knew that day before
the Drake inquest that my rifle had
vanished from the rack. Under
stand? Before the inquest. It wasn’t
taken by qne of Battle’s deputies
while we were in town. I’ve known
that all along.”
Walt Gandy jerked forward, hands
on his knees. ‘‘Then you mean
Cash?”
Hollister nodded. "Only two days
earlier Cameron lost his temper
over the forest argument and threat
ened Powell. I heard it. Then the
only thing I could see afterwards
was that he had carried out his
threat, and Chino Drake was un
lucky enough to be a witness."
"So you lied at the inquest to
shield Cash Cameron!”
"No. The day Drake and Powell
were killed I was some place that a
girl like Helen would never under
stand. But you—you know times we
had on the border. Mexican fiesta,
dances . . . There’s a place here
called Mexican Hole. That’s where
I was, trying to forget I could never
make Helen Cameron marry me. I
couldn’t tell that in front of her.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Strange Facts
I Off-Color Whites I
Adopt a Skunk?
* I.ow Oil Production •
C. At least 40 per cent of the Cau
casian race, which is generally
supposed to comprise the white
branches of the human species, is
composed of people such as the
Hindus and Arabs, whose skin
is dark brown, and others such as
the Ethiopians, whose color is
nearly black.
C. As the London zoo is low in
funds, several hundred people
have come to its rescue by adopt
ing an animal. They pay for its
food and, in return, have their
generosity acknowledged on a sign
attached to the animal’s cage.
Three lions, two giraffes, a gorilla
and a skunk are still awaiting
adoption.
C. The blind people of the United
States are engaged in about 425
different regular occupations.
c. Although there are oil wells in
this country capable of producing
up to as much as 185,000 barrels a
day, the average daily production
per well is less than 10 barrels.
In Pennsylvania, it is less than
half a barrel.—Collier’s.
OP?. SEW
4^" Ruth Wyeth Spears
CO MANY of you have written
^ me letters of appreciation
about the new SEWING BOOK 5
that I want to thank you all here
at one time. In Book 1 is sketched
and described methods of making
slip covers, curtains, bedspreads,
dressing tables and other things
for the house. Next came Book 2
with gifts, novelties and a glossary
of embroidery stitches. Then, in
Book 3, I began to share with you
some of the human interest side
of this fascinating job of mine,
and to tell you about the adven*
ASK ME A Quis With Answers
— Offering Information
A NOTn F. n on Various Subjects
|
The Questions *
1. What is the Alhambra?
2. How does the ostrich defend
itself?
3. According to the Homeric leg
end, who devised the wooden horse
stratagem that brought about the
capture of Troy?
4. Why are golf balls dimpled
instead of smooth?
5. What was the first ship to
carry the American flag around
the world?
6. What is meant by “O tem
poral O mores!”?
7. How many different types of
crosses are used in Christian ar
chitecture, art and ceremonies?
8. Is a kangaroo born helpless?
9. England had eight kings by
the name of Henry. How many
did France have?
10. Do thunderstorms sour milk?
The Anawera
1. A Spanish palace (the fortress
of Moorish kings at Granada).
2. By its powerful kicks.
3. Odysseus.
4. A dimpled ball flies farther
and straighter than a smooth one,
having a greater “hold” on the
air while traveling through it.
5. The Columbia, commanded
by Capt. Robert Gray (1787).
6. Oh the times! Oh the man
ners! Alas for the times! Alas for
the manners! Words spoken by
Cicero.
7. Approximately 50.
8. Yes, it is born blind, is only
an inch long, weighing but a frac
tion of an ounce.
9. France has had four kings by
the name of Henry.
10. No. Hot sultry weather, which
usually precedes storms, aids in
producing the souring.
tures of many clever women who
make the things that they want
for their homes—sometimes from
almost nothing. There were more
of these adventures in Book 4, and
there are still more in Book 5.
I am glad that everything needed
is in today's sketch about this re
modeled washstand because I have
used up all my space now; and the
frill around the top shelf is five
inches deep. Books are 10 cents
each. Send order to:
MRS. RUTH WYETH SPEARS
Drawer 10
Bedford Hills New York
Enclose 10 cents for each book
ordered.
Name .
Address ....
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The craving for sympathy is the
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"MIDDLE ACT WOMEIL
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LYDIA L PINKHAM’S
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Flaming Friendship
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