as it came up with incredible speed.
“Don’t interfere now, Mr. Sack, “Young said, adding, “If you please. Nor any of the rest of you out there.”
Seconds later, he replaced his pistol and said: “You don’t know who I am, McQueen. It goes back a few years. That’s why I robbed you of your payroll and rode here to return it.”
McQueen was naturally puzzled. He could not guess at the robber’s identity.
“My name is Young West.”
“I never heard of you,” McQueen said.
“But you have heard of John Hammond West, haven’t you? He discovered the claim you’ve been working for several years. He was my father, McQueen.”
Surprise was written across McQueen’s face.
“So that’s it,” he said. “Well, young fellow, everybody around here knows what happened to West. Victorio’s Apaches got him.”
“Victorio and his Apaches were on San Carlos Reservation at the time,” Young said. “To further prove they didn’t get him, he wasn’t mutilated. And they didn’t take his rifle or horse.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Maybe you can explain it,” Young said.
McQueen stiffened. “Why should I explain anything to you?”
“You got rich off my father’s discovery. Now suppose you prove you got it fair and square.”
“Young man,” came the controlled reply, “why don’t you try and prove I didn’t?”
“I am,” Young said.
McQueen was angry. “You’ve got a gall,” he said, “coming to my place with that kind of talk. All I’ve got to do is lift a finger to turn my men loose on a stage robber.”
“I’m taking that chance,” came the quiet reply.
Sack stepped between them, saying: “Tighten rein, boys, and step off the powder keg. You’re both right and both wrong.”
Sack’s intervention did nothing to thin the air. Bonnie felt helpless under the weight of fresh discovery that the Kid who was Young West was almost accusing her father of murder and theft But Sack was talking:
“West, your old man prospected from the Organs to the High Sierras. He came out here, struck it rich. They found him dead, face down in the creek with an arrow in his back. If he had filed a claim, McQueen couldn’t legally work the Queeny diggin’s.”
“The first thing he would have done is file a claim, Mr. Sack. But there’s no record of it. However, we know that records have been tampered with before.”
“You’re talkin’ mighty strong, Kid,” Sack warned.
“That’s what I came here for,” Young said. “I’m looking for the murderer, and I’m giving McQueen a chance to help me find him if he’s innocent.”
Sack said: “And under threat. Sure. You’re born for vengeance. Alive today, dead tomorrow. That frame of mind won’t take you far, Kid. But let me get this straight—is that the reason you took McQueen’s payroll?”
“That’s right.”
“Why did you go at it that way, Kid?”
“To let him know I mean business.”
“Well, you took the wrong way,” Sack said. “And I ought to jail you for robbery, just to save you from your own blasted hot head. If I don’t, the folks around here may string up a robber.”
He looked at McQueen. “A. T., the Kid has proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the motive weren’t robbery. He brought in the payroll, so I’m advisin’ that, since no jury would convict him of robbery, you’d be smart not to press charges.”
“He’s square with us,” Bonnie said firmly.
“All right,” McQueen said. “But he’d better not cross my path again.
Charlie Wyatt spoke up. “Maybe he’d better put some distance between him and these parts.”
“I’m staying around until I find out who got my father,” Young said.
“Which ain’t smart,” Sack advised.
Young moved toward his horse. In the saddle, he looked at Bonnie. Her fixed gaze was upon him, strong with curiosity and bewilderment, and more. Somewhere in her face or behind it he saw and felt interest and challenge at work. He lingered a moment, just to return whatever it was she gave, then sent his horse toward the river at a slow trot.
Bonnie’s gaze followed Young until the night closed him off. When she looked for her father, he was nowhere about. Only Sack stood there, his face alerted as he watched Wyatt, who was talking in low tones among his men. Soon the riders walked their horses toward the corral and she walked up to Sack with extended hand.
“You handled it nicely,” she said. “I was looking for all sorts of trouble. Let’s hope there won’t be any.”
He took her hand and said nothing. He blew out his cheeks, which was his way of restraining a bellowing voice and advice he wanted to cram into her head: “Hell, girl, that’s foolish hopin’! It’s like the ’Pache trouble, just begun!”
Then he turned toward the house.
Alone, Bonnie looked toward the river. She was soon in the saddle riding down the road to Bacon. Ahead, a lone horseman drew up and listened. She rode on.
Young put his gun away when he recognized her. She drew up alongside him where they waited out a tense silence. She broke it, saying:
“I’ve been thinking about your reason for coming here. It might be better if you were a stage robber.”
He said nothing.
“I followed you because I don’t want any more trouble,” she said. “You and father got off to a bad start. I’m sure he’ll help you find the guilty person when he cools off. And you weren’t exactly friendly, coming here as you did.”
“I wanted your father to know I was dead serious. I still am. And if he can’t see it my way, next time I’ll——”
“There won’t be a next time, Young West.”
Taken unexpectedly, he stared at her. Then he was measuring the recklessness and command in her firm reply. With her so near, he saw these things and courage too behind her composed expression; even in the dim light of night he saw them rise up with speculation and judgment and eagerness in her; as though she felt duty bound to fashion the fabric of his destiny. He didn’t like the idea of a McQueen’s interference, though he did like her directness. He could not help that.
“Just what are you going to do?” she said.
“Haven’t had time to think about it.”
