here."
Fitz did as he was told. Clint let his voice fall. "Seastrom and I got into Angels. I heard a few things. Seastrom was on the other side of town and I guess he got into trouble, for trouble developed. When I got back to my horse Heck had already pulled out. But he wasn't in the clearing and I couldn't wait for him. What did Haggerty tell you?" "Why," reflected Fitz, "he told me to beat it for home in a hurry. I bucked, but he gave the orders in Sherry's name, so I couldn't do less. He said he'd stay and wait for you and Heck."
Clint calculated the hours swiftly. "So he left here at sunset and didn't reach you until after the scrap. That's around three- four hours he took to come on a trip that could be covered in an hour and a half or less of fast riding. I'd like to know where he detoured between the beginning and the finish."
"Yeah, but where is he?" asked Fitz. Both he and Sherry were watching Clint with aroused interest.
Clint trailed his voice to just above a whisper. "He didn't wait for me. He came into Angels and visited Studd, Curly and Shander. I was listening in. He's crooked! He's sold out. He's been on the other side of the fence for gosh knows how long. I think he tipped off our location in Bowlus' clearing to Curly and caused us to have a stiff battle. He might have been the instrument that would have wiped out Seastrom's party—only he didn't know that I had made a wide circle in the prairie and come down to back Seastrom up. I knew somebody in Box M would blab but I wasn't prepared to find Haggerty the man."
A small sigh escaped Sherry. Fitz, however, was too old a hand to display emotion. Nothing much surprised him and nothing much put him off balance. By and by he said, "It's possible. Anything's possible. He was a good foreman, but hard and sometimes uncivil."
Clint turned to Sherry. "Who was it that rode out of the yard right after I left with my party?"
"I didn't notice," said Sherry.
"Somebody did. There's more than one leak around here. Haggerty had some pets, didn't he?"
"A-huh," agreed Fitz.
"Then we'll have to keep an eye on them, too. Where's Fort Carson?"
"Fifteen miles toward Dead Man's Range. In fact, right in under Dead Man Ridge. Why?"
Clint walked suddenly to the door and opened it. But there was nobody on the porch. He came back. "Shander and Curly have agreed on some sort of a play over there tomorrow night. I don't know what, but I'm going to find out."
"Um," grunted Fitz. Clint held his peace while the stunted puncher followed some thought methodically to its end. "We got a spread of cattle that way."
"That might be it. Well, I'm going to line out in the next ten minutes and hole up in some convenient arroyo yonder. They won't get active until dark comes, but I'll miss my guess if there won't be some sort of traffic during daylight. I mean to see. You get me a fresh horse, will you, Fitz?"
Fitz moved off. Clint added a swift—"and tell nobody where I'm going."
Sherry broke in. "Not alone, Clint?"
"Only a one-man job," he countered. "I've found that I work better alone on things like this."
"You're dead tired now."
"I'll get a catnap before daylight," he assured her.
She turned. "Come to the kitchen. You haven't eaten since breakfast."
He followed her through the door into the gallery-like kitchen. A small fire burned in the stove and the huge coffee pot simmered slowly, as it had done day and night for unnumbered years in the ancient tradition of the ranch. She poured him a cup and deftly robbed the cupboards to make a meal. In the silence he watched her move about the place—gracefully competent, features so sadly wistful. The auburn hair fell loosely down over one temple; light caught in the gray, level eyes when they turned his way, and suddenly he looked down, tremendously disturbed. She sat in a chair across the table while he ate, saying nothing until he had quite finished. Then she tipped her chin and spoke.
"You have always been lonesome, Clint? Always so sober with yourself?"
"A man goes along, doing what's to be done," he drawled quietly. "When I was younger, I used to ride to town with the boys, drink my share, create the customary trouble, and come home with the idea I had spent a large evening. That's being young, Sherry. It only comes once—and goes soon enough."
"You talk like an old man, yet you haven't reached twenty- eight."
"Now how did you know—"
A small, sad smile lightened the fine curve of her mouth. "Because your eyes, your face, your voice give you away. You only think youth is gone. That is because you have always taken responsibilities other men pushed off on you. Just as you are taking Box M's responsibilities now."
"I reckon I never was young," he mused. "Seems like I always had a job to do."
"Because others always found out you were able, Clint. Do you realize what it meant when Dad took so completely to you. Do you know what it means when the men of this ranch—all jealous of their own abilities—knuckle down to work for you?"
"Somebody's got to do it, Sherry."
"Yes, somebody. But not anybody."
Fitz came back, dragging his heels. "One of my own string out there for you, Clint. Now what else?"
"When dusk comes tomorrow evening," said Clint slowly, "you saddle twenty men of this outfit and burn the dust for Fort Carson. I'll be there waiting. And tell nobody where you're going. Nobody, Fitz."
"Remarks received and noted," grunted the old puncher.
The two men and Sherry moved, back to the front room. Fitz had an idea. "Supposing Haggerty comes back, figuring he ain't been discovered. What then? Tie him up?"
"He won't come," said Clint. "That's my guess. But if he does, tell him I want him to ride with you. We shall see."
Fitz halted. But he saw something about these two people that changed his mind and he turned quietly out of the room. Sherry laid a hand on Clint's broad shoulder. "I have said this before, but it will bear repeating. Take good care of yourself."
He nodded, watching her. He was unaware that his face betrayed his inner emotions; but the girl saw something and she lifted her eyes to him with a strange flicker rising and subsiding in them. "And," she went on, "I will not change your plans again, nor order the men any other way than you already have. No matter what is said or who says it."
"I'll try to see you don't regret your confidence," said he. He stood quite still, swayed by the picture she made; it was with an effort that he wheeled, left the room and got on the horse. But out of ingrained caution Clint swept the shadows before lifting the reins and speaking. "She goes as she lays, Fitz. No matter what happens."
"A-huh," agreed the stolid Fitzgibbon.
Clint rode off, the horse beneath him restive with energy. As he turned the corner he looked around to see the girl framed in light, watching. She lifted her hand. He answered it, and fatigue strangely scurried out of him. Straight east he pointed and one hour later was lost in the rolling leagues; he dipped into an arroyo, dismounted and picketed his horse, himself rolling up in the saddle blanket on the rocky bed. Having achieved his immediate purpose, which was
