They reined in. In the moment of silence ensuing Tom took in the whole scene at one sweep. Eight men stood in a semicircle, each armed. To the front of the group was one who seemed to be in command—a short, paunchy gentleman with grizzled whitish hair and an excitable face. They had not been here long, for a dozen freshly peeled logs were rolled in a pile, the beginning of a cabin. Beyond the clearing were the banks of the Little Missouri. Still farther beyond stretched the naked hills. It was all very peaceful—all save this crew who stood so stolidly by their guns.
Major Bob was in a thundering temper, yet he mustered a semblance of courtesy. "And why, sir, this exhibition of guns?"
The paunchy gentleman spoke in rapid-fire phrases. "Hell's pit! You come swarming in on me like renegades! Got to watch out for 'em. Country's full of that kind. If you're peaceable, I'll down guns."
"What outfit are you?" shot back Major Bob.
"Colonel Jefferson Wyatt—Diamond W. Migrated from Texas. Sir, I believe I hear the Southern accent in your speech. To whom am I indebted..."
Major Bob broke through this parley. "Don't you know you are jumping my grass?"
"Sir!" cried Wyatt, turning purple. "By the whiskers of St. Anthony, that's a fine come-ye all! Your grass? Why, curse me, it's free grass, not your grass! Territory of Dakota belong to you? Not by a bag full of shot!"
Major Bob seemed to grow calmer as the interview progressed, and Tom knew this to be an ominous sign. "I lay not claim to the territory of Dakota, Colonel Wyatt. But I most assuredly lay claim to this ground. I had my men locate it last year. I kept one man on it to hold my title. That man is here. He represents me. You will have to move, sir."
Colonel Wyatt barked out, "Where is your man, then, eh? Where is your man, if you had one here?"
"I do not see him, very true," admitted Major Bob, every syllable dripping formal politeness. "It may be, sir, you can produce him quicker than I could."
"'Postles and prophets!" shouted Wyatt. "You are trespassing on my honour, sir! Now, look here. If you had any man on the ground, he ought to leave some mark. D'you see blessed sign of improvement, a single scrap to indicate. Any cabin, any sheds? You know you don't. But I will tell you something more, sir. I will tell you I had two men here these three months, waiting for me. Now, let's see what they say. Anse—Rob, step up."
Tom's attention never left Wyatt's face. That anger might be real. Probably it was real, for the man seemed to have little control of his temper. And yet it seemed to him there was a furtive watchfulness in those shifting black eyes. When he summoned his two punchers it smacked a little of stage play, as did his examination of them.
"Now, boys, did you see any man on this ground when you came here for me? Answer straight now. I'll have no lies out of my camp."
One of the two took it upon himself to reply a surly, "Nope. Saw nary a soul."
"There you are. I will not say, sir, that you had no man. But I will say that if you did have one here, he mos' assuredly skinned out. That's not my fault. I will remind you again it is free grass. First come, first served."
He was on the point of adding more, but the appearance of the rest of the Circle G crew threw him into plain uneasiness. With one arm he motioned his own men to spread farther apart, at the same time warning Major Bob, "No more about it. I'll stand on my rights. Don't want no trouble, now. You had better withdraw your men."
"I am going to have a look," decided Major Bob calmly. And suiting the action to the word he rode toward the river.
Wyatt moved over, spreading his arms. "You will do no such thing. My word is good enough for you. Get off my land."
Major Bob leaned forward with just a piece of a smile on his face. "I will ride to that river, sir, or I will blow every man in your crew to pieces. Step aside!"
Tom had been watching the crew for the first open sign of hostility, and there was something on the remote corner of his vision that bothered him. Something to the left, beside a wagon. He ventured a swift glance in that direction, to discover the girl of the prairie, the girl who had called herself Lorena, standing with one hand grasping a pistol. And yet every line of her small and boyish figure seemed to reveal that she would never use the gun, that she hoped only to be unobserved. When she found that Tom was looking directly at her, her pistol sagged and dropped and the hand came upward by slow degrees until it rested against her bosom; her cheeks were bereft of their pinkness; all her features were pretematurally sharp and sober. She was rigid, like some small animal on the verge of flying for shelter if discovery came too close.
Challenge thrust upon challenge. Colonel Wyatt was shaking his grizzled locks; yet for all his determination he was quite pale. "I repeat, I will not permit you to come another step. My word as a Texan gentleman—we know nothing of your man. Not a thing! Stay back, sir!"
"I am not questioning your word, sir," replied Major Bob, more precise than ever. "I only expressed a wish to see the river. I shall see it."
"You'll do nothing of the kind. Men, see to your guns!"
"Ah," murmured Major Bob, and he turned to his own crew. "I am going to the river. The first one of them that raises weapon you will kill. After that, answer them bullet for bullet." And he rode forward.
"Take aim!" cried Wyatt, trembling visibly.
Tom moved in the saddle. "Stop it! There'll be no fight. Come back here, Dad. It's their argument."
The Major swung around. "And how is it their argument?"
"What if Big Ruddy did pull out on us? It's too small a prop to start a fight on. There's got to be more proof than that to kill men. Let it go. If it is free grass, it's their grass now."
"Is that all you have to offer, Son?"
Tom's arm raised toward the girl; and from the manner of the Major's glance it was plain he had not seen her before. Silence hung oppressively over the clearing, a silence in which Tom distinctly heard Colonel Wyatt's breath rise and fall. A stubborn man, yet made of shoddy material. As for the crews, they sat quietly—faded and weatherbeaten figures ready to fight on the spot.
The silence was at last broken by Lispenard's murmured astonishment. "My word—a beauty! A beauty out in all this desolation!"
Major Bob lifted his hat to the girl and turned his horse. Not a word, not so much as a change of a single muscle to indicate the tremendous disappointment. At his gesture the Circle G swung about and took the path back toward the valley; and it would have been a wordless withdrawal had not the girl, suddenly coming to life, sprung away from the wagon, pointed her finger at San Saba, and cried out:
"San Saba—you're a renegade cur!"
To a man, the Circle G riders whirled. Wyatt cursed his daughter. "Shut your fool mouth or I'll knock your teeth down your throat!"
"I've got no use for a traitor," said she stubbornly. "That man never did a decent thing in his life!"
San Saba sat in his saddle like a sack of meal, not meeting the girl's accusing face; a trace of colour tinged the sallow, malarial cheeks, and once he swept his own crew with what seemed to be fear. All attention was upon him, and he appeared to find it necessary to speak. So, venturing one brief look at Major Bob, he defended himself.
"I've
