a little while ago you complained that you had ridden very far — twenty miles — and you were sitting in a chair — almost ready to collapse! Don't you think a twenty-mile ride, just to accompany me, would be a little more than you could stand?"
His eyes gleamed; some of the boldness that he had hitherto concealed shone in them.
"If a man likes a woman—" he began.
"I don't like sentimental men," she interrupted, her eyes chilling.
He laughed, and bowed to her. "And I like a spirited woman," he said. His eyes grew quizzical. "I'll ride that twenty miles — any time — if it kills me!" he vowed with pretended recklessness. "Tomorrow?" he inquired.
"No!" she said sharply, unsmilingly.
"The day after?" he persisted.
"Not then — never, perhaps."
"Well," he laughed, "I shall be riding over to see your father. And perhaps — some day — you will go riding with me. I shall hope, at least."
He got on his horse and rode away, while Eleanor stood on the porch watching him, conscious that he had impressed her as deeply as Rand had impressed her. And yet there was a difference.
Compton was big and bold and magnetic. And while she liked him, she realized that his appeal was physical. On the other hand, while she was convinced that she hated Rand, she was conscious of the manhood of him — a thing not to be measured by appearances — the atmosphere of stern and uncompromising earnestness which, contrasted to Compton's light boldness, made him seem to be the better man. And yet, when from a distance Compton turned in the saddle and waved a hand at her. she answered him in a like manner, blushing.
Chapter V. The Conspirators
COMPTON'S back had hardly been turned upon Eleanor Seddon when he scowled and drew a deep breath of rage and disappointment. For he had divined from the girl's manner that he was not to make the easy conquest he had anticipated. Worse, she had met Beau-dry Rand, and liked him. Therefore, nursing his bitter hatred for Rand, and adding to it the jealousy that had been aroused over the meeting between the two, Compton's passions were murderous as he rode away.
He had not asked Eleanor where her father had gone; he knew the Bar S outfit was working the southerly section of the range — where there was still a little water; and he headed southward, riding steadily.
Dusk overtook him before he came within sight of the Bar S outfit wagon; and night had fallen when he rode up to the camp fire, around which the men of the outfit w r ere congregated.
Compton had ridden another twenty miles to reach the Bar S outfit, and he was in no good humor. He listened impatiently to Seddon's plaint of things gone wrong—of cattle in some near-by timber; of the inclination of neighboring cattlemen to "hog it" in the matter of unbranded calves; of the growing difficulty of conducting a round-up, due to the ever-increasing number of ranchers in the vicinity.
But at last Compton drew Seddon aside. Standing near the chuck wagon, the light from the camp fire in their faces, Compton grinned maliciously at Seddon.
"I'm glad to see you have overcome your ridiculous prejudice against Beau Rand," said Compton.
Seddon stiffened. "Meanin' what?"
"Meaning that Rand went riding with your daughter today in the timber, near the Three Bar. Rand rescued her from a wolf that attacked her, took her to the Three Bar, and got sufficiently intimate with her to show her the pictures in the family album."
Seddon's face worked with a rage that made him breathless.
"I knowed the damn skunk would manage it!" he cursed, after a time, while Compton watched him with a grin of bitter interest. "Now, what in hell was she doin' in the timber — when I told her to stay away from it!"
Compton laughed. "If I've sized her up right, she'll be doing what she pleases," he said; "she's got a mind of her own. I had quite a little talk with her, Seddon. She'd look well seated opposite me at the dining-room table at the Two Links. I mean to have her — you agreeing."
Some of the passion went out of Seddon's face, leaving it pale. And his eyes gleamed truculently as he leaned forward to peer into Compton's face.
"Just what do you mean by that?" he demanded.
Compton laughed lowly. "I mean to run straight with her," he said.
Seddon drew a deep breath. "You've got to, Compton — or you don't run at all!" He now laughed, mockingly. "How do you know she'd have you? She ain't the kind of a girl that a man can win against her will!"
"She's a thoroughbred!" declared Compton. And now his eyes gleamed balefully in the semidarkness. "But she's met Rand, and he's a handsome devil," he added, watching Seddon's face closely. He saw Seddon's ringers go around the rim of the wagon wheel nearest him, gripping the wheel with all his strength, while he stood, rigid and straining, yielding to the terrible passion that had seized him.
Compton laughed lowly and vibrantly. "You don't like that prospect, eh? Well, why don't you get Rand out of the way?"
Seddon relaxed; Compton saw him tremble; noted the pallid face and the shifting eyes.
Compton grinned understandingly.
"Scared of him, eh?" he said.
"Who in hell ain't scared of him?" demanded Seddon.
"There ain't a man in the damned country that will face him when he's wearin' a gun — an' that's all the time! Scared of him? Hell's fire! All Ocate's scared of him! Ain't I seen them? Standin' around when he's in town — every man of them yearnin' to salivate him, an' not a damned one of them got nerve enough to look him straight in the eye! Scared of him!"
Compton laughed smoothly. "I admit he's got the boys bluffed. But did he ever down a man? Think! You remember the time he had a run-in with Kel Latan — that gunman I brought over from Yuma? And that other guy—Blacky Pelton—that you got from Dry Bottom, to wipe him out? Well, what did he do to them? Pinked them — that's all! Put both of Latan's arms out of business, and busted Pelton's shoulder so that Pelton could never lift an arm again."
"But he didn't kill them; he was mighty careful of that! It puzzled me quite a bit, I admit; and I never could understand Rand. But I've got him right, now, Seddon! Today he showed your daughter a photograph of his father. His father was Beaudry Rand, the outlaw. I've heard of him — he was from the Durango country. Like a damned fool, I never associated the names — or I should have recalled the history of Rand's father. He was a killer, Seddon — a he-devil with a gun; quick as lightning on the draw! And he shot to kill every time!"
"Understand, now? Young Rand is afraid of himself; he's afraid to kill a man for fear he'll be just like his father. He's inherited his father's blood-lust, and he knows that once he lets go he'll turn into a killer! He has proved that, hasn't he? He knew Latan and Pelton were out to get him, and he lets them off, just wounding them."
Seddon shook his head. "I ain't takin' any chances with the cuss," he said. "Mebbe he's afraid to shoot to kill, an' mebbe he ain't. But if that's why he ain't done any
