shucks," said Rand, with a smile which told that he was not fooled by Redfern's manner, "it comes to this: If Kinney gets me, you'll have to be Bud's dad. An' I'm askin' you to take good care of him — an' don't let Seddon come near him!"
Redfern started, and his eyes gleamed with the dawning of an amazed understanding.
"Hell's fire!" he exclaimed. "Is Seddon —"
Rand grinned. He wheeled, climbed into the saddle, and set his face toward Ocate. Ten feet from Redfern — who stood rigid, his hands clenched, his glowing eyes reflecting emotions — that could not be expressed in speech — Rand flung" over his shoulder a curt "So-long."
He looked back — furtively and swiftly—when he reached the crest of a far rise, and saw Redfern standing at a little distance from his horse, watching him.
Rand's jaws set, he smiled with ineffable gentleness, and rode onward, toward town.
Chapter X. Kinney Makes Ready
HALF an hour later, when Midnight scrambled to the crest of a long rise and was brought to a halt at the edge of a great level which swept away in three directions into a distance so vast that the eye ached in an effort to comprehend it, Ocate lay before horse and rider.
Ocate snuggled a little timber clump that skirted the bank of a shallow arroyo which trickled water over its rock bottom the year through, and from the distance at which Rand now viewed the town it seemed to be no more than a dingy blot upon the calm surface of an emerald sea. Later the green would change to a dusty brown, and the bare sand stretches would show white and dry; the desert weeds would droop; the grass would curl wearily, discouraged; and the dry, light, feathery alkali dust would contest with the hideous cacti for supremacy.
But spring reigned now. And yet it was not to fill his senses with the beauty of the picture that lay behind him that Rand twisted in the saddle and looked back. For it was not the first time he had gazed into the basin from this vantage point.
Disclosed to his view was a vast world of virgin land, its farther reaches hazy in the distance where some thrusting hills met the azure horizon; a shimmering green world, mighty and vast and silent. Through it all ran a silver ribbon of water—a sinuous trail, as though some giant serpent had passed.
Like a mighty map it lay, with its hills and other elevations in high relief; its depressions dark; its trees dwarfed to the size of bushes by the height from which Rand viewed them; its huge bowlders and rock spires seeming like pebbles.
Over it all was a slumbering peace — like that which must have encompassed the world upon the first dawn of its creation.
Straining his eyes, shading them with a hand, Rand could dimly discern the outfit wagon and the herd of cattle dotting the floor of the basin. He was not sure — until he saw movement near the outfit wagon; and then he knew Redfern was waving something at him in final parting. He smiled faintly and rode on—for he had seen w T hat he wanted to see.
And now, as Rand urged Midnight forward, his face grew hard, his eyes malignant, his thoughts wanton and abysmal. In sharp, amazing contrast to the gentle cynicism — a mask for his real emotions when talking with Redfern — he now yielded to the ruthless, destroying passions that had seized him; and for a long time, as he rode forward, they seethed and raged through him.
All his life he had fought those violent passions, but never had he fought them as hard as he was fighting them now. For until now no man had provoked him as the men waiting for him in town had provoked him. They had planned this thing deliberately, with murderous intent, with a cunning that must have resulted in victory for them had it not been for Lucia Morell.
It was this knowledge which had aroused him; which had fired his blood — the Rand blood, his father's legacy — to the point of violent, unrecking action. And he knew that when he faced "Slim" Kinney in town he would kill him, if he could.
He knew that he could not hope to fight the blood-lust longer, for it had conquered him. He knew it! For the face of his father appeared before him now — as he remembered it, and as it appeared in the photograph that adorned the wall at the Three Bar. And the cruel eyes were glowing with approval and silent applause — and Rand smiled at the mental picture—smiled, his lips curving with a bitter sneer — a sneer for all good impulses; a visible flouting of the gospel of goodwill; in the sneer was contempt for all men who advocated repression; for those who supinely submit to the aggressions of their enemies. And, also, it was a sneer for his mother's memory and for the doctrine of gentleness she had preached.
For he was no longer of his mother's blood. His father was now dominating him — and he rode toward town, eager, exultant—the grim recklessness of his thoughts reflected in his eyes, which were glowing with the wantonness of destruction.
Slim Kinney had greeted the dawn with a speculative eve. Would this day bring Beaudry Rand to "town?"
Kinney hoped it would. For Kinney was a killer of men, who delighted in his profession. And this was the first time in his life that he would be able to kill under the protection of the law. It was an innovation, an astounding reversal of the conditions under which he always had done his killing, and he was eager to experience the venomous thrill he knew it would give him.
He grinned cruelly when, after descending the stairs that led from the room on the upper floor of the Rial to Hotel, in which he had passed the night, he leaned against a corner of the building and watched the sun climb over the peaks of a distant line of hills — the same hills that rimmed the basin in which, at about the time Kinney stood in front of the Rialto, Rand was taking leave of Larry Redfern.
Ocate was asleep when Kinney descended to the street; and in the sepulchral silence which enveloped the town, Kinney drew out his guns and examined them, grinning his cruel grin. For Kinney took good care of his guns — they were the props of his existence, and he never knew when he might want to use them. Experience had taught him to be prepared.
Restoring the weapons to their holsters, he looked down at his vest, upon which gleamed a small, round badge with the words "Deputy Sheriff" engraved upon it. Kinney grinned again, and with one end of the scarlet scarf that encircled his neck, he polished the bit of metal until it flashingly reflected the first rays of the morning sun.
Kinney took some pride in his personal appearance. His boots were well polished; his corduroy trousers were neatly stuffed into the soft leather tops of the boots; his woolen shirt was clean, and his face smooth-shaven.
Despite these virtues, however, Kinney looked what he was — a conscienceless killer of men.
There was no softening quality in his cruel eyes. His mouth was truculent, with thin lips that drooped at the corners; his nose was long and slender, and depressed at the tip, where it joined the upper lip; and there was a slouching droop to his shoulders which gave the impression of lazy carelessness.
Later, in the street, Kinney was joined by Compton.
Compton had taken a room at the Gilt Edge for the night, and despite the dissipation of the night before, he looked fresh and sleek.
"Expecting Rand in today?" was his question after greeting the gunfighter.
Kinney grinned wolfishly. "There's no tellin'," he said. "He might take a notion to ride in. Anyway, I'm keepin'
