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“Face the wall!” he snapped coldly, to the two men near the bunkhouse door. “Now pull your guns and drop them! he ordered as the men pivoted quickly toward the wall. He watched, crouching, his gaze roving alertly, until he saw the weapons disappear into the dust at the feet of the men. “Move a quarter of an inch and I’ll drop you!”

He moved backward, keeping the outbuilding between himself and the bunkhouse windows. Cold, alert, careful, his elbows jammed against his sides, his forearms rigid, his guns sweeping the bunkhouse door, its windows, the two corners of the outbuilding nearest him, he retreated perhaps fifty feet.

Then he saw Hame Bozzam come out of the ranchhouse door, and he halted, noting instantly that Bozzam wore no side-arms.

He dared not look long at Bozzam, lest the other men take advantage, yet in the rapid side glances he threw at his enemy he noted the latter’s pale astonishment. The expression was swiftly transient. When Gawne shot another glance he saw that Bozzam’s face was working with a savage joy and vindictiveness. A pistol bullet zipped past Gawne, and he replied to it, aiming at a smoke streak issuing from the bunkhouse door; he edged off a little, shutting the door from view, and then took a snap shot at a head that appeared around one of the far corners of the bunkhouse. When he again looked toward the ranchhouse he saw Hame Bozzam on the porch, partly concealed behind one of the porch columns, just in the act of leveling a rifle at him.

He threw a shot at Bozzam; heard the man curse, but he could not pause to note the effect of the shot, for he detected movement on the roof of the outbuilding that he had left a few minutes before. He wheeled, firing at the flash of a rifle, and saw a man pitch forward and outward from the roof’s edge, falling heavily and loosely. He spun around himself for the shock of the rifle bullet fired by the man had been heavy; he knew the bullet had gone clear through him, for the burning streak that began just below his shoulder in front, ran, like a searing hot iron, to a point near the shoulder blade, burning the flesh on his back. He went to one knee and rested his weight on his hands, reeling, dizzy, but fought his way to his feet again, and steadying himself took deliberate aim and brought down a man who had been standing in the open doorway of the bunkhouse working the lever of a rifle. He grinned with feline mirthlessness as the man sagged down on the threshold, for he divined that the man, noting that he had fallen, had rushed out, intent on finishing him.

He had used his left hand in shooting the man—his right was useless—and remembering that Bozzam was on the porch he wheeled.

He was just in time. He saw Bozzam working with the ejector of a rifle, and he knew that Bozzam must have been shooting at him. He was grimly-derisive of Bozzam’s marksmanship, and again he steadied himself and swung the weapon in his left hand upward. He was wondering at the unsteadiness of his hand when he saw a woman burst out of a door of the ranchhouse and throw herself upon Bozzam. Then, of course, Gawne could not shoot. He knew that Bozzam was no longer a combatant, and that thought had its humorous side. He turned again to face the bunkhouse, aware that he had given the two men whom he had disarmed time to regain their weapons and enter the lists against him. Then the air on the porch rocked, something crashed against his head, and he tumbled headlong, face down, in the dust.

CHAPTER XIII

JEALOUSY

When consciousness began to return to Gawne he heard a voice droning near him. Recognizing the voice as belonging to Billings, his foreman, he listened. He could not open his eyes; in the semi-stupor which was upon him all suggestion of action or movement was opposed and resisted by an overpowering inclination to rest.

He had a slight glimmering of recollection, which grew stronger with every pulse-beat, though it seemed to be an age before he succeeded in patching things together. Then, when coherent thought took the place of the weird and detached fancies that had been flitting before him, he opened his eyes, recognized his own room in the Diamond Bar ranch-house, and immediately closed his eyes again, and paid attention to Billings’ voice:

“We was combin’ the timber in the river bottom when we saw Jane comin’, lickety-split, on Ginger. We knowed somethin’ was wrong soon as we seen her, an’ by the time she got to us we was ready for anything. Well, that anything wasn’t a whole lot tardy. Jane tears up, all out of breath, an’ tells us somethin’ that sets us blood-thirsty, pronto. We don’t hesitate none. We sort of figgers that Paisley would light out for the H-B, an’ we ain’t admirin’ that mountain ride consid’able. We figgered that we’d make time by headin’ straight for Bozzam’s place, an’ if Paisley an’ Gawne—or Paisley alone—hadn’t got there yet, we’d know they’d settled it in the desert. In that case we’d just keep on fannin’ an’ git to them some time or other. Anyways, we figgered that we’d git to where Gawne an’ Paisley was sooner by hittin’ the breeze right straight through the big basin to the H-B.

“Sure enough, we done so. There was ten of us—includin’ myself—which I felt like an army post on the war path, seein’ red an’ utter careless of reinforcements—an’ we bums up to the Bozzam shack, itchin’ for a clean-up.

“Gentlemen, don’t make a whimper! The cleanup had took place! The’ was a geezer, bored plumb through the front of his think tank, sorta standin’ on his head beside a little buildin’, lookin’ like he’d fell off en it—after; the’ was two more, bored neat, lay in’ in front of the bunkhouse; an’ Paisley, clutterin’ up the scenery near the ranchhouse. Then the’ was two more in the bunkhouse, bored plenty, but still bein’ able to do a heap of groanin’.

“That’s what we seen—after. When we busts into view around a corner of the shack we seen a guy standin’ over Riddle, just swingin’ his gun down on him. I noticed six punctures in that guy’s hide before I stopped countin’. We hadn’t got there any too soon.

“At first we didn’t notice nothin’ else. An’ then I hears one of the boys yappin’, an’ I sees the Le Claire woman standin’ on the porch, bendin’ a gun on Hame Bozzam. Bozzam had been nicked—just grazed—by Riddle, the Le Claire woman told us, afterward—whilest he was hidin’ behind a porch post, tryin’ to pot Riddle. Bozzam had tried to bore Riddle, while Riddle was reelin’ around after bein’ punctured clear through, but the Le Claire woman had buzzed out on the porch an’ clinched with him just as he drawed a bead on Riddle. Therefore, Bozzam’s bullet only creases Riddle. It knocks him, though, an’ the boys thought he’d passed out, an’ they was for rippin’ the Bozzam shack to splinters, an’ for swingin’ Bozzam, an’ for goin’ to Bozzam City to round up the rest of the gang—an’ all such enjoyments.

“The Le Claire woman put a crimp in that! She sets down hard on the proposition—says she don’t want Bozzam hurt. Tells us, scornful, that we’d better git Riddle back to the Diamond Bar—where he’d git the care he needed, an’ that, if we was friends of hisn’, we’d better have some one burn the breeze to Las Vegas to git a doctor. Which we done—sendin’ McGonagle, which brings the doc in record time—an’ the doc says he’s got a chance.

“Now, you’d think, wouldn’t you, that the Le Claire woman, havin’ lived with Hame Bozzam for upward of two years, would have stood with Bozzam in this? She didn’t. ‘Gawne needs a woman’s care,’ she tells me; ‘an’ I’m goin’ to the Diamond Bar with him.’ Which she done. She’s been here two days, an’ she ain’t left him out of her sight until just now, when she plumb tuckered out an’ had to go an’ git some rest.”

Billings’ voice ceased droning. There was a long silence. Then:

“That was very good of her—I am sure.”

It was Kathleen’s voice—coldly formal and expressionless. It startled Gawne to complete consciousness, and with an effort he swung his left hand out from the bed and waved it. He heard a rustle, and then Kathleen was at the bedside. He saw from the expression of her face that she knew he had heard, and when he caught a glimpse of Billings’ visage, over her shoulder, he glared disapproval at it.

“Get out of here, you!” he commanded. And Billings withdrew.

Gawne smiled, studying the sober face of the girl who stood beside him.

“It happened two or three days ago,” he said, reproachfully. “And, according to Billings, this is the first time you have been here.”

“I didn’t hear of it until this morning. And besides, according to Billings,” she gave him a look of icy reproof, “you have been faithfully attended.”

“And unconscious of it,” he said, lightly.

“Oh,” she said; “do you think it is humorous?”

He closed his eyes to keep her from seeing the exultation in them. He knew jealousy when he saw it; he knew what it meant; the fire and spirit of this girl would not tolerate a rival, not even a potential rival. She had fenced verbally with him; but words were no longer a shield behind which she could conceal her feelings—they blazed forth, naked and unmistakable. He found her hand and pressed it, meeting her sober eyes steadily.

“Miss Le Claire saved my life, Kathleen. You heard what Billings said. Billings gossips like a woman!”

“Would you have him conceal what has happened?” accusingly.

“Of course not!”

“But—you just said—”

“Billings might have let me tell it.”

“Oh.” Her eyes softened a little. “Would you?”

“Of course. Why not? I have nothing to conceal. I have not seen Blanche Le Claire more than a dozen times, and—”

“That is a good many—isn’t it?”

“And I have never talked with her—as I have talked with you, for instance. She isn’t my kind, Kathleen—you ought to know that. I couldn’t prevent her coming—I didn’t know anything about it.”

She pressed her lips—obviously she was not ashamed of her jealousy. “Why should she come here—if you don’t know her very well?”

“She saved my life, Kathleen. I suppose, because Hame Bozzam shot me, she felt that she owed me something, and took this way of repaying me. She realized, perhaps, that a woman’s care is somewhat more effective than a man’s, and—”

“There was Aunt Emily.”

Gawne was silent.

“And you might have sent for me.”

“I didn’t know.” He smiled up at her. “And if you hadn’t neglected Jane’s education, you would have been here the next morning.”

“You had no business to kiss me—like that.”

“I’d do it again—right now—if I could!” he declared, hungrily. “Kathleen,” he added; “I have dreamed of you every minute—since—since I got into a condition to dream!”

Her eyes glowed warmly—he saw forgiveness and renewed faith in them. He smiled, holding out his one good arm.

A few minutes later, Aunt Emily, sticking her head into the room, saw Kathleen on her knees beside the bed, smoothing Gawne’s forehead.

Aunt Emily did not go away immediately. She stood at the door until she heard Kathleen say: “Go to sleep, dear,” and then she descended the stairs, smiling.

CHAPTER XIV

FAIR GAME

Kathleen rode thoughtfully homeward. The discovery of the presence of the Le Claire woman at the Diamond Bar had been a shock to her. She had not intended to ride to the Diamond Bar today—nor for many days; for she had wanted to punish Gawne for his impetuosity. She would make him understand that she was not to be stormed and carried off bodily. She was not going to yield so easily. Then the Colonel, who had ridden to Bozzam City, returned, to recount to her the details of Gawne’s fight and his injury at the Bozzam ranch-house, and her resolutions exploded like bubbles too strenuously blown. Yet on the way over to the Diamond Bar her concern for Gawne barely survived the heat of her jealousy.

Gawne’s explanation had dispersed the jealousy. Kathleen was repentant, and except for a disturbing resentment for the Le Claire woman’s boldness in following Gawne to the Diamond Bar she felt no mental uneasiness. Yet the Le Claire woman’s devotion was provocative of persistent speculation.

Gawne’s protestations that he had never looked with longing eyes upon the woman were no doubt sincere—for she knew of his abhorrence for the weak and erring of her sex. But the woman’s action in accompanying Gawne to the Diamond Bar indicated something deeper than a mere expression of duty to the victim of her lord’s blood-lust. For if she was loyal to Bozzam she would have stayed with Bozzam. So suspicion of the woman’s motives grew stronger in the girl’s thoughts as she rode homeward.

When she urged her pony down the cut-bank near the house she saw a big black horse hitched to a rail of the corral fence. She turned her own animal into the corral, went in the back door of the house, removed the stains of travel, walked through the dining-room, taking a book from a rack as she passed, intending to go out on the front porch, to read. As she reached the door leading to the porch she saw her father and a big, bearded man standing near the doorway. While she paused, meditating retreat, the Colonel called to her:

“Come here, Kathleen.”

An instant later she was appraising Hame Bozzam while he shook her hand.

She was curious over this man, who for two years had ruled the polyandrous Le Claire woman, and in spite of her contempt for his kind she felt a queer thrill of admiration for his intense virility.

The man exuded strength and vigor. He was big—bigger than Gawne, she thought; more massive; more heavily muscled. His shoulders were wider, his chest deeper. As he turned from her—after her unsmiling greeting—to speak to her father, she caught a glimpse of the lines of his chin and throat through the short, yellow-brown beard, and found herself wondering why he wore the beard—he would have been much better looking without it. For, studying him as he talked with her father, she saw that his features might have been the envy of any man—they were handsomer than Gawne’s, which bore the stamp of mental strength.

This man was more physical than Gawne. Yet in some subtle way he seemed the weaker. She was certain, after a while, that the weakness was in his character. And yet, when he turned presently and spoke to her, she was again conscious of the queer thrill of admiration for him. Unwaveringly, however, she met the gaze of his smiling eyes.

“I have called twice before, Miss Harkless,” he said. “Each time I was disappointed in not finding you at home.”

The man’s poise astonished her. He was calm, masterful, and suave, and she caught herself wondering where he had acquired these graces. And she ceased to wonder why the Le Claire woman had permitted herself to be ruled by him.

“I regret my absences, I assure you. I have been riding to the Diamond Bar every day—in an effort to perfect Jane Carter’s education.” And then she flushed, for, riding homeward, she had decided that she hated this man Bozzam, and, if opportunity came, she would be rude to him. And here she was, making excuses to him, and explaining her absences.

“That is interesting,” he said, looking at her speculatively. “I haven’t seen the child, except from a distance, for six years—or since Gawne took possession of her. Your father tells me you rode over there this morning. How is Gawne?”