Authors: Zane Grey
"Wal, you don't say," drawled Nevada.
"Yes, I do say. I don't like it at all, Jim. You can't let hi
m
keep that up."
"Shore, I don't care what Link says."
"Son, that's not the way of the West," she went on, gravely. "I'v
e
lived all my life on the frontier. No man can afford to lose th
e
respect of his associates, even if they are mostly a worthles
s
outfit of gamblers, rustlers, an' sech. They can't understand it.
Least of all Link Cawthorne can't. He's likely to shoot you fro
m
behind a corner an' swear he met you on an even break."
"But, Mother Wood, what can I do?" queried Nevada, robbed of hi
s
imperturbability.
"Well, as long as you're here in Lineville be Jim Lacy as THEY use
d
to know him," she declared, forcefully. "If you let this towhea
d
run amuck with his brag, pretty soon he'll get the nerve actuall
y
to draw on you. Now, Jim, you don't want to have to kill him.
Lize was fond of him. An' if she's fond of anyone it keeps he
r
straight. You go downtown an' slap Link's face. Take his gun awa
y
from him an' stick it down the back of his pants!"
Nevada laughed mirthlessly. "Wal, maybe you're right," he said
,
with a sigh. "By gosh; I wish spring would come, so I could hi
t
the trail."
"Mark my words, son," she replied, earnestly, "the best way for yo
u
to make sure of spring an' summer an' fall is to be yourself!"
Nevada went back to the Gold Mine, dubious in mind, once mor
e
doubtful that he could ever escape the inevitable consequences o
f
his name.
It chanced that Link Cawthorne was sober and deeply involved in
a
card game, where he was having a remarkable run of good luck. H
e
merely sneered when Nevada strolled in.
Cash Burridge, however, made at once for Nevada, with all show o
f
friendliness.
"Where you been, Lacy?" he inquired, disapprovingly. "We'v
e
certainly looked for you here."
"Aw, been workin' hard an' goin' to bed early," replied Nevada.
"Then, Cash, I reckon I wanted to avoid meetin' Cawthorne."
"Bah!" snorted Burridge. "You'll have to shoot that damned brag
,
an' the sooner you do it the better we'll all be pleased."
"Wal, we won't argue aboot it, Cash, but I'm not seein' it tha
t
way."
"I'll bet you five to one Link will nag you to draw. I've seen
a
hundred four-flushers like him. An' they all got the same."
"Wal, I cain't bet with you, that's shore," returned Nevada, i
n
good humor.
"Let's go up to my room, where we can have a quiet talk," said th
e
other, and led the way through the hall and upstairs.
"Shore, you're comfortable heah," remarked Nevada, gazing aroun
d
the room.
"I like it nice when I'm not in the saddle," returned Burridge.
"Take a seat, an' if you won't drink have a smoke. . . . One mor
e
word about this Link Cawthorne. He was harmless enough until Liz
e
made him a snake in the grass. That girl is a hell's rattler. M
y
advice is for you to beat the daylights out of Link or call hi
s
bluff an' kill him."
"Reckon I'm some worried, Cash," admitted Nevada.
"A man like you must always worry," rejoined Burridge, with eviden
t
sympathy. "You can't ever be free unless you hide your name. It'
s
bad enough to have sheriffs after you, an' natural enemies, but i
t
must be hell to know there're men who want to kill you just becaus
e
of your reputation."
"Wal, I hope I don't get sore an' go back to drinkin'," sai
d
Nevada, gloomily.
"Jim, I want to talk serious to you now," went on Burridge, wit
h
change of voice.
"Wal, fire away. You'll shore get my honest opinion, anyway."
"Lineville is gettin' a little too much travel to suit me. I
n
another year it won't be any place for me, let alone you. Agre
e
with me?"
"Shore do. When spring comes I go for good."
"Exactly. Same here. Now I want to tell you about my deal. I'l
l
tell you straight. An' if you don't want to go in with me, it'l
l
be all right, only I want you to respect my confidence here i
n
Lineville. Will you do it?"
"I reckon," replied Nevada, soberly.
Burridge showed satisfaction at that assurance, but he plainl
y
hesitated over the next disclosure. Little flecks of light dance
d
in his eyes, suddenly to coalesce in a set, cold gleam.
"Jim, you knew Setter was shot over in California?" he queried
,
sharply.
"I heard it from Lize," rejoined Nevada, matter-of-factly.
"Killed by a wild-hoss hunter," went on Burridge, with emotion.
"Jim, there are men who connect you with that gun-play."
"Shore. I get blamed for a lot of things," returned Nevada
,
imperturbably.
"Well, that's none of my business," spoke up Burridge, with mor
e
relief, "only I want to say that whoever killed Setter did me
a
good turn."
"Me too. Setter did me dirt once, over on the Snake River."
Burridge drew a long breath and laid aside his cigar.
"Listen," he began, with tenseness. "I was in on several deal
s
with Setter. After he left here he sent for me to meet him a
t
Klamath Falls. I did it. He had gotten in with big cattlemen an'
h
ad more money than he knew how to spend. He told me he wouldn'
t
risk settlin' down in Oregon. He'd sell out there pretty soon, an'
h
e wanted a new an' safe place. No more rustlin' or shar
p
speculation with other ranchers' money. He might marry. Anyway
,
he was goin' in for honest ranchin', an' wanted me as a partner.
Well, the upshot was that he gave me a hundred thousand dollars t
o
buy a well-stocked ranch in Arizona. I was to own half, an' t
o
help him develop cattle an' horses on a big scale. He had neve
r
been in Arizona an' only knew it by hearsay. He left the choice o
f
place to me, makin' the provision that I find a wild an' unsettle
d
range, where money would develop water."
Burridge halted in his narrative, the recital of which manifestl
y
stirred him deeply, and picking up his cigar he puffed on it
a
moment, and leaned back in his chair, with his light hard eye
s
intent upon his listener.
"Well," he resumed, "I went to Arizona an' rode hossback from th
e
New Mexico border clear to the White Mountains. Talk about wil
d
an' beautiful country! Arizona has everythin' beat. I bought ou
t
a rancher who wasn't keen to sell. He owned a big ranch, had mile
s
of grazin' range, an' ten thousand head of stock. I ain't tellin'
y
ou the location until you decide to accept my offer. After th
e
deal was settled an' property turned over to me I began to get
a
few hunches. But I hustled back here an' sent word to Setter. H
e
hadn't consummated his deals over there. I waited. No word cam
e
from him. I went back to Arizona--that was early last summer.
Then I had my eyes opened. It was funny. Such a joke on ME, an'
e
specially Setter. Well, I had been huntin' for wild country, an'
y
ou can gamble I'd hit on it. Our cattle were bein' rustled righ
t
an' left. I suspected the very cowmen I'd taken over with th
e
property. It was a grand big country--desert, canyon, plateau.
There were many more ranchers an' cattle than I'd suspected. Som
e
of these ranchers were rustlers, thick with the worst of th
e
outfits. You've heard of the Hash Knife gang an' the Pine Tre
e
outfit. But nobody seemed to know just WHO belonged to them an'
WHO didn't. Then there were some hard nuts known to everybody.
This country around Lineville even in gold-rush days couldn't hol
d
a candle to that neck of the woods in Arizona."
Burridge made a final flourish with the cigar he had let go out.
"Now when I got back here a few weeks ago I sent word to Setter an'
w
aited. No reply. Then we heard Setter was dead. Hardy Ru
e
brought the news. I've a hunch he's got somethin' up his sleeve.
Anyway, he knew Setter, an' I'm not worryin'. That property i
n
Arizona is mine. An' my job is to get back there to run it.
Here's where you come in. Jim Lacy! That wouldn't sound s
o
pleasant to those outfits. I'll make you foreman an' give you a
n
interest. It'll take some fightin' to keep my cattle. I want
a
bunch of the hardest-ridin' an' hardest-shootin' boys that can b
e
hired. An' you to lead them! . . . An' now a last word, Jim.
You know that many an honest an' prosperous rancher was once
a
rustler. . . . What do you think an' what do you say?"
"Wal, Cash, reckon I'll think more'n I say," returned Nevada
,
ponderingly. "You shore talked straight. I savvy when a man'
s
tellin' me the truth. It's a darn interestin' story. What th
e
courts might say aboot it I cain't guess. But I reckon half tha
t
hundred thousand Setter gave you is honestly yours. Maybe th
e
other half, too. Nobody could tell just how much money Sette
r
earned an' what he got speculatin'. He was always careful to ge
t
the other fellow to take the risks. Yes, sir, I reckon the Arizon
a
ranch is yours, all right."
"Good. I'm glad you see the deal that way," replied Burridge
,
rubbing his hands together. "An' you'll accept my offer?"
"Cash, I cain't promise that yet," responded Nevada, slowly.
"Reckon to be honest, the day might come when I'd be glad to tak
e
you up. But now I want time to think aboot it."
"Take all the time you want," spoke up Burridge, heartily.
"Wal, I might need a lot. There's a couple of points that'll shor
e
be hard to get over."
"What are they, Jim? I might help you."
"Wal, the first is--your past deals might crop up any day."
"I thought long about that," returned Burridge, earnestly. "An' a
t
last I figured myself free of any worry. I'm not known in Arizona.
Idaho never knew me as Cash Burridge. An' what do any two-bi
t
deals here amount to? They'll be forgotten after I've gone."
"Reckon you don't miss it far," replied Nevada. "But my secon
d
point is the serious an' important one. That is, so far as I a
m
concerned."
"Shoot!" replied Burridge, with good-natured impatience.
"Wal, Cash, I don't mean any offense, but I'm just plain doubtfu
l
that you can EVER go straight."
Burridge threw his cigar at the stove and the dark blood waved ove
r
his face in a tide. "By Heaven! that sticks in my craw, too! I
w
onder. But I'm no damn fool an' I'm not without some brains."