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Pat Flood had the paper spread, and Clark scratched his name on it.
“Now,” Jed said, “much as I hate to let a killer go, I gave my promise. Get on your horse. You’ve got thirty minutes’ start. Make the most of it.”
“Do I get my gun!” Clark pleaded.
“No. Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Clark fairly threw himself at the nearest horse. Bent low he spurred the horse and they went out of the ranch yard on a dead run.
Flood handed the confession to Jed. “Yuh goin’ to use it?” Jed hesitated. “Not right now. I’m going to put it in the safe in the house. Then if Carol ever needs it, she can use it. If I brought it out now it would also prove I’m not Michael Latch!”
Flood nodded. “I knowed yuh wasn’t,” he said. “Old George told me a good deal about his nephew, and he never went to sea. But the other day I spotted yuh tyin’ a bowline on a bight, and yuh handled that line like a sailor. A few other things showed me yuh’d been around more’n Latch had.”
“Does Carol know?”
“Don’t reckon she does,” Flood said thoughtfully. “But she’s a mighty knowin’ young lady! Smart, that’s what she is!”
If Cal Santon and Quindry were headed west, Seever must have telegraphed them. They would certainly ally themselves with Seever against Jed Asbury. As if there wasn’t trouble enough!
CHAPTER SIX: For the Brand
Costa and Jim Pardo rode into the yard and Costa trotted his horse over to Jed who was wearing the silver guns now.
“The cattle, senor, are many!” Costa said. “More than we think for! We come to see if the Willow Springs crew can help us.” “They should be through,” Jed said. “Is Miss Carol still out there with you?”
“No, senor,” Costa said. “She has gone to Noveno.”
Jed turned abruptly toward his waiting horse. “Come on! We’re goin’ to town!”
Seever would stop at nothing now, and if Santon and Quindry had arrived, Jed’s work would be cut out for him. Santon was a feudist. There was every chance he had been well on his way West, following Jed Asbury before Seever’s message had intercepted him. No doubt Seever had known how to reach the gambler, and he must be here now, and seen him, Jed Asbury, since Seever twice had called him “Jed.”
Noveno lay basking in a warm, pleasant sun. In the distance the Sierras lifted their snow-crowned ramparts against the sky, the white of snow and the gray of rock merging into the deep green of the pines.
A man who was loitering in front of the Gold Strike stepped through the doors as Jed and his companions rode into the street. Then Walt Seever appeared in the doorway, careless, nonchalant.
Seever was smiling. “Huntin’ somethin’?” he asked. His small eyes glinted with cruel amusement. “Figgered yuh’d be in before long. We just sort of detained that girl so’s yuh’d come in. We can turn her loose now. We got what we want—you and yore salty friends in town!”
Jed swung down without replying. His eyes swept the street and the windows. This was a trap, and they had walked right into it.
“There’s a gent in front of the express office, Boss,” Pardo said softly.
“Thanks.”
Jed was watching Seever. The trouble would start with him. He moved away from his horse. There was no time to see what Costa and Pardo were doing, but he knew they would be where it was best for them to be.
Thinking of Pardo’s long, leathery face and cold eyes, he smiled a little. Costa would take care of himself, but Jim Pardo would do more. That old ladino was battle-wise and tough.
“Well, Seever,” Jed said. “I’m glad you saved me the trouble of hunting you up.”
Seever was standing on the board walk, a big man with a stubble of black beard on his granite-hard, wide-jawed face.
“Figgered this would save us both trouble,” he drawled. “Folks hereabouts don’t take to outsiders, Jed, especially when the outsider tries to run a blazer on us. The folks around here would a mite sooner have a tough ra
“Don’t do that, Boss!” Pardo interrupted. “He’ll kill yuh as soon as yore guns drop!”
“I know. That’s the kind of a rat he is. Cal Santon’s in town, too, and he can’t forget I killed that card-shark brother of his . . . No, Seever, the ranch goes to Miss Carol. If we shoot it out, you may get me, but I promise you—you’ll die first!”
Seever’s voice dropped to a hoarse snarl. “I’ll kill—”
“Look out!” Pardo yelled.
Jed sprang back as the rifle roared from the window over the livery barn, yet even as he moved his hands swept down for the silver guns. They came up, spouting flame and spraying death.
Seever, struck in the chest, staggered back, his own gunfire pounding the dust at his feet, the horses near him leaping and snorting, wild-eyed with fear.
Oblivious to the bellowing gunfire behind and around him, Jed centered his attention on Walt Seever who was bending slowly at the knees, his face still twisted with hatred. When he finally crumpled on the board walk, Jed Asbury, feeling cold inside, hating the sight of this thing he had done, waited, watching and ready.
Slowly the gun dribbled from Seever’s fingers and the man rolled over, his arm and head hanging over the edge of the walk. Blood gathered on the parched gray boards, and discolored the dust.
Jed turned then and took in the whole scene in one swift glance. Costa was down on one knee, blood staining the left sleeve of his shirt. He held his six-gun in his right hand and the barrel rested on his right knee. He was ready and waiting. His face showed no sign of pain.
A man sprawled over the window sill above the livery barn, and another lay in the street some forty feet away. Even at that distance Jed recognized Quindry. The man sprawled over the sill had the sandy hair that reminded Jed of Santon.
Pardo was holstering his gun. There was no sign of Strykes or Gin Feeley.
“You all right, Boss?” Pardo asked.
“Uh-huh. How about you?”
“I’m all right.” Pardo looked at Costa. “Got one, Tony?”
“Si, in the shoulder, but not bad.” He was trying to staunch the flow of blood with a handkerchief.
Heads were begi
A door slammed open down the street, and the next minute Carol was hurrying toward them, her eyes frightened.
“Are you hurt?” she cried to Jed. “Did you get shot?”
He slid an arm around her as she came up to him, and it was so natural that neither of them noticed.
“Better get that shoulder fixed, Costa,” he said.
He glanced down at Carol. “Where did they have you?” “Strykes and Feeley had me in a house across the street. They were to hold me until you got worried and came to town. They thought you would come alone. When Feeley saw you weren’t alone, he wanted Strykes to leave. Feeley looked out of the door and then Pat Flood saw him.”
“Flood? How did he get here?”
“He followed you. And when he saw Feeley, he slipped around behind the house and got the drop on Feeley and Strykes through the window. I took their guns and he came in. He was just going to tie them up and help you when the shooting began.”
“Carol,” Jed said suddenly, “I’ve got a confession to make.” “You have?” she stared at him with wide eyes in which amusement seemed to lurk.
“Yes. I—I’m not Mike Latch!”
“Oh? Is that all? Why, I’ve known that all the time!”
“What?” He stared at her. “You knew?”
“Of course. You see, I was Michael Latch’s wife!”
“His what?”
“Yes. Before I married him I was Carol Arden James. He was the only one who ever called me Arden. I was coming west with him but was ill, so I stayed inside the wagon and Clark never saw me at all. When we got far out on the trail, he convinced Michael there was a wagon train going by way of Santa Fe that would get us to the coast sooner, and that if we could catch them, we could make it out here sooner. Of course it was all a lie to get us away from the wagon train, but Michael listened. The train we were with was going only as far as Laramie.