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"You'll go into the pit." Meldrum knew as he looked into that white, set face that he had come to his day of judgment. But he mumbled a last appeal. "I'm an old man, Mr. Beaudry. I ain't got many years " "Have you made your choice?" cut in Roy coldly. "I'd do anything you say go anywhere give my Bible oath never to come back." "Perhaps I'd better call Rutherford."
For in the crowd just vomited from the Silver Dollar were Meldrum, Fox, Hart, Charlton, and Ned Rutherford. Charlton it was that caught sight of the passing man. With an exultant whoop he leaped out, seized Beaudry, and swung him into the circle of hillmen. "Tickled to death to meet up with you, Mr. Royal-Cherokee-Beaudry-Street. How is every little thing a-coming? Fine as silk, eh?
When Beaudry climbed the cañon wall to the Rothgerber pasture he breathed a deep sigh of relief. For many hours he had been under a heavy strain, nerves taut as fiddle-strings. Fifty times his heart had jumped with terror. But he had done the thing he had set out to do. He had stiffened his flaccid will and spurred his trembling body forward.
It seemed an eternity before Charlton called to him to let go the rope. A new phase of his danger seared like a flame across the brain of Beaudry. He had dragged himself from a perpendicular position. As soon as he let loose of the rope he would begin to sink forward. This would reduce materially the time before his face would sink into the sand.
I trailed with the Rutherford outfit them days. It's all long past and I'll tell youse straight that he just missed me in the round-up that sent two of our bunch to the pen." In the heart of young Beaudry a dull premonition of evil stirred. His hand fell limply. Why had this man come out of the dead past to seek him? His panic-stricken eyes clung as though fascinated to those of Ryan.
The black eyes of Rutherford fixed him steadily. His sister broke in impatiently. "Can't he go when he wants to, Hal? Get Mr. Street's horse." She whirled on Beaudry scornfully. "That is what you call yourself, isn't it Street?" The unhappy youth murmured "Yes." "Let him get his own horse if he wants to hit the trail in such a hurry," growled Hal sulkily. Beulah walked straight to the stable.
The young woman rose, glanced in the direction of the aspens, gathered up the supplies, and fled to the grove. The eyes of Beaudry followed her flight. The hour of sleep had been enough to restore her resilience. She moved with the strong lightness that always reminded him of wild woodland creatures. In spite of her promise Beulah was away beyond the time limit. Beaudry became a little uneasy.
Even now when she was not using the foot she suffered a good deal of pain. "Cornell isn't a bit skittish. He's an old plug. You'll find his gait easy," Beaudry told her. If she had not wanted to keep her weight from the wounded ankle, she would have rejected scornfully his offer to help her mount, for she was used to flinging her lithe body into the saddle as easily as her brothers did.
A red-hot flame burned its way through his chest. He knew he was mortally wounded. Hal Rutherford plunged at him, screaming an oath. "We've got him, boys." Beaudry stumbled back against the manger, the arms of his foe clinging to him like ropes of steel. Twice he brought down the butt of his sawed-off gun on the black head of Rutherford.
He had been a killer, but the men he had killed had been taken at advantage. It was one thing to shoot this Beaudry cub down from ambush. It was another to meet him in the open. Moreover, he knew the Rutherfords. The owner of the horse ranch had laid the law down to him. No chance shot from the chaparral was to cut down Dingwell's partner. The ex-convict listened to the whispers of Tighe.
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