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Beaudry heard a chill voice say and knew it was his own. "Liar on both counts! My father sent you up because you were a thief. I beat your head off because you are a bully. Listen!" Roy shot the last word out in crescendo to forestall the result of a convulsive movement of the hand beneath his enemy's coat. "Listen, if you want to live the day out, you yellow coyote!"
"Where you going?" he asked. "What do you care where he is going? Get the horse or I will," she ordered imperiously. "I'm going to board at one of the ranches farther up the park," explained Roy. "Better wait till dad comes home," suggested Hal. "No, I'll go now." Royal Beaudry spoke with the obstinacy of a timid man who was afraid to postpone the decision. "No hurry, is there?"
All he asked was to postpone the crisis until Royal was safe aboard a train. Crossing San Miguel Street, the riders came face to face with a man Beaudry knew to be a spy of the Rutherfords. He was a sleek, sly little man named Chet Fox. "Evening sheriff. Looks some like we-all might have rain," Fox said, rasping his unshaven chin with the palm of a hand.
Jess has the mouth of the arroyo guarded to head off Street." "But what's broke? Why should Tighe be so keen on bumping off this pink-ear when dad says no?" "They've found out who he is. It seems Street is an alias. He is really Royal Beaudry, the son of the man who used to be sheriff of the county, the one who crippled Jess the day he was killed."
Why was the son of John Beaudry such an arrant coward? He knew that his sudden madness and its consequences had been born of panic. What was there about the quality of his nerves that differed from those of other men? Even now he was shivering from the dread that his enemies might come and break down the door to get at him.
But cowpunchers returning to the ranch from town reported that both Meldrum and Charlton had sworn revenge. It was an even bet that either one of them would shoot on sight. Beaudry took Dave's advice. Every day he rode out to a wash and carried with him a rifle and a revolver. He practiced for rapidity as well as accuracy.
Before they had ridden a hundred yards, her instinct told her that he was troubled. "What is it, dad?" she asked. He compromised with himself and told her part of what was worrying him. "It's about your friend Street. Jess had him looked up in Denver. The fellow turns out to be a Royal Beaudry. You've heard of a sheriff of that name who used to live in this country? . . . Well, this is his son."
"Now you're shouting. As it is the bad man is backed clear off the earth. It's like as if your partner said, 'Garnish yourself with forty-fours if you like, but don't get gay around me." "So you think " "I think he's some bear-cat, that young fellow. When you 're looking for something easy to mix with, go pick a grizzly or a wild cat, but don't you monkey with friend Beaudry.
"You don't think he would try to take her across the desert with him to Mexico." Ryan shook his head. "No chance. He couldn't make it. When he leaves the hills, Miss Rutherford will stay there." "Alive?" asked Beaudry from a dry throat. "Don't know." "God!"
He was convinced that something sinister lay behind their silence. After breakfast the ranchman rode away. Jeff and Slim Sanders jogged off on their cowponies to mend a broken bit of fence. Hal sat on the porch replacing with rivets the torn strap of a stirrup. Beaudry could stand it no longer. He found his hostess digging around the roots of some rosebushes in her small garden.
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