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His impudence needed fortifying, for he knew that since he had embarked in the sheep business he was not welcome at this club, that in fact certain members had suggested his name be dropped from the books. Before he returned to the poker table the drink he had ordered became three. The game was over and accounts were being straightened. Cullison was the heavy loser.
Curly was right when he said that those who knew about Sam's share in the planning of the Tin Cup hold-up would keep their mouths closed. All of the men implicated in the robbery were dead except Dutch. Cullison used his influence to get the man a light sentence, for he knew that he was not a criminal at heart. In return Dutch went down the line without so much as breathing Sam's name.
"Stand up," ordered Cullison quietly. Blackwell got to his feet at once. He could not help it, even though the fear in his eyes showed that he cowered before the anticipated attack. "Don't hit me," he whined. Luck knew the man sweated under the punishment his imagination called up, and he understood human nature too well to end the suspense by making real the vision.
Voices called to him from the plain below. He answered, and presently circled down into the gulch which led to the open. At the gulch mouth he came on a little group of people. One glance told him all he needed to know. Kate Cullison was crying in the arms of Curly Flandrau. Simultaneously a man galloped up, flung himself from his horse, and took the young woman from her lover.
But it was when he related what he had heard at Chalkeye's place that the interest grew most tense. While he was going over the plot to destroy young Cullison there was no sound in the room but his voice. Luck's eyes burned like live coals. The color faded from the face of his daughter so that her lips were gray as cigar ash. Yet she sat up straight and did not flinch.
In a flash he saw all that had come of their drunken spree: the rustling of the Bar Double M stock, the discovery, the death of his friend and maybe of Cullison, the certain punishment that would follow. He was a horse thief caught almost in the act. Perhaps he was a murderer too. And the whole thing had been entirely unpremeditated.
He's a rotten bad lot, but he won't do her any harm unless he's pushed to the wall. The fear of Luck Cullison is in his heart." "That's about it," nodded Luck. "He's somewhere in these hills unless he's broken through. Bolt 'phoned me that one of his posse came on the ashes of a camp fire still warm. They're closing in on him. He's got to get food or starve, unless he can break through."
Get out of here and hunt cover in the hills for a few days. You know why better than I do." "How can I when I'm under arrest?" Fendrick mocked. "You're not under arrest. Miss Cullison says her father has no charge to bring against you." "Good of him." "So you can light a shuck soon as you want to." "Which won't be in any hurry." "Don't make any mistake.
But the trouble was Mackenzie did not know him well enough. Cullison was hard up, close to the wall. How far would he go to save himself? Thirty years before when they had been wild young lads these two had hunted their fun together. Luck had always been the leader, had always been ready for any daredeviltry that came to his mind.
His arm was paining a good deal and he felt feverish. The men of the Circle C and their guests sat down and argued the whole thing over. But after a time the doctor came in and had the patient carried to the house. He was put in a good clean bed and his arm dressed again. The doctor brought him good news. "Cullison is doing fine. He has dropped into a good sleep. He'd ought to make it all right."
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