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C. Rogers. 2d Ward T. N. Bond, Ansel Roberts. 3d Ward A. C. Keating, Amos Townsend. 4th Ward Henry Blair, David A. Dangler. 5th Ward Joseph Sturges, B. P. Bowers. 6th Ward George W. Gardner, John Huntington. 7th Ward Peter Goldrick, E. S. Willard. 8th Ward Joseph Randerson, Wm.
There were the tracks of horse's hoofs about the cabin, in the paths and trails leading to it. Hagar had refused to tell him. But he figured it all out for himself, as he walked. When had this thing started? At about the time that Randerson had taken Vickers' place at the Flying W! Why had not there been trouble between him and the Flying W, as under previous range bosses?
Then, oppressed with a sudden sense of the emptiness of the world, she went into the house. To no man in the outfit did Randerson whisper a word concerning the result of his visit to the ranchhouse that he would cease to be the Flying W range boss just as soon as Ruth Harkness could find a man to replace him.
He had chosen this punishment for Masten, and he would see that it was sufficient. But, as Randerson had well known, Masten was no mean opponent. He stepped in and out rapidly, his blows lacking something in force through his inability to set himself.
Somehow, she did not like to see Randerson in that role; it was far from heroic it flavored of panic; it made her think of the panic that had gripped her a few minutes before, when she had retreated from the steer. She watched the queer race go on for a few minutes, and then she saw an exhibition of roping that made her gasp.
Yes, that was it, Owen saw now; the recollection of his defeat at Randerson's hands still rankled in the gunman's mind. Owen saw him glance covertly at Randerson, observed his lips curl. One of the other men saw the glance also. Not having the knowledge possessed by Owen, the man guffawed loudly, indicating the gunman.
Pickett said he wanted to 'git' you, an' that Masten wanted to get you out of the way because of what you'd done to him at Calamity. But I reckon that ain't the real reason; he's got some idea that you an' Ruth " "Shucks," said Randerson impatiently. "Anyway," grinned Uncle Jepson, "for some reason, he don't want you hangin' around.
What had Randerson given him money for, many times? Ah, he knew now! "The black-hearted hound!" he gritted. He reeled, and held to a corner of the cabin to steady himself, for this last access of rage came near to paralyzing him.
So he trusted to his agility, which, though waning, answered well until he recovered from the effects of the blow. And then, with the realization that he was weakening, that the last blow had hurt him badly, came to Masten the sickening knowledge that Randerson was fighting harder than ever.
A flat, dead silence followed the speech. Every man held the position in which he had been when the gunman had spoken; nothing but their eyes moved, and these were directed from Randerson to the gunman and back again, questioningly, expectantly. For in the hearts of the men who had been talking until now there had been no thought of discord; they had spoken without rancor.
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