United States or Mauritania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Conford, quiet, forceful, businesslike, carried on the work without a ripple. To a casual eye all things were as they had been. But to the keen eyes in the tanned faces of Last's riders the change was appallingly apparent. They saw it creep day by day into their lives, felt it in the very atmosphere, and it was grim and promising. Old Anita felt it and watched with dim and wistful eyes.
Billy turned Redbuck to face her, dropped his rein. Curly rode up on Drumfire. These two were red roans, dead matches. Bent brought Golden and stood him alongside. From far at the back of the corral they called Conford and Jack, who came wondering, the former on Sweetheart, true sister of El Rey, almost as big, almost as fast, almost as beautiful.
Her limbs were stiff when she rose from the big chair, her hands were icy. "No use, Tharon," said Conford quietly, "we can't find a damned thing. If Courtrey's bunch killed Kenset they made a clean get-away with all evidence. That much has th' new law done in th' Valley killed th' insolence of th' gun man. Let's go home."
A strange man, surely. Tharon wondered what made him so different from other men she had known. There was Billy who had come into Lost Valley from somewhere "below," and Conford, and Curly. Jack Masters had been born in the Valley. So had Bent Smith. These men were her men, like herself and Jim Last. This man was from "below," too, yet he was unlike.
"Which way did Dad go, Billy?" she asked, "north or south?" "North," said Billy, "he rode th' Cup Rim range today." When the meal, a trifle silent in deference to Tharon's silence, was done, the men rose awkwardly. They stood a moment, looking about, undecided. Conford picked them up with his eyes and nodded out. He felt that just maybe the girl would rather be alone.
It was all so familiar, so filled with his personality, that Tharon felt the very power of his dark eyes, smiling, grave "Hello!" said Jack Masters suddenly. "Burt, what's this?" Conford stepped quickly around the table and held his candle down. Tharon pushed forward and looked over the leaning shoulders.
Out at the corrals Billy and Conford, Jack and Bent and Curly, put the finishing touches to the routine of precaution which the Holding never relaxed, day or night. Inside the dusky living room where the bright blankets glowed on the walls and the ollas hung in the deep window places, Tharon Last sat at the little old melodeon and played her nameless tunes. She did not look at the yellowed keys.
They said she could drive a nail farther than the ordinary man could see. They said she could draw so swiftly that the motion of the hands was lost. A slow excitement took the faction of the settlers. But out at Last's Holding a grave anxiety sat upon Tharon's riders. Conford knew and Billy knew and Curly knew more about Courtrey's intent than some of the others.
They had reached the level floor of the sunken range and spread out upon it for better travelling before Courtrey and his men, some ten or fifteen riders, appeared on the upper crest. The settlers stopped instantly at a call from Conford, drew together behind the cattle, turned and faced them.
Drake, who owned some half-breed Ironwoods, rode the best one down the Wall. Kenset had cautioned him not to talk before he left he feared Drake's propensity for speech. But he was the only man in Lost Valley whom he felt he could approach. With the courier's departure he rode back to the Holding and told Tharon and Conford what he had done.
Word Of The Day