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Updated: May 13, 2025
The cattle detective stayed to dinner and to supper. He and her father had their heads together for hours, their voices pitched to a murmur. Melissy wondered what business could have brought him, whether it could have anything to do with the renewed rustling that had of late annoyed the neighborhood. This brought her thoughts to Jack Flatray.
I don't know how it was whether somebody played me false and sold us, or whether your friend Flatray got loose and his posse stumbled in by accident. But there they were in the Cache when we got back." "Yes?" The keenest agitation was in Melissy's voice. "They took us by surprise. We fought. Two of my men ran away. Two were shot down. I was alone." "And then?" The devil of torment moved in him.
This man had freed the ranger. Very well. He should take O'Connor's place. Let him die the death. A life for a life. Was that not fair? Flatray turned his head and caught sight of Melissy. A startled cry died on his lips. "Jack!" She held out both hands to him as she ran toward him. The sheriff took her in his arms to console her. For the girl's face was working in a stress of emotion.
He laughed at her, made fun of her, and yet called her by her first name. How dared he treat her so! Worst of all, she read admiration bold and unveiled in the eyes that mocked her. Half an hour later Flatray, riding toward town with his prisoner in front of him, heard a sudden sharp summons to throw up his hands. A man had risen from behind a boulder, and held him covered steadily.
He came forward to the postoffice window without any sign of recognition. "Is Mr. Flatray still here?" "No!" Without further explanation Melissy took from the box the two letters addressed to Morse and handed them to him. The girl observed the puzzled look that stole over his face at sight of the silver in one envelope.
Nor had they buried it, unless at the bottom of the irrigating ditch, for some signs of their work must have remained. Balancing probabilities, it had seemed to Flatray that these might be the tracks of ranchmen who had arrived after the hold-up and were following the escaping bandits up the lateral.
They led him a couple of hundred yards from the trail and tied him hand and foot. Before they left him the outlaw whom he had captured evened his score. Three times he struck Flatray on the head with the butt of his revolver. He was lying on the ground bleeding and senseless when they rode away toward the hills. Jack came to himself with a blinding headache.
She turned the paper over, to find the other side close-packed with writing. Miss Lee: In the last cabin but one is a prisoner, your friend Sheriff Flatray. He is to be shot in an hour. I have offered any sum for his life and been refused. For God's sake save him somehow. Simon West. Jack Flatray here, and about to be murdered! The thing was incredible.
Moreover, Flatray could never tell at what moment his covey might be startled from its run. The greatest vigilance was necessary to make sure his own party would not be ambushed. Yet slowly he combed the arroyos and the ridges, drawing always closer to that net of gulches in which he knew Dead Man's Cache must be located. During the day the sheriff split his party into couples.
Here Black MacQueen retreated on those rare occasions when the pursuit grew hot on his tracks. So the current report ran. Whether the abductors of Simon West were to be found in the Cache or at some other nest in the almost inaccessible ridges Jack Flatray had no means of knowing. His plan was to follow the Roaring Fork almost to its headquarters, and there establish a base for his hunt.
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