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Everybody working on the Jackpot felt the excitement as the drill began to sink into the oil-bearing sands. Most of the men owned stock in the company. Moreover, they were getting a bonus for their services and had been promised an extra one if Number Three struck oil in paying quantities before Steelman's crew did. Even to an outsider there is a fascination in an oil well.
I reckon you've heard how the Governor of Colorado pardoned him. This town's crazy about Sanders. Claims he was framed for the penitentiary. Right now he could be elected to any office he went after." Steelman's restless black eyes watched furtively the effect of his taunting on this man, a victim of wild and uncurbed passions.
"He not only saves my property without havin' to fight for it and that was a blamed good play itself, for I don't want you boys shootin' up anybody even in self-defense but he disarms Brad's plug-uglies, humiliates them, makes them plumb sick of the job, and at the same time wipes out Steelman's location lock, stock, and barrel. I'll make that ten thousand shares, by gum!
He knew this man was playing on his vanity, jealousy, and hatred for some purpose not yet apparent, but he found it impossible to close his mind to the whisperings of the plotter. He welcomed the spur of Steelman's two-edged tongue because he wanted to have his purpose of vengeance fed. "Sanders never saw the day he could take me, dead or alive.
The teamster called to Crawford. "Here's another load o' grub, boss. Miss Joyce she rustled up them canteens you was askin' for." Crawford stepped over to the wagon. "Don't reckon we'll need the canteens, Hank, but we can use the grub fine. The fire's about out." "That's bully. Say, I got news for you, Mr. Crawford. Brad Steelman's dead. They found him in his house, shot plumb through the head.
"I got sheep, ain't I? Wouldn't be reasonable I'd destroy their feed. No, you got a wrong notion about " "Yore sheep ain't on the south slope range." Shorty's mind had moved forward one notch toward certainty. Steelman's manner was that of a man dodging the issue. It carried no conviction of innocence. "How much you payin' him?" The door of the inner room opened.
"This mo'nin'. They tried to keep it quiet, but it leaked out." "Whose money was it?" "Brad Steelman's pay roll and a shipment of gold for the bank." "Any idea who did it?" Steve showed embarrassment. "Why, no, I ain't, if that's what you mean." "Well, anybody else?" "Tha's what I wanta tell you. Two men were in the job. They're whisperin' that Em Crawford was one." "Crawford!
Certainly his subsequent actions would seem to bear out this theory. Revenge! The thought of it spurred him every waking hour, roweling his wounded pride cruelly. There was a way within reach of his hand, one suggested by Steelman's whisperings, though never openly advocated by the sheepman.
When he and Bob knocked Steelman's plans hell west and crooked after that yellow skunk George Doble betrayed me to Brad, the boy lost his boots in the brush. 'Course I said to get another pair at the store and charge 'em to me. I reckon he was havin' some fun joshin' you." The foreman was furious. He sputtered with the rage that boiled inside him.
"Night before last. After supper he started for the Cattleman's Club, but he never got there." "Sure he wasn't called out to one of the ranches unexpected?" "I sent out to make sure. He hasn't been seen there." "Looks like some of Brad Steelman's smooth work," admitted Dave. "If he could work yore father to sign a relinquishment " Fire flickered in her eye. "He'd ought to know Dad better."
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