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Updated: June 22, 2025
In the Court House door, Cleve Whitmore with his sister's limp form on his shoulder, beat him to it. He had drawn as he called. Before the words were off his lips he pulled the trigger and shot Wylackie through the heart. As his henchman fell Courtrey's good hand flashed to his hip, but Dixon of the Vigilantes, shot out an arm and knocked him forward from behind.
Every soul within hearing knew the words for the utter and absolute truth, yet Courtrey looked at Wylackie Bob, at Arizona, and laughed. "Like hell, you have!" he said, struck the Ironwood and was gone around the corner of the house with the sound of thunder. Ellen wet her lips and looked around like a wounded animal.
He was a quarter-blood Wylackie Indian. Near him sat the stranger who had ridden the slug-head black into Lost Valley. They both looked up as the girl entered and regarded her with smiles. Tharon did not look at them again. She saw, however, that they were together, of one interest.
You'll marry again, sometime " But Ellen shook her head with its maize-gold crown. "Nary other man, Cleve," she said gently. "I'm all Buck's woman." So they rode on toward the town, and Cleve knew that his last faint hope was dead. In the town itself there was a stir. Courtrey was there, and Wylackie Bob, and Black Bart and Arizona, a bunch of dark, evil men in all surety.
Then he flung up his hands, snapped out an order, whirled on his heel and went swiftly to the near rack where stood Bolt and the rest of the Ironwoods. Like a set of puppets on strings his men drew after him and they left Wylackie Bob where he fell. In a matter of seconds the whole Stronghold gang was mounted and clattering down the street out of the town toward the open range.
Her brother Cleve, saddling up a little way apart, cast a long studying glance at Wylackie and Arizona. He jerked the cinch so savagely that the horse leaped and struck. For four days there was absolute dearth at the Stronghold. Courtrey did not return. Ellen timidly tried to find out from the vaqueros where he had gone, but they evaded her.
Can drive a nail nigh as far as he could. Quick as Wylackie Bob on th' draw an' as certain, now. Then why must she keep it up?" Curly, more silent in his ways but given to thought, studied the stars that rode the darkening heavens and shook his head. "Let her alone," he said once, "it was Last's command, an' he knew what he was about even if he was toppin' th' rise of the Big Divide.
Like a pair of snakes gliding forward, Wylackie Bob and the Arizona stranger were suddenly in the foreground, hands hanging apparently loose and careless, in reality tense as strung wires, ready to snap with fire and lead. The moment was pregnant. The very air seemed charged with danger and death.
As she stepped in the open door her quick glance went over the big room with a comprehensiveness which catalogued its inmates accurately and instinctively. Courtrey was not there, though his great bay, Bolt, stood outside. However, Wylackie Bob was there. This man, sitting at a canvas covered table in a corner, idly fingering a pack of cards, was not one to be passed over easily. He was notorious.
The county clerk at his table made a great deal out of the ceremony of swearing in the witnesses Wylackie Bob, Black Bart, Arizona and one young Wylackie Indian woman who worked at the Stronghold. Cleve put up only the serving women whom he had sent in, some seven of them, every one of whom loved their mistress with the faithful fidelity of a dog.
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