The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine. William MacLeod Raine

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СКАЧАТЬ can't go! I won't go with you. I wouldn't be responsible for what might happen."

      "What might happen—another family impulse?"

      "You know as well as I do—after what you've done. And there's bad blood between you already. Besides, you are so reckless, so intemperate in what you say and do."

      "All right. If you won't go with me, I'll go alone," he said.

      She appealed to Keller to support her, but the latter shook his head.

      "No use. A wilful man must have his way. If he says he's going, I reckon he'll go. But whyfor should I be euchred out of my ride. Let me go along to keep the peace."

      Her eyes thanked him. "If you are sure you can spare the time."

      "Don't incommode yourself, if you're in a hurry. We won't miss you." Weaver's cold stare more than hinted that three would be a crowd.

      The younger man ignored him cheerfully. "Time to burn, Miss Sanderson."

      "You don't want to let that spring plowing suffer," the cattleman suggested ironically.

      "That's so. Glad you mentioned it. I'll try to pick up some one to do it at the store," returned the optimist.

      "Seems to me there are a pair of us, Mr. Keller, who may not be welcome at Seven Mile. Last time you were down there, weren't you the guest of some willing lads who were arranging a little party for you?"

      "Mr. Weaver," reproached Phyllis, flushing.

      But the reference did not embarrass the nester in the least. He laughed hardily, meeting his rival eye to eye. "The boys did have notions, but I expect maybe they have got over them."

      "Nothing like being hopeful. Now I'd back my show against yours every day in the week."

      The girl handed his revolver back to Weaver, after first asking a question of the homesteader with her eyes.

      "Oh, I get my hardware back, do I?" Buck grinned.

      Keller brought his horse round from back of Flat Rock, where it had been picketed. They started at once, cutting across the plain to a flat butte, which thrust itself out from the hills into the valley. Two hours of steady travel brought them to the butte, behind which lay Seven Mile ranch.

      At the first glimpse of the roofs shining in the golden sunlight Phyllis gave a cry of delight.

      "Home again. I wonder whether Father's here."

      "I wonder," echoed Weaver grimly.

      "That little fellow riding into the corral is one of my scholars," she told them.

      "One of the fourteen that loves you, Miss Going-On-Eighteen. My, there'll be joy in Israel over the lost that is found. I reckon by to-morrow you'll be teaching the young idea how to shoot." He glanced down at his bandaged arm with a malicious grin.

      Phyllis looked at him without speaking. It was Keller who made application of the remark.

      "There are others here beside her pupils. Some of them are right quick and straight on the shoot, Mr. Weaver. Now you've seen Miss Sanderson home, there's still time to make your getaway without trouble. How about hitting the trail while travelling is good, seh?"

      "What's the matter with you taking your own advice, Keller?"

      "I don't figure the need is pressing in my case. Different with you."

      "I told you I would back my chances against yours. Well, I'm standing pat on that."

      "The road will be open to me to-morrow. I wonder will it be open to you then."

      "My friend, who elected you guardeen to Buck Weaver?" drawled the big man carelessly.

      "I wish you would go," Phyllis pleaded, plainly troubled over his obstinacy.

      "Me, I always hated to disoblige a lady," Buck admitted.

      "Then go," she cried eagerly.

      "But I hate still more to go back on my word. So I'll stay."

      There was nothing more to be said. They rode forward to the ranch. 'Rastus, at the stables, raised a shout and broke for the store on the run.

      "Hyer's Miss Phyl done come home."

      At his call light-stepping dusty men poured from the building like seeds from a squeezed orange. There was a rush for the girl. She was lifted from her saddle and carried in triumph to the porch. Jim Sanderson came running from the cellar in the rear and buried her in his arms.

      She broke down and began to cry a little. "Oh, Dad—Dad, I'm so glad to be home."

      The old Confederate veteran was close to tears himself.

      "Honey, I jes' got back from town. Phil, he done wrong not letting me know. I come pretty nigh giving that boy the bud. Wait till I meet up with Buck Weaver. It's him or me for suah this time."

      "No, Dad, no! You must let me explain. I've been quite safe, and it's all over now. Everything is all right."

      "Is it?" Sanderson laughed harshly.

      "The sheriff telephoned him to keep me, but you see he brought me home."

      "Brought you home?" The sheepman's black eyes lifted quickly and met those of his enemy.

      "So you're there, Buck Weaver. I reckon you and I will settle accounts."

      Phil and Tom Dixon had quietly circled round so as to cut off Weaver's retreat in case he attempted one.

      "He's got the rustler with him," Tom Dixon cried quickly.

      "Goddlemighty, so he has. We'll make a clean sweep," the Southerner cried, his eyes blazing.

      "Then you'll destroy the man who was ready to give his life for mine," his daughter said quietly.

      "What's that? How's that, Phyllie?"

      "It's a long story. I want you to hear it all. But not here."

      Her voice fell. A sudden memory had come to her of one thing at least that she could not tell even to him—the story of that moment when she had lain in the arms of the nester with his heart beating against her breast.

      The old man caught her by the shoulder, holding her at arm's length, while the deep eyes under his shaggy, grizzled brows pierced her.

      "What have you got to tell me, gyurl? Out with it!"

      But on the heels of his imperative demand came reassurance. A tide of color poured into her face, but her eyes met his quietly. They let him understand, more certainly than words, that all was well with his ewe lamb. Putting her gently to one side, he strode toward his enemy.

      "What are you doing here, Buck Weaver?"

      The cattleman swept the circle of lowering faces, and laughed contemptuously. "A man might think I wasn't welcome if he didn't know СКАЧАТЬ