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  “Well, that’s what he’s done to me, ain’t it?” demanded Thad. “Do you think I’m a-goin’ to stand for that? Give him your money; do any-thin’ you damn please, but I’m a-goin’ to settle with him in my own way.”

  He ordered breakfast and horses, and with a curt gesture to Angel, said:

  “We’ll eat now.”

  Before they had finished, Race Eagan—one of the two who found Dorr’s lifeless body—grown thin and sharp of temper with the passing years, rode up to the house. The varying fortunes of the range had brought him the foremanship of the Circle-Z some three years back. That he still officiated in that capacity, will—to the initiated—be proof enough of the quality of his performance.

  Naturally, Race came and went at his own pleasure. For the last few days he had been absent on one of his regular inspections of the Circle-Z outposts. A long conference with Thad always came as a matter of course after these trips, but the old cowman appeared particularly annoyed at seeing him enter the house this morning.

  Race’s face was unruffled as ever, but his horse bore signs of a hard ride; and Thad knew that beyond a doubt the man had come from as far as Kelly Creek, otherwise he would have ridden in the preceding night. In truth, Race had left Kelly Creek at a few minutes to four that morning. All of which said that something was amiss, and Thad was in no mood to discuss the affairs of his ranch this morning.

  The foreman nodded as he entered the room. He did not expect to find the old Basque there, and he stared at him questioningly.

  “Thought you was alone,” he said then, addressing Thad; “Got to see you.”

  “You’ll have to wait,” grunted Thad, his mouth full of food. “I’m leavin’ here directly.”

  Race was not to be dismissed so easily. He said bluntly:

  “I broke my neck gettin’ here. It’s important. I got to see you before you go.”

  “And I tell you you can’t!” Thad declared vehemently. “I got worries enough without listenin’ to yours. You’re the foreman of this outfit. Do somethin’, if somethin’s wrong.”

  Race started to protest, but Thad cut him short with:

  “I ain’t a-goin’ to listen to you! You see me when I git back.”

  “All right,” Race said tartly. “I’ll speak to Miss Necia.” He started for the door, muttering under his breath: “She’s the real boss of this outfit, anyhow.”

  Thad heard him. His face reddened, and he winced.

  “Hey!” he cried. “You needn’t go lookin’ around for Necia; she ain’t here.”

  Race stopped and came back.

  “Pretty early for her to be off,” he grumbled.

  “She wa’n’t here last night neither,” Little Billy put in from the kitchen doorway.

  Thad reached for a cup, and with the evident intention of hurling it at his cook he got halfway to his feet.

  “Git!” he roared, and Little Billy disappeared. Thad expected Race to ask questions. Instead of doing so, however, Eagan said flatly:

  “All right! It’s up to me. Our stuff comes out of the hills this morning.”

  Both Thad and Angel got to their feet at this. Thad’s face actually went white beneath its tan.

  “What?” he gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said,” Race answered grimly. “There ain’t a thing left below Kelly Creek. It’s all burnt to the roots.”

  Thad’s mouth sagged as comprehension came.

  “Cows are turnin’ off their calves,” Race went on, taking a savage delight in the old man’s interest now in what he had to say. “They can’t feed ’em. I counted sixteen dead ones yesterday. Another ten days of this and we’ll never get a head fat enough to ship this fall. Maybe we won’t have anythin’ left to ship.”

  A groan escaped Thad as he sank back into his chair. He glanced at Angel as if asking him what was to be done.

  “The drought,” Angel muttered, and Thad thought to himself:

  “Yes; I laughed when that ragged fool stood here and told me it would come. God! How’d he know; how’ d he know?”

  Aloud he said: “You can’t turn our stuff on the hay-land, Race. What’ll we do this winter without hay?”

  “We won’t need any hay this winter if we can’t get grass this summer—this week. I tell you you could play a tune on the slats of our stock. They’ve got to come down to the meadow-land. It ain’t none too good, but it’ll save ’em for a while.”

  “But it can’t be so bad north of the creek,” Thad said, his tone almost a question.

  “It’ll be bad soon enough.” Race paused and looked away. He could see Thad aging before his eyes. He was glad Necia was not there. His news would have worried her. He was surprised to hear Thad say:

  “Don’t say anythin’ to Necia about this when she gits back. You understand?”

  Race nodded. He knew how hard it was going to be to keep it from her.

  “I’ll start movin’ them to-day,” he said.

  He went out then. Thad heard him stop to turn the windmill rudder; cursing the while at finding the wheel idle.

  The horses which Thad had ordered were outside. They nickered impatiently, but Thad only sat and stared at Angel. Even now he could hardly believe that the blow had fallen. He wondered how Joseph had known that the drought would come. Did he know other things as well? Was it as Angel had said—had the boy some sort of power?

  Thad had felt the Circle-Z sufficient unto itself. How many years had it been in the making? “God!” he muttered, shaken by the realization of how long it had taken him to build it into the formidable business it had been only a few yesterdays ago. To himself he said:

  “I ain’t a-goin’ to lose it. It can’t be. How can the little fellows stand out, if I can’t? I got cash. I’ll lease some range.”

  But where ?—up north? Perhaps it had been leased already. Why had he waited? Anyhow, he was safe for a month. He had hay-land enough to last him that long.

  “It’s got to rain,” he thought. “A month—” and then he knew that it would not rain—not enough to matter. Hay had sold for forty-five dollars a ton one winter. What would it bring with less than none in sight?

  He pulled at the neckband of his shirt as if it were tightening about his neck like a noose. When winter came, he had to have hay. Many tons of it!

  A flock of crows cawed their way over the house. Thad shuddered. Had the crow told Joseph the drought would come? Insane hatred of the boy blazed in him.

  An hour ago he had scoffed at Joseph; now, with equal certitude, he credited him with having brought the drought. He had mocked the boy’s companions—Grimm, the crow, and Slippy-foot, the coyote—but as he saw them now in his mind’s eye a feeling of dread gripped him. Fit mates were they for the one whom they followed.

  Things of evil; creatures of ill omen moving in the shadow of death. Where death came, they grew fat. They were the great pariahs, the outcasts of the desert. And the hell-spawned creature who consorted with them was their blood brother!

  The lust to kill mounted in Thad. He thought of Necia and how Joseph had stolen the love that had been his. He no longer doubted that this had happened. Nothing else could explain her conduct. Everywhere he turned, ruin faced him. In every direction, Joseph Gault arose to menace him.

  A fly buzzed about his bald head. He raised his hand and killed it as he would kill that other thing. An unintelligible grunt burst from him. He got up hurriedly. Angel’s eyes were on him. He read fear in the Basque’s gaze.

  What were the sheepmen going to do? Humph! He didn’t care what they did. Sheep-men brought trouble wherever they came. But for this one, Joseph Gault would not have come back. This Basque was at the bottom of it I A savage strain in Thad flashed to the surface, and he laughed contemptuously at Angel.

  “You’re shakin’, ain’t yuh?” he cried. “You. know the dose I jest got is a-comin’ to you. Ain’t nothin’ a-goin’ to stop it. You’re a-goin’ to be cleaned out jest like the rest of us.” Thad chuckled mer
cilessly and said :

  “The Gaults has got even at last.”

  He stepped into his bedroom. When he came out he held his rifle in his hands.

  “Come on!” he exclaimed. “I’m a-goin’ to git him.”

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  “LEAD THE WAY!”

  THEY said no word to each other as they rode along. The sun climbed high. Heat waves danced across the valley. Thad’s rifle barrel grew hot to his touch. The trail began to swing upward; their horses’ hoofs thudding dully in the deep dust of it.

  Thad, grim and uncommunicative, led the way. Angel followed him at the distance of a horse’s length. Between them was no longer any common interest. Each passing second only emphasized this the more, for as they continued to climb a great change came over the Basque.

  Angel’s set expression left him. Little by little he straightened until he rode erect. A weight seemed to have been lifted from him. His eyes lost their fevered brightness. The shoulders that had sagged with defeat were now thrown back. His lips parted as if with the eagerness of some sudden desire.

  He urged his horse ahead until its nose was at the other animal’s tail. He had been a laggard —listless, making each turn of the trail with drooping spirit—but he was alive now; anxious, impatient at the pace Thad set.

  At this moment he was the more courageous of the two, and this had not been so back at the ranch. Since dawn he had been setting his house in order. His task was well-nigh finished.

  He had dealt so long in pride that he did not know how ennobling humility was. So he did not suspect that his present exhilaration was due to the fact that he had gazed on himself as he truly was—a grasping, narrow-minded bigot—and been ashamed. No less was true, however, and the peace he knew now would not have been possible otherwise.

  Thad’s rifle began to fascinate him. No matter how often he looked ahead for some sign of those for whom they searched, when his eyes came back to his companion, they focused on the shining gun.

  Thad did not look back, but the set of his shoulders told Angel something of the frenzy that gripped the man. The look on Thad’s face would have confirmed the Basque’s worst suspicion; killer was written in every line of it.

  As a younger man, Thad had ridden out after horse thieves and rustlers. Guns had spoken; death had followed as a matter of course, and not always had it been the pursued who died. But that was in the rules of the game; quickness of finger and eye being in no way restricted to the righteous. Thad and the others had made light of those excursions, but their faces had belied their lightly flung talk.

  And so it was this morning. Had Kit Dorr been alive to gaze on him he would have seen Thad as he had looked on those now forgotten jaunts, except that the light which burned in Thad’s eyes to-day had more of blind rage and less of cunning in it than Kit had ever seen.

  Angel knew that, whatever the outcome of their mission, Thad and he were done with each other. He held the man a head-strong fool even in his sane moments. That he was mad now and ready to kill on sight, was plain to Angel. He eyed the rifle intently, almost tempted to grab it out of Thad’s hands.

  Soon the trail widened, and Angel forced his horse alongside the other. He saw how lightly Thad held the gun—ready to throw it up to his shoulder and fire without warning—and he hesitated about reaching out for it.

  They neared the coulee shortly. A coyote flashed across the trail. Thad’s rifle came up.

  “It is Joseph’s coyote!” Angel exclaimed. “Don’t shoot!”

  But Thad’s finger was at the trigger. Angel’s hand shot out and knocked the rifle down, the bullet plowing into the ground. Thad wheeled on him, his body shaking as with palsy. For a moment he could not speak so great was his fury.

  “It was his coyote,” Angel repeated. “You would accomplish nothing by killing it.”

  “Am I takin’ orders from you? Am I?” Thad screamed, his voice breaking in its intensity. He saw Angel raise his hand bidding him be quiet. It was the very gesture one uses to a child. Thad’s face purpled.

  He pulled up his horse and scanned the mountain-side, determined to kill the animal now if it were the last act of his life. A movement in the brush into which Slippy-foot had disappeared caught his eye. He sighted his rifle on the spot, and as he did so, Andres stepped into view.

  The big fellow was bareheaded, his tanned chest bared to the sun. Nature had cast his face in a crude mold, his mouth too heavy and his eyes too small, but a sublime fire now had touched Andres, softening his ugliness and endowing him with something of the majesty of a prophet.

  Thad lowered his gun as he stared at him, dum-founded at the change in the man. Andres’s father was hardly less startled. They held their tongues as the big fellow walked toward them, Slippy-foot at his heels. Why ask what had happened? The light in Andres’s eyes was explanation enough.

  “Where’s my girl?” Thad demanded huskily as Andres reached his side.

  Andres fixed his eyes on Thad before he spoke.

  “She ees on top the mountain looking down on theese—on theese—wretched valley,” he said, quoting a phrase he had heard Necia use. “She ees very happy.”

  Thad’s head jerked back.

  “Happy, eh?” he growled. “I’ll find that out! And him—where’s he at? I want to see him.”

  “He ees weeth her,” Andres replied, a faint smile on his lips as he thought of Joseph and Necia.

  “I have been wait’ for you. I expect you come. Eef you come in peace, all right; eef not, no; you cannot go on.”

  “You tellin’ me I ain’t a-goin’ on?” Thad roared. “You tellin’ me my business?” A wild laugh distorted his face. “Humph! Let go my horse! You damn traitor, I ain’t forgettin’ how you fooled us. Take you hand off that horse!”

  Andres shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “You do not forget, eh? Me, I not forget either. I remember you offer me lots of money if I keel Joseph.” He paused until he was sure Thad understood what he inferred. Then: “Mebbe I never forget that, señor. Eet depend on you.”

  Andres had taken hold of Thad’s rifle. The old man tried to yank it out of his hand.

  “I take those gun,” the big fellow said evenly, his spirit unruffled.

  Andres had the rifle by its barrel, his huge hand holding it as if it were in a vise. Thad grunted as he struggled with all his might to drag the gun away from him.

  A peculiar glitter, as cold as ice, came into Thad’s eyes as he noticed that the muzzle was pointed at Andres’s breast. His hand dropped back to the trigger, the blood left his face; he caught his lower lip between his gums and drew it in until his chin was as tightly drawn as the head of a drum. His nostrils quivered as a wolf’s does when it snarls.

  Angel was alive to what was happening, but before he could reach out to knock the gun down Andres’s wrist turned. The rifle popped out of Thad’s hands, but his finger had pressed the trigger. The rifle roared.

  Angel groaned, expecting to see his son fall. The bullet had not touched him, however, and he merely stood and shook his head reprovingly at Thad.

  “Theese gun ees very bad theeng señor,” he said slowly. “They make much trouble.”

  Thad grew limp in his saddle. Dully he saw Andres unload the rifle and toss the cartridges into space.

  “I am not angry weeth you,” he heard Andres say. “You are not yourself. I have used a gun, too; eet proves nothing. You theenk you have been wronged. Eet ees not so!”

  Andres stepped aside that Thad might pass, and turning to face Angel, he said in Basque:

  “And now you, my father, must hear the truth from me. I told you that I would do something for the Irosabals. Well, I have done so. I have made my peace with him. He knows! Margarida did find Timoteo. Joseph knows the truth! But he has taken my hand. We are friends.

  “You are an old man, my father. I am your eldest son. Soon I will be the headman of my clan. I have raised my hand to God that when that day comes I will undo all that you have done. You h
ave taught us to hate. You have led us far from our neighbors. You have done everything you could to hurt Joseph. You drove Margarida away for no reason at all; and now we suffer. The day may not be yet, but even now we must walk apart. You bow your head as if ashamed of me. Well, it must be. I—I am right with myself at last. When I left you last night, I knew I should do as I have done.”

  Angel raised his hands in supplication as his son finished.

  “No, no, Andres!” he cried. “You have no need to feel ashamed. I have been a misguided man!”

  Thad raised up to stare at Angel. He saw something of the divine fire that had touched Andres in the father’s eyes. He gripped the pommel of his saddle to steady himself.

  Andres could marvel too. Was this the father he had known? Newly found affection welled up in him.

  “God has done this,” he thought. “Joseph was right.”

  He saw his father’s lips tremble.

  “God forgive me!” Angel cried. “My Margarida!”

  It was the first time in twenty years that he had uttered that name. He called to her again in Basque, asking mercy.

  Andres placed his hand on his father’s shoulder, but Angel threw it off, engulfed in contrition. His parched soul was not to be denied now that the spring of penitence had begun to flow. He seemed oblivious of Thad as he poured out his remorse.

  Thad stirred uneasily in his saddle, perspiration not due to the blazing sun dampening his brow. There was too much talk here of God for him.

  Angel’s emotion only confirmed an opinion Thad had long held of the Basques. In his youth he had considered them a sentimental, zephyr-swayed race with no more dependability than the Mexican possessed. The torrent of words which Angel poured forth convinced him that he had judged them correctly.

  He was even glad that he stood alone now. He asked himself why he had ever consented to having anything to do with them. He had got along without them for years. That water-right—he hadn’t needed the money. Hell! What a fool he had been!