"You've got to sign it. By G.o.d, you've no option."

"No?" Still with pleasant incredulity.

"Think I'm going to let you get away from here now. You'll sign and you'll promise to tell nothing you know against us."

"No, I don't reckon I will."

Cullison was looking straight at him with his fearless level gaze.

Fendrick realized with a sinking heart that he could not drive him that way to surrender. He knew that in the other man's place he would have given way, that his enemy was gamer than he was.

He threw up his hand in a sullen gesture that disclaimed responsibility.

"All right. It's on your own head. I've done all I can for you."

"What's on my head?"

"Your life. d.a.m.n you, don't you see you're driving me too far?"

"How far?"

"I'm not going to let you get away to send us to prison. What do you expect?"

Luck's frosty eyes did not release the other for a moment. "How are you going to prevent it, Ca.s.s?"

"I'll find a way."

"Blackwell's way--the Devil's Slide?"

The puzzled look of the sheepman told Cullison that Blackwell's plan of exit for him had not been submitted to the other.

"Your friend from Yuma has been explaining how he has arranged for me to cross the divide," he went on. "I'm to be plugged full of lead, shot down that rock, and landed in a prospect hole at the bottom."

"First I've heard of it." Fendrick wheeled upon his accomplice with angry eyes. He was in general a dominant man, and not one who would stand much initiative from his a.s.sistants.

"He's always deviling me," complained the convict surlily. Then, with a flash of anger: "But I stand pat. He'll get his before I take chances of getting caught. I'm n.o.body's fool."

Ca.s.s snapped him up. "You'll do as I say. You'll not lift a finger against him unless he tries to escape."

"Have you seen the _Sentinel_? I tell you his friends know everything.

Someone's peached. They're hot on our trail. Bucky O'Connor is in the hills. Think I'm going to be caught like a rat in a trap?"

"We'll talk of that later. Now you go look after my horse while I keep guard here."

Blackwell went, protesting that he was no "n.i.g.g.e.r" to be ordered about on errands. As soon, as he was out of hearing Fendrick turned his thin lip-smile on the prisoner.

"It's up to you, Cullison. I saved your life once. I'm protecting you now.

But if your friends show up he'll do as he says. I won't be here to stop him. Sign up and don't be a fool."

Luck's answer came easily and lightly. "My friend, we've already discussed that point."

"You won't change your mind?"

"Your arguments don't justify it, Ca.s.s."

The sheepman looked at him with a sinister significance. "Good enough.

I'll bring you one that will justify it _muy p.r.o.nto_."

"It will have to be a mighty powerful one. Sorry I can't oblige you and your friend, the convict."

"It'll be powerful enough." Fendrick went to the door and called Blackwell. "Bring back that horse. I'm going down to the valley."

CHAPTER X

Ca.s.s FENDRICK MAKES A CALL

Kate was in her rose garden superintending the stable boy as he loosened the dirt around the roots of some of the bushes. She had returned to the Circle C for a day or two to give some directions in the absence of her father. Buck and the other riders came to her for orders and took them without contempt. She knew the cattle business, and they knew she knew it.

To a man they were proud of her, of her spirit, her energy, and her good looks.

This rose garden was one evidence of her enterprise. No ranch in the county could show such a riot of bloom as the Circle C. The American Beauty, the d.u.c.h.ess, the La France bowed gracefully to neighbors of a dozen other choice varieties. Kate had brought this glimpse of Eden into the desert. She knew her catalogues by heart and she had the loving instinct that teaches all gardeners much about growing things.

The rider who cantered up to the fence, seeing her in her well-hung corduroy skirt, her close-fitting blouse, and the broad-rimmed straw hat that shielded her dark head from the sun, appreciated the fitness of her surroundings. She too was a flower of the desert, delicately fashioned, yet vital with the bloom of health.

At the clatter of hoofs she looked up from the bush she was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g and at once rose to her feet. With the change in position she showed slim and tall, straight as a young poplar. Beneath their long lashes her eyes grew dark and hard. For the man who had drawn to a halt was Ca.s.s Fendrick.

From the pocket of his shirt he drew a crumpled piece of stained linen.

"I've brought back your handkerchief, Miss Cullison."

"What have you done with my father?"

He nodded toward the Mexican boy and Kate dismissed the lad. When he had gone she asked her question again in exactly the same words.

"If we're going to discuss your father you had better get your quirt again," the sheepman suggested, touching a scar on his face.

A flush swept over her cheeks, but she held her voice quiet and even.

"Where is Father? What have you done with him?"

He swung from the horse and threw the rein to the ground. Then, sauntering to the gate, he let himself in.

"You've surely got a nice posy garden here. Didn't know there was one like it in all sunbaked Arizona."

She stood rigid. Her unfaltering eyes, sloe-black in the pale face, never lifted from him.

"There's only one thing you can talk to me about Where have you hidden my father?"

"I've heard folks say he did himself all the hiding that was done."