"Plenty of them do," Vanner said. "What do you think the dealers and waiters and the dancing girls do here? They listen to the talk. And they tell me what they hear."

He shook his head at Damson. "I've told you before that I use my head. I don't make a move until I'm sure. And right now I'm sure of the temper of the local people who come in here. It won't take much more talk to light a fuse under them. Figure it out for yourself. Who does Tom Roddy think is the greatest man alive? Judge Lyles! Roddy likes Belden, yes. But he'll protect the judge's interests first."

Damson said slowly, "You're going to fix it to look like Roddy shot Coniff to keep him from telling Belden it was the judge hired him to do the sniping?"

"I'm going to do more than that," Vanner said. "By the time I'm finished, you won't own just a part of the valley. You'll own the whole of it - and the town as well."

He stepped closer to Damson and lowered his voice. "Why do you think I've had men coming in here these last few days? By tomorrow night we'll have a dozen top gunhands working for us. If the locals won't start a vigilante committee to get rid of Roddy, then the new men will. I have it all arranged."

"I don't like this bringing in hardcases," Damson grumbled. "What happens if they get out of hand?"

"I can control men!" Vanner said flatly. He looked coldly at Damson. "Have you a better idea? Can you think of another way to protect all the work we've done so far? Maybe you're satisfied to take what you've got now and let Belden have the rest?"

"No, by G.o.d!" Damson shouted. "If we don't do nothing else, I want Belden out of the way."

"I told you that I'm taking care of him too," Vanner said. "You send Marnie and Pike in to see me. I have a job for them."

He smiled his thin, cold smile. "There's one thing you can count on - by moonrise tomorrow night, Belden will be dead."

IX.

CLAY PUSHED Bert Coniff through the jailhouse door and into the sheriff's small office. Roy Ponders rose from his neat desk and stared in bewilderment from Clay to Coniff.

"Here's your sniper," Clay said quietly. He unwound the rope from Coniff's body.

Coniff rubbed his hands over his arms. "That's a lie!" he cried. His confidence seemed to have come back now that he was no longer alone with Clay. "I was up hunting me a deer and - "

"I have proof," Clay interrupted, He told Ponders about the heelprints he'd found.

"That don't mean nothing!" Coniff said.

"And this time he won't get a chance to rub out the signs he left," Clay finished. "You come up to the mountain tomorrow and bring Bert's right boot along. We'll see how much it means."

Ponders still stood quietly, his expression troubled. "For your sake, I hope you're right," he told Clay. "Bringing false charges can be mighty serious." He frowned. "But for the judge's sake - " He broke off and shook his head. "Bert Coniff's been with the Winged L for better than five years," he went on. "It just doesn't make any sense."

Clay nodded, understanding what was going on in the sheriff's mind. He said, "I've been thinking of that all the way in here. And the only answer I could find is that Bick Damson's money got to Bert."

"Damson isn't a killer," Ponders protested. "He wants you out of the valley, but that doesn't mean he'd try to kill you."

Clay took off his hat and dropped in on the sheriff's desk. He poked a finger at the bullet burn on the crown. "This is how close Bert came today," he said. He told Ponders about meeting Marnie and Pike a few days before.

"How else do you add it up, Sheriff?" he demanded when he'd finished.

Ponders said, "I haven't got evidence enough yet to add up anything." He looked at Coniff who had been standing sullenly since his outburst. "What about it, Bert? Did Damson hire you?"

"I got nothing to say," Coniff replied. "You ain't about to believe anything but what Belden here tells you."

Ponders flushed. "It isn't my job to believe or disbelieve yet," he said stiffly. "It's my job to find out the truth."

Coniff grunted surlily. Clay said, "Maybe he'll talk to the judge. I stopped by his house but there was no one around."

"He and Tonia and Tom Roddy all went out to the ranch," the sheriff explained. He frowned again. "If this proof you claim to have holds up, the judge isn't going to be a very happy man. But he has to be told - and soon. He'll want to see Bert."

"I'll stop off at the ranch on my way back to camp," Clay said. He glanced out the window at the shadows lengthening along the street. "But I don't imagine he'll come in tonight."

"If he does, I'll be around," Ponders said. "Otherwise I'll wait until he comes in tomorrow before going to your place."

"I'll tell him," Clay said. He stepped back as Ponders came forward and motioned Coniff to follow him. The two cells opened directly onto the office. Both were empty and Ponders put Coniff in the one looking directly toward his desk.

Clay felt a sense of relief as he watched the sheriff go efficiently about locking up Coniff and then return to his desk to take down the particulars of Clay's charge. His uneasiness at the thought that Ponders might favor Coniff dissolved. The sheriff was acting again like the kind of man Clay remembered - doing his work without letting his personal prejudices interfere. Clay thought that the judge might well be right and Ponders had warned Clay only out of concern for keeping his town peaceful.

He would know more certainly tomorrow, after he saw how Ponders acted in the face of the proof he had to offer.

The sheriff finished writing down Clay's charge. "All right," he said. "I'll be along tomorrow. Meantime, keep out of Bick Damson's way." He glanced toward the cell where Coniff sat dejectedly on a bunk. "I've got enough trouble as it is," he added.

"As long as Damson doesn't bother me, I won't bother him," Clay said flatly. "I told you that before, Sheriff. But if you're thinking of my tangling with that pair of gunslingers he calls hired hands, remember they were trying to keep me off my own land."

"I won't argue the point," Ponders said with a touch of weariness in his voice. "I'm just telling you to avoid trouble. If Damson is behind what's been happening, I'll find out about it. If he isn't I'll find that out too."

"Who else wants me out of the valley?" Clay demanded.

"The sniper was driving people off your land before you ever came back home," Ponders reminded him. "Think about that when you start laying the blame on Bick Damson."

Clay picked up his hat and settled it on his head. "I've been thinking about it," he admitted. He started for the door. "And I've been remembering that the sniper shot only to scare people - not to kill them. Until I came back."

He opened the door. "I'll put Bert's horse in the livery, Sheriff."

Ponders nodded. Clay went out into the cool shadows of evening. A small crowd of curious boys had gathered when he paraded Coniff through town, but there were none about now. It was suppertime and they had found something more important to attend to, Clay thought with a faint smile.

His stomach said it was suppertime for him too. After he took Coniff's horse to the livery stable, he rode slowly toward the Cattlemen's Bar, thinking about getting his meal there. He saw no sign of the fancy palomino tied outside to indicate that Damson might be around.

Ponders had cautioned him about tangling with Damson, but he hadn't said anything about Kemp Vanner, and he hadn't said anything about Molly Doane.

And, Clay admitted to himself, as much as anything he wanted to go into the Cattlemen's on the chance he might be able to talk to Molly, He had thought a good deal about her during the long days in the saddle. He wanted to know more about her relationship with Vanner and Damson. And he had the idea she might be able to answer some of the questions that bothered him.

He swung the dun toward the hitchrail in front of the saloon. He dismounted and crossed the sidewalk. Pushing open the doors, he stepped into warmth and noise.

The big barroom was fairly well filled with men eating or drinking or just listening to Molly Doane. She and a piano player were on a raised platform at the rear of the room, and she was singing in a thin but pleasant voice.

Clay's eyes moved past her to a table where Bick Damson sat with his head down over a plate of food. He looked up suddenly, as if he'd felt Clay's gaze. Even from where he stood, Clay could see that Damson was drunk and he tensed himself for possible trouble.

Molly picked up her song again as Damson settled back and returned to his food, ignoring Clay.

Clay walked quietly to an empty table on his left and sat down. Molly finished her song. Scattered applause sprang up. "Don't let the faro dealer go to sleep, boys," she called with forced gaiety. She stepped down from the platform and made her way to Clay.

"You shouldn't have come in here," she said anxiously. "Damson's drunk and he's upset about something."

"I came for a meal, not a fight," Clay said. He looked at her closely, noticing the little puckers of worry at the corners of her mouth, the tiredness around her eyes.

"And to say h.e.l.lo better than I did the other day," he added.

Molly glanced toward the stairs by the bar. They were empty and she turned back to Clay. "Kemp is upstairs," she said suddenly. "He - he wouldn't like my talking to you."

"How much does it matter what Vanner likes or doesn't like?" Clay demanded.

"I work for him - in a way," she said. She added, "It's the only really good job I ever had in my life." Her eyes were pleading as she stared down into Clay's face. Beneath the pleading he saw again the warmth he had noticed the other time they had met.

"I'm not trying to spoil anything for you, Molly," Clay said. "Did I ever?"

"No," she answered fiercely. "You were about the only person in this town who didn't though. You were the only person who ever treated me like a human being."

"Until Kemp Vanner came along," Clay said. He saw color flood her cheeks and added, "Just because Vanner and I don't get along doesn't mean we can't still be friends, Molly."

She was looking toward the stairs again. She said abruptly, "I'll get you some dinner, Clay," and hurried away, holding up the edge of her striking, close-fitting gold gown.

Clay watched her go and then looked toward the end of the bar. Vanner was coming down the stairs, moving in that neat, graceful way of his. He showed no sign of being aware of Clay's presence, but when he reached the foot of the stairs, he stopped Molly and spoke to her briefly. Then he came directly to Clay's table.

Clay turned his eyes toward Damson's table. He was gone. Clay decided that Damson must have left while he talked to Molly. Uneasiness stirred inside of Clay. That wasn't like Damson - to walk out on a chance for a fight.

He pushed the thought of Damson aside as Vanner came quietly up to the table. Vanner pulled out a chair and sat down without being invited. He said pleasantly, "Your dinner will be along presently."

Underneath the pleasantness, Clay sensed coldness. He studied the smaller man, noting again the empty features, the deliberate, meaningless smile, the ice lying in the dark eyes.

Vanner said, "I hear you claim you caught the mysterious sniper." His voice was light.

"News travels fast," Clay said dryly. "Did you also hear I think you hired Coniff?"

Vanner shook his head easily. "I hadn't heard," he answered. "But I'm not surprised." His voice tightened almost imperceptibly. "Don't make the mistake of confusing issues, Belden. Mr. Damson doesn't want you around, but that doesn't mean he's trying to kill you." Vanner's smile was touched with contempt. "When he gets ready to run you out of the valley, he'll do it his way. With his fists."

Clay's uneasiness increased. Vanner was being too obvious. There was something behind these words, something more than just the bare threat against Clay himself.

"He sent his hired gunhands to run me out," Clay said. He watched Vanner carefully.

Vanner shook his head. "That was their own idea. They thought they were helping the boss. Let's say they were a little too eager."

A heavy-set man with an ap.r.o.n tied under his armpits came up to the table with Clay's dinner. Vanner stood up. "We've got a good cook," he said. "Enjoy your meal."

He stopped and glanced down. "And when you start blaming Mr. Damson for all your troubles, Belden, stop and ask yourself what he would want with your land. He has enough of his own. And ask yourself too - who really profits if you leave the valley?" He smiled his thin smile and walked quietly away.

X.

CLAY RODE the dun slowly through the valley and down the road toward the warm lights of the Winged L ranch house. Vanner had been right in one thing, he had to admit. The beefsteak and potatoes the cook at the Cattlemen's had whipped up were better than anything he had tasted in quite a while.

Outside of that, he reflected sourly, he had wasted his time going to the saloon. Molly had not appeared again while he was there. And all he had got from Vanner was the uneasy knowledge that Vanner's talk meant more than Clay was able to read into it. There was a threat to someone besides himself in Vanner's soft-spoken words, but he couldn't put his finger on anything solid.

He swore in helpless frustration and pushed the dun a little faster down the moon-dappled road. The task that lay ahead of him wasn't going to be a pleasant one, but it had to be done and he wanted to finish it quickly and get some rest. By starting early tomorrow, he hoped to complete the job of rounding up the judge's cattle before nightfall.

He trotted the dun to the front of the big house and dismounted. He was halfway up the veranda steps when the door opened. Tom Roddy stood framed in the lamplight, looking out. Surprise flickered across his face.

"It ain't Bert. It's Clay," he called behind him.

He stepped back to let Clay step into the warm, richly furnished room. The judge and Tonia were having their after-dinner coffee before a crackling fire in the huge fireplace. With the exception of Tom Roddy, they were alone, although Clay knew their custom was to have all the hands in for coffee of an evening.

Clay had his news ready to blurt out, but now he couldn't find the words. "You're looking for Bert Coniff?" he asked finally.

"The men are hunting him up in the mountains now," the judge said. "Someone claims they saw him riding toward your place earlier."

Clay was watching Tonia. She sat with her eyes downcast, her cheeks pink as though she was embarra.s.sed by the memory of her outburst the last time they met.

The judge said, "Excuse our lack of welcome, but we're worried about Bert. We're afraid he might have been thrown from his horse. I can't imagine what else might have happened to him."

Clay said slowly, reluctantly, "Bert's all right. He's in jail." He saw their startled expressions and added, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Judge, but I caught Bert sniping at me today."

Tonia whispered, "Oh, no!" and stared at Clay with shock-widened eyes.

"That's impossible!" Judge Lyles cried.

Tom Roddy said nothing, but looked from Clay to the judge with a strangely thoughtful expression on his face. The judge rose abruptly. "Are you sure?" he demanded.

Clay explained as he had to the sheriff. When he finished, Judge Lyles strode back and forth across the room, shaking his head. "I can't believe it," he whispered. "I can't believe it." He stopped and looked pleadingly at Clay. "Did he have anything to say? Did he give any reason at all?"

"He claims he was up hunting deer. That's all he'll say," Clay answered.

"Hunting deer in the middle of haying?" Roddy said. "That ain't what he said here. He told everybody he was feeling a little sick and was going in to see the doctor," he explained to Clay. "But I was in Doc Fraley's office a good part of the afternoon and I didn't see him at all. When I come out here and said so, one of the boys remembered thinking it was Bert he saw riding for the mountains. So after supper, they went looking for him."

The judge stopped his pacing. "I'll go talk to him," he said decisively. He nodded toward Clay. "I don't doubt your word, but there must be some reason for his doing this. He's been a good man for a long time."

Clay sensed the pain under the bewilderment in Judge Lyles' voice. He tried to find words to help the older man but none would come. The best thing to do right now, he decided, would be to let the judge be by himself for a while.

Clay moved awkwardly toward the door. "The sheriff said he'd be around this evening if you wanted to ride in and talk to Bert. Otherwise, he'll wait for you to come tomorrow."

The Judge gave no sign he'd heard. Tonia rose and touched his arm, leading him back to the couch. "Wait until tomorrow, Dad. It's too late to go out tonight." She left him and came toward Clay. She was wearing a wine-colored dress that highlighted her dark beauty, but at the moment Clay was aware only of the shock filling her eyes.