The stampede could have been started for only one reason - to kill him and make his death look like an accident. And Clay knew only one man in the Wildhorse country who would have bothered with such a devious scheme - Kemp Vanner.

Clay caught the dun and climbed into the saddle. He headed the horse angrily down the trail leading to the hill road and Bick Damson's house.

XII.

DAMSON'S house lay dark and silent under the bright moon. Clay was about to ride past and on to town when a flicker of lantern light reflecting from the tops of pine trees caught his attention. He turned the dun to the left, up the rutted road that led to Damson's mine.

He slowed the horse as he started up a low rise. If Damson knew that he was still alive, this could be a trap. The lights could have been put here by the mine to make him do just what he was doing - trespa.s.sing.

Damson and Vanner would like that, Clay thought. It would put him in a position where they could shoot him with justification. He shook his head, still unable to understand why Vanner was willing to go to such lengths to drive him out of the valley or kill him.

He neared the top of the rise and reined in the dun. Quietly, he slid to the ground and walked forward, moving in the shadow of tall pines lining the side of the road. He pulled up short when he could see down into the hollow where Damson had his mine.

Damson was there, framed in the light from a trio of lanterns hanging from the barren branch of a lightning-struck tree. He was stripped to the waist and his powerfully-muscled body gleamed with sweat as he swung a shovel rhythmically, filling the big box of an ore wagon.

Damson's apparent lack of concern warned Clay to caution. The big man seemed to be completely alone, and his gun and belt lay with his shirt some distance away, out of reach. Yet he moved as confidently as though his crew were protecting him. Or as if he had nothing to worry about because Clay was dead.

Clay looked carefully around. The lanterns cast a wide swath of light, showing him the pile of ore where Damson worked, the big freight wagon he was loading, the hand-driven ore car that sat at the mouth of the mine entrance. Beyond the light, shadows lay thick and heavy and motionless. If anyone was around, he was too well hidden for Clay to find.

He turned his eyes back to the pile of ore. As it had before, a feeling of wrongness tugged at his mind. His gaze traveled from the ore to the tunnel entrance of Damson's mine. It was no more than a hole cut out of a mound of the heavy clay soil that formed this part of the foothills.

Heavy clay soil! An idea danced tantalizingly on the edge of Clay's mind. He stared at the empty ore car, with its rusted wheels sitting on narrow, rusted tracks.

And then he knew. The pile of ore Damson was shoveling hadn't come from his mine. It hadn't come from anywhere close to here. Two years of swinging a pick in silver mines had taught Clay a good deal of practical geology. And one thing he had learned - metal bearing ores didn't exist in the heavy clay Damson had here.

Clay retreated, slipping quietly from tree to tree until he reached the dun. He led it down the road until he was sure he was out of Damson's earshot. Then he mounted and headed the dun back along the wagon road to his own land.

He rode a half mile before he found a deer trail leading up into the hills. He followed it, going slowly now as the ground grew steep. He reasoned that Damson was bringing in ore from someone else's land and claiming it had come from his own mine. But Damson couldn't haul the ore openly, and that meant he had to have a back trail over which he could carry the ore to the mine.

Clay swung the dun in an arc, working into the hills and, at the same time, back in the general direction of Damson's mine. Exultation swept over him as he broke down a slope and onto a wide trail. It was of fairly recent construction and had been used a good deal lately. The prints of pack animals showed clearly in the bright moonlight. He turned away from the mine and rode in a southerly direction, backtracking the pack road.

The trail was fairly level, following canyon bottoms where it could, crawling over hills only when there was no way around them. Finally it began to rise, twisting its way upward to break suddenly through thick timber and onto the wagon road that led over the pa.s.s and out of the valley.

Clay hurried the dun across the wagon road and looked back. There was no sign of the trail he had just left. The stand of trees hid it completely. He turned and scanned the timber lining the near side of the wagon road. If he hadn't been looking for the trail to start up again, he wouldn't have seen it at all. The beginning had been cleverly camouflaged by brush and timber so that it was almost invisible.

Clay pushed the dun through the brush and went on. He judged that the trail crossed the pa.s.s road about halfway to the summit, and now he saw that it was climbing again.

Clay came out onto a wide flat and stopped. There was no need to go farther. Not tonight. He was on his own land. From here this trail could lead to only one place - the great tumble of rocks above the rear of Deadman Canyon.

Anger shook Clay. Damson had grown rich and powerful from silver that belonged to him! Now Clay understood what a man like Vanner was doing in Wildhorse. A scheme as difficult to carry out as this one needed the kind of mind Damson didn't have. And Damson was just smart enough to figure that out. He'd deliberately brought Vanner here to help him rob Clay of silver while making it look as though the ore came from Damson's own mine.

Either that or Vanner had found the silver first and picked Damson as the man best suited to front for him. It didn't make much difference which one had the idea first. Clay figured Roy Ponders' jail was big enough to hold them both.

He pushed the dun back the way he had come. He rode past the point where he'd first found this trail. A short distance beyond he could see the lantern lights reflecting off the trees again. He was almost back to Damson's mine. But this time he was coming in from a different direction.

The trail led around a timbered hill, went over a short rise, and dropped abruptly into the hollow where Damson was working. Clay rode into the circle of lantern light and pulled the dun up short, drawing his gun.

Damson was standing with his shovel half-raised, a puzzled expression on his face as he squinted toward Clay. The shovel fell out of his hands and he took a backward step.

"Belden! I thought - "

"Your boys told you wrong," Clay interrupted. "Vanner's scheme misfired. Sorry to disappoint you, Damson."

Damson ran his tongue over his lips. His eyes moved past Clay to the trail Clay had left. The question he wanted to ask lay openly on his heavy face.

Clay said obligingly, "I found your pack trail." He glanced at the pile of ore beside Damson. "That looks pretty rich from here. How much do you figure I'm worth - counting what you've already turned into money?"

"It's mine!" Damson shouted at him. "I found it. By G.o.d, you'll get nothing from me."

He made a move toward his gun. "Hold it right there!" Clay ordered sharply. Damson took a stride forward. Clay fired. His bullet hit Damson's gun and sent it flying off the darkness. Damson dropped to the ground as if he thought the bullet had hit him.

Clay said with disgust, "Get to your feet. We're riding to town."

Damson got up and walked toward Clay. He held both hands at his sides, his huge fists clenched. Suddenly he lifted his right arm and swung it. Clay saw the chunk of ore Damson held in his striking hand and knew that the big man had pretended fear at Clay's shot, but had fallen to the ground as a blind. Clay ducked to shield himself from the chunk of ore, but he was too slow. The rock caught his gun arm at the elbow, numbing it. He felt the gun slide from his fingers.

Damson made a dive for the gun as it struck the ground. Clay left the saddle in a leaping dive that brought him down on Damson's back.

Damson straightened up, flinging Clay off. Clay hit the ground and rolled. Damson turned and gave a gusty laugh. He came at Clay with a shoulder-swinging rush. Muscles bulged under his sweat-streaked skin. He moved quickly on his thick, solid legs, his fists clenched into hard boulders of bone and flesh.

Clay felt a sudden savage pleasure. He measured himself against Damson and he knew that Damson had never stood a better chance of whipping him than now. The long hard day in the saddle and the bruising he had taken during the stampede had honed away the sharp edge of his strength. But still he relished this chance to fight Damson without interference from anyone.

He set himself as Damson's bull-like rush picked up speed and power.

Damson reached Clay and swung a heavy right first. Clay side-stepped. Too late he saw that Damson's left fist held a piece of ore as well. Damson threw the rock. Clay flung an arm up over his eyes. The ore struck the arm a glancing blow and went on to slam against his forehead, right between his eyes. For an instant he was blinded. He staggered backward.

Damson's gusty laugh came again. He stepped in and rapped a fist over Clay's heart. He swung from far down and crashed his fist to Clay's temple.

Clay went to his knees, blinking against the blinding tears scalding his eyes. He saw Damson through a haze of moisture. Damson came slowly toward him, lifting a leg to drive a boot toe into his face. Clay twisted aside as the boot gouged air beside his head. He reached up and caught Damson's ankle. He jerked, twisting backwards.

Damson fought to hold his balance, lost it, and crashed to the ground. Clay climbed to his feet and rubbed his eyes. He saw Damson rise slowly, stand for a moment shaking his head like a wounded bull, and then move slowly forward.

Clay could see more clearly now, and he let Damson come almost up to him before he moved. He side-stepped as Damson swung. This time he ducked his head and moved in, rapping his left hand against Damson's nose. He danced back and let Damson rush again. Clay blocked a right and drove two solid blows to Damson's heart. Damson gave ground, pain whitening his heavy mouth. Clay pressed him, chopping both fists into Damson's eyes.

Damson got in one more swing, a hard chop to the side of Clay's head that sent him spinning off balance. And then Clay knew it was over. His crashing fall and Clay's coldly calculated fists had broken Damson. His movements were slow; his eyes had begun to glaze.

Clay drove him across the hollow until he had Damson against the side of the freight wagon. Damson made a feeble effort to bring up his guard but Clay brushed it aside and chopped as methodically as a surgeon at Damson's unprotected face.

Damson swung wildly, blinded by blood streaming from cuts above his eyes. Clay split his lips open and blood dribbled down over his chin and onto the hair matting his chest. Relentlessly, Clay continued swinging. He felt bone and cartilage give as his fists found Damson's nose. He swung a final harsh blow against the side of Damson's head and then stepped back, waiting for Damson to fall.

Damson pawed at the air but stayed upright, his back pressed to the side of the freight wagon. Clay stepped in and hit him in the Adam's apple. Damson retched. Clay drove a fist under Damson's breastbone.

Damson went down to his knees. He stayed that way, his head hanging, blood dripping from his battered face. After a long moment he lifted his head and wiped a little of the blood away from his eyes so he could see Clay.

"I'll kill you for this. So help me."

"Your privilege," Clay said. "If you're still young enough when you get out of jail."

Damson cried out wildly and pushed himself forward in a diving charge that struck Clay around the legs. Clay went over backward with Damson clinging to him. He twisted free and rolled to where his gun had fallen. Damson scrambled to his feet and staggered to Clay's dun. He flung himself on its back and kicked it savagely. The horse bolted along the rutted road.

Clay got the gun and surged to his feet. He fired once, aiming high. The dun skittered sideways. Damson, barely in the saddle, lost his grip and went down in the brush along the road. He picked himself up and ran over the rise and out of sight.

Clay reached the top of the rise in time to see Damson out of gun range now, stagger across the hill road and down toward his house. Clay heard the tired dun hammering its way toward town. Swearing, he started wearily after it.

XIII.

DAMSON staggered into his house and found a rifle. He went out on the veranda and searched the moonlit yard for signs of Clay. He saw nothing and he stumbled across the yard and plunged his face into the horse trough.

He came up blowing, cursing at the sting of the water on his cuts. He pumped fresh water and let it stream over his head. His eyes cleared and he went back into the house. He put on a shirt and buckled on a gun and belt. Then he hurried to the barn and saddled his palomino. He kicked it savagely down to the valley road and toward town.

He swung to the west so that he would come up to the Cattlemen's Bar by way of Ted Petrie's livery stable and not have to pa.s.s the jail. He reached the saloon by the back alley and put the horse in the small stable there. He ran into the building through the rear door and climbed the stairs to the hallway.

He went down the hall to Vanner's room and tried the door. It was locked. He rapped on it and heard only a hollow echo. Swearing, he retreated to Molly's door. He flung it open. She was at her desk as she had been the last time he came in here. She looked up questioningly.

Surprise widened her eyes. "What happened to you!"

"Never mind. Get Vanner up here and be quick about it. And don't give me none of your lip this time!" he shouted.

Molly made no move to get up and he cried, "I said, be quick!" He turned and hurried to his own room where he could get a drink.

He was a little calmer when Vanner came into the room. Vanner shut the door. "What is it this time? I told you - "He stopped and stared at Damson's battered face. "What kicked you?"

"Belden!" Damson said. "Marnie tells me Belden's dead. So I go on doing just what you said for me to do - shoveling ore, making myself handy for anyone who wants to find out where I am."

He broke off and took another drink. "And who comes riding up our trail but Belden!" He glared at Vanner. "He found out about the mine. He knows what we been up to. He tried to take me to jail, by G.o.d!"

Vanner pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And you had a fight," he murmured. Then he looked at Damson sharply. "What did you do with his body, leave it lying where the sheriff can find it?"

Damson cursed him viciously. "There ain't no body," he shouted. "He beat me, whipped me into the dirt. I was lucky to get away."

Vanner paled. "You let Belden loose - to come into town and tell the law what he found out?"

"I stole his horse and then lost it," Damson said. "I figure I got here first. Leastways I didn't see a whisker of Belden on my way into town." He took a deep breath. "What are you going to do now?"

Vanner clenched his fists and then slowly relaxed them. His lips moved but no sound came out. Finally he said, "I'll have to hurry our plans." His voice was bitter. "That fool Marnie told me Belden was dead, too."

"Wait'll I get my hands on him!" Damson began.

"He's gone," Vanner said shortly. "I fixed it with Molly so she'll swear he and Pike have been locked in a room here ever since late afternoon. The story is they came in and got drunk and she put them away to sleep it off. That was to protect them if there was any question about Belden's death. And to keep them from being accused of shooting Bert Coniff. That's where Marnie's gone now. He's waiting to shoot Coniff."

"Once Belden sees the sheriff, Ponders will know who did it, all right!" Damson cried.

"It's too late now," Vanner said. He looked at his pocket watch. "In just three minutes, two drifters are going to start a fight down by Petrie's livery stable. That will draw the sheriff out of the jail. Then Marnie'll shoot Coniff and come back here." He shrugged and smiled thinly. "And what can the sheriff prove? Molly'll stick to the story I gave her to tell."

"To h.e.l.l with Marnie!" Damson shouted. "Let him hang. It's Belden I want taken care of."

Vanner turned toward the door. "I'll handle that right now," he said. "I have a dozen men downstairs mixing with the town men, buying them drinks, letting them win poker hands. The locals are all pretty drunk now. It won't take much to fire them up when they hear Coniff's been shot."

He nodded. "We'll have to do more than we planned," he murmured. "Just throwing suspicion on Judge Lyles and threatening to lynch Roddy won't be enough - not with Belden still alive."

"Stop talking and do something!" Damson yelled.

"I am doing something," Vanner said. "I'm thinking." He nodded again. "My plan was to take over the town gradually as people gained confidence in us and lost confidence in Judge Lyles. But we haven't time for that." He struck his fist into his palm. "We'll take over tonight!"

Damson stared at him. "Take over what?"

"The town," Vanner said contemptuously. "I'll make a real lynch mob out of those fools downstairs. Drunk as they are, and with my men pushing them, they'll do our work for us."

He smiled his cold, thin smile at Damson. "By morning," he said softly, "this town will need a new judge and a new sheriff."

"What about Belden?" Damson demanded.

"Stop harping on Belden," Vanner said. "What can he do to us? By tomorrow, there won't be any sheriff for him to complain to. And if you don't want to wait for tomorrow, go kill him yourself when he comes into town. Go do it now!"

"By G.o.d," Damson said, "I will!"

He took another drink and strode to the door. He paused, frowning. Then he jerked the door open suddenly and looked into the hall.

"I thought I heard someone out there."

"You've had too much whiskey as usual," Vanner said. "The bartender has orders to let no one up here without permission."

"What about that woman of yours?" Damson demanded.

"Molly? What would she be listening at doors for?" Vanner asked.

"I don't trust her," Damson grunted.

"Because she doesn't like you?" Vanner's voice was thinly contemptuous. "Can you blame her, after the way you mauled her around? I understand Belden beat you worse when he caught you at it than he did tonight."

Damson took an angry stride forward, his arm raised. He let it drop and walked back to the sideboard for another drink.

Vanner glanced at his watch again. "Don't get impatient," he said. He went to a window and pulled the curtain aside carefully. From the window he had an angle view to the street running in front of the jailhouse. He glanced from his watch to the building and back.