"Why'd he come here, Lou? Aren't you even curious?" Ramsey stared morosely out the window. Zeb Rawlings was an old friend, and a good officer. There might be a time when he would have to ask Rawlings for help, which made it worse. His town was only sixty miles north, and Zeb handled it very well, and was known as a man who was never anxious to shoot, which was rare in old-time marshals who had grown into their jobs at a time when it was often safer to shoot first and ask the questions afterward. Zeb was of the tradition of Bill Tilghman, Jim Gillette, and Jeff Miltona"all experts with the gun, but each one prepared to give the other fellow a chance to surrender. They were good men, the best men.

Basically, there had been three types of frontier marshals. There were those like Tilghman, Gillette, Milton, and a few others, who gave a man every chance. Then there was the type like Hickok, who gave you no second chance. If yours was the reputation as a troublemaker, or if you came to town loaded for trouble, the first wrong move might get you shot.

And there was another sort, like Mysterious Dave Mather. If you came into their town hunting trouble they didn't wait for you; they went looking for you and shot you where they found you, and wasted no time in the process. Wherever Zeb Rawlings carried the badge, there was law. He enforced it quietly, surely, and without favoritism. He had even lost a few jobs because he would throw a trouble-making rancher with thousands of head of cattle into jail just as quickly as he would jail a thirty-dollar-per-month cowhand. But this Gant affair ... it had the look of a personal feud. Lou Ramsey did not know if that was the case, but he was afraid of it. When a man got to enforcing the law, he could not allow personalities to enter into it. "What do you want me to do?" Ramsey said. "Run him out of town? You know I can't do that. We don't carry the law in a holster, Zeb. Not any more. Besides, what would I have to back it up? That he keeps bad company? There's no wanted posters out on him, not from anywhere."

"Charlie was always smart enough for that," Zeb replied. "He never let himself get in a bind. Charlie did the planning. It was Floyd who carried it out, Floyd who ramrodded the action."

"And Floyd's dead."

Ramsey chewed on his cigar. "Times have changed, Zeb. These aren't the old gun-fighting days." He tilted back in his chair. "The James-Younger gang was the last of them."

Zeb glanced sardonically at Ramsey. "You aren't keeping posted, Lou. Charlie Gant's still around."

"You get me a warrant, and I'll get you Charlie Gant." The door opened and Stover, the deputy, stepped in. "Lou, they want three guards on the wagon with the gold shipment tomorrow."

"Three?"

"It's a heavy load. Over a hundred thousand dollars' worth. I'd better take Clay and Sims with me."

When Stover had gone out, Lou looked at Zeb, who was staring at the ceiling, grinning.

"What's the matter with you?" Ramsey growled. "We ship gold out of here all the time. Some of the shipments are big. So we've put on three men to guard it." "What happens after it gets on the train?"

Lou Ramsey got to his feet. "Zeb, you've no call to make something out of this. Sure, Charlie Gant's in town ... just about every outlaw in the country has been through here at one time or another, and we've never lost a gold shipment yet." Rawlings got up and went to the door, but as he pushed the door open, Ramsey spoke. "Zeb?"

Rawlings turned to look back. "I don't want any trouble here," Ramsey said.

"We've been friends a long time, and as a friend I'd like you to leave town." Zeb Rawlings offered no reply, but stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him. Outside he paused on the street, thinking it through. He had Aunt Lilith to consider now as well as his own family, but to go off to the ranch with this thing hanging fire ... he wouldn't be able to sleep nights knowing Gant was in the country. And he knew the man too well to believe he had forgotten.

Charlie Gant would never feel safe until the man who had killed his brother was dead ... and much more important to Charlie, the man who knew that Charlie had run out on his brother when the going got rough, that he had ducked out of the fight and saved his own skin. If that ever got around, Charlie Gant would find no outlaw, let alone an honest man, who would ride with him. Deeply concerned, Zeb Rawlings went back to the hotel, replying to an occasional greeting, but with his mind far away. He missed nothing along the street, however, but that was long practice. When a man had been a marshal for a few years he saw everything without really seeming to pay attention. He had planned to stay inside, talking to Lilith about old timesa"after all, he had heard little of the family in a good many yearsa"but the boys wanted to go up to the mine, and they had never seen a mine. Concealing his irritation, for he understood the interest the boys had, he agreed to go up to the collar of the shaft with them.

He knew he should stay inside, for one thing he had learned long since was to keep out of trouble by staying away from where it was ... and somewhere in town would be Gant and his friends. Yet, if he was correct in his belief that they planned a train robbery, then the last thing they would want would be trouble now, in this place.

The town had one street that could be called a street. It was half a mile long, and for almost a quarter of a mile on either side it was built solid. After that it sort of tapered off, with scattered buildings and open s.p.a.ces between them. Poston Street, named for an Arizona pioneer, cut off near the end of the solidly built part and went up the slope to the mine buildings and the collar of the shaft. It ended at the mine.

On one side were the mine offices, behind them the a.s.say office, and beyond that the hoisting-engine room, which faced the collar of the shaft. There were other buildings tooa"a warehouse, a blacksmith shop, and a long shed for storing timber to be used in the mine.

The cage which carried the miners down into the mine was topped by a large metal bucket, or hopper, that would hold five tons of ore. As this came to the top, the bucket was tripped and the ore spilled into a huge bin from which it ran into the ore wagons below. A wagon was driven up beneath a chute, the door was lifted, and the rock ran into the wagon until it was filled. Then the metal door was dropped in place, cutting off the flow.

The hoisting-engine chugged away, shooting up a white cloud of steam. Lanterns hung about, and these had already been lighted although the evening was young. Linus ran toward the edge of the shaft to look down, and Zeb called him back. "You stay close to me," he said sternly. "That shaft's a thousand feet deep. If you had two hundred brothers down there, each one standing on another's shoulders, they wouldn't reach the top."

"You ever work in a mine, pa?"

"Some ... not any so good as this one, by all accounts. I worked in low-grade gold ... a good bit of it was there, but I never saw any of it. All we miners ever saw was broken rock."

"Is this always the way they get the ore out?"

"No, for some kinds of ore they use a conveyor system, a lot of little buckets on an endless chain. But in a mine this deep that isn't practical. It's mostly used in coal mines. Men push ore cars to the edge of the shaft and dump them in a pocket, a big hole covered by steel rails, they call a *grizzly.' The man who operates the cage fills that bucket you see on top of the cage at those pockets and hoists it on top."

As he spoke he was watching a man who came out of the a.s.say office. It had become dark as they walked about, and he could not quite distinguish the man's face, but when he stepped into the light of a lantern, Zeb saw it was Charlie Gant. Gant saw him at the same instant, and after a moment's hesitation, he started over.

"Boys," Zeb suggested to the children, "you go in the hoisting-engine room and look at the steam engine. I'll be along in a minute." Gant walked up to him. "Evenin', Rawlings. Marshal tells me you had a word with him. Now, would you call that friendly?"

"I never thought of us as friendly."

"I ain't lookin' for trouble," Gant said, "but if you'd like to put it on the old basis, just you an' me, that's fine."

"I've no reason to fight you, Gant, as long as you obey the law and stay out of the way. Floyd and I had differences that were strictly a matter of law. They're settled. As far as that's concerned, I've finished." "You went to the marshal."

"Of course." Zeb tapped the badge on his chest. "I still wear it, and when you come around I'm suspicious. Other than that, I've nothing to do with it. This is Lou Ramsey's problem. I'm not asking for trouble." "So it's peace you want, Marshal?" His tone changed. "There'll be only one peace for you, Rawlings, the kind my brother got."

"What hapened to him didn't teach you much, did it?"

"Easy, Marshal." Anger burned in Gant's eyes. "I wouldn't push my luck." "Floyd made mighty few mistakes ... except the time he depended on you. And you were the one who got away."

Gant held himself still. Zeb Rawlings could see the anger that flared in him, but Gant controlled himself, although not without effort. For several minutes he was silent, watching the ore bucket come up, dump, and go back down the shaft again.

"I don't like you, Marshal," he said finally. "I don't like what you and your kind have done to this country, and are doin' to it. Used to be a man felt free around here, now a man can hardly breathe."

"I haven't noticed any honest men having trouble." "One of these days, Rawlings, I'll pay you Rawlingses a visit. I'll pay you a visit you'll never forget."

Turning on his heel, he strode away, and after a minute, Zeb called to the boys, who had waited not far off. It was not until he called them that he noticed each boy held a large chunk of rock. Surrept.i.tiously, they dropped them. He smiled, but made no comment.

"What did he mean, pa?"

"Nothin' much, boys. But you know how womenfolks worry about such things. I want you to make me a promisea"a real promisea"not to say a word to ma about this. Will you, Prescott?"

"I promise."

"Linus?"

"Sure, I promise, and I bet I keep it better than Prescott!"

"Good! Now let's go back down the mountain."

They walked together down the hill, and Zeb moved along easily, but with all his old alertness. Charlie Gant had something more important than revenge on his mind just now, but one could never tell ... there were times when emotion defeated reason, and Charlie Gant was a man who knew how to hate. Zeb strolled along with the boys, liking the coolness of the evening air after the heat of the day. That was one thing you could say for the desert. It was like a man with a quick temper: it cooled off fast once the sun went down. The windows were lighted, and men stood along the walk, talking and smoking. Down at the far end of the street a few children played tag, and horses at the hitch-rail stood three-legged ... waiting. Inside the saloons there was a rattle of chips, and the sounds of men at cards.

Zeb paused outside the hotel and let the boys go up by themselves. It was a good life, he thought, and this was a part he had always enjoyed, this business of coming out and taking stock of a town. Yet how quickly one learned to sense trouble. It was an instinct one acquired. Only he was not the marshal herea"that was Lou Ramsey's job.

He thought back again to the rifle and pistol left by the strange rider, and the message. If that old outlaw had left it, it was a curious mark of respect, something that went beyond the law or lawlessness. Of course, it had been that way in the old days, and still was, in a way. The men on both sides of the law had known each other, often respected each other. Sometimes a sheriff was himself a reformed outlaw, but that made no difference.

What was mutually respected was courage, fair play, ingenuity, and ability. How many times he had sat in a ranch house and heard a rancher tell admiringly of the slick way he had been outfoxed by cow-thieves. And there were many stories about how clever Indians became at stealing horses, which was their favorite sport.

Like the time the soldier was sent out to graze the regimental race horse. He had the horse on a picket rope, but he did not even take a chance of picketing it. To be sure the horse was safe, he held one end of the rope. It was a bright, sunny day, and the gra.s.s was good and green. The horse cropped gra.s.s and the soldier watched, and then all of a sudden he realized he was holding a rope's end and nothing more. The horse had been stolen right before his eyes.

Had he blinked? Closed his eyes for a moment, looked away without realizing?

Anyway, the horse was gone, and they never saw it again. A cowhand pa.s.sed behind him. "Evenin'," he said, and Zeb answered. A tin-panny piano started down the street, and in the restaurant a dish was dropped and broke. Zeb Rawlings stood there, at peace with the night. Old Jethro was dead, then ... Lamar Valley. They'd have to go up that way sometime. Julie said her pa had often talked of going back up there. There was some little valley off the headwaters of the Yellowstone that he wanted to see again. And likely that was it.

Prescott came to the door. "Pa? Ma says they're going to eat supper. You want to come in?"

"Sure, son."

They were already at table, but it took him a moment to realize that the beautiful young woman with Lilith was truly his wife. She had done something to her hair, and he had never seen it more lovely. Also, she was wearing a dress he had never seen beforea"one of Lilith's, no doubt. He felt a little pang, realizing he had never been able to afford such a dress for her. And likely never would. Folks expected a lot of their law officers, but they never liked to pay them for it.

He walked up to the table, keeping his eyes from Julie. "Aunt Lil, how soon will Julie be coming down? I sure wanta"" "Zeb!" Julie interrupted.

"What!" he exclaimed in mock astonishment. "Why, Julie! I'd never have known you! And I never saw you look more beautiful."

She knew he was faking his amazement, but she was pleased. "Do you really like it?"

"Of coursea"and thanks, Lilith. I detect your San Francisco hand in this." "It does a woman good to change her looks once in a whilea"the way she does her hair ... something ..."

"If this is a sample, I'll accept your judgment," he said. He glanced at Lilith approvingly. "You don't need any changes, Lilith." She looked at him thoughtfully. This nephew of hers had a quality she liked. "You're going to have a free hand with the ranch, Zeb, but we aren't going to have much capital. I came away from San Francisco with very little." "I've never had much capital," he said quietly. "We'll get along." "What I was thinking," Lilith said, "was that it may be necessary for you to devote all your time to the ranch."

He chuckled. "Ah! Now I see. You and Julie have had your heads together: How can we get him to stop this marshaling business and settle down?" Zeb looked at them seriously. "I'll be glad to settle down whenever I can. Men serve as they can. I do not have the education to help make the lawsa"one thing I can do, is enforce them.

"Julie doesn't like me to wear a gun. I'll take it off when I cana"until then it will be necessary for the men of peace to have guns, as long as men of violence do. We can't put all the force in the hands of evil." He smiled at Julie. "You'll be glad to knowa"Charlie Gant is leaving town."

Chapter 21.

Zeb Rawlings rolled out of bed at daybreak, as had been his custom for years. The hotel room in which they had spent the night was furnished with one chair, a stand for the bowl and water pitcher, with a small mirror above it, and the bed itselfa"that was all.

Always a quiet man, he dressed with special care this morning, not wishing to wake Julie. In his sock feet he stepped over to the window and looked out. At this hour the street was relatively empty, for the sun had not yet come over the mountains. But down there on the boardwalk a man was loafing, smoking a cigarette. On the ground near his feet were the b.u.t.ts of several cigarettesa"he must have been there some time.

Lifting his eyes, Zeb looked toward the mine. There a wagon was drawn up, and men were loading it. A guard with a shotgun sat on the wagon seat, and two mounted guards were nearby.

The man in the street turned his head slightly and Zeb saw that he was one of those who had been at the station to meet Charlie Gant. It was falling into place, each neat, carefully planned piece of it. So neat, and yet so obvious. Zeb went over to the chair, sat down, and tugged on his boots. Taking up his hat, coat, and gun belt, he went to the door, opened it carefully, and stepped out into the hall. In the bathroom at the end of the hall he buckled on the gun belt, bathed his hands and face, and then slipped into his coat. All these actions required time, but it was time that Zeb needed. He would first see how the boys had gotten along in their wagon, but his mind was not on them, but on Charlie Gant and the gold.

From long experience, he could almost chart the steps to be taken, just as he had been sure there would be a lookout in the street to be sure the gold shipment did pull away from the mine and was loaded on the train. The telegraph was valuable to the law; it was also a great help to outlaws. The lobby was empty when he walked through, and when he stepped out on the boardwalk, the watcher was gone. Up the street, and some distance away, Zeb saw the gold wagon driving toward the station, which lay just outside of town. By the time it reached the station, or within a minute or two afterward, the lookout would be at the station too, or within sight of it. Down the street in front of the Bon-Ton Restaurant a man in an ap.r.o.n was sweeping the boardwalk. Sunlight fell between the buildings, and at the end of the walk his broom moved in and out of the sunlight. Linus and Prescott were just waking up and Zeb sat with them and smoked a cigar while they washed at the livery-stable pump.

Off in the distance a train whistled ... the east-bound train which pa.s.sed through only a short time before the westbound train which would pick up the gold. Whatever was to be done about Charlie Gant had to be done now. Sitting there on the bench by the livery stable, he made up his mind about that. Not that he hadn't reached the same conclusion hours ago, but he had to study the situation for a possible alternative.

If he was let alone, Charlie would do what he had come to do, and then he would be free to locate Zeb Rawlings, and never so long as Gant lived would Zeb or any of his family live in security. There would be times when he would have to be away from the ranch, and most of the time he would be out on the range ... his family would be alone, virtually helpless if Gant chose to strike at him through his family, and Gant was such a man.

When Zeb walked into the hotel dining room with the boys, Lou Ramsey was there, seated at the table with Aunt Lilith and Julie. He got up, his face stern. "I had a visit from Charlie Gant last night," Ramsey said. "I don't like it, Zeb."

"Well?"

"He said he saw you. That you were looking for trouble."

"You believe that?"

Lou Ramsey looked at him angrily. "Zeb, it doesn't matter whether I believe it. You're taking your trouble to your own territory. You're not going to make trouble for me here. I won't have it, Zeb."

"There won't be any more. Gant's gone. He rode out before daylight this morning."

Ramsey hesitated, startled and displeased by the information, even though half expecting it. "Alone?"

"You know better than that. He took his outfit with him, and you know as well as I do they'll be somewhere between here and Kingman, waiting for that train." Zeb paused, then went ahead. "Lou, if I could have three deputies ... or even two. To get on that train with me."

"You don't fool me a bit, Rawlings. It ain't a robbery you're expecting. I know how you feel about Gant. Texas the first timea"you still carry the lead where he shot you. Then it was Oklahoma, when you killed Floyd. And now ... here." Ramsey looked around at Julie and Lilith. "I'm sorry," he said. "You'll have to forgive me. If you can't stop him, I must, but he isn't going to make my office a part of it."

"You haven't eaten, Zeb," Julie protested. "Why don't you sit down?" Lou Ramsey strode from the room, and Zeb seated himself. He glanced across the table at Lilith. "I'm sorry, Aunt Lil. I'm sorry all this has to happen just when you arrive."

The waitress brought coffee to the table, and then Zeb's breakfast. Slowly, the tension went out of him. He genuinely liked Ramsey, and did not want trouble with him, especially as he so clearly understood the marshal's position. He blamed Ramsey not at all for his stand; only for Zeb it was an impossible stand at the moment.

"Who is Charlie Gant?" Lilith asked.

Zeb looked at her in surprise, not that she should ask, but that he himself had never given it a thought. It might be, he told himself, extremely important to know just who Gant was.

After all, who is any man? Charlie Gant was a gambler. He was also an outlaw. Moreover, he was a brother to Floyd Gant, who had not only been an outlaw but a gunman.

Odd, when you came to think of it, how few gunfighters were actually outlaws. Some of them became outlaws later, often because of changes in public att.i.tude or in the att.i.tude of the law.

A gunfighter, or gunman, was actually no more than a man who, because of some unusual gift of dexterity, coordination, and nerve, became better with a gun than others. He was no particular type of person, other than possessing more than usual ability to face a gun in another man's hand and shoot back; nor was he of any particular profession. Most gunfighters had been officers of the law, but that was a result of their skill, rather than otherwise. Hickok had been a stagedriver and scout for the army. Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Billy Brooks, and many others had been buffalo hunters; Clay Allison, Pink Higgins, and John Slaughter had been ranchers, Ben Thompson a gambler, Doc Halliday a dentist, Temple Houston a lawyer. Billy the Kid had been a drifting cowhand and gambler, then a feudist in the Lincoln County war, and actually only an outlaw after that war ended.

Chris Madsen had been a soldier in several armies, among them the French Foreign Legion; Buckey O'Neill was a newspaper editor, probate judge, and superintendent of schools, as well as a frontier sheriff; many gunfighters had been ex-soldiers. And who was Charlie Gant?

"Takes me back a long time when you ask that, Aunt Lil," Zeb commented, "and Lou Ramsey knows it. That's why he's edgy about this situation." "We knew Floyd first," Julie said. "Zeb met him in the Panhandle when they were buffalo hunting."

"Not that we were ever friends," Zeb said, "but we got along all right. It was sort of nip-and-tuck between us with pistols, but with a rifle I could outshoot him.

"We had a little bet on who would get the most buffalo, and I won. Nothing was said about it at the time, but it didn't set well with Charlie. Floyd took it all right, but Charlie lost a good deal of money." Zeb Rawlings sat back and watched his coffee cup refilled. Talking about old times brought them back, and glancing at Julie, he saw a reminiscent glow in her eyes, too.

They had been good days after he returned from the Panhandle to Kansas City, where Julie was waiting for him. He had made good money on the hunt, and they lived well. They had gone to New Orleans, and from there they took a boat to Galveston. He had bought cattle, and together they went on the drive to Kansas, where he sold at a good profit. He began to look as if he was on his way to becoming a success. His second cattle venture was pure failure. It began with a stampede in the Nation when they lost half their cattle, and ended with a pitched battle with Kiowas in which the cattle were driven off and three men and Zeb had fought off Kiowas for three days, without water. One man died, and Zeb and another brought the third man in, half dead, across their one horse. There had been no good news for Julie on that trip. She was in Dodge to meet him, and the little money they had was barely enough to tide them over and get them back to Texas. Zeb Rawlings went to Austin and joined the Texas Rangers. He had stayed with them two years.

He had been marshal in a small cow town in West Texas when Charlie Gant showed up again. Before Zeb took the job they told him about Gant's place ... there had been several killings in the place, and at least two big winners at the tables had been murdered after leaving it.

Zeb Rawlings moved in, watched, listened, and conducted a careful investigation. Then a man was stabbed and left for dead out back of the saloon. He lived long enough to let Zeb know it had happened in the saloon, and at Gant's ordera"or at least, with his knowledge.

There wasn't evidence enough for a trial, and no court in less than a hundred miles, so Zeb walked into the saloon and up to the bar. Charlie himself came to wait upon him.

"No," Zeb said, refusing the drink. "I'm closing you up, Charlie." Gant had merely stared at him. After a bit he said, "Don't be a fool. You can't close me up."

"As of twelve o'clock noon"a"it was at that time a little after ten in the morninga""you're closed. There is a stage at two o'clock. You're to be on it." Gant laughed, but without much humor. "You're playing the fool, Rawlings. I won't close, and you can't close me."

"If I could prove some of the murders you've committed, or had committed," Zeb replied quietly, "you would leave this town only in irons and under guard. As it is, I am giving you a chance."

Zeb Rawlings would never forget that morning. He had walked out of the saloon into the bright glare of the sun, and had no idea of how he would or could force Gant to close. At a few minutes after eleven two of Gant's men rode into town. One of them went to the livery stable and took up his post outside. The other, after a talk with Gant, walked across the street from the marshal's office and, seating himself on the edge of the walk, rolled and lit a cigarette. At a quarter to twelve the town's banker and several other citizens appeared at the marshal's office with shotguns and Winchesters. "We're ready if you are, Rawlings. If they want action, they can have it." "Thanks," Zeb said, "but you just sit tight here in the office. Let me handle this."