Suddenly Albright, looking back across his shoulders, moved like a cat and picked up something from ten feet away.

He held it on his palm--an empty sh.e.l.l, such as fitted a .44 Smith and Wesson.

He scanned it minutely, turned it over this way and that, looked at it fore and aft.

"Firin' pin's nicked," he said, "an' a leetle off centre."

For ten minutes the thing went from hand to hand.

Then Kenset gave it to the coroner.

"There's your clew, Mr. Banner," he said. "Now we can begin. Let us be going back to Corvan."

And so it was that Old Pete, the snow-packer, went back in state to the Golden Cloud, by relays on men's shoulders down the sounding pa.s.ses, through the dead cut, by pack-horse across the levels, lashed stiffly to the saddle, a pitiful burden.

Tharon Last, riding close after the calm fashion of a strong man in the face of tragedy, thought pensively of that night in spring when this little old man had taken his life in his hands to save her own.

It was a gift he had given her, nothing less, and she made up her mind that Old Pete should sleep in peace under the pointing pine at Last's Holding--and that his cross should also stand beside those other two in the carved granite.

Billy, watching, read her mind with the half-tragic eyes of love.

Kenset, seemingly unconscious, but keenly alive to everything, was at great loss to do so.

He hoped, with a surging tenseness, that this fateful thing was sliding over into his hands to work out, his and Banner's. He knew full well that he and Banner both were like to be slated for an early death, but he did not care. In Corvan, night had fallen when the cavalcade pa.s.sed through.

Bullard of the Golden Cloud had the grace to come out and look at the little old man who had worked for him so long and faithfully. But that was all. They carried him home to Last's and buried him decently at dawn.

Then the Vigilantes again rode out. At their head was Tharon; though both Kenset and Billy tried to dissuade her.

At Corvan, Banner went through the town like a wind, asking for the gun of every man he met. By noon every .44 had been examined, one sh.e.l.l exploded. Not one left the nicked, uneven sign of the mysterious hammer which had snapped its death into Old Pete's heart.

When the sun was straight overhead and all Lost Valley was sweet with the summer haze, the Vigilantes, close packed and silent, swung out toward the Stronghold.

It was blue-dusk when they drew up at the corrals beside the fortress house. Lounging around in cat-like quiet were some thirty men, riders, gun men, _vaqueros_.

When Banner called for Courtrey there was a sound of boots on the board floors, inside, a woman's pleading voice, and the cattle king came swinging out, his hands at his waist, his two guns covering the crowd.

Tall, straight as a lance, his iron-grey head uncovered, he was a striking figure of a man. His henchmen watched him sharply. At his side clung the slim woman, Ellen, her milky face thin and tragic. He shook her loose and faced the newcomers.

"Well?" he snapped, "what's this?"

"Courtrey," said Banner, "we're here in th' name o' th' law. We demand t' see them guns o' yours."

If the knowledge that Jim Banner was a brave man needed confirmation, it had it in that speech. Few men in the world could have made it, and gotten away with it. None in a different setting. Courtrey heard it, but he paid little heed to it at the moment. His eyes went to the face of Tharon Last and drank in its beauty hungrily.

Presently he shifted his gaze and regarded Kenset with a cold light that was evil.

"Who wants 'em?" he asked drawlingly.

"We do."

"h.e.l.l! Want _Courtrey's_ guns! You're modest, Jim.

"An' what do you want, Tharon?"

In spite of the tenseness of the moment the voice that had laughed at death and torture in Round Valley became melting soft as it addressed the girl.

"Law!" said Tharon, "Law--th' law I promised you on Baston's porch!"

"Yes? An' how do you think you'll get that? If I nod my head we'll drive this bunch o' sp.a.w.n out o' here so quick it'll make your head swim! What do you think you're doin'?"

"I don't _think_. I _know_ now. Know what we can do--what th' law means."

Courtrey glanced again at Kenset.

"Got some imported knowledge, I take it."

"Take it or leave it! Show us them guns!" cried Tharon harshly.

"I--don't--think--so," said Courtrey, nodding.

Like a pair of snakes gliding forward, Wylackie Bob and the Arizona stranger were suddenly in the foreground, hands hanging apparently loose and careless, in reality tense as strung wires, ready to snap with fire and lead.

The moment was pregnant. The very air seemed charged with danger and death.

Then, with a strange cry, Tharon Last swung sidewise from her saddle, for all the world as if she were breaking under the strain, leaned far over El Rey's shoulder, and the next moment there came a shot, snapping in the stillness.

With an oath and a lurch Courtrey flung backward, tossed up his right arm, and fired with his left. His ball went high in the air, wild. The blood from that tossed right hand spurted over Wylackie Bob beside him, the gun it had held went hurtling away along the earth.

There was a movement, a surge, the flash of guns and one of the settlers tumbled from his saddle, poor Thomas of the doubting heart.

Courtrey's men flashed together as one, thundered backward to the wide doorstep, pressed together, waited. The voice of Kenset rang like a clarion.

"Stop!" he cried, "don't shoot!"

And he swung off his horse to leap for that gun.

But another was before him.

With a scream of anguish that rang heaven-high, Ellen shot forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the spot where it had fallen.

Tall, white as a ghost in the rose-pink light that was tinged with purple, she stood, swaying on her feet, and faced them.

And she put the gun to her temple!

"I ain't got nothin' t' live for," she said clearly and pitifully, "but Courtrey's life is worth what I got to me. If you don't clear out I'll pull th' trigger."

She was tragic as death itself. The big blue wells of her eyes were black with the spreading pupils. Dark circles lay beneath them.