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  At the livery stable the stage change of teams was harnessed and waiting out front, and when the stage pulled in some fifteen minutes later, Daley got the driver aside and gave him the message for Sheriff Braden. With it went the warning that the men who held the cattle would likely be Hoads and that they would surely fight.

  He kept the driver to himself until the teams were changed, then walked him to the stage, making sure that he didn’t pass on word of the Hoads to anyone before he left Bale for Moffitt.

  The stage gone, Daley rode down Grant Street and passing Macey’s, he saw the R-Cross ponies tied at its rail. He groaned at the sight. Tim Macey couldn’t help but spot the brand and warn Orv. He dismounted at the emporium and bought two pairs of socks, all the while fighting down his impatience to know Reese’s condition. Would he still be out of his mind with delirium, or would the night’s rest and Doc Parkinson’s attention have brought him around? The move required now would need Reese’s approval before it could be made.

  Finished, he went back to the court-house, filled out a warrant for the arrest of Orville Hoad, put it in his pocket, went to the Bale House for his noon meal and promptly at one o’clock was standing on the brick walk that led to Doc Parkinson’s rambling old house, waiting for Jen.

  During the noon hour the morning’s bright sunshine had vanished, and Jim guessed that the low clouds that had moved in would bring a rain with them.

  When Jen appeared afoot, since her house was only around the corner from the doctor’s, Daley admired her blue dress as she approached. She was hatless as always. Together they went up the walk and were shown by Mrs. Parkinson through the office and into a back bedroom, which served as the town’s hospital. Mrs. Parkinson was a horse of a woman, jolly and grey-haired. As she moved through the office, she said over her shoulder, “Doc is napping, Jen, but he’ll be up when you’re finished with Reese.”

  “That means Reese is conscious then.”

  “Oh yes. He slept until eleven and ate like a man should.”

  Reese was sitting up in the bed wearing one of Dr. Parkinson’s nightshirts and at sight of him Jen felt a surge of joy. He was washed, and his dark hair was combed; and when he smiled his teeth showed white against the heavy beard stubble he hadn’t yet shaved off.

  “Hello, Jim,” Reese said to Daley. Then he looked at Jen who had come up beside him. “That must have been quite a ride you gave me, Jen. I feel as if I’d been dropped off a cliff.”

  “You don’t remember any of it?”

  “None of it. I got a pretty fair account of it that Doc got from you.”

  Daley brought two straight chairs up to the bed, and Jen sat down. Jim sat astride his, arms folded on its back.

  While Jen told Reese of the fat man passenger whose peevishness turned at sight of Reese into warm helpfulness, Jim reached in his jacket pocket and brought out the warrant. When Jen had finished Jim flipped the warrant on the bed.

  “That’s for Orv, Reese. I don’t think we’d better waste any time.”

  “There’s no hurry,” Reese said. “I’ll be up tomorrow on a crutch, Doc says.”

  “Maybe that’ll be too late,” Jim said. He told Reese and Jen then of the four R-Cross riders who had come into the office earlier. They had promised to keep their mouths shut about their business and Jim, telling of their plans, said he didn’t name the Hoads as the rustlers. Their horses, however, were in town and their brands were there for any Hoad to read. Jim finished by saying, “I could be wrong, Reese, but Orv just might spook when he hears these boys are in town.”

  “I think he’ll stay,” Reese said. “He’ll figure nobody has anything on him—us and the R-Cross crew. It isn’t hot enough for him yet, Jim.”

  “Why don’t we play it safe,” Jim insisted. “I can pick him up this afternoon.”

  “I want to be with you, Jim. Wait a day.”

  Jim looked at him searchingly and then said grimly, “If you weren’t laid up in bed, I’d quit.”

  “Quit tomorrow then because I’ll be up. But why?”

  “I want Orv Hoad so bad I ache all over. We’ve got all we need to take him in, but you say no.”

  “You can make the arrest,” Reese said. “I just want to be with you.” He added dryly, “I’ve got a share in him too, remember.”

  Jim told Reese that he had sent word by the stage driver to Sheriff Braden, and they discussed Braden’s chances of finding the herd and the Hoads. They talked of other things too, and it was Jen who first noticed that Reese was tiring. She rose and said, “Aunt Amelia and Dad want to see you tonight after supper. Can they come with an armful of books for you?”

  Reese said with mock dubiety, “Well, it means I’ll have to shave.”

  Jen and Daley laughed and then said goodbye. They parted out on the street with Jen heading for home and Jim for an idle cruise of the town to check on the R-Cross riders. Their ponies were not at the Bale House tie-rail, nor at Tim Macey’s, nor at the Best Bet’s.

  At the last named Jim dismounted and went inside. The Best Bet’s customers were few at this hour and when Jim bellied up to the bar, Perry Owens left a pair of customers and came up to him. Jim ordered a beer, and when Perry brought it to him, he asked with seeming indifference, “Four strangers together been in today, Perry?”

  “You mean them R-Cross riders?”

  Jim nodded. “How d’you know they were R-Cross?”

  “Saw the brand. It’s the same brand that was on the horse Reese made me look at,” Perry said sourly.

  “They say anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I don’t know. What did they talk about?” Jim said irritably.

  “Well, I asked them if they got that horse back.”

  “That grey, you mean?” Jim asked sardonically.

  Perry flushed. “That bay, I mean. They didn’t know he was here. They asked me how come he was. I told him about Con Fraley bringing him in. They said you never told ’em about that.”

  “But you did,” Jim said sourly.

  Perry’s gaunt face took on an aggrieved expression. “Why the hell not? Is it a secret?”

  Jim sighed. “No, it never was. Did they ask you any questions?”

  “Plenty. They said you figured the man who killed their boss was the last man that talked to him. That was Orv Hoad, I reckon.”

  Jim was almost afraid to ask the next question, but he made himself do it. “You told them that?”

  “Yeah. Is that a secret too?”

  Jim felt a fury that he didn’t bother to hide. “You told them Orv Hoad was the last man seen talking to their boss. All right. What did they say?”

  “They wanted to know where his place was.”

  “And you told them,” Jim said savagely. “How long ago was this?”

  “Half hour ago, maybe.”

  “What directions did you give them?”

  Perry looked surprised. “Why, take the road south till you come to Ballard’s Store, go left there, then go right on the third road you come to.”

  Jim pushed away from the bar and made the door in five big strides. Outside he ran for his horse, not even noticing that it had begun to rain.

  He mounted and then sat there, irresolute. To make this legal he should have a warrant and Reese had it but, more important, he had to get to Orv before the R-Cross riders did; and lastly, he had to get Orv safely behind jail bars before the R-Cross riders killed him or he killed them. To hell with the warrant. He didn’t have time for it.

  Now he turned his horse and headed south down Grant Street. If the R-Cross boys followed Perry’s directions they would travel two sides of a triangle, while if he rode in a straight line to Orville Hoad’s place, he would travel the hypotenuse.

  At the edge of town he was suddenly aware of the rain, and now he reached back, untied his slicker and put it on. This would not be much of a storm, he judged. There was scarcely any wind, and the low sky was leaden from horizon to horizon. It would be one of those long sum
mer drizzles that might hold on for days. An early snow in the high peaks might crack it, but that was unlikely.

  What am I doing talking to myself about the weather, he thought. He made himself think now of Orv Hoad. Should he decoy him into town on some pretext or other and arrest him later, or should he simply say immediately upon seeing him that he was under arrest? Daley decided then that he would simply play it by ear.

  Roughly an hour after he left town the big cottonwoods around Orv’s place came into sight through the drifting rain. As he dismounted and opened the Texas gate, he surveyed this shabby but oddly attractive jumble of log buildings, greyly darkened by the rain that had sifted slowly through the forest of towering cottonwoods surrounding it. He led his horse over to the tree in front of the veranda and tied him to the ring which had been spiked into the trunk. Afterwards he mounted the single veranda step and moved across to a door where he knocked.

  Minnie Hoad opened the door. She was, Jim saw, wearing an apron over the Mother Hubbard that covered her lanky, almost shapeless body. The black eyes in her expressionless face regarded him impassively.

  “Orv home, Minnie?”

  Minnie gestured toward one of the rockers on the porch. “Set down. I’ll get him.” She turned back into the house and now Jim moved over to one of the rockers, unbuttoning his slicker. He started to sit down, then realized that if trouble started he’d better be ready to handle a gun. He pulled off his slicker then, threw it over the back of the chair and sat down.

  Presently Orv Hoad stepped through the doorway, halted and said, “Hi, Jim.” Jim noted that Orv was weaponless and his pale hair was rumpled as if Minnie had wakened him from a nap.

  “Hello, Orv.”

  “Who’s sheriffing in town with Reese laid up and you out here?”

  “Nobody will miss us, and you and me will be back in an hour or so.”

  Orv’s green eyes regarded him almost sleepily. “You and me?” he asked mildly. “I wasn’t aiming to go to town.”

  He sat down in a rocker facing Jim that was some ten feet distant.

  “I’ve changed your mind for you,” Jim said and added, “You’re under arrest, Orv, for attempted murder.”

  “Now just who did I aim to murder?” Orv asked with a sly amusement.

  “Reese.”

  “And when did I do this?” Orv’s tone was still mild, still amused.

  “Day before yesterday at the mouth of Hendricks Canyon.”

  “Wherever that is,” Orv said.

  “You know where it is. Don’t bother to lie to me, Orv. You cut down on Reese, killed his horse and tried to kill him.”

  “Now why would I do that?” Orv asked scornfully. “Why, he’s my kin.” He turned his head before Jim could answer and called, “Minnie, bring out the jug.”

  “Why? Because he was trailing a couple of hundred head of beef you rustled from a R-Cross trail herd.”

  “Pshaw. What brand’s R-Cross? What trail herd? Where?”

  “There’s four R-Cross hands hunting you now. They’ll tell you.”

  Daley heard footsteps inside the room and now his glance shifted to the doorway. Minnie came through it, a jug of moonshine dangling from a finger, and turned toward Orv. She placed herself between Jim and Orv as she handed Orv the jug. Momentarily shielded by Minnie’s body, Orv lazily reached out and dipped his hand into her big apron pocket. From it he drew a six-gun that he had told her a moment ago to put there, and then said mildly, “You’re in the way, Minnie.”

  When she stepped aside Jim Daley saw, and his hand drove for his gun.

  Orv shot once, and Jim Daley’s hand never reached his gun. He was dead before it could.

  Now Orv, still sitting, reached out his left hand for the jug which Minnie handed him. Still sitting he drank from it, then, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, he regarded Daley. Jim’s head was sunk on his chest, and his shirt front was darkening with blood.

  Orv’s glance shuttled to Minnie now, but she was looking out toward the gate, her Indian’s face still secret, still impassive. Orv turned his head then, the noise of the gunshot washing put of his ears. Through the slow drizzle he could make out four riders approaching the gate.

  “Minnie, take Daley’s horse. Go get Ty and Buddy and Big John. Get Callie too. Tell Callie to send for the Bashear boys and Wash. Tell her to get the word out to come here quick.”

  Minnie moved quickly to Daley’s chair and wrenched his slicker loose. The seated body didn’t move. She stepped out into the rain, walked up to Daley’s horse, untied it, mounted and rode around the house.

  Now Orv rose, rammed the gun in his belt, moved to the door, reached inside it and brought out a rifle. Only then did he look out through the misting rain again to the four riders. One was dismounted at the gate and moving to open it. Orv lifted the rifle, aimed over the heads of the four men and shot.

  “Who the hell are you shooting at?” a voice called angrily.

  “It’s my land. Get off it!” Orv called back.

  The dismounted man left the gate, vaulted into the saddle and now the four riders turned and rode ahead, putting the cottonwoods between them and the house. Swiftly then Orv turned, crossed the living room, entered the kitchen, closed and barred the back door, then returned to the veranda. Now, heedless of the rain, he moved out to the tree and peered around it. From here he could see the four riders conferring. Again he raised his rifle, and again he shot over the heads of the riders. Immediately they put their horses in motion and headed out toward the flats and were presently screened by the drifting rain. Before they were out of sight, however, Orv thought he saw them split up.

  He passed dead Jim Daley and didn’t even look at him. Stepping inside he closed the door and barred it, then moved to one of the front windows. These must be the four R-Cross riders. Had he scared them off? he wondered.

  “I’m telling you that was the Deputy on that porch and he’s dead,” the redhead said. The four riders had halted out on the drenched flats. All of them wore cracked and peeling slickers.

  “You ain’t sure, Harv,” the gaunt man said.

  “The hell I ain’t. You ever seen a shirt you could play checkers on like his? Besides, it figures. He said he was going to arrest Hoad. We all heard the gunshot, didn’t we?”

  “What d’you aim to do?” the older, bulky rider asked.

  “I sure ain’t going to let him go,” the redhead said. “Stape, you cut back for Bale. Hunt up that Sheriff and tell him what we saw. The rest of us will watch the place.” He looked at the others. “Wilsey, you circle and fort up in the barn. Pace, you take the front and side. I’ll get by the bunkhouse. Now hurry it up before he has time to saddle up and ride out.”

  Thus the siege began with Harvey, Wilsey and Pace watching the house and Stape riding for Bale in the slow rain.

  The first half hour puzzled the R-Cross riders. Nothing happened. It was the redhead, Harvey, who ran out of patience first. Hoad could not watch in four directions at once and maybe he could make the house while Hoad was looking in another direction. Casually then he started around the corner but as he was taking the second step a rifle shot racked out and he heard the slug drive into a head-high log on the corner. In one motion Harvey wheeled and lunged for the protection of the bunkhouse. He walked its length, poked his rifle around the corner and put a shot through the window. There was no answering shot, and he knew with chagrin that he was only being taught a lesson.

  A movement out on the flats drew his attention and soon he made out three slickered riders approaching the place. Was this help from Bale? No, Stape hadn’t had time to get there and back. He watched as the riders approached the wagon shed joined to the big barn, dismounted, put their horses under the shelter of the wagon shed and started for the house.

  Should he challenge them, give a warning shot? He knew Pace and Wilsey were asking themselves the same thing and likely waiting on him for the first move but, hell, he couldn’t shoot at three strangers who came to cal
l on Hoad. Even if he did fire a warning shot, what was to stop them from circling around through the cottonwoods, and then he’d have a rifleman on either side of him. No, all he was interested in was holding Hoad here until the Sheriff took over the situation.

  The three men, two young and one old, tramped through the barn lot to the back door, tried it, knocked and were admitted. Wilsey held his fire too; Pace probably couldn’t see them. The slow rain was cold and maddening and Harvey had no shelter from it. It would be drier under the cottonwoods, he reasoned, so he moved back toward them, keeping the bunkhouse between himself and the house. Once he was in the cottonwoods, he took up his new station. He could not tell for sure but he thought the light was fading. What, he wondered, would they do when darkness fell.

  It was twenty minutes later when he picked up two more riders crossing the flats in the misting rain. They too came up to the wagon shed, left their horses and tramped across the muddy barn lot toward the house. One was a big man, the other very small; in fact, small enough to be a boy or a woman. Still, he doubted it was a woman. The figure wore pants and cowman’s boots and a man’s hat. Again he held his fire and watched them enter the house.

  Then he remembered. Hadn’t someone ridden out before Hoad fired his first warning shot? Maybe whoever that was had summoned help, not for them, but for Hoad. Well, they had help, all right. It was six against three right now. The only thing they could do was keep those six inside the house.

  Jen was with Reese when Mrs. Parkinson showed a man into the room. He was a big man, unshaven and partially bald. The slicker and the hat he held in his hand quietly dripped water on the rug as he moved across to the foot of Reese’s bed.

  “Name’s Stapleton, Sheriff. I’m one of Reston’s R-Cross hands.”

  “Daley told me about you earlier. Take a chair.”

  “Won’t be here long, Sheriff. I think you got troubles, like me, like us.”

  Stape told them how they had learned from the bartender in the Best Bet that Orville Hoad was the last man to talk with Reston and also where he lived. They were close to Hoad’s gate when they heard a single shot fired coming from the house. At the gate one of them dismounted to open it while the other three watched the house. They saw someone mount a horse and ride around the house. Two men were sitting in chairs on the veranda, one of them got up and reached for a rifle inside the room. The other man still sat in his chair, head slumped forward. He wore a red and black checked shirt. The first man fired over their heads, and they yelled at him to quit it. He yelled back that this was his land and to get off it. He fired again. The man sitting in the chair never looked up, never moved. Stape said the man was wearing a shirt like Daley had on this morning. Daley had told them that he was going out to pick up the man who killed Reston.