T

VI.

HE MAN and the girl whirled to find themselves looking into the muzzle of Ben Sidney's Winchester.

Coyote gasped. It had slipped her mind that the deputy might have a saddle-gun.

Sidney chuckled disagreeably.

"Seems to me," he said sneeringly, "yuh two is gettin' mighty confidential-like. Better save some o' thet friendship fer me, Coyote. Only, I wants a leetle more'n hand-squeezin' fer mine."

He rose slowly. His carbine, held waist-high, now pointed at Coyote. "Drop thet gun." His tone was menacing.

"Don't yuh do hit!" Gotch was on his feet in an instant. "Don't yuh do hit. He won't shoot yuh, honey. Yuh hold on to thet carbine."

Sidney laughed. He had an odd. habit of laughing at any and all times.

"Say," he chuckled, "did yuh ever hear o' Ben Sidney bluffin'? Now one more word from yuh, Gotch Lumsey, and yer'll be a-spittin' blood." The deputy spat, as if to emphasize his words; then, chuckling again, he addressed the girl. "I only wants what's comin' to me," he drawled. "I've allers liked yuh, Coyote. Yuh never did seem to take much stock in me, but thet warn't my fault. Seein'

as how yuh won't make up to me, and as how I've got the upper hand just now, I'm gonna oblige yuh to pay me for them cartridges yuh swiped from my Colt. Just one leetle kiss, 'honey,' and we'll call hit squar. But, fust, yuh must drop thet gun. If yuh don't, I'll shoot hit out o' yer hand. Now drop hit-quick!"

Coyote had no intention of parting with her weapon. She, too, was on her feet now, and, instinctively, her fingers tightened about her baby carbine. But it was useless.

With a lightning-like spring, astonishing in one of his apparent lazy, dilatory nature, Sidney was by her side, his big left hand gripping the barrel of her gun. He laughed maliciously as, with a quick jerk, he flung the weapon far into the bushes. Still covering Gotch with his own carbine, he caught the girl about the waist with his free arm and forced her to him.

Panting, enraged, Coyote fought desperately, tiger-like. But the arm about her was like a hoop of steel. It drew her to the man, in spite of all her young strength. Viciously her fingers tore at his face, but he only laughed at her efforts. She screamed as she felt his stubby-haired lips pressed against her cheek. Then a deafening report set her ear-drums vibrating. The arm about her suddenly relaxed, and dazed, she sank to her knees. But her stupefaction was only momentary. Another instant, and she

was again in full possession of her wits. She saw Gotch stoop down beside the motionless form of the deputy and take the Winchester from his right hand.

"Yuh didn't kill him?" she gasped. The cowboy turned at the sound of her voice. "Naw. He's only dreamin'.”

"Where did yuh shoot him?"

"I didn't shoot. He done the shootin'. I put him to sleep with my quirt."

Then she noticed that he held a quirt in one hand, handle-end down.

"Oh, Gotch!" she exclaimed. "He tried to kill yuh, didn't he?"

"He shore did." Gotch grinned. Then, flinging the quirt in the direction of his saddle, he rose, swung the carbine's strap over his shoulder, and approached the girl. With both hands. he assisted her to her feet.

She still felt a little faint, unstrung. Furtively she glanced to where Sidney's huge form lay stretched upon the ground. She shuddered and asked: "Be yuh shore he ain't dead?"

"Shore," replied the cowboy. "Yuh can't kill one o' them kind o' critters with a crowbar. The only way to anni'late 'em is to git a bomb or a cannon and blow 'em up." Gotch removed his Stetson and stuck one finger through a bullet-hole in the crown. "Wish I'd wore my ole hat," he lamented. "Thar's twenty dollars gone to heck."

Coyote drew closer to the tall puncher, and, laying one small hand on his arm, looked anxiously up into his face.

"I be a-wantin' yuh to take keer o' yerself, Gotch," she said. Then, suddenly, her gaze fell. "'Cause 'cause, if anything'd happen to yuh, what'd become o' me?”

Awkwardly, he put one arm about the girl. He was not much of a ladies' man-this rough, uncultured cowboy; but he loved none the less, and his heart was big. Gotch could "blow up" an evil-doer with never a flutter of heart or nerves but it had taken all the courage he could master to put his

"I loves yuh, Gotch," she whispered. Gotch sighed heavily.

"I don't see how in thunder yuh can love an ole red-headed, crooked-eyed skunk like me," he said presently.

"Aw, I thinks yer're arful goodlookin', Gotch. Anyway, it ain't yer looks I be a-lovin', I loves yuh just 'cause I loves yuh. But yuh could git thet crooked eye fixed if yuh wanted to. Be yuh a-knowin' thet?”

He glanced at her uneasily.

"Fixed?" he queried; then added, suspiciously, "I don't want nobody monkeyin' with my squinters."

"Once," Coyote explained, "a long time ago, I asks daddy what made yer eye crooked and he said as how thar's doctors in the big cities what could straighten hit in no time."

Gotch shook his head skeptically. "They might punch the durned thing out. Then wouldn't I be in a hell o' a fix?"

"Wall, I ain't a worryin' about yer eye, nohow." And reaching up with her two small hands she drew his face down to hers, "I wants a kiss, Gotch," she whispered softly.

The rims of their Stetsons were touching now.

Gently, reverently, he pressed his lips to hers. And in that short space it seemed to the cowboy that he gave and received all the love in the world. Now that the first dreaded ordeal was over, he was loath to desist. He kissed her again and again, revelling in the ecstacy of satisfying in a small degree that love-hunger that had gnawed at his heart for years.

At length he released her, and said: "Guess yuh'd better be gittin' home

now, honey. Come. I'll go with yuh to yuh hoss."

"How about him?" Coyote indicated the still motionless form of the deputy.

Gotch grunted contemptuously. "Humph! Don't yuh be a-worrin' about him. He's liable to dream all night. I'm a-gonna take him to Laredo with me. And don't yuh be aworrin' about me nuther. I'll be a-hittin' the trail fer the Crescent O in two or three days. Tell Sadie I said to take good keer o' yuh till I gits back."

Ten minutes later, the tall cowpuncher watched Coyote and Imp disappear around a bend on Huisache Trail. Then, whistling "There'll be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight," he sauntered back toward the camp.

VII.

Three days after the funeral of Richard Carlton and Dennis McAll in Laredo, the deceased ranchman's wife, Eda Carlton, sat on the veranda of the Capitol, embroidering. John and Kitty Carlton sat near the window, the former smoking a cigarette, the latter reading a novel.

It was an unusually sultry day. The glaring sun shed its torrid heat down upon the bald hill. Some hundred Some hundred yards from the house, the foreman's cottage, the corrals and outbuildings seemed cowering beneath its burning rays. Out over the valley the heatwaves danced against a vernal hori

zon.

Far to the left a thin, winding line of dark-green live oak and elm trees showed where the Rio Grande flowed on its way to the Gulf of Mexico. The Crescent O outfit was rounding-up over on Magury Hill, and the ranch seemed desolate and deserted. A solemn quiet reigned about the place, save for an occasional clatter of dishes, pots and pans from the kitchen, where Sadie was busy cleaning up after a late noonday meal.

John Carlton, a tall, handsome, athletic young fellow, threw away his cigarette, and rose.

"No, mother," he yawned, with a well assumed pretence of indifference,

"I don't believe I would give her to Ben Sidney-even if he is in dead earnest about wanting to marry her. But, somehow, I doubt his sincerity. I'm not claiming to be an expert judge of human nature, but I can't help believing that there's something hectically wrong about that fellow. He's not what he pretends to be. Besides, a blind man could see that she hates him." Young Carlton yawned again, then, smiling behind his hand, he added: "Why don't you take her along with you? She wouldn't be in the way, and could help Sadie out."

"John Carlton!" snapped the widow, eyeing her son over the gold rims of her glasses. "Have you gone crazy? I shall certainly do nothing of the kind. If you are bound to stay here with your share of this land, why then stay; but I have made up my mind about Coyote. She will be the wife of a respectable man, an officer of the law and a property owner. You can find enough work for Sadie about the place here. I'm sure we don't want a pair of ranch-raised long-horns stumbling over our mahogany, denting up our silver and breaking our cut glass-do we, Kitty?"

Thus appealed to, Miss Carlton glanced up from her novel, and, smoothing her yellow tresses with a bediamonded hand, averred: "Well, I should say not! Cattle fair best on ranchers."

"And catamarans in drawingrooms," retorted her brother. "Confound city life!" he added, vehemently. "I've got my fill of it. I'm sick of back-biting scandal-mongers, smiling hypocrites and match-making mammas. I'm tired of silly debutantes, dress-suits, false hair and artificial complexions. I'd rather help in a round-up out here than go to a theatre in town. By George! I'm glad my share takes in this old ranch house and this hill. It's the best view in all Texas. I love this old place. I'm going to stay out here and work and be healthy and make some money instead of spending a lot. I'll have Curtis come out next week and survey off my

eighty sections; then I'll have it fenced, take my share of the stock and start in pronto. Did you say that syndicate man would be here to-morrow?"

"Yes. Rudolph is coming with him to make the sale and attend to everything for me."

"Good. When will you leave for Los Angeles?"

"To-morrow night. The Wellingtons are expecting us at Las Palomas, their summer home near Santa Cruz, about the 15th." Mrs. Carlton sighed. "Too bad Richard had to shuffle off and spoil by house party."

"Then everything's settled-except about Coyote." And again the young man assumed a casual tone and manner. "I want her to stay here with Sadie. It's nice to have women folks about a place, and I'll pay them well. Dennis McAll was father's old friend, and I'm going to see that Coyote doesn't want for anything."

"Yes, and the first thing I know, you'll be marrying her," snorted the widow. "I wish Richard had left the whole of this property to me, his beloved and loving wife, as he should have done; you wouldn't be talking so big. Why, you're just a sentimental kid. What do you know about ranch life, anyway? Now, remember what I say, John, you'll go broke in a few years, besides disgracing the family by marrying that impossible girl. But if you do, don't come back to mejust strike out for yourself. You're nothing but a foolish child with a head full of day-dreams. Think of her stock, John, her common blood. She's of the same stripe as Gotch Lumsey, the murderer of Dennis McAll. She-”

"I'll not go broke, so you needn't worry. And I don't believe Gotch killed Dennis McAll. I've known Gotch ever since I can remember. He's rough but he's true blue. I don't care how much evidence there is against him, I don't believe he did it. Why, Allan died when the boy was ten years old, and, after that, McAll cared for him like a father."

Mrs. Carlton's lips curled, but she deigned no further speech on the mat

But as the object of her exasperation was already half way down to the corrals, the widow became speechless for a minute, while she stared after her son open-mouthed. Then, turning sharply upon her daughter: "Where did he get those those terrible things?" she demanded.

"In Laredo, I suppose," replied Kitty, laconically.

Mrs. Carlton adjusted her spectacles and, shading her eyes with a thin, aristocratic hand, looked down at the corral. Suddenly she cried out:

"Heavens! Look at that boy!"

Kitty turned in time to see her brother shoot off down the trail like a wild Comanche, a gray streak of dust rising from the corral gate to where his horse's hoofs pounded the path.

"He'll be killed!" gasped the widow.

"Of course he won't," yawned Kitty. "You can't kill a fool."

Ten minutes later, John Carlton, riding briskly along Rattlesnake Trail, brought his horse to a sudden halt and listened. He had thought he heard some one singing in the mesquites off to the left. But all was silence, save for the sighing of the wind in the trees, and the distant call of a whip-poor-will. He spurred his horse and cantered on. But he hadn't gone far when he stopped again, certain that he had heard a human voice. Removing his big Stetson, he shielded one ear from the wind, and listened. This time he was rewarded. Borne to him on the fitful breeze, came a dreary cow-boy song. He recognized

the voice. There was something of sadness in the dismally wailing notes -something that suggested the farflung, mournful howl of a coyote.

"Darlin', I am sad and lonely, Sad and lonely as I can be; Place yer hand upon my brow, love, Have I not been kind to thee?" "No wonder McAll named her Coyote," muttered the young rancher. Surmising that the girl was on the same trail as he, but around a bend he knew to be near, he spurred his horse into a loap, and, presently, came upon her. She was riding Imp Indian-fashionbare-back and without a bridle. Also she was hatless and bare-footed. Imp was jogging along with lowered head and closed eyes, evidently listening to his mistress' song, when Carlton's unexpected appearance startled both horse and rider. The mustang shied, all but throwing the girl. But, as the rancher stopped, then approached at a slower gait, the cowpony recovered from his scare and became quite submissive.

"Hello, Coyote," he said, lifting his Stetson.

"Howdy, Mister Carlton."

The young man replaced the hat and bit his lip. He didn't like the idea of her calling him "Mister Carlton." He wanted her to call him "Jack." The very sight of her caused his heart to flutter oddly. The thought of her being out here alone with him made his pulses race. At last he would have a chance to talk to her without being spied upon by his eagle-eyed mother. The girl's strange, wild beauty had completely captivated him, and the few words that had passed between them since his return from the East had only served to heighten his admiration and make him long the more for a chance to become better acquainted. Their mutual loss and sorrow would have drawn them closer together had it not been for Eda Carlton's ceaseless watchfulness. And John well knew what a rumpus would be made if his mother even suspicioned that he was becoming interest

ed in the girl. So it was with a thankful, though palpitating heart that the young fellow finally brought his horse to a standstill so close to Coyote's that he felt his stirrup touch her bare, brown foot. Then, suddenly, he realized that he was actually being laughed at. After calmly eyeing him up and down, from the crown of his big Stetson to the rowels in his silver spurs, a slow smile spread over Coyote's small face.

"Yuh be a-lookin' mighty pert," she said, at last. Then, before he could frame a reply, she burst into a merry peal of laughter. It was the reaction from sorrow-her first expression of mirth since that fatal night of the shooting. She threw her head back and sent forth peal after peal of such joyous, childish, mirth-provoking laughter that Carlton, in spite of a feeling of discomfiture, could not help but join in her merriment. At length, however, she subsided, and, with tears in her eyes, exclaimed: "Jimminy! Yuh shore be a brand new cowboy!"

John felt his face burning. He hadn't been prepared for this onslaught of ridicule from a little "country girl." But was it ridicule? He wasn't sure. He felt queer. For the first time in his life he couldn't think of anything to say. Confound it! What had come over him? Why couldn't he talk, instead of sitting there grinning-like a sissy-cat?

"I-er-you know" he faltered. "Lemmie see yer gun." Coyote's big blue eyes were gazing at the pearl handle of his new Colt.

Obediently, meekly, he drew the revolver and handed it to her.

She examined it for a moment in silence. Then:

"Jimminy! Hit shore be a ramp purty cutter. Does yer know how hit works ?"

“I—er—yes, I know how to shoot

it." She snickered, and handed the gun back.

"Wall, can yuh rope, throw and tie a steer in thirty-two seconds?" "I-I don't know."