Front matter (continued 2)

“Pull out right now,” ordered Dusty. “Get Bonn and old Snag, if yuh can, and bring ’em down here to the ranch. We’ll work out from here; sabe?”

“How about the Ramseys?”

“Let ’em come along if they want to, Shorty. I don’t reckon they’ll be worth anythin’ to us; but bring ’em along.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Mrs. Magruder.

“Goin’ t’ town,” declared Dusty. “I’ve gotta get Weary and some artillery.”

“You ain’t in no shape to ride,” objected Scott. “Man, you’ve got a busted head and yore eyes look like Easter-eggs.”

“But m’ heart is in the right place,” grinned Dusty, peering around for his hat. “I may not be handsome, but I sure have got a lovin’ disposition. S’long.”

The tall gray was tied to the corral fence, none the worse for the encounter with the rustlers. As Dusty swung into the saddle he saw Shorty Miles saddling up down at the barn. They were losing no time. Dusty whirled the gray out through the wide gate and straightened out on the long, dim road toward Calumet.

“Need a li’l speed, bronc’,” stated Dusty, and the tall gray snorted its answer, as the gray ribbon of road seemed to reel in beneath them.

It was just before midnight when Dusty and Weary, leading a packed horse, rode away from Calumet. Dusty had come secretly into town, found Weary at the office, and now they were leaving without mentioning the fact to a single soul. Both of them were armed with rifles and in the pack was food enough for a week.

“We’re goin’ to hit the Cross-Anchor kinda early,” remarked Weary as they left the road for the Bald Butte trail.

“Not so early,” replied Dusty, and not another word was spoken until they struck the bottom of the buttes and Dusty drew rein.

“Weary, there’s an old Injun trail that circles the bottom of these hills and comes in through the breaks at the top of Cedar Cañon. Know anythin’ about it?”

“Seems like I’ve heard of it, Dusty; but I reckon it’s wiped out by now.”

Dusty dismounted and led his horse along the trail until he found the spot he was looking for.

“Here’s where she starts,” he announced as he swung back onto his horse. “We’ll try her out.”

“Ain’tcha goin’ to the Cross-Anchor, Dusty?”

“Not t’night, cowboy.”

A dim moon aided them in keeping to the old trail, which was unused, except for an occasional range steer. It wound in and out of the ravines, taking an easy grade toward the high breaks beyond. It was slow traveling, and Weary wondered why Dusty was taking this dim trail instead of going around the road. The distance would only be a trifle longer.

About three hours later they reached the top of the divide and swung around the head of Cedar Cañon. A cold wind was blowing from the Little Rockies and both men humped lower in their mackinaw coats.

Dusty led the way straight to where he had been ambushed, but was unable to find the spot where he had been tied to the tree. Much of the swelling had been reduced around his eyes, and a wide cotton bandage circled his forehead, which still throbbed from the impact of the heavy bullet.

They rode to the bottom of the swale, where Dusty had seen the cattle, and it was not difficult for them to follow the spoor of the driven herd.

“They can’t drive ’em far,” stated Dusty. “They didn’t have more than three hours of daylight left when they got me, and that cut in on their time. We’ll go kinda easy.”

“Yo’re danged right we’ll go easy,” agreed Weary. “I sure don’t want ’em to knock on my head with a bullet.”

The trail of the herd led straight back into the mountains, climbing higher all the time, swinging around the head of the cañons, where the mesquite and sage gave way to jack-pines and small firs.

Once the gray lunged sidewise and whirled around, as a mountain lion flashed across an opening in front of them and snarled its defiance. Farther on, a black-tail doe crossed their path, bounded away like a shadow and stopped in a low thicket of jack-pines to watch them pass.

On the next cañon the herd trail turned and went angling down, instead of cutting around the top. The two men drew rein and studied the wide cañon.

“You ever been here before, Dusty?” asked Weary softly.

“I don’t reckon I have.”

“I have,” declared the lanky one. “This is Hardpan Creek, Dusty. She cuts through solid rock.”

“Hardpan Creek? The one the Injuns say——”

“That’s her,” declared Weary. “Heads in Diaub Lake, below the wind caves.”

“Ever been there, Weary?”

“Sure! I’ve been around the lower end of the lake.”

“Ain’t there an old trail between the lake and the caves?”

“Yeah, I reckon there is, but nobody ever uses it. Aw, I ain’t superstitious, Dusty, but——”

“Just cautious,” suggested Dusty.

“Well, mebbe that’s it. The Injuns swear that no man can cross between the caves and the lake. ’Pears that the Wind God gets angry and blows ’em into the lake. Shucks, yuh couldn’t get an Injun within a mile of there.”

“Why specify Injuns, Weary?”

“Well, I reckon that’s true, too. None of the old-timers go up there. The —— place is spooky, Dusty. That lake never ripples, and when the wind blows real hard yuh can hear the caves kinda moanin’.”

“Didja ever see them caves?”

“Nope.”

“How do yuh know there is any caves?”

“How do I know there’s a New York? How do I know there’s oceans?” retorted Weary. “I ain’t never seen ’em, but I’m willin’ to believe what I hear.”

“Injun superstition!” exclaimed Dusty. “Old men’s tales. Shucks!”

“All right, all right!” resignedly. “Write yore own ticket, Hard-head. If a bullet won’t kill yuh, I don’t reckon yuh need to fear the wrath of the Wind God. I dunno a dang thing about the caves, but I don’t blame the Injuns for namin’ the lake after the devil.”

“Where does Hardpan Creek empty?” asked Dusty.

“It don’t—it just sinks out of sight. She ain’t so much of a stream, but she runs about two miles down the cañon from the waterfall out of the lake, and then she kinda soaks into the rocks. The cañon kinda closes up, and where she comes on to the flat country you’d hardly know it was much of a cañon. I was in here huntin’ her two years ago.”

“Well,” observed Dusty, “it ain’t more than an hour or so until daylight; so I reckon we’ll cross the Hardpan and see what’s beyond.”

They rode slowly down into the box cañon, which seemed to be carved out of solid stone. There was little foliage on this account, and no water. Once across the cañon, they began a long climb, which took them angling toward the head of the cañon.

There was no trail now; not even the tracks of the herd, but it was difficult to determine just where the herd had left the bottom. But Dusty knew there were but three ways for the herd to go—up the cañon, down the cañon, or across. To go down the cañon would bring them out on the lower rangeland, and would be of no benefit to the rustlers. To go up the cañon would bring them to Diaub Lake, which was surrounded with towering cliffs. Dusty had heard of this place, and knew it to be a cul de sac. No, there was only one reasonable place to look for the herd, and that was across the cañon.

Dusty did not tear his hair and call down curses upon the outlaws who had kidnapped Stella Magruder. In the first place, he realized that the rustlers had not stolen her through any desire on their part to acquire her. No doubt, he thought, she rode in on them just after he had been shot, and they were forced to detain her because she had recognized them.

Just what they would do with her was a question. She was interfering with their plans, and in case she had recognized some of them, it would not be wise on their part to release her. But Dusty felt sure that she was in no immediate danger, and he also felt that the finding of the cattle would furnish a clew to her whereabouts.

Daylight found them on the crest of the divide, high up among the cliffs. Dusty had intended keeping lower down, but the character of the country had forced them to higher levels. For an hour or more they wound in and out of the old lava-formed cliffs, until they finally reached a spot where it was impossible to continue with the horses.

“And this,” said Dusty sorrowfully, “is the end of the chapter. I dunno what the —— we ever came this far for, unless it was to hunt mountain-sheep.”

“We’re high up, cowboy,” grinned Weary, “and the world kinda slides off quick on every side. Lemme see——”

Weary walked out to the edge, where he squatted and studied the opposite side of the mountain.

“Dusty, I ain’t plumb sure, but I kinda feel that we’re in them high cliffs above the wind caves. I betcha yuh could jump off right here and almost take a bath in Diaub Lake.”

Dusty rolled a cigaret and considered things in general. Then he dismounted and tied his horse to a gnarled snag.

“Whatcha aim to do?” queried Weary, as he tied his horse to another snag and looped the lead-rope around the saddlehorn.

“Kinda curious,” grinned Dusty. “I’ve heard all kinds of fool things about these caves, and I never had a chance to investigate before.”

“Shucks, yuh can’t get down to ’em. I’ve looked up at the cliffs from the lake, and you’d have to have wings like a buzzard to make the trip, Dusty.”

“Thasso?”

Dusty drew his rifle from the boot, and slung it under his arm.

“C’m on, long feller. Yuh don’t have to wear wings to fall with, and she’s down—not up.”

Weary picked up his rifle.

“I ain’t got no sense,” he declared. “Not a —— lick of sense. I swore to uphold the law, I did. But I never said I was goin’ to get up on top of the world to do it. Yuh made me say, ‘So help me, Gawd,’ but there wasn’t nothin’ said about climbin’ half-way to get His help. I came out here to kill a rustler—not to be a mountain goat.”

“What do yuh reckon we better do?” grinned Dusty.

“Satisfy yore curiosity,” grunted Weary. “Lead on!”

It was a difficult journey across the lava cliffs, where a misstep might prove fatal. Ages ago a volcano had lifted out a mighty mass of molten rock, which had spewed over the mountain ridge; piling up like a gigantic rock wall; cooling to the texture of melted glass.

And it was along this great wall that Dusty and Weary crawled. On either side was a sheer drop of a hundred feet to other ledges, which broke away like gigantic steps to the cañon below.

“If a feller thinks he’s kinda big in the world,” panted Weary, “he can come up here and find out just how danged small he is, y’betcha.”

Dusty hung his feet over the edge and rolled a cigaret, while Weary edged onward a few feet and considered the other side of the cliff. Far below him was sort of a pothole in the cliffs and beyond that was a rocky cañon, which seemed to lead out to the timber-line.

Dusty crawled over and sprawled beside Weary. Beyond them, the cliffs swung rather sharply to the right, and Weary pointed out the fact that this was the spot where the cliffs turned to circle the head of Hardpan Cañon.

“We’re sure above Diaub Lake,” he declared, and added—

“A danged long ways above.”

Dusty was studying the formation of the cliffs beyond them and paid no attention to Weary’s statement.

“I betcha we can get down the cliffs over there,” declared Dusty, pointing at a crevice beyond.

“That’s sure fine,” applauded Weary, dryly. “But what in thunder good would that do us? We’d be on the wrong side of the range, don’tcha see?”

“Couldn’t we circle the side of the mountain below the cliffs and get back to the horses?”

“Yeah?” Weary pointed to another series of cliffs, which extended far down the mountain to their left. “We might make a thirty-mile circle, Dusty.”

Dusty grinned and crawled ahead to where the crevice broke their chance of further progress. It was six feet across, with a slanting surface on the far side.

“Prettiest place I ever seen, to commit suicide,” stated Weary. “Jump the crevice and skid backwards. Be a cinch.”

“Here’s the cinch,” replied Dusty, pointing downward. “We can go down here easy.”

He rolled over, slid off the edge and dropped lightly to the shelf below them, where he studied the downward path.

“We can get up here again, if we want to,” he called up to the skeptical Weary. “Come on.”

Swearing at Dusty for being seventeen kinds of fool, Weary followed. From shelf to shelf they dropped down the irregular crevice. At times they went down, with their elbows and knees bracing against the sides, until the crevice widened into another series of broken ledges.

It took them about two hours to make the descent, and they arrived at the bottom with elbows and knees bleeding and clothes torn, but glad to be back to earth again. From where they landed the mountain sloped gently back into the heavy timber; a great unused range, which broke back to the foot-hills of another county.

Dusty led the way back along the edge of the cliffs to where the rocky cañon opened on to the mountain slope. This was a fairly wide, box cañon, hewn by nature out of the solid lava rock. They skirted the edge of this around to where it opened on to the mountain, and the cliffs echoed Dusty’s yelp of joy.

“Cows!” he yelled. “Sufferin’ sunfish! Look!”

He pointed at the upward raise of ground beyond the mouth of the cañon, where hundreds of cloven hooves had cut deeply into the soft earth.

“Whatcha know?” gasped Weary. “Them is cow tracks, as sure as the Lord made small, sour apples, Dusty. What are they——”

“C’mon,” grunted Dusty, and raced back up the rock cañon.

Everywhere was unmistakable sign that cattle had been driven through the rocky cleft, although there were no hoof-marks. A hundred yards beyond, the cañon opened into the pothole, which they could see above, but which was a rocky amphitheater, at least three hundred feet across.

At the far side of this, straight into the side of the cliff, extended the cañon, wide enough to drive a wagon through. The two men clambered over the uneven floor and entered the cañon, which ran straight for a few hundred feet and then began to angle back and forth.

As far as they could see, the cleft ran straight to the top of the cliffs, but angling in such a way that no daylight came through. There were side clefts, wide enough to squeeze through, but they kept to the main cañon.

Suddenly there came a moaning sound, like the starting of a ponderous machine. Dusty and Weary stopped and looked at each other.

“The Wind God!” whispered Weary. “This must be——”

“He must be mixin’ up a cyclone,” observed Dusty, dryly “Let’s go in and see how he does it.”

And without waiting for Weary to agree to such a thing, Dusty started ahead, with his rifle ready for quick work. The sound had changed a trifle now, and was more like swift running water, although the moaning continued to a certain degree.

They swung around an angle in the cañon, and ahead of them the sunlight shafted in along the right-hand wall.

“Daylight,” grunted Dusty in amazement. “We haven’t gone all the way through the danged mountain yet!”

The Wind God’s machine was not making so much noise now, as the two men passed around the corner of the cliff and emerged into sunlight. For a moment they stopped and looked at the scene before them.

They were standing at the edge of another amphitheater-like place, larger than the other, and with the greater part of it roofed over. It looked like a great cave, with part of the roof fallen in, and inside this great ventilated cave were at least two hundred head of cattle.

From the opposite side was a continuation of the wide rocky cleft, and out of this were coming more cattle. Dusty and Weary leaned against the rock wall and studied this scene. There were Bar-O-Bar stock from the ranges East of Calumet; Wagon-Wheel and Banjo brands from Fisher Creek, a few Cross-Anchor and Circle S cows.

“The country is sure well represented,” observed Dusty, grinning softly. “I thought this was the place that the wind came from, but I finds that it’s the place where the cows go to.”

“Look out!” snapped Weary as he whirled back into the cleft and yanked at Dusty’s sleeve.

Pwee-e-e-e!

A bullet ricocheted off the rock where Dusty had leaned, while the report of a rifle crashed with thunderous echoes. A man had come out of the opposite cleft and had fired at first sight of them. After firing, he had darted back inside the cleft out of sight.

“Whatcha know about that?” queried Dusty. “Mebbe that’s yore Wind God, Weary; and he’s angry with us.”

“He had on a blue shirt,” grunted Weary foolishly.

“Must be the Wind God then,” grinned Dusty. “All them kinda gods wears blue shirts.”

They peered out, but there was no sign of the man. Dusty hung his hat on his rifle barrel and shoved this out, but either the man was gone, or he was not to be fooled.

“We’re in a sweet place,” declared Weary. “I betcha that was one of the rustlers, and they’ve got a cinch to keep us where we are.”

“We can go back, can’t we?” queried Dusty.

“S’pose they sneak in behind us; what then?”

“You sure do think sweet thoughts, cowboy,” declared Dusty. “How would they know? That jasper out there ain’t got no chance to sneak in on us, has he?”

“Mebbe there’s others out on the other side. Ain’t nobody goin’ to stop ’em from comin’ in the same way we did.”

“What do yuh reckon we ought to do—shoot ourselves?” asked Dusty sarcastically.

“Well, yuh gotta look at these things—” began Weary in defense of his argument, but Dusty had swung away from the wall into the open and called—

“Come on, Weary!”

A number of the cattle had drifted into a compact mass in front of the opposite opening, and Dusty was running to gain the opposite wall before the herd broke away from that spot. Weary raced along behind him, while cattle scattered on either side.

They brought up against the wall, panting from the run, but no shot had been fired at them. Weary drew in gulps of air and threw a rock at some of the frightened cattle, which had swung in close to them.

They were now in a position where the rustler would have to expose himself to shoot at them. Dusty took his rifle in his left hand and drew his six-shooter. He expected close-range work now, and did not want to depend on the longer gun.

They worked cautiously around to the entrance, but there was no sign of the man in the blue shirt. Dusty considered the cleft, which angled out of view beyond them. It would be an excellent ambush. The cleft was not over eight feet wide on the bottom.

“I don’t like this proposition,” declared Dusty softly. “They’ve got a cinch on wipin’ us out in here. You keep about fifty feet behind me, Weary; and if they are layin’ for us, you’ll have a chance to either help me out or to get away.”

“Aw-w-w!” protested Weary. “That ain’t no way to do. You lemme go ahead, Dusty.”

“Nope. The county elected me to do this kinda work, and yo’re only m’ hired man. Let’s go.”

Dusty walked slowly around the corner, and after a moment Weary followed. The cleft was but a repetition of the one on the other side of the big cattle-cave. It angled badly and Dusty was never able to see more than fifty feet ahead. The sounds of the bawling cattle came to them, and Dusty grinned over the noise-machine of the Wind God.

It seemed miles out of the cleft; miles of half-light, in which they expected momentarily to be fired upon. Dusty had relaxed his tension by this time, but was no less cautious. At times he grinned over his shoulder at Weary, who was moving in closer all the time.

The light began to get better and Dusty moved slower and with more caution. Suddenly he rounded a projection and before him he could see the fringe of trees beyond. It was only a few feet out to the mountain side. He went out slowly, bent low and took advantage of every point of rock. He was looking for the man in the blue shirt who he knew was not far away.

He worked out to a fringe of bushes, and just beyond him stood this man, looking eagerly down the cañon. He held a rifle in both hands and seemed to be trying to locate some one. Dusty did not want to have to kill him, but he did want to capture him.

He motioned to Weary to stay there, and began working slowly out behind him. The man had evidently decided that they would never come on through the cleft, after he had fired the shot at them, and was not at all concerned with things behind him.

Dusty worked in close behind him before he spoke.

“Leggo that gun!”

Dusty’s order fairly crackled in the ear of the blue-shirted man, and he whirled quickly. It was Wharton, the bartender, who, Dusty believed, had given him the knockout drops in Smalley’s saloon.

At the sight of Dusty, Wharton started back, which took him to the very edge of the incline. He seemed to slip downward, whirled as if trying to get away, and Dusty dove into him.

For a moment they spun around, grasping at each other, and then the earth seemed to slip from under them. Like a flash Dusty realized what had happened. The steep hillside was all shale rock, and they had started a miniature landslide.

There was no way to check their speed; no way to stop until they reached more secure formation. It was like sitting on a loose piece of slate and sliding off a roof. Faster and faster they went, until they shot into space and seemed for a moment to hang suspended in the air, but in that short space of time, Dusty got a flash of what was below and he knew that they were hurtling off into Diaub Lake.

And in that short space of time he realized that the old Indian superstition had been caused by just such a thing. The treacherous shale rock had slid away with some Indians, and the survivors had believed it to be the work of an evil spirit.

The speed with which they were going and the angle of their departure was all that saved them, for they did a slanting dive into not over four feet of water. Tradition had said that it was a bottomless lake, but Dusty realized that tradition was not always truth.

Their holds had been broken by the fall, and Dusty came upright in the water, coughing, wheezing, but grappling for Wharton, who had had all the wind knocked from his lungs by hitting the water. He managed to get Wharton’s head above water, and then looked around.

Tradition had also said that no man could ever get out of that lake, but tradition had only viewed it from one certain spot. Dusty glimpsed a broken place in the sloping, rocky walls, over which they had fallen, and to this place he waded, hauling the half-conscious Wharton with him.

It was, or rather appeared to be, merely a short cleft in the rocks, but Dusty found it to be the entrance to a regular cave. Into the mouth of this he dragged Wharton and laid him across a rock. Wharton’s gun was in its holster, although he had lost his rifle. Dusty was sans either rifle or pistol; so he lost no time in appropriating Wharton’s belt and gun.

Dusty sat down against the wall and tried to find enough dry tobacco to make a smoke. He was still shaky from the fall into the lake and needed a bracer.

“The only danged thing about this spooky lake that’s true, is the moisture,” he told a limp sack of tobacco.

Came the scrape of leather on rock and Dusty whirled, gun in hand. For a moment he squinted closely, as though not believing his eyes. He looked down at Wharton and back toward the lake, as though trying to solve the mystery, but his eyes came back to the dim entrance to the tunnel, where Stella Magruder was standing, one hand braced against the rocky wall, staring at him.

“Well,” remarked Dusty inanely, “there may not be any wind gods around here, but there’s everythin’ else.”

“Dusty!” Stella seemed uncertain of her own voice.

“That’s me!” nodded Dusty. “Champeen high-diver of the Big Bear country.”

“But, Dusty,” she faltered, “you—you——”

She came toward him, as if expecting him to fade into thin air, and he got to his feet before her. She tried to smile, but failed dismally.

“You are not dead?” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Dusty slowly. “I’ve sure done everythin’ I could to pass out.”

There was an awkward silence as they looked at each other, and then Dusty grinned widely.

“Stell, I’ve found out where all the stolen cows have been taken, and I’m goin’ to clean up the Sticky Ropes.”

Stella turned her head and stared out past the broken rock entrance, where the unruffled waters of Diaub Lake shone like polished jade. Her eyes were wide with suffering and the corners of her mouth twitched, as if her soul were shrieking to explain things that her tongue did not dare to tell.

Dusty looked curiously at her and put his hand on her arm.

“Whatsa matter, Stell?”

Still she did not turn her head, and Dusty squinted out across the lake. As far as he could see there was nothing to cause such a steadfast gaze in that direction. He repeated his question, and she turned slowly back to him.

“Dusty, do you—you—” she faltered. “Why do you have to clean up the Sticky Ropes?”

“Why?” Dusty almost squeaked the question. “Why, Stell, they’re a bunch of murderin’ rustlers, that’s why. They’ve run a lot of cow-men out of the Big Bear country, and they’ve stolen a fortune in cattle. I’ve got ’em where the hair is short right now.”

Stella had leaned back against the rocky wall and was nervously arranging her tousled hair. Wharton lifted his head a trifle, but Dusty was watching Stella and did not see him roll slowly over and get to his knees.

“And they stole you, Stell’,” stated Dusty. “After they thought they had killed me. I reckon that’s a-plenty for me to clean-up on ’em. They was sure a slick bunch, don’tcha know it? They drove the cattle up Hardpan Creek, over the rim-rock at the upper side of Diaub Lake and into that rocky cut, which runs plumb through the cliffs.

“The stock never left a track, and none of the cow-men ever knew that there was a way through the cliffs. It was the old wind caves of the Blackfeet, which opened into Bunchgrass County, and they had a cinch to drive out of the mountains and down to Firebaugh or Hastings.”

Dusty laughed heartily over the simplicity of it all, and his laugh was echoed by the scrape and thump of running feet. He whirled in time to see Wharton disappearing into the gloom of the narrow tunnel. Dusty fired once and the bullet whined off the rock, like the shriek of a fiddle-string.

Stella tried to clutch Dusty’s arm, as he sprang past her, but he tore away and ran into the tunnel. He could hear Wharton running ahead of him, but the passage was too narrow for fast work.

Suddenly the cave widened to the proportions of a room, and Dusty saw that it was roughly furnished as a living quarters. Blankets were strewn on the floor, together with boxes and cooking utensils, and in one corner smoldered a small fire. An old barn-lantern was hanging to a rocky projection.

As Dusty dashed into the room he saw Wharton’s legs just disappearing up what appeared to be a stairway outlet, and which proved to be a short ladder, leading to the continuation of the cave. Dusty went cautiously up this ladder and raced on through another narrow tunnel, which was very dark.

Then he seemed to feel the jar of a shot and the muffled echo of an explosion. He forced his way around two almost right-angled turnings and fairly fell out into the light of day. He stopped and stared foolishly around. He was out at almost the exact spot where he had tackled Wharton, and, sitting on the ground, nursing his head, was Weary Willis.

Weary looked up at Dusty and his mouth fell open, as if some one had severed his jaw muscles. Weary had a bruised spot over his right eye, which was already swelled to the proportions of an egg.

“Well, I’ll be ——!” he snorted. “You’re dead, ain’t yuh, Dusty?”

“Uh-huh,” nodded Dusty. “Turned into a wind god. Did somebody come out here a moment ago, Weary?”

Weary gawped toward the opening and back to Dusty. He nodded violently and rubbed his forehead.

“Yo’re danged well right they did! I figured that you was dead; so I was goin’ back through the cliffs and climb back to the horses, and I got this far, when a evil spirit hopped out of that wall, knocked me upside down and flitted away through the entrance. I shot at it; but, shucks, there ain’t no use shootin’ at spirits.”

“That was Wharton, who tended bar for Sapphire Smalley,” said Dusty. “The feller that handed me the knockout drops.”

“No?” Weary got to his feet and rubbed his head. “Do yuh mean to tell me that I let a bartender walk all over me thataway? By cripes, I’m goin’ ——.”

Weary stared over Dusty’s shoulder and blinked rapidly. Stella had come out of the tunnel and was standing within a few feet of them. Weary tore his eyes away from her and looked out toward the entrance. He cleared his throat and hitched up his belt nervously.

“Did he get away, Dusty?” asked Stella softly.

“——!” croaked Weary hoarsely. “I’m glad yuh spoke, Miss Magruder, ’cause I was sure girdin’ m’ loins for a foot-race. I thought yuh was a ghost.”

“Lotta ghosts around here,” observed Dusty thoughtfully, panting a trifle from his chase through the caves.

“Did—did he get away?” faltered Stella.

“Yeah, he got away, Stell’; but I’ve got the deadwood on him, y’betcha.”

Weary turned and walked to the edge of the slide above the lake, seeking to get a glimpse of Wharton, leaving Dusty and Stella alone, facing each other.

“I ain’t quite sure who they all are, Stell,” stated Dusty, after a moment’s pause. “But I reckon you can tell me a lot of things, can’t yuh?”

Stella brushed a hand across her face, as she stared down at the rocky floor, but looked up at Dusty and shook her head.

“No, I can’t tell you anything, Dusty.”

“You can’t?” Dusty’s face was very serious now. “You don’t know who brought yuh here, Stell’?”

“I didn’t say that, Dusty; I said I couldn’t tell you.”

“Yeah, I——”

Dusty scratched his tousled hair and squinted into space. It was a trifle beyond his ken.

“Yuh know who brought yuh here, but yuh can’t—” Dusty hesitated and the lines about his wide mouth grew tense.

“Stell’, yuh mean that yuh love—somebody—who—belongs—to—them—Sticky Ropes? Do yuh—Stell’?”

Her eyes were filled with tears, as she looked at him and nodded slowly.

“More than anything in the world, I think.”

“——!” breathed Dusty. “I—I didn’t know—that. Somehow—” Dusty turned and stared toward Weary, who was still watching for Wharton—“somehow I kinda hoped——”

Stella stepped in closer and put her hand on his arm.

“Dusty, you’ll do this for me? You’ll forget the Sticky Ropes, for my sake?”

Dusty looked closely at her and his eyes dropped to the bosom of his torn shirt, where his badge of office was pinned at an awkward angle. He lifted his right hand and felt of the rough bandage which covered the throbbing mark of a rustler’s bullet.

“I—I know they tried to kill you, Dusty,” said Stella softly.

“That ain’t it,” Dusty shook his head. “That’s personal, Stell. It ain’t what they done to me; it’s what I swore I’d do, when I took office. And I reckon a lot of folks are kinda lookin’ for me t’ make good.”

“But, Dusty, won’t you do this for my sake. It—it means a—lot, Dusty.”

“I reckon the son-of-a-gun got plumb away!” called Weary. “He was goin’ fast enough t’ be in Canada by this time.”

Dusty walked away from Stella and went out to where Weary was still scanning the country. Weary looked back at Stella, leaning against the rocky wall, and then at Dusty’s dejected expression.

“Whatsa matter, cowboy?” he half-whispered, seeing that something had gone badly amiss.

“She won’t tell me who the Sticky Ropes are,” said Dusty, “and she wants me to go away and let ’em alone.”

Weary whistled and hitched up his belt.

“What’sa big idea, Dusty?”

“Well,” Dusty compressed his lips a moment. “Well, she didn’t ask me not to tell yuh, Weary; so I reckon yuh better know about it. She loves one of them rustlers.”

“Aw-w-w, ——!” Weary fairly exploded.

“Sure is,” agreed Dusty. “Worse ’n that, Weary.”

“Young Ramsey?”

“I—I never thought of him, but I reckon that’s right. But what in thunder had he got to do with the Sticky Ropes? He’s a stranger around here.”

Stella was coming up to them now, and Weary turned away, as if he did not want to speak to her. For a space of time she stood beside Dusty, looking out over the sun-lit crags beyond the lake.

“I haven’t treated you very nicely, Dusty,” she said, without turning her head. “I think I always wanted to tease you, and it is hard to ask favors of you now.”

“Thass all right—” quickly—“I didn’t mind—much, Stell.”

“Can’t you just ride away and forget what happened yesterday and today, Dusty?”

Dusty looked keenly at her. She was asking him to forget his sworn duty; asking him to forget that a band of thieves and murderers were operating in that land; asking him to do this because she loved one of the thieves. The irony of it all struck Dusty, and he grinned widely.

“You will do this, Dusty?” Stella had seen the grin wreath his wide lips, and she spoke eagerly.

“I reckon,” drawled Dusty slowly, “I reckon I’m a —— of a sheriff. C’mon, Weary!”

And without a backward glance Dusty walked slowly back to the main crevice of the wind cave, with Weary following him. At the entrance Dusty looked back. Stella was standing where he had left her, watching them. She waved her hand, but Dusty turned and went into the half-light of the cave, without a sign to her.

Once around the protecting angle of the entrance, Dusty stopped, leaned against the wall and began the manufacture of a cigaret. Weary shifted his rifle to the crook of his elbow, and reached for Dusty’s “makin’s.”

“I’ve read about danged fools,” stated Weary slowly, “but yo’re the first one I’ve ever met, Dusty.”

Dusty grinned and lit his cigaret.

“Well, yuh sure picked a champeen f’r a starter, Weary.”

“Y’betcha,” seriously. “Yuh may be a hero in the mind of that girl, but you’d shoot me f’r what I’m thinkin’ about yuh right now, cowboy.”

“I believe in free thinkin’ m’self,” nodded Dusty, squatting down on his heels. “I wish I had that rifle out of the lake, Weary. My six-gun is down there, too. She’s a good thing that Wharton used the same caliber six-gun, or I’d be half-out of shells right now.”

“Um-m-m,” Weary squinted away from the smoke of his cigaret and peered at Dusty.

“Ain’t we goin’ back to the horses now, Dusty?”

“Nope, not now. There’s such a thing as bein’ too danged much of a hero.”

“You told Stella you was goin’ away, didn’t yuh?”

“Nope. I told her that I was a —— of a sheriff, and that ain’t no lie, Weary.”

Dusty crawled back to the entrance, where he could peer out and see the full sweep of the opening. Weary moved in behind him, grumbling softly.

“What’sa matter?” queried Dusty.

“Hungry. My gosh, we ain’t had nothin’ t’ eat since last night.”

“And the pack-horse three hours away,” grinned Dusty. “Ne’mind, cowboy. If we get hungry enough we’ll sneak back and barbecue a steer. I betcha them hills back there are full of stolen cattle. They must ’a’ drove ’em in here and worked ’em slow-like back into that big cave, let ’em get kinda used to things and then shoved ’em out the other side.”

“Got any idea who the rustlers are?”

“Jack Bonn is one of ’em, Weary. And I’m thinkin’ that the depot agent at Calumet is another. I sent a telegram to Searchlight, askin’ about Jack Bonn, and you see the answer I got back. It was signed by a sheriff by the name of Wilson, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I ’member that, Dusty.”

“Well, I found a reward notice at the office, and the sheriff’s name in Claypool. The reward was sent out last month and they ain’t had no election down there. No, that danged agent faked up that telegram, Weary. And that is what put the deadwood on Mister Bonn.

“I had a hunch that it might be a smart thing to have Shorty Miles ride in and get Bonn and Shirey and take ’em down to the Cross-Anchor, while we investigated things up here. No use buckin’ the whole works, unless we have to; and they’d fall for a chance to help me hunt for Stella. They’d get me out in this country and make a sieve out of me.”

“You ain’t such a danged fool after all,” applauded Weary.

“Well, yuh don’t need to get too enthusiastic,” reprimanded Dusty. “We ain’t out of this yet, yuh must remember.”

Neither of them were wearing a watch, but the long shadows across the mouth of the rock cañon showed that the sun was almost down. Stella had gone back to the living quarters in the cave, following the disappearance of Dusty and Weary, but now she came out again, walked to the rocks above the lake and appeared to be scanning the country closely. After a few minutes she went back into the cave.

“She’s lookin’ for ’em to come back,” observed Weary.

“Losin’ Wharton kinda soured my game,” grinned Dusty. “He likely spread the glad tidin’s, which will make ’em all kinda go soft-like.”

The sun disappeared and darkness came swiftly, blotting out all detail; yet there was no sign of the rustlers. It was getting uncomfortably cool among the rocks and Weary complained audibly.

“Why don’t yuh sneak back to the horses and get our blankets?” asked Dusty.

“Go through these danged caves?” queried Weary. “Not me! Climb up to the top of the world in the dark? My gosh, it gives me goose-pimples t’ think of it.”

It was about an hour later that something seemed to move among the rocks; something that moved slowly along the floor of the entrance and disappeared near the opening to the dwelling-cave.

“One of ’em came back,” chuckled Dusty. “He sure snaked his way in this time, and he’ll sure be tickled t’ know that me and you pulled out quite a while ago.”

About five minutes later two figures came out of the cave, carrying a lantern. The yellow light threw grotesque shadows on the high, rocky walls, as the two figures walked to the extreme edge above the lake.

After holding the lantern steady for a moment, the figure holding it began to swing it in circles, causing it to look like a wheel of yellow light. Then the light was extinguished.

“Signalin’ the rest of the wind gods,” observed Dusty.

It was impossible to see the two figures now, as they blended into the landscape, but ten minutes later came the scrape of metal on stone, the jingle of bit-chains, and over the rim, at the left-hand side, came a number of horsemen. It was impossible to tell their number, but the drone of several voices came to Dusty and Weary’s ears.

Then they went noisily across the rocky floor and into the small cave entrance, rattling their spurs and arguing brokenly.

Dusty led the way over to the horses, of which there were five.

“This is Bonn’s horse,” whispered Dusty, rubbing the neck of a tall sorrel. “Know any others, Weary?”

“Here’s old Snag Shirey’s glass-eyed roan,” grunted Weary.

“C’mon,” whispered Dusty, and led the way to the opening where the men had disappeared. Once inside he cautioned Weary about the short ladder, as it would be a fine place to take a nasty fall.

This ladder was located in such a way that Dusty and Weary were able to reach the level of the cave floor without exposing themselves to the men inside, but it required that they climb down the side of the ladder, protecting themselves with the projecting ledge.

Once at the bottom they squeezed in close to the wall and listened to the conversation of the inhabitants, who were not over twenty feet away. The fire had been rebuilt and some one was rattling tin-ware. Out of the jumble of conversation came Bonn’s voice angrily—

“Well, whose fault was it that things got balled up?”

“I told yuh what happened to me—” this from Wharton—“I took a shot at ’em back in the big cave, and I didn’t think they’d be fools enough to keep on comin’.”

“You’ve told us that a hundred times,” sneered Bonn. “What do yuh reckon we ought to do—kiss yuh?”

“Wait a minute,” this from a strange voice. “There’s no use blaming anybody, Bonn. What happened has happened, and if we’ve got any sense left, we’ll use it up in futures, not in pasts.”

“Futures!” sneered Bonn. “We’ve got somethin’ to look forward to, ain’t we? Things were going all right until you thought you had to come over and hurry things along, Rand.”

Rand! Dusty frowned over this name. That was a new one on him. Who was Rand? Dusty did not dare to look around the corner of the rock, because the firelight had already painted it with an orange and red glow. It would be like putting his face into a spot-light.

“I’m the one that was paying for it,” said Rand. “It was my money, Bonn; remember that.”

“And my scheme!” reminded Bonn.

“You can have that credit,” laughed Rand, and another voice joined in the laugh.

“Your big mistake was that you didn’t kill that sheriff, Bonn,” again it was a new voice entering the conversation.

There was a space of a few seconds, and Wharton’s voice whined:

“Yuh don’t need to look at me thataway, Bonn. I didn’t have nothin’ but knockout drops to give him, but I gave him enough to kill a horse.”

Dusty grinned widely at this and nudged Weary in the ribs. Dusty was thoroughly enjoying himself now, and cared little what happened in the future.

“I think it was a crazy-man’s idea all the time,” declared Snag Shirey’s voice. Snag was evidently preparing the meal, as his voice came from over by the fire.

“What do you mean?” queried the heavy voice of Rand.

“That just because yuh cleaned up on sheep in Wyoming ain’t no reason yuh could do it here. You hired us to steal cows and put the fear of God into the Big Bear cow-men, but it ain’t worked out like you said.”

“Is that so? Just what did I say?”

“You said that inside of a year every ranch in Big Bear could be bought for a third what it’s worth, didn’t yuh? You wanted to buy the whole upper end of it for a sheep ranch, but I don’t see yuh doin’ it.”

It was plain to Dusty now. The little note-book had the code for wires between Bonn and Rand. Their scheme was practically to force the sale of Big Bear ranchers, and to turn the wide range into sheep. And the scheme was also bringing them a big revenue in stolen cattle. The depot agent was also a tool of Rand.

“What kick have you got comin’, Shirey?” queried Bonn. “You’re gettin’ yore share of the money, ain’t yuh?”

“Yeah, I s’pose so, but the game is up now. Corbett knows where the cows went to and he likely knows who brought ’em here. This business was all right, as long as nobody knowed how it was done. There’s only one thing left t’ do, and that is for all of us to fade out of this country and go a —— long ways from here.”

Shirey’s feet scraped back to the fire and he began rattling his pans again. To Dusty’s nostrils came the savory odors of boiling coffee. He knew now what the main purpose of the Sticky Ropes was. He took a chance and peered around the corner of the ledge.

The elder Ramsey was standing beside Bonn in the center of the room. Shirey was humped over the fire, busy peeling potatoes, while the younger Ramsey was sitting on a boulder, watching Shirey and smoking a cigaret. Wharton leaned against the wall facing Bonn and Ramsey, while further back, near the exit to the lake, sat Stella, paying no attention to the others in the cave. As Dusty looked at her she got up and went slowly out of the cave. Bonn turned his head and looked in her direction for a moment and then laughed as he turned to Ramsey.

“Ramsey is Rand,” mused Dusty. “Rand was in sheep in Wyoming, and cleaned up on them.”

Young Ramsey, or Rand, turned and sauntered out of the lake exit, and Dusty’s lips shut in a tight line. It was easy enough to grin at the thoughts of any one else having Stella, but it was different to see her accepted sweetheart walking out to meet her. Bonn was talking again and Dusty stopped his painful musings to listen closely.

“Corbett is sure one plain —— fool,” declared Bonn.

“Luckily for us,” agreed Ramsey warmly, “you don’t reckon he’ll come back, do you?”

“Not him,” laughed Bonn. “He’s stuck on Stella and he won’t do anythin’ to hurt her feelin’s. Naw, yuh can count him out of the deal entirely.”

Shirey straightened up from the fire.

“How much did Corbett know about us—before today, Bonn?”

“Not a —— thing, Snag.”

“Then why did he blat at yuh down in Calumet?”

“I dunno,” Bonn shook his head. “Jist happened to, I reckon.”

“Thasso?” Shirey was unconvinced. “He didn’t have no cause t’ do it, and he winked one eye at me when he done it.”

“You gittin’ scared too?” queried Bonn sarcastically.

“Yo’re —— right. Any old time yuh think I ain’t—think ag’in! Every one of us has inherited a rope, yuh must remember, and if we ain’t careful we’re goin’ t’ collect. Weary Willis was with Corbett, and knows about it too, don’t he? Dusty might keep his mouth shut on account of the girl, but yuh gotta remember that Weary Willis ain’t in love with her.”

“There’s a lotta sense in that argument,” agreed Wharton. “We’re up against a cold-deck from now on. We’ve either got to take care of Corbett, Weary and the girl or fade pronto.”

Dusty leaned in closer. What did Wharton mean about “taking care of the girl?” He knew that it meant an attempt to kill him and Weary, but why kill Stella?

“Do you think I’m going to quit now?” demanded Ramsey heatedly. “I’ve spent a lot of money getting as far as I have. Shirey’s ranch cost me fifteen thousand dollars, alone.

“It’s a —— shame that things broke the way they did, but I ain’t going to quit. No —— love-sick sheriff and a pink-faced female are going to break up my deal—not that anybody knows about!”

“Mebbe he’s love-sick, I dunno,” Shirey shook his head. “Palo Huston missed him and got his. Palo was m’ bunkie.”

“He bungled the job,” declared Ramsey. “Got drunk and shot high. I ain’t got no job for a bungler.”

Shirey nodded slowly.

“I reckon so, Ramsey. Kinda funny about Palo bein’ killed with a thirty-eight gun. Corbett don’t shoot no thirty-eight.”

“Not if yuh believe Corbett,” said Bonn meaningly.

“I do—kinda. Yuh see, he ain’t never lied to me, Bonn.”

“What’s the use of arguing about it?”

Ramsey was a trifle angry, and in spite of his boastings was not a little worried over the outcome.

“Not a bit of use,” agreed Bonn. “Shirey would rather argue than drink good liquor, and I was accommodatin’ him. Now, we might as well plan out what we’re goin’ to do, eh?”

Ramsey nodded and looked toward the lake exit.

“The girl won’t be hard to dispose of, but it’s got to be done pretty quick. Then we’ve got to make a quick job of the sheriff and deputy. It’s not only got to be a —— quick job, but it’s got to be a sure job.

“Nobody, except those three, know that we’re into this. By tomorrow morning these hills will be filled with men, hunting for that girl; and if we don’t settle the hash of Corbett and Willis they’ll be leading the posse into here.”

Stella and the younger Ramsey were coming back into the cave, and Bonn turned to Stella.

“Did Dusty Corbett swear to you that he was going to forget what he knew about us and this place?”

Stella thought for a moment and shook her head.

“No, I—I don’t think he did.”

“He didn’t?” Ramsey seemed surprized. “What did he say?”

“He said—” Stella paused and reflected back to her conversation with Dusty—“he said, ‘I reckon I’m a —— of a sheriff.’”

For a moment there was silence, and then Snag Shirey laughed harshly.

“What the —— are yuh laughin’ about?” snapped Bonn nervously.

“Laughin’ about that promise,” replied Snag. “Yuh thought that Corbett was a fool, didn’t yuh?”

Bonn snarled and turned to Stella.

“Does Corbett know who is in this gang?” Stella pointed at Wharton.

“He was here. I didn’t tell him any more names, but I think he knows.”

“Yuh think he does, eh?” Bonn sneered openly at her now. “He loved you so much that he was willin’ to keep his mouth shut, did he? He did, like ——! I wish your horse had fell and killed you, instead of dumping you among us yesterday. It would have saved us all a —— lot of trouble.”

“Why, what do you mean?” gasped Stella stepping back from him.

“I mean that you was worth a lot more dead than alive to us, but nobody thought of it at that time.”

Bonn turned angrily to Snag.

“I reckon it was you that proposed bringin’ her here, wasn’t it? Yeah? And it also was you that declared Dusty Corbett too dead to skin, wasn’t it? You sure tied a rope around our necks.”

“Hold your temper!” snapped the elder Ramsey, or Rand. “No use cursing Shirey for making a mistake like that. I thought Corbett was dead, and so did you.”

“But what does it mean?” asked Stella, and Dusty could see that her face was dead white in the pale light. “You told me——”

Bonn interrupted her with a nasty laugh:

“You little fool! Go over there by the wall and set down!”

“Mr. Rand, won’t you tell me what it means?” Stella appealed to the elder Rand, who merely grunted and turned away and spoke directly to Shirey.

“Do you know any short-cuts out of here to Calumet?”

“No,” said Shirey shortly.

“You and Wharton have got to go to Calumet and ‘get’ Corbett and Willis tonight. Make a clean job of it and I’ll give you a thousand dollars apiece. If you knew a short-cut, it might save you from meeting any one on the way.”

Shirey laughed and shook his head.

“Not me, Rand. When I go out of here I’m pointin’ the other way; sabe? I’ve rustled cows for yuh and all that, but I ain’t killed nobody—yet.”

Rand was watching Shirey closely, and now he moved in closer, menacingly.

“You dirty coward!” he gritted. “You can’t quit on me. I don’t stand for a quitter nor a bungler. Palo Huston bungled.”

“You didn’t kill him, Rand.” Snag was grinning like a coyote now as he slouched, half against the rocky wall.

“No, I didn’t kill him!” snapped Rand, “But, by ——, I had him killed. Bonn bungled once, but he made good the second time.”

Shirey looked at Bonn curiously.

“You killed him, eh? Just because he missed?”

“He missed,” said Rand coldly. “He had orders to keep sober. I won’t have a drunk nor a fool. If Bonn hadn’t dumped him over the trail he would have talked in his delirium and put a rope around our necks.”

“It didn’t do no good,” said Shirey wearily. “We’ve got the rope comin’ just the same.”

“Not if you and Wharton bump off those two officers,” declared Rand.

“What about the girl?” this from the younger Ramsey, who broke into the conversation for the first time.

The elder Rand looked at Stella, who had sat down on a rock near the lake exit. She did not look up at him, and he turned to his son.

“There’s only one thing to do with her—unless you want to get hung—and the rest of us.”

Young Rand laughed nervously.

“I don’t think I do, old man.”

“Better let her alone until we’re sure of Corbett and Willis,” suggested Wharton. “We can keep her hid, but they’re dangerous as long as they’re alive.”

“Keep nobody hid!” growled Bonn. “They can’t hang us any higher, can they? We’ve got to clean up the whole bunch and be down at Shirey’s place when the whole —— Bear range comes huntin’ for her. Magruder knew that we went back there.

“He knows that it was the Sticky Ropes that pulled off the job, and he don’t know who they are. It was lucky for us that Shorty Miles found us there at Shirey’s ranch, ’cause it proves a good alibi for us. If they didn’t find us there now, it would prove that we was huntin’ for the girl, but I’d rather be found there. Now, do we save our necks, or stretch ’em?”

“Shirey and Wharton will go to Calumet,” declared Rand, “and the rest of us will finish the job here.”

“I reckon that Wharton and me will go to Calumet,” stated Bonn. “I want this to be a sure job and I don’t trust Shirey.”

Shirey laughed harshly. It was more of a cackle than a laugh; a mirthless flutter of his vocal cords.

“Yuh didn’ trust m’ bunkie,” shrilled Shirey. “You killed him ’cause yuh didn’t trust him, Bonn. Yuh didn’t give him a chance. Yuh don’t trust me, and it’s an even break. Shoot, you coyote!”

Shirey fairly shrieked the last word, as his arm flashed down and up from his holster. But young Rand had drawn his gun, as Shirey had flung his challenge, and he fired as Shirey drew. Bonn’s gun whipped from its holster and covered Shirey, as he fell, but there was no need for a second shot.

The pistol shot thundered hollowly in the cave and seemed to echo far out through the rocky crevices.

“Good work!” Bonn’s voice sounded weak, as he clapped a hand on Rand’s shoulder. “He was mighty fast on the draw.”

“Now, we’ll have to explain what became of Shirey,” complained Wharton. “This is one —— of a mess.”

Dusty drew back and motioned Weary up the ladder. It was a precarious piece of climbing, but the others inside the cave were too interested for a moment to hear what slight noise they made. Once outside, Dusty led the way back to the horses and collected the lariat ropes. Weary did not ask any questions, but followed Dusty to the edge of the slide above the lake, where they knotted the ropes together.

“—— only knows whether it’ll reach or not,” grunted Dusty, “but I’ve gotta take a chance. Stay here, Weary.”

Dusty knotted the rope to a snag and backed down the slide cautiously, so as not to dislodge any of the shale rock. It was a slow difficult job, and Dusty realized the need of haste.

Once at the edge of the break he swung over and slid down to the water. The rope barely brushed the surface of the lake. There was no visible glow from the lighted cavern, and he was forced to grope his way along until he could locate the entrance. The water was very cold.

Inside he crawled until he came to the almost square turn which masked the entrance. He peered around this and found himself almost in reach of Stella, who was sitting with her back to him. To apprize her of his presence might startle her and warn the others. Bonn was talking and looking toward her.

“It’ll take all night,” stated Bonn, “but we’ll do the job up right, Rand. If anybody shows up there early, you tell ’em that me and Shirey went out to watch a deer-lick. We’ll make a mystery out of Shirey’s disappearance. If we ain’t back by noon—we won’t be back; so you fellers better git goin’.”

Dusty knew that Bonn and Wharton would miss their ropes and also discover Weary; so he took a chance and hissed softly at Stella. The first time she started to turn her head, but turned back to look at the elder Rand, who had started toward her. Again Dusty hissed and whispered quickly:

“This is Dusty, Stell. Sneak out easy!”

Rand was coming toward her, and she got to her feet, as though in fear of him, and began backing out of the cavern. Rand laughed and stopped.

“You won’t go far, I guess,” he remarked as he stopped and spoke to Bonn, who was starting for the ladder.

Stella backed around the angle and Dusty grasped her by the arm, hurrying her along.

“Don’t talk!” he gritted into her ear. “And don’t be afraid of the water; it ain’t deep.”

She caught her breath, as he hurried her off the ledge and into the icy water, but she did not break her silence. As swiftly as possible, Dusty led her along the border of the lake, feeling for the rope-end. He had not realized the difficulty of finding it again.

Came the scrape of boots on rocks, a moment’s silence and then a withering curse from the lips of the elder Rand. He had reached the edge of the lake and had not found Stella. He turned and went stumbling back into the cavern, cursing wickedly.

Dusty swung his arm in a circle in the dark and his wrist struck the dangling rope.

“Stell, I’ve gotta leave yuh a little while,” whispered Dusty. “Yuh can’t climb this alone, and it ain’t long enough to tie around yuh; but mebbe I can give yuh enough slack to do the job. If I can’t, yuh gotta hang on with yore hands, when I git up there. I’ll give a little yank, and when yore all ready, you yank twice; sabe?”

“All right, Dusty,” she whispered. “Go ahead!”

Dusty grasped the rope, but before he could pull himself out of the water the beams of a lantern flooded the entrance to the cavern, and the four men came out.

“You’re crazy!” growled Bonn, “She never went into the lake of her own accord.”

He lifted the lantern above his head and peered out across the water. A second later Dusty fired, and the lantern chimney showered glass against the rocks. With a startled curse, Bonn dropped the wrecked lantern and fell back into a safe place.

Other voices swore wonderingly and one of the men tried to scratch a match.

“Don’t do that, you —— fool!” roared Bonn. “Want to make a target of yourself?”

“Did that girl get a gun?” queried Wharton shakily. “Which way did the shot come from, Bonn?”

“How do I know?” snarled Bonn. “It came from the lake, that’s all I know.”

“Well, she can’t get away, can she?” asked young Rand. “There ain’t no way out except this way, is there?”

“No, there ain’t,” declared Bonn, “but it would be a cinch for any one to see her from the other side of the lake. Mebbe she couldn’t stand it to be in that water all night, but we’d be takin’ a chance.”

“Well, what’ll we do?” demanded young Rand. “Shall we roost there all night?”

“No, that won’t do,” objected Bonn, “We’ve got to do that job in Calumet tonight. The girl can’t get out of the lake.”

They turned and went back inside—at least some of them did, but Dusty knew that some one of them remained at the ledge to watch.

Cautiously he lifted himself from the water and began climbing the rope, while his dripping clothes poured a shower of water back into the lake. There was no use in being cautious now. If any one remained on guard at the entrance they would know that their quarry was escaping in some way. He heard the scrape of boots, as the watcher turned and hurried inside.

Dusty dropped back into the lake, steadied himself with the rope and grasped Stella by the arm.

“Back into the cave,” he whispered. “They think I’ve gone over the top.”

They struggled back to the ledge and in through the crevice. A straight view through the cavern showed it to be empty, and they half-ran into it, thinking that every one had gone out. A noise behind them caused Dusty to whirl around and look straight into the muzzle of Bonn’s pistol.

“Foxy, eh?” gritted Bonn triumphantly. “I figured it was somethin’ like this. I knowed the girl didn’t have no gun, and you was my big bet.”

Bonn laughed wickedly. From outside came the whang of a shot, and his eyes flashed to the ladder exit for a fraction of a second.

“Mebbe that’s the end of yore deputy,” he grinned. “It’s three to one out there, Corbett. You sure saved us a trip to town.”

“You didn’t think we came back—just two of us, did yuh?” queried Dusty.

Bonn’s eyelids quivered a trifle, but the rest of his face did not change expression. He did not know whether Dusty was bluffing or not.

“Don’t try to bluff me, Corbett. You and Weary never left here today—and you never will leave here.”

Dusty’s eyes shifted to the body of Snag Shirey, which was acting queerly for a dead person. Shirey was trying to get up on his hands and knees. He was almost directly behind Bonn, who noticed the intent expression on Dusty’s face. But Bonn was not to be fooled by any such trick. He knew that he ought to shoot Dusty, but he wanted to talk a while—boast a little more.

“None of that kinda stuff, Corbett,” he warned.

Dusty did not lift his eyes, as he said: “By golly, that’s funny. Yuh ought t’ look, Bonn.”

Snag was getting to his feet now, his face distorted with pain and his eyes fixed on Bonn’s back.

“Funny, eh?” snarled Bonn. “I’m too old in this game to be fooled by a trick like that, Corbett; so don’t be —— fool enough to think it. Listen to me.”

Stella was watching Bonn, her face white. She was afraid that Bonn might turn, and she knew that Dusty was overdoing his part of it to be sure that Bonn would not look. Shirey had found his gun now, but his arm muscles were uncertain, which made it dangerous for both Dusty and Stella. He weaved on his legs, looking around dazedly, as though not exactly sure of himself. Bonn’s face was distorted with wrath and his knuckles were white in the firelight, as he gripped the heavy Colt pistol.

“—— you!” snapped Bonn. “You fool, do yuh think——”

Came a harsh cackle from Shirey’s lips. He had heard Bonn’s voice and the mists had been swept away from his numbed mind. Bonn jerked forward, as though from an electric shock, but he did not dare to turn. He was as a man paralyzed. Death was behind him—and to turn was to give Dusty a chance for a quick draw. And he knew that Dusty was swift.

“He, he, he, he!” cackled Shirey. “Palo was m’ bunkie, Bonn. Do yuh want to take it in the back or the front?”

From the outside came the thud of another shot.

“Back or the front?” cackled Shirey, “He, he, he! Yo’re a dead man, Bonn. You’ve killed a-plenty—now take yours.”

Bonn whirled, stumbled against the uneven floor, while Shirey’s six-shooter spouted flame in the dim light. Dusty flung Stella aside and dove into Shirey, flinging him back against the wall, where he collapsed.

Came the thud of another shot, and two men seemed to fairly hurtle in sight down the ladder, crashing together at the bottom, fighting, striking. It was young Rand and Wharton. Dusty caught a whirling glimpse of them, as he sprang away from Shirey, and then came the third body, dropping feet first into them.

“Yee-o-o-ow!” came Weary’s yell. “Hookum cow!”

Weary was trying to do a war-dance on Wharton and young Rand and trying to bounce his pistol barrel off their heads at the same time. Dusty ran over to him and grasped Rand by the legs, yanking him out of the mix-up, while Weary confined his attentions to putting Wharton hors de combat.

Dusty dragged Rand over near the fire. Rand’s gun had been lost in the scuffle and he looked dazedly up at Dusty, as if not understanding what had happened.

“I kinda hoodled ’em, didn’t I?” crowed Weary, dragging the unconscious Wharton over to the fire.

“One of ’em musta seen me out there and snuck up on me.”

Weary glanced around over the victims and rubbed his chin.

“I reckon it was papa, after e-liminatin’ the rest. Anyway, he tackled me out there on that slidin’ stuff, and I kicked his feet out from under him and took a wing-shot at him as he went over the edge.

“These other two got kinda numerous and I drove ’em back into the hole. Why didn’t yuh come on up the rope? I felt yuh yank hard on it and in a minute yuh let loose of it.”

Rand sat up dazedly and looked around. Realization was coming back to him, and it was not pleasant. Dusty looked at Stella and pointed at Rand.

“Was he the one yuh meant, Stell?”

Stella stared at Dusty, as if not understanding.

“Yuh said yuh loved one of the Sticky Ropes, Stell,” reminded Dusty.

“—I don’t know,” faltered Stella wearily. “They said they were going to kill me. He—” pointing at Rand—“was one of them, Dusty.”

“You don’t love him, do yuh?” queried Weary.

“No! Love that man?”

“Well, yuh never can tell about a woman,” said Weary.

Shirey lifted himself to a half-sitting position and looked around. He was very weak, and his hands groped around, as though searching for something.

“Whatcha want, Snag?” asked Dusty.

Snag looked up vacantly at him.

“M’ gun,” he whispered, “I’ve gotta shoot Bonn. Palo was m’ bunkie.”

“You got him, Snag,” said Dusty. “You got Bonn.”

Snag mouthed a jumble of words—

“Dreamin’—I—shot—Bonn—where’s—gun?”

“You got him,” repeated Dusty.

“Yeah?” Shirey grinned vacantly. “Did I? Good!”

Shirey’s eyes lifted and focused on Stella. The vacant look had vanished now and he seemed to recognize them.

“H’lo, li’l girl! Sheriff! End of the Sticky Ropes, eh? We’re all here, gentlemen. Li’l girl, we lied to you. Your pa ain’t one of us. We lied to git yuh to come here peaceable!”

Then Dusty knew that Stella had not been protecting a sweetheart, but her father; and a warm glow came over him, in spite of his dripping, clammy clothes.

“Yo’re wise in comin’ clean about it, Snag,” he stated.

Snag looked up at Dusty.

“Ol’ Snag ain’t goin’ t’ hang, sheriff. Got m’ ticket to a hotter place than Big Bear. Ain’t goin’ t’ be no cold Winter f’r ol’ Snag. Bonn was the killer, and he’s gone. Ol’ Rand paid the freight. Do the best yuh can with the rest. We thought yuh was a fool, sheriff; but you’re alive and we—ain’t. S’—long.”

The practical Weary picked up a coil of rope and proceeded to hog-tie the captives, but Dusty had seemed to have lost interest in the Sticky Ropes. He was looking at Stella, and for once in his life he was not making faces at her.

“I—I wasn’t no hero, Stell,” he said softly. “I thought yuh loved young Rand, but I didn’t go away and give yuh up.”

Stella looked into the light of the fire for a moment and back into Dusty’s serious face, as she took him by both hands.

“No, you wasn’t a hero, Dusty. You’re just a —— of a sheriff—and that’s hero enough for me!”

“Aw-w-w-w!” growled Weary disgustedly, but nobody heard him, except Wharton and Rand, and they were not interested.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 20, 1923 issue of Adventure magazine.