ROWDY RIDES TO GLORY A Bantam Book
The Louis L'Amour Hardcover Collection / November
PRINTING HISTORY
ROWDY RIDES TO GLORY originally published in Rodeo Romance
All rights reserved.
Copyright 1949, 1977 by Louis L'Amour. Book Design by Renee Gelman.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means,
without permission. For information address: Bantam Books, Inc.
If you would be interested in receiving bookends for The Louis L'Amour Collection,
please write to this address for information:
The Louis L'Amour Collection Bantam Books
P.O. Box 956 Hicksville, New York 11801
ISBN
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the
words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent
and Trademark Office and in
other countries. Marco Registrada. Bantam Books. Inc., 666 Fifth Avenue, New York,
New York 10103.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
1
For Want of a Horse
Rowdy Horn stared gloomily at Cub's right hind leg and shook his head with regret.
"No use even thinkin' about it, jenny," he admitted ruefully to the girl he wanted
to marry. "Cub won't work at the Stock man's Show this year. Not with that leg!"
Jenny Welman nodded, faintly irritated. Something was al ways going wrong. "No,"
she agreed, "you can't ride him, and without a good roping horse you wouldn't have
a chance at first money, and without five thousand dollars-"
"I know! Without it we can't get married!" Rowdy ran his fingers through his dark,
curly hair. "Jenny, does that money make so much difference? Lots of folks I know
started with a darned sight less, and if I get a good calf crop this year we would
be all set."
"We've talked of this before," Jenny replied quietly. "If you want to marry me, you've
got to provide a home for me. I won't start like my mother did."
"She was pretty happy," Horn insisted stubbornly, "and your mother was a mighty fine
woman."
"True, but just the same, I want to be comfortable! I don't want to slave my youth
away trying to get ahead like she did." Suddenly, and excitedly, jenny caught his
arm. "Rowdy! I just happened to think. Why don't you see Bart Luby?"
"Luby?" Horn's mouth tightened. "What would I see him for?"
"Maybe he would let you borrow Tanglefoot to ride! He's going to ride Royboy, I know,
so why don't you ride over and ask him?"
"Ask a favor of Bart Luby?" Rowdy's eyes smoldered. "I will not! I'll let the rodeo
go to kingdom come, and the ranch too, before I'll go to him for help! Anyway, he'd
turn me down flat. He knows well enough that with Cub an' me out of the running he
is a cinch to win."
"Will it do any harm to ask?" Jenny insisted impatiently. "Why you imagine he holds
anything against you, I can't guess.
2
He's the wealthiest man in the whole South Rim country, and has the biggest ranch,
so why he should worry about you, I wouldn't know."
There was an undercurrent in jenny's voice that stirred Rowdy's resentment. He glanced
up, studying her carefully. He had been in love with jenny Welman for a long time,
and had been going around with her for almost a year, yet some how of late he had
been experiencing vague doubts. Nothing he could put his finger on, but little things
led him to believe that she placed more emphasis upon whether a man had money than
how he got it.
"If you'd like," she suggested, her eyes brightening, "I could see him for you."
"No." Horn shook his head stubbornly. "I won't ask him, and I don't want you asking
him. He knows exactly how I feel about him, and he knows I think there was something
wrong about that Bar 0 deal."
"But Rowdy!" she protested, almost angry. "How can you be so foolish? After three
years I was hoping you'd forgotten that silly resentment you had because you didn't
get that ranch."
"Well, I haven't!" Rowdy told her firmly. "If there was one man I knew, it was old
Tom Slater, and I know what he thought of Bart. There was a time when he thought
of leaving that ranch to both of us together, but after Bart Luby left and went to
cattle buying, Slater never felt the same about him. Something happened then that
old Tom didn't like. Why, three times he told me he didn't even want Luby on the
place, and that he was leaving it to me. It doesn't make sense that he would change
his mind at the last minute!"
"It was not at the last minute!" Jenny protested. "He had given Bart a deed to the
ranch-over a year before his death. Why, with that deed he didn't even need the will,
but all the same, the will left everything to him. You heard it read yourself."
Jenny's chin lifted, and in her eyes Rowdy Horn could see the storm signals flying.
This old argument always irritated Jenny. She was just like nearly everybody in the
South Rim: admired Luby's cash and show as well as his business ability. And of course,
the man
had made money.
It was easy to admire Bart Luby if you accepted him from the surface appearance.
He had a dashing way, and he was a powerful man physically, handsome and smooth talking.
He was the one who had the Stockman's Show organized, and for three
3
years now had been featured in it for his fine riding, roping, and bulldogging. He
was the local champion, because for those three years he had won all the major events.
But that will-that was something else.
Rowdy Horn was usually reasonable, but on the subject of that will he ceased being
reasonable. It was flatly contradictory to everything he knew of Tom Slater, who
had been almost a father to him.
Besides that, nobody could work with a man as Rowdy had worked with Bart Luby without
knowing something of him, and Bart had always been unscrupulous in little things.
He had left the Bar 0 to become a rodeo contest rider and a cattle buyer, and there
had been vague rumors, never substantiated and never investigated, that his success
as a buyer was due to his association-suspected only-with Jack Rollick.
Rollick was a known rustler who haunted the broken canyon country beyond the Rim,
and did his rustling carefully and with skill among the brakes south of the Rim.
It was hard to get proof of his depredations-nobody had, as yet-for he never drove
off large numbers of cattle, and never rustled any stock with unusual markings. He
weeded cattle from the herds, or the lone steers that haunted the thick brush, and
it was generally believed he gathered them in some interior valley to hold until
he had enough to drive to market. Such shortages as his rustling caused would not
show up until the roundup.
"Well, I'm riding back into Aragon, then, if you won't listen to a thing I say,"
Jenny said, swinging into her saddle. "But I do wish you'd change your mind and let
me see Bart for you."
Rowdy shook his head, grinning up at her. Looking at him, Jenny thought for the thousandth
time that he was easily the handsomest cowboy, the best-looking man afoot or in the
saddle in the whole South Rim country. It was too bad he was so stubborn and such
a poor manager.
"Don't worry," he said, smiling. "One way or another I'll be in that rodeo, and I'll
win first money. Then we can be married." She gave him her hand. "I know you will,
dear. Luck." With a wave of her hand, she wheeled the paint and rode off
at a snappy trot. He watched her go, uncertain again. Cub nickered plaintively as
if unaware of the disaster his misfortune had brought upon them.
Rowdy ran his hand under Cub's mane and scratched the horse's neck.
"Too bad, old boy. We worked mighty hard, trainin' you for
4
that rodeo, and all for nothing. That hole you stepped into was sure in the wrong
place."
Gravely, he studied the situation, but could see no way out, no escape. His Slash
Bar was a small ranch, the place upon which Tom Slater had made his start. Rowdy
had bought the ranch from the bank, making the down payment with his savings and
the reward for the capture of Beenk Danek, a bank robber.
There had been a few good months after the ranch was his, then the roundup-and he
had been missing more than two hundred head of cattle, more than any other one rancher,
even those with much larger herds. His was small.
Then there had been fence trouble with Luby's men, although never with Luby himself,
and more than once it had almost led to shooting. Despite Luby's smooth excuses,
he was sure the cattleman was deliberately instigating trouble. To top it all, water
shortages had developed, and he had fallen behind in his payments to the bank. So
it had been the Stockman's Rodeo that had offered him the best chance to make a substantial
payment on the ranch as well as to provide the things on which jenny insisted. Until
Cub's injury, he had been certain he had at least an even chance with Bart Luby,
and Bart had been aware of it, too.
Now still another worry had developed. One of his two hands, Mike McNulty, had ridden
in a couple of days before to tell him the water hole at Point of Rocks was shrinking-the
only water supply for miles of range. It had been considered inexhaustible. That
was a matter which Rowdy must look into himself-and now.
Mounting a steeldust he used for rough riding, he started off for the dim and lonely
land under the gigantic wall of the Rim. There, at the end of a trailing point of
rocks, lay the water hole.
It was an hour's ride from the home ranch, and when he drew rein near the water hole
the sun was still almost an hour high. His fears were realized the instant his eyes
fell upon what always had been a wide, clear pool, for around it lay a rim, at least
six feet wide, of gray mud, indicating the shrinkage. This was the last straw.
A hoof struck stone, and surprised, he glanced up. Lonely as this place was, other
riders than the two men who worked for
5
him hardly ever came to this water hole. But here was one and a girl.
She was tall, slender, yet beautifully built. He wondered instantly who she was.
He had never seen her before. Her dark hair was drawn to a loose knot at the nape
of her neck, and her eyes were big and dark. She was riding a splendid palomino mare,
with an old-fashioned Spanish-type saddle.
He swept off his hat and she flashed a quick smile at him. "You are Rowdy Horn?"
she inquired.
"That's right, ma'am, but you've sure got the best of me. I thought I knew every
girl in this country, and especially all of the pretty ones, but I see I don't."
She laughed. "You wouldn't know me," she said sharply. "I'm Vaho Rainey."
His interest quickened. The whole South Rim country knew about this girl, but she
had never been seen around Aragon. The daughter of French and Irish parents, she
had been left an orphan when little more than a baby, and brought up by old Cleetus,
a wealthy Navaho chieftain. When she was fourteen she had been sent to a convent
in New Orleans, and after that had spent some time in New York and Boston before
returning to the great old stone house where Cleetus lived.
"Welcome to the Slash Bar," Rowdy said, smiling. "I met old Cleetus once. He's quite
a character." He grinned ruefully. "He sure made a fool out of me, one time."
He told her how the old Indian had come to his cabin one miserable wintry night,
half frozen and with a broken wrist. His horse had fallen on the ice. Rowdy had not
known who he was just any old buck, he had thought-but he had put Cleetus to bed,
set the broken bone, and nursed the old man through the blizzard. Returning to the
cabin one day after the storm, he had found the old man gone, and with him a buck
skin horse. While the old man was still sick, Rowdy had offered him a blanket and
food when he left. These Cleetus had taken.
Over a year later, Rowdy Horn had discovered, quite by accident, the identity of
the old man he had befriended. And he had learned that Cleetus was one of the wealthiest
sheepmen among the Navahos, and one of the first to introduce Angora goats into the
lonely desert land where he lived.
Vaho laughed merrily when she heard the story.
"That's like him. So like him. Did he ever return the horse?"
6
"No," Rowdy said drily, "he didn't. That was a good horse, too. "
"He's a strange man, Rowdy," she said. He was glad, some how, that Vaho did not stand
on ceremony. He liked hearing her call him by his first name.
"Maybe he could use a good man with his flocks," Rowdy suggested, a little bitterly.
"I'm sure going to be hunting a job soon.,,
She looked at him quickly. "But you have this ranch? Is that not enough?"
Rowdy did not know just why he had an impulse to tell this girl, a stranger, his
trouble-but he did.
7
`hrugging, Rowdy explained and Vaho Rainey listened at tentively, watching him with
her wide dark eyes. She frowned thoughtfully at the receding water.
"There must be a reason for this," she said. "There has always been water here. Never
in the memory of the Navaho has this water hole been so low."
"Sure, there's a reason," Rowdy said glumly, "but what is it? Maybe there's somebody
takin' water before it gets to this pool, but who and where? I always figured this
water came off the Rim, somewhere."
"Or from under it," Vaho said thoughtfully.
That remark made no impression on Rowdy at the moment, although he did recall it
later, and wondered what she had meant. Right now, his interest in this tall, dark
girl was quickening. There was warmth in her, understanding, and sympathy for his
problems-all the things that he had missed in jenny.
He glanced up suddenly. The sun had slid behind the mountains, and it was growing
dark.
"You'd better be getting home!" he warned Vaho. "Riding in the mountains at night
is no good."
"Not when you know them as I do," she said, smiling. "Anyway, I've not far to go.
Some of our people are camped only a few miles from here. I shall go to them."
When he had watched her ride away into the dusk that lay thick among the dark pines,
he swung into the saddle and turned the steeldust down the road home. But he was
conscious of a strange excitement, and the memory of that tall, dark girl was like
a bright fire in his thoughts. He was remembering the curves of her lips and the
way she had moved, how her laughter had sounded an echo in his heart. With a quick
start of guilt he realized that in his mind he was being a little disloyal to jenny.
Despite his guilty feeling, though, he would not forget that girl from the canyons,
or the strange warmth she had left with him.
He had ridden home and had stripped the saddle from the
8
steeldust, when he heard a man's voice inside the stable. For an instant he hesitated.
It was dark inside and he could see nothing. Then he saw a subdued glow, and stepped
quickly to the door. "Who's there?" he demanded.
A man who had been kneeling to examine Cub's leg got to his feet. As he stepped out
of the door Rowdy Horn could see him plainly-a tall, thin man in a battered hat not
of western vintage, and a shabby suit of store clothes.
"How are you?" he said. "I hope you won't think I'm butting in. I stopped to ask
for something to eat and a place to sleep, but finding nobody at home, I walked around
a little. Then I found your horse with the bad leg. What happened to him?"
"Stepped into a gopher hole. My roping horse. I'd figured on riding him in the rodeo."
"Too bad." The man hesitated. "How about that grub?" "Sure. Come on up to the house.
I haven't eaten myself. You passin' through?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a tramp printer, Neil Rice by name. My doctor told me if I expected
to live I'd better get West. I'm not really sick, but he told me that any more of
that city air and I would be, so I packed up and started West."
"Broke?" "I am now. I ran into a poker game back in Dodge, and I'd played a lot of
poker with other printers. Those Dodge people played too fast a game for me."
Rowdy chuckled. "All right, Rice. I know how that is. I'm Rowdy Horn. You hunting
a job?"
"Any kind of a job. I know a little about horses, but not much about cattle. And
I can cook."
"There's what you need," Rowdy said cheerfully. "Let's see what you can do. I am
probably the worst cook who ever died of slow poisoning from his own cookin'. I'd
hesitate to ask a stranger to eat it."
Two hours later, with a good dinner behind their belts and pipes lighted, they sat
back and stared thoughtfully at the fire. Rowdy by that time knew most of Rice's
troubles, and the printer was aware of the precarious situation on the Slash Bar.
"This fellow Luby," Rice said thoughtfully. "Has he always lived around this country?"
"Here, Texas, New Mexico, and California, as far as I know. He seems to know a good
bit, though."
"I wouldn't be surprised." Rice hesitated. "Is there any way
9
in which I could get my hands on that deed? And the will? I know a little about such
things."
Horn shrugged. "Not that I know of. Maybe I can figure out a way. Why? Are you a
lawyer?"
Rice chuckled. "Just a printer, but I know a little about documents. I wouldn't promise
anything, but it might be that if the deed was faked and if the will was forged,
I could tell. How, I don't know, and I couldn't promise anything. I'd have to examine
them, and preferably have them for a while."
"That's tough. Luby wouldn't turn loose of them. We'll see, though, for it's sure
an idea." He scowled. "You can't forge a deed, can you? This one's got a big seal
on it. I gave up when I saw that."
"Well," Rice said, "that might be the very reason it's on there. Did you have a good
lawyer look at it?"
"Lawyer?" Horn exclaimed. "Man, there's no lawyer in Aragon but old Hemingway, and
he's drunk most of the time. I don't think he knows much law, anyway."
The following day, Rowdy worked hard, roping and tying calves, roping horses, and
attempting to improve his own speed and skill, though the steeldust wasn't nearly
the horse Cub was. Neil Rice had taken right hold, had cleaned out the house and
organized the cooking situation. Then he had handed Horn a list of supplies. Rowdy
had grinned at it.
"All right, Rice," he had said, "I reckon we might as well eat and leave this place
on full stomachs anyway. I'll head into Aragon and pick up this stuff."
With a packhorse Rowdy Horn headed for Aragon. All the way to town he was studying
ways and means of getting the documents into his hands once more. There must be some
way. During their talk at breakfast Rice had told him that it was often possible
to remove the seal from one document to another, that such a thing had been done
in more than one place.
Aragon was crowded when Rowdy rode down the main one of the town's three streets.
Banners were hanging across the street, and the town was bright with posters heralding
the coming Stockman's Show and Rodeo. News had got around about the injury to Cub's
leg, however, and everywhere he went he found the odds on his winning first money
had dropped. He was no longer given an even chance to win, for everyone had known
how much trust he placed in Cub, and all had seen the horse perform at one time or
another.
He called at the house for Jenny, but she was out. Her
10
mother smiled at him, but her eyes looked as if she were disturbed.
"I'm sorry, Rowdy," Mrs. Welman told him, "Jenny's gone out. You may see her downtown."
He walked back down the street, telling himself that he was foolish to feel irritated.
Jenny had had no idea he would be coming in, and there was no reason why she should
be at home. He laughed at himself, then strode back downtown and went to the Emporium
where he began buying groceries. He was packing them on his lead horse when he heard
a familiar voice, and glancing up, saw Bart Luby. Clinging to his arm was Jenny Welman!
Rowdy's face flushed, and he looked away, but not before Luby had seen him.
"How are you, Horn?" Bart said, making no effort to conceal his triumph. "Sorry to
hear about Cub! I was looking forward to the chance of beating him."
Jenny looked at Rowdy, paling slightly. His eyes met hers for an instant then he
looked away.
"Think nothing of it, Luby," he said, "but don't count me out. I'll be there yet."
"A man can't do much good on just a fair horse," Luby said, "but come along in. Be
glad to have you."
Jenny hesitated. "I didn't know you were coming to town," she said.
"I see you didn't," he said, a little wryly.
Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. "Well, what do you expect me to do? Stay home
all the time? Anyway," she added suddenly, "I'd been planning to ride out and see
you. I don't think-well, we'd better call this off. Our engagement, I mean. "
He had a queer sinking feeling, but when he lifted his eyes, they revealed nothing.
"All right," was all he said, calmly. Her blue eyes hardened slightly. "You certainly
don't seem much upset!" she flared.
"Should I be?" he asked. "When a girl tosses a man over the first time he gets in
a tight spot, she's small loss."
"Well!" she flared. "I-!"
"Come on, jenny," Bart said. "You told me you were comin' out to my place to look
at the sorrel mare." He grinned at Horn. "Out to the Bar O. "
Stung, Rowdy glared at Luby.
11
"Better enjoy the Bar 0 while you can, Bart," he said.
Bart Luby froze in midstride and for a second stood stock still. Then slowly he turned,
his face livid. "What do you mean by that?" he barked.
"Nothing"-Rowdy grinned-"nothing at all! Only-" He hesitated, then shrugged. "You'll
know all about it soon." "Oh"-Jenny tugged at Bart's arm-"don't pay any attention
to him. He's always fussing about that ranch."
The remark was intended to appease Bart and get him away. It had the effect of adding
fuel to the man's uncertainty after Rowdy's veiled comment. Bart Luby stared down
at Rowdy as he stood in the street, and watched him finish his diamond hitch.
"If you're smart, you'll leave well enough alone!" Bart said then, carefully and
coldly.
Rowdy smiled, but he felt warm with triumph. Luby was worried, and if that deal had
been straight, why should he worry? His sudden remark had brought a greater reaction
than he had expected, yet suddenly he was aware of something else. That had been
a dangerous thing for him to say, for now Luby knew that the loss of the ranch was
not a closed matter to Rowdy Horn.
In the saddle on the way back to the Slash Bar, Horn began to feel the letdown. Despite
his immediate reaction to jenny's sudden breaking off of their engagement, and despite
the fact that he realized she was small loss, he felt sick and empty inside. He felt
so low that he took no notice of the ride he had always loved. The great wall of
the Rim did not draw his eyes, nor did the towering mass of cumulus that lifted above
it, nor the darkening fringe of the pines against the distant sky.
When he got back home none of his problems were any nearer a solution either. Cub's
leg was but little better, and there was absolutely no chance of his recovering before
the rodeo date. And more than ever now, Rowdy wanted to win that first place.
Again and again he studied the situation, comparing his own ability with that of
Luby, who would be the main competitor. Each time, it all came down to the roping
event. A lot would depend, of course, on the kind of mounts each of them drew in
the bucking events, but there was little to choose between the two men. To give the
devil his due, Bart Luby was a hand.
12
At daylight Rowdy Horn was out looking at Cub's leg. When
he had done that, he saddled a powerful black for a ride out
to the Point of Rocks. Today he must try to find out what was wrong with his water
supply. He could delay no longer. He was just cinching the saddle tight when he heard
a rattle of hoofs and looked up to see Vaho Rainey sweep into the yard.
His face broke into a smile. This morning the girl was riding a blood bay, a splendid
horse. She reined in, swung down, and walked over to him with a free-swinging stride
that he liked.
"Rowdy," she asked excitedly, "did you ever hear of Silverside?"
"Silverside?" He looked at her curiously. "Who hasn't? The greatest roping horse
this country ever saw, I reckon. Buck Gordon rode him and trained him, and Buck was
a roper. There will never be a greater horse."
"Could you win that rodeo on him?"
He laughed. "Could I? On that
horse? Vaho, I could win anything on that horse. He had the speed of a deer and was
smarter than most men. I saw him once, several years ago, before he was killed. He
was the finest roping horse I ever saw, and Buck the greatest hand."
"He's not dead, Rowdy. He's alive, and I know where he
is.
Rowdy Horn's heart missed a beat. "You aren't foolin'? This isn't a joke?" He shook
his head. "It couldn't be Silverside," he protested, "and if you've heard it is,
somebody is mistaken. Buck Gordon was riding Silverside when the Apaches got him
down near Animas-in one of their last raids over the border. They killed Silverside
at the same time. A long time after that somebody found his skeleton, some of the
hide, and Buck's saddle. "
"He's alive, Rowdy!" Vaho repeated earnestly. "I know where he is, I tell you! Some
Mexican picked up Buck's saddle, and when he was killed later, riding a paint, it
was that horse that
13
was found, or it must have been. Silverside was taken by the Apaches and they have
him now."
Horn shook his head. "It couldn't be, Vaho. The Apaches are at least pretending to
be friendly now, and have been for a long time. If they had that horse, somebody
would have seen him." His eyes sparkled. "Man, I wish they had! With that horse I
could sure make Luby back up! There never was a great roper without a great horse,
and don't you forget it!"
"You said the Apaches were friendly," said Vaho. "All of them are not."
"Oh? You mean old Cochino? No, he sure isn't. But if that horse was alive and old
Cochino had him, I'd still be out of luck. In the first place, nobody knows where
he and his renegades hang out, and in the second place, it would be like committing
suicide to look for him-if you found him."
"You wouldn't try it?" she persisted. "Not even for Silverside?" "You bet I would!"
Rowdy stated emphatically. "I'd ride through perdition in a celluloid collar for
that horse!"
Vaho laughed, and her eyes were bright. "All right, put on your celluloid collar!
I know where Cochino is, and I know he has Silverside!"
"If you mean that-"
Rowdy hesitated, thinking rapidly. She was positive, and after all, there had long
been rumors of a friendship between old Cochino and Cleetus. The Navahos and the
Apaches had never been too friendly, but the two old chiefs had found something in
common. In fact, it had long been rumored that if Cleetus wanted to, he could tell
where Cochino was at any time. But that was just cow-country gossip, and nobody was
really looking for the tough and wily old Apache any longer.
"Yes," Rowdy said finally, "if you're positive, Vaho, I'll take a chance. Tell me
where he is."
"I can't," Vaho said quietly, "but I'll take you there. But let me warn you-it's
an awful ride."
"You'll take me there?" He was incredulous. "Nothing doing! I'd take a chance on
Cochino myself, but not you!"
"Without me you wouldn't have a chance, Rowdy. With me, you may have. It's a big
gamble, for old Cochino is peculiar and uncertain. He still believes the soldiers
are after him, and he and the twenty or so renegade Apaches he has with him are dangerous.
But he knows me, and he likes old Cleetus. Will you chance it?"
"You're sure you'll be safe?" he protested.
She grew suddenly serious. "I think so, Rowdy. Nobody
14
knows about Cochino. He's like a tiger out of the jungle, one that has been partly
trained. He may be all right, and he might turn ugly. But I'm willing to chance it.
I want to see you win this rodeo, and I want to see you keep your ranch!"
He looked at her strangely, and as he looked into the soft depths of those lovely
dark eyes, he remembered the momentary hardness of jenny's blue eyes. Suddenly he
knew that Jenny would never have ridden with him in that weird, sun stricken desert
where the Apache lived. Aside from the danger, she would have shied at the discomfort.
Scarcely were Rowdy and Vaho on the trail when doubts began to assail him. The horse
Cochino had simply couldn't be Silverside-and it had probably been years since he
had been used for roping. Besides, the horse would be ten or eleven years old! Perhaps
older. He scowled and mopped his brow, then glanced at the girl riding at his side,
her eyes on the horizon.
The devil with it! If he found no horse, if he lost the ranch, if he couldn't beat
Luby, the ride with this girl would be worth any chance he took....
Back on the ranch, alone in the cabin, Neil Rice finished cleaning up, and put away
the dishes. There was work to do outside, but he felt in no mood for it. Idly, he
began to rummage around the house, hunting for something to read. The few books failed
to strike his interest, but when he was about to give up he remembered having seen
several books in an old desk and bookcase in the inner room.
He found them and studied them thoughtfully, one by one. He was about to replace
the last one, when he noticed what appeared to be a thin crack in the walnut of the
old desk. Curious, he ran his hand back into the space from which he had taken the
book. It was then that he noticed, on closer inspection, that there seemed to be
some waste space in the desk, or some unaccounted-for space.
Remembering that many such old secretaries or cabinets had secret compartments, he
felt around with his fingers, finally dug his nails into the crack, and pulled. The
wood moved under his hand, and a small panel slid back!
In the small space beyond, he felt several pieces of paper. One had the feel of parchment.
Slowly, he got his fingers on them and drew them out, then took them to the window
for better light.
15
The first was an old legal paper, a corporate charter of some long-defunct mining
company. What caught his eye at once was the missing seal. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Then he opened the next paper. Glancing at the heading, he read:
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF THOMAS B. SLATER
His eyes sharpening, he read on:
I, Thomas B. Slater, being of sound mind, make this my last will and testament. After
payment of my just debts and funeral expenses, I devise and bequeath all my worldly
goods and properties to Rowell D. Horn, who has been as a son to me through many
months and whose friendship and interest in the future and well-being of the Bar
0 have shown him a fit person to possess this property.
There was more, and it was followed by the signature of the old rancher and that
of two witnesses. Rice had never heard of either of them. He studied the document
for a long time, then closed the compartment and replaced the book. He retained the
charter with the missing seal and the will.
"Now wouldn't Bart Luby like to know about this!" he muttered thoughtfully.
He scowled. Possibly Luby did
know about it. Hadn't Rowdy said that this place had been for a long time a line
cabin for the Bar 0? And after that for a while it had been headquarters for Bart
Luby's cattle buying. No doubt Luby had taken the seal from this document, and then
had concealed it and the will, believing that he might have some further use for
it, at least for the signature; so he had hidden the will until he could make up
his mind. He might have expected the place to be in his possession longer than it
had been, but when Rowdy Horn had made his down payment without Luby's knowledge
and had appeared suddenly and unexpectedly to take over, it may have left no chance
for Luby to get into the old cabinet-until he could slip back secretly. And he had
probably believed it safely hidden.
That the will was in existence at all was a serious oversight on Luby's part. Once
in his hands, he should have destroyed it.
16
Here, Rice thought, was the key to the whole situation in South Rim. With this, Rowdy
could get the Bar 0 and prove that Luby was the crook Rowdy believed him to be. But
suppose Luby got it? There might be a lot of money in these papers if handled discreetly.
Neil Rice was painfully conscious of the emptiness of his own pockets. He came to
a decision suddenly. He would ride into town.
Out on the range with Rowdy Horn, Vaho Rainey led the way, and the route she took
led across the wide sagebrush flats toward the vague purple of distant mountains.
Before they had ridden a mile they seemed lost in a limitless sea of distance where
they moved at the hub of an enormous wheel of mountains. They talked but little,
riding steadily onward into the morning sunlight, but Rowdy Horn kept his mind on
the slim, erect girl who rode sometimes before him and sometimes behind.
As they drew nearer the mountains beyond the wide disk of the desert, Rowdy could
see that what had appeared to be a wall of purple was actually broken into weird
figures and towers, strange, grotesque monsters sculptured from the sand stone by
sun, wind, and rain. The trail led along the valley floor between these rows of columns
or battlemented walls, the sagebrush fell behind, and there was mesquite, a sure
sign of under-surface water.
The afternoon was spent among the columns of sandstone and granite, then Vaho guided
Rowdy into what was scarcely more than a crease between rolling hills. A mile of
this and it widened, and they went down through a forest of saguaro. Then the trail
wound steeply up among towering crags, and the saguaro was left behind, traded by
the trail for borders of pinon and juniper. Some of their squat, gnarled trunks seemed
gray with age and wind, but the bright green of their foliage was a vivid, living
streak across the reds and pinks of the Kaibab sandstone.
Yellow tamarisks, smoke trees, and orange-hued rabbit brush brightened the way, but
the mountains became more lonely. As dusk drew on they rounded into a small basin,
grass-floored and cool, and here Vaho swung down. For all the heat and the length
of the ride, she appeared fresh. "We'll camp here," she said, indicating the water
hole.
"All night?" he asked.
17
She looked at him and smiled lightly. "Of course. The devil himself couldn't travel
by night where we're going."
"You aren't afraid?" he asked curiously. "I mean, well-you don't know me very well,
do you?"
"No, I'm not afraid. Should I be?"
He shrugged, not knowing whether to be pleased or deflated. "No, of course not,"
he said.
There was plenty of dry wood, bone dry and dusty, most of it. In a few minutes he
had wood gathered and a fire going. He picketed the horses while Vaho began to prepare
food. He watched her thoughtfully.
"You're quite a girl, you know," he said suddenly.
She laughed. "Why did you think I started this if it wasn't to show you that?" she
asked. "I'm not a town girl, Rowdy. I could never be. Not all the time I was away
at school, nor in all my traveling to New Orleans or New York or Boston did I ever
forget the desert."
"I'm glad," he said, although he knew as he spoke that he was not quite sure why
he should be glad. So he added lamely, "Some man is going to get a fine girl. He'll
be lucky!"
She looked at him thoughtfully, then lifted the coffee from the fire.
"He will be if he likes the desert and mountains," was her only comment.
When they had finished eating he threw more wood on the fire and stretched out on
the sand where he could look across the flames into Vaho's eyes. He felt vastly comfortable
and relaxed, with myriad stars littered across the sky. The black loom of the cliffs,
the ranch, the rodeo, and even jenny seemed far behind.
They talked for a long time, while in the distance a coyote yapped at the stars.
The grass rustled softly with the movements of the horses as they cropped quietly
of the rich green grass.
18
Daybreak found Rowdy and Vaho moving again, and dipping
down into the wide white bowl of another arm of the desert.
Sweat broke out on Rowdy's forehead as the heat waves banked higher around them.
There was no air, no movement save their own, and always and forever the heat.
Suddenly, Vaho Rainey turned her bay at right angles and dipped steeply down a narrow
path to the bottom of a great sink. It was at least a thousand yards across, and
all of two hundred feet from bottom to rim. Against the far wall, walled in by a
huddle of stones, was a pool of clear cold water, and the dozen or so wickiups of
Cochino, the Apache chief.
Rowdy Horn's pulse leaped as he saw the horses scattered nearby, feeding quietly,
for among them was the tall black horse with the single great splash of white upon
his left side Silverside, the greatest roping horse he had ever seen!
His eyes turned again to the village. Nobody was in sight, neither squaws nor children,
but he was conscious of watching eyes. For years the old renegade Apache had refused
to live on a reservation, instead retreating steadily into the farthest vastnesses
of the desert and mountains. At times he had fought savagely, but in the last years
he had merely held to his loneliness, fiercely resenting any attempt to come near
him or lure him out. It was reported that his braves were insane, that he was mad,
that they had eaten of the fruit of a desert plant that rendered them all as deadly
as marihuana addicts.
Vaho drew rein. "Be very careful, Rowdy," she said, low voiced. "Make no quick moves,
and let me do the talking." From behind the wickiups and out of the rocks the Indians
began to appear. Attired only in the skimpiest of breechclouts, their dusky bodies
were dark as some of the burnt red rocks of the desert, and looked as rough as old
lava. Their black eyes looked hard as flint, as one by one they came down from the
rocks and slowly gathered in a circle about the two riders.
Rowdy could feel his heart pounding, and was conscious of the weight of the six-shooter
against his leg. It would be nip and
19
tuck if anything started here. He might get a few of them, but they would get him
in the end. Suddenly he cursed himself for a fool for having come here or letting
Vaho come.
An old man emerged from the group and stared at them with hard, unblinking eyes.
Vaho suddenly started to speak. Know ing a few words of Apache, Rowdy could follow
her conversation. She was explaining that she was the adopted daughter of Cleetus,
that he sent his best wishes to Cochino, the greatest of all Apache war chiefs.
The old man stared at her, then at Rowdy. His reply Horn could not interpret, but
Vaho said to Rowdy suddenly, "He says for us to get down. He will talk."
That was no proof of their safety, yet it was something. Rowdy swung down and allowed
an Indian to take their horses, then he followed Cochino to the fire, and all seated
them selves. After a few minutes the girl took some of the presents they had brought
from the bag she had prepared with Rowdy's help. A fine steel hunting knife, a package
of tobacco, a bolt of red calico, other presents.
Cochino looked at them, but his expression was bleak. He lifted his eyes to Vaho,
and there was a question in them. Slowly, she began to explain. This friend-she gestured
to Rowdy-was the friend of Cleetus also. She told how he had taken the old Indian
in, treated his broken arm, fed him and cared for him until he was able to move.
She explained how Rowdy was a great warrior, but that in the games of his people
he could not compete because his horse was injured, that he was an unhappy man. Then
she had told him that her friend Cochino, the friend also of Cleetus, had a magnificent
horse that he might lend or sell-the great Silverside.
For an hour the talk went on. Following it with difficulty, Rowdy Horn could be sure
of nothing. Cochino should have been a poker player, he reflected. His expression
was unread able. Little by little, however, he seemed to be showing ap proval of
Rowdy, and of Vaho. Suddenly he asked a question, looking from Rowdy to the girl,
and she flushed.
Rowdy glanced at her quickly. "What did he want to know?" he said.
She would not meet his eyes, but continued to talk. He listened, straining his ears
to get every syllable, doing his best to interpret what she was saying. The old Apache
suddenly chuckled. It was a grim, hard sound, but there was a glint of
20
ironic humor in his eyes as he looked from the girl to Rowdy. Finally, he nodded.
"Yes," he said, speaking plainly in English.
Her face flushed with happiness, Vaho turned to Rowdy, putting her hand impulsively
on his arm.
"He says you can have the horse! He gives him to you, and he wishes you luck."
The old Indian got to his feet, and they did also.
"Tell him," Rowdy said impulsively, "that when he wishes, if there is anything a
friend can do for him or his people, to come to me, or to send a messenger. There
is only peace and brotherhood between the people of Cochino and Rowdy Horn."
She explained briefly, and the old Indian nodded gravely. "Invite him to the rodeo
if he wishes to come," Rowdy added. Vaho spoke swiftly, and the old Indian stared
at them, his eyes bleak. Then he shook his head.
"He says," Vaho explained, "he is too old to give up now. As he has lived, so will
he die."
A long time after that, riding away through the great broken hills, Rowdy glanced
back again and again at the splendid horse he was leading. And that night when they
camped again beside the pool, he talked with the tall horse, curried him carefully.
The horse nuzzled him, eager for affection.
Vaho walked out to them from the fire, and he looked around at her. "This horse is
almost human," he said. "Some how he gives a man the feeling of standing near something
superb, something beyond just horseflesh."
She nodded. "I know. He likes you too, Rowdy. Already that is plain." She hesitated
for a moment. "But Rowdy, it has been a long time since he has worked with cattle.
Do you think he will be as good?"
"I've no idea," he admitted, "but he's my only chance, and somehow I think we'll
make it. Anyway, it will be a treat to ride this horse."
Yet he was scarcely thinking of that. He was thinking of the girl by his side-tall,
clean-limbed, and lovely-and he was remembering the long ride through the desert
beside her, the calm way she had talked to Cochino, the strange feeling of ease and
happiness he had when riding with her, when knowing she was close to him. She was
in his thoughts even as he slept and dreamed....
21
"Rowdy," Vaho said suddenly the following morning, "there's another trail, a way
through the Rim to the back of your place. Old Cleetus showed it to me when I was
just a little girl. Let's go that way. I think it's shorter."
Turning their horses they cut off through the pines toward the blue haze that hung
in the distance, and abruptly, they drew up on the very edge of an amazing canyon
whose sides dropped sheer away to the sandy bottom where a small stream slid over
a bottom now of rocks, now of sand. Skirting the cliff, they came to a steep path
and wound their way down. When they and their horses had rested and had drank long
of the clear, cold water, they mounted again and turned downstream.
It was cool in the shadow of the cliffs. When they had followed the canyon for several
hours, Rowdy called softly to Vaho who had ridden on ahead.
"Look here." He drew up, pointing.
In the sand of the canyon bottom were the tracks of several shod horses.
"No Indian ponies," he said grimly, "and no white man that I know of knows this country.
Except one."
"You think it's Rollick?" she asked.
"Who else? Times have changed since the old days, but there's still a market for
rustled beef, and Jack Rollick is supposed to be back in here somewhere."
"The tracks go the same way we're going," she said, "but there's no way out of here
now except downstream."
"Let's go," he said grimly.
He reached back and slipped the thong from the butt of his six-gun. His rifle he
always carried in a scabbard that pointed forward and down just ahead of his right
knee so that the stock of the rifle was within easy grasp of his right hand. He was
glad now that it was so handy.
Riding cautiously downstream they had gone no more than two miles when suddenly the
canyon widened out and the rock walls fell back. They drew up sharply in the screen
of aspen and willow beside the trail. Before them was a wide green meadow through
which coursed the stream. The meadow was all of fifty acres in extent. A branch canyon
seemed to lead off an immeasurable distance to the right. Within view were at least
one hundred head of cattle, fattening on the grass.
Beyond, and close to the sheer wall at the far end of the little meadow, was a stone
cabin, and a corral. There were several horses in the corral. No saddled horses were
in sight.
Skirting the cliff wall, they circled to the right, trusting to
22
the sparse trees and the brush, as well as to the wide shadow of the encircling cliffs,
to hide them. As they neared the cabin, Rowdy saw that the stream had been dammed
and there was a large pool, all of an acre in extent.
Vaho touched his arm, indicating the pool. "That may be your trouble," she said,
low voiced. "This stream is probably the source of your water supply."
He had been thinking the same thing, and he nodded. When they had a better view,
he could see that no more than a trickle seemed to be escaping from the pool, and
the waters of the stream had been diverted to irrigate another small meadow.
More cattle were in view in the branch canyon. Rowdy Horn estimated that three hundred
head were held here. From the brands he saw, nearly every ranch in the South Rim
country was represented except the Bar 0. That was, in itself, evidence of a kind.
He stored the fact grimly away in his mind.
"Nobody around," he said thoughtfully. "I'm going to have a look in that cabin."
"I'll wait here," Vaho said. "Be careful."
He left her with Silverside and rode forward slowly. When near the cabin he dismounted
and walked nearer on cat feet. A glance through the window showed the cabin to be
empty. Stepping inside, he took a hasty look around. Six or seven men were bunking
here, and they had supplies and ammunition enough to last a long time. Also, the
house gave every evidence of long occupancy.
Under one of the bunks he saw a square black box and drew it out. It was padlocked,
but picking up a hatchet, he smashed the lock with a few well-directed blows. Inside
the box were a couple of engraved six-shooters, some odds and ends of letters addressed
to Jack Rollick, and a small black tally book. He had picked it up and opened it,
when he heard a scream.
With a lunge he was on his feet, racing to the door. He sprang outside, his eyes
swinging to the woods where he had left Vaho. The bushes were thrashing, and he heard
another low cry. Instantly he vaulted into saddle and the black horse lunged into
a dead run for the woods. Rowdy hit the ground running, and dived through the bushes.
Vaho, her blouse torn, was fighting desperately with a tall, powerful man in a sweat-stained
red shirt. When Rowdy plunged through the brush, the man's head turned. With an oath
he hurled the girl from him and grabbed for his gun.
23
His draw was like a flash of light, and in an instant of desperation as the big man's
hand darted, Rowdy Horn knew he could never match that draw, yet he palmed his own
gun. The rustler's six-shooter roared, then Rowdy fired.
The big man lifted on his tiptoes, raised his eyebrows, and opened his mouth slowly,
then plunged over on his face.
24
Carefully, gun ready, Rowdy walked forward. He had never killed a man before, and
he was frightened. The rustler's
shot had been hasty and had missed. Evidently, the big fellow had stumbled when he
tried to move, for Rowdy's bullet had gone into his back, just behind his left arm,
and had come out under the heart.
"Oh, Rowdy!" Vaho cried, her eyes wide. "You killed him!" "I reckon I did!" he said.
"And I reckon we'd better make tracks out of here before they get back! There's at
least five or six more of them around somewhere."
Swiftly they rode away, and in his hip pocket was the black tally book, forgotten.
They were skirting the Slash Bar range when Vaho spoke up suddenly. "Rowdy, hadn't
you better ride on into Aragon and report this to the sheriff? Wouldn't it be best?"
"That's a good idea," he said worriedly. "What about you?" "I'll wait at the Point
of Rocks with Silverside. You can cut across to town, then come back here and we'll
go on to your place."
Despite the fact that the killing had been in self-defense, and to protect Vaho,
Rowdy was worried. It was no small thing to kill a man, even a thief and rustler.
He rode swiftly, hurrying by every shortcut he knew, for Aragon. Yet when he arrived,
the sheriffs office was deserted. He walked down the street, but could find him nowhere.
Eager to be back with Vaho, and worried about her-for he realized that the dead rustler's
friends might trail them-Rowdy finally abandoned his quest for the sheriff and returned
to the Point of Rocks. Together they rode on to the Slash Bar.
Riding into the yard, he called out, but there was no reply. Neil Rice was evidently
away. Rowdy swung down, and wearily the girl dismounted. He stripped the saddles
and bridles from the sweat-stained horses and turned all three of them into the corral.
He and Vaho walked toward the house, but Vaho halted suddenly.
25
"Rowdy," she said, "I'm as tired as can be, but I should be going back to the Indians.
Cleetus was to come today, and he'll be worried about me."
"All right." He turned back and saddled a paint horse for her to ride. As she sat
in the saddle, he took her hand. "Vaho," he said, "you've been swell. I didn't know
they made them like you."
"It's all right. I liked doing it."
"Look," he said. "After the rodeo there's a big dance. Will you go with me?"
Her eyes brightened. "Oh, Rowdy! I'd love to! A dance! Why, I haven't danced since
I left Boston! Of course, I'll go!" When she was out of sight in the gathering dusk,
he turned
back again toward the cabin. Opening the door he walked in. The place was hot and
stuffy, so he left the door open. Striking a match, he lit the coal-oil lamp, then
turned around to replace it in the bracket. With the lamp in his hand, he stopped,
riveted to the spot.
There on the floor of his cabin lay the body of a dead man. The red-shirted man he
had killed at the hideout!
But how on earth had he come here? Rowdy did not even hear the approaching horses
until a voice spoke abruptly be hind him: "Here! What's this?"
Turning, he found Sheriff Ben Wells staring from him to the body.
"What's happened here?" demanded the lawman. "Who is this hombre?"
Behind Wells was Bart Luby and Mike McNulty. "That's cold-blooded killing, Ben!"
Luby said triumphantly. "This man was shot in the back."
"He was not!" Horn declared hotly. "He was left side toward me, and he fired, then
started to move. My bullet went in where you see it, back of his arm."
"It's still in his back!" Luby said. "And," he added grimly, we have only your story
for it. You say he fired a shot. Why, his gun's still in its holster!"
"He wasn't killed here!" Horn said angrily. "This hombre grabbed Vaho Rainey when
we were ridin' back of the Rim. I rushed up to help and he drew and fired. He missed
and I shot and killed him!"
Sheriff Wells knelt beside the body. Drawing the gun, he checked it, then looked
up, his face grave.
"This gun is fully loaded," he said, "and hasn't been fired!" "What?" Rowdy was dumbfounded.
"Why, that couldn't be.
26
He-" He shrugged. "Well, I reckon the man or men who brought him here changed guns
with him."
Wells gnawed at his gray mustache. Secretly, he had always liked Rowdy Horn as much
as he disliked Bart Luby, but this story was out of all reason.
"You mean to say," he demanded, that you killed this man back of the Rim? And that
somebody packed his carcass down here and dumped him on you?"
"That's exactly what happened!" Rowdy Horn said flatly. "It's the only way it could
have happened."
Luby laughed. "Give him credit for being original, Ben. But he certainly hasn't much
respect for your intelligence, to try a story like that."
"You'll have to come into town, son," Wells said, his voice hardening. "This will
have to be explained."
"But you can't put me in jail!" Rowdy pleaded. "Think, man! The rodeo's tomorrow."
"You should have thought of that," Luby suggested, "before you killed this man. Anyway,
that's no excuse. Your ropin' horse is laid up, so you can't compete!"
On the verge of bursting out with an explanation about Silverside, he caught himself
just in time. If he had to go to jail, and there was nobody to watch the horse, it
might easily be stolen.
"I knew this hombre," McNulty said suddenly. "He was Jake Leener, one of the Rollick
outfit."
"No matter," Wells said positively. "He was shot in the back. We had nothing against
him, even if he did ride with Rollick. The law can't call a man a crook until he's
known to be one. This here hombre hadn't no record I know of, and he sure ain't wanted
now."
"But listen!" Rowdy protested. "I've a witness! Vaho Rainey saw all this! She knows
what happened!"
"Vaho Rainey?" Wells stared at him. "Rowdy, what you givin' us? If that girl was
with you, where is she now? You know as well as I do that if there is any such girl
nobody has seen her around. You're just pullin' rabbits out of your hat. Tell us
what happened, and I'll see you get a break if you've got one comin'. "
"I told you what happened!" Horn said stubbornly. "Take it or leave it!"
"We'll take you," Wells said. "Mike, rustle this gent's horse, an' be quick!"
Bart Luby glanced thoughtfully across the room toward the
27
door of the bedroom. He was thinking of that old cabinet. Now that he was arrested,
Horn would be away from the house. In the dozen or so times he had tried to enter,
he had failed to find him away even once. But with a killer charge hanging over him
he would not return, and he was out of the rodeo....
It was a solemn and silent group that rode over the trail to Aragon. Grimly, Rowdy
thought that this was the last straw. He was through now. The rodeo had been his
last hope. With that money, even though he had lost jenny, he could pay off the mortgage
on his ranch.
His thought of jenny brought it home to him that he had scarcely thought of her for
days. Ever since he had first seen her, several years before, he had dreamed of her.
She had been an ideal girl, the prettiest one around, and all his attentions had
been centered upon her. When they had become engaged, it was almost more than he
could believe.
Yet after he had begun to see more of her and know her better, his first doubts of
her had arisen. After all, there were other things than beauty, and although he told
himself he was being unjust, Jenny seemed to be lacking in too many of them. Despite
this, his loyalty made him refuse to accept the evidence of his senses until the
day she had broken their engagement. For in spite of the shock and pain of that moment,
he had felt a queer sense of escape and relief.
In town Rowdy was safely lodged in jail, and the morning sun was making a latticework
of bars on the wall opposite the cell window when he awakened with a start. For an
instant he lay still, then it hit him, and his heart went sick. After all his planning,
he was stuck in jail on the day of the rodeo!
He got up slowly, dressed, and splashed his face in the bucket of cold water that
had been left for him. Gloomily he stared out of the barred window at the crowded
streets. Already the hitching rails were lined with horses, and there were many buckboards
and spring wagons in town. In another hour the streets would be jammed. It began
to look as if the boosters of Aragon and the annual Stockman's Rodeo would be right:
that between two and three thousand spectators would be on hand for the show.
Yet as he paced the floor cursing his luck and alternately staring out the window
and going to the barred door, hours
28
passed. He heard the band playing, and the confusion that heralded the big parade
that opened the rodeo. And then suddenly Sheriff Ben Wells was at the bars.
"Rowdy, if I turn you loose to compete in this show, will you promise not to leave
town?" Wells gnawed at his mustache. "I know you, son, and I never figured you'd
shoot a man in the back, but that story of yours is plumb farfetched. But just now
I got a lead that may help. Maybe we jumped to conclusions, so I'm goin' to turn
you loose for the duration of the rodeo."
With a whoop of joy, Horn jumped to the opening door. Grabbing the sheriff's hand,
he tried to thank him, but Wells shook his head.
"Don't thank me. Thank this young lady here." Rowdy turned quickly to face Vaho Rainey.
"You? You got here?"
"You invited me for the dance. Have you forgotten?" She laughed. "When I heard you
were in jail, naturally I had to get you out! A girl can't go to a dance with a man
who's in jail, can she, Sheriff?"
Ben Wells shook his head, his eyes twinkling. "Son," he said seriously, "I don't
know where you found her or how you rate it, but you've got a wonderful girl there,
an' I'd sure latch on to her if I was you."
Vaho reddened, but her eyes were bright. She was still wearing her denims and blue
shirt, but she was sparkling this morning. Rowdy took her arm and squeezed it.
"How in the world did you do it?" he exclaimed.
"I'll tell you later. Only it wasn't just what I did. Now we have to get down to
the rodeo grounds. Silverside is down there, waiting for you. We've covered him with
a blanket so nobody will know who he is."
Vaho had thought of everything, Rowdy found. Mike McNulty had rousted out the outfit
Rowdy had purchased to wear in the rodeo, and in a short time Rowdy had bathed and
changed. He came out, immaculate in dove-gray shirt and trousers, with a white hat
and a black neckerchief. Black braid outlined his pockets. He wore his guns, but
in new holsters, black and shining. His boots, which he had been breaking in around
the ranch, felt good.
Vaho's eyes widened. "Why, Rowdy!" she exclaimed. "You're handsome!"
He blushed. "Me?" he choked. And as Mike McNulty and Pete Chamberlain went into roars
of laughter, he flushed even deeper.
29
Hurriedly, he rushed on over to Silverside and stripped the blanket from the horse.
After a brief workout with the animal, he brought him back to the stall they had
procured for him.
"Don't let anybody near him," he warned. "All I'll have to do on that horse is throw
the rope! He's so smart he scares me.
30
With Vaho at his side, Rowdy turned toward the arena. The stands were jammed. Going
through the gate toward the
chutes, almost the first person Rowdy saw was Bart Luby. And with him was jenny Welman!
Bart started and scowled. "What are you doin' out?" he demanded.
Jenny's eyes had gone immediately to the girl, taking in Vaho's shabby outdoor clothes
with a quick contemptuous smile. "I'm ridin' in the show, Bart," Rowdy drawled. "Reckon
you'll have me to beat, ropin' and everything."
"Where'd you get a horse?" Luby demanded suspiciously. "I've got one." Rowdy's eyes
shifted to jenny. Suddenly he was no longer angry or even irritated with her. "Jenny,"
he said pleasantly, "I want you to know Vaho Rainey. Miss Rainey, Miss Welman and
Bart Luby."
"Oh!" Jenny exclaimed. "You're that Indian girl, aren't you? Or a white girl who
lives down in the wickiups? I've forgotten which. "
"Yes, that's who I am," Vaho said easily, and Rowdy grinned at the quick smile on
her lips. It wouldn't be necessary to protect Vaho, he could see. The contempt in
jenny's voice had been evident, as was the malice, but Vaho was equal to it. "And
it's nice to be here today." Vaho added.
"It must be," Jenny fired back. "I hear it's very dirty down there, and it would
be a relief to get away for a while."
"Any change is a relief," Vaho replied gently. "You should try it sometime, or"-her
voice was suddenly level-"would you rather continue to be a girl of the town?"
Before jenny, whose face went white with fury, could reply, Vaho took Rowdy's arm.
"Shall we go, dear?" she said sweetly.
As they strolled away, jenny got her voice back. "Girl of the town!" she cried furiously.
"Why, that no-account Indian! I
31
"Forget it!" Bart said, shrugging. "She just meant you were a city girl."
"I know what she meant!" Jenny flared.
But Luby was not listening. He was staring at his toes, thinking, and his thoughts
were not pleasant. In spite of all his plans, Rowdy Horn would ride in the rodeo
today, and if Wells had released him, it could only be on sufficient evidence to
clear him.
Could it have been the testimony of this girl, Vaho, alone? He weighed that thoughtfully.
Doubt arose, for there had been triumph in Rowdy Horn's eyes. Well, no matter. Rowdy
had no roping horse, and that was one event he could not hope to win. Nor would he
win the bronc riding. For all that, however, Luby's mind was not at ease. There was
something wrong, something very wrong, where he was concerned.
As soon as Vaho Rainey and Rowdy reached the chutes, she had excused herself and
disappeared. The parade was lining up for the ride around the arena, and McNulty
led Silverside, saddled, but still under a blanket, up to where Rowdy Horn was waiting.
Beside him was the palomino for Vaho.
The band began to play, and there were excited shouts from the crowd. Silverside's
head lifted, and the splendid-appearing horse tossed his head, eyes bright and nostrils
distended, as old memories of parades and triumph flooded back. Rowdy stepped to
his side.
"Yes, this is it, boy! Show them for me, just like you did for Buck!" The big horse
bobbed his head, as if in assent. Suddenly, Mike let out an awed exclamation. "Boss!"
he whispered hoarsely. "Look!"
Startled by McNulty's voice, Rowdy turned, and his mouth dropped open. Before him,
resplendent in formfitting forest green and silver, was Vaho Rainey!
Never more beautiful in her life, the tall, dark girl looked proudly into his eyes-proudly,
yet hesitantly-looking for the evidence that he found her lovely. And it was there.
It was in the eyes of every man who had turned at Mike's astonished exclamation.
Never in all her days had jenny Welman been as lovely as this. Her pale blond beauty
was a poor shadow beside this vivid loveliness, dark, flashing, proud.
"Am I all right?" Vaho asked, her eyes bright with fun. "I had the suit made, and
saved it. I knew, somehow, you'd ride. And I wanted you to be proud of me!"
"Proud of you?" he shouted. "Honey, I feel like some fairy
32
princess had waved a wand over a little woods girl and turned her into something
better than the Queen of Sheba and Helen of Troy rolled into one! Wait till the crowd
sees you!"
"Don't you want, just a little," she said gently, "to have Jenny Welman see me?"
Her eyes sparkled as she asked the question primly.
He grinned. "I sure do!" he said.
Mike McNulty jerked the blanket from Silverside, and after helping Vaho into the
saddle on the palomino, Rowdy Horn swung up himself.
Sheriff Ben Wells walked up with Dick Weaver, the rodeo boss. Weaver froze in midstride.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Ain't that Silverside?"
At the magical name of the greatest rodeo horse of the Southwest, men wheeled about.
There were shouts, and others came running. They gathered around, staring.
"He's Silverside, all right," Horn said quietly.
Then the band struck up once more, and the parade began to move.
As if by magic that name had flown across the arena, so that by the time the contestants
rode into the arena all eyes were turned to find the great horse, so miraculously
back from the dead. And the eyes of the crowd went from the great horse to the rider,
tall in the saddle, and to the girl in green and silver who rode beside him. Jenny
Welman, hearing all the excited talk, turned in her saddle-she was riding beside
Luby-and the smile on her face froze. The laughter went out of her. Beside that girl
with Rowdy she herself looked shabby and small, and she knew it.
Bart Luby heard the name of Silverside, but would not turn. His heart pounded, and
his lips tightened. This rodeo meant more to him than anything in the world, and
he was going to win! He was going to win, no matter how!
There was scarcely a person in the crowd but understood what drama and excitement
lay before them. Gossip in a small town flies quickly, and the fact that jenny Welman
had returned Rowdy Horn's ring was known to them all, as was the trouble and rivalry
between Bart Luby and the young rancher who would ride against him today.
The mysterious girl from the mountains, whom all had heard of but never seen, was
before them now, riding proudly beside Rowdy. And to top it all, Rowdy Horn-out of
the running when his horse, Cub, had gone lame-had come in at
33
the last minute, freed from jail, to ride. And he was mounted on the greatest horse
of the generation-Silverside!
Rowdy Horn watched carefully as he waited beside the chute. There were some good
hands riding in this show. Still, he knew, the man he had to beat was Bart Luby.
Never before had he appeared before a crowd of this size. He had been riding all
his life, and had appeared in various small-town rodeos, and had spent two summers
breaking wild broncs for the rough string. For the sheer sport of it and a little
mount money, he had ridden in tryouts when big showmen were testing contest stock
for the big shows. But he was in no sense the professional that Luby was.
Roping was his speciality, and it was part of his day's work, and had been for a
long time, but he had never competed in such a show as this, even if it did not rank
anywhere near tops in size.
Bart Luby, on the other hand, had been appearing in all the big shows and winning
consistently, and he had been competing against the greatest performers in the business.
Today, in the first event, the preliminaries in the calf roping, Rowdy would be riding
a horse which for all its greatness was unfamiliar to him. Bitterly, he stared out
at the dusty arena, soon to be the scene of battle and danger, and for the first
time realized what this attempt really meant.
He was no stranger to the flying hoofs and tigerish bucking of outlaw horses or Brahma
bulls. He had seen men die in the arena, had seen others crippled or broken under
the lashing hoofs of some maddened bronc. But for Rowdy more than life was at stake
out there today, and remembering Luby from the old days on the Bar 0, he knew the
man was fast and skillful. Undoubtedly, he had grown more so.
"I'm a fool," Horn told himself. "I'm bucking a stacked deck. I'm not good enough
for these hombres."
After the parade was over, gloomily, Rowdy watched the first leppy dart from the
chute and leg it across the arena, with a cowboy on a flying paint horse behind it.
That was Gus Petro, a Greek rider from Cheyenne. Doubts lost in sudden interest,
Rowdy watched the dust clear, and heard the time called. He smiled. He could beat
that. He knew he could beat it.
Yet when the official announcer announced his own name, and he heard that voice rolling
out over the arena, something leaped inside him.
"Folks, here comes Rowdy Horn, of the Slash Bar, ridin' that greatest ropin' horse
of all time-Silverside!"
34
The calf darted like a creamy streak, and Silverside took off with a bound. Instantly,
Rowdy knew that all he had heard of the horse he bestrode was only half the truth.
With flashing speed, the black horse with the splash of white on his side was after
the fleeing calf. Horn's rope shot out like an arrow, and in almost the same breath,
Rowdy was off the horse, grounding the bawling, struggling calf and making a quick
tie. He sprang away from the calf.
"There it is, folks!" Weaver's voice boomed out over the arena. "Eleven seconds even,
for Rowdy Horn on Silverside!" Bart Luby's eyes narrowed. It was a tough mark, yet
he had
tied it twice. He was off like a streak when his calf darted away from the chute.
He roped, flopped the calf, and made his tie. "Eleven and one fifth seconds!" Weaver
bawled.
Luby swore softly, his eyes bitter. With a jerk he whipped his horse's head around
and rode off to the stands. These were only preliminaries, and the final test was
yet to be made. But he had never believed that Rowdy Horn would beat him, even by
a fifth of a second in a tryout, and he didn't like being beaten.
While the band played and the clowns ripped and tore around the tanbark, mimicking
the performances of the pre ceding event, the contestants headed for the shack to
draw horses for the saddle bronc riding contest.
Vaho was waiting for Rowdy near Chute 5, from which he would ride. He found that
he had drawn Devil May Care, a wicked bucker that had been ridden only twice the
preceding year, in twenty-two attempts, and not at all in the current season. Bart
Luby had drawn an equally bad horse, Firefly.
"You were wonderful!" Vaho said, as Rowdy walked up. "I never saw anyone move so
fast!"
He grinned a little. "It's got to be better, honey," he said honestly. "Bart Luby
has done that well, and he'll be really trying next time."
"You can do it!" she insisted. "I know you can!"
"Maybe," he said. "But if I do, it will be that horse. I'll know him better next
time. Let's just hope I draw a calf that's fast." "How about this event?" she asked,
worriedly. "You drew a bad horse."
"Just what I wanted. You can't win in these rodeos on the easy ones. The worse they
buck, the better the ride-if you stay up there."
Bart Luby was first out of the chute on Firefly, and the horse was a demon. It left
the chute with a rush and broke into a
35
charge, then swapped ends three times with lightning speed and went into an insane
orgy of sunfishing. Luby, riding like the splendid performer he was, raked the big
horse fore and aft, writing his name all over its sides with both spurs. At the finish
he was still in the saddle and making a magnificent ride. He hopped off and lifted
a hand to the cheers of the crowd.
Rowdy stared out through the dust and touched his tongue to dry lips. He mounted
the side of the chute and looked down at the trembling body of the sorrel, Devil
May Care. Sheriff Ben Wells stood nearby, and he looked up at Horn.
"Watch yourself, boy. This horse is a mean one. When you leave him, don't turn your
back or you're a goner."
Rowdy nodded and, tight-lipped, lowered himself into the saddle and eased his feet
into the stirrups. His fingers took a tighter hold on the reins, and he heard Weaver's
voice boom ing again.
"Here it comes, folks! Right out of Chute 5! Rowdy Horn on that bundle of pure poison
and dynamite, Devil May Care!" Rowdy removed his hat and yelled, "Let 'er go, boys!"
The gate tripped open and Devil May Care exploded into the arena in a blur of speed
and pounding hoofs. His lithe body twisting in unison with the movements of the horse,
Rowdy Horn got one frenzied view of the whirling faces of the crowd, then the horse
under him went mad in a series of gyrations and sunfishing that made anything Rowdy
had ever encountered before seem a pale shadow.
The sorrel outlaw was a fighter from way back, and he knew just exactly why he was
out here. He was going to have this clinging burr out of the saddle or know the reason
why. Devil May Care swallowed his head and lashed at the clouds with his heels and
went into another hurricane of sunfishing, all four feet spurning the dust, his whipcord
body jackknifing with every jump. He swapped ends as Rowdy piled up points, scratch
ing the sorrel with both spurs.
Suddenly, with less than a second to go, the sorrel raced for the north wall and
swung broadside in a wicked attempt to scrape his rider off. In one gasping breath,
Rowdy saw that the horse was going to miss the wall by inches. He kept his foot in
the stirrup, fighting the big horse's head around. Devil May Care came around like
the devil he was and, as the whistle sounded, went into a wicked burst of bucking
that made any thing in the past seem mild by comparison.
36
Riders rushed from near the judges' stand, and Rowdy kicked loose both feet and left
the horse just as all four feet of the
sorrel hit ground. Wheeling, teeth bared, Devil May Care sprang for his rider, but
the horsemen wheeled alongside and snared the maddened bronc. With cheers ringing
in his ears, Rowdy Horn walked slowly back across the arena. The crowd was still
cheering when he walked up to Chute 5.
Wells grinned at him. "That horse must be on your side, son," he said. "goin' for
you like that sure impressed the crowd, and the judges too! Showed he had plenty
of fight!"
"If he's friendly"-Rowdy grinned-"deliver me from my friends!"
Wells spat. "You've got a couple of mighty good friends, son. And neither of them
are horses."
Luby was standing near by. He turned, his elbows on the cross bar of the gate.
"You were lucky," he said. "Plain lucky."
Rowdy's eyes darkened. "Maybe. If so, I hope my luck holds all day. And tomorrow."
"It won't," Luby said flatly. "Your luck's played out! I've protested to the judges.
I told them that allowin' a killer to ride would ruin the name of the show."
"Killer?" Rowdy wheeled. "Why, you-"
Bart Luby had been set for him, and too late Rowdy saw the punch coming. It was a
smashing right that caught him on the side of the jaw. His feet flew up and he hit
the dust flat on his back. Bart lunged for him. Rowdy rolled over and came up fast,
butting Luby in the chest and staggering the bigger man. Bart set himself and rushed,
smashing Horn back against the gate with a left and right, then following it up with
a wicked hook to the head that made Rowdy's knees wobble.
Ducking a left, Horn tried to spring close, but Luby grabbed him and threw him into
the dust. His face smeared with blood and dust, Rowdy came up, and through a fog
of punch
37
 drunkenness, he saw the big rancher coming in, on his face a sneer of triumph.
The man's reach was too long. Rowdy tried to go under a left and caught a smashing
right uppercut on the mouth. Bart, his face livid with hatred, closed in, punching
with both hands. Then Rowdy saw his chance. Luby drew his left back for a wide hook
and Horn let go with a right. It beat the hook and caught Luby on the chin with the
smash of a riveting hammer.
The big man staggered, his face a study in astonishment, and then Rowdy closed in,
brushed away a left, and smashed both hands to the body, whipping them in with wicked
sidearm punches, left and right to the wind. Luby threw a smashing right, but Rowdy
was watching that left. It cocked again, and he pulled the trigger on his right.
Bart hit the dust on his shoulders. He rolled over, and Rowdy stood back, hands ready,
waiting for him to get up. Blood dribbled from Rowdy's mouth and there was a red
welt on his cheekbone, but he felt fine.
Luby was up with a lunge and caught Rowdy with two long swings, but Horn was inside
of them, smashing a left to the body and a right to the head. Luby backed off, and
suddenly, sensing victory, Rowdy Horn closed in. He chopped a left to the head, then
a right, then another left. He smashed Luby with a straight left, and as Luby cocked
a right, knocked him down.
Bart Luby lay there in the dust, thoroughly whipped. Reach ing down, Rowdy jerked
him to his feet and shoved him back against the corral bars. He cocked his right
hand to smash the bigger man in the face, then hesitated.
Coolly, he stepped back.
"Nothing doing, Bart," he said calmly. "You started this, and you've had a beating
comin' for a long time, but I'm givin' you no alibis. I want your eyes open because
I'm goin' to beat your socks off out there in the arena. When I win, I'll win on
the tanbark!"
Deliberately, he turned his back and walked toward the stables.
Bending over a bucket he bathed the dust and blood from his face and combed his hair.
He scowled suddenly, remembering Neil Rice. What had become of the printer? In the
hurry and confusion of being arrested, and then the rodeo, there had scarcely been
time to think. Still, Rice might be back at the ranch by now.
What did Ben Wells have up his sleeve? Who were the
38
 friends he had mentioned, and had they effected his release to compete in the rodeo?
He was puzzled and doubtful, and recalling the finding of the body in his cabin,
he realized how desperate his situation truly was. Aside from Vaho, he had no evidence
of any kind. To the sheriff, as well as to people generally, his story of killing
a man in a remote canyon and then finding his body in his own cabin would seem too
utterly fantastic.
Deliberately, he forced his thoughts away from that. First there were the contests.
Each thing in its own time.
The next event was bareback bronc riding, then came steer wrestling and bull riding.
After that, the finals in calf roping. Four men would compete in the finals: Cass
Webster from Prescott and Tony Sandoval from Buffalo, Wyoming, besides Bart Luby
and himself.
Bareback bronc riding was a speciality of Rowdy's, and he took a fighting first,
riding Catamount, a wicked devil of a horse. Luby took second, with Webster a close
third. Luby won the steer wrestling, beating Rowdy by two fifths of a second. Sandoval,
the Wyoming rider, won the bull riding, and again Rowdy took a second, with Luby
a third.
Sweating and weary, he walked slowly back to the corrals at the day's end. Tomorrow
would decide it, but he was ahead of Luby so far....
Morning came, and the air was electric with expectancy. Even the other contestants
eyed Rowdy thoughtfully as he strolled quietly down to the stables. Silverside nickered
softly as he came up, and Rowdy Horn stopped to talk to the horse as it nuzzled him
under his arm with a delicate nose.
Cass Webster stopped nearby.
"This killin' stuff don't go with me, boy," he said quietly. "I don't savvy this
fuss, but you stack up A-One where I stand." He ground his cigarette into the dust.
"Luby washed himself out with me down to White Rock last year. He's dirty, Horn.
You keep your eyes open."
"Thanks," said Rowdy.
His attention had turned from the cowboy and was centered on Vaho Rainey, who was
walking toward him, followed by the admiring glances of everyone.
"We've visitors," she said, "so be careful what you say." His frown was puzzled.
"I don't get it," he protested. "You will ... Look!"
39
As she spoke, he turned his head. A small group of Indians was approaching. The first
was old Cleetus, and the others were all men of his tribe, except one. That one,
carefully concealed by a blanket, was Cochino!
"Glad to see you here," Rowdy told the Indians sincerely. "Very glad. If there's
anything I can do, tell me."
They looked at Silverside, and talked in low tones.
"They were here yesterday, too," Vaho whispered. "They watched you ride."
Suddenly, Cochino spoke to the girl, swiftly, with gestures. Her eyes brightened
and she turned quickly.
"Oh, Rowdy! He says you can keep the horse! He is a present to you!"
"Good glory!" Beside himself with excitement and delight, he could scarcely find
words. "But what'll I say? What can I give him?"
"Nothing. That is-well, he asks only one thing." Vaho was blushing furiously.
"What is it? Whatever it is, I'll do it!" "I-can't tell you now. Later."
She quickly hurried away, and the old Indian chuckled. Cleetus smiled, showing broken
teeth, but his eyes were grimly humorous.
An even bigger crowd swelled the arena to overflowing, and men crowded every available
space. Pete Drago and his Demon Riders did their trick riding, their efforts augmented
by the clowns, some of them rivaling Drago's amazing riders for sheer ability and
thrills. The chuck wagon race followed, and an exhibition with bullwhips.
By the time the finals in the calf roping came around, Rowdy Horn was up on Silverside
and ready. This time he was following Bart Luby. The piggin' strings he kept in Silverside's
stall were checked, and he brought them out ready for the tie. Momentarily, he draped
them around the saddle horn, and at a call from Wells, walked over to him.
"Soon's this event is over," the sheriff said, "I want to see
you. Rowdy nodded grimly. "Sure," he said, "I'll look you up. It
was mighty fine of you to give me this chance, Ben, and I'll be ready to go back
to jail."
Despite that, his heart was heavy as he walked back to his horse and swung into the
saddle. Thoughtfully, he stared out at
40
the arena. Eleven seconds, the time he had made yesterday, was fast time. It was
fast enough to win in many shows, but could he equal it today?
He picked up the piggin' strings and kept one in his right hand. The other he put
in his teeth. Suddenly his consciousness, directed at the arena where Bart Luby had
just charged out after his calf, was jerked back to himself. His lips felt something
strange with the rawhide piggin' string. Jerking it from his teeth, he stared at
it. Both strings had been carefully frayed with a file or some rough object. When
drawn taut, to bind the calf's legs, they would snap like thread!
"Time!" Weaver's voice boomed out over the arena. "Bart Luby ties his calf in the
record-breaking time for this show of ten and nine tenths seconds!"
Cheers swept the arena, and Rowdy Horn felt something go sick inside of him. He heard
his name called, and he twisted in the saddle.
"Cass!" he yelled. "Piggin' strings! Quick!"
Webster sprang as if stuck with a pin and thrust some piggin' strings in Rowdy's
fingers. At the same instant, Rowdy tossed the frayed strings to the other contestant.
"Look!" he yelped.
He saw his calf leave the chute with a bound and take off down the arena like a bolt.
Silverside saw it go and was in a dead run, heading down the arena. Rowdy's rope
whirled and shot out, and he left the saddle with a leap, swept the calf from its
feet and down deftly, swiftly. His heart pounding and the dust swirling in his nostrils,
he made his tie and sprang free, arm uplifted!
Dead silence held the arena, and then, his voice wild with excitement, Weaver announced:
"Folks! Rowdy Horn, ridin' the great Silverside, wins the calf ropin' with the record
time of ten and eight tenths seconds!" Cheers boomed across the arena, and Rowdy
swung into the
saddle and trotted his horse across to the judges' stand. His great horse reared
high, and Rowdy's hat swung wide, acknowledging the cheers. Then, to the martial
music of the band, Silverside dance-stepped across the arena to accompanying cheers.
Then Rowdy turned the horse and rode him back to the chutes.
The memory of those frayed piggin' strings was in his mind. There was only one time
it could have been done, hastily but deftly, and obviously planned for, and that
had been while he was exchanging his few words with the sheriff.
41
Bart Luby had been sitting his horse, awaiting his signal, right beside Silverside!
Swift work, but it could have been done, for several minutes must have elapsed before
Rowdy had returned to his horse. Only the sudden feel of the frayed place by his
lips had saved him, for a snapped piggin' string would have meant too much loss of
time.
He swung down and approached the tight little circle of men-Sheriff Ben Wells, Cass
Webster, Tony Sandoval, Neil Rice, and others. And in the center of them, pale and
defiant, his eyes hard with hatred, was Bart Luby.
Rowdy shoved through the crowd. "All right, blast you!" he flared. "Now you can have
that beatin'!"
"Hold it, Horn!" Wells said sternly. "Step back now! This is in my hands!"
"All this talk is foolishness!" Luby declared harshly. "Why would I do a thing like
that? I don't care what Webster says, I never touched those piggin' strings!"
"Same thing you done at White Rock!" Webster said flatly. "And you say I'm a liar,
Bart Luby, and you've me to whip!" Wells turned on him, scowling.
"Will you shut up!" he said testily. "That piggin' string deal was bad enough, but
I'm arrestin' Luby for fraud, and for rustlin'."
"What?" Luby's face paled. "What are you talkin' about?" "What I said," Ben Wells
replied calmly. "This here hombre"-he gestured to Rice-"found Tom Slater's true will
hid in a cabinet in the old Slash Bar ranch house. He also found a document there
that had its seal removed. Mean time, I'd sent a couple of deputies with a posse
back to hunt for that valley Rowdy told us about. They hit the jackpot an' rounded
up Jack Rollick an' two of his boys. Rollick confessed that he helped you tote that
body over to the Slash Bar, Luby, to dump it on Horn. Besides that, when I jugged
Horn, I searched him, and found what he had plumb forgot-Rollick's tallybook showin'
he rustled cows he'd sold through you and to you, even tellin' about the percentage
he took off whenever you tipped him to good steals."
"It's all a pack of lies," Luby said, but his protest lacked emphasis.
"A search warrant got us into your house while you was down here," Wells went on
remorselessly, "and we scared up that fake deed. Rice, here, he showed me how that
seal was removed from one paper and used on the other. He also showed
42
how the will you had was actually an old letter to you from Slater, but changed so
to make it a will. You can tell by the creases where words were changed and added
on."
Rowdy Horn looked up and saw jenny Welman standing on the edge of the crowd, her
lips parted. She stared at Luby, horrified, then at Rowdy. Abruptly, she turned and
fled.
Horn had no wish to hear more. He was cleared now. Rice caught his eye.
"Boss," he said, "I did what I thought was right. You were gone, so I acted on my
own."
"Fine," Rowdy said, "I'm glad you did." His eyes were straying, searching for the
face he wanted. "You've got your job with me a long as you want it."
Vaho Rainey walked out from the stables, leading her palo mino. Rowdy walked past
Rice and stopped her. For an instant, their eyes held.
"Honey," he said then, "how many sheep would I have to swap Cleetus for you?"
She laughed. "He'd probably give you sheep to be rid of me. He loves me, I know,
but now that I'm a young lady, I think I worry him."
"Maybe you wouldn't want to marry a cowman, even one with a ranch," he suggested.
"Why, Rowdy!" She laughed suddenly, her eyes dancing. "We've been engaged, or practically
engaged, ever since we got Silverside!"
"What?" He stared at her. "What do you mean?"
She blushed, but her eyes were happy. "Why, I told Cochino that it was the custom
of your people for the bride to bring a pony to her husband, and only the finest
pony would do. That was what he was saying by the stables this morning. He said all
he wanted in return for the horse, which he had actually given me to give you, anyway,
was for you to take good care of your squaw!"
He chuckled. "Why, I reckon that's a good deal," he said whimsically. "The cheapest
durned horse I ever got!"
43
44