LITMIR.BIZ

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And, free from the disturbing effects of her immediate presence, he caught the lithe grace of her body. She was more than pretty; nor was he the only man on the street to come to that conclusion.

      Gay went directly to Luis Locklear's office. There wasn't even an argument. She smiled at the man and said she wanted to visit Jim Chaffee. That was all, and it was very simple. Yet Gay Thatcher was a shrewd judge of men, and before Luis Locklear could reply yes or no she added that she had heard pleasant things of him from the sheriff down in Bones County. Locklear swelled visibly and reached for his keys; and he looked around at the other men loitering in the room, his glance seeming to say: "Ain't I a hell on women?" Unlocking the upper stairs door he motioned her ahead.

      "I will not presume to listen in on a lady's conversation. Take all the time yuh want." Gay nodded and descended the stairs. Locklear left the door ajar and turned quickly to one of his followers. "Go tell those boys at the window to see she don't pass him no gun."

      The cell was at the far end of a dark, chilly corridor. A patch of light crossed the cell from the windows and broke the grating, making a grim pattern on the corridor wall. Chaffee had heard her footsteps and was in the middle of the cell. She had seen him always before as a clean-shaven man with cheerfulness lurking around the corners of his eyes; therefore she was not prepared for this Jim Chaffee. The stubble of his beard added a hardness to his features, brought out the high cheek bones, and accented the hollows of his jaw. His clothes were dirty and ripped in places. One fist seemed swollen to her. That physical injury drew her attention instantly.

      "What happened to your hand?"

      The light of pleasure flashed down in his eyes. He came forward, first looking across his shoulder to find the guards squatting outside the window in a position to command all that happened. "It's been a slow day," said he, "up till now. How ever did you get Luis to let you in?"

      "I bribed him with a smile," answered the girl. "But your hand?"

      "Rock cut it some," was his explanation, "So Luis is human, after all? That's a discovery. Now you oughtn't come around a filthy place like this."

      Locklear was already impatient, perhaps sorry of his bargain. She couldn't see the man, but she heard his boots advance and retreat at the top of the stairs. "Do you know what is happening?"

      "I can guess," said Chaffee, somber again. "Those boys are down to trumps. Aim to play the high one tonight."

      There was little time to delay. Locklear would be down in a moment to reassure himself. Yet, apropos of nothing at all, she said:

      "Jim, I think I have more faith in you than any other man I have ever known."

      Chaffee took hold of the bars. "Thanks, Gay."

      "I wish," she went on, quite subdued, "you felt that way about me. Oh, now what am I saying? You are without defense against me. So I pick on you. Cross that off."

      "The remark goes double with me," murmured Jim.

      She was smiling. "Which remark—first or second?" But she knew what he meant. "Jim—you honestly do? Knowing nothing at all about me—even knowing I have gone to a man's house who—"

      "Cross that off," said Chaffee. "What I said stands. Who am I to be askin' questions? It's your life."

      "Sometime, I wish you would ask questions—ones that hit right down to the bottom. I'd answer them." The rose color came to her cheeks. "Is it the mournfulness of a jail that makes me so frank? But sometimes I wish you would."

      "Why?"

      "Because," said she, taking a woman's privilege of the word. Luis Locklear had stopped at the top of the stairway, as if debating. The girl bent nearer Chaffee. "Mack Moran is in town."

      "That fellow—" began Chaffee, and broke off, arguing with his feeling. "Mack Moran is a man, Gay. I wish I knew another one like him. Tryin' to see me but can't get by the bloodhounds, I reckon?"

      Her voice dropped to the faintest whisper. "Eight o'clock. Watch for a rope dropped down to the window. Tie it. Horse in the alley by Tilton's. If you can't reach that go to the rodeo field." Locklear was at last on his way, moving clumsily. The girl reached through and touched his hand. "I don't know—but the Lord bless you, Jim."

      Locklear was in the corridor, able to hear what they said. Jim Chaffee spoke casually. "When are you goin' back?"

      "I don't know," replied Gay. "But—but not for a while."

      "Through?" asked Locklear, trying to be jovial.

      "Thank you, yes. I didn't want to leave Roaring Horse without seeing him. I'm sure you understand, Sheriff Locklear."

      "Oh, certainly, certainly," agreed Locklear. "I will escort you to the door."

      Leaving the courthouse the girl went quickly back to the Gusher. She saw Mack Moran standing by the stable and she nodded to him. Mack's wiry cheeks never changed. But he got the message she intended.

      Five o'clock was dusk. And at that hour Theodorik Perrine entered the Gusher by an alley door and climbed to the suite always set aside for William Wells Woolfridge. The gentleman was there.

      "All right?" asked Perrine, thrusting his head through the door.

      "Come in."

      "Nobody saw me," volunteered Perrine, standing in front of Woolfridge. As tough a character as he was, he never ventured to sit down in the presence of Woolfridge unless the latter asked him, which was seldom.

      "I am relaxing my precautions," replied Woolfridge. "It becomes less important—secrecy. Very shortly now this country will know just exacty where I stand."

      "Well, then, let me take charge of this party to-night. Yuh been holdin' me off long enough. Chaffee's my game."

      "I see his friends have come to town. What for?"

      "To get him out," said Theodorik Perrine, his great jowls snapping. "But we got 'em stopped. Outnumbered. If they start a play they're sunk."

      Woolfridge absorbed the news. "Any idea how they'll go about getting him free?"

      "No, I ain't. But they can't make a move without exposin' themselves."

      "Then," said Woolfridge, biting into the words, "why not let them try?"

      "Never thought about it."

      "I have." Woolfridge rose, smoothing the lapels of his coat carefully. The chubby cheeks squared, the businesslike blandness fell away. There was a queer, shuttering light in his normally expressionless eyes. "I have thought of it a great deal. It is much better to let the gentleman break jail and be shot down than to take him out and hang him. In the former case he is legally killed. In the latter we are going pretty strong. It might trip us up later. Stirrup S is working nicely into the whole thing. Are you sure you can control the situation?"

      "You bet."

      "Chaffee is a dangerous man. He knows entirely too much. More to the point, he is the kind of a free agent I don't want on my trail. He possesses more initiative and imagination than I care about. I repeat, he is dangerous, both for what he has found out and for what he will find out if he gets clear."

      "He won't," said Perrine, shutting his massive jaws on the words.

      "Then let them try to make the jail break. And take care of Chaffee when he shows himself outside the cell. That is all."

      "Now have you birds got this all clear?"

      Mack Moran and the rest of the Stirrup S crew stood in the deep darkness of the rodeo stands, rehearsing the event about to take place. Horses moved restlessly behind them, long lengths of rope lay on the ground. "We can't afford to have any mistakes. One horse here. One horse down the alley by Tilton's. Spec, you take care of that. Gil climbs the eatin' place, crosses the Red Mill room, and swarms up the courthouse turret dingbat, draggin' ropes behind. Got it all straight, Gil?"

      "Yeah. Some harder to do than that time in Arizona. Roof is crooked. But I'll make it."

      "All

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