LITMIR.BIZ

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knew him to be the redoubtable Jim Breck. He was sprawled in a chair, his massive body overflowing it—a body that even with the accumulated layers of fat displayed something of the tremendous muscles that once must have stretched across the shoulders. The head was square and seemed hewn out of so much granite, each feature chiseled roughly and generously. The Octopus, someone had called him. Well, it was a good nickname. Even so Lilly was not prepared exactly for the rest of the picture. Here was an old man, a sick man; one who sat very still and listened to the sound of his own heart as it labored toward the end of its journey. A gray, dust-like pallor was on the face and the lips were almost colorless; a strange and depressing spectacle of a mighty frame going to pieces. Still, there was fire in those grim eyes. It flashed out now, fitfully.

      "Come out o' the sun, young man. We'll eat shortly."

      At this moment an ancient, skinny Indian slipped around the corner of the house and reached for Lilly's reins.

      "No, I don't believe I will, thanks. It ain't right to traffic on a man's hospitality. I take it yore Jim Breck. Such bein' the case I don't reckon I could eat comfortable at your table."

      One mighty shoulder rose and fell. "Knew somethin' was itchin' you when I saw you comin' over the rise. Say it, younker."

      "I'm settlin' on the three-sixty over at the spring. I aim to stay, notwithstandin' yore foreman. Just wanted to declare myself."

      Jim Breck sat motionless, his eyes exploring Lilly. After a long interval he answered almost gently. "The fightin' kind, ain't you? Somethin's roused yore sense o' justice. But it's too late, Red. They's a nester on that place now. A fellow by the name o' Hamby."

      Tom shook his head. "Yore foolin' me, Mister Breck. You ought to know better."

      "What's that?" asked Breck with an increase of energy.

      "Yore foreman bullied him into a fight. Shot him dead." Lilly was unable to keep the anger from his words. "About as dirty a piece o' work as I've seen in my time. Don't you draw the line at anything?"

      "So," muttered Breck. His chin fell forward and he fumbled in his pocket for a cigar. He looked wistfully at it, then with a defiant gesture put it in his mouth. "So that's got you excited. Hornin' in on another party's misfortune. 'Tain't a safe game, son. But yore kind don't care about playin' safe. Reckon you've got me gauged as a hop toad, eh?"

      "Yore reputation is on public record," said Tom.

      "Well, that's so," murmured Breck in a gentle voice. "But I was raised in a hard school. Had to fight my way. Don't this ranch look like it was built to stand siege? If you observe them logs you'll see bullet marks a-plenty."

      "That ain't no answer for shootin' a nester."

      Fire gleamed in the eyes again. "Mebbee 'tain't. When a man gets to the end o' the road an' looks back he sees plenty things different than he used to. Well, I like yore spunk. I could shorely use a fighter on this ranch. Want a job?"

      "No," said Lilly. "I'm obliged, but that's not my politics. The world ain't goin' to be large enough for Trono an' me, let alone a ranch. Anyhow, I'm camped off yonder an' I wanted to let you know."

      "Pleased to know a man's real feelin's," agreed Breck. He started to add something, but was interrupted. A door opened and a woman's voice broke in. "Dad, are you disobeying the doctor? You give me that cigar."

      "Damn the pill peddler," muttered Breck, irritably. "If I got to die, I got to die. But I'm goin' to have a leetle fun."

      Lilly turned in the saddle and without knowing just why, removed his hat. She was a girl of perhaps eighteen or twenty; a sturdy supple figure dressed in riding clothes. In the shadow of the porch her eyes glowed and there was a rose-pink color on her cheeks. She took the cigar from her father in a quick, defensive movement "You won't help yourself, so I must treat you like a baby." Then she saw Lilly and a smile flashed out. Her black eyes passed from man to man and the quick, open-handed hospitality of the West prompted her to speak to the newcomer. "Won't you stop for dinner?"

      "I'm han'somely pleased," said Lilly, "but I've got to get back to my place."

      "You live near here?" she asked, puzzled.

      "Yes'm. I'm taking up the homestead by the spring."

      He saw friendliness vanish and resentment spring up.

      Old Jim Breck's chuckle followed him away from the place and far along the road home.

      "Spitfire," he murmured. "She's got every bit of her daddy's temper. But, by Godfrey, she's pretty! Now look what I'm into."

      The rest of the journey was made in heavy silence. This meeting had greatly puzzled him. If Breck were so heavy-handed, why hadn't the man challenged him on the spot? Instead he'd been offered a job. Was the Octopus the kind that spoke softly and struck in the dark? This affair was getting complicated and that was a fact. There was only one thing he could depend on for a certainty—Theed Trono's outright enmity.

      Back on the porch, Jill Breck spoke her mind. "He certainly has got his nerve riding deliberately over here to tell us that. Did he mean, Dad, he was going in with Hamby?"

      "Hamby died," answered Breck, staring into the bright yard. "The lad's goin' to take over the homestead."

      Jill fell silent for a moment. She was a loyal girl with an immense pride for everything concerning the JIB. Nor was it her fault that she did not know the seamier side of her father's affairs. She had always thought that every acre within the valley was owned in fee simple and she could never understand why nesters dared to trespass. She had asked her father about this once, but the reply had been so vague and technical that it only served to strengthen her belief that her father was, in a kindly way, trying to shield the lawless nesters. For she had never seen other than kindness in her father. What he had been in his younger days she never knew, and was never told. The stories of the range wars came down to her as so much legend and whatever the trouble occurring between JIB and 3Cross in later years, it was carefully kept from her, just as it was kept from the outside world.

      "Well, I'm sorry the man died. He was old and goodness knows how he made a living, but he shouldn't have come on our land. And I don't see why you allow this red-headed cowpuncher to defy you like he did. I'll bet he's a Stubbins' man. A nester doesn't wear clothes like that, or ride like that."

      "Uhuh. Jill, you go see about the grub."

      When she had disappeared inside, Breck spoke to the Indian who had held Lilly's horse. "Pattipaws, you git Trono for me. Tell him I want him."

      The Indian was away on the run, leaving Breck a morose, silent figure. "Seems there's a lot o' things passin' on hereabouts I don't have wind of lately. Trono's forcin' my hand. Well, I allus knew what sort of man he was. If he's tryin' to out-nigger me, it's my own fault."

      Trono rolled around the corner of the house, a surly indifferent man built in the same mold as his boss. Breck, eyeing the foreman, concluded that was the reason he had kept the foreman so long. Here was the image of himself as he had been in earlier days—huge and tireless, without compunction, a hard driver. If Trono, in addition, had the handicap of being without loyalty and was a dirty fighter in his rages, Breck had shut his eyes. Trono had accomplished the necessary and unmentionable JIB chores; that was the service he had required. But now Trono was assuming too much; he was becoming intractable.

      "Well?" muttered the foreman.

      Breck closed his great fists. "Who told you to kill Hamby?"

      Trono smiled. "How d'yuh know?"

      "Don't trim with me, you yellow-belly!" cried Breck. "Ain't I told you to leave Hamby alone?"

      "Well, that's all the good it did yuh. If yore goin' to call names, I'll call a few myself. Yore gettin' chicken-hearted. Losin' yore grip. I tried to use peaceable means on that nester, but he was pigheaded, so I killed him. Since when've you changed idees on that subject? Wa'n't long ago when you sent me out with a gun fer those fellas."

      The gray color swept down into Breck's collar and his hand pressed at his heart. "The world ain't the same to an old man, Theed.

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