LITMIR.BIZ

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up," said Lilly in a muffled voice. The cavalcade dropped to a slow walk, crawling southward. "We're pretty close to the 3Cross now. I can smell it."

      "Do we pay 'em a visit or a surprise?" whispered Joe Breedlove.

      "A surprise. It's a fightin' game now, Joe. I want you to take four of the boys and corral the bunkhouse. I'll picket a couple around the house an' one at the barn. Me, I'm goin' in to find this horse-faced Englishman and pluck his eyebrows out, one at a time."

      "Sounds bad," murmured Breedlove; he was chuckling. "The boys'll enjoy this little holiday."

      Blacker shadows in the thin, morning air. Lilly halted, the cavalcade colliding with him. Soft warning ran from man to man and there was a slight groaning of leather and the muffled sound of hands sliding across holsters. "We walk from here," announced Lilly. "Joe, I'll give you five minutes to get that bunkhouse located. When yore ready, let out a whoop and a shot as warnin' to me."

      They slid down, leaving the horses. Indian file, they slouched forward behind Lilly until the ranch-house barred their way. Silently, Joe Breedlove touched the four nearest men and, together they disappeared. Lilly whispered directions to the remaining three and waited until they had slipped off before advancing across the porch of the house. As with all Westerners, Stubbins scorned to lock his doors and Lilly raised the latch and opened the portal an inch at a time. A single coal gleamed in the fireplace; stale pipe smoke filled the room. Lilly groped his way over the rug-strewn floor, touched a table and stopped to orient himself. This room was quite silent; but he heard the heavy snoring of a man come out of some near-by room. He skirted a chair, entered what felt like a hallway to his exploring fingers and stopped at a sudden opening. The sleeping fellow's breath rose and fell, alternately sibilant and droning. A heavy sleeper, this one. Lilly felt certain it was Stubbins and moved over the threshold, approaching the bed. There was a window directly beyond the bed and by the patch of gray shadow relieving the opaque dark of the room he saw the crooked figure sprawled beneath the blankets.

      Closer he dared not go. So he rested, bringing up his gun and waiting for the signal from Joe Breedlove. Treacherous silence pervaded the 3Cross. The sleeping figure strangled and turned, relapsing to a more normal breathing.

      The signal changed all this. There was a high, "Eee-yippy- yippy-yip!" and the flat explosion of a revolver. A door was smashed in and instantly a dozen voices and another gun shot answered the challenge. Lilly had no opportunity to follow Joe Breedlove's fortunes; his own man had risen bolt upright in bed, silhouetted by the gray patch of the window, and was swearing broadly. "What's that—what's that?" he grumbled. A better comprehension came to him when Lilly stepped up, speaking in a soothing voice. "You stand fast, brother Stubbins. I recognize that beef-eatin' accent. Boost yore hands. Boost 'em!"

      The bed springs screeched. Stubbins flung himself backward and smote the woolen head of his couch with terrific force. Lilly saw a hand go around in a semicircle and knew the man was reaching for his gun. He brought the barrel of his own weapon down, smashing Stubbins across the head. Thereupon, the master of the 3Cross grunted and temporarily passed from the scene. Lilly's exploring hand reached and appropriated Stubbins' gun and holster hanging on the bed post.

      A rear door opened with a clatter and boots came tramping down the hallway. A voice said, "Hey, Stubbins! What the hell—?"

      He was pouring words through the bedroom door; but his senses told him something was wrong and he drew back with a challenge. "Who's that there? Speak up or I'll plug yuh!"

      "Same to you, brother," announced Lilly and stepped aside into a deeper patch of darkness. An orange-purple flame ran out and was met by another; a water jar trembled in its bowl, the acrid odor of burnt powder swirled high. A gun dropped, a body slid down with a surprising sigh. Somewhere to the rear a Chinaman's voice was flinging weird, wild words about like so many pitched knives. Over this bedlam he heard the drawling voices of one of his own men, Moses. "Well, how's it stand?"

      "I plugged somebody," announced Lilly. "The main guy is here on the bed where I plastered him."

      "Fifty-fifty," announced Moses in a bored tone. "I ketched me a person at the front door. Seems like he was on guard, but I reckon he fell asleep till the noise jarred him some. He's chewin' at the knots I took in him. Say, that Chink is apt to bust a lung if he don't take a few cinches in them gosh-awful words."

      "Light up," said Lilly. "I think Joe's rounded his critters."

      He had followed the sound of struggle in the bunk-house but intermittently during his own activity; and by now the shots had ceased and there was only the hum of voices like the buzzing of bees in a disturbed hive. Breedlove sent his gay announcement across the yard. "Say what, Tommy."

      "Good enough here."

      "Well, what'll I do with these boys? Never saw so many punchers fer one ranch. I count fifteen."

      "Hobble 'em an' come over."

      Moses had found and lighted a lamp in the main room. He carried it into the bedroom and inspected the man Lilly had dropped at the door. Blood streamed down his face, but it seemed to be something less than a mortal wound. Moses put the lamp on the floor and ran an investigating finger over the fellow's head. "He's grazed, Tom. Sorter knocked him cuckoo. I'll put a han'k'chuff aroun' it an' he'll be good enough."

      Stubbins on the bed, was coming out of his enforced sleep; coming out in a fighting mood, twitching his arms. Lilly waited until the Englishman opened his eyes and shook the mists clear of his head. Anger glinted in the pale blue eyes as he stared toward Lilly. "What's this confounded banditry about?" he growled. "I shall hold you for this, friend. I'll have your scalp for it, believe me."

      "What have you done with Jill Breck?" demanded Lilly.

      "Oh—that's it, eh? It would please you to find out, wouldn't it? Well, she's not here, Red. She's far away." Then it seemed to occur to him that he had forgotten himself. "Why, you damn pup, you know well enough where she is! I'll have you back in jail within six hours. Watch you hang, too, by Godfrey!"

      "Yore out of date," said Lilly. "Things have happened since you went to sleep. Yore gang is hog-tied. I've got a posse here that'll string you to a tree if you lie to me. Time's past for foolin'. I've got enough on you this minute to send you to the pen."

      "What's that?"

      "Some of the JIB boys have been tellin' tales," offered Lilly. "Some of the JIB cows have been found in yore herds, too. We know Jill Breck's been here. Now, you talk turkey an' talk fast."

      It was all guess work, but based on good evidence. Lilly watched the Englishman's face settle and to further upset the man he ordered him up and into the main room where Joe Breedlove and three or four of the H-H crew were lounging. "It's all off with you, Stubbins. You tell the truth. We've got six men who'll turn state's evidence against you. Where's Jill Breck?"

      "What if I tell?"

      "You'll get an even break," promised Lilly.

      "What if I don't tell?" shot back Stubbins, his thin mouth disappearing beneath the great nose.

      "You'll be hung in an hour."

      "Eh? Oh, no. You wouldn't dare that. I'm too big a man in this country."

      "So? Say, when this leaks out there won't be a man, woman or dog in Robey County but what won't want to take a piece out of yore hide. No, you ain't got a foot to stand on. Now, where's Jill Breck?"

      Stubbins thrust a long, cool glance around at the H-H men, then rose and filled one of the pipes on the mantel. Behind a cloud of tobacco smoke he deliberated. For all his villainy, there was something in the man to evoke admiration. Here he stood, with all his plans crashing down around his head, with three or four grave charges against him—charges that would inevitably lead him to the penitentiary or worse; he had no means of knowing whether this posse would take his life or not, or if they let him go, whether an outraged county would be as lenient. Still, he smoked imperturbably, as if deciding no more important a thing than whether or not to hire another hand for his ranch.

      "Yore house is made of cards," broke

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