LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER X

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      Clint suspected a trap and retreated from the cabin in long, swift backward paces. Yet it appeared unreasonably strange that the trustworthy and matter-of-fact Fitzgibbon would pull away without powerful incentive. Striking around the cabin, Clint poked into the barn, angled across the meadow and came back to crouch down against the earth. Yet as the moments dragged by he heard only the sigh of the wind, the chant of the night creatures and the mysterious undertone of the prairie night. His own subtle senses, which he trusted so greatly, were quiescent; the meadow was empty. He went inside the cabin and ventured to strike a match, but the flare of light told him nothing. No signs, no apparent messages—nothing. Box M had departed, Bowlus had likewise gone, and Heck Seastrom was overdue.

      Clint went out and climbed into the saddle, tarrying there with half-lifted reins while he turned the problem in his mind. Fitz might have decided to hit Shander a backhand wallop, he might have been driven off by a fresh attack from the renegades, he might have grown nervous and shifted ground, or he might have returned to Box M. None of these possibilities appealed to the fast-thinking Clint excepting the last. He recalled Haggerty's remark in the sheriff's office. Haggerty had been sent down to warn the Box M contingent. Whatever the warning and whoever had issued it, this empty meadow seemed to indicate Fitz had acted on its urgency and high-tailed for headquarters.

      "Seems like straight thinking," opined Clint and gathered the reins. "A little queer, though, that Fitz didn't leave some word behind. Maybe he didn't want to expose his plans to some wandering Shander rider. Which is exactly why I hadn't better leave a note for Heck. He'll have to figure it out."

      With that, he straightened down the meadow, let the horse pick a path through the trees and a little later lined across the open prairie for Box M. He regretted leaving Seastrom on his own. But time pressed, the night was better than half gone and there was much riding yet to do. As he clipped off the miles, he tried to piece together the tag ends of information his eavesdropping behind the sheriff's office had brought him. He had no idea where Fort Carson was, nor what plan Shander and Curly had agreed upon; but the fact that Curly had suggested a plan was more or less an indication that they meant to smash Box M hard and fast at some particular point. That was the egotistic and impatient Curly's style.

      "The piece of a licking they took tonight has sort of brought things to a head," reflected Clint. "It's stung 'em. They'll hit from the shoulder. Looks to me as if things have smoked around to a downright spell of thunder and lightning. As for Haggerty, I'm not much surprised. No telling how much damage he's already done the ranch; and he'll probably try to do a great deal more. If he comes riding back, I can make a handy tool out of him, to carry false hints. But I wonder if he'll come back? Tonight's affair in Angels might have made him cagey."

      So the intervening desert fell behind and Box M's shadowed outline loomed directly in front of him. No lights broke over the earth; but his approach had been detected, for he saw a silhouette cantering across his path. He slowed and sent out a musical hail. In reply he was arrested bluntly.

      "Draw in. Who is it?"

      "Charterhouse."

      "Come ahead slow. I don't make your voice."

      The horses came face on. A Box M rider leaned cautiously forward from his saddle and muttered, "Strike a match." Clint obeyed. The guard relaxed, "Where's Seastrom?"

      "He didn't show up and I didn't feel like there was time to waste. Fitzgibbon pull in?"

      "Yeah. Manners come back with twenty riders and we buried old John. Manners seemed to be plumb uneasy about something, for he told Sherry somebody had better ride towards Angels and draw Fitz back in case Shander made a strike at us. So Haggerty went to deliver the message. Why ain't he with you? He told Fitz he'd stay at the Bowlus place and wait for you and Heck."

      "Who sent him away from the ranch?" pressed Clint.

      "Why, I reckon he just took it upon himself to go," countered the other. "No—I call to mind Buck Manners pointed him out for the trip. Why ain't he with you?"

      "You'll have to ask Haggerty next time you see him. What happened to Bowlus?"

      "Fitz made him come in so's he wouldn't stop no stray lead."

      Clint turned away and rode for the main house. Another guard came beside him and dropped away. He crossed the porch and went into the dark living room, calling quietly, "Sherry."

      She was in an adjoining bedroom, but not asleep, for a quick answer came back. "Is it Clint? Wait there. I'll be right out."

      Clint felt a chair in front of him and settled into it with a swift realization that he was extraordinarily tired. The events of the day had taken the sap out of him; and now that he let his mind play back upon them all the grim accidents flashed before him with a startling clarity and force. Compressed within sunrise and midnight was disaster, death, struggle and treachery; enough for an average life. Yet it was but the beginning. There was doubtless more to come, more death, more treachery and heartbreak and more weary hours of riding. His head slipped against the chair's tall back and his eyes, heavy with fatigue, dropped. When he started suddenly up to his feet, there was lamplight in the room and Sherry Nickum, tall and gravely beautiful in a bed robe, stood before him.

      "You were dead to the world," she said softly. "I waited five minutes before I had the heart to waken you. Sam is outside. Let him put away your horse. You go to bed."

      "Not yet."

      "You have earned it, Clint."

      "Maybe, but I doubt if any of us will be able to realize on our earnings in the next few days. Sherry, who sent Haggerty to bring Fitz's party back here?"

      "Buck

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