LITMIR.BIZ

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I get more education?" he countered grimly.

      Eve's father, Jake Leverage, came into the dining room and walked over to them. "One o' you two is in bad company," he observed amiably, "but I wouldn't swear which." He sat down and reached for a platter. "Goin' to beef much stuff this spring, Dave?"

      "No. Market's too shot. Hold over until later."

      "When a man talks that independent I reco'nize he ain't got any mortgages to worry about," grunted Leverage, parting his whiskers.

      "I let the bankers do that worryin'," was Denver's dry response. "They seem to thrive and get rich doin' it, so why not let 'em?"

      "You allus was a hand to run your own show," agreed Leverage. "But the more immediate question is, have you lost any stock through strange disappearance?"

      "Rustlers don't seem to like my beef, Jake."

      "Yeah? Well, yore lucky. I don't know what this country's comin' to. Somethin's got to be done to somebody. I ain't mentionin' any names but—"

      "Do you happen to know of any names you might mention?"

      Leverage looked a little uncomfortable, and Eve watched Denver with a wrinkle of thought on her forehead.

      "Folks can do some pretty close guessin'," grunted Leverage. "And when fifteen-twenty people guess the same I'd say there must be a foundation o' fact. You goin' to the Association meetin'?"

      "I'll listen in," assented Denver idly.

      "There's got to be more'n just listenin' this time. You know as well as I do that this sort of horseplay can't go on. It comes right down to a proposition of who is goin' to run this country, the roughs and the toughs or the ranchers. It is a fine state of affairs when honest men raise beef for crooks to steal. I ain't in business for my health, ner I don't propose to play Santy Claus for Mister—" He checked himself from indiscretion and reddened.

      "I see you have a particular gentleman in mind," suggested Denver.

      "And his whole damned ring," added Leverage stoutly. "It's up to us to play a little game of root, hawg, or die."

      "Takes three things to hang a man," opined Denver. "You've got to catch him, convict him, and find a big enough rope to hold him."

      "The second item can be allowed as done right now. A good- sized posse can do the other two. I'll go so far as to furnish the rope myself. But you don't seem totally sold on the idee, Dave. Don't it mean nothin' to you? It had oughta. Yore eatin' pie from the same dish as the rest of us ranchers. It ain't no time to back and fill."

      Denver looked at Eve, once more displaying the old temper of somber disbelief. "I believe in playin' my game and lettin' the other man play his. If the time comes when I've got a chore to do against a rustler I'll do it alone without askin' for help. Half of the big cattlemen in this county got their start by means of a quick rope and a careless brandin' iron. Now that these same dudes have got rich and turned honest they send up a tinhorn squawk every time they lose a calf. Let 'em haze their own rustlers instead of puttin' the chore on others."

      "Wouldn't you hang a proved rustler?" demanded Leverage.

      "I'd have to think about it," was Denver's slow reply. "A man would have to be considerably smaller and meaner than me—which is sayin' considerable—before I'd want to haul him out on a limb."

      Leverage shook his head. "Hate to hear you say that. It's worse than a case of some fellow nibblin' a few head here and a few head there. It's organized outlawry we're goin' to have to fight. Root, hawg, or die. We run our business or they run us. I ain't able to get very soft-hearted over a crook under them circumstances."

      "I guess I'll have to be pinched before I shout," drawled Denver, eyes following across the dining room. A man came in with a printed broadside and tacked it to the wall; black type announced to Sundown city the following entertainment:

      LOLA MONTEREY!

       AND THE WESTERN OPERA COMPANY

       WILL PRESENT AT OUR OPERA HOUSE

       THIS EVENING

       AN OLD FAVORITE

       CAVALIER OF SPAIN!

       LOLA, SUNDOWN'S OWN SINGING BEAUTY,

       COMES BACK TO HER BIRTHPLACE

       AFTER A TRIUMPHAL TOUR

       OF EUROPE TO PLEASE THE FOLKS

       OF THE OLD HOMETOWN TONIGHT!

      Jake Leverage scanned the notice. "They sure got the country plastered with them notices. I see 'em on every juniper shrub along the road. Been three years since we saw Lola in a play, ain't it, Eve? What's she want to come back to this sun-cooked scope of alkali-crusted land for, anyhow? I got no admiration for foreign places like Yurrup, but if I was a gal with Lola's talents I sure wouldn't waste no time around here. I'd go away and stay away."

      Eve tried to catch her father's attention, but he went on blandly. "A great girl. I'm no hand for this fa-so-la music as a rule, but it was a genuine pleasure to sit back in the old Palace and hear her sing. Yes, sir. Well, I reckon you got to go to that, uh, Eve?"

      He turned to his daughter and received in full measure the impact of her warning glance. She shook her head slightly, at which the old man muttered under his breath and combed back his mustache to drink the rest of his coffee. Eve's clear face seemed sharp and troubled as she watched Dave Denver. He had turned to the notice and was staring at it, all features caught up in a brooding, stormy expression. For a time he appeared to forget all others in the room, to forget that there were people around who might be interested in observing his reaction to Lola Monterey's name. Eve lowered her eyes to the table, knowing very well how many quick and covert glances were thrown toward Dave Denver. Lola was back, bringing with her a breath of the old story and the old gossip.

      Denver squared himself to the table and reached for his cigarette papers. "Yeah," he observed casually, "she always had a fine voice. The outside world was her place."

      "Then why should she come back?" Leverage wanted to know and received a kick on his booted leg under the table.

      "I couldn't say," mused Denver. "Probably Lola doesn't know herself. That's the way she does things."

      "All wimmen's alike," grunted Leverage and scowled on his daughter. His leg hurt.

      Outside was the jangle and clatter of the Ysabel Junction stage making the right-angle turn from Prairie Street to Main. By common consent the people in the dining room adjourned dinner and headed for the door. Denver walked behind Leverage and Eve; the girl, never knowing why she should let herself say such a thing, spoke over her shoulder.

      "Old times for you, David. Aren't you glad?"

      She was instantly sorry, and a little ashamed when she heard Denver's slow answer come gently forward.

      "You've convinced me you're no longer a little girl, Eve. I'm not sure I like the change."

      "And why?"

      "Little girls are more charitable minded than big ones."

      They were on the porch. The stages—there were three of them this trip instead of one—veered up to the hotel porch and stopped. Some courteous citizen opened the door of the front coach and lifted his hat. A woman stepped daintily down, and there was a flash of even teeth as she smiled on the crowd. Eve's small fists tightened; she threw a glance behind her, but Dave Denver had disappeared from the porch and was not to be seen. Eve thought Lola Monterey's eyes went through the ranks of the assembled Sundowners with more than passing interest, but if the woman was disappointed she was too accomplished an actress to reveal it. Old man Leverage muttered, "By Jodey, the girl's pretty, Eve. She's got beyond Sundown."

      Eve nodded, a small ache in her heart. The tempestuous, flamboyant dance-hall girl of three years ago had returned from her conquests with the veneer of fine manners and proud self- confidence. Her jet-black hair bobbed in the sun, and the slim, pointed face, showing the satin smoothness of Spanish blood, had the stirring dignity of actual beauty. Moving up the steps with the same

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