LITMIR.BIZ

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a mile or so they came to a level that led away toward Rabbit-Ear Creek. From the level they could see the Circle Cross buildings, scattered over a small stretch of plain on the opposite side of the river. There was no life around them, no movement. Norton grimaced toward them.

      Hazelton halted his pony in some tall grass near a bare, sandy spot on the plains. The grass here grew only in patches and Norton could plainly see a number of hoof prints in the sand. One single set led away across the plains toward the Dry Bottom trail. Seeing the knowing expression in Norton’s eyes, Hazelton spoke quietly.

      “That’s Hollis’s trail. He must have took the Dry Bottom trail an’ lost it in the storm. Potter says he would probably take it because it’s shorter. Anyways, it’s his trail; I followed it back into the hills until I was sure. I saw that he had been comin’ from Dry Bottom. He lost his way an’ rode over here. I remember there was an awful darkness, for I was out scoutin’ around to see if my stock was all right. Well, he got this far–rode right up to the edge of the butte over there an’ then come back this way. Then he met–well, the men that did it.”

      “They all stood there for a little while; you can see where their horses pawed. Then mebbe they started somethin’, for you can see where Hollis’s pony throwed up a lot of sand, tryin’ to break out. The others were in a circle–you can see that. I’ve figured it out that Hollis saw there wasn’t any chance for him against so many an’ he tried to hit the breeze away from here. I’ll show you.”

      They followed the hoof prints down the slope and saw that all the riders must have been traveling fast at this point, for the earth was cut and the hoof prints bunched fore and aft. They ran only a little way, however. About a hundred yards down the slope, in a stretch of bare, sandy soil, the horses had evidently come to a halt again, for they were bunched well together and there were many of them, showing that there had been some movement after the halt.

      Norton dismounted and examined the surrounding soil.

      “They all got off here,” he said shortly, after the examination; “there’s the prints of their boots. They caught him here and handed it to him.”

      Hazelton silently pointed to a queer track in the sand–a shallow groove running about fifty feet, looking as though some heavy object had been drawn over it. Norton’s face whitened.

      “Drug him!” he said grimly, his lips in two straight lines. “It’s likely they roped him!” He remounted his pony and sat in the saddle, watching Hazelton as the latter continued his examination. “They’re a fine, nervy bunch!” he sneered as Hazelton also climbed into his saddle. “They must have piled onto him like a pack of wolves. If they’d have come one at a time he’d have cleaned them up proper!”

      They rode away down the trail toward the cabin. Norton went in and looked again at Hollis, and then, telling Hazelton that he would return in the afternoon, he departed for the Circle Bar. He stopped at the ranchhouse and communicated the news to his wife and Potter and then rode on up the river to a point about ten miles from the ranchhouse–where the outfit was working.

      The men received his news with expressions of rage and vengeance. They had come to admire Hollis for his courage in electing to continue the fight against Dunlavey; they had seen that in spite of his ignorance of the customs of their world he possessed a goodly store of common sense and an indomitable spirit. Yet none of them expressed sympathy, though their faces showed that they felt it. Expressions of sympathy in a case such as this would have been unnecessary and futile. But their expressions of rage showed how the news had affected them. Though they knew that Dunlavey’s forces outnumbered their own they were for striking back immediately. But Norton discouraged this.

      “We’re layin’ low for a while,” he said. “Mebbe the boss will get well. If he does he’ll make things mighty interestin’ for Dunlavey–likely he’ll remember who was in the crowd which beat him up. If he dies—” His eyes flashed savagely. “Well, if he dies you boys can go as far as you like an’ I’ll go with you without doin’ any kickin’.”

      “What’s goin’ to be done with that noospaper of his’n?” inquired Ace. “You reckon she’ll miss fire till he’s well again?”

      Norton’s brows wrinkled; he had not thought of the newspaper. But he realized now that if the paper failed to appear on scheduled time the people in Union County would think that Hollis had surrendered; they would refuse to believe that he had been so badly injured that he could not issue the paper, and Dunlavey would be careful to circulate some sort of a story to encourage this view. Now that Ace had brought the matter to his attention he began to suspect that this had been the reason of the attack on Hollis. That they had not killed him when they had the opportunity, showed that they must have had some purpose other than that of merely desiring to get him out of the way. That they had merely beaten him showed that their wish was only to incapacitate him temporarily. Norton’s eyes flashed with a sudden determination.

      “I don’t reckon that the Kicker will miss fire,” he declared; “not if I have to go to Dry Bottom an’ get her out myself!”

      Ace eyed him furtively and now spoke with an embarrassed self-consciousness.

      “I’ve been considerin’ this here situation ever since you told us about the boss,” he said diffidently, “an’ if you’re goin’ to get that paper out, a little poem or two might help out considerable.”

      “Meanin’?” interrogated Norton, his eyelashes flickering.

      Ace’s face reddened painfully. “Meanin’ that I’ve got several little pieces which I’ve wrote when I didn’t have anything else to do an’ that I’d be right willin’ to have them put into the Kicker to help fill her up. Some of the boys think they’re right classy.”

      Norton looked around at the other men for confirmation of the truth of this modest statement. He caught Lanky’s glance.

      “I reckon that’s about right,” said that sober-faced puncher; “Ace is the pote lariat of this here outfit, an’ he sure has got a lot of right clever lines in his pomes. I’ve read them which wasn’t one-two-three with his’n.”

      Norton smiled, a little cynically. He wasn’t quite sure about it, he said, but if Ace could write poetry he hadn’t any doubt that during the next few weeks there would be plenty of opportunity to print some of it in the Kicker. He smiled when he saw Ace’s face brighten. But he told him he would have to see Hollis–if the latter got well enough to endure an interview. If the boss recovered enough to be able to look at Ace’s poetry before it was printed, why of course it would have to be shown him. He didn’t want anything to go into the Kicker which the boss wouldn’t like. But if he wasn’t able to look at it, why he would leave the decision to Potter, and if it suited the latter he would be satisfied. He would keep the boys posted on the boss’s condition. Then he rode away toward the ranchhouse.

      Late in the afternoon he again visited the Hazelton cabin. He found the Cimarron doctor already there. Hollis was still unconscious, though resting easier. The doctor declared that he would remain with him throughout the night. He followed Norton out on to the porch and told him that at present he could not tell just how serious Hollis’s injuries were. There was a great wound in his head which he feared might turn out seriously, but if not, Hollis would recover quickly and be as good as ever within a few weeks–except for his left wrist–which was broken. He praised Nellie Hazelton for the care she was giving the injured man. Convinced that there was nothing more to be done, Norton returned to the Circle Bar to give his attention to his work.

      Chapter XIII. “Woman–She Don’t Need No Tooter”

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      The Cimarron doctor’s fears for the wound on Hollis’s head had proved unfounded and on the tenth day after his experience on the night of the storm, Hollis was sitting on the Hazelton porch, his head still swathed in bandages, his left wrist in a splint,

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