LITMIR.BIZ

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S. id like to be home for the round-up but reckon i wont make it.

      “Weary.”

      Nellie Hazelton did not see this letter, though Hollis told her that Ed had been operated on and that he was doing as well as could be expected. And the telegraph that night flashed Weary’s “coin” to him.

      The days passed all too quickly now, for the time for the fall round-up was at hand and Hollis realized with regret that his daily rides–with Nellie Hazelton as a companion–must soon be discontinued.

      The nights had already grown cool; snow had appeared on the mountain peaks; the basin was no longer a great green bowl, but resembled a mammoth, concave palette upon which nature had mixed her colors–yellow and gold and brown, with here and there a blotch of red and purple, a dash of green,–lingering over the season–and great, wide stretches of gray. The barren spots seemed to grow more barren–mocked by the scarlet blossoms of the cactus that seemed to be everlasting, and the fringing, yellow soap weed, hardy, defying the advancing winter. Razor-Back ridge was a desolate place. Never attractive, it reared aloft barren and somber, frowning down upon its fringe of shrubbery the latter stripped of its leaves, its scant beauty gone and bending its bare branches stubbornly to the early winds.

      With the last day of the month came a rain–a cold, bitter, driving storm that raged for three days and started a drift that the cattlemen could not stop. Arrayed in tarpaulins the cowboys went forth, suffering, cursing, laboring heroically to stem the tide. The cattle retreated steadily before the storm–no human agency could halt them. On the second day Norton came into the Circle Bar ranchhouse, wet, disgusted, but fighting mad.

      “If this damn rain don’t stop pretty soon,” he told Hollis as he dried himself before the open fireplace, “we’ll have cattle down here from over the Colorado line. An’ then there’ll be hell to pay!”

      But on the third day the rain ceased and the sun came out. The country lay smiling in the sunshine, mellow, glistening, inviting. But the damage had been wrought. From Lemuel Train of the Pig Pen outfit, came word that fifty per cent of his cattle were missing. Truxton of the Diamond Dot, Henningson of the Three Bar, and nearly all of the other small owners, reported losses. Of course the cattle would be recovered during the fall round up, but they were now scattered and fair prey for cattle thieves, and with the round up still two weeks away it seemed that many must be stolen.

      Yet there was nothing that could be done; it is folly to attempt to “cut out” cattle on the open range.

      From the editorial columns of the Kicker might be gleaned the fact that the Law had come into Union County. Many men of Dry Bottom entered the Kicker office to thank Hollis; others boldly draped their houses with flags and bunting.

      Dunlavey had visited Dry Bottom twice since the incident of the primary. He had said nothing concerning the incident to anyone save possibly his intimates, but from the sneer that appeared on his face when approached by those whom he considered friendly to Hollis it was plain that he intended continuing the fight.

      Hollis had been compelled to record in the Kicker the unpleasant news that Dunlavey had refused to comply with the new law regulating brands and the submitting of lists for taxation, and also that he had threatened to shoot the first officer trespassed on his land. Dunlavey had not complied with the law, but he had failed to carry out his threat to “shoot the first officer that trespassed on his land,” for Allen had trespassed several times, openly and boldly. Moreover, Dunlavey had seen him, had even spoken to him, but had offered no violence.

      Perhaps in a calmer mood Dunlavey had decided not to use his weapon; perhaps there was something about the quiet, cool, and deliberate Allen which convinced Dunlavey that the former might be able to give a good account of himself in the event of trouble. At any rate several times Allen had ridden the Circle Cross range unmolested by either Dunlavey or his men. He explored the farthest limits of the Circle Cross property, tallying the cattle, nosing around the corrals, examining brands, and doing sundry other things not calculated to allay Dunlavey’s anger over this new and odd condition of affairs.

      Then one day he failed to visit the Circle Cross. Instead, he appeared to Potter in the office of the Kicker with copy for a poster announcing the sale by auction of a thousand of Dunlavey’s best cattle. He ordered Potter to print it so that he might post copies throughout the county within a week. The night following the issue of the Kicker containing the announcement concerning the coming of the law Potter had informed Hollis that he had that day delivered the notices to Allen.

      Chapter XXVIII. In Defiance of the Law

       Table of Contents

      Hollis had demonstrated the fact that a majority of Dry Bottom’s citizens welcomed the law. Dry Bottom had had a law, to be sure–the law of the six-shooter, with the cleverest man “on the trigger” as its chief advocate. Few men cared to appear before such a court with an argument against its jurisdiction. The law, as the citizens of Dry Bottom had seen it, was an institution which frowned upon such argument. Few men cared to risk an adverse decision of the established court to advocate laws which would come from civilized authority; they had remained silent against the day when it would come in spite of the element that had scoffed at it. And now that day had arrived. The Law had come.

      Even the evil element knew it. The atmosphere was vibrant with suppressed excitement; in the stores men and women were congregated; in the saloons rose a buzz of continuous conversation. On the street men greeted one another with subdued voices, or halted one another to discuss the phenomenon. In a dozen conspicuous places were posted flaring, printed notices, informing the reader that a thousand of the Circle Cross cattle–a description of which followed–were, on the following day, to be sold to the highest bidder. Below this announcement, in small, neat print, was quoted the Law.

      Dry Bottom gasped. The saloons swarmed. In the Fashion two bartenders and the proprietor labored heroically to supply their customers with the liquid stimulant which would nerve them to look upon Ben Allen’s posters with a certain degree of equanimity. The reckless element–the gun-men who in a former day were wont to swagger forth with reckless disregard for the polite conventions–skulked in the background, sneering at this thing which had come to rob them of their power and which, they felt, presaged their ultimate downfall.

      But Dry Bottom ignored the gun-men, or smiled blandly at them, giving its attention to Ben Allen’s posters and discussing a rumor which had gained rapid credence, to the effect that the new governor had telegraphed Allen that he would hold a detail of United States soldiers in readiness for any contingency.

      The good citizens smiled. And throughout the day many of them passed and repassed the Kicker office, anxious to get a glimpse of the man who had been instrumental in bringing about this innovation.

      Shortly after noon on the same day Dunlavey rode into Dry Bottom, dismounted, hitched his pony to the rail in front of the Fashion, and entered.

      In former days Dunlavey’s appearance within the doors of the Fashion was the signal for boisterous greetings. For here might always be found the law’s chief advocates. To-day, however, there were no greetings. Minds were filled with vague and picturesque conjecture concerning Dunlavey’s probable actions and the outcome of this strange affair. Thus upon Dunlavey’s entrance a silence–strange and awkward–fell in the bar-room. There were short nods and men fell away from Dunlavey as he crossed the room and came to a halt before one of Ben Allen’s posters. He read every line of it–every word. No man interrupted him. Then, finishing his reading, he turned and faced the crowd, his face white with wrath, his lips snarling.

      “Why in hell didn’t some of you damned fools tear this down?” he demanded.

      No man felt it incumbent upon him to reply to this and Dunlavey watched them for an instant, sneering, his eyes glittering menacingly. Then he suddenly turned, seized the poster, savagely tore it into pieces, hurled the pieces to the floor, and stamped upon them. Then he turned again to the silent crowd, his face inflamed,

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