In the narrowing interval of time he debated giving the fellow a warning. He decided against it. This was war and the man had elected to kill in the meanest way known to the West. "Moreover," reflected Charterhouse, "if I sing out, he's apt to rise up and take a pot shot anyhow and run like hell, leaving me treed and openly suspected of being some help to him. No, can't be done. Good-by, brother."
Clint had his sights true on the man and the slack of the trigger taken up. From the corner of his eye he saw Nickum, Heck Seastrom and Haggerty come into the open, single file. Haggerty's face twitched aside, staring across the draw; after that Charterhouse saw nothing but the hidden killer. His breath stopped; he squeezed. A smash of sound beat over tree and rock and the clear air rang with the splitting fragments of the echo. The ambusher jumped once, and never moved again. Haggerty had thrown himself out of the saddle to the ground and was firing point-blank at the rocks, emptying his gun with a certain heedlessness. Seastrom and Nickum were still mounted, but they had swung around and were opening up more coolly.
"Get down!" yelled Haggerty. "He's trying to pot you! Same spot they got your son, John! Get down outa the sky!"
"Not for any Shander rat in the world!" boomed Nickum. Heck Seastrom had fired two shots with careful intent and lowered his gun.
"He's done," he called calmly. "I can see the front end of his rifle tipped down. Yeah, there's his head, flopped against the rock. We got him. Get up, Haggerty, you don't have to eat all the dirt off the trail."
Haggerty rose, squinting over the canyon. He had lost his hat, and Charterhouse had a fair chance to see the sour, sullen glare of the Box M's foreman's face as it turned from point to point. "May be more of 'em," he grunted.
"Then mebbe you had better fall on your belly again," retorted Seastrom.
"I'll take no more of that from you!" bellowed Haggerty. He squared himself at Seastrom. "Seems to me you're taking this affair some calm. Might be a reason for it."
"What would you judge?" drawled Seastrom.
"Mebbe you already knew the bullet wouldn't be for you!"
Seastrom reached for his papers indolently. "In other words, I knew this was a frame to get the boss, uh? To be plumb plain, I'm working for Box M but wearing Shander's britches?"
"I'll let you state the case," droned Haggerty. "You do it with a slick enough tongue."
"A-huh," Seastrom poured himself a smoke. "Brother Haggerty, you don't like me, and I don't like you. If we wasn't working for the same boss, we'd sure as fate tangle. As it is, you range louse, don't ever open your trap to me that way again or just let you try that trick gun flip you've been practicing the last year. Pull in that vinegar mug and keep still."
"You boys," broke in Nickum sharply, "cut that out. I'll have no fighting in my outfit. What in hell makes you two so cagey? Quit spitting like a couple of puff adders. You had no call to make those remarks, Haggerty. We were just foolish to walk into the same trap my son did. It won't happen again. That piece of skunk bait missed his shot—"
Charterhouse had meanwhile slipped quietly down the tree and ridden his horse to the edge of the trees. He cut into the conversation casually. "Mister Nickum, he never fired a shot. I plugged him from the top of that tree."
Haggerty whirled and let his arm half-fall toward his gun butt. Nickum boomed at his foreman and stopped the threat of gun- play, himself riding between the two. His ruddy face swept Charterhouse and then tilted to the pine tips. "You shot, uh? Let's see your gun."
Charterhouse lifted the rifle and passed it over. Nickum threw open the breech, saw the empty shell spin out, and put his nose down against the chamber. He handed it back with stiff courtesy.
"How in hell did we misjudge the sound of that bullet? It must have been pretty close. What's more important, how did you know about this business, friend?"
"Simple answer to that," drawled Charterhouse, catching Seastrom's friendly wink. "After your efficient foreman told me to get off Box M range I ran into a house yonder for the night. Shander's house. Overheard a few things and made my departure, having to borrow one of his horses sort of sudden. So I thought I'd come back to see how the play ran out."
"I'd be an ungrateful pup if I failed to make my due thanks to you," stated Nickum gruffly. "Why didn't you stop us up in the timber instead of doing it this way?"
"You think you would have believed my yarn?" challenged Charterhouse. "Not in a pig's eyes. You'd of burnt my nose again, and I'm getting kind of sensitive on the smeller."
Nickum's florid cheeks took on a deeper flush, yet the unerring instinct for justice made him admit Charter-house's reasoning. "I reckon you have plenty of right to believe us uncharitable in judgment. Though you have got to admit nobody can afford to be overfriendly at a time like this. I will ask you to accept my apologies."
"Took, and we will consider the thing squared all around," said Charterhouse, a little embarrassed. He had nourished a healthy dislike of Nickum but now found he could not support it against such bluff fairness. Seastrom was on his stomach at the edge of the draw, peering at the rocks on the far side. Haggerty stood a few yards removed, small eyes never leaving Charterhouse, catching every move of muscle and every change of features. He seemed like a man poised for either attack or flight.
"That's a Mexican yonder," called Seastrom.
"Shander's got plenty of 'em to waste," was Nickum's blunt retort. "I don't exactly get this, Charterhouse. Since you considered yourself injured by Box M, what made you lend a hand like this?"
"I guess that's the kind of a damn fool I am," grunted Charterhouse. "Never did like to see a crook rig up a killing against a straight man. Sort of goes against the grain. But you've got a right to complain at my horning in without an invite."
"Complain, hell," said Nickum. "I'm here to offer apologies for what happened at Studd's. I'd admire to see you on my ranch. How about it?"
"Hold on, boss," intervened Haggerty. "This might be one of Shander's stunts. I'd be mighty careful about hiring the gent."
"I'll take the chance and I'll do the worrying for Box M," stated Nickum impatiently.
"If I'm foreman of your outfit, my word ought to count some," insisted Haggerty with a sullen twitch of his mouth. "Dammit, I don't like this man and I don't want to work with him."
Nickum's frosty glance remained an uncomfortably long time on Haggerty. "I never had a better foreman, Driver. You're a good man. But I will observe you seem mighty skittish lately. You've lost your grip on that bad temper, and I don't approve of it. I'm expecting you to work with the crew, not fight 'em. That applies to Charterhouse—if he takes my offer."
"I don't hone to stir up bad blood on a ranch," said Charterhouse thoughtfully.
Nickum shrugged his shoulders. "You're the doctor. But I'll suggest something. You've got a Shander horse under you, and he's apt to make a charge of stealing out of it, just to provoke a fight. You'd better keep your skirts clean. Ride into Angels with me and turn the brute over to Studd. I'll stand you to another animal."
"Angels ain't such a safe place for you, considering Shander's intentions."
Nickum doubled his fist. "The yellow dog ain't got the brass to fight me in the daylight! I'll ride into Angels—and out of it again!"
"Let's go, then," said Charterhouse and put his pony on the trail. Haggerty paired off with Nickum quickly, as if to stop further talk between the two, and this move brought Seastrom back beside Charterhouse. So they rode on along the open country and down the slope toward Casabella's county seat. Seastrom