He listened attentively, however, the lines of his face growing grim and his eyes glowing with passion, while Rand related what he had heard from Lucia Morell.
"Hell's fire!" he broke out when Rand concluded. "It's time for a clean-up! Look here, Rand," he added, "you leave this to me an' the boys!"
"Was you thinkin' I was gettin' ready to leave the country?" Rand's smile was a mixture of amusement and bitterness. "Oh, don't," he added.
Redfern looked downward, not meeting his employer's gaze, which would have confused and embarrassed him. For Redfern knew as well as Rand that the rules of conduct in this country forbade what he had proposed. Rand must not seek to evade a meeting with the gunfighter. For Seddon, Compton, and Webster would not hesitate to disseminate the news of his refusal. And he could not plead ignorance as an excuse, for Seddon knew he was aware of the plot that had been made to trap him — and he knew that if he failed to go alone to Ocate, Seddon would talk.
However, there was no desire in his mind to escape a meeting with Kinney. From the instant he had heard the news from Lucia Morell, he had known that he would go to Ocate with the deliberate purpose of meeting Kinney. Upon one point only was his mind unsettled, and that was concerning his treatment of the gunfighter.
And he could not decide — for the coldly furious yearning in his heart to slay the man was opposed by a recollection of the gentle precepts of his mother's teaching. He knew he was going to Ocate, and he knew also that he would not decide the question that was in his mind until he was face to face with the gunfighter.
Redfern did not answer, and Rand's smile, as he looked at the other's averted face, was eloquent with gratitude and understanding. When Rand was in his present mood his face bore a strong resemblance to the woman of the photograph at which he often gazed — there was the same luminous softness of the eyes, with a yearning wistful-ness gleaming far back in them.
It was an expression that Redfern had never seen, for Redfern's back had always received it. Face to face with his friend, Rand always masked the expression with cynicism and heavy tolerance.
"So you was thinkin' I'd run out of my responsibilities, eh?" he gibed when at last Redfern turned. "When did I ever give you any sign that I'd turn yellow?"
Redfern grinned guiltily, for he knew from Rand's tone that he had divined the sentiment that was behind his proffer of assistance. Yet no more than Rand did he permit his words to indicate the state of his feelings.
"You're a plumb damn fool!" he declared gruffly. "Slim Kinney's the slickest gunman in this part of the country. He'll salivate you!"
"There's a chance, of course," said Rand gravely. "I reckon that's why I took it into my head to gas to you about it. I've heard of Slim Kinney—an' I know his tricks. Now, knowin' his tricks, or not, if my guns would snag, or I'd miss them when I go after them, why, it's dead certain Bud wouldn't have no dad any more."
He looked straight at Redfern, his smile grave. Redfern scowled, for it seemed to him that there was a presentiment of evil in Rand's heart. Redfern's breath labored in his lungs with the constriction that seemed to be there. But even though he divined that this might be a final parting with his friend, he could not let him know of the affection he felt.
"What you gettin' at?" he demanded gruffly.
"Why, shucks," said Rand, with a smile which told that he was not fooled by Redfern's manner, "it comes to this: If Kinney gets me, you'll have to be Bud's dad. An' I'm askin' you to take good care of him — an' don't let Seddon come near him!"
Redfern started, and his eyes gleamed with the dawning of an amazed understanding.
"Hell's fire!" he exclaimed. "Is Seddon —"
Rand grinned. He wheeled, climbed into the saddle, and set his face toward Ocate. Ten feet from Redfern — who stood rigid, his hands clenched, his glowing eyes reflecting emotions — that could not be expressed in speech — Rand flung" over his shoulder a curt "So-long."
He looked back — furtively and swiftly—when he reached the crest of a far rise, and saw Redfern standing at a little distance from his horse, watching him.
Rand's jaws set, he smiled with ineffable gentleness, and rode onward, toward town.
Chapter X. Kinney Makes Ready
HALF an hour later, when Midnight scrambled to the crest of a long rise and was brought to a halt at the edge of a great level which swept away in three directions into a distance so vast that the eye ached in an effort to comprehend it, Ocate lay before horse and rider.
Ocate snuggled a little timber clump that skirted the bank of a shallow arroyo which trickled water over its rock bottom the year through, and from the distance at which Rand now viewed the town it seemed to be no more than a dingy blot upon the calm surface of an emerald sea. Later the green would change to a dusty brown, and the bare sand stretches would show white and dry; the desert weeds would droop; the grass would curl wearily, discouraged; and the dry, light, feathery alkali dust would contest with the hideous cacti for supremacy.
But spring reigned now. And yet it was not to fill his senses with the beauty of the picture that lay behind him that Rand twisted in the saddle and looked back. For it was not the first time he had gazed into the basin from this vantage point.
Disclosed to his view was a vast world of virgin land, its farther reaches hazy in the distance where some thrusting hills met the azure horizon; a shimmering green world, mighty and vast and silent. Through it all ran a silver ribbon of water—a sinuous trail, as though some giant serpent had passed.
Like a mighty map it lay, with its hills and other elevations in high relief; its depressions dark; its trees dwarfed to the size of bushes by the height from which Rand viewed them; its huge bowlders and rock spires seeming like pebbles.
Over it all was a slumbering peace — like that which must have encompassed the world upon the first dawn of its creation.
Straining his eyes, shading them with a hand, Rand could dimly discern the outfit wagon and the herd of cattle dotting the floor of the basin. He was not sure — until he saw movement near the outfit wagon; and then he knew Redfern was waving something at him in final parting. He smiled faintly and rode on—for he had seen w T hat he wanted to see.
And now, as Rand urged Midnight forward, his face grew hard, his eyes malignant, his thoughts wanton and abysmal. In sharp, amazing contrast to the gentle cynicism — a mask for his real emotions when talking with Redfern — he now yielded to the ruthless, destroying passions that had seized him; and for a long time, as he rode forward, they seethed and raged through him.
All his life he had fought those violent passions, but never had he fought them as hard as he was fighting them now. For until now no man had provoked him as the men waiting for him in town had provoked him. They had planned this thing deliberately, with murderous intent, with a cunning that must have resulted in victory for them had it not been for Lucia Morell.
It was this knowledge which had aroused him; which had fired his blood — the Rand blood, his father's legacy — to the point of violent, unrecking action. And he knew that when he faced "Slim" Kinney in town he would kill him, if he could.
He knew that he could not hope to fight the blood-lust longer, for it had conquered him. He knew it! For the face of his father appeared before him now — as he remembered it, and as it appeared in the photograph that adorned the wall at the Three Bar. And the cruel eyes were glowing with approval and silent applause — and Rand smiled at the mental picture—smiled, his lips curving with a bitter sneer — a sneer for all good impulses; a visible flouting of the gospel of goodwill; in the sneer was contempt for all men who advocated repression; for those who supinely submit to the aggressions of their enemies. And, also, it was a sneer for his mother's memory and for the doctrine of gentleness she had preached.
For