For Rand was a man who attracted the interest of every woman who saw him. The man's strong face; the cold confidence that he exuded; the brooding, passionate gleam of his eyes — all those unusual and visible signs of character could not fail to intrigue a woman's curiosity.
They had even impressed Compton! For despite his hatred of the man, Compton recognized him as a worthy antagonist. And beneath Compton's hatred was a respect — vague and reluctant, but undoubtedly sincere.
With jealousy raging within him — his face hideous with the reflection of it — Compton followed the trail taken by Rand on the morning the latter had ridden to Ocate to meet Kinney.
Compton's reflections were as bitter as the expression on his face. For he felt that Rand was an interloper.
During the three years that he had owned the Two Link, Compton had listened to Seddon's praises of his daughter until he had felt that he knew the girl. And Seddon had given him the girl's photograph.
Compton had studied the picture until the desire to possess her had grown acute, a passion that had laid its gripping yearning upon his soul. And on the day, sitting in the chair on the porch of the Bar S ranchhouse, he had seen her riding toward him, he had felt that he had known her during the years of her absence from the Bar S.
But even before her home-coming he had been jealous of Rand. He had been afraid of Rand, afraid that when Eleanor saw the Three Bar man there would be little chance for himself. That jealousy was what had made him hate Rand at first sight; it was his jealousy which had made him continue to hate the man; it was that passion which had made him so eager to bring about Rand's death through the instrumentality of Kinney, the gun-fighter ; the same passion had led him to spread the story which had linked Rand's name to the robberies and the cattle-rustling incidents which had occurred within the past two or three years.
And the thing he had feared had come to pass — Eleanor Seddon was interested in Rand. And Rand had succeeded in escaping the meshes of every plot that had been laid to trap him.
Compton rode through the immense basin in which Rand had come upon Larry Redfern. Compton knew the Three Bar outfit was in the basin with the Three Bar cattle, for he had seen men and cattle from the edge of the mesa from which Rand had viewed them on the morning he had gone to town to meet Kinney.
Compton, however, had no intention of conversing with the Three Bar men, for he hated them all with something of the same fervor with which he hated their employer. But when, traveling the trail that wound its way through the basin, he came upon Larry Redfern, riding toward him, on his way to join some of the Three Bar men far out in the basin, he returned Larry's grinning nod with a curt wave of the hand.
He was about to ride on, and was passing within a dozen feet of Larry when, noting the scowl on Compton's face, and yielding to one of those jocose impulses which sometimes moved him, Larry spoke:
"I reckon the Bar S is gettin' a heap popular."
Compton halted his horse and wheeled it, facing Larry. The rage which had seethed in Compton's veins since leaving the Bar S was in his eyes as he looked at Larry; a pallid sneer was wreathing his face; his voice was dry and light and venomous.
"Just what are you getting at, Redfern?" he asked slowly.
There was a grin on Larry's face. At first it had been an amused grin, now it was mirthless. For he saw in Compton's eyes the terrible rage that had gripped the man; he saw that his joking words had aroused Compton to a bitter frenzy.
And yet in Larry's eyes was no fear. He ceased to grin, but in his eyes, as they met and held Compton's, was a glint of knowledge, an alertness, and a humorous malice.
"I'm meanin' there's a heap of suitors clutterin' up the Bar S trail. I'm thinkin' of gettin' into the game myself."
"Fresh, eh?" said Compton sneeringly. He pulled his horse around so that his right side was hidden from Larry, so that the Three Bar man could not see his right hand, lingering close to the butt of his pistol.
But Larry did not need to see those things; he saw the light in Compton's eyes, and his own chilled, as with a lightning movement he drew his six-shooter and rested it on the pommel of his saddle, its muzzle frowning at Compton.
"Riled, eh?" mocked Larry; "meditatin' real venomous, you was, you locoed rummy! You're thinkin' I was born yesterday, eh — a flea-bitten pup!"
"Your guessin' is plumb ridiculous! You don't reckon I'm goin' to let no sneakin' coyote like you shoot me? There's one thing I always do when I run across a poison sneak like you, an' that's to start gettin' ready a heap early!
"An' now I'm continuin' my remarks about the Bar S. I'm takin' back what I said about it bein' popular — for you. It ain't. Rand's got you coppered to lose. An' Miss Seddon ain't home to you." He grinned hugely. "She ain't home to nobody — looks like. For nearly every day I see her scuffin' up the top of that ridge above the river, hittin' the trail to the Three Bar. That's what's botherin' you, eh?" he added as Compton's lips went into a sullen pout.
"Well, you an' Rand fight it out; an' don't you go to resentin' my sweet words on the subject, an' tryin' to sling your gun on me when I ain't expectin' it, or I'll sure bust you some! You mosey, now, before I get my temper mixed up with the trigger of this gun! Git, you coyote!"
Compton wheeled his horse and rode onward, not looking back.
When he reached the edge of the mesa he halted to breathe his horse, and saw, far back on the floor of the basin, Larry still sitting on his horse, watching.
Compton rode into Ocate, dismounting in front of the sheriff's office. Later, he talked with Webster, and still later he strode down the street to the Gilt Edge. The bitter mood still enduring, he drank much at the bar, and later played cards with some of his friends in the rear room. And about midnight he had another talk with Lucia Morell.
Early the next morning he rode northward, accompanied by Kinney, whose hand was healing rapidly.
The Two Link ranch was several miles northeastward from town; and the morning was still young when Compton and Kinney rode up to the gate of the horse corral and dismounted.
Several men who were draped on benches in front of the bunkhouse watched the approach of Compton and Kinney with interested glances. And as Compton dismounted and came toward them, Kinney closely following, the men whispered to one another. One of them laughed lowly. All watched Kinney with an intentness which indicated much speculation.
There were six of the men — evil-eyed, reckless-looking fellows, bepistoled, spurred, and attired in rigging that was rather more picturesque than that affected by other range men of their kind — and when Kinney came close to them he felt that between them and himself was a kindred spirit. He grinned widely, and the smiles that answered his effort were as significant of knowledge as his own.
"This is Slim Kinney, boys," was Compton's presentation of his companion. "He's one of the gang, now." He grinned with cold mirth at the men. "I suppose 'Lefty' Morgan told you about that gun fracas Kinney had with Rand in town. Well," and he fixed them all with a sardonic glance, "don't go to razzing Kinney about him freezing like a statue and getting his finger busted. There ain't a damned one of you got nerve enough to run in with Rand. And so you don't need to josh Kinney about anything."
Noting that the men flushed at his reference to Rand, Compton laughed lowly. "It's hell when a man who has never plugged a man for keeps can bluff a whole damned outfit, ain't it?"
There was no answer, and Compton fixed his gaze upon a tall man with a truculent eye, who sat a little apart from the others.
"Nothing new?" he inquired.
"Nope," said the other; "we was waitin' for you to show up." He grinned, one corner of his mouth drooping with extravagant nonchalance.
"We got a bunch of mavericks holed up in Red Rock basin. We ain't aimin' to run them north until you give the word."
"Whose