Typical bachelor's quarters. The dead Hamby had spent very little time in housekeeping. A long row of nails stretched around the walls from which hung most everything capable of being suspended. A pine table, a bunk, a chair, and a stove well filled the place. All there was of food stood on the table and Lilly saw at a glance that the nestcr had allowed himself to get very low before venturing to town. The man must have understood his danger and put off the trip as long as possible. The thought revived Lilly's sulphurous anger and on sight of a riflc hanging above the doorway he walked over and took it down, sliding the bolt thoughtfully.
"Well, old fellow, I sure can't help you any, but I can show this JIB crew a few things about land rights."
That reminded him he meant to pay a visit. So, after watering his horse from the spring at the rear of the shanty and eating a can of cold beans, he swung up and rode east. Somewhere beyond the grassy ridges was the JIB home quarters. What he meant to do was state his intentions to the so-called octopus and withdraw. After that it was a case of listening for the thunder to roll across the sky.
He smiled grimly at the thought of turning nester. Twenty-four hours before he would have taken the idea in great and unbelieving humor. Why, he hardly ever turned around unless on the back of a horse. And as for struggling behind the handles of a plow—"Joe Breedlove shore would laugh," he murmured, closing his eyes against the glare of the day. "Oh, I know I'm hot-headed. It's been proved plenty times enough. But, by the Lord, that shootin' would make a wooden Indian cuss. If this ain't a free land it's high time somebody changed things."
And as he was thus plunged deep in a study he crossed a ridge and saw the many buildings of the JIB ranch stretched before him. The place took him back forty years to the time of the Indian wars. Once upon a time there had been a stockade stretched around the place, an occasional mark of which still was visible. Within this stockade they had built the dozen or so houses in the shape of a square, with the main house sitting in the middle of the great yard thus formed. All were built of logs and the center house, a single storied structure sixty feet long, had elbows built at each corner with rifle embrasures cut through; atop a sod roof a cupola likewise hewn of logs commanded all angles of the yard. A porch ran the length of the place, upon which at intervals opened heavy oak doors.
Men moved slowly about. Dust rose out of a remote corral and a horse sunfished upward through the haze with a man weaving perilously in the saddle. At another corner several Indians seemed busy around a fire. As Lilly drew rein before the main house he was hailed by a rumbling voice.
"Sit an' light."
Tom had to look around a pine pillar to see the man, and at once knew him to be the redoubtable Jim Breck. He was sprawled in a chair, his massive body overflowing it—a body that even with the accumulated layers of fat displayed something of the tremendous muscles that once must have stretched across the shoulders. The head was square and seemed hewn out of so much granite, each feature chiseled roughly and generously. The Octopus, someone had called him. Well, it was a good nickname. Even so Lilly was not prepared exactly for the rest of the picture. Here was an old man, a sick man; one who sat very still and listened to the sound of his own heart as it labored toward the end of its journey. A gray, dust-like pallor was on the face and the lips were almost colorless; a strange and depressing spectacle of a mighty frame going to pieces. Still, there was fire in those grim eyes. It flashed out now, fitfully.
"Come out o' the sun, young man. We'll eat shortly."
At this moment an ancient, skinny Indian slipped around the corner of the house and reached for Lilly's reins.
"No, I don't believe I will, thanks. It ain't right to traffic on a man's hospitality. I take it yore Jim Breck. Such bein' the case I don't reckon I could eat comfortable at your table."
One mighty shoulder rose and fell. "Knew somethin' was itchin' you when I saw you comin' over the rise. Say it, younker."
"I'm settlin' on the three-sixty over at the spring. I aim to stay, notwithstandin' yore foreman. Just wanted to declare myself."
Jim Breck sat motionless, his eyes exploring Lilly. After a long interval he answered almost gently. "The fightin' kind, ain't you? Somethin's roused yore sense o' justice. But it's too late, Red. They's a nester on that place now. A fellow by the name o' Hamby."
Tom shook his head. "Yore foolin' me, Mister Breck. You ought to know better."
"What's that?" asked Breck with an increase of energy.
"Yore foreman bullied him into a fight. Shot him dead." Lilly was unable to keep the anger from his words. "About as dirty a piece o' work as I've seen in my time. Don't you draw the line at anything?"
"So," muttered Breck. His chin fell forward and he fumbled in his pocket for a cigar. He looked wistfully at it, then with a defiant gesture put it in his mouth. "So that's got you excited. Hornin' in on another party's misfortune. 'Tain't a safe game, son. But yore kind don't care about playin' safe. Reckon you've got me gauged as a hop toad, eh?"
"Yore reputation is on public record," said Tom.
"Well, that's so," murmured Breck in a gentle voice. "But I was raised in a hard school. Had to fight my way. Don't this ranch look like it was built to stand siege? If you observe them logs you'll see bullet marks a-plenty."
"That ain't no answer for shootin' a nester."
Fire gleamed in the eyes again. "Mebbee 'tain't. When a man gets to the end o' the road an' looks back he sees plenty things different than he used to. Well, I like yore spunk. I could shorely use a fighter on this ranch. Want a job?"
"No," said Lilly. "I'm obliged, but that's not my politics. The world ain't goin' to be large enough for Trono an' me, let alone a ranch. Anyhow, I'm camped off yonder an' I wanted to let you know."
"Pleased to know a man's real feelin's," agreed Breck. He started to add something, but was interrupted. A door opened and a woman's voice broke in. "Dad, are you disobeying the doctor? You give me that cigar."
"Damn the pill peddler," muttered Breck, irritably. "If I got to die, I got to die. But I'm goin' to have a leetle fun."
Lilly turned in the saddle and without knowing just why, removed his hat. She was a girl of perhaps eighteen or twenty; a sturdy supple figure dressed in riding clothes. In the shadow of the porch her eyes glowed and there was a rose-pink color on her cheeks. She took the cigar from her father in a quick, defensive movement "You won't help yourself, so I must treat you like a baby." Then she saw Lilly and a smile flashed out. Her black eyes passed from man to man and the quick, open-handed hospitality of the West prompted her to speak to the newcomer. "Won't you stop for dinner?"
"I'm han'somely pleased," said Lilly, "but I've got to get back to my place."
"You live near here?" she asked, puzzled.
"Yes'm. I'm taking up the homestead by the spring."
He saw friendliness vanish and resentment spring up.
Old Jim Breck's chuckle followed him away from the place and far along the road home.
"Spitfire," he murmured. "She's got every bit of her daddy's temper. But, by Godfrey, she's pretty! Now look what I'm into."
The rest of the journey was made in heavy silence. This meeting had greatly puzzled him. If Breck were so heavy-handed, why hadn't the man challenged him on the spot? Instead he'd been offered a job. Was the Octopus the kind that spoke softly and struck in the dark? This affair was getting complicated and that was a fact. There was only one thing he could depend on for a certainty—Theed Trono's outright enmity.
Back on the porch, Jill Breck spoke her mind. "He certainly has got his nerve riding deliberately over here to tell us that. Did he mean, Dad, he was going in with Hamby?"
"Hamby