"Let him shoot me!" cried Eve desperately. "Why stop at that when you've done everything else?"
Redmain laughed. "Now I'll show you what will happen to the Leverage crew if any of them ever fire on my outfit again!" He spoke softly over his shoulder. A burst of shots crashed out. Eve turned her head away. Then the renegades were racing off, leaving Leverage's saddle stock slaughtered in the yard.
A half hour later Redmain, deep in the Copperhead country, halted and gave his horses a chance to blow. A part of the bunch threw themselves down as soon as they lighted. Redmain, cagy and aloof, went on to an isolated point and kept his seat. Presently a newcomer emerged from the west and rode along to Red-main's covert.
"Well?" challenged Redmain.
"Not much doubt about it. If he wasn't killed outright in Tom's Hole, then he died after they lugged him home. I crawled on my stummick till I had sight of the whole D Slash premises. They buried him just a little bit ago. I saw the coffin go down and the earth cover it up."
Redmain nodded and called out to Dann. "Come on." So the cavalcade strung after him, this time posting north through the rugged defiles bordering the river, verging toward Sundown. Redmain's glance began to reach ahead more impatiently. And abruptly he lifted an arm by way of signal. The column halted. An inconspicuous little man with swarthy features had been standing athwart the trail in an attitude of long waiting. He came up promptly.
"I was about to conclude," said he, "you wasn't goin' to make it."
"I do what I say I'll do," jerked out Redmain morosely. "Sing your piece."
"I was told to tell yuh," recited the little man tonelessly, "that the Association busted up without no decision. The vigilantes idee ain't goin' to be carried on. Nobody wants the job of runnin' it. The little fellers won't join in. So the big fellers have decided to organize their own ridin' committees to cover their own ranges—nothin' more'n that."
Malicious satisfaction dawned on Redmain's face. "So I split 'em up. Just what I wanted to do. Anything else?"
"I was told to tell yuh to use yore judgment fer a few days."
"I reckon I'm in the habit of doin' that pretty well," remarked Redmain dryly and somewhat irritably.
The swarthy messenger cast a sidewise glance at Dann. "Steers has published his intention of goin' after yuh, Dann. He stood in Grogan's and called you a number of names. He challenged yuh to meet him anywhere, any time."
"Small potatoes," jeered Dann. "He figgers he's safe in cussin' a man that ain't able to come out in the daylight and meet him. And say, how does he know I kicked Denver over? That's what I want to know."
"It's the dope around Sundown," added the messenger.
"News seems to get published awful sudden," grunted Dann. "To hell with Steers. I ain't worried about him."
Redmain's silence began to be oppressive. He had his eyes fixed calculatingly on Dann. Presently he spoke up. "That's an idea. Why not?"
"Why not what?" Dann wanted to know.
"Go get him."
Dann turned defiant. "Yore runnin' this outfit, ain't yuh? Why don't yuh do yore own shootin' once in a while? Have I got to do all of it?"
"Afraid of Steers?" asked Redmain softly.
Dann jumped at the bait. "You know better'n that, Lou! I'm afraid of nobody that walks!"
"Considerable territory," observed Redmain in the same cool and cutting manner. "For instance, you sound like you might be includin' me. Which of course you don't mean, do you, Dann?"
Dann held Redmain's eyes until his own turned bloodshot. The messenger shifted uneasily. Redmain smiled with his lips. "You didn't include me, did you, Dann?"
Dann shifted. "Let it go," he grunted and found an excuse to look at his feet. "If yuh really want me to go get Steers—"
"I do. Go after him. Choose your time and your ground. But get him. I want Yellow Hill to understand that I hear all these challenges and that I call all bluffs. I mean to make it so this county won't dare speak about me above a whisper. Go get him."
He turned to the swarthy messenger and studied him in cool detachment. The latter felt himself being dismissed and without another word rode off. Redmain waited for a few moments and took up his talk again with Dann.
"There's more to it. You'll create a sort of side show while I'm up in the hills plannin' somethin' else. There's one more big play comin' up. One more smash this country's goin' to suffer from me. They tried to lick me—and couldn't. Now they figger to let me alone. And they can't do that either. They went too far. I remember every slight, every insult. I got all that down on the books, and I intend to pay off. What did they do to the Wells? Destroyed it! All right. I am going to destroy Sundown, Dann! And then ride out of the country!"
"When?" was Dann's swift question.
"Never mind. You'll know soon enough. Get on your horse and pull out. You've got the next three-four days to find Steers and maneuver him into position. I'll be up in the country above Sundown—out of sight and out of mind."
Dann turned back, got his horse, and rode west into the timber. Redmain watched him go, a flare of cruelty on the triangular face. He had told Dann two reasons for going after Steers; but he had not told Dann the third reason. In short, he wanted Dann to be shot down. The big man was becoming too dangerous, too boastful, too much of a malcontent. He might infect the others, he might turn treacherous. Steers, of course, was not as good a shot as Dann, but once the big outlaw was sent off alone he was apt to get foolish and betray himself—and be trapped. In any event, Redmain meant the man should never return to the party. If he did return he would never so much as get off his horse. Thus definitely did Redmain erase Stinger Dann from his plans. He signaled to the outfit and led away. The column vanished through the green thicket.
WHEN A MAN THINKS
For a dead man, Dave Denver exhibited singular symptoms. He lay on his bed at D Slash, a row of pillows propped to either side. His head was encased in an enormous ball of bandages that ran from crown to chest and exposed only a bruised nose, a cut mouth, and a pair of rebellious eyes. One of his arms was splinted all the way down, and nothing showed but the tips of his fingers; and at present he twiddled them one at a time, meanwhile muttering something about Sweet Adeline in a cracked voice. This was an innovation; he hadn't tried it during the preceding two days, but a man flat on his back will try anything once. Sometimes the results are gratifying. In this instance it brought Lyle Bonnet into the room on a dead run.
"What's the matter, Dave?"
Denver didn't turn his head. He couldn't turn his head. But he broke off singing. "Nothing! Why all the lather?"
"Great guns!" snorted Bonnet. "I heard yuh a-groanin' and a- sobbin' and I thought yuh had a spasm."
"I was singing. No law against it."
"No-o," reflected Bonnet. "That is, not for actual bona-fide singin'. Was I you, I believe I'd whistle instead."
"Oh, all right," muttered Dave fretfully. "I just wanted to see if my chest was in order. I guess it is. See them fingers? I can move 'em. Nothin' busted down there. Wish Doc would come. I want to get the verdict on