Honoré Willsie

“ But the maverick bull he could not find.
He had no other young bull so promising in his herd. He felt sure that unless coyotes had finished the brute, he could be traced. Yet it was a large and lonely task to which the young rider had set himself. Ash Creek country was big country. Blue range lifting beyond blue range, snow-choked valley opening into drifted cañon. A man could maintain a secret coral for months at a time, and for many days Greg's search was fruitless. ”

“ DEATH PEAK, except for its one clump of cedars, was entirely arid. In the summer its strange, barren orange ribs distinguished it from all the other mountains. Cattle never wandered there. Men avoided it; for it offered neither hunting nor range. The wind had swept the west slope clear of snow so there was no great delay in reaching the lone cedars. Greg left Two-hits here and followed the coyote trail down through the drifts to the south. ”

“ Furs is worth their weight in gold."
"Range is getting scarce between the homesteaders and the sheep-men and there ain't the money there was in cattle," agreed Greg.
"The sheep-men make money," suggested the trapper.
"They won't in this valley. We'd have run Dick Benton out as sure as he ever put a flockin his corral."
"That's the way a good many folks feel, I guess," nodded the trapper.
"Cow business is still good enough for me," Greg went on. "When I get my herd together, I'll try to raise me enough money to build my cabin and I'll go in for all it's worth." ”

“ The trapper refilled his pipe. "I know a guy that has some money to invest. He might take a mortgage from you or even better."
Greg's face was expressionless. "Money is awful hard to raise now."
"I know that But this guy has big interests. Made his money in cattle and is always glad to help out a cattleman. And it's to the cattlemen's interests to stand together against the sheep-men."
"Well"—Greg tapped Two-bits with a spur—"come round to the sheep wagon some evening and we'll talk." ”

“ Newt held the bottle carefully to the baby's mouth. She gurgled, gulped and the screaming ceased. "I don't see why you want to shoot him. Let the law have its maligners. He'll suffer more."
"I can warp it to him worse than the law. Start for the corral where you shot Dick Benton, Willy," ordered Greg.
"Better have some breakfast first," suggested Newt hospitably. "Say, this baby's got blue eyes, like Mary's. Better let me keep her, Greg. She will be right dissocial with you when she's big enough to know you shot her daddy." ”

“ He is about two years old, out of that little Jersey heifer of mine and that old bull, Commodore, who Willy claims froze early in December. The maverick was born about two months after dad died, according to Aunty Ames."
"I ain't got him. Ain't a bull in this herd. You caruse off'n this ranch, Greg Alvord."
"Didn't you know the maverick, Newt? Come now; don't you go on lying to me like the rest of 'em! Why, man, I've only been able to collect five hundred of my herd so far. I tell you, I'm going to shoot this valley up if somebody don't loosen up pretty soon." ”

“ You're just too stingy and ornery, Willy, to let your wife have Aunty Ames when the baby comes."
"Aw, all the men in Ash Creek aren't rough with their wives," protested Greg.
"Show me one that's more than half-way decent!" snapped the postmaster. Then without waiting for an answer, he lifted his reins and started at a trot toward home. Greg followed him.
THE killing of Dick Benton was of course the seven days' horror and wonder of Ash Creek. It almost submerged the interest in Greg Alvord's search for the herd. No trace was found of the murderer, and an ugly half-suspicion rested on Greg. ”

“ Greg patted her hand. "Don't get excited, little girl! Well, folks, I guess the party's over. Out we go to find the guy that's getting the killing-habit."
The younger Tupper girl, whom the raisin-jack had made very ill, began to cry with deep-drawn sobs: "I'm afraid to go home! I'm afraid to go home!"
"No need of you family men going out," said the postmaster. "They's enough of us bachelors to gum all the tracks in Ash Creek." ”

“ The old man threw a mail-order catalog against a package of eggs. "Nothing's eating me. I'm just getting a warning off my chest. I knowed Clarissa Hackett's mother. I'd have married her if she hadn't thought Hackett was a better man than me. And if she'd lived, I believe Clarissa'd be alive and decent to-day. At least as decent as man, woman or child can be a hundred miles from civilization."
The group about the stove spat and was silent. The postmaster, little, vitriolic with a mysterious past, said what he wished in Ash Creek.
Finally Greg jerked his handsome head. ”

“ Greg recognized the tramp-trapper's voice.
"No, it ain't. And I can't keep suspicion all on Greg Alvord much longer. I'm through."
"Well, I guess we've finished the job, anyhow. Folks down at the post-office to-day seemed to realize finally that Mormons that talked sheep-raising hadn't any chance in this valley. Don't you worry about price. The bunch that's coming to drive sheep-herding out of the cattle country can pay the price, and if you are caught they'll never let you hang. I'm through here but for one thing. Folks has got to get the idea of what Benton and Young was killed for. ”

“ They work much harder than the men. Is all the cow country like that?"
Before Greg could reply to this somewhat difficult question, the door swung open and once more the lamp blew out. Newt Jonas stood in the square of moonlight.
"Another killing!" he shouted above the music. "They done disponed of Art Young!"
Silence for a moment; then the postmaster exclaimed, "Who found him?"
"I did," replied Newt. "I was late to the party because I had to take some beef up to Willy Archer's, and I tried to take a short cut through Parker's draw and my horse stepped on him and reared and throwed me. ”

“ To any but a cowman of the mountains, the trip would have been hazardous in the extreme. The little cañon was in shadow, except where, far below, the moon shone on on bottomless cliffs. To the left was the wall of the mountain, icy and dim. The cold was intense. ”

“ Greg came to a full stop.
"You better get out of this country," he heard Willy say. "You ain't got everybody jaked to think you're a tramp trapper. And I ain't going to do any more gun-work for you either. ”

“ But the search was of no avail, and dark suspicion again hovered about Greg, who had fought bitterly and publicly with Artie over the matter of the maverick bull. Greg was away from home on the hunt for two days. When he came back to the sheep wagon, he started his fire going, then went to the corral to feed a fresh milch cow. ”