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him by Dud. He could verify the truth of the supposition. Mort Harper had been
behind Collins. It worried him, and his loyalty, already shaken by inadequate
leadership, found itself on uncertain ground.
On the ride back, there had been little talk. The party was sullen
and angry. Their attack had failed under the straight shooting of Bishop and
Bannon. They were leaving six men behind, six men who were stone dead. Maybe
they had killed two, but that didn't compensate for six. Bishop was down, but
how badly none of them knew.
Cap Mulholland had ridden in the attack as well. Never strongly
inclined toward fighting, he had no heart in this fight. He had even less now.
Suddenly he was realizing with bitterness that he didn't care if he ever saw
Mort Harper again.
"They'll be comin' for us now," Cap said.
"Shut up!" Lamport snapped. He was angry and filled with
bitterness. He was the only one of the settlers who had thrown in completely
with Harper's crowd, and the foolishness of it was now apparent. Defeat and
their own doubts were carrying on the rapid disintegration of the Harper
forces. "You see what I saw?" he demanded. "That Crockett girl was there. She
was the one dragged Bishop's body back. I seen her!"
Harper's head jerked up. "You lie!" he snapped viciously.
Lamport looked across at Harper. "Mort," he said evenly, "don't
you tell me I lie."
Harper shrugged. "All right, maybe she was there, but I've got to
see it to believe it. How could she have beaten us to it?"
"How did Bannon beat us back?" Lamport demanded furiously. "He was
supposed to be lost in the hills."
"He must have come back over the mountain," Gettes put in. He was
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one of the original Harper crowd. "He must have found a way through."
"Bosh!" Harper spat. "Nothing human could have crossed that
mountain last night. A man would be insane to try it."
"Well," Pike said grimly, "Bannon got there. I know good and well
he never rode none of those canyons last night, so he must've come over the
mountain. If any man could, he could."
Harper's eyes were hard. "You seem to think a lot of him," he
sneered.
"I hate him," Pike snapped harshly. "I hate every step he takes,
but he's all man!"
Mort Harper's face was cruel as he stared at Pike. Purcell had
ridden on, unnoticing.
Pike did not return to his cabin after they reached Poplar. Pike
Purcell was as just as he was ignorant and opinionated. His one quality was
loyalty that and more than his share of courage. Dud Kitchen's story kept
cropping up. Did Harper own a small gun? Suddenly, he remembered. Shortly
after they arrived at Poplar he had seen such a gun. It was a .34 Patterson,
and Mort Harper had left it lying on his bed.
Harper was gone somewhere. The saloon was empty. Purcell stepped
in, glanced around, then walked back to Harper's quarters. The room was neat,
and things were carefully arranged. He glanced around, crossed to a rough
wooden box on the far side of the room, and lifted the lid. There were several
boxes of .44's, and a smaller box. Opening it, he saw a series of neat rows of
.34-caliber cartridges, and across the lead nose of each shell was a deep
notch!
He picked up one of the shells and stepped back. His face was gray
as he turned toward the door. He was just stepping through when Mort Harper
came into the saloon.
Quick suspicion came into Mort's eyes. "What are you doin' in
there?" he demanded.
"Huntin' for polecat tracks," Purcell said viciously. "I found
'em!" He took the shell out and tossed it on the table. It was the wrong move,
for it left his right hand outstretched and far from his gun.
At such a time things happen instantaneously. Mort Harper's hand
flashed for his gun, and Purcell was far too late. He got his hand on the butt
when the bullet struck him. He staggered back, hate blazing in his eyes, and
sat down hard. He tugged at his gun, and Harper shot him again.
Staring down at the body of the tall old mountaineer, Mort Harper
saw the end of everything. So this was how things finished? An end to dreams,
an end to ambition. He would never own the greatest cattle empire in the West,
a place where he would be a king on his own range with nothing to control his
actions but his own will.
He had despised Purcell for his foolishness in following him. He
had led the settlers like sheep, but now they would survive and he would die.
In a matter of hours, even minutes, perhaps, Bannon would be here, and then
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nothing would be left but a ruin.
At that moment he heard a pounding of horse's hoofs and looked up
to see Sharon go flying past on her black mare.
There was something left. There was Sharon. Rock Bannon wanted
her. Sudden resolution flooded him. She was one thing Bannon wouldn't get!
Mort Harper ran to his quarters and threw a few things together, then walked
out. Hastily, under cover of the pole barn, he saddled a fresh horse, loaded
his gear aboard, and swung into the saddle and started up the canyon toward
the Crockett home.
Cap Mulholland watched him go, unaware of what was happening. Dud
Kitchen had heard the shots, and had returned for his own guns. He watched
Harper stop at the Crockett place, unaware of the stuffed saddlebags. When he
saw the man swing down, he was not surprised.
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