tafford.

The latter slowly shook his head.

Ferguson continued, his eyes cold and alert. "An' I reckon that I
ain't shot off about it--unless I've been dreamin'. Accordin' to that
it must have been Leviatt who told Mary Radford that I'd been hired to
kill her brother."

Leviatt sneered. "Suppose I did?" he returned, showing his teeth in a
savage snarl. "What are you goin' to do about it?"

"Nothin' now," drawled Ferguson. "I'm glad to hear that you ain't
denyin' it." He spoke to Stafford, without removing his gaze from the
range boss.

"Yesterday," he stated calmly, "I was ridin' down the river. I found a
basin among the hills. There was a cabin down there. Four men was
talkin' in front of it. There was twenty calves an' a dozen cows in a
corral. Two of the men was----"

Leviatt's right hand dropped suddenly to his holster. His pistol was
half out. Tucson's hand was also wrapped around the butt of his
pistol. But before the muzzle of either man's gun had cleared its
holster, there was a slight movement at the stray-man's sides and his
two guns glinted in the white sunlight. There followed two reports, so
rapidly that they blended. Smoke curled from the muzzles of the
stray-man's pistols.

Tucson sighed, placed both hands to his chest, and pitched forward
headlong, stretching his length in the sand. For an instant Leviatt
stood rigid, his left arm swinging helplessly by his side, broken by
the stray-man's bullet, an expression of surprise and fear in his eyes.
Then with a sudden, savage motion he dragged again at his gun.

One of the stray-man's guns crashed again, sharply. Leviatt's weapon
went off, its bullet throwing up sand in front of Ferguson. Leviatt's
eyes closed, his knees doubled under him, and he pitched forward at
Ferguson's feet. He was face down, his right arm outstretched, the
pistol still in his hand. A thin, blue wreath of smoke rose lazily
from its muzzle.

Ferguson bent over him, his weapons still in his hands. Leviatt's legs
stretched slowly and then stiffened. In the strained silence that had
followed the shooting Ferguson stood, looking gloomily down upon the
quiet form of his fallen adversary.

"I reckon you won't lie no more about me," he said dully.

Without a glance in the direction of the group of silent men, he
sheathed his weapons and strode toward the ranchhouse.

CHAPTER XXIII

AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD

Ferguson strode into the manager's