The logical thing would be for Yount to shrug it off and ride on. He was not doing this, which implied some sort of a plan. Lund and Dodson would make likely companions for Packer and Hollier. Yount was talking of buying cattle, but he was not one to run his cattle on a dead range. Did they plan to rustle the cattle? Or was it some even more involved plan?

One thing was sure with McQueen. It was time he was getting back to the ranch to put the others on the lookout for trouble. It would be coming now, probably sooner than it might have had he not stumbled on that information from Gelvin tonight.

The Tumbling K foreman was riding into the yard when the shot rang out.

Something struck him a wicked blow on the head and he felt himself falling backward into darkness, the sound of the shot ringing in his ears. . . .

His head felt tight, constricted as though a band were drawn about his temples. Slowly, fighting every inch of the way, he battled his way back to consciousness. His lids fluttered, then closed, too weak to force themselves open. Again he fought against the heaviness and got them open. He was lying on his back in a half-light, the air felt damp, cool.

When awareness moved over him, he knew suddenly that he was in a cave or mine tunnel. Turning his head slightly, he looked around. He was lying on a crude pallet on a sandy cave floor. Some twenty feet away he could see a long narrow shaft of light. Nearby his guns hung from a peg in the cave wall, and his rifle leaned against the wall.

Suddenly the narrow rift of light was blotted out, and he heard someone crawling into the cave. The man came up and threw down an armful of fire wood, then lighted a lantern. He came over.

“Come out of it, huh? Man, I thought yuh never would!” The man was lean and old, with twinkling blue eyes and almost white hair. He was long and tall. Ward noted the foot gear suddenly. This was the man they had trailed up the canyon! “Who are you?” he demanded.

The man smiled. “Charlie Quayle’s the name. Used to ride for Chait, over the Newtons.”

“Yuh’re the hombre we trailed up the canyon a few days back. Yestiddy, I mean.”

Quayle laughed. “Right the first time! Yuh been lyin’ here all of two weeks, nearer dead than alive. Delirious, most of the time. Figgered yuh never would come out of it.”

“Two weeks!” Ward McQueen struggled to sit up, then sank back. “Yuh mean I’ve been here two weeks? Why, they’ll figger I’m dead back at the ranch! Why’d yuh bring me here? Who shot me?”

“Hold on!” Quayle chuckled. “Give me time an’ I’ll answer all the questions I can. First place, two of them rustlin’ hands of Jim Yount’s packed yuh to the canyon and dropped yuh into a wash. They kicked sand over yuh and then dropped on some brush. But they wasn’t no hands to work, so they left off and went away.

“I was right curious as to who yuh was, and dug into that pile. Then I found yuh was alive. Don’t reckon they knowed it. I packed yuh in here, and mister, yuh’re the heaviest durned man I ever did pack! And me with a game leg!”

“Was yuh trailin’ ’em when they shot me?”

“No. I was scoutin’ the layout around the ranch, figgerin’ to steal me some coffee, when I heard the shot. Then I seen them packin’ yuh away, so I follered.” Quayle lighted his pipe. “There’s been some changes,” he went on. “Yore friend Sartain has been fired. So have Fox an’ the baldheaded gent. Tennessee had a run-in with the redhead, that one they call Lund, and Lund killed him. Outdrawed him in a picked fight. Yount, he’s real friendly with Miss Kermitt, and he’s runnin’ the ranch. One or more of them tough gun hands around all the time.”

Ward lay on his back staring up at the rocky roof of the cave. Kim Sartain fired! It didn’t seem reasonable. Why, Kim had been with Ruth Kermitt longer than any of them! He had been with her when she and her brother had first come over the trail from Wyoming. He had helped her when she bought this ranch, had known her brother, had been with her even before the trouble at Pilot Range when Ward had first joined them. And now he was fired, run off the place!

And Tennessee killed!

What sort of a girl was Ruth Kermitt to fire her oldest hands and take on a bunch of gunslick rustlers led by a crooked gambler?

“Yuh got a hard head,” Quayle said suddenly, “or yuh’d be dead right now. The bullet hit right over the eye, but she skidded around yore skull under the skin. Laid yore scalp right open. Sort of concussion, too. And yuh lost a sight of blood.”

“I’ve got to get out of here!” Ward said suddenly. “I’ve got to see Ruth Kermitt!”

“Yuh better sit tight an’ get well,” Quayle said drily. “She’s right busy with that Yount hombre. Rides with him all over the range. Holdin’ hands more’n half the time. Everybody’s seen ’em! If she fired the rest of her boys, she shore wouldn’t want no foreman back!”

McQueen looked at Quayle. “Say! Where do you fit into this deal?”

Charlie Quayle shrugged. “I rode for Chait, like I told yuh. Yount rooked him out of his ranch, but Chait was glad to get shet of it. But when Yount found out what a heap of sand he got he was some sore. Me, I’d save me nigh on a year’s wages and was fixin’ to set up for myself. One of them rannies of Yount’s saw the money, and they trailed me down. Said it was ranch money. We had us a fight, and they winged me. I got away and holed up in this here canyon.”

CHAPTER THREE: Stacked Deck

All day McQueen rested in the cave. After dark, Quayle left the cave. He was gone for hours, but when he returned, he was eager to talk.

“That Yount,” he said, “takin’ over the country! He went into Mannerhouse last night lookin’ for Gelvin, but he’d gone off with some stranger friend of his’n. This Yount had some words with Dave Cormack, and killed him. They do say this here. Yount is fast as greased lightnin’ with a gun!

“Then Red Lund and Pete Dodson pistol-whipped Logan Keane. Yount, he told ’em he was ramroddin’ the Tumblin’ K, and was goin’ to marry Ruth Kermitt, and he was sick of the talk goin’ around about him and his men. They’ve got that town treed, believe you me!”

Ruth to marry Jim Yount! Ward McQueen felt a sudden emptiness inside him. He knew then that he was in love with Ruth. In fact, as he thought of it, he had been in love with her for a long time. And now she was to marry Yount! A crooked gambler and ramrod of a gunslick gang of outlaws!

It didn’t seem possible. Lying there on the pallet, he shook his head as if to clear it of the whole idea.

“See anything of Sartain?” he demanded.

“No,” Quayle admitted, “but hear tell he drifted over into the Newtons with Fox and that Baldy hombre.”

The next day, Ward was up with daybreak. He rolled out of the blankets. His head still ached, but he felt better. His long period of illness had at least given him time to rest, and his strength was enough to help him recuperate rapidly. He oiled his guns and reloaded them. Quayle eyed his preparations thoughtfully, and said nothing until McQueen began to pull on his boots.

“Better wait till sundown if yuh’re goin’ out huntin’ trouble,’ he said. “I got yuh a hoss. Got him hid down the canyon in the brush.”

“A hoss?” Ward’s eyes glinted. “Good for you, old-timer! I’m goin’ up to have a look-see at the ranch. This deal don’t figger right to me.”

“Nor me.” Quayle knocked out his pipe. “I seen that gal’s face today. They rid past me as I lay in the brush. She shore didn’t look happy like she was with no man she loved. Mebbe she ain’t willin’.”

“That’s a thought.” Ward nodded. “Well, tonight I ride.”

“We ride!” Quayle insisted. “I don’t like gettin’ shot up no better than you-all. I’m in this fight, too.”

“Thanks,” McQueen said grimly. “I can use help, but what yuh might do is try to trail down Kim Sartain and the others. Get ’em back here for a showdown.”