Tack looked around at the crowd and his eyes halted on the big man. He was going to break the power of Hardin, Olney and Soderman, and he was going to start right here.

“There’s goin’ to be an investigation,” he said loudly, “and it’ll begin down in Austin. Any of you fellers bought property from Hardin or Olney better get your money back.”

“Yuh’re talkin’ a lot!” The big man thrust toward him, his wide, heavy shoulders looking broad enough for two men. “Yuh said some of us were thieves!”

“Thieves and murderers,” Tack added. “If yuh’re one of the worms that crawl in Hardin’s tracks, that goes for you!”

The big man lunged. “Get him, Starr!” somebody shouted loudly.

CHAPTER THREE: Flood to Freedom

Tack Gentry suddenly felt a fierce surge of pure animal joy. He stepped back and then stepped in suddenly, and his right hand swung low and hard. It caught Starr as he was coming in, and caught him in the pit of the stomach. He grunted and stopped dead in his tracks, but Tack set himself and swung wickedly with both hands. His left smashed into Starr’s mouth, his right split a cut over his cheekbone. Starr staggered and fell back into the crowd. He came out of the crowd, shook his head and charged like a bull.

Tack weaved inside of the swinging fists and impaled the bigger man on a straight, hard left hand, then he crossed a wicked right to the cut cheek and gore cascaded down the man’s face. Tack stepped in, smashing both hands to the man’s body, then as Starr jabbed a thumb at his eye, Tack jerked his head aside and butted Starr in the face.

His nose broken, his cheek laid open to the bone, Starr staggered back, and Tack Gentry walked in, swinging with both hands. This was the beginning. This man worked for Hardin and he was going to be an example. When he left this room Starr’s face was going to be a sample of the crashing of Van Hardin’s power. With left and right he cut and slashed at the big man’s face, and Starr, overwhelmed by the attack, helpless after that first wicked body blow, crumpled under those smashing fists. He hit the floor suddenly and lay there, moaning softly.

A man shoved through the crowd, then stopped. It was Van Hardin. He looked down at the man on the floor, then his eyes dark with hate, lifted to meet Tack Gentry’s eyes.

“Lookin’ for trouble, are yuh?” he said.

“Only catchin’ up with some that started while I was gone, Van!” Tack said. He felt good. He was on the balls of his feet and ready. He had liked the jarring of blows, liked the feeling of combat. He was ready. “Yuh should have made sure I was dead, Hardin, before yuh tried to steal property from a kindly old man!”

“Nothing was stolen,” Van Hardin said evenly, calmly. “We took only what was ours, and in a strictly legal manner.”

“There will be an investigation,” Gentry replied bluntly, “from Austin. Then we’ll thrash the whole thing out.”

Hardin’s eyes sharpened and he was suddenly wary. “An investigation? What makes you think so?”

Tack was aware that Hardin was worried. “Because I’m startin’ it. I’m askin’ for it, and I’ll get it. There was a lot you didn’t know about that land yuh stole, Hardin. Yuh were like most crooks. Yuh could only see yore side of the question and it looked very simple and easy, but there’s always the thing yuh overlook, and you overlooked something”

The doors swung wide and Olney pushed into the room. He stopped, glancing from Hardin to Gentry. “What goes on here?” he demanded.

“Gentry is accusin’ us of bein’ thieves,” Hardin said carelessly. Olney turned and faced Tack. “He’s in no position to accuse anybody of anything!” he said. “I’m arrestin’ him for murder!” There was a stir in the room, and Tack Gentry felt the sudden sickness of fear. “Murder? Are yuh crazy?” he demanded.

“I’m not, but you may be,” the sheriff said. “I’ve just come from the office of Anson Childe. He’s been murdered. Yuh were his last visitor. Yuh were observed sneaking into his place by the back stairs. I’m arresting yuh for murder.”

The room was suddenly still, and Tack Gentry felt the rise of hostility toward him. Many men had admired the courage of Anson Childe, many men had been helped by him. Frightened themselves, they had enjoyed his flouting of Hardin and Olney. Now he was dead, murdered.

“Childe was my friend!” Tack protested. “He was goin’ to Austin for me!”

Hardin laughed sarcastically. “Yuh mean he knew yuh had no case and refused to go, and in a fit of rage, yuh killed him. Yuh shot him.”

“Yuh’ll have to come with me,” Olney said grimly. “Yuh’ll get a fair trial.”

Silently, Tack looked at him. Swiftly, thoughts raced through his mind. There was no chance for escape. The crowd was too thick, he had no idea if there was a horse out front, although there no doubt was, and his own horse was in the livery stable. Olney relieved him of his gun belt and they started toward the door. Starr, leaning against the door post, his face raw as chewed beef, glared at him evilly.

“I’ll be seein’ yuh!” he said softly. “Soon!”

Solderman and Hardin had fallen in around him, and behind them two of Hardin’s roughs.

The jail was small, just four cells and an outer office. The door of one of the cells was opened and he was shoved inside. Hardin grinned at him. “This should settle the matter for Austin,” he said. “Childe had friends down there!”

Anson Childe murdered! Tack Gentry, numbed by the blow, stared at the stone wall. He had counted on Childe, counted on his stirring up an investigation. Once started, he possessed two aces in the hole he could use to defeat Hardin in court, but it demanded a court uncontrolled by Hardin.

With Childe’s death he had no friends on the outside. Betty had barely spoken to him when they met, and if she was going to work for Hardin in his dance hall, she must have changed much. Bill London was a cripple and unable to get around. Red Furness, for all his friendship, wouldn’t come out in the open. Tack had no illusions about the murder. By the time the case came to trial, they would have found ample evidence. They had his guns and they could fire two or three shots from them, whatever had been used on Childe. It would be a simple thing to frame him. Hardin would have no trouble in finding witnesses.

He was standing, staring out the small window, its lower sill just on the level of his eyes, when he heard a distant rumble of thunder and a jagged streak of lightning brightened the sky, then more thunder. The rains came slowly, softly, then in steadily increasing volume. The jail was still and empty. Sounds of music and occasional shouts sounded from the Longhorn, then the roar of rain drowned them out. He threw himself down on the cot in the corner of the room, and lulled by the falling rain, was soon asleep.

A long time later, he awakened. The rain was still falling, but above it was another sound. Listening, he suddenly realized what it was. The dry wash behind the town was running, probably bank full. Lying there in the darkness, he became aware of still another sound, of the nearer rushing of water. Lifting his head, he listened. Then he got to his feet and crossed the small cell.

Water was running under the corner of the jail. There had been a good deal of rain lately, and he had noted that the barrel at the corner of the jail had been full. It was overflowing and the water had evidently washed under the corner of the building.

He walked back and sat down on the bed, and as he listened to the water, an idea came to him suddenly. Tack got up and went to the corner of the cell, and striking a match, studied the wall and floor. Both were damp. He stamped on the stone flags of the door, but they were solid. He kicked the wall. It was also solid.

How thick were those walls? Judging by what he remembered of the door, the walls were all of eight inches thick, but how about the floor? Kneeling on the floor, he struck another match, studying the mortar around the corner flagstone.