"No! Not one d.a.m.n broomtail do you get," returned Pan in a voice that cut. "Look out, Hardman! I can prove you hatched up this deal to rob me."

"How, I'd like to know?" bl.u.s.tered the rancher, relaxing again.

"Mac New can prove it."

"Who's he?"

"Hurd here. His real name is Mac New. You hired him to get in with me--to keep you posted on my movements."

Again Hardman showed his kind of fiber under extreme provocation:

"Yes, I hired him--an' he's double-crossed you as well as me."

"Did he? Well, now _you_ prove that," flashed Pan who had read the furious falseness of the man.

"Purcell here," replied Hardman hoa.r.s.ely, "he's been camped below.

Hurd met him at night--kept him posted on your work. Then, when all was ready for the drive Purcell sent for me. Ask him yourself."

Pan did not answer to the suggestion. "Mac, what do you say to that?"

he queried, sharply, but he never took his eyes off Purcell.

"_Hardman, you're a liar!_" roared Mac New, sonorously. If ever Pan heard menace in a voice, it was then.

"_Take it back!_" went on the outlaw, now with a hiss. "Square me with Panhandle Smith!"

"Mac, he doesn't have to square you. Anyone could see he's a liar,"

called Pan derisively.

"Hurd, I--I'll have you shot--I'll shoot you myself," burst out Hardman, wrestling his arm toward his hip.

A thundering report close beside Pan almost deafened him. Hardman uttered a loud gasp. His eyes rolled--fixed in awful stony stare.

Then like a flung sack he fell heavily.

"Thar, Jard Hardman," declared the outlaw, "I had one bullet left."

And he threw his empty gun with violence at the prostrate body.

Purcell's long taut body jerked into swift action. His gun spurted red as it leaped out. Pan, quick as he drew and shot, was too late to save Mac New. Both men fell without a cry, their heads almost meeting.

"Blink, grab their guns!" yelled Pan piercingly, and leaping over the bodies he confronted the stricken group of men with leveled weapon.

"Hands up! _Quick_, d.a.m.n you!" he ordered, fiercely.

His swiftness, his tremendous pa.s.sion, following instantly upon tragedy, had shocked Hardman's men. Up went their hands.

Then Blinky ran in with a gun in each hand, and his wild aspect most powerfully supplemented Pan's furious energy and menace.

"Fork them hosses, you ---- ---- ----!" yelled Blinky. Death for more of them quivered in the balance. As one man, Hardman's riders rushed with thudding boots and tinkling spurs to mount their horses. Several did not wait for further orders, but plunged away down the lane toward the outlet.

"Rustle, hoss thieves," added Blinky, with something of the old drawl in his voice, that yet seemed the more deadly for it. With quick strides he had gotten behind most of the riders. "Get out of heah!"

With shuffling, creaking of leather, and suddenly cracking hoofs the order was obeyed. The riders soon disappeared around the corner of the bluff.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The two horses left, belonging to Hardman and Purcell, neighed loudly at being left behind, and pulled on their halters.

Pan's quick eye caught sight of a rifle in a sheath on one of the saddles. He ran to get it, but had to halt and approach the horse warily. But he secured the rifle--a Winchester--fully loaded.

Blinky, observing Pan's act, repeated it with the other horse.

"Pard, I ain't figgerin' they'll fight, even from cover," said Blinky.

"By gosh, this hoss must have been Purcell's. Sh.o.r.e. Stirrups too long for Hardman. An' the saddle bag is full of sh.e.l.ls."

"Slip along the fence and see where they went," replied Pan.

"Aw, I can lick the whole outfit now," declared Blinky, recklessly.

"You keep out of sight," ordered Pan.

Whereupon Blinky, growling something, crashed a way through the cedar fence and disappeared.

Pan hurriedly sheathed his gun, and with the rifle in hand, ran back to the overhanging bluff, where he began to climb through the brush.

Fierce action was necessary to him then. He did not spare himself.

Forever he half-expected some kind of attack from the men who had been driven away. Soon he had reached a point where he could work round to the side of the bluff. When he looked out upon the valley he espied Hardman's outfit two miles down the slope, beyond the cedar fence.

They had set fire to the cedars. A column of yellow smoke rolled way across the valley.

"Ah-huh! They're rustling--all right," panted Pan. "Wonder what--kind of a story--they'll tell. Looks to me--like they'd better keep clear of Marco."

Then a reaction set in upon Pan. He crawled into the shade of some brush and stretched out, letting his tight muscles relax. The terrible something released its hold on mind and heart. He was sick. He fought with himself until the spasm pa.s.sed.

When he got back to his men, Blinky had just returned.

"Did you see them shakin' up the dust?" queried Blinky.

"Yes, they're gone. Reckon we've no more to fear from them."

"Huh! We never had nothin'. Sh.o.r.e was a yellow outfit. They set fire to our fence, the ---- ---- ----!"

It took some effort for Pan to approach his father. The feeling deep within him was inexplicable. But, then, he had never before been compelled to face his father after a fight. Pan's relation to him seemed of long ago.

"How are you, Dad?" he asked with constraint.

"Little shaky--I guess--son," came the husky reply. But Smith got up and removed his hand from the b.l.o.o.d.y wound on his forehead. It was more of a bruise than a cut, but the flesh was broken and swollen.

"Nasty b.u.mp, Dad. I'll bet you'll have a headache. Go to camp and bathe it in cold water. Then get Juan to bandage it."