Part 32 (1/2)

The two hors.e.m.e.n were roughly dressed. Each wore a gun openly at his belt. One was large, sandy-haired, gray-eyed. The other was dark, quick, restless, shooting odd, darting glances from a pair of sinister black eyes.

”Is your name Dunne?” asked the first roughly.

”Dunne?” queried McHale, as if the name were strange to him. ”Did you say Dunne, or Doane?”

”I said Dunne.”

”Oh,” McHale responded. ”Lemme think. No, I guess not. I never used that name that I remember of. No, partner, my name ain't Dunne.”

”We want Dunne. Where'll we find him?”

”Why, now,” said McHale, ”that's a right hard question. You might find him one place, and then again you mightn't. I reckon I wouldn't be misleading you none if I was to tell you you'd find him wherever he's at.”

”You workin' for him?” the dark man put in quickly.

”I was, a minute ago. Now I got a job with an inquiry office. Anything else I can tell you?”

”No,” said the dark man. ”But you can tell Dunne that up to a minute ago he had a ---- ---- fool workin' for him!”

Dead silence while a watch could tick off ten seconds. Clyde scarcely breathed. At different times in her life she had heard noisy quarrels in city streets, quarrels big with oath and threat. This was different.

She experienced a sensation as though, even in the bright suns.h.i.+ne beneath the blue, unflecked summer sky where all was instinct with growth and health and life, she were watching a deathbed.

The two strangers sat motionless, their eyes on McHale, their right hands resting quietly by their waists. McHale stood equally still, facing them, his eyes narrowed down to slits, his left hand holding the lapel of his coat, his right hand, a half-smoked cigarette between the first and second fingers, on a level with his chin. He expelled a thin stream of smoke from his lungs, and spoke:

”I reckon you can tell him yourself. Here he come now.”

The eyes of the first man never s.h.i.+fted. The other instantly looked over his shoulder. McHale laughed.

”You're an old-timer,” he said to the gray-eyed man; ”but him”--he jerked a contemptuous thumb at the second--”it's a wonder to me he ever growed up. Don't you do it no more, friend. Don't you never take your eyes off a man you've called a ---- ---- fool, or maybe the next thing they beholds is the Promised Land!”

But his words had not been intended as a ruse. Casey was riding over on his little gray mare to see who the strangers were, and what they wanted.

”This man tells me you're Dunne,” said the gray-eyed man.

”That's correct,” Casey admitted.

”My name is Dade; his name is Cross.” He indicated his companion by a sidewise nod. ”We've bought land from this here irrigation outfit. So have half a dozen other men, friends of ours. Now we can't get water.”

”Well?”

”Well, the company puts it up that some of you fellows is to blame.

You've cut the ditches so they won't carry. We've come to tell you that this has got to stop.”

”That's kind of you, anyway,” Casey observed quietly. He and Dade eyed each other appraisingly.

”What I want to make plumb clear,” said the latter, ”is that this don't go no more. It's no good. You'll leave the ditches alone, or else----”

”Or else?” Casey suggested.

”Or else we'll make you,” said Dade grimly. ”We want water, and we'll have it.”