The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1932-07-15
By william Macleod Raine
(WNU Service)
Copyright by William Macleod Rains

IOu 80 UNA IClOItCu tnC III
dignant homesteader.
His nurse took charge imperiously.
Better go out and take the saddle off
Mr.. Yerby's horse. 1 put It In the
corral"
Mccain went. When saddle and
bride were off, the animal flung up its
heels and went flying round the corral.
Meanwhile Miss Julia Stark was ask
ing her host question.
"Who is hep
"Fellow from over the Frio way.
get them young riders all mixed up"
he answered evasively.
Zone of McCaEn's riders?" she
asked quickly. Il don't remember
him."
They're always driftin' in an out.
Mostly their homes are under their
hats"
YES" she agreed, not wholly salts
fed with this explanation. She had
an impression that she had seen him
before and ought to remember who
he was.
Mccain appeared in the doorway.
Expect I'd better go for Doc Sanders
now" he said to the girl. unless
you'd rather ride home anG have one
of yore boys go for him. Maybe that
would be better"
mo, I'll stay. But l wish you'd stop
at the Circle Cross and tell my father
| won't be home till late Hell get to
worrying. Tell him not to send for
me. I'll come back with the DOCTOR"
On the brown face of the young man
was faint sardonic grin. In not let
ting her know who he was he had
built trap for himself. He reflected
that he would be as welcome at the
Circle Cross as June hail storm in a
grain-raising country. But he had to
go through now or drag his tail.
"rll stop on my way" he promised.
The suns rays streamed down the
arroyo through which Mccain and
Doctor Sanders rode. BY the time
they came to a sight of the desert long
shadows were stretching across from
the Tomas.
Mccain drew up. 81 reckon here's
where we part, Doc. See you LATER
Doctor Sanders, small plump man
in a land of lank giants, gave him the
valedictory of the plains, $50 long,"
then detected, to follow trail lead
ing to the right. His companion
pushed into a small gorge in front
of him.
The Flying Wy and the Circle Cross
ranches were twenty miles apart, but
distance could not obliterate the
hatred of the owners. They had been
close friends once, Peter Mccain and
Matthew Stark. In their youth they
had side by side chased Texas brush
splitters over the salt grass bumps.
Together they had followed the west
ward tide of migration to Arizona. In
their hours off duty they had frolicked
as side partners at the roundup camps
and at the small tendejons of the bor-
der towns. Their comradeship had
been a byword in the country where
they .were known.
Into their lives a girl had come.
Jessie Farwell, daughter of the cattle
man for whom they both worked. They
quarreled.
Stark won Jessie for his bride. The
years passed. and each left both men
more prosperous, more powerful in
the community. Their enmity was
known of all men even before their
political ambitions and their financial
interests collided. On opposing tickets
they ran for sheriff and Mccain was
elected. Their wandering herds over
Tapped. The punchers of each clashed
over water holes, over calves wrongly
branded by mistake. Charges of rus
Ting were banded back and forth. at
first out of animosity rather than any
serious belief in their truth. Trouble
followed.
Then, dramatically, the curtain rolled
up for scene of grim tragedy. A
Circle Cross rider was found lying face
down at the bottom of a cut bank.
He had perhaps been dry-gulched, shot
from ambush. but this was not sure.
Who did it nobody knew, but at the
Stark ranch suspicion flew straight to
the Flying Wy. This had been less
than two weeks before the afternoon
when Wilson Mccain rode through
Lineup Pass to carry word to Matthew
Stark that his daughter would not be
home till late.
He was descending into a valley.
Before him were checkerboards of irri-
gated grain and pasture meadow cen
fho nf ha noh
Cattle were browsing in the valley.
Leisurely a rider was moving across
the plain toward them. All was peace
full as old age.
Directly in front of McCann's horse
a squirt of sand flew. The crack of
of the pass
Instantly McCann's brain registered
impressions and moved him to co-or-
dinated action. Some one had fired
at him. The V-shaped sand squirt told
him the attacker was almost dead
ahead. With only a revolver against
rifle Wilson Mccain was as helpless
at this range as child with pop
gun. He swung Jim-Dandy as on q
peg and spurred for the shelter of
large boulder beside the trail. Before
he reached cover a second explosion
doomed.
Mccain dfsmounted and stood beside
his horse. The second shot made it
plain that the first could have been
no chance bullet. For long minutes
he waited, every nerve keyed to ten
sion, eyes and ears alert for any sign
of movement in the mesquite The
ambusher might be circling round to get