The Coolidge examiner., 1932-07-15

| 1hey had been close TRENDS once,
Peter McCann 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 westward tide of
migration 10 Arizona. In their
| hours off duty they had frolicked as
side partners at the roundup camps
and at the small tendejons of the
border 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 cat
tleman 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 sher-
iff and McCann was elected. Their
wandering herds overlapped. The
punchers of each clashed over wa
ter holes, over calves wrongly brand
ed by mistake. Charges Of rustling
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 a scene Of grim
tragedy. A Circle Cross rider was
found lying face down at the bot
tom Of a cut bank. He had per-
haps been dry-gulched. shot from
ambush, but this was not sure. Who
did II 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 McCann rode through
| Tincup Pass TO carry word TO Mat
thew Stark that his daughter would
not be home till late.
| He was descending into a valley.
! Before him were checkerboards of
irrigated grain and pasture meadow
centering around the houses of the
ranch.
Cattle were browsing the val
ley. Leisurely a rider was moving
across the plain toward them. All
was peaceful as old age.
Directly In front of McCann's
horse squirt of sand flew. The crack
of rifle shot echoed back from the
walls Of the pass.
Instantly McCann's brain regis
tered impressions and moved him TO
co-ordinated action. Some one had
fired at him. The V-shaped sand
squirt told him the attacker was al
most dead ahead. With only a re-
volver against a rifle Wilson Nc
Cam was as helpless at this range
as child with popgun. He swung
Jlm-Dandy as on peg and spurted
for the shelter Of large boulder
beside the trail. Before he reached
cover second explosion doomed.
McCann dismounted and stood be-
side his horse. The second shot
made II plain that the first could
have been no chance bullet. For
long minutes he waited. every nerve
keyed to tension. eyes and ears alert
for any sign of movement in the
mesquite. The ambusher might be
circling round TO get at him from
the rear. There might be two of
them. The only course open to him
was to let developments occur.
Out of the painful silence came
sounds the trapped man knew at
once-the thud of galloping hoofs,
of a horse crashing through the
brush. He stood a moment, stom.
ach muscles tight, TO make sure the
man screened in the chaparral was
not charging him; then flung him
self, foot not touching the stirrup,
into the saddle and lifted Jim-Dandy
Al q Sli ldS " SHill pun ISull.
In the gathering dusk they raced
toward the ranch house. The am
busher had forgotten that he could
use his rifle. He was in terror of
the swift Nemesis riding him down.
He shouted for help as his horse
plunged into the open space in front
of the big adobe house. Even as
he threw himself from the saddle,
men appeared out of the gloom to
join him-one, two, three of them.
The third came out of the open
hallway of the house to the porch.
He was an elderly man, big and
rangy. bow-legged and still strong,
with hard eyes in a harsh leathery
face. This was Matthew Stark.
What's the rumpus?" he asked
in a heavy voice. Then, with a
f1irt of a brown hand toward the
farther rider. "Who is this fellow?"
The pursued man was on the
porch, near the entrance to the
gallery" The rifle was clutched
tightly in both hands. He was
breathing heavily.
The puncher from the Flying Wy