The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1941-09-26
CHAPTER I

Calhoun Terry drew up at the edge
Of French Mesa and looked down on
Round Top. It was an ugly little
place, bleak and sun-dried, but ever
since he could remember, it had
been his town. Here he had come
with his father in a blackboard, a
very small boy, and exchanged his
nickel for striped stick candy from
a jar on the counter Of Clint Ev-
ans store.
They had been good days, those
carefree ones before he had been
bitten by the urge to make Of HIM
self something more than a thirty
dollar-a-month cowpuncher. 1t had
been gay world. Money had burnt
a hole in his pocket, and he had
counted friends by the score. Halt
q dozen years had made change.
He had developed from hired hand
on horseback, one Of hundred who
rode the Buck River country, to a
man Of weight in the community. A
seasoned man, hard and steely, he
followed with no lack Of assurance
the path he had picked out for him
self. If his popularity had vanished
and his friends had dropped away,
that was the price he paid for sue
cess.
A young man in shiny leather
chaps met and passed him without
q flicker of recognition in the blue
eyes, grown. suddenly hard and cold.
He was Bill Herriott, joint owner
with his father of a small rsrr-
near the Diamond Reverse 3. -e---y
had known him ever since they mad
ridden their first roundup. A dozen
times they had stood together, a
pair Of gangling boys, in the stag
line Of country dances.
The road ran into the courthouse
square. Terry swung from the sad
die and hitched at rack in front
Of Clint Evans store.
Two men in dusty boots and wide
white hats were lounging in the en-
trance Of the store. Their talk died
away at the approach Of Terry. With
studied care, they drew aside to let
him pass. Not so long ago Roam
Afford would have greeted him with
jubilant welcome. Jack Turley was
a newcomer in the country.
Evans waited on Terry. The store
keeper was a tall, lean man with
chin whiskers and a clean-shaven
upper lip that gave him a precise.
almost sanctinonious appearance.
He had the same dry, ageless look
he had brought with him from YER
mont twenty-five years earlier.
He nodded greeting. "How are
you, CALI" he asked.
A third man had joined the two
in the doorway, and all of them
were watching Terry. The late-com-
er was Lee Hart, heavy-set, bow
legged man Of about forty. His
brother Nate was sheriff of the coun-
ty. All the Harris had been for a
long time enemies of Calhoun Terry.
AS Terry bought a bill Of goods,
apparently ignoring those who
watched him, the deeper current
of his mind was busy with the re-
sentiment beating against him al
most like something tangible. Cal
houn had lived too long outdoors in
a wild country not to have that sixth
sense Of danger close and imme-
date.
He asked for a case of cartridges
for a Winchester. Evans got the
cardboard box and put it with the
other supplies.
From the Swallowed darkness back
of the big drum stove a voice
came cold as a wind blowing over a
glacier.
'Going hunting again, Terry?"
Calhoun picked out the significant
word in the query.
Again" he asked, stressing the
syllables.
''Why, yes, that's what said"
There was both mockery and de-
.fiance in jeff Brands jeering voice.
Don't tell us they didn't let you in
on the killing Of Buck Hart?"
Terry looked at the man with hard
intentness. ''Is Buck Hart dead?"
"You know damn well he's dead"
"Take care, Brand" the ranch
manager warneds
Brand laughed hardly. Reckless
lights cleaned in his eyes. you're
one of the big moguls now, aren't
you? They wouldn't murder Buck
without yore say-so, would they?"
''Who killed hirn?"
'sHell, I'm not giving you infor-
nation. Not none. You don't need
any. Your friends the big cattle
nen killed him, because he was in
the way"
''How do you know? Were there
any witnesses?"
In Brands voice was a rustic Of
dry sarcasm. "Not likely. Their work
isn't as raw as that. But they did it
by hired deputy"
Terry's answer rang out sharp and
clear. 81 don't believe it. Buck
had private enemies. He was a man
that made them"
Lee Hart bowlegged forward from
the door. "Sure he had private enc