sponsibility of
a few months before. She saw in him an iron will, shrewdness, courage and
resource. All of these his friend Maloney also had. But Curly was the
prodigal son, the sinner who had repented. His engaging recklessness lent
him a charm from which she could not escape. Out of ten thousand men there
were none whose voice drummed on her heart strings as did that of this
youth.

CHAPTER IX

"THE FRIENDS OF L. C. SERVE NOTICE"

Two men sat in a log cabin on opposite sides of a cheap table. One of them
was immersed in a newspaper. His body was relaxed, his mind apparently at
ease. The other watched him malevolently. His fingers caressed the handle
of a revolver that protruded from the holster at his side. He would have
liked nothing better than to have drawn it and sent a bullet crashing into
the unperturbed brain of his prisoner.

There were reasons of policy why it were better to curb this fascinating
desire, but sometimes the impulse to kill surged up almost uncontrollably.
On these occasions Luck Cullison was usually "deviling" him, the only
diversion that had been open to the ranchman for some days past. Because
of its danger--for he could never be quite sure that Blackwell's lust for
swift vengeance would not over-power discretion--this pastime made a
peculiar appeal to the audacious temper of the owner of the Circle C.

From time to time as Luck read he commented genially on the news.

"I see Tucson is going to get the El Paso & Southwestern extension after
all. I'll bet the boys in that burg will be right tickled to hear it. They
sure have worked steady for it."

Blackwell merely scowled. He never relaxed to the give and take of casual
talk with his captive. Given his way, Cullison would not be here to read
the _Sentinel_. But the brains of the conspiracy had ruled otherwise and
had insisted too upon decent treatment. With one ankle securely tied to a
leg of the table there was no danger in freeing the hands of the
cattleman, but his hosts saw that never for an instant were hands and feet
at liberty together. For this man was not the one with whom to take
chances.

"Rudd has been convicted of forgery and taken to Yuma. Seems to me you
used to live there, didn't you?" asked the cattleman with cool insolence,
looking up from his paper to smile across at the furious convict.

Blackwell was livid. The man who had sent him to the territorial prison at
Yuma dared to sit there bound and unarmed an