The rifle fire had died away, as everybody seemed intent on watching the next move. Then a single shot was heard, as the defender of the cabin started to run again, and the man fell and lay still, his arms outstretched, his face turned to the sky.
The brutality of the killing caused the young Texan to tremble, as if he had been smitten with ague. He had seen sudden death in many forms, but this murder of one man by scores of assassins shook his consciousness to the center. It seemed as if a crime so monstrous could not go unpunished on the instant. Bertram almost looked for a lightning bolt to descend from the blue sky and strike down the riflemen. When the rifle firing had ceased serenity had returned to the scene. The meadow larks resumed their trilling, and, if it had not been for the burning cabin and the two still forms in the clearing, one might imagine that death and destruction could never visit so peaceful a haunt.
Now that their mission at the cabin was over, the invaders paid no further attention to their handiwork. Evidently under orders from Swingley, they swarmed out of the clearing toward the road, ready to take up the march without further delay.
Through his glasses Bertram saw Swingley approach the body at the edge of the clearing. The big cattleman appeared to be writing something. Then he stooped and attached a piece of paper to the dead man’s breast. Turning hastily aside, Swingley strode across the clearing, intent on marshaling his forces.
Bertram saw the dust and heard the clatter of hoofs, as the cavalcade took up its march. Then he could hear the rumble of the wagons. The roof of the cabin fell in with a crash, and the crackling of flames began to subside. The young Texan led his horse down the slope and into the clearing, which had been the center of such spirited conflict.
The body of the first man still lay where it had fallen, close to the cabin door, with the water bucket a few feet away. Approaching as closely as he could, and shielding his eyes from the mass of coals that had been the cabin, Bertram saw that the man was rather below medium stature and past middle age. Evidently he was a ranch helper—a cowboy who had seen his best days.
The man at the edge of the clearing was tall and powerfully built. As he lay with his arms outstretched, his brawny hand still clutching the rifle, he made an imposing figure even in death. His features were aquiline, his nose having the curve of an eagle’s beak. Though he, too, was past middle age, there was no hint of gray in his hair. Plainly enough he had been a leader of men, a foeman to be feared.
Bertram, stooping, read the message, scrawled in lead pencil on the square of paper attached to the dead man’s breast. It said:
NICK CALDWELL
KING OF THE RUSTLERS
LET OTHERS BEWARE
As he read the name Caldwell, Bertram uttered an exclamation. It was the name of the girl he had met at the start and again at Denver. Probably he was the girl’s father. In the bitterness of his heart Bertram cursed Swingley and the expedition. Then, his attention being attracted by some papers, the edges of which peeped from the man’s belt, Bertram drew the documents forth.