“Murphy!” he said slowly. “That ain’t the name you went under when I seen you before. What you doin’ here?”
At this challenge, the girl started in astonishment. Robinson smiled thinly.
“Me?” Murphy faced the rancher aggressively. “None of your business, is it? But if you want to know, I done bought a mortgage on this place, and I aim to foreclose if she ain’t cleared off first of the month.”
“Oh, you do!” Buck’s hand flashed down and his gun looked at Mr. Murphy. “All I got to say to you is—git, and git quick! The mortgage’ll be paid. I’ll lend Miss Shumway the money my ownself. Git, you varmint!”
Murphy turned and strode down the steps, passed to his horse, and rode away.
Buck gazed after him with narrowed eyes until he was well away. Then, without a bit of warning, he whirled and threw down his gun at Robinson.
“Hands up, you! Quick!”
There was deadly intent in his voice. Robinson, absolutely surprised, put up his hands. Buck leaned forward and jerked away his gun.
“Here! How dare you, Mr. Buck!” exclaimed Stella, darting forward. “What do you mean by this——”
“Miss Stella,” said Buck gravely, “I got mighty bad news for you. Me and two of my riders was comin’ here this morning by way of the spring. We were up on that knoll behind it when we crossed the track of a horseman, and a moment later we seen this gent,” he motioned toward Robinson with his ready gun, “ridin’ up to the spring. Cervantes was standin’ there smokin’ a cigarette. What passed we dunno. All we heard was two shots, and then this gent rode away quick. When we got up, Cervantes was dead. We come on here quick.”