As he turned, rolling his match to death in his fingers, the sun struck mellowly upon something on his breast, a small, dark copper shield which bore strange heraldry.
At the sight Courtrey’s eyes sought Service’s and held them for a swift, questioning moment.
Strangers in Lost Valley were contraband.
The three settlers looked covertly at each other, 69 drifted apart, got their horses and presently left town by different ways.
Three hours later these men met by common consent at the head of Rolling Cove and talked long and earnestly of the happening. They knew that Courtrey would never take silently that bitter arraignment, that something would transpire swiftly to show his resentment, to prove his absolute power over Lost Valley.
“’Tain’t Tharon that’ll suffer, even ef he did try t’ shoot her that night in th’ Golden Cloud, because Courtrey wants her himself,” said Jameson quietly, “th’ whole country knows that. There was only one man who didn’t know it, an’ that was Jim Last himself. No, he won’t monkey with th’ Holdin’ yet, not to any great extent. It’ll be us little fellers, us others who he knows would stan’ behind her. Some of us’ll lose somethin’ soon, an’ don’t you forget it.”
“If we do,” said Hill passionately, “it’s time t’ show our hand. We’ve been hounded long enough. Th’ men from Last’s will be with us, we can gamble on that.”
“Yes,” said Thomas, “but it’ll be war. Open war. There’ll be killin’s then.”
Jameson, a quiet man with deep eyes, made a wide gesture.
“What if there is?” he asked, “might’s well be 70 done in th’ open as in th’ dark an’ unseen. Might better be! I move we ride th’ Valley an’ ask th’ settlers to band together, under Last’s, an’ give our ultimatum t’ Courtrey on th’ heels of this. What say you?”