fulfilled so far, and we have legal right to our land, and Hale has no claim on it except that he wants it. He's never run stock up here and he has never used any water here."
The trail narrowed and grew rough, and there was no chance for conversation. Trent felt the quick excitement he always felt when riding up to this place. It was a windy plateau among the tall pines, and when they topped out he drew rein as he always did at that point to look out over the vast sweep of country that lay below and around.
On one side lay the vast sweep of country in which Cedar Valley was a mere fleck on the great page of the country. A blue haze seemed always to hang over that distant range and those that succeeded it. Here the air was fresh and clear with all the crispness of the high peaks and a sense of limitless distance.
Skirting the rim, Trent led on and finally came to the second place where he always stopped. Westward and south lay an enormous sweep of country that was totally uninhabited so far as anyone knew. Avoided even by the Indians, it was in part a desert, in a greater part merely a wilderness of rocks and lava. Gouged out and channeled by no man knew what forces, there were the beds of long-vanished rivers, craters, weird formations of rock, and canyons impossibly deep and not even to be seen until one reached the very rim. There were places where a reasonably strong man could pitch a rock across a canyon that was two thousand feet deep. It was a vast, unbelievable wilderness, ventured into by no man.
An Indian had once told Trent that his father knew of a way across the country, and even of a horse trail to the bottom of the deepest canyon, but no living man knew it, but nobody seemed to care. It was to most men simply a place to be avoided, but Trent felt drawn to it, his own loneliness challenged by that vaster loneliness below.
Often there was a haze of dust or distance hanging over the area so its details could not be clearly seen, yet Trent had taken the time to ride often to this place and study the terrain below in all its various lights and shadings, for no land looks the same at sunrise as at sunset, and during the day it presented many aspects.
Far and away were ragged red mountains, broken like the stumps of broken teeth gnawing at the sky.
"Someday," he told himself, "I'm going down there and look around, although it looks like the hot mouth of hell."
Parson Hatfield and his four tall sons were all in sight when the three rode into the yard. All were carrying their long Kentucky rifles.
" 'Light, Trent. I was expectin' almost anybody else. There's been some ructions down the valley."
"They killed Moffit. You know Sally and Jack. I figured you could make a place for 'em. Kind of awkward for me, with no woman around."
"You thought right, son. The good Lord takes care of his own, but we uns has to help now and again. There's always room for one more under a Hatfield roof."
Quincey Hatfield, the oldest of the boys, joined them. "Pa tell you about ol' Leathers?"
"Leathers?" Trent's awareness of Hale's strength warned him of what was to come. "What about him?"
"He won't sell nothin' to we uns no more." Quincey spat and shifted his rifle. "That means we got to go three days across country to get supplies, an' no tellin' what he'll do whilst we're gone."
Trent nodded. "Looks like he plans to freeze us out or kill us off. What are you folks planning to do?"
Parson Hatfield shook his head. "Nothin' so far. We sort of figured we might get together with the rest of the nesters and work out some sort of a proposition. I'll send one of the boys down to round up Smithers, O'Hara, an' young Bartram. Whatever we do, we should ought to do it together."
He rubbed his grizzled jaw and a sly look came into his blue eyes. "Y' know, Trent, I always had me an idea you was some shakes of a fightin' man your own-self. I got an idea with some guns on you'd stack up right with some of those hard cases Hale has ridin' for
The trail narrowed and grew rough, and there was no chance for conversation. Trent felt the quick excitement he always felt when riding up to this place. It was a windy plateau among the tall pines, and when they topped out he drew rein as he always did at that point to look out over the vast sweep of country that lay below and around.
On one side lay the vast sweep of country in which Cedar Valley was a mere fleck on the great page of the country. A blue haze seemed always to hang over that distant range and those that succeeded it. Here the air was fresh and clear with all the crispness of the high peaks and a sense of limitless distance.
Skirting the rim, Trent led on and finally came to the second place where he always stopped. Westward and south lay an enormous sweep of country that was totally uninhabited so far as anyone knew. Avoided even by the Indians, it was in part a desert, in a greater part merely a wilderness of rocks and lava. Gouged out and channeled by no man knew what forces, there were the beds of long-vanished rivers, craters, weird formations of rock, and canyons impossibly deep and not even to be seen until one reached the very rim. There were places where a reasonably strong man could pitch a rock across a canyon that was two thousand feet deep. It was a vast, unbelievable wilderness, ventured into by no man.
An Indian had once told Trent that his father knew of a way across the country, and even of a horse trail to the bottom of the deepest canyon, but no living man knew it, but nobody seemed to care. It was to most men simply a place to be avoided, but Trent felt drawn to it, his own loneliness challenged by that vaster loneliness below.
Often there was a haze of dust or distance hanging over the area so its details could not be clearly seen, yet Trent had taken the time to ride often to this place and study the terrain below in all its various lights and shadings, for no land looks the same at sunrise as at sunset, and during the day it presented many aspects.
Far and away were ragged red mountains, broken like the stumps of broken teeth gnawing at the sky.
"Someday," he told himself, "I'm going down there and look around, although it looks like the hot mouth of hell."
Parson Hatfield and his four tall sons were all in sight when the three rode into the yard. All were carrying their long Kentucky rifles.
" 'Light, Trent. I was expectin' almost anybody else. There's been some ructions down the valley."
"They killed Moffit. You know Sally and Jack. I figured you could make a place for 'em. Kind of awkward for me, with no woman around."
"You thought right, son. The good Lord takes care of his own, but we uns has to help now and again. There's always room for one more under a Hatfield roof."
Quincey Hatfield, the oldest of the boys, joined them. "Pa tell you about ol' Leathers?"
"Leathers?" Trent's awareness of Hale's strength warned him of what was to come. "What about him?"
"He won't sell nothin' to we uns no more." Quincey spat and shifted his rifle. "That means we got to go three days across country to get supplies, an' no tellin' what he'll do whilst we're gone."
Trent nodded. "Looks like he plans to freeze us out or kill us off. What are you folks planning to do?"
Parson Hatfield shook his head. "Nothin' so far. We sort of figured we might get together with the rest of the nesters and work out some sort of a proposition. I'll send one of the boys down to round up Smithers, O'Hara, an' young Bartram. Whatever we do, we should ought to do it together."
He rubbed his grizzled jaw and a sly look came into his blue eyes. "Y' know, Trent, I always had me an idea you was some shakes of a fightin' man your own-self. I got an idea with some guns on you'd stack up right with some of those hard cases Hale has ridin' for
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