CHAPTER I At sunset hour the forest was still , lonely , sweet with tang of fir and spruce , blazing in gold and red and green ; and the man who glided on under the great trees seemed to blend with the colors and , disappearing , to have become a part of the wild woodland .
Old Baldy , highest of the White Mountains , stood up round and bare , rimmed bright gold in the last glow of the setting sun .
Then , as the fire dropped behind the domed peak , a change , a cold and darkening blight , passed down the black spear-pointed slopes over all that mountain world .
It was a wild , richly timbered , and abundantly watered region of dark forests and grassy parks , ten thousand feet above sea-level , isolated on all sides by the southern Arizona desert -- the virgin home of elk and deer , of bear and lion , of wolf and fox , and the birthplace as well as the hiding-place of the fierce Apache .
September in that latitude was marked by the sudden cool night breeze following shortly after sundown .
Twilight appeared to come on its wings , as did faint sounds , not distinguishable before in the stillness .
Milt Dale , man of the forest , halted at the edge of a timbered ridge , to listen and to watch .
Beneath him lay a narrow valley , open and grassy , from which rose a faint murmur of running water .
Its music was pierced by the wild staccato yelp of a hunting coyote .
From overhead in the giant fir came a twittering and rustling of grouse settling for the night ; and from across the valley drifted the last low calls of wild turkeys going to roost .
To Dale 's keen ear these sounds were all they should have been , betokening an unchanged serenity of forestland .
He was glad , for he had expected to hear the clipclop of white men 's horses -- which to hear up in those fastnesses was hateful to him .
He and the Indian were friends .
That fierce foe had no enmity toward the lone hunter .
But there hid somewhere in the forest a gang of bad men , sheep-thieves , whom Dale did not want to meet .
As he started out upon the slope , a sudden flaring of the afterglow of sunset flooded down from Old Baldy , filling the valley with lights and shadows , yellow and blue , like the radiance of the sky .
The pools in the curves of the brook shone darkly bright .
Dale 's gaze swept up and down the valley , and then tried to pierce the black shadows across the brook where the wall of spruce stood up , its speared and spiked crest against the pale clouds .
The wind began to moan in the trees and there was a feeling of rain in the air .
Dale , striking a trail , turned his back to the fading afterglow and strode down the valley .
With night at hand and a rain-storm brewing , he did not head for his own camp , some miles distant , but directed his steps toward an old log cabin .
When he reached it darkness had almost set in .
He approached with caution .
This cabin , like the few others scattered in the valleys , might harbor Indians or a bear or a panther .
Nothing , however , appeared to be there .
Then Dale studied the clouds driving across the sky , and he felt the cool dampness of a fine , misty rain on his face .
It would rain off and on during the night .
Whereupon he entered the cabin .
And the next moment he heard quick hoof-beats of trotting horses .
Peering out , he saw dim , moving forms in the darkness , quite close at hand .
They had approached against the wind so that sound had been deadened .
Five horses with riders , Dale made out -- saw them loom close .
Then he heard rough voices .
Quickly he turned to feel in the dark for a ladder he knew led to a loft ; and finding it , he quickly mounted , taking care not to make a noise with his rifle , and lay down upon the floor of brush and poles .
Scarcely had he done so when heavy steps , with accompaniment of clinking spurs , passed through the door below into the cabin .
“ Wal , Beasley , are you here ? ” queried a loud voice .
There was no reply .
The man below growled under his breath , and again the spurs jingled .
“ Fellars , Beasley ai n't here yet , ” he called .
“ Put the hosses under the shed .
We 'll wait . ”
“ Wait , huh ! ” came a harsh reply .
“ Mebbe all night -- an ' we got nuthin ' to eat . ”
“ Shut up , Moze .
Reckon you 're no good for anythin ' but eatin ' .
Put them hosses away an ' some of you rustle fire-wood in here . ”
Low , muttered curses , then mingled with dull thuds of hoofs and strain of leather and heaves of tired horses .
Another shuffling , clinking footstep entered the cabin .
“ Snake , it 'd been sense to fetch a pack along , ” drawled this newcomer .
“ Reckon so , Jim .
But we did n't , an ' what 's the use hollerin ' ?
Beasley wo n't keep us waitin ' long . ”
Dale , lying still and prone , felt a slow start in all his blood -- a thrilling wave .
That deep-voiced man below was Snake Anson , the worst and most dangerous character of the region ; and the others , undoubtedly , composed his gang , long notorious in that sparsely settled country .
And the Beasley mentioned -- he was one of the two biggest ranchers and sheep-raisers of the White Mountain ranges .
What was the meaning of a rendezvous between Snake Anson and Beasley ?
Milt Dale answered that question to Beasley 's discredit ; and many strange matters pertaining to sheep and herders , always a mystery to the little village of Pine , now became as clear as daylight .
Other men entered the cabin .
“ It ai n't a-goin ' to rain much , ” said one .
Then came a crash of wood thrown to the ground .
“ Jim , hyar 's a chunk of pine log , dry as punk , ” said another .
Rustlings and slow footsteps , and then heavy thuds attested to the probability that Jim was knocking the end of a log upon the ground to split off a corner whereby a handful of dry splinters could be procured .
“ Snake , lem me your pipe , an ' I 'll hev a fire in a jiffy . ”
“ Wal , I want my terbacco an ' I ai n't carin ' about no fire , ” replied Snake .
“ Reckon you 're the meanest cuss in these woods , ” drawled Jim .
Sharp click of steel on flint -- many times -- and then a sound of hard blowing and sputtering told of Jim 's efforts to start a fire .
Presently the pitchy blackness of the cabin changed ; there came a little crackling of wood and the rustle of flame , and then a steady growing roar .
As it chanced , Dale lay face down upon the floor of the loft , and right near his eyes there were cracks between the boughs .
When the fire blazed up he was fairly well able to see the men below .
The only one he had ever seen was Jim Wilson , who had been well known at Pine before Snake Anson had ever been heard of .
Jim was the best of a bad lot , and he had friends among the honest people .
It was rumored that he and Snake did not pull well together .
“ Fire feels good , ” said the burly Moze , who appeared as broad as he was black-visaged .
“ Fall 's sure a-comin ' ... Now if only we had some grub ! ”
“ Moze , there 's a hunk of deer meat in my saddle-bag , an ' if you git it you can have half , ” spoke up another voice .
Moze shuffled out with alacrity .
In the firelight Snake Anson 's face looked lean and serpent-like , his eyes glittered , and his long neck and all of his long length carried out the analogy of his name .
“ Snake , what 's this here deal with Beasley ? ” inquired Jim .
“ Reckon you 'll l'arn when I do , ” replied the leader .
He appeared tired and thoughtful .
“ Ai n't we done away with enough of them poor greaser herders -- for nothin ' ? ” queried the youngest of the gang , a boy in years , whose hard , bitter lips and hungry eyes somehow set him apart from his comrades .
“ You 're dead right , Burt -- an ' that 's my stand , ” replied the man who had sent Moze out .
“ Snake , snow 'll be flyin ' round these woods before long , ” said Jim Wilson .
“ Are we goin ' to winter down in the Tonto Basin or over on the Gila ? ”
“ Reckon we 'll do some tall ridin ' before we strike south , ” replied Snake , gruffly .
At the juncture Moze returned .
“ Boss , I heerd a hoss comin ' up the trail , ” he said .
Snake rose and stood at the door , listening .
Outside the wind moaned fitfully and scattering raindrops pattered upon the cabin .
“ A-huh ! ” exclaimed Snake , in relief .
Silence ensued then for a moment , at the end of which interval Dale heard a rapid clip-clop on the rocky trail outside .
The men below shuffled uneasily , but none of them spoke .
The fire cracked cheerily .
Snake Anson stepped back from before the door with an action that expressed both doubt and caution .
The trotting horse had halted out there somewhere .
“ Ho there , inside ! ” called a voice from the darkness .
“ Ho yourself ! ” replied Anson .
“ That you , Snake ? ” quickly followed the query .
“ Reckon so , ” returned Anson , showing himself .
The newcomer entered .
He was a large man , wearing a slicker that shone wet in the firelight .
His sombrero , pulled well down , shadowed his face , so that the upper half of his features might as well have been masked .
He had a black , drooping mustache , and a chin like a rock .
A potential force , matured and powerful , seemed to be wrapped in his movements .
“ Hullo , Snake !
Hullo , Wilson ! ” he said .
“ I 've backed out on the other deal .
Sent for you on -- on another little matter ... particular private . ”
Here he indicated with a significant gesture that Snake 's men were to leave the cabin .
“ A-huh !
ejaculated Anson , dubiously .
Then he turned abruptly .
Moze , you an ' Shady an ' Burt go wait outside .
Reckon this ai n't the deal I expected ... .
An ' you can saddle the hosses . ”