Part Two

The Code of the Mountain Men

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mark Counter had been trail boss and brought in a thousand head of long-horned O.D. Connected beef to the town of Brownsville. As a drive it could hardly be compared with running three thousand head up the great inter-State trails to the Kansas railheads, but it had had its moments. Enough of them to make Mark grateful that he had Johnny Wade along with him as segundo.

Normally Dusty Fog would have been the trail boss and Mark the segundo, but Dusty and the Ysabel Kid were handling a chore for Ole Devil in the town of Holbrook, ^v and could not make the drive. Not that Ole Devil had need or cause to worry, for Mark was a master hand with cattle and delivered the herd safely. Now, with the buyer’s certified bank draft in the special pocket let into the top of his left Justin boot, Mark was free to have a celebration in the Texas seaport before he and Johnny attended to some private business.

“You should see the place, Mark,” Johnny said enthusiastically as they walked towards a saloon away from the dock area. “I was up there for three months last year before I came back to the O.D. Connected. It sure was a swell lil spread, and I can make it grow. Never thought Uncle Zeke would leave it to me, though.”

“We’ll ride up there and look it over comes the morning,” Mark replied.

Johnny was a good hand with cattle and had rode for the O.D. Connected for almost three years, except for brief spells when he wandered off to see what the rest of the world looked like. However, an uncle had died and left him a small ranch up in the San Vegas hills about fifty miles from Brownsville.

 

With his characteristic generosity, Ole Devil sent Johnny as segundo on the drive, which gave him extra pay that he could use, and told Mark to go out to the ranch with Johnny and see him settled in on it.

“The Last Battle Saloon,” Johnny grinned. “It’s as good as any, I’d say. Well, I’ve bought my supplies, hired me a rig to tote ’em. Now I want to howl.”

“We’ll go in and howl, then,” Mark agreed.

The saloon was one of the better places in Brownsville and drew its custom from a cross-section of the town’s residents and visitors. Cowhands gathered at tables; blue clad soldiers mingled with both U.S. Navy and merchant sailors; dockworkers and townsmen rubbed elbows. It could be an explosive mixture when the whisky flowed free, but at this early hour of the evening all seemed quiet and peaceable enough. The faro layout, the chuck-a-luck and blackjack tables all had clients and the wheel-of-fortune drew a small crowd.

“Not for me,” Johnny drawled. “There’s no hope in bucking the house percentage in a game.”

“Let’s try the poker game then,” Mark replied. “And let’s get sat in on it afore those two gals by the bar come over and eat us.”

“What a way to die,” grinned Johnny, throwing a glance at the pair of painted saloon-girls who looked them over with predatory gaze.

The girls’ interest was understandable, for every woman in the room gave the new arrivals more than just a casual looking over.

Johnny stood six foot one, was handsome with curly black hair and. a neatly trimmed black moustache. He wore good range clothes and had the build to set them off. Around his waist hung a gunbelt, a matched brace of walnut handled 1860 Army Colts butt forward in the low Cavalry draw holsters.

In any company Johnny might be expected to catch the eye, for he had wide shoulders, a slim waist, and a great muscular development which most men might have envied.

However, Johnny stood two inches shorter than Mark and Mark possessed even wider shoulders and greater muscle development, as well as being even more handsome. All in all, it had been a long time, if ever, since two more eye-catching, female attracting, men walked into the Last Battle Saloon.

Before the two girls could cross the room and reach them, Mark and Johnny walked to the table where a poker game was in progress.

 

“Is there room for players, gents?” Johnny asked.

“Settle in and get your feet wet,” the tall, slim, well-dressed gambler replied, waving a hand towards the empty chairs. “Game’s straight stud, no dealer’s choice, no wild cards—and no limit.”

“Then she’s the game for me. How about you, Mark?”

“Three things I never could stand are dealer’s choice, wild cards and a limit. Let’s sit a spell and take instruction in how it’s done.”

None of the four players in the game raised any objection to Mark or Johnny sitting in. The gambler’s warning about the lack of a limit had told the cowhands what to expect.

They were men grown and as such ought to know whether they could afford to sit in and play under those conditions.

Mark could afford to play in the game. An eccentric maiden aunt left all her money to him when she died and the greater part of the money lay on deposit to him in the Polveroso City bank back in Rio Hondo County.

While not being rich, Johnny had managed to save some of his pay—a thing that came as a surprise to all who knew him—and had drawn his savings from the bank before leaving to help on the trail drive. So, even after buying supplies for his ranch, he could afford to chance a few hands of stud even in a no limit game. If the worst came to the worst, he had the deeds to the ranch with which to cover his losses. Not that Johnny wanted to lose the place. He was a cowhand, a top hand at his work, but like most cowhands he tended to live for the moment and let the future take care of itself.

As he sat at the table, Mark studied his fellow players. He knew the gambler to be honest, though obviously an expert at the game or he could not make a living gambling. The man at the gambler’s right looked like a senior teller at a bank, or maybe in the county offices. He was fat, stodgy looking, yet he gave the impression he knew the time of day when it came to playing stud poker. To the fat man’s right sat a leathery old Army sergeant, short, stocky and tanned to the color of old oak. Nothing about him suggested he would be a rabbit in the game.

That left the fourth player. He sat hunched in a chair facing Mark. A peaked uniform hat rested on the back of his head. His face looked harsh, weather-beaten and the nose bore testimony that the glass of liquor on the table before him was not the first, nor the thousandth, drink he had ever taken. In dress he looked like an officer of a boat, either master of a small trading craft, or a mate on some larger vessel. The butt of what appeared to be an Adams revolver showed in his waistband. His white shirt looked dirty, the string tie unfastened. His white trousers were tucked into heavy sea-boots. All in all he looked as mean as hell and, while not drunk, carried enough of that sickly-smelling liquor to slow down his perceptions.

Behind the seaman stood a young woman and at first glance Mark dismissed her as one of the saloon workers. She stood only about five foot two and her mass of long black hair hung down well below her shoulders. It framed a pretty face, a face tanned almost as brown as a Mexican’s. She had dark eyes, almost Oriental in appearance, this was emphasized by her rather high cheekbones and the clothes she wore. Mark had seen the style of dress before, on Chinese girls in cathouses at the end-of-trail towns, or in Quiet Town while he served as a deputy under Dusty Fog there just after the War Between The States. The dress was shiny material, green in color, fastened high to the neck and slit from hem to thigh. Yet the girl did not look Chinese. Oriental maybe, but no Chinese ever had skin that color and very few showed a round, firm bosom such as forced against the material of the dress. Her arms were bare, brown and undecorated by any of the jewelry a dancehall or saloon-girl usually sported.

“This’s Ben Goff,” the gambler introduced, waving a hand to the fat man, “Sarge Killet of the 12th Infantry and the Cap’n. Gents, meet Mark Counter from the O.D. Connected and—?”

Under other circumstances it would have been regarded as a breach of range etiquette to ask such a question. However, it could be asked in the informal setting of a card game and the one questioned did not have to give his correct name.

“Johnny Wade,” Johnny finished for the gambler, looking at the girl behind the seaman with interest.

“She don’t work here, cowboy,” the seaman growled. “She’s mine.”

Not by a flicker of her face did the girl show any interest in either Johnny’s frankly admiring glance, or the man’s words.

“No offence, mister,” Johnny replied quietly.

Mark, the gambler, the soldier and the fat man exchanged glances. All knew that when a cowhand called a man mister after being introduced he did not like the man. Not that they blamed Johnny, the seaman’s comment had been uncalled for. The young cowhand had done no more than look at the girl and could not be expected to know she did not work in the saloon.

Riffling the cards, Packer, the gambler, placed them down for Mark to cut.

“Cut ’em light, lose all night,” Mark drawled. “Flip ’em out and let’s see who’s going to take it from me.”

Out flipped the cards, the first face down and then the second exposed.

“And it’s the ace to bet,” Packer remarked.

“I’ll open it with ten,” Johnny, who held the ace, replied.

From the start two things became clear to Mark; that the standard of play would be high; and that the seaman was out of his depth in such a game. So would Johnny have been, for he played the way he lived, on impulse more than sound judgment.

Where the other three closed a hand that did not show firm hope of being worthwhile, Johnny and the seaman clung to it, staying in the pot and hoping for a last card miracle to save the day. This was not, and never had been, good poker, as the seaman found out to his cost. Johnny might have found it also, but he seemed to be in the middle of one of those flows of luck which made gambling so fascinating to most people. Time after time he would sit with poor hands, betting on them and the last card brought off a winner, or he would run a bluff and scoop the pot.

The seaman was the heavy loser. None of the others took such chances and held their own, or lost a little, knowing the law of averages would in the end crack the run of luck.

After the game had been going for an hour, Johnny glanced at the girl. She still stood behind the seaman’s chair and he had not given her as much as a glance as he played his hands and drank glass after glass of rum without it showing any effect.

While the fat man shuffled the cards, Johnny came to his feet, fetching a chair from another table.

“Here, ma’am,” he said, putting the chair behind the girl. “Have a seat.”

Swinging around, the seaman glared up at Johnny, his drink-reddened face going a shade or two deeper colored. For a long moment he studied Johnny’s big frame, read the challenge in the cowhand’s eyes and shrugged.

“Sit down!” he growled.

Obediently the girl sank into the chair, sitting primly on the edge of it and folding her hands on her lap. She gave Johnny a look of silent gratitude as he returned to his seat and took up his cards.

A few hands went by and the seaman grew more surly with each one. His losses had been heavy and his consumption of rum almost continuous. Fumbling into his coat’s inside pocket, he took out a stiff white sheet of paper and tossed it towards Johnny with an angry gesture.

“Here, the bill of sale for Jaya, give me two hundred on it!”

“Two hundred?” Johnny replied, wondering why the man would offer his ship for such a small sum.

“She’s worth it.”

“Reckon she might be to you,” Johnny agreed, then he shrugged. “Sure, two hundred it is.”

Easy come, easy go, that was Johnny. He had no use for a ship, but could always let the seaman redeem the bill of sale after the game. Way Johnny saw it, a man who had suffered from such stinking luck in the game deserved a chance to break even.

“Let’s call this the last hand, shall we?” the fat man asked, watching Mark riffle the cards.

None of the others objected, although the seaman muttered something under his breath. The other players in the game, poker addicts though they were, did not like the seaman’s attitude enough to want to continue playing with him. All had played enough poker to know such a man in his present condition might make trouble that could end up in gunplay. So, rather than wind up with a corpse and cartridge affair, they would break up the game.

“I’ll do it!” the seaman growled as Mark passed the cards to Johnny for the cut.

Under the rules of poker any player could ask to cut the cards before the deal. Yet the seaman’s attitude annoyed Mark, brought a frown of disapproval to the gambler’s face, an angry grunt from the soldier and a worried look to the fat townsman. Johnny’s hands clenched, but he caught a warning headshake from Mark and kept his thoughts to himself. Only he sure hoped that loudmouth made some remark after the game. It would give Johnny the pleasure to bounce that sullen yahoo around the room.

Out sailed the cards, landing face down on the table, followed by the next turned face up for all to see. The seaman peeked at his hole card, the king of hearts and he had the ace of spades showing. Across the table Johnny sat with the four of hearts showing.

“I’ll open,” growled the seaman.

Mark threw his cards in, the three of clubs and nine of diamonds did not have enough possibility of improvement to make it worth his while staying in on them. The others stayed in and Mark dealt them their third cards. The seaman caught the queen of diamonds and Johnny received the nine of hearts. After seeing the card he received, the fat man followed the other players out, leaving the pot between Johnny and the seaman.

On receiving a ten of spades, the seaman pushed up the betting and Johnny drew the seven of hearts. Again they bet and the last cards flipped to them from the deck. Nobody spoke, but every eye went first to the jack of clubs before the seaman and the six of hearts which lay on Johnny’s hand.

“Ace to bet,” the gambler said quietly.

Indecision showed on the seaman’s face, a trickle of sweat ran down his brow and he brushed it aside. Although he held as high a straight as a man could get, one little heart in the hole would give Johnny a flush; and that would beat any straight no matter how high.

Having seen how Johnny’s luck ran through the game, the seaman felt uneasy. Nothing in the young cowhand’s face or attitude showed any hint of alarm, or sign that he might be running a bluff.

“I’ll check,” the seaman said.

“Then she’s loose for a hundred,” Johnny answered.

Once again the man paused and studied the cards. He lifted his face to look at Johnny. The other players stayed silent, waiting to see the outcome of the game.

Slowly the seaman reached out a hand. He looked at the money before him and gave an angry scowl.

“I’m in!” he snarled and folded his cards.

With a broad grin, Johnny scooped in the pot and thrust back his chair. He looked at the other players.

“Drinks are on me, gents,” he said. “Let’s head for the bar.”

All but the seaman rose to accept Johnny’s invitation. They left the cards on the table just as when the deal finished. The seaman leaned over and lifted up Johnny’s hole card. A snarl of fury came from the man’s lips. He dropped the two of spades face up on the table. Johnny had run a bluff and the seaman knew he had fallen for it.

Coming to his feet and throwing his chair over, the seaman drew the Adams revolver from his waistband.

“Look out!”

The girl had not moved from her chair, nor had her eyes left Johnny since he accepted the bill of sale from the seaman. Now she came to her feet and screamed a warning.

It came almost too late. The Adams’s bullet missed Johnny by inches as he started to turn, thrusting the gambler and fat man aside and twisting his right hand palm out to hook around its gun butt.

Mark also turned, saw the seaman and acted. Faster than Johnny moved, Mark brought out his left hand Colt, his right hand shooting out to send the old soldier staggering to safety. Flame ripped from the barrel and the seaman reeled back under the impact of the lead. He still held his gun and tried to shoot, swinging the Adams in Mark’s direction. It gave Mark no choice. He fired again, sending the bullet into the man’s head and tumbling him in a lifeless heap on the floor.

The girl screamed, twisting away from the sight and standing with her hands clenched at her sides. Everybody in the room swung around, preparing to take cover. Smoke dribbled up from Mark’s Colt and Johnny thrust his weapon back into its holster.

“Thanks, Mark,” he said. “Looks like the feller saw I’d run a bluff on him and didn’t like it.”

“Sure looks that way,” Mark replied. “I figured you hadn’t filled the flush at all.”

“I hadn’t. Reckoned to give him a chance to win his boat back. I’d best go thank the lady, she saved me for sure.”

“Go to it,” Mark answered. “I’ll send for the marshal.”

Crossing the room, Johnny halted by the girl and looked down at her. She turned a frightened face to him.

“Thanks for the warning, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened to your man.”

“He is not my man,” she replied. “You are.”

“Me?” Johnny asked, his voice rising a shade. “How’d you make that out?”

“My name is Jaya Hara. You won me from the captain. I saw him give you the papers.”

The town marshal arrived and heard the details of the shooting, declared it to be self-defense and that no action need be taken against Mark. In Texas at that time people took the sensible view that a man could defend his life, or the life of a friend, even to the extent of killing an aggressor should it be necessary. Mark had not sought a fight, but he shot to prevent the seaman killing Johnny and the law rightly found no fault in his actions.

Leaving the marshal to attend to the removal of the body, Mark crossed the room and joined Johnny at the bar. The little girl stood with Johnny and from the expression on Johnny’s face, he was trying to explain something to her.

“I can’t own you, Jaya,” Johnny was saying as Mark joined them.

“You do,” she replied and Mark could detect a faint accent in her speech. “The captain sold me to you. I saw him.”

“Mark,” Johnny groaned, turning to his big amigo, “tell Jaya that a man can’t sell a gal to anybody.”

“Let’s get out of here first,” Mark replied. “Like the marshal says, that feller might have friends, and he doesn’t want a shooting war between the cowhands and sailors.”

Turning, Mark headed for the door. Johnny watched him go, then followed, for he could see the wisdom in the marshal’s suggestion. If the dead man had friends they might come back looking for revenge. Johnny and Mark could handle their guns and take care of their end in any man’s fight, but the sailors would tend to side with their kind. This in turn would bring the cowhands in to help Mark and Johnny and could blow the whole town apart at the seams.

“Give me my bag, please,” Jaya said to the bartender. “The smaller one.”

“Sure,” he replied, bending to lift a canvas duffle bag from the floor. “How about the other one?”

“I do not want it,” she answered, swinging the bag to her shoulder and hurrying across the room after the departing men.

“What were you saying in there?” Mark asked as he and Johnny left the saloon and walked along the sidewalk.

“That lil gal, Jaya she says her name is, she reckons I bought her off that sailor.”

At that moment Johnny sensed rather than heard the girl

and turned towards her. Mark also swung around, looking at the bag the girl carried.

“What in hell?” Johnny snapped. “Look, gal, I don’t own you.”

“Yes you do. You have paper—”

“Durn the paper!” Johnny interrupted. “I’ll give you the—”

“Let’s get off the street and talk this out!” Mark put in urgently, for a few people were looking in their direction, attracted by Johnny’s rising voice.

“Yeah, we’d better,” Johnny replied. “Come on—and give me that durned bag, gal.”

Jaya looked at Johnny in surprise as he took the bag from her hand, slung it on to his shoulder and turned to walk away. For the first time her full lips parted in a smile. Her mouth looked just a shade too large for some tastes, but the teeth were firm and even, without the gold filling so many Chinese girls sported. She fell into line behind him and followed on his heels.

Stopping, Johnny looked back at the girl. “Come on up here and walk between Mark and me, gal,” he ordered.

“It would not be correct for me to do so,” she answered.

“Dad-blast it, gal, this’s Texas. You come between us.”

Somehow they attracted less attention walking that way, although several people threw knowing looks at them. The looks annoyed Johnny for some reason. On more than one occasion he had escorted a girl through the streets and received the same sort of looks, only then the looks had been justified. This time he had no ulterior motive; and, strangely, the thought of the implied suggestion about Jaya’s morals riled him.

On reaching the hotel where they had taken rooms, Johnny went to the reception desk and jerked a thumb toward Jaya. The reception clerk, a plump, pompous dude with spectacles and side-whiskers, looked at the girl, then turned an indignant face to Johnny.

“This isn’t the sort of hotel—!” he began.

“They never are,” Johnny replied. “The lady’s taking my room and I’m bunking with my amigo”

“Yes?” sniffed the clerk.

“ Yes !” Johnny barked, his hands slapping palms down on the desktop and causing the clerk to take a hurried pace to the rear. “Any objections?”

“N—no, sir. None at all!”

Actually the clerk had several objections, but he remembered that the big blond cowhand had appeared to be on friendly terms with the hotel’s owner, so kept his views to himself. Besides, he knew cowhands. One wrong word could cause more trouble than the clerk reckoned he could handle.

On reaching the door of his room, Johnny unlocked it and handed the key and her bag to Jaya.

“Say,” he said, “do you have any other clothes in that bag?”

“Of course.”

“You’d best put another dress on. That one sure attracts attention.”

“Yes—may I call you Johnny? I heard your friend call you Johnny.”

“Sure you can, Jaya,” Johnny replied. “Come give me a knock when you’re changed, then we’ll go eat.”

“You not wanting me to cook for you?” she gasped.

“Not today,” Johnny grinned. “Let’s say you’re on holiday.”

“I never had a holiday before,” Jaya sighed, opening the room door and stepping inside. “I like belonging to you, Johnny.”

Sitting on his bed, Mark grinned at Johnny when the young cowhand entered the room.

“What’s amusing you?” Johnny asked. “That’s a nice gal there.”

“Sure is,” Mark agreed. “What’re you fixing to do with her?”

“Me?”

“You,” Mark agreed. “She reckons you own her.”

Johnny flung his hat on to the small dressing table angrily. You know that isn’t possible, Mark.”

“Why sure,” Mark agreed. “I know it, you know it. But does she know it?”

“I’ll explain it to her while we’re eating,” Johnny drawled.

“It’s allus easy to explain things to a gal when she’s full fed.”

At that moment the door of the room opened and Jaya entered. She wore a different dress. The sight of it lifted Johnny out of his chair and even Mark, who reckoned to be blasé about females, stared.

From waist to ankles the dress looked normal, no slit through which shapely legs could peek seductively, the sort of thing any good woman in town would wear. Above the waist—well, it would raise a dead Indian, happen one had been close at hand. The material clung so tight that it seemed molded to her and left her arms and shoulders bare, apart from the two straps. The neckline of the dress had been cut down lower than even a dance-hall girl in a wide-open town would chance wearing, and showed that Jaya wore nothing but the dress.

“I have changed my dress as you say,” Jaya announced unnecessarily.

“Land-sakes, gal!” Johnny gasped. “Is that the only one you have?”

“No, I have others, but they are smaller than this one.”

Under different circumstances Johnny would not have cared how scantily a girl dressed. Yet somehow he felt differently about Jaya. She looked so small and helpless, happen a man kept his eyes on her face. He did not feel she should dress in anything so revealing when men could see her.

“Go put a coat on,” he said. “I’ll take you to the store and buy you a couple of dresses.”

Left alone in the room, Mark lay back on his bed and grinned-up at the roof. He knew Johnny very well and had been surprised at the cowhand’s behavior towards the girl. With any other girl, or any other girl he had met in a saloon, Johnny would never have thought of handing over his room, or worried about how she dressed. Yet he had taken the little girl in and was spending money to buy her clothes more suited to the ideas people had about how a young woman ought to dress.

Maybe the chance meeting would have its use, Mark thought. While Johnny was a top hand with cattle, ready to work all hours of the day and night, or give his life blood for the brand he hired to, he never accepted responsibility. He would need to if he hoped to make the ranch he inherited pay. What Johnny needed was a steadying influence, a wife—but would that girl make him the right kind of wife?

When Johnny returned, he presented Jaya clad in a gingham dress of modest, conventional pattern. A parcel he carried contained two more, and various articles of underclothing the storekeeper’s wife insisted Jaya would need, for her scanty wardrobe did not contain any such luxuries.

“Let’s go eat and talk things out,” Mark suggested.

Over the meal, with Jaya attracting little attention in her new clothes, the girl told her story.

Jaya was born in a seaport on the Siam coast, although Mark had only a vague idea, and Johnny none at all, where this might be. Her father had been a German trader, her mother a Javanese dancing girl. Not that her father had been a very successful trader, the girl admitted, in fact he spent so much time drinking that he rarely had any business to support an ever-growing family.

Four years ago her father needed money and sold her to the man Mark killed, the captain of a small trading ship. From the calm way Jaya spoke of the matter, it did not appear to be an unusual transaction in her homeland. The captain kept her on the ship as his cook and servant, strangely he had treated her as nothing worse—probably because he planned to sell her to some brothel keeper when she matured and knew he would gain a higher price that way. Then for some reason not unconnected with piracy, but into which Jaya did not go, the man sailed for the United States. He brought his ship around the tip of Southern America to make for the eastern seaboard rather than chance recognition on the west coast. On arrival at Brownsville, the captain had been in urgent need of money. He brought the girl ashore to try to sell her, however, the card game at the Last Battle Saloon gave Jaya a stay and Mark wrote a finish to the man’s plan.

“I did not want to be what he would sell me for,” she finished, looking at Johnny with her luminous black eyes and pleading that he believed her. “I am good girl. I cook good, mend clothes or make them. I am strong, work very hard for you all the time, Johnny.”

“But I don’t own you,” Johnny groaned.

“You do. You have the papers.”

“Dang the papers!” Johnny yelled, then dropped his voice. “They don’t mean a thing. You can go any time you want.”

“I not want to go,” she said. “You good man, you own me. I not leave you.”

Nor would any amount of arguing shake the girl. Mark tried to help out by explaining the impossibility of Johnny owning her, but she brushed aside every suggestion that she was free.

“Blast it, Mark!” Johnny growled as they followed the girl upstairs after the meal. “How do—say, I’ve an idea. Let’s me and you go out and have us a time. That way she’ll see that I don’t care.”

“I’ll go along with you,” Mark replied. “It may work.”

Not until they had reached the saloon nearest to the hotel did Johnny remember he had left his saddle, bedroll and war bag in the hotel room that he loaned to Jaya. Yet he did not worry for his every instinct told him his belongings would be safe.

It had been Johnny’s intention to get drunk, which he did, then pick a gal as unlike Jaya as he could find and take her back to the hotel with him. That ought to show Jaya he wanted no part of her. He even had the right girl picked out, a large, buxom blonde beauty who would make two of Jaya in size and heft. The girl would have agreed to Johnny’s proposal, but did not get a chance.

Just as Johnny started to walk towards the girl and suggest they made a night of it, he seemed to see another face before him. One with a mass of long black hair, dainty, pretty features and luminous, yet sad, black eyes. Suddenly Johnny wanted no part of the big blonde.

Instead he drank more than he meant to. Whisky never made Johnny aggressive. The only effect it had on him was to make him sleepy. After a time Mark steered Johnny back to the hotel. In their room Johnny gravely thanked Mark, shaking his hand and telling him that he was the best damned amigo a man ever had. Then Johnny undressed and headed for his blankets which lay on the floor at the side of the room. Mark had done some drinking himself, though not as much as Johnny, and certainly not enough to make him lose his memory. Yet he could not remember Johnny bringing the bedroll into the room and spreading it out ready for use.

Mark was still thinking about the matter of Johnny’s bedroll when he went to sleep. Light sleeper though Mark usually was, he did not hear the door open. A dark shape entered, spent a few minutes in the room and left as silently as it came.

“Where in hell’s my clothes?”

Daylight streamed in through the room’s window as Mark woke to Johnny’s wail of anger. Sitting up in bed, Mark looked across the room to where Johnny sat on his blankets and stared around the room.

“Is this your fool idea of a joke?” Johnny growled, seeing Mark sit watching him. “Come on, Mark, where in h—”

His words died off as the room’s door opened to admit Jaya carrying a cloth covered tray. Johnny let out a startled yelp and ducked under his blankets, drawing them around his naked torso.

“I have brought you coffee,” the girl said, setting the tray on a chair. “Shall I bring your breakfast to you?”

“Huh?” Johnny gasped. “Hey—No! And you shouldn’t come in here like this, Jaya. I’m not dressed.”

“I will fetch your clothes,” she replied and left the room.

An amazed looking face stared at Mark as the door closed behind the girl. Mark could not hold down his grin, for he had never seen Johnny so completely at a loss for words.

“D—did she—?” Johnny croaked.

“Not that I know of,” Mark grinned. “I never saw her when we got back here. You undressed yourself and went to sleep, like a baby when its mother sings a lullaby.”

“How’d you like me to sing you a lul—”

Once more Johnny’s words died off as he stared at Jaya. The girl came into the room carrying a neat pile of clothes. Johnny’s Stetson, freshly brushed and with the silver conchas of its band gleaming, lay on top of the pile. His spare shirt, undershirt and underpants, all clean and pressed, his levis, tidied up after their wear, and boots showing an unaccustomed shine, completed the girl’s load. Placing the clothes down, Jaya reached into one of the boots and took out a clean, darned pair of socks which certainly had not been clean or darned when Johnny last saw them.

“I have packed your old clothes away to be washed when I have time,” she said. “Can I—”

“No!” Johnny yelped as if the words had been stung out of him by a bee. He held the blankets tighter to him. “I can dress myself.”

A gentle smile played on the girl’s lips.

“I only wanted to know if I could pour out the coffee for you.”

Mark grinned and spoke up. “I’ll take a cup, if I can, ma’am.”

Whisking the cloth from the tray, Jaya poured out two cups of coffee and looked at Johnny.

“How do you like it?” she asked.

“Black and sweet,” he replied, sounding dazed.

“I will remember in the future,” she promised.

Although Johnny thought up some comment about her having no need to remember, he did not use it. The aroma of the cup of coffee Jaya handed to him made him forget the speech.

“No hotel cook ever threw up Arbuckle’s like this,” Mark drawled, accepting the cup Jaya carried to him after serving Johnny.

“I made it myself,” the girl answered. “Please get dressed now so you can go and eat the breakfast I have cooked for you.”

“Sure, Jaya gal,” Johnny replied. “Just you go and let us dress.”

Not until he was dressing did Johnny realize his wallet and money-belt had been among his clothes. Before he could mention this to Mark, he found them under his pillow. Johnny, who had known enough saloon-girls to have few illusions left, never even thought of checking that the money be intact.

“Where in hell did the bed come from?” he asked.

Mark rose, and began to dress before he answered.

“Jaya must have brought it in for you. What’re you going to do about her?”

“I don’t know,” Johnny admitted. “I can’t just turn the gal loose down here. She’d never get by. I reckon I’ll take her up to the ranch until she knows her way around.”

“Why not marry her?” Mark replied.

Johnny was climbing into his pants as Mark spoke. He stopped with one leg in the air, twisted around and almost fell.

“ Marry!” he howled. “Mark, you-all been falling on your lil pumpkin head too many times. Why in hell should I get married?”

“Why not?” Mark countered. “You’re all set to settle down and be a rancher. Which same, you’re going to need a woman to run the house.”

“Nan!” Johnny snorted. “A gal’d just be a drag to me. I’ll take her up to the spread, happen she wants to come. But when she knows her way around, waal, I’ll stake her to wherever she wants to go.”

There the matter rested for the time being. The two men washed and shaved, finished dressing and went downstairs to eat a good breakfast served to them by Jaya. She seemed to be surprised when Johnny insisted she join them, and sat watching him with smiling lips and happy eyes.

Before they left the hotel Mark saw its owner, a friend from his Army days. He learned that Jaya had worked until long after he and Johnny went to bed, at washing Johnny’s clothes, sewing tears and replacing missing buttons, darning his socks and cleaning his boots and hat.

Mark did not tell Johnny of his findings. He paid the hotel bill and they took Jaya to collect the hired wagon, then drive to the store and load the ranch’s supplies.

“You stack and I’ll load,” Mark told Johnny on reaching the store.

“Any way you want, amigo” Johnny replied.

Neither of the men noticed Jaya, who had ridden alongside Johnny on the wagon box, climb down and walk on to the sidewalk. The girl followed Mark into the store and watched him pick up a sack of potatoes, sling it on his shoulder and stroll out of the door with no more apparent effort than a kid toting a bag of candy.

“I thought I’d tote all the heavy, stuff out first,” he told Johnny who took the sack from him.

“Any way you—” Johnny began, than glanced at the store’s door. He came erect fast, his eyes bulging wide open. “Great blistering horned-toad! Will you take a look at that?”

Swinging around, Mark saw what had startled Johnny. Came to a point the sight rocked him back on his heels too.

Jaya came through the door and across the sidewalk, toting a heavy sack of sugar on her back. She walked forward, bowing under the weight, but keeping moving with it.

To his credit, Johnny reached the sidewalk even before Mark. He sprang over the side of the wagon and took the sack from the girl’s back.

“Land-sakes, gal!” he grunted. “What’re you trying to do, kill yourself?”

“It was not heavy,” she replied.

Johnny could have given her an argument about that. The sack was heavy, far heavier than he would have believed the girl’s small figure capable of bearing.

Coming from the store, the owner looked worriedly to where Johnny stood heaving the sack on to the wagon.

“I’m sorry, friend,” he said. “The lady came in and asked me which was your gear. I showed her, and next thing I knowed she’d picked that sack up and toted it outside. I never even thought she could heft it from the floor.”

“And she’d best not heft anymore,” Johnny replied grimly.

“I do not please you, Johnny?” Jaya gasped, looking worried.

“Sure you do,” he replied with a grin and gently laid a hand on her head to ruffle her hair. “Only there’s no call for you to go hefting the heavy stuff around. You lend a hand with the lighter gear if you like.”

By the time the wagon was loaded, Jaya had proved she knew how to stack a load, spread a tarpaulin over it and lash the tarp home securely. She showed embarrassment when

Johnny pressed some money into her hand and told her to go buy a present.

“Man’d be a fool to let a gal like her slip through his fingers,” Mark drawled as he and Johnny watched Jaya skip lightly into the store.

“Likely,” Johnny agreed. “Only I’m not the marrying kind.”

Normally Mark would have accepted, probably applauded his friend’s decision to avoid the bonds of matrimony. However, on this occasion he figured he should break his rule. Johnny needed a good wife, and Jaya showed signs of being a better girl for the job than the sort Johnny would pick given first and free choice of the remuda. Jaya needed a husband, there were too few ways a woman could earn a decent living in the west; and Johnny would make a good husband once he settled in to the idea. Only if Mark knew Johnny, and he reckoned he did, he didn’t figure the cowhand would want him handing out advice on the subject of matrimony. More so when thinking of Mark’s views on the subject as it affected him personally.

There was one way to make Johnny see the light though; and Mark reckoned he was just the boy to do it.

~*~

Jaya used the money Johnny gave her to buy a Stetson hat. When she sat by his side on the wagon box, her eagerness to have pleased him by the purchase started Johnny worrying. The last thing he wanted was for her to get too attached to him. Sure, she was a great little gal, but it was just that Johnny did not think he could make a marrying man.

“Pass it down this way, Jaya,” Mark said, riding his blood bay stallion at the side of the wagon. “I’ll shape it Texas style for you.”

Glancing hopefully at Johnny, who pretended to be too busy handling the reins and make sure his big dun horse followed the wagon, to the tail of which its reins were fastened, Jaya handed Mark the hat.

“See you bought a good hat,” Mark went on, altering the Stetson’s crown to meet the dictates of Texas fashion. “It’s always worth the money.”

Johnny looked towards the girl, now facing Mark and

engrossed in his words of wisdom on the subject of hats. Having seen Mark in action around the ladies before, Johnny felt a hint of relief. He did not forget how Mark cut the ground from under his feet one time with the best looking girl in a Newton saloon. From the way things looked, Johnny reckoned Mark to be using the same technique with Jaya.

“Good ole Mark,” he thought. “You’re sure taking that lil gal off my back.”

Then another thought struck him. In a way he was responsible for Jaya. If he had not brought her out here there would be no need for Mark to take her off his back. What about after Mark got the gal interested? Johnny knew Mark too well to reckon anything more serious than a flirtation could come with Jaya. So what would she do after Mark rode on?

For the first time Johnny began to think of Java’s many good points. He also decided he had best try to stop her becoming too involved with Mark. Not that he cared one way or the other, of course, but he did not want to see that innocent little gal get hurt.

So Johnny tried to regain Jaya’s attention. Woman-like, Java’s feelings had been hurt by Johnny’s apparent indifference to her choice of hats—when she made the choice because she felt it would please him and instead of buying some cheap, rather gaudy jewelry which attracted her. So she intended to make Johnny suffer a little for his indifference.

For the rest of the day, while they travelled across the range heading towards the San Vegas hill country, Johnny tried to get into the conversation which went on between Mark and the girl. He met with little success.

When they made camp for the night, Mark allowed Johnny to slip in and show Jaya how to handle the unhitching and care of the wagon horse. The girl cooked a meal for them and they prepared to settle down for the night.

“You can use my pillow and blankets, Jaya,” Mark said.

“There’s a spare blanket on the wagon,” Johnny put in. “We’ll make Jaya a bed under the wagon and we’ll sleep by the fire.”

“Where else?” Mark replied.

He found that Johnny spread his bedroll on the side of the fire nearest to the wagon. Nor did Johnny go to sleep until he saw and heard the rhythmic breathing by which he assumed that Mark had already settled down for the night. Mark looked across the fire at the now sleeping Johnny and a grin came to his lips. Turning over, Mark drew his blankets up higher. It looked like old Johnny was beginning to point the way Mark wanted him to go.

They moved on at dawn, after a good breakfast and some of Java’s coffee. What that girl could do with Arbuckle’s coffee had to be tasted to be believed. Johnny had always liked good coffee and he could not remember any that tasted just as good to his palate as the kind Jaya made.

Once more Johnny missed his chance. Mark’s praise of the coffee brought a smile to Jaya’s lips and she turned to Johnny.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Huh? Sure, it’s all right.”

Straight off Johnny could have cursed himself. With an annoyed toss of her head, Jaya turned and carried the coffeepot away, pouring a good cup full that Johnny would have liked over the fire’s flames.

Once more Mark monopolized the conversation with the girl and Johnny scowled to himself, concentrating on driving. His few attempts to say anything found the girl attentive, but each time Mark cut him out.

Towards sundown they came into sight of the ranch buildings and Johnny brought the wagon to a halt. He did not notice that Mark dropped back and left him alone with the girl and the view.

“There it is, Jaya,” Johnny said, a note of pride in his voice.

“I think it is beautiful, Johnny,” she replied and her voice sent a thrill through him.

Compared with the O.D. Connected’s great two storey main building, the house below did not appear very grand. Yet Johnny did not care. After all, he did not own the O.D. Connected but he did own that house down there and a fair slice of the surrounding land.

The house was stoutly made of logs, with a good strong roof over it, glass at the windows and a porch on which a man could sit and rock in the evening while his wife made supper for him. There was a good sized, well-made barn, a blacksmith’s forge, a backhouse and a couple of stoutly constructed pole corrals. His uncle had built to last and it would be long, given reasonable care, before Johnny would need to start rebuilding.

“Let’s go take a look inside,” Johnny suggested eagerly and the girl, clutching his arm, agreed.

Watching the wagon roll down the slope, Mark smiled. He had not failed to notice how Johnny and Jaya acted. Give them a couple of days, and Johnny a little more of the treatment handed out the last couple of days, and Mark reckoned he could leave his two friends in each other’s care.

A pump and empty horse-trough stood before the house. Mark swung from his blood bay’s saddle and went to the pump, starting to fill the big trough. A woman could likely do her wash in it, or even take a bath on warm days when her man and the help worked the range.

Side by side Jaya and Johnny ran from the wagon, across the porch and to the door. When Johnny’s uncle rode into Brownsville for the last time, he had locked the door and taken the key. Apart from the sheriff’s deputies checking in once in a while, nobody had been near the house since that day. Johnny unlocked the door and he and Jaya entered.

The house had a simple lay-out much used in the west. The front consisted of one room, serving as dining-room, sitting-room, lounge, library combined. It was furnished, the furniture not new, but still in good condition. Three doors led off at the rear, two to bedrooms, one into the kitchen.

The dust of a month of emptiness lay everywhere, but apart from that the place appeared to be untouched.

“Tomorrow,” Jaya said, looking around her, “we start to clean everything.”

“Whatever you say,” Johnny replied.

Mark came into the room, halting and looking around him. Turning, Johnny looked at his amigo and grinned, finding it impossible to stay annoyed.

“How’d you like it, Mark?”

“Great. A stout little house with all the furnishings.

You’ve got a good home here, Johnny boy. I’ll go tend to the horses, unless Jaya wants another lesson in horse-handling.”

“She don’t!” Johnny grunted, before the girl could answer. “I want to show her her room—”

On finding her kitchen, Jaya chased Johnny off out to help Mark with the horses while she started the stove and prepared a meal for them. Johnny joined Mark outside and worked in silence, which Mark knew to be unusual for Johnny.

“Jaya says we’re starting house cleaning tomorrow,” Mark remarked as he turned the harness horse into one of the corrals. “Reckon she’s the boss on that end of the spread.”

“Reckon she is,” Johnny replied. “You figure it’ll be all right for you to stay on here, Mark? Ole Devil might have something for you to handle.”

“Nope. He told me to take a few days vacation. So I might as well do it up here, lending you a hand. I wonder if Jaya’s got everything she needs in the kitchen?”

“I’ll go see,” Johnny grunted.

Watching Johnny walk away, Mark grinned broadly. He attended to the horses and when finished, walked to the house. Johnny and Jaya appeared to be getting on much better.

“Johnny boy,” Mark thought as he joined them at the table, “you’ve one foot in the hole and the other on a greasy slope. Just a lil mite more pushing and I’ll leave you set up for life.”

So Mark kept on the pushing. When he wished, he could talk fascinatingly about a number of things. Jaya listened to his descriptions of the pre-war south, of Maximilian’s court in Mexico; and Johnny sat watching the girl, getting more and more sure that he must protect her from Mark.

Not that Johnny cared about her himself. He just did not want to see her hurt—or so he told himself.

The girl showed off another accomplishment, although not one Johnny approved of her doing in mixed company. From her bundle of belongings, she produced a scanty sleeveless blouse and a skirt which seemed to be made of grass, hanging to her knees. Wearing these, and barefoot, she began to dance. It was a dance like the two men had never seen before, with swaying hips, sensuous writhing body movements.

Johnny felt hot under the collar as she sank to her knees in the dusty room and faced him, leaning her torso back as she writhed and her arms moved gracefully in the pagan dance. He enjoyed every movement of it, but swore she would never again dance like that before another man.

“That is how the native girls dance in the South Sea Islands,” she said, rising to her feet. “Did you like?”

“I’ve never seen better,” Mark answered.

“You go put your other dress on now,” Johnny put in, for the grass skirt revealed more of the girl’s legs than even the Chinese frock had. “You’ll catch a cold in that outfit.”

Once again Mark could cheerfully have kicked Johnny across the room. The girl wanted his praise, and instead of giving it, telling her how he enjoyed her dance, the durned fool had to make a remark like that.

A very indignant Jaya stormed out of the room, to return wearing the gingham dress. Ignoring Johnny, she began to ask Mark questions about the range, things a woman should know about and which Johnny wished he could be discussing with her.

“It’s time we were getting to bed!” he growled, unable to stand it any longer. “You use the bedroom, Jaya. Me ’n’ Mark’ll bunk down in the barn until we get the place cleaned up.”

Not until they had spread their bedrolls in the barn, with Johnny getting between Mark and the door, did the young cowhand speak to his blond amigo.

“Take it easy on Jaya, Mark,” he said.

“How do you mean?” Mark asked, straight-faced but enjoying every minute of the situation.

“Shucks, she’s not used to being around fellers. She might—you—that is—it’s—”

“I thought you hadn’t any claim on her,” Mark drawled.

“I don’t have!” Johnny snapped. “It’s just that I feel responsible for her after fetching her out here.”

“Do, huh?”

“Sure, I do!”

“I’ll mind what you say,” Mark said calmly. “Now let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

And with that, Mark undressed and climbed into his bed. He went to sleep almost immediately, knowing Johnny was willing himself to stay awake until sure he had nothing to fear.

Dawn brought a fresh problem for Johnny. Jaya came to tell them that she had breakfast ready for them.

“What’re you wearing that dress for?” he yelled indignantly, for it was the one into which she had changed at the hotel and which caused him to buy her new clothes.

“I have much work to do,” she replied. “It is not good that I should dirty my good clothes.”

“Yeah, but—”

Sitting up, Mark looked at the girl and interrupted Johnny’s protests.

“Man, you look prettier than a June-bug, Jaya,” he said.

“Thank you, Mark,” she replied. “Johnny thinks I should wear my good dress to work in.”

“That’d be real foolish, was you to ask me,” Mark drawled.

“Nobody did,” Johnny growled.

“I have breakfast ready,” Jaya said, in a tone which showed she considered the matter of her dress closed. “Hurry, before it gets cold.”

Not even the mood of “to hell with her, let her make a durned fool of herself over him,” could last in the face of Jaya’s coffee and breakfast. Johnny ate well and even managed to compliment her on her cooking, and her appearance.

With the breakfast over, Jaya gave her orders, and from the way she spoke the men saw they were going to have a hard and busy morning. On leaving the house, Mark removed his shirt and undershirt, putting them with his hat and gunbelt on the wagon box.

“You can’t go around like that!” Johnny objected.

“Why not?” Mark replied. “Jaya’s been on a ship and likely seen a man’s bare chest before now, so why should I get my clothes mussed up?”

“Johnny!” Jaya called, coming to the cabin door. “Will you and Mark come and move the furniture for me?”

“Sure,” Johnny replied, stepping hurriedly before Mark in the hope of hiding his naked torso and saving Jaya embarrassment.

“Why don’t you take off your shirt, too?” she asked. “It will save me some washing.”

For a moment Johnny thought of ignoring the advice. Then he thought why the hell should that big blond bladder of lard get off showing his physique to Jaya. Maybe Mark was a mite bigger, but Johnny reckoned his own build was not exactly so puny that he need be ashamed to show it off. So he stripped off his shirt and left it, hat and gunbelt with Mark’s on the wagon.

Not that Johnny had time to stand around and let Jaya admire his well-developed body. If she noticed it at all, Jaya gave no hint. Instead she had the two men working hard, carrying all the furniture out into the space before the house while she heated water.

“She sure has some go for a lil ’un,” Johnny said admiringly, looking towards the house.

“Yep, she sure has,” Mark agreed. “Let’s go clean out the barn while she does her chores in the house.”

Despite all his suspicions of Mark’s intentions, Johnny went along with the idea. They heard the sound of scrubbing and Jaya’s voice as she sang a song in a lilting tongue neither could understand, but which sounded mighty sweet to a man’s ears. It made him think of the way Jaya looked in that frock, or how she danced the previous night. Johnny watched Mark, trying to read something in the big blond’s face, but could not.

Johnny threw himself into the work before him like a man possessed. The barn needed a good cleaning and that was exactly what it got. Between them, Mark and Johnny did four men’s work, lifting, toting, moving bales of hay and straw, and by noon they had cleaned the barn.

By noon Jaya had finished scrubbing the house. She stood in the center of the main room and looked around her. If that did not please Johnny, she thought, nothing would please him. Perhaps she had been too friendly with Mark, she could not say, but Johnny had only himself to blame if she had. At that moment Jaya heard the sound of horse’s hooves. She wondered who might be calling and, not wishing to disgrace Johnny before his neighbors, she decided to take a moment to tidy her appearance before going outside.

The sound of hooves brought Johnny and Mark’s attention to the visitor, as they walked from the barn to the house to fetch Jaya and allow her to inspect and comment on their work.

“Going to need some chickens for Jaya to tend,” Mark drawled, then he heard the hooves and turned.

Johnny also turned, saw the on-coming rider and felt suddenly sick in his stomach. Of all the folks he had met during his last visit to the spread, the visitor was the last he expected to see—and the last he wanted to come calling under the circumstances.

Springing from the shaggy scrub horse’s bare back, the newcomer dashed forward to throw arms around Johnny’s neck and crush a hot little mouth to his.

The newcomer was a girl of about five foot five. Her tawny, curly hair hung in a tangle around a pert, pretty, naive, dirty face. She had a full, rich, magnificent body which a sleeveless, tight fitting, man’s old shirt did nothing to conceal, especially as it hung open at the neck and half-way down her round, full bust. The old, patched jeans clung to her hips like she’d been molded into them, were about knee long and her legs and feet were bare.

“Hello, Tilda-Mae,” Johnny said, pushing the girl back to arm’s length for her body gave off a stench of stale sweat and lack of soap which had always turned him from her.

“Johnny!” she replied. “I done saw your smoke and come a-running.”

She tried to move closer, but he held her off, his hands on the greasy shoulders of her shirt.

“Won’t your husband mind you coming over?” he asked.

“Naw! Never gotten married. That feller he took up and run. The boys plumb chased him down to the gully country and let holes in his side. So I’m all free and ready to marry you-all.”

“Me!” Johnny yelped.

“Why sure. Figured it’d be fittin’, us going to be neighbors ’n’ all.”

At that moment Tilda-Mae’s eyes caught a glimpse of Mark, jerked towards him and looked him over appraisingly, hungrily.

“Who-all’s this here?” she asked.

“My amigo, Mark Counter,” Johnny answered hopefully.

“Johnny.”

Jaya could not have timed her arrival at a worse moment. Five seconds later and Tilda-Mae would have been throwing herself at Mark with the same reckless abandon that characterized her association with every presentable man who came along.

Whirling from Johnny, Tilda-Mae faced Jaya, suspicion and anger glowing in her eyes.

“Who-all’s she?” the girl spat out.

“That’s Jaya,” Johnny replied, which left a lot unexplained.

“She’s your wife?”

“No—” Johnny answered, meaning to say he hoped she would be soon.

“Then she’s going now!” Tilda-Mae screamed. “No dirty furrin gal’s going to come here and steal my man!”

With that she hurled herself forward, fingers crooked ready to snatch at Jaya’s hair. Jaya fell back a couple of paces before the fury of the other girl’s rush, a look of numb shock on her face at the words.

The wildly furious mountain girl did not reach Jaya, did not even set a dirty bare foot on the porch. Johnny had been standing staring, suddenly scared at the thought of what Tilda-Mae’s words must mean to Jaya. For once in his life, Johnny, who had acted fast in emergencies many times, could not think of what to do.

Springing forward, Mark caught Tilda-Mae around the waist from behind, just as she reached the edge of the porch. He clamped his left arm around her, pinning down her arms as well to her waist. Instantly she began to scream and curse, her strong little body thrashing and struggling against his, her legs thrashing and hacking back.

“Lemme go!” she screamed. “I’ll scratch her eyes out! I’ll

yank her bald-headed! The dirty, stinking furrin calico-cat! Come here and glomming on to my man!”

“Honest, Jaya!” Johnny gasped, turning to the girl as Mark dragged Tilda-Mae backwards. “I never—”

With a strangled sob, Jaya turned and ran into the house, slamming the door behind her, not even offering to listen to his explanation.

One of Tilda-Mae’s heels caught Mark on the shin. Having never worn shoes, the girl’s feet were hard enough to pack some power behind them. Mark grunted in pain and annoyance. Then he swung the girl up from her feet, gripping her by the hair and pants seat, hoping the material would hold out. In that manner, keeping her bucking, writhing body at arm’s length, Mark carried Tilda-Mae towards the horse-trough. One way or another that foul-mouthed, dirty little mountain girl needed cooling off and a bath. Mark reckoned he was the man to attend to that.

Tilda-Mae gave a scream as she hit the water and disappeared under its surface. Coming up, she started to scream curses so Mark shoved her under again. This time he held her under until he figured she ought to have learned her lesson. A gasping, sobbing, water-spitting girl sat up in the trough, but she neither struggled nor cursed. While never having received any formal schooling, Tilda-Mae knew she had best yell “calf-rope” and give in, or be ducked under again.

Seeing the girl had quit struggling, Mark stepped back and allowed her to drag her soaking little body from the trough. She glared across to where Johnny stood trying to decide what to do, how to explain things to Jaya, how to stop Jaya leaving him.

“Bring that dirty furrin gal here, will you?” Tilda-Mae screamed. “Just you wait ‘til my kin hears what you done, Johnny Wade. They’ll fix your wagon, but good, see if they don’t. Then I’ll get that furrin gal and beat her so ugly she’ll never steal another American gal’s man.”

All the time she screamed at Johnny, Tilda-Mae was backing away and keeping a wary eye on Mark. She saw the anger in his eyes as he started towards her, so spun on her heel and went afork her horse with a lithe bound. Her final threat to Jaya came as she sent the horse running up the bush-covered slope down which she came on her arrival.

~*~

Not until the sound of the horse’s hooves had died away did either man make a move. Johnny let out his breath in a long, hissing sigh and turned on his heel towards the house. The only thing he could do was go in, explain things to Jaya and hope she believed him. Before he could take three steps, Johnny felt a hand clamp on his arm and pull him around. He could never remember seeing Mark so angry as the big blond appeared to be at the moment.

“Why didn’t you mention the gal?” Mark snapped.

“Why should I?” Johnny replied. “Hell, I didn’t but meet her a couple or so times last time I was up here. We had some loving, not much, I like mine washed and not smelling like a Kiowa wickiup. You saw how she looked at you, that gal’s plumb man-hungry. Anyways, one day she came over and told me she wouldn’t be seeing me again as she was marrying up with a travelling salesman who was working the county. I never even mentioned marrying her, and right after that I came back to the O.D. Connected. But I never said, or even gave Tilda-Mae cause to reckon I’d marry her.”

“Didn’t, huh?”

“No, I damn well didn’t!” Johnny answered, his temper and voice rising. “What the hell is it to you? Reckon it’ll give you a better in with Jaya?”

Mark looked at Johnny for a moment. Then he made a reply which he hoped would show his amigo that he (Mark) had no designs on Jaya, and doubted if she would give a damn even if he did have.

“I don’t need a chance with Jaya,” was what Mark said.

Then Johnny hit him.

Taken anyway a man looked at it, except on the receiving end, Johnny could throw a good punch. His right arm whipped around, he ducked his shoulder behind the punch and drove his knuckles against the side of Mark’s jaw. Mark spun around and only with an effort did he manage to keep his feet.

Coming in, Johnny ripped his left fist into Mark’s stomach and smashed up the right at Mark’s jaw, for he

packed enough muscle and heft to fold Mark with the first blow.

The blow sent Mark backwards but did not put him down. Only just in time he caught his balance and clenched his fists for Johnny was coming at him again.

“Jaya’s a good kid!” Johnny spat, closing with Mark. “I’m going to make sure you stay away from her.”

He threw his right at Mark’s head, but this time Mark was ready. Up came Mark’s left, his wrist deflecting the right past his head. Then Mark drove out his right, smashing it into Johnny’s mouth and knocking him backwards. Johnny hit the dining-room table, which fortunately had been stoutly built. Instead of it crumpling under Johnny’s weight, the table took it and Johnny went straight over.

“It’s time you woke up!” Mark growled, coming forward. “Jaya isn’t—”

With a snarl of rage, Johnny came to his feet and threw the table over in his eagerness to get at Mark. There was no avoiding a fight. Mark knew it. He also knew he would not have an easy time fighting Johnny, the cowhand was almost as big and strong as Mark and had learned many of Mark’s fighting tricks during their friendship.

Mark snapped Johnny’s head back with a right hand, stopping him in his tracks. Instantly Johnny’s left flashed out like a diamond-back rattlesnake striking. The knuckles caught Mark in the mouth and Mark felt the salty taste of blood on his soft palate. He saw how Johnny stood, perfectly balanced, his left held out maybe just a little low, but his right cocked in front of his shoulder the way Mark had taught him.

“You’re learning, Johnny,” Mark said.

Feinting with his right, Johnny threw another left, but Mark moved his head far enough to let the blow slip over his shoulder. Johnny brought the stiff edge of his arm against the side of Mark’s neck, knocking him off balance and then slugged his left into Mark’s ribs bringing a grunt of pain. Shooting out his right, Mark drove it hard into Johnny’s stomach, ripped a left after it and hooked a short left viciously to the side of Johnny’s jaw. The force of the blow dropped Johnny to his knees.

Even as Mark moved in, Johnny flung himself forward, tackling the big blond around the knees and ramming him backwards. Mark felt himself going down and as Johnny lunged forward hooked his feet under the other’s belly and heaved. Looking as if he had taken wings, Johnny sailed through the air to land on his back. He rolled over and came up fast, reaching his feet as soon as Mark did.

Once more Mark moved into the attack, wanting to keep Johnny away from the furniture. Sure Johnny wanted a fight, but that did not mean they should wreck his home having it.

The two men closed, fists stabbing out, ripping into each other. Mark took a savage hook to the floating ribs and went down to his knees. Up lashed Johnny’s knee, driving under Mark’s chin and throwing him on to his back. Johnny leapt up into the air, meaning to land on Mark with his knees. Too late he saw Mark roll, he missed but managed to break his fall. Without rising, Mark flung himself on to Johnny and they rolled over and over, fists thudding into flesh. Breaking apart, they rolled away from each other and made their feet once more.

Driving out his fist, Mark crashed it into the side of Johnny’s head and Johnny went down. Instead of attacking immediately, Mark stood back and allowed Johnny to make his feet. They were both breathing hard, blood ran from Mark’s mouth and Johnny’s nose seemed to be twice its normal size. Yet Johnny still was not done. When Mark moved in, Johnny caught him with a left jab which landed under his eyes, then closed with a two-fisted, slugging attack. Mark fought back, for almost five minutes they slugged it out like that. Then Johnny twisted around, getting his arms under Mark’s armpits from behind, curling them around to clamp fingers behind Mark’s neck.

They were locked in a struggle of strength, Johnny applying pressure with his full nelson and Mark fighting it off. Mark tried to twist free, turn and catch Johnny in the same hold. Both his body and Johnny’s arms were soaked with sweat and coated with dust, so he could not escape that way.

The pain of the hold was intense. Drawing forward his stomach, Mark suddenly jerked it back again. His rump drove into Johnny’s body and Johnny lost his hold, shooting back and doubling over. Turning, Mark drove up his left, the knuckles smashing into Johnny’s jaw. The force of the blow lifted Johnny to his heels and tilted him over-backwards to land in a cloud of dust on the ground.

Moving forward Mark dropped astride Johnny, kneeling on him. Desperately Johnny arched his back, trying to lift and roll Mark. It appeared that Johnny was not ready to listen to reason yet. Mark cocked his fist, drawing it back, his eyes, or his good eye, for his right eye had started to swell up and close, aiming at the point of Johnny’s chin.

Something crashed against Mark’s head. He heard a dull clang and he pitched sideways from Johnny to land on his face. Mark lifted his head; through the spinning mists and whirling lights, he saw Jaya, a furious-faced Jaya, standing above them, holding a shovel in her hands.

“Th—thanks—h—honey!” Johnny gasped and sat up.

The shovel came around and down as Johnny reached for Mark. It clanged on Johnny’s head and he landed flat on his back again.

“Keep still!” she hissed and the concentrated fury in her voice, as much as the blow, made both men obey. “What were you fighting over, who should have me and who should take the other girl?”

Neither man made any reply. Their fight, and her intervention, had left them in no condition to make flip answers, or any other kind.

“What do you think I am, Johnny Wade?” Jaya went on, her voice throbbing with emotion. “Am I just your property? Do you think I did not know that bill of sale was worthless? I saw you were a good man in the saloon. No other man had ever bothered about me enough to get me a chair. I wanted you to win me and when you did I could have cried. I hoped you would bring me with you, that I could make you care for me, marry me. I was willing to work for you, to live or die for you. Now I find you have another woman. I hate you! I never want to see you again!”

Throwing down the shovel, Jaya turned and ran blindly towards the house. She disappeared inside, slamming the

door behind her. Gasping for breath, Johnny weakly forced himself to his feet. He opened his mouth to call after Jaya, but left it too late.

“Boy, we sure loused that up.”

Mark’s words brought Johnny around to face him. The big blond stood rubbing his aching head which had a sizeable bump that had not been present when he rose that morning.

“You’ve sure put me in wrong now,” Johnny growled back.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. If you hadn’t been sweet-talking Jaya all the way up here I’d’ve told her how I felt about her.”

“The hell you would,” Mark answered. “You shied away from her like a horse fresh caught on the range every damned time she tried to get close to you. So I figured to show you what you was missing.”

“You sure showed me,” Johnny groaned. “Of all the lousy luck. I act about as dumb as a man can get—and then that man-hungry she-cat from the hills rides in and busts everything to hell and gone. I’m going to the house. Jaya’ll listen to me, let me explain.”

“Not the way she feels right now,” Mark drawled.

“She’ll list—!” Johnny began and turned.

Mark’s right fist drove out, smashing into the side of Johnny’s jaw with the power of a knobhead’s kick. The blow took Johnny completely by surprise, it flung him from his feet and flat on to his back. This time Johnny would not be getting up. At least not for a spell. Mark hoped he would have time to do what needed doing before Johnny did get up.

“Sorry, amigo? he said. “It’s the only way.”

Walking to the horse-trough, Mark pumped water over his head, clearing the dizziness out of it. He would need a clear head if he hoped to pull Johnny and Jaya out of their tangle. After sluicing his bruised, aching body, Mark walked to the house and entered.

He heard Jaya’s sobs from the bedroom and went to its door. Inside the girl stood at the bed, thrusting her clothes into the bag, but leaving the items Johnny bought her, including the hat, on the end of the bed.

“I’ll take you into Brownsville if you like,” he said.

“I’ll walk,” she replied without turning around.

“If that’s the way you want it,” Mark drawled. “I reckon you’re doing the right thing, leaving Johnny. See the way he’s been acting over you when you dressed up and danced for him, and other times. Hell, he’s been acting like a man in love with a gal, instead of his old self. Just shows how deceitful he is.”

No reply. The sobs had ended and Jaya no longer forced her clothes into the bag, but she did not turn.

“He’s a worthless cuss at best,” Mark went on. “And a hell of a liar. Why he told me that gal used to chase him last time he was up here, but that she took out to marry some other feller, not that Johnny ever wanted to marry up with her any old way. Fact being, old Johnny reckons he never wanted to marry up at all until he met you. But like I say, he’s a li—”

Swinging around, Jaya flung herself at Mark, pushing him backwards.

“Where is Johnny?” she asked.

“Knowed you wouldn’t want him bothering you,” Mark replied. “So I left him lying out there with a busted jaw.”

“You brute!” she screamed and dashed from the room.

“Johnny boy,” Mark said quietly. “Happen you’ve come round, just use your fool head for once with that gal and she’s yours.”

By the time Mark left the house, Jaya had reached Johnny and knelt by him, pillowing his head in her lap.

“Johnny!” she gasped. “Speak to me! I love you! I will not leave you!”

Picking up a bucket, Mark filled it with water from the horse-trough. There was no use Jaya spilling her heart out to Johnny unless he happened to be able to hear and appreciate it.

“You big bullying brute!” Jaya spat as Mark came up.

He barely had time to set down the bucket before she landed on him with little fists swinging. After catching a couple of blows on the chest, Mark managed to grab the girl’s arms and hold them. He twisted his body and caught a kick on the hip, then saw Johnny, behind the girl’s back, raising his head and grinning.

For once it seemed Johnny had used his head around the girl.

Giving out a heart-rending groan, Johnny let his head flop back again. Jaya tore herself free from Mark’s hands, forgot all about him, flung herself back to Johnny. Lifting his head and shoulders, she cradled them in her arms and kissed his battered face.

Johnny slid his arms around the girl and kissed back. For a long moment they stayed locked in each other’s arms. At last they separated to catch their breath.

“Johnny,” Jaya breathed. “I love you!”

“Jaya gal,” he replied, “not as much as I love you.”

“Yes I do!”

“We’re getting married, even if I have to whup ole Mark to—”

Jaya ended the threat with a kiss, then said, “Mark never meant anything to me. Nor I to him. He acted as he did to make you jealous, so you would notice me as a woman.”

For a moment Johnny did not reply. Although every muscle and fiber of his body ached, he could hardly see through his right eye and his nose felt twice its normal size, Johnny had never felt so happy in his life. Nothing else mattered except that Jaya loved him.

“Reckon old Mark did just that,” he said.

Then they were locked in each other’s arms once more and Johnny could hardly force himself to wait until they could find a preacher and get married. With any other girl he would not even have tried to resist.

“Where’s Mark?” he asked, easing himself free from her arms.

“I don’t know,” Jaya replied in a tone which implied she did not care either. “Oh Johnny, you’re hurt!”

“I asked for it,” he grinned, getting to his feet and helping her rise, then feeling at the knot she had raised on his head with the shovel. “Don’t know as how I’d want to marry a gal that handy with a shovel—unless she knew how to dance in a HI bitty grass skirt.”

“You wait until our marriage night,” she answered. “Then I will show you how the maidens really do it—where are you going?”

“To find a preacher,” he grinned.

“I help you,” she said eagerly, taking his hand.

Instead of looking for a preacher, they walked to where

Mark sat on the anvil in the forge. He turned towards them and showed simulated surprise when Johnny told him of the impending marriage.

“I’d have never expected it,” he grinned.

“We want you to be best man,” Jaya said, squeezing Johnny’s hand in a gentle warning that he had best agree.

“Sure we do,” Johnny agreed whole-heartedly. “I know that’s the only part you ever want to play in a wedding ceremony.”

“Do I get to kiss the bride without having a fight on my hands?” Mark asked.

“That depends,” Johnny grinned.

“On what?”

“How long after the wedding it is when you kiss her.”

Jaya looked from one man to the other. They were the first two men who had treated her decently, cared for her and showed her respect. She almost wished she had not been so free with the shovel head when they were fighting.

A flash of light flickered up on the slope above them. Just a brief flick and then it disappeared. Mark only saw it from the corner of his eye, but his brain sent out a warning.

“Duck it!” he yelled, shoving Jaya into Johnny and staggering them to one side.

His move came only just in time. A bullet hissed down from the slope, but not from where Mark had seen the reflection of the sun on some part of a weapon. Even as the crack of the shot reached their ears, Johnny had Jaya in safety, between him and the wall of the forge.

Two more shots, from different spots, came down. One struck the top of the anvil as Mark dropped behind it, then ripped off in the vicious whine of a ricochet. The other struck the top of the forge throwing brick chips into the air.

“Wade! Johnny Wade!” yelled a voice. “You come on out here and take your needings.”

“Who is it?” Mark asked, looking at the wagon in front of the house and wishing either he was there with his guns, or they were here with him.

“Sounds like Big Tup,” Johnny replied. “Tilda-Mae’s oldest brother.”

That figured, happen a man knew hill-folks and Mark reckoned he did. The girl had returned home with word of the affront to her person, and all her male kin took down their rifles to avenge her. Only it should be the head of the clan who did the talking.

Watching the slope, Mark had three men spotted, the three who had fired at them. One lay up just on the rim, not far from where a dried-out water-course ran up the slope. The second appeared to be denned up between a couple of rocks out on the rim to the first’s right. From the flash and smoke, Mark figured the third man further to the right, down behind that big old chestnut tree. The speaker had been still further along.

“How many are there in the family?” Mark asked.

“Four boys and Tilda-Mae,” Johnny replied, feeling the girl’s warm body writhing at his side. “Their mammy died just after Tilda-Mae was born, pappy got killed hunting a silvertip grizzly a couple of years back.”

“What do they want, Johnny?” Jaya asked.

“Nothing much, honey,” he lied.

“Wade!” yelled the voice again. “Talk up. Air ye ready to do the right by our lil Tilda-Mae gal?”

“Come on down and talk it out, Tup!” Johnny called back.

“There ain’t no talking out to do. You marry our lil sister, or we plant you out back of the house.”

“Johnny,” Jaya said, looking up at him. “Did you ever tell the girl you would marry her?”

“No, honey. Honest, I never did.”

“That is all I wanted to know.”

Saying that, Jaya pushed past him, wriggling free and darting across the forge. Johnny sprang forward, three bullets cut the air around him and he flattened down again. The girl ran out towards the slope and from it burst Tilda-Mae on the shaggy mountain scrub horse.

Once more Johnny came to his feet, a fourth shot came down and ripped across his shoulder, tearing through flesh, but luckily not striking bone. The wound, on top of the fight he had fought, proved too much for Johnny and he dropped to the ground.

Springing to his amigo’s side, Mark dragged him back into cover for another bullet sprayed dirt up between Johnny’s feet. Then Mark looked to see what Jaya was doing.

Tilda-Mae had left her horse and stood before Jaya.

“Please,” Jaya said. “I will leave, but you must promise not to harm Johnny or Mark.”

“You’re going to leave, you little furrin slut!” Tilda-Mae replied. “But not ‘til I’ve done with you. I don’t take no furrin gal’s leavings.”

And with that she lashed her hand around, the palm slapping across Jaya’s cheek. Jaya staggered back a few steps, caught her balance only to take another savage slap.

“Dirty furrin whore!” Tilda-Mae hissed. “Don’t you have the guts to try and fight back?”

Again her palm lashed out, straight into the grip of Jaya’s hands. Catching the other’s girl’s wrist, Jaya carried it up over her head, pivoting around under the arms, then bringing her hands down. Tilda-Mae howled, her feet left the ground and she thought the world had suddenly spun around. The thud with which she landed on her back jarred the wind out of her.

Before Tilda-Mae could draw breath, she thought she had been jumped by a bobcat. Jaya sprang forward, landing on Tilda-Mae, hands lashing, clawing, tearing at hair, slapping, punching and gripping flesh. For a moment Jaya had it all her own way. Then Tilda-Mae caught her breath. The attack and throw had taken the hill-girl by surprise, now that surprise was wearing off, those hard little hands, ramming, squeezing legs and sharp teeth driving it away.

Watching the girls roll over and over, Mark saw his chance. He glanced up the slope and saw the three men he had located earlier. They were all in plain sight now and yelling encouragement to their sister.

Mark was reminded of the battle at Bearcat Annie’s saloon in Quiet Town, both by the wild savage way in which the girls went at it, and in the way the men up the slope stood watching. Maybe he could turn Jaya and Tilda-Mae’s brawl to his advantage as Dusty Fog used the fight between the three female deputies and the saloon girls to let him get his male deputies inside the saloon and take a bunch of gunmen without firing a shot.

“You all right, Johnny?” he asked.

“I’ll live!” Johnny replied weakly and thickly. “Go help Jaya afore Tilda-Mae kills her.”

A glance at the girls showed Mark that Johnny’s fears were, if not groundless, at least not urgent. From the way Jaya went at it, they were on their feet now, she looked like she could take care of herself. Mark had not forgotten the different ways Jaya had shown her strength, both at the store and since. She might be smaller and lighter than Tilda-Mae, but he would not say she was weaker or less able to take care of her end in the hair-yanking brawl.

“She doesn’t need help. But you stay put here, or they’ll make wolf-bait of you. I’ll do what I can.”

Turning, Mark slipped from the cover of the open-sided blacksmith’s forge building and darted across the open land. At any minute he expected to feel lead either slap by him, or drive into him. Yet none came and he lit down in the comparative safety of the mouth of the water-course.

“Go at her, Tilda-Mae gal!” a voice screeched from above him.

Looking upwards, Mark saw one of the brothers, a tall, gangling youth in a torn old shirt and bib-overalls. The youngster, for he seemed to be young, stood on the rim, waving his rifle over his head as he encouraged his sister.

Mark started forward, keeping in the water-course and climbing up over the rocks on its bottom. Under other conditions this would have been a suicidal route, but happen the fight lasted long enough, and it showed no sign or sound of abating in fury, he might reach the top unseen by the youngster.

“Yank her bald, sister!” howled the youngster.

So engrossed had he become that he did not see the shape inching through the bushes toward him. Mark had reached the head of the slope and now crawled forward on his stomach, using every bit of cover he could find. His path brought him to a halt behind the young man and his hands reached out.

The first sign the youngster had of his danger came when a pair of hands clamped hold of his ankles and heaved. Letting out a screech like a drunk Sioux Indian, the youngster landed

on his face and felt himself being hauled down off the rim. His rifle had gone as he felt the hands grip him and he twisted around, fanning his right hand towards the butt of his bowie knife. Mark took aim and hit with all his skill. His fist caught the youngster’s jaw, snapped his head to one side and dropped him in a limp heap on the ground.

Moving on, keeping to what cover he could find, Mark advanced towards the second brother, knowing this one would be harder to take. He looked maybe four or five years older than the one Mark had silenced. There seemed to be a hard, mean look about him and he cradled the Henry rifle with a negligent ease that did not deceive the big Texan. Give that feller half a chance and he would come spinning around with the rifle ready for use.

Yet there was no way to move in on him from behind. A feller with his looks did not pick a place where he could be sneaked up on. He leaned against one of the rocks, a coonskin cap on his head and wearing dirty buckskins, right out in the open, clear of anything even an ant could hide behind.

Bending, Mark took up a lump of rock about the size of a baseball. Then he started forward, hoping the girls kept the hillman’s attention for long enough to let him get in close.

Mark took three steps, then the man glanced back. He must have been expecting one of his brothers, for he just glanced at Mark, then turned back towards the fight—and whirled around again. The rifle started to come from his arm. Mark whipped back his arm and hurled the rock. It shot forward and caught the man on the front of his coonskin cap. From the thud, Mark knew he had put the man out of mischief, but hoped not too permanently. Without a sound, the man crumpled up and flopped to the ground.

Instantly Mark went back into cover. He thought he would be shot at, but the remaining brothers must have been too absorbed in what sounded like a humdinger of a fight to see what was happening on the rim.

This proved to be the case with the third brother. In age he seemed to fit between the first and second. Leaning his back against the chestnut’s stout trunk, his rifle resting at his side, the third brother gave the girls his full attention, ignoring the possibility of an attack.

A big hand came around the tree trunk and clamped on the brother’s shoulder. He let out a startled squawk, grabbed down at and missed his rifle, then shot around the trunk to catch Mark’s other fist full on the side of his head. He went down as if he had been boned.

Which only left Big Tup, always provided the second man had not been he. There should only be the four of them. Mark reckoned Tilda-Mae’s honor would be strictly family business, so only the direct kin should be along.

“You move nice, stranger,” a voice said.

Mark halted, he had been moving towards a clump of bushes where he suspected Big Tup to be hiding. The man sat in front of the bushes, his rifle on his knees, not aiming at anything in particular. In size he equaled Mark and looked like he weighed maybe ten—fifteen pounds heavier. Given that he was fresh and fit, Mark could have taken Big Tup, maybe after a hard fight. In his present condition he doubted if he could.

“Must have hill-blood in you,” Big Tup went on. “Didn’t hurt none of the boys bad, did you?”

“Beaned the one with the Henry with a rock, maybe bust his head,” Mark replied, wondering if he could get in close and jump the other before he rose.

“That’d be Lenny. Serve him right. He allows to know it all about hunting. The young ’uns all right?”

“They’ll likely not feel like chewing raw beef for a couple of days.”

“Happen you put ’em off their food, I should be thanking you,” Big Tup grunted. “Set a spell and let’s see how that fracas ’tween Tilda-Mae and the lil furrin gal comes out. Boys’ll be tolerable riled that you made ’em miss it. Ain’t seed a cat fight as good as this since Maw caught Paw with that medicine show gal one time.”

Then Mark got it. The code of the hills, the code of the mountain men. Tilda-Mae brought her brothers to deal with Johnny, make him marry her, but when she went down and took Jaya on it made the matter personal between the two girls and the family would not intervene as long as nobody else did. Tilda-Mae must stand or fall alone. Mark could have saved himself some time—provided Jaya licked Tilda-Mae in the fight.

“Reckon I’d best get down and see how Johnny is,” Mark said.

“You ’n’ him been fussing?”

“A mite.”

“That boy must be able to fight, happen he stood up to a feller like you,” Big Tup said soberly. “Hope Tilda-Mae licks the furrin gal, we could use some good fighting blood like that in the clan. He hurt bad?”

“Caught him a bullet in the shoulder just now.”

“Land-sakes!” Big Tup grunted, coming to his feet. “Why’n’t you-all say so at first. Go on down to him. I’ll look to the boys, then come on down myself.”

Mark did not know how far he could trust the big hill-man and so watched as Big Tup, moving faster than one might have expected of a man of his size, went to examine his brothers. He showed no great concern about any of their conditions and waved Mark down the slope.

It must have been some fight if the girls’ appearance was anything to go by. Tilda-Mae had lost her shirt and her face carried marks. Jaya had come off better in the matter of clothes. Her skirt was torn from hem to hip and trailing behind her, her long hair in a dirty tangle, her face bruised and bloody.

Even as the men reached the foot of the slope, Tilda-Mae fell against the corral rails, hung there and reeled forward. Jaya braced herself and kicked up. While visiting New Orleans, Mark had seen French savate fighters and was reminded of them in the way Jaya kicked, except that they wore shoes and used the toe while Jaya’s feet were bare and she kicked with the ball of her foot. The result was just as effective. Caught in the pit of the stomach, Tilda-Mae gave a scream and dropped to her knees. She landed on to Jaya’s other knee as the little girl leapt forward and brought it up. Coming erect again, Tilda-Mae went backwards, hit the corral rail and hung there, then her knees buckled up and she crashed forward on to her face. Reeling forward, Jaya fell against the corral fence and held herself up on it.

With no more concern than he showed when looking at his brothers, Big Tup walked forward, bent and dug his hand into Tilda-Mae’s hair. He lifted the girl’s head from the ground, looking at the dirty, bruised features and glazed unseeing eyes. Releasing Tilda-Mae, he let her flop to the ground once more and turned to look at Jaya who supported herself by the corral rail, gasping for breath, sobbing and trying to hold the ripped top of her dress together.

“You whupped her fair ’n’ square, lil furrin gal,” Big Tup said. “She won’t bother you or your man again.”

Bending, he lifted his sister and carried her to her horse, draping her face down over its back.

At the same moment Johnny came up, limping and with his wounded arm hanging limply at his side. In his good hand, he held a Colt.

“Let it lie, Johnny!” Mark snapped, stepping into his line of fire.

“Look at what she did to Jaya!” Johnny growled, turning his eyes to the little girl who had sunk to her knees.

“You should see what Jaya did to her,” Mark grinned. “Boy, when you’re all married off to her, you do what she says. That gal fights like Dusty, uses a lot of the same tricks.”

At another time Johnny might have been interested to know of somebody who could use the fighting techniques so ably practiced by Dusty Fog. Right now his only interest was Jaya.

Dropping the Colt, Johnny sprang to the girl’s side. She turned her face to his.

“I—I would have gone away—rather than let them hurt you,” she said.

With his good arm, Johnny lifted the girl to her feet and supported her as he headed her for the house. Mark turned to watch Big Tup leading the scrub horse and its burden up the hill and saw two of the brothers on their feet. The youngest turned and jumped to where his rifle lay, but Big Tup bellowed and waved a hand to Tilda-Mae. Lowering the rifle without lining it, the young man moved down to meet Big Tup and his sister.

Picking up the Colt Johnny had dropped, Mark looked at it, then turned.

“Hey, Johnny!” he called. “The next time you decide to throw a gun around in the dirt—do it with one of your own.”

~*~

Mark looked at the other two occupants of the room and grinned as he sank stiffly into a chair at the breakfast table.

“What’s so funny?” Johnny growled, limping up and taking his seat.

“I was thinking what a sorry looking bunch we look,” Mark explained.

Hobbling stiffly around with the food and coffee, Jaya looked at the two men’s faces and smiled.

“Do I look like you?” she asked.

“Worse,” Mark replied.

It was the morning after the day of the fights. Although none of the three meant to, they had slept in late and Jaya, first awake, now served them their food. On taking her seat, she looked at Johnny and Mark, then started to giggle. Her merriment started Johnny chuckling, for he too now saw what amused Mark.

After the departure of the hill family, Mark helped Johnny to care for Jaya, then patched his amigo’s wound up, using a basic knowledge of such matters gained in years of hectic life. The wound proved to be more messy and painful than dangerous, but Mark put Johnny’s arm in a sling to prevent him using it too much.

With Jaya and Johnny’s help, and his own terrific strength, Mark unloaded the supplies and stored them in the root cellar under the house. Then he moved as much of the furniture back into the house as he could manage. After that Mark was only too willing to go to sleep.

Jaya had bathed the previous night, combed the tangles out of her hair and now, with a couple of additions, looked her usual self.

“Where’d you learn to fight like you did?” Johnny asked her. “I never saw anybody but a French-Creole kick like you did.”

“It is an old Siamese fighting trick,” she replied. “I was a wild child and learned to defend myself from the native children.”

“You sure did,” Mark grinned. “If you hadn’t tangled with her, we’d likely still be out there, or dead.”

“They would have killed us all?” she gasped.

“They’re hill folk, mountain men. Don’t go by the same

standards as other people. They’ve lived to that code ever since their kind moved in from the east. Cut one hill feller and all his kin bleed. They live by the rules their fathers and grandfathers laid down for them. That’s why they didn’t shoot after you and the gal tangled. She’d made the fight a personal thing and they couldn’t cut in.”

“Then she won’t come here again?” Jaya asked.

“Not after Johnny,” Mark replied. “That’s for sure. Under the code of the mountain folk she was whipped fair and square and she’s got no claim on him.”

“She never had,” Johnny growled.

“I feel a little sorry for her,” Jaya put in, ignoring Johnny’s comment.

At that moment they heard hooves outside and the snort of a horse, then a voice called: “Hello, the house!”

“Tilda-Mae!” Johnny snapped, thrusting back his chair.

The girl sat her horse in front of the house. Although she wore a shirt it was not clean and she had made a very poor job of cleaning the results of the fight from her face and those parts of her body which showed; nor had she done anything about her dirty, tangled mop of hair.

“Can I see the furr—your woman, Johnny?” she asked without dismounting.

“No you c—”

Before Johnny could finish his denial, Jaya came from the house and pushed between him and Mark, stepping from the porch.

Tilda-Mae squinted down at Jaya, then looked at the two men. “Can we make women talk?”

“Of course. Get off your horse. Come in and have some breakfast. We only just rose.”

Slipping from her horse, Tilda-Mae stood by it. She raised her right foot against her calf, looking embarrassed. She made no attempt to walk towards the house and Jaya turned to tell the two men to go inside.

“It’s all right, Johnny,” she said when he showed signs of hesitation. “Go in, please.”

Once left alone words rushed out of Tilda-Mae’s mouth.

“I want you to help me! I want to know why it is I can’t never get a man who’ll stick to me. And I don’t mean Johnny.

Sure I went after him, but he never said he’d marry me. But I want to know why I can’t get a man.”

“How would I know?” Jaya smiled.

“You furrin gals know about things like that.”

Looking at the other girl, Jaya felt pity for her. Tilda-Mae was lonely and needed affection. Her brothers were kind enough in their own lights, but they did not give the girl the love and affection she craved for. So she had tried to find it with other men, and never with happy results.

“I’ll help you,” Jaya promised, looking the other girl over. “The first thing we do is get you a bath—”

“A bath?” Tilda-Mae gasped. “You mean all over, without any clothes on?”

“Of course. A man likes a girl to smell nice. Come, I found some clothes belonging to Johnny’s aunt, they might fit you, and there are other things that we can use.”

“Yeah, but—” Tilda-Mae groaned, hanging back at the awful thought of having a bath.

“It’s the only way,” Jaya warned, taking Tilda-Mae’s grubby little hand and leading her gently towards the house.

Neither Johnny nor Mark knew what Jaya planned. She gave them orders to go out and find some work, but not to come in until she called for them.

At noon, still with no sign of the two girls, Johnny saw something which took his mind temporarily off thoughts of what Tilda-Mae might be doing to his Jaya.

A large party of people were coming towards the house. Four buggies carrying neighboring families rolled in the center of some twenty or more men. In the lead of the party, spurring his horse forward, rode Big Tup.

“Howdy, Johnny,” he greeted, sliding the horse to a halt. “Real sorry about your arm. That big feller near on cracked Lenny’s head and raised lumps on Sam and Jeb. Reckon we can call it evens?”

“If that’s the way you want it,” Johnny replied, throwing a puzzled look at the approaching party.

“Preacher’s in town,” Big Tup remarked. “So I sent the boys out to gather in your neighbors. Figured you and the fu—your gal’d like company on the way in to see him.”

By that time the others of the party had arrived and broad grins came to every face as they studied Johnny.

“Where-at’s your gal, Johnny?” asked a stout woman. “We didn’t know you’d got here or we’d’ve come over to lend a hand.”

“Jaya!” Johnny called.

The house door opened and Jaya came out. There were mutters of admiration and surprise at her appearance, but what the crowd saw following her really made them sit back and stare.

“Is that you, Tilda-Mae?” Big Tup gasped.

His surprise had good cause. The girl behind Jaya was clean, her hair still curly but soft looking and tidy, and she wore a gingham dress of modest pattern. During the morning Jaya had searched through the drawers of the side-piece and found clothes belonging to Johnny’s dead aunt; she died some eighteen months before his uncle. For the first time in her life Tilda-Mae wore clean underclothes instead of old flour-sack drawers and she liked the feeling. She also liked the admiring looks several young men threw her way, but remembered Jaya’s advice about not throwing herself at men so stood demure and unspeaking.

“Jaya,” Johnny said. “There’s a preacher down at Bagley’s Corners. Do we want to see him?”

“Yes, Johnny,” she gasped. “Yes, please!”

And she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him, then moved away with a blush on her cheeks as the watching people laughed. Her embarrassment did not last for the women of the party bore down on her, sweeping her and Tilda-Mae back into the house to do the things women must always do before a wedding.

~*~

It made a pretty picture. The bride standing blushing shyly at the side of the very nervous groom. The best man and bridesmaid in their places, the guests seated on cracker boxes, chairs and the bench brought in from its usual place on the store’s porch. Bagley’s Corners had not yet grown in size to the point where a preacher could live as a permanent thing, or to where a church became a necessity.

Standing with his back to the assembled crowd, the preacher prepared to start the ceremony. When the rustling and shuffling died away behind him, he turned to face the congregation.

First he looked at Java’s puffed and swollen left eye and scratched cheek. Next his eyes went to Johnny’s swollen nose and almost closed right eye. From there his gaze took in Tilda-Mae who sported two blackened eyes and a lump on her forehead and Mark whose left eye matched Johnny’s right and whose top lip looked twice its normal size. After that the preacher looked at the crowd, to Tilda-Mae’s three brothers who each bore signs of how the big blond Texan handled them; and finally to a pair of young men who carried more recent signs of a discussion as to who should escort this new, clean Tilda-Mae to town.

After travelling the Texas range for nearly twenty years in a vain attempt to save unruly souls, the preacher reckoned he could not be surprised any more. If the sight before him had not been a surprise, it would do until one came along. However, he rallied quickly.

“Dearly beloved,” he said. “It sure looks like you had a hard time convincing each other it was time to come to church.”

For a moment Jaya and Mark’s eyes met and the girl smiled.

“We did,” she breathed. “But we made it in the end.”